Frodo sorted through his toybox, looking for suitable things to put aside for the new baby. He never threw anything away and all his own favourites were still there. After much debate he found a soft pink velvet pig with no small bits which could come off in a baby's mouth, and a long, squarely-carved wooden cat which would be ideal when the little one began to cut teeth. He went into the back parlour where his mother was sitting with Gilda, Esme, Eglantine and a few of the other mothers, to show her what he had chosen. All the ladies exclaimed and said "Aaahhhh!" and tried to cuddle him at once, which made him blush. Even Aunt Gilda, the family matriarch, kissed him. He was over-awed in her presence and made sure he was very polite to her, as she was a stickler for propriety.

       "Oh Prim, he is such a sweet boy! I can't imagine most boys being so thoughtful."

       "Dear child, come here and let me give you a kiss."

       Prim smiled. "My darling boy, you are so sweet. You chose these all by yourself?"

       The child nodded. "Some of the toys have button eyes but I didn't think that would be good. Pimpernel chews everything and puts it in her mouth and if the baby does that he might choke. And the pig is nice and squashy to hold."

       "You are so excited about this baby, aren't you, my pet?" Prim sat Frodo beside her and hugged him while Esme cut a large slice of cherry cake, and he sat and munched while the women chattered.

       It was surprising what an intelligent, quiet child could pick up if he sat with his nose in a book and pretended to be absorbed. Adults tended to forget he was there after a while, and there were several choice bits of gossip tucked away for future reference by the time the ladies had finished their tea. He learned that Adelard Took's wife had given birth to a boy who was going to be saddled with the name Everard - Frodo rolled his eyes at this and pitied the poor child - and that Poppy (nee Chubb-Baggins) and Filibert Bolger were having trouble due to "Filibert's problems in the baby-making department", whatever that meant! Frodo was puzzled: surely the baby-making was Poppy's responsibility? What did Filibert have to do with it? The other intriguing bit of news was that his fourth - or was she a fifth? - cousin, Lavinia was going to be married off in a hurry because she and her sweetheart had "put the cart before the horse." It was all very interesting, but he failed to see what carts and horses had to do with things.

                                                                             ************

       Dinner that night was a particularly splendid affair because Ferumbras Took, the new Thain, had arrived. He had succeeded his father, Fortinbras, three months before and had been busy catching up with official business. He was a lively and humorous hobbit who had never married because, it was rumoured, he had so many lady friends he could never choose between them. There was still time for him to marry - he was only 64 - but if he remained a batchelor his successor would be Adalgrim, Esme's father, and after him would be Cousin Paladin.

       The children sat at their own table and Frodo tried to keep the younger ones in order, much to the amusement of the Brandy Hall nurse who sat with them, feeding the smallest children and ensuring that they did not run amok. As he ate, Frodo watched the adults: Uncle Rory, very stout and grey haired, in a splendid brocade waistcoat which almost rivalled Uncle Bilbo's, Aunt Gilda, Rory's wife, resplendant in a beautiful dark blue gown and covered in the Brandybuck jewels; Cousin Saradoc with his mop of light brown hair and the uneven Brandybuck nose, Esme, with her delicate Tookish features and light auburn hair, and his own parents sitting with Bilbo and Esme's brother Paladin and his wife, the formidable Eglantine. Everyone was animated and boisterous, and the food kept appearing in large quantities and disppearing into the hobbits at a fairly fast rate. Frodo thought that he ate quite well, but he could not believe the speed at which his cousin Pearl shovelled the food down.

       "Pearly-whirly! Slow down, it's not a race!" he said reprovingly. Pearl paused, her fork half way to her mouth, and fixed him with a particularly withering look.

       "Fwodo Baggins, hobbits are supposed to eat. Otherwise we'd all be as thin as you!" She allowed her gaze to flick over him and sighed theatrically. "You should eat more. Your face is too pointy." She cocked her head and then gave him a dazzling smile. "But we like you anyway. You look like a girl................your face is too nice for a boy's."

       "Is that a compliment?" he asked suspiciously. Pearl continued to beam at him innocently in that disconcerting manner common to the Tooks, then shrugged and turned her attention back to her plate. Frodo continued with his own meal and ate more than usual, just to prove he was a proper hobbit.

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       By the time the tables were finally cleared Frodo was feeling distinctly over-full. He flopped onto the sofa in the parlour and held his stomach. Prim rubbed him sympathetically and Bilbo laughed.

       "Never become involved in an eating competition with Tooks and Brandybucks, lad. Just sit quiet and you'll feel better soon, I'm sure."

       "Poor lambkin. Papa and I were going to go out on the river for a little while, but I don't like to leave you if you're feeling ill." Prim stroked his hair gently. "Do you feel sick?"

       "No, just uncomfortable! Pearl eats too fast!" He smiled up at his mother. "I'll be alright, Mama. You don't have to stay with me. I know you love the river."

       "I'll stay with him, Prim," Bilbo volunteered. "I daresay you'd like one of my tales, wouldn't you, my boy?"

       Frodo nodded, his eyes shining. Bilbo chuckled and sat beside him as Drogo entered the room.

       "How is he? How's our little invalid?" He crouched and ruffled his son's curls.

       "He says he'll be alright, and Bilbo is going to tell stories while he digests that huge dinner. I'll just fetch Mr.Tibbles for him and then we'll set off."

       One of the nursemaids bobbed. "I'll fetch it, ma'am. I was just going to turn down the beds and put your clean laundry back."

       With Mr.Tibbles clutched in his arms, Frodo kissed his parents and settled back to listen to Bilbo's story.

       Primula and Drogo paused in the doorway and gazed fondly at their son, smiling at the look of rapt attention on his face. Drogo waved, looking very young and happy with his burgundy velvet jacket dangling from one finger, and his arm around his wife's waist. Frodo blew extravagant kisses as they disappeared round the door, and his mother called out,

       "Good-night, my little lambkin! Be good and go to bed when Bilbo tells you!"

       "I will! Night-night!"

       The story was exciting and full of trolls and spiders and dwarves and Gandalf and Elves. Frodo's eyelids were drooping when Bilbo ended the tale, but he beamed and embraced his uncle.

       "That was so wonderful! I wish I could come on one of your adventures, Uncle Bilbo!"

       "I'm sure you will, lad. When you're older you can come with me. We'll go and see the Elves, and the dwarves. Gandalf is bound to come by before too long. He loves the Shire, you know, and has a great fondness for ale and pipeweed." He laughed. "How're you feeling now? Tummy more comfortable?"

       "Yes, thank you. I'm just a bit sleepy now."

       "Well, let's find you your milk and we'll pop you into bed. Don't forget Mr.Tibbles. Did you see the kittens today?" He steered the child out of the room and they went to say good-night to everyone before making their way to the west wing of the enormous smial, where Frodo's bedroom led off his parents' room. Frodo undressed and pulled his nightshirt over his head, then climbed into bed and drank his milk while Bilbo gazed out of the window. Twilight was just beginning to steal across the grass outside and the trees rustled softly in the warm breeze. Birds twittered as they settled down for the night and somewhere a fox barked sharply. The scent of flowers drifted over the sill and Bilbo inhaled deeply, revelling in the sounds and smells of a summer evening.

       "Had your milk? Good lad! Snuggle down, my boy, and dream of adventures. The road goes ever on and on, you know." He kissed the child's cheek and patted Mr. Tibbles. "Night-night, my dearest boy."

       "Mmmmm. Night-night, dear Bilbo."

                                                                               ************

       Frodo was roused to consciousness by odd sounds in the corridors: raised voices and running feet. A hushed feminine voice hissed urgently, "Quiet! I'd rather not have him woken yet." The window was still dark so he knew it must be early. He was disorientated and uneasy.

       "Mama? Mama!" He sat up and peered into the open doorway of his parents' bedroom. Usually his mother woke quickly and answered his panicked calls. The silence was unnerving. "Mama?!" He pushed back the covers and made his way to his parent's room. He was still trying to work out why the bed was empty when the door opened and Esme entered, followed by Bilbo.

       "Frodo? I heard you call out.....oh my goodness, are you up already?" Esme wrapped her arm round his shoulders. "You're shivering, child. Let's find a robe or a blanket."

       "Where's Mama?" Frodo looked up, anxious, his blue eyes filling as he tried to keep his lip steady. "And Papa? Why aren't they here?"

       Bilbo drew a shaky breath. "They.......they haven't returned, my lad. I'm sure they're alright," he added hastily. "It's likely they went downstream and decided to find somewhere to stay for the night." He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "Shall we get you back to bed?"

       Frodo shook his head. "No, Uncle Bilbo. I want to come and sit with you and Esme. Can I?" There were tears on his cheeks now. Esme picked him up and cuddled him.

       "Of course you can, my sweet boy. We'll find you some biscuits and lemonade. It will be light soon............."

       Eglantine was standing by the window, peering into the darkness outside. She put on a very bright smile for Frodo's benefit but he could see she was upset. A little maid brought a jug of lemonade and a plate of biscuits and Frodo made an attempt to eat one, but he found it stuck in his throat. The atmosphere in the house was tense and full of barely suppressed hysteria, like a fast boiling saucepan whose lid is about to fly off. Esme brought his favourite toy and he hugged Mr.Tibbles very tightly, shivering despite the fire and the blanket draped around him. From the couch he could see the light of lanterns flickering between the trees, moving this way and that in the grounds, through the meadow and down to the river, as the menfolk searched desperately for some sign of the missing couple.

       The child was lying snuggled against Esme, his mind a fog of terror although he did not quite know why. The adults around him were trying so hard to be calm but their fear was tangible. He tried to close his eyes and sleep but all he could see in his mind was swirling foaming water. Faint whispers reached his ears.

       "Going out in the moonlight like a couple of lovestruck tweens."

       "She's wearing all those petticoats."

       "And carrying a child too."

       "He can't swim!"

       "Surely they can't both.........."

       "Sssshh!" Esme said warningly. She stroked Frodo's curls lovingly. "Prim knows how to handle a boat. I'm sure they're fine." She lifted her chin and glared at the others, defying them to argue further.

       At first light Esme went with Frodo to his room and waited while he dressed. He moved as though in a trance, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his green cord breeches and the simple shirt. When he was ready he clutched Esme's hand and they walked back to the parlour. As they walked down the hall, Rory entered through the side door from the garden. His shirt was wet and muddy and his shoulders drooped in defeat. Esme looked at her father-in-law and gave a little moan, covering her mouth with her hand. Rory shook his head sadly and slumped onto the wooden settle. He seemed to have aged twenty years overnight. Frodo whimpered, tore his hand from Esme's and ran, out of the door, across the grass. Ahead he could see a crowd of hobbits on the riverbank. He shot between them, through the forest of legs, swerving to avoid being grabbed, repeating "No! No!" in a strangled voice as he ran, until he arrived at the edge of the bank and stared at the scene.

       Saradoc, stripped to the waist, was in the river, along with half a dozen others, manhandling an overturned rowing boat. The child's breath caught at the sight but his attention was riveted by the vision on the lower part of the bank. Everything seemed to shift and move at a very slow speed around him. Primula lay on her side, one hand beneath her cheek and her other hand resting on her slightly swollen belly. She might have been asleep, but her chestnut ringlets were disarrayed and dirty, there was mud on her face and legs and a large bruise on her temple, and her beautiful blue dress was saturated with muck and river water. Next to her lay Drogo, his impeccable velvet suit sodden and filthy, his lips a frightening blue in his waxen face and his eyes staring sightlessly at the morning sky.

       "Noooooooo!"

       A piercing scream rent the air. Everyone on the bank turned to look at Frodo, full of pity for the little boy who was howling like a wounded animal, completely unaware that the screaming was coming out of his own mouth. Saradoc strode up the bank and scooped the wailing child into his arms, where he kicked and struggled uselessly, pounding at his cousin's back in a frenzy.

       "Easy, Frodo-lad. I know, my boy, I know. Ssssh! Don't struggle so, you'll hurt yourself. Hush now............"

       The fight went out of him in a rush and he collapsed limply on Saradoc's shoulder, his breath emerging in great tearing gasps. He felt himself being transferred to another pair of arms and a comforting female presence and clung tightly with his arms locked round Esme's neck and his legs round her hips.

       "Oh my little one, I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to see that but you were too fast for me. Come away now, let's get you back to the Hall."

       "Esme......." he hiccuped. "Is ....is the baby dead too?" It was a question she had dreaded, although she suspected he knew the answer.

      "Yes, my love, I'm afraid it is. I'm so sorry, dear boy, I wish it were otherwise."

       He struggled again. "Please.....I have to get down.........I'm........I'm....going to be sick!"

       "Oh sweetheart......" Esme lowered him in the shadow of some trees and steadied his shoulders while he heaved and retched. He remained bent double, hands on his knees, for some time. His head was spinning and reality washed in and out until he thought he was going to faint. Esme crouched, still holding him, and rubbed his back as soothingly as she could until the heaving stopped. She found a handkerchief and wiped the saliva from his lips. Tears were streaming down his face and he was shaking uncontrollably as he buried his face in her neck.

       "I'm sorry......I'm sorry......." he sobbed.

       "Sweetheart, there's nothing for you to be sorry about. It's the shock......it's quite normal. Hush, it's alright my little one......"  She soothed and shushed until she felt it was safe to lift him and carry him to the house. He clung round her neck, his sobs muffled in her curls, as she made her way across the grass in the early morning sunshine. She thought how wrong it seemed that the sun should shine on such a terrible scene. Behind her the men lifted the bodies of Drogo and Primula Baggins onto hurdles and carried them slowly up the bank in a hushed and respectful silence.

                                                                              ************

       Esmeralda sank back on the couch and stroked the child's hair. Frodo had sobbed himself to the point of collapse and now lay curled on his side with his head in Esme's lap, Mr.Tibbles grasped in his arms.. His eyes were red and sore, his face blotched and his little frame shuddered with an occasional sob. Esme was exhausted, emotionally and physically. She had managed to steal away for a short while to give vent to her own grief but had spent much of the time trying to calm the hysterical child. He was reluctant to allow her out of his sight and clung to her in terror if she tried to move. She glanced down to see if he had dozed off but he was staring, blank-eyed. She had never seen anyone so bereft and wondered how he could possibly survive this.

       "Who will love me now?" he whispered. She caught her breath at the question.

       "I will, my darling child. We all will, but you will be my special boy. Where else would you stay but with your family? Everyone loves you, my love - Bilbo and Eglantine and Saradoc and all the family. Little Pimpernel has been crying for you, and Pearl too."

       "It's my fault," he said hoarsely.

       "What? Of course it isn't your fault! How could it be? Oh dearest boy, don't blame yourself."

       "Mama said she would stay because I had a tummy-ache and I said I'd be alright and told them to go. It is my fault!" He started to sob again and Esme wrapped both arms around him and clasped him to her breast, rocking back and forth.

       "Listen to me. If you hadn't had a tummy-ache they would have gone anyway. You know they loved the river and you know how much they liked to be together. We were always teasing them as a couple of spoony tweens who liked to sit in a boat and watch the stars."

       "It was an accident, my boy," said Bilbo settling beside them and rubbing the shaking shoulders. "It looks as though the boat may have hit a rock in the river and overturned and they were trapped underneath. The Shirriffs are satisfied it was a tragic accident." He raised his eyebrows in unspoken query at Esme and glanced at the tea table. She shook her head. "Frodo-lad, you should have a little drink, you know. It's very hot and if you don't drink you'll be ill and get heat-stroke."

       "Don't care........" Frodo mumbled, burrowing into Esme's dress.

       "Well we care, and you'll have a drink if I have to sit here all day. Come along, lad. Please? For your Uncle Bilbo?" He coaxed and wheedled until Frodo finally sat up and took the glass. He was thirsty after all.

       Esme rose and the child moaned and grabbed for her. "I'm just going to the privvy. I won't be a moment. Uncle Bilbo will stay with you and I promise I'll come straight back." She kissed him and stood up, while Bilbo hoisted Frodo into his lap.

       "There! Now you drink your lemonade. Would you like something to eat, lad?" The child shook his head, dark curls rippling. "Alright, but you must drink. Phew! It is very hot today - nearly as hot as being in Smaug's lair. Would you like to hear about Smaug?" The dark head nodded slowly and Frodo settled against Bilbo's chest as his uncle began the comfortingly familiar tale of Smaug the dragon.

       At some point during the story Frodo slipped into a doze, and Bilbo remained as still as he could for a long while before finally laying the boy down and covering him with Prim's shawl. The little boy was utterly shattered and exhausted, and he slept for several hours. When he awoke it was mid-afternoon and he could hear a whispered conversation in the hall between Esme, Rory, Saradoc and some of the older members of the family.

       "She's Rory's sister. He should decide what she's going to be dressed in. And I suppose Bilbo can decide for Drogo as he is the only Baggins here." One of his mother's cousins - Pansy was it?

       "That's just it! He isn't! Frodo is their son and he's old enough to know if he wants to choose what his parents are buried in." Esme sounded cross and tired. "He's a thoughtful little boy and shutting him out of the process won't help."

       "I agree," murmured Saradoc. "He should be consulted. If he doesn't want to do it, or see them, we won't force him, but it is his choice."

       "I think so too," said Rory. "We'll help him, of course."

       So it was true. He had hoped it had been a terrible nightmare, and that his parents would walk in and everything would be alright, but nothing would ever be alright again.

       Esme opened the door. "Oh! You are awake, poppet. We were just wondering.........." She crouched down and cuddled him. "Your Mama and Papa have been washed and made nice and clean and Mama's hair has been properly dressed. We wondered if you wanted to choose what they should be dressed in?" She smoothed the hair from his brow and kissed him.

       He thought for a moment. "Yes...........yes." He looked to Bilbo, who nodded and gave him an encouraging smile as he ruffled the boy's curls. "Papa always looks so smart in his dark blue suit with the grey weskit, and Mama's prettiest dress is the white one with the cornflowers on it."

       "Oh that's a good choice, my pet. I will see to it at once. Would you like to see them when they're dressed? You don't have to............" She almost choked as she looked at him trying so hard to be brave.

       "I.........I'm ....not sure. Do I have to decide now, Esme?"

       "No, pumpkin, of course not. There's plenty of time for that."

       "Esme, can they wear the presents I was going to give them? I bought a nice cravat for Papa and there's a pretty brooch for Mama............ It would go with the cornflowers on her dress."

       "Yes of course. Where are they, dear?"

       "In my room, on the chest of drawers."

       "I'll go and find them, my pet." She left the room again and Frodo sank down, his shoulders sagging.

       "Uncle Bilbo? Is it true that there's nothing when you die? Uncle Rory says we all just go back to the earth and that's it, but I don't want to............" His full lower lip trembled and he twisted his hands nervously.

       Bilbo held the boy's long slender fingers. "Most hobbits say that, lad, but having spent a lot of time with the Elves, and especially with Master Elrond in Rivendell, I'm sure that hobbits go somewhere - or at least our spirits do. The body is a bit like a shell or a chrysallis. Remember when you kept some and watched them hatch into butterflies? Well, I think the soul is like a butterfly and it can go wherever it wants. Only the outer shell is buried in the ground, but the soul flies free somewhere. Master Elrond says that Illuvatar, the One, who sang all our lives into being, is bound to have reserved a place for hobbits, as for Elves and Men and Dwarves."

       "Oh! Do you think Mama and Papa have flown somewhere?"

       "Yes, my boy, although I don't think they'll go far from you." He smiled sadly. "The Elves say that everything created by the Valar has a soul - including your little kitten - so why should hobbits be left out?"

       "Butterflies........wilwarin......" Frodo murmured dreamily. "That's right, isn't it, Uncle Bilbo?"

       "You know your Elvish, lad. Yes, that's right, wilwarin is Quenya for butterfly. He looked at the plate and sighed. "Are you sure you won't eat a tiny bit? You must be a little hungry by now."

       "Are you going to eat a sandwich?" Frodo gazed earnestly at Bilbo.

       "Yes, dear boy. I'll have a little sandwich if you'll keep me company." He pushed the plate towards Frodo and the child took one and nibbled. He was very empty after all. By diverting him with stories, Bilbo managed to persuade the child to eat four very small sandwiches and drink some milk, and then he took the small hand in his and led him to see the kittens. As he had hoped, the boy was able to forget his grief a little while he watched the kittens playing together.

       That evening Esme led Frodo to his parents' room. They had spent some time moving his things to the little bedroom off Esme and Saradoc's room. It was to have been Esme's baby's nursery and it contained a cradle and two beds, one for the nursemaid. Esme would sleep there for a night or two until he was settled, which reassured Frodo greatly. Anxious to show how grateful he was, the boy decided he would see his parents and say good-night. He held tight to Esme's hand as they made their way to the west wing and down the corridor. The door was slightly ajar and the lamps flickered dimly. A figure rose from the chair by the bed and held out his arms.

       "It's alright, my lad. Nothing to be afraid of." Bilbo gave the child a hug. His own face bore the signs of strain and tears and Frodo felt comforted that he was not alone in mourning his parents. Esme had tears in her eyes too.

       Primula and Drogo lay side by side on the large bed. Prim's hair had been brushed and dressed with fresh flowers and she looked like a bride with her pretty white dress with embroidered cornflowers on the bodice. Drogo looked smart and clean again, his shirt snowy white in vivid contrast to the rich blue velvet of jacket and trousers. The room was full of flowers, white roses and lillies in vases on the dressing table and chest, and Frodo thought he would remember that smell for the rest of his life. His breath caught a little in pain and shuddered out, but he had no more tears left.

       "Night-night, Mama. Night-night, Papa." He kissed them both on their brows, marvelling at how cold and stiff they were, like those statues Bilbo said stood in Rivendell. It was true, really. They were just shells now. Everything which animated them and made them Primula and Drogo had gone, and yet he was sure he could feel their presence all around.

       Back in his new room, Frodo undressed and climbed into bed. It was quite late but he had shown no inclination to go sooner. He drank his milk and nibbled half-heartedly on a ginger biscuit while Esme turned down the lamps and opened the window a little. She knew he would sleep because she had added a few drops of sleeping draught to his milk, but she sat on the bed and stroked his hair until she was sure he was asleep, face pressed into Mr.Tibbles' soft velvet head. Then she sat by the window and sobbed soundlessly into the night.

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