Author's Note: The first two paragraphs of this chapter are slightly altered from the last two paragraphs of my ficlet, "Belladonna's Gift".)

Chapter 42: A Mother's Work is Finally Done

Highday, 7 Astron, S.R. 1334

On a fine spring day Bilbo entered his mother's room with her morning tea, looking quite smart in the dressing gown she had made him for her last birthday. She was always pleased to see him in it.

It took only one look at the smile on her peaceful face to know that she had left him. Hands trembling, Bilbo set the teacup down on the nearest surface and approached her bed. Tears went unnoticed as he dropped a gentle kiss on top of her head. "Say hello to Papa for me, Mama," he whispered.

He dropped into the chair next to her bed, his head bowed, and wept. He was truly bereft now. The loss of his father had been a dreadful blow, and in this moment he missed him anew, but his mother had been all he had for the last nine years. They had grown so close, and become such good friends and companions. What would he do without her?

And he realised he should have been more prepared for this; for months he had noticed how difficult it had become for her to breathe (much as it had been for his father) and how easily she had tired. But he had ignored what that meant. He had not wanted to admit that he could lose her. She had sometimes tried to talk to him about it, sometimes tried to discuss what to do with this or that thing when she was gone, but he had not wanted to hear it. His heart caught in his throat as he recalled a conversation between his mother and his cousin Dora just a few days ago. Often of late, Belladonna had asked Dora's help with finishing up some of her needlework projects. "Even with my spectacles, my eyes are not what they used to be, and my fingers are not as nimble with the finer details." Dora had been pleased to help her aunt, who had taught her all she knew of needlecraft; it was not something her own mother, Ruby, cared much about. The only sewing Ruby did was the family mending, and she did not knit, crochet or tat.

He had been in the parlour with them reading as they worked on a knitted coverlet together.

"Aunt Bella, we've only this one section to attach, and it will be finished. What should we work on next? We already finished that tablecloth last week, and I don't recall seeing any unfinished smaller projects in your workbasket."

His mother had smiled. "No, my dear, I do believe that with your help I have finished everything I'd left undone. Perhaps you can bring a project of your own the next time you come."

Bilbo had not thought about it then. How blind he'd been not to understand!

How long he sat there he did not know, but he heard a voice at his mother's door. "Mistress Belladonna? Mr. Bilbo?"

It was Mrs. Button. Bilbo had quite forgot about her coming in this morning. He stood up heavily and turned to face her.

She drew back in surprise. "Mr. Bilbo?" Suddenly as she took in his tear-ravaged face, she understood. "Is it the Mistress, then? Did she pass on in the night?"

Bilbo gasped and raised his eyes to her face. "How did you know?"

"She was afraid of something like that, Mr. Bilbo. She spoke of it to me once or twice."

"Oh."

"Mr. Bilbo, does anyone else know yet?" With a gentle tug, she began to draw him away from his mother's door. He resisted, with a glance backwards. "Why don't you come to the kitchen and have a cup of tea. I'll see if Hom is about-he can take messages down to Mr. Fosco in Greenbriars, and to Mistress Sage." Holman Greenhand had taken over as gardener just a few years ago.

Bilbo nodded. He was beginning to come out of his daze; she was right, people needed to know. He took in a deep breath. "Ask him to stop at the Post Office as well; tell them we need two Quick Post riders up at Bag End, one to go to the Great Smials, and one to go to Buckland. I will take my tea in the study."

He entered his study and sat down at his desk, and drew forth a sheet of parchment. Before he could write anything, Mrs. Button came in with a tray, which she placed on the desk near his elbow. "I know as you likely don't have much appetite, Mr. Bilbo, but I brought you some scones and butter to go with your tea. Do try to eat something, sir. You'll be sick if you don't."

"Thank you, Mrs. Button," he said absently. He reached for a scone to mollify her, and when he saw her watching, he took a bite for the same reason. It tasted like ashes. He sipped the tea to wash it down, and then picked up his quill.

"Dear Uncle Isumbras... It was as far as he got. How was it possible to write the words "Your sister, Belladonna, is dead."? He threw the quill down, splattering the parchment, and planted his elbows on the desk and gripped his hair with both hands, grief once more washing over him. He choked down a sob. He had to do this but he could not physically make himself pick up the quill.

There was a tap on the study door and it opened. It was the healer, Mistress Sage. "Mr. Bilbo?"

He looked up at her in confusion; he had not heard anyone at the door. "Mistress Sage? Are you here about Mama?"

"And also about you, Mr. Bilbo. You're too upset to be writing letters; why don't you let me make some nice chamomile and vervaine tea, and then you go have a lie-down?"

"But I must get these ready for the Quick Post. They have to know..."

"We'll take care of that, Bilbo." He looked up to see Cousin Fosco and Drogo and Dora standing at the door. "Now you just do as Mistress Sage says."

"The Thain..." he said, "and Aunt Mirabella and..." his voice trailed off.

"I will do that, Cousin Bilbo," said Dora. Her own eyes were red with weeping, but she spoke calmly enough.

He allowed the healer and Drogo to coax him into his room; Drogo helped him into the bed while Mistress Sage made the promised tea. Drogo sat by him as he drank it down, and remained as he drifted into sleep.

Bilbo wakened in confusion to find it was the middle of the night, and that young Drogo was sitting beside him still, asleep with one hand on his cheek. The sight of his cousin brought the memory of the entire day back to him in a rush: his mother, really and truly gone. Her absence left a gaping hole in his heart.

Drogo startled awake at Bilbo's movement, and Bilbo asked, "What are you doing here, lad?"

"We thought you oughtn't be left alone, Bilbo. Papa had to go home, since our mother's not feeling well, and Dora stayed until Mrs. Button left for the night. She made sure that the letters were sent to Tuckborough and to Buckland, and she also wrote to Cousin Bingo in Overhill, and sent messages to Polo and Longo. Mistress Sage saw to...well, to Aunt Belladonna. She says the funeral must be no later than Trewsday..." Drogo's voice trailed off into a whisper, but to Bilbo he might as well have shouted at the top of his voice: "Your mother's body must be buried!"

Bilbo forced himself not to shout at the lad. He'd only stated what Bilbo already knew. All hobbits knew these practical things, and he had to face it.

The next day brought an invasion of Tooks, who arrived in force: all of Belladonna's surviving siblings and their spouses, and several cousins. Fortinbras came, thankfully leaving Lalia and young Ferumbras at home. Only Siggy and Malva, Aunt Donnamira and Uncle Hugo, and Uncle Isengar and Aunt Citrine stayed at Bag End. The others found rooms with other family connexions, or took rooms at The Ivy Bush or The Green Dragon. Drogo was also remaining at Bag End to be of what help he could for Bilbo. Uncle Bingo and his family were staying at Greenbriars with Fosco's family.

Late the following evening brought the Brandybucks. Only Aunt Mirabella and Uncle Gorbadoc, along with Rory, and their oldest daughter, Amaranth, made the journey, for they did not want to overwhelm Bilbo with the younger ones.

Bilbo was gradually beginning to cope. His relatives, fortunately, did not suffocate him with attention, and most of them had the good manners not to make overzealous displays of their own grief. Bilbo knew they hurt as well, but there was no attempt to impress him with their own sorrow. Thankfully, Uncle Longo had not been to call yet. Bilbo was too grateful for the absence of Sackville-Bagginses to consider the oddness of it.

He was enlightened the morning of the burial. He came into the parlour and overheard a snippet of conversation between Dora and his Took aunts.

"I could not believe my eyes when I got the reply," Dora was saying. "I cannot believe they would be so heartless!"

Donnamira's face was flushed with anger. "It's disgraceful! I cannot think of a poorer excuse!"

Mirabella looked no happier, but she said, "Well, rude and inconsiderate as it may be, I cannot but help being glad we are spared their presence. But poor Bilbo, to be so disrespected!"

Dora gave a start as she noticed Bilbo standing there, and his aunts turned to see him and flushed.

"Who has disrespected me?" he asked mildly, though he had a strong suspicion.

Dora lowered her eyes. "I'd hoped to spare you, Cousin Bilbo, but..." she went over to the desk where a stack of correspondence she had been handling for him and picked up one letter, which she placed in his hand.

"8 Astron
Ashcroft
Hobbiton

Dear Bilbo,

I am so sorry to hear of your mother's passing. Unfortunately, none of us will be able to attend the funeral, as we are to leave for our annual stay in the Southfarthing in a couple of days.

Please accept our condolences. When we return, perhaps the two of us can discuss some Baggins family business, as you will now become the Family Head.

Affectionately,
your uncle,

Longo Sackville-Baggins"

Bilbo's eyebrows climbed up his forehead as he read. This was the barest minimum that courtesy called for, more the sort of letter one might get from a mere acquaintance, rather than from close kin. It was very nearly insulting. He closed his eyes, and took in a deep breath through his nose and let it out very slowly through his mouth. He felt himself flushing, and forced himself to speak as mildly as he could. "I have to say that I must agree with you, Aunt Mira. Considering the display he made at my father's funeral I am quite glad to be spared his company at my mother's." Then he said, "But I will not forget this insult to my mother."

This day atop the Hill was quite different than that day eight years ago. The Sun rode high in her glory and the sky was blue and unclouded. The old oak rooftree was filled with birdsong, and daisies sprinkled the grass. Uncle Isumbras spoke fondly of his little sister, the hoyden who followed her big brothers about, climbing trees and catching frogs; the lively tween who had danced her way into many hearts, but had given her own heart only to one very quiet and seemingly ordinary hobbit. And he spoke of the wisdom of that choice and how two seemingly opposite hobbits had found in one another just what they needed. He spoke of her courage during that dreadful Fell Winter, and of how she had carried on after losing the love of her life. And he told of what a good mother she had been to her only son.

And listening to this tribute to his remarkable mother, Bilbo felt his heart ease. Life would be lonely now, but he knew he'd be able to carry on.