38. Swimming

March 23, 1395

Frodo enjoyed the first few days of his visit far more than he had expected to. Most of his time was spent with Merry and Pippin; he entertained his little cousins with stories and games for hours at a time, much to their mothers' delight. Eglantine Took had even taken Frodo aside the day before and told him that while his willingness to look after Pippin was most welcome, she didn't want him to feel he was under any obligation.

But Frodo truly did not resent the added responsibility. He delighted in playing with little Pippin, who had proven to be a curious and thoughtful child now that the shyness had mostly worn off. Bilbo had said he detected a hint of hero worship in fact, and it was true Pippin had taken to following Frodo wherever he went, thumb in mouth and watching him with adoring green eyes, much to Frodo's consternation and Bilbo's hearty amusement. Merry, on the other hand, was bold and adventurous, and took every opportunity to coax his somewhat bookish older cousin out of his shell.

Now, as when Frodo himself had lived at Brandy Hall, most of the children his or Merry's age were lasses. There were a few lads even younger than Pippin, and then others older than Frodo, many in their thirties like Bolo.

So it seemed natural to Frodo, Merry, and Pippin, and indeed to their associated parents or guardians, that the three lads stick together as much as possible.

Bilbo spent time with Frodo and the other children mainly in the evenings. The old hobbit had asked Frodo the previous day if he would like to go on a day-long excursion while they were in Buckland. The idea had sounded intriguing, but Frodo had been shocked to find out that Bilbo's desired destination was the hole where Frodo had lived with his parents until he was twelve.

That was the last place Frodo wanted to go. He had shuddered at the thought at answered Bilbo evasively. Somewhere along the line, Bilbo had seized on the idea that Frodo ought to learn more about his parents and come to terms with his tragic loss early in life. Frodo thought this was a terrible idea, but every so often, Bilbo would make some not-terribly-subtle attempt to engage Frodo on the topic. On this particular occasion, as on others, Frodo had politely declined but promised to think on it. He didn't want to hurt the old hobbit's feelings, after all.

But Frodo did not want to learn more about his parents. More to the point, he did not want to learn more about the circumstances of their deaths. And he certainly did not want to dwell on what he had lost and could never have again.

Frodo supposed Bilbo had thought the visit to Buckland, where Frodo had been raised, would be an excellent opportunity to 'deal with the past' as he sometimes put it. That very possibility had terrified Frodo, but he was glad he’d come anyway, to visit Merry and Pippin if nothing else.

Frodo saw Merry turn around to look at him, and he tried to shake off his strange mood.

"Come on, Frodo!" Merry exclaimed. "Goodness, I didn't know tweenagers were so slow! Are your old bones sore today, cousin?"

Frodo laughed and broke into a run, chasing Merry up the hill. "Stand still and say that again!" he shouted.

Merry giggled and danced out of reach, but Frodo managed to get close enough to tickle him and then the battle was lost.

"I'll teach you some respect for your elders, Meriadoc!" Frodo threatened.

Merry collapsed on the grass, laughing hysterically between gasps for air. Frodo continued to tickle him mercilessly until Pippin caught up and stopped beside them, peering down at Merry with interest.

"Can I try, Frodo?" Pippin asked eagerly.

Merry started to laugh again even though no one was touching him, but Frodo managed to keep his countenance in the face of Pippin's comically earnest expression.

"Of course, Pippin," Frodo said generously, and motioned the little boy to go ahead.

"Like this, Frodo?" Pippin started to scratch at Merry's ribs in an imitation of what he had seen Frodo doing.

"Do it lighter, Pippin-lad," Frodo corrected. "Merry's laughing but it's only because he thinks you're funny, and we can't have that!"

Soon they had Pippin tickling like an expert, but Merry could only stand so much. The afternoon was unusually warm and Merry couldn't bear to lie there with the bright sun beating down on him. He rolled himself down a gentle incline and came to rest in the shade of a tree on the far side of the hill, overlooking the Brandywine.

"Oh, let's go swimming, Frodo!" Merry exclaimed, looking down at the cool river longingly.

Frodo sat up, startled by the suggestion. He and Pippin joined Merry in the shade and Frodo looked down at the river. He could see a few children already in the water, enjoying the warm weather.

Frodo swallowed before answering. He hadn't swum at all since moving to Hobbiton, and he had always avoided the Brandywine while living at Brandy Hall. Not that that had been difficult; the other children had rarely invited him.

"Can you swim, Frodo?" Merry pressed.

"Yes—" Of course he could swim. No child grew up in the vicinity of Buckland without learning. Their comfort with the water was one of the reasons other hobbits considered Bucklanders odd.

Frodo stared at the river uncomfortably.

July 1378

Drogo reached around Primula and grabbed a freshly washed carrot.

"Stop that!" Primula scolded, slapping her husband's hand away.

Drogo merely snatched another carrot with his other hand and kissed is wife quickly on the cheek.

Primula sighed in exasperation and bit her lip to keep from laughing. "Let's see you make jokes when you have a stew with no carrots put before you at supper," she finally retorted, and turned back to her chopping.

"Oh, nonsense, Prim," Drogo replied. "You have another ten here at least! We'll never miss these two little ones." And with that, Drogo pulled his upper lip away from his teeth and placed both carrots against his gums, making a dreadful face at Primula.

"My, what long teeth you have, my dear," Primula commented, her azure eyes dancing.

A childish giggle erupted from somewhere near Primula's feet, and she looked down in surprise. "Frodo, darling, why are you always underfoot?" she asked rhetorically, stooping to lift the young child into her arms.

"I'm hungry, Mama," Frodo said, resting his dark curly head on Primula's shoulder.

"Well, let's hope your father isn't planning to let those carrots go to waste," she said, kissing Frodo's plump cheek and making him giggle again.

Drogo quickly removed the carrots from his mouth as they started to slip. "I wouldn't dream of it, my dear," he proclaimed, taking an enormous bite out of each one. He then held them out to his small son. Frodo eagerly took as big a bite as he could manage from each carrot, without letting go of his mother's neck.

Now there was only one bite of each carrot remaining, and Drogo fed both of these to Primula.

"Now then," Primula said. "You'd better take Frodo outside for a spell. I'll never get this supper started with you two lurking underfoot!"

Drogo and Frodo turned to regard her with identically innocent expressions.

"Away with you!" Primula exclaimed, rolling her eyes. She set Frodo down and swatted at her husband with a handy cloth.

"Very well, my dear," Drogo said gallantly, as though he had not just been swatted on the rear end with a dish towel. "Come along, Frodo-lad, we'll go check on the boat and make certain it's still there!"

"Yes, Papa!" Frodo said eagerly. He followed his father out the door, automatically clasping the two fingers Drogo extended.

"Frodo, bring your Papa back here in an hour, no later," Primula called after them.

"Yes, Mama!" Frodo giggled. That was silly, of course; Papa would keep track of the time. Frodo was notoriously terrible at such things. He skipped along happily beside his father; he liked looking at the boat. Drogo had been working on it as long as he could remember, which, admittedly, wasn't very long.

They walked down from their isolated hole on the outskirts of Crickhollow to the water's edge. They lived far from the main road, but quite close to the river which Primula had loved from childhood. The Brandywine ran slow and broad here, and little pools branched off here and there that hardly moved at all. There was a shallow one very close to where their boat was beached, in fact. Frodo was allowed to wade in up to his knees and try to catch frogs.

"There she is, Frodo-lad," Drogo said as they came up to the boat.

Frodo gazed at the vessel appreciatively. Drogo was still working on the inside parts, but the outside was finished now. The hull had been painted a cheerful yellow the previous spring.

"How come boats are always lasses, Papa?" Frodo asked, tugging on Drogo's fingers.

Drogo smiled, and his brown eyes sparkled as they always did when he was happy. "Because lasses are beautiful and we love them," he said finally, as though that ought to be enough explanation to suit anybody.

"Oh." Frodo stared at the letters on the side near him. He couldn't read yet, but he knew they spelled 'Primula,' his mother's name.

"Can I go wading?" Frodo asked after running his small hands over the paintwork for awhile. He gazed longingly at his favourite frog-catching pond, for the day was uncomfortably warm and Frodo's feet were so dreadfully hot on the sandy riverbed.

Drogo looked down at the little hobbit beside him, and smiled again. "Whyever not?" he said cheerfully, reaching over to ruffle Frodo's dark curls, so like his mother's. "We've lots of time yet."

Frodo ran over to the big rock among the reeds and sat down to roll up his trouser legs.

Drogo settled beside him and watched his son's industrious efforts with quiet amusement. "How old are you, Frodo-lad?" he asked when the child had one side rolled up to his satisfaction and was beginning on the other.

"Nine, Papa," Frodo said, looking up at his father. Drogo took a peculiar enjoyment in asking questions to which he already knew the answer.

"Nine!" exclaimed Drogo in mock surprise. "So old already? And here I thought you were only six!"

"I am not six," Frodo huffed indignantly. He finished with the other trouser leg and stood up.

Drogo threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, my dear Frodo, you are such a funny little thing. How I look forward to seeing what sort of hobbit you'll grow to become!"

Frodo glanced up at his father. That didn't make sense at all, but Frodo was used to adults saying things that didn't make sense. He shrugged it off and stepped into the water, enjoying the feel of the soft, cool river mud between his toes.

Frodo soon forgot about his father watching him from the big rock. He crept around quietly, trying to disturb the water around his ankles as little as possible so he would have a chance of sneaking up on an unsuspecting frog.

Soon he spied one, croaking innocently on a log a few yards away. His hands itched to catch it and touch that strange-feeling skin, and put that perfectly-formed little green creature into his pocket and show it to Mama. Frodo moved towards it, as stealthy as the elves in the stories Uncle Bilbo liked to tell him.

Closer now; Frodo was only a few feet away. The water was up to his knees, much to Frodo's annoyance. He lifted up on his tiptoes a little to keep his trousers dry.

Almost there; now the water was lapping at the bottoms of his trousers. Frodo frowned. He knew he was only allowed up to his knees, but he wanted to catch that frog! The child took another step, rising up further on his toes to keep the surface of the water at his knees.

"Frodo-lad, you're in too far!" Drogo called just then. "Come on back a ways, son!"

"Aww," Frodo said in disappointment. The frog had been startled by his father's voice and was nowhere to be seen. "You scared him off, Papa!" he protested, starting to turn around.

Drogo only laughed, unaffected by the small boy's reproach. "I'd rather lose a frog than risk your mother's wrath should you get your clothes wet, lad."

"All right," Frodo sighed in resignation. He tried to turn back to his father and still keep his trousers out of the water, but staying on his toes made him lose his balance. With a yelp of dismay, Frodo tumbled forward into the water. He cried out just as his face broke the surface and ended up struggling to get back on his feet, crying at the stinging feeling of water in his nose.

Before Frodo knew what was happening, he was being hauled swiftly to his feet by two large hands under his arms.

"Frodo-lad, are you hurt?" Drogo was peering into his face with concern.

Frodo coughed and cried some more. He didn't like the water in his nose and throat at all. Drogo patted him on the back and steered him back toward shallow water. Frodo noticed with surprise that when not standing on his toes, the water here came almost to his hips.

Drogo's trousers were soaked; he had crossed over to Frodo in three quick strides as soon as he saw the child start to lose his balance. Frodo felt bad that his father had gone into the water without rolling up his trousers; now Mama would be annoyed with both of them.

"Just sit down and rest for a minute, son," Drogo said, lifting him onto the large rock. "You'll feel better in a minute. Never had water up your nose before, eh?"

Frodo shook his head miserably.

"All right, all right," Drogo said, rubbing Frodo's back soothingly. "Tell you what. We still have over half an hour; let's get you out of those wet clothes. We'll lay them here on the rock and I'll bet they'll be dry as toast by supper time."

Frodo sniffled and nodded, allowing his father to help him out of his sodden trousers and shirt. Drogo removed his own wet trousers as well, and they sat down on the ground in the patchy shade of a willow tree; Drogo in his underclothes and Frodo naked.

They sat in companionable silence for awhile, and Frodo's frightening experience in the pond started to fade from his thoughts. He could hear the babbling of the Brandywine nearby, and a breeze rustled the leaves over his head gently, as well as the surface of the pond reflecting the cloudless blue sky.

"Have I ever promised to teach you to swim, Frodo-lad?" Drogo asked presently.

"Ye-es," Frodo replied. There was Papa's strange habit of asking things he already knew. His father liked to pretend to be surprised by Frodo's answers, but Frodo was far too clever to fall for his father's jokes anymore and always saw right through the jest. "You said you'd teach me next summer, Papa," he said pointedly.

"I did?" Drogo exclaimed. "Are you certain? Because I could have sworn I said I wouldn't teach you till you were at least thirty-three years old!"

Frodo laughed in spite of himself. He hadn't even flinched at the suggestion that Drogo would make him wait that long. He had his father all figured out. Frodo smirked to himself, feeling pleased, but he stopped abruptly at his father's next words.

"How would you like to try right now, son?" Drogo asked softly, his voice no longer jesting.

Frodo was first shocked by the suggestion, then delighted. He wanted to swim like Mama and Papa, and the older boys at Brandy Hall that he sometimes saw when he visited. But Frodo hesitated; he didn't want his head to go under the water again.

"Will—will my head get wet, Papa?" Frodo asked hesitantly.

"The water is nothing to fear, Frodo-lad, not if you know how to be safe and comfortable in it," Drogo said seriously. "And I want you to be safe. I learned when I was much older than you, you know, but I didn't grow up near the river."

Frodo nodded thoughtfully. Mama had told him once that Papa used to be a terrible swimmer, but he'd become more skilled in order to impress her, a Brandybuck with river water in her veins. Frodo hadn't understood, but the remark had made Papa laugh.

"Tell you what, let's get back in there and we'll do as much as you're comfortable with," Drogo said, seeing Frodo's continued uncertainty.

"You won't let me fall in again, will you?" Frodo asked, remembering that awful stinging feeling in his nose.

"I'll never let you fall in, Frodo, not while I still have life in my body," Drogo said seriously. "That I promise you." And Frodo believed him.

Soon they were both standing in a deeper part of the pond; the water came up to Frodo's chest and Drogo's trailing shirttails. Drogo first wanted Frodo to close his eyes, pinch his nose closed, and dunk his face in the water. Frodo was frightened, so Drogo did it first. He put his face down and blew bubbles furiously until Frodo laughed.

Then Frodo tried it. He nearly panicked when he felt the water flow across his closed eyes and nose, but his father's strong hands on his shoulders reassured him, and the urge to inhale passed. The water felt cool and tingly on his face; different from bathwater. Frodo blew bubbles too, and they tickled his pointed ears when they popped on the surface of the pond. When he ran out of bubbles to blow, he lifted his face and Drogo wiped his eyes gently with the cuff of his shirt.

"How was that, lad?" Drogo asked quietly.

Frodo considered. "That was all right," he said.

"Now try going straight down until your ears are under," Drogo said.

"All right, Papa," Frodo said after a moment. He got water in his ears all the time when Mama bathed him, so he didn't think this would hurt. "Will you hold me up?" he asked just in case.

"Of course," Drogo said, smiling, and adjusted his hands so they were supporting Frodo under the arms.

Frodo bent his knees and lowered himself in the water. First his chin was under, then his mouth. He tipped his head back so his nose would stay out, and Drogo slipped his hands behind Frodo's back a little, so Frodo didn't have to hold himself up. The water was warm around his body, but cooler than the hot air. It tingled pleasantly on his scalp as it soaked through his hair. Frodo paused before continuing; he had to remind himself to breathe trough his nose.

Finally his ears were under, and Frodo's eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't expected to be able to hear underwater, but all sorts of sounds were reaching his ears. He could hear the slow movement of the water as it entered through the inlet and emptied back into the Brandywine. He could hear the splashing of something small over by the log. His frog, perhaps? And he could hear Drogo's hands as he readjusted their positions on Frodo's back. Everything sounded so quiet; muffled and peaceful somehow. Frodo felt very relaxed, looking up at his father's smiling face and watching his chestnut-coloured hair moving in the slight breeze.

Drogo eventually lifted him up. "Want to try your whole head, Frodo-lad?" he asked.

"My whole head?" Frodo repeated dubiously. He didn't like the sound of that at all, and was about to tell his father he was too frightened. But Drogo's strong hands were still firmly holding Frodo's upper arms, and Frodo trusted him completely.

Frodo nodded finally, and Drogo smiled widely. "Whenever you're ready, lad," he said. "Don't forget to pinch your nose."

Frodo didn't need to ask this time if Drogo would hold on. Slowly he sank down again, took a deep breath and pinched his nose shut. His chin, mouth, and ears went under, and then Frodo leaned back in his father's arms. His nose was underwater, and then his eyes. He had forgotten to close his eyes! But it was all right; the water didn't hurt. Frodo looked up at his father in wonder, through a thin layer of clear water. He saw Drogo's face register surprise when he realized Frodo's eyes were still open, then he smiled. Frodo smiled too.

Everything looked different through water; his whole head was under now, and the whole world was water. Papa, the trees, and even the sky looked like they were rippling. He could feel currents in the water as Drogo's feet shifted on the pond's bottom. Frodo lowered himself a little more. He slowly blew bubbles out his mouth and watched them float up and break the surface just over his face.

When he shifted slightly to straighten up, Drogo immediately lifted him into a standing position. Frodo gasped as he broke the surface. He blinked water from his eyes and tried to readjust to the world of dry air and hot sun.

He looked at Drogo, eyes shining. "I want to try it again, Papa!" he said.

Drogo laughed in delight. "Of course you do, son—you have Brandybuck blood in your veins!"

This time Frodo went face down, with Drogo holding him around the chest and helping him lean forward. Frodo stared in fascination at his legs, which were tinted green and curiously foreshortened under the water. He saw plants swaying gently in the currents, just like plants on land swayed in the breeze. It was another world entirely under here. Frodo was startled and delighted when a school of tiny fish burst from beneath a tangle of grasses and went darting along the sandy pond bottom.

Frodo soon ran out of breath and stood up. He and Drogo regarded each other with shared delight. Frodo knew he would have to do this again, and eventually his feet would leave the bottom and Papa would teach him to kick his legs and move through the water like one of those fish, like the older Brandybuck children down at Brandy Hall.

They heard a throat being cleared and turned around. Primula was standing beside the big rock where their clothes were spread out to dry.

"You're late," she said as they sloshed through the water towards her, but she was smiling, and Frodo knew she wasn't upset. She had a scratchy green towel with her, and she had kissed Frodo and wrapped him in it before the air could chill his wet skin.

"He's a natural, Prim," Drogo told her, beaming as he started to gather up their clothes from the rock.

Primula just smiled radiantly back at her husband, and their hands touched lightly.

Frodo swallowed thickly and looked away from the river. He had loved being in the water from that day forward, and had loved swimming more and more as his parents taught him the basics over the course of that summer and the next one. He had become fairly skilled for a child his age by the spring of 1380.

Frodo looked at Merry and Pippin, both watching him uncertainly. He had been quiet for far too long, he realized. He knew Merry looked up to him and he hated the thought of the younger lad finding out what a coward his admired cousin really was, but he knew he could not go swimming. Not now, perhaps not ever. Frodo was casting about for some excuse when his eyes fell on Pippin.

"Merry, is Pippin allowed in the water yet?" Frodo asked severely, turning his attention back to Merry.

Merry shook his head, dismayed. "I forgot," he said. "Pippin's too young."

"I have another idea," Frodo said, hoping he didn't sound too relieved. He knew Merry wouldn't suggest taking Pippin back to his mother and going by themselves. "How about we visit the stables? A ride on Mabelle might be nice."

This plan was met with approval, especially by Pippin, who loved the ponies. They set off for the stables, with Frodo privately hoping the weather wouldn't be warm enough for swimming again for the duration of his visit.