Chapter 39. Bedtime Story

That evening, after Belladonna had tucked Bilbo up in his bed, and Bungo had blessed his beloved son with his best wishes for "sound sleep and pleasant dreams", and Bilbo had turned over and punched up his pillow into maximum plumpness and put his head down on it again, the tween felt a weight settle on his bed. In fact, this unusual happening startled him out of gently descending sleep.

'Huh? What?' he said, rolling over and sitting up, blinking in the dim light of the watchlamp by the door.

The shadowy figure sitting on the bed spoke, revealing itself to be his Uncle Isengar. 'I'm that sorry, lad, I didn't mean to wake you.'

'I wasn't asleep,' Bilbo said, telling a half-truth. Or perhaps it was truth, for he had been half-asleep.

'Your parents didn't want me to speak to you of this, but I convinced them that it was your right, as well as mine...'

Bilbo fisted sleepiness out of his eyes and sat up straighter, staring at his uncle. Quite suddenly, he felt himself completely awake and aware, and he voiced his answering thought to his uncle with clarity and deliberation. 'Of what, Isen? What did my parents think it best not to tell me?' Some instinct prompted him to address his uncle as one adult to another though he was admittedly only a tween, and a very young tween at that.

By the light of the watchlamp, he saw Isen smile. And then the uncle said, 'No moss growing in your mind, as I told your parents...'

Though he was no traveller at this point in his young life, Bilbo understood the compliment. He was used to applying his brain rather than idly drifting or stumbling through the days as typical dreamy or "empty-headed" tweens were wont to do, thus figuratively letting moss and weeds overgrow the pathways their thoughts might otherwise take. 

Instead of speaking, he merely nodded. And waited.

Isen remained silent for some moments before saying, 'Why don't you lie yourself down, lad?'

'No.'

Bilbo saw his uncle shake his head, and then the older hobbit spoke again in a firmer tone. 'Lie thasel' doon, now, laddie, for I've a bedtime tale to be a-tellin' thae.'

His uncle's deliberate use of a back-country lilt, heard more commonly in the remoter parts of the high Green Hill country, disarmed the tween, who eased himself back down and lay, wide-eyed, staring at his uncle. What did Isen want?

As if he read the question in Bilbo's eyes, Isengar said, 'I came to tell you a bedtime story, lad. We'll have little enough time together from here on out...'

Bilbo nodded but did not speak. Isen sighed and seemed to settle deeper on the bed.

And then he began to speak. 'I was only a year older than you are now when my father called me into his study and told me what I would be doing for the rest of my life.' Isen drew a deep breath. 'I don't know if you can imagine such a thing at one-and-twenty; I was two-and-twenty, and I could barely fathom the idea.'

'I can't imagine,' Bilbo said low, adding, 'only I can, somehow, though I don't want to.' He didn't want to imagine Bungo saying such a thing to him, and yet it was the way of the world for so many tweens, as he knew. 

In some of the great families, childhood was cherished and guarded, extending well into the early tween years, and tweens in those families were encouraged to explore their interests and talents as a matter of course before assuming the burdens and responsibilities of adulthood. The expectation was that they would thus be encouraged to carry their talents and interests forward into adulthood and throughout all the years of their lives, adding richness and meaning and depth to every experience. Even in the case of common hobbits, tweens were typically not apprenticed to a master until they had reached the age of five-and-twenty despite Shire legalities and tradition that allowed a youngster within the boundaries of the land to be legally apprenticed upon turning twenty years of age.

But the Tooks, foremost amongst the great families in the Shire, were much too pragmatic to entertain such a whimsical approach. Though it might have been their strength, it was also a weakness, or so Bilbo had heard his Baggins grandfather declare some years earlier while eavesdropping on his adult relations as they discussed childrearing during a lull in the festivities of a wedding celebration.

For perhaps the first time, Bilbo thought about how lucky he was to have been born a Baggins and not a Took. His growing understanding now revealed to him that he'd only seen life amongst the Tooks during holidays and festive occasions, up to this point. He'd only ever seen his cousins in the midst of fun and frolic, making him envy those who were privileged to enjoy life in the Great Smials, compared to his own quiet ("dull as ditchwater") life on the Hill and in Hobbiton. Now, it seemed to him, he was catching a glimpse of something that had been hidden from him until this very moment in time.

But Isen was speaking, and Bilbo settled his churning thoughts to listen and understand to the best of his ripening ability.

Over the next few hours, Isen told his story. Bilbo had heard bits and pieces, in small chunks of individual tales told for amusement or to convey a lesson to a listening nephew, but never before had he heard the whole of it, all together, from beginning to end. For the first time, he heard how Isengar had gone to Belladonna, upset and confused – and he heard of his grandfa's cruelty born of anger and fear for his missing son, along with his daughter's betrayal of her family, in general, if not her brother, in particular, revealing a side of the Old Took he'd never actually known before. For Bella had honoured her younger brother's trust, and ultimately been exiled for holding her tongue. And even though Bella's had been a different kind of exile than that which Isen had voluntarily chosen, her young son had the feeling that neither would have chosen differently, given the opportunity.

The story went on. As Isen described his perilous trek through the wild Green Hill country and on into the West Farthing and then beyond the borders of every map in the Shire, all the way to the Sea, Bilbo toyed with the idea of making such a journey himself, adventurous though it might be, but quickly discarded any such thought. He almost reconsidered on hearing Isen's description of seeing the restless Sea...

The tween was vaguely interested in Isen's description of shipboard life. It had no real relevance to his experience and thus had the long-ago-and-far-away quality found in storybooks; besides, sleep was creeping over him as the night grew deeper.

Occasionally, his uncle would pause, and Bilbo would nod to show he was still awake and listening, and then Isen would go on.

Indeed, Bilbo only realised he'd slipped into a doze when his uncle stopped speaking, and the pause continued longer than any of Isen's previous pauses for thought, which had the effect of bringing the tween fully awake again. But something prompted him to remain motionless, eyes closed and breathing deeply, now feigning sleep though he wasn't sure why he should do so. It felt rather... duplicitous, he decided was the word he wanted. His parents had raised him to be better than that. And yet...

At last, Isen spoke again. 'Are ye asleep, lad?'

Bilbo thought privately about the impossibility of answering that question. Someone sleeping would hardly answer "Yes"! And someone wakeful could not do aught but truthfully answer "No". So he held his peace and waited.

Isen sighed. 'And so we come to the end of my story at last,' he said. 'For the Old Took, in his infinite mercy, has decreed that I am to live out my life in the Tookland – completing his plan for me that I interrupted, which is only right...'

Not right, Bilbo thought resentfully, and he almost sat up and said so, except that Isen wasn't finished.

'...but he has also seen the wisdom of my oldest brother's counsel, that I not take up residence in the Great Smials again, for though he saw and appreciated the effort I have made over Yuletide, he also saw how much it cost me – imagine! That Grim should be perceptive enough to see past the end of his nose! ...but then, perhaps my eldest brother has grown over the years, even as I have...'

Bilbo waited to see where his uncle's thoughts were taking them, for it seemed to him that Isen had deliberately lulled him to sleep in order to tell him the rest of the story, curious as such a course of action might be.

'And so I will be leaving the Smials, very early in the morning so as to minimise speculation and talk. But your father, blessed Bungo, has secured the Thain's permission to accompany me, to see my new situation. And I have every confidence that if he finds my destiny wanting, he will take up my case with the Old Took regardless of the consequences for his beloved wife, your mother.

'But I cannot allow my dear Bella to suffer banishment and exile again, for my sake, Bilbo – I cannot! And I will not.

'And so, what ever happens,' Isen concluded, so quietly that Bilbo had to strain to hear him, 'it will be for the good of my sister, if not myself.' A little louder, he added, 'What I mean to say is, I will make the best of it, and it will be for the best! I only need to convince Bungo of the truth of the matter.'

He stopped talking and smoothed the covers over his nephew, even as Bilbo was thinking, The truth of the matter? But what if it's not the truth! Would you break my mother's heart all over again by giving over all your own desires, and suffering for her?

The tween shut his eyelids as tightly as he could to stop his tears from escaping, and he concentrated on drawing smooth, even breaths so as not to distress Isen with his grief. He felt and heard Isen shift on the bed, leaning closer, and then the ghost of a kiss brushed his forehead before the uncle rose, whispered a blessing, and left the room.

But Bilbo lay awake a long time after.

*** 

The young Baggins arose earlier than his usual time, only to find his mother still asleep and his father and uncle already gone. Isen had likely said his farewells to Bella the previous night after tucking Bilbo in, to avoid any distressing scene in the morning, the tween was sure, in part to prevent the talk and speculation his uncle had mentioned earlier.

Though the fire in the sitting room had been sparked to life and was crackling cheerily on the hearth, the room remained chilly enough that Bilbo had hopes that Bungo and Isen were not long gone. They hadn't breakfasted, he thought, for there was no food keeping warm on the sideboard and no sign of a cosied teapot or used cups and saucers and plates, piled on a trolley and awaiting Bilbo's and Belladonna's contributions before being left outside the door to the guest suite for collection. If the hobbits had breakfasted, it would have been elsewhere.

The Great Room? Too public, Bilbo decided. Probably in the Thain's apartments, to allow Grandfa and Grandmama to say their farewells.

He pushed down resentment that he'd been "spared" the agony of farewelling his uncle, probably because of his tender youth, he thought. I'm tougher than they think!

It behoved him to be cleverer, as well.

And so, after he returned to his room to dress in his warmest clothing, as he passed through the sitting room, he filled his pockets with polished apples from the shining silver bowl on the table, always available between meals in case hunger should strike. In the entryway, he donned his coat and hat and then threw a heavy woollen cloak and hood over all, then tied a muffler around his neck and, lastly, put on two pairs of mittens from the basket standing on a small table by the door. 

He might, just might, resemble a working hobbit on his way to one of the outbuildings and, thus, garner little attention from passers-by. At least, that was his intent.

A glance at the dwarf-made clock on the mantel led him to conclude that he'd not find them in the Thain's apartments, for old Gerontius would be heading to his study about this time to begin the business of the day. If Bungo and Isengar had breakfasted there, breakfast would have already concluded by now.

Thus, Bilbo decided he'd check the stables first to see if his father and uncle were riding ponies to their destination, where ever it might be. If it were not too far from Tuckborough, they might choose to walk instead. The snow on the ground now loomed as a blessing, for he had hopes of finding their trail and following them, especially since it had been snowing last night when he'd gone to bed. Hopefully it was early enough that there wouldn't be too many tracks in the snow to try and choose from. 

***