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’By Mahal! What is this racket?’ Thorin growled, pushing the door to the bedchamber open. He had walked from the hall where he had been sitting down for supper after a full day of conference with representatives from the Blue Mountains. Although that had been disturbed by the echoing sound of a child’s crying, coming from further down in the royal quarters of Erebor.
Following the noise he had come upon the scene in front of him now. Fili and Kili were desperately trying to soothe a very agitated, crying and kicking, Hobbit child. Frodo Baggins was howling, face red from exertion and cheeks wet with tears.
‘I’m sorry, Uncle!’ Kili groaned as he looked upon him, ‘We have tried to make him sleep for hours now and he just will not do it.’
‘Have you checked that he is ready for sleeping?’ Thorin inquired, stepping closer to the small Hobbit who was lying on the bed in the room, with Fili sitting next to him and trying to shush him gently, ‘Have you made sure that he is not ill?’
‘He is not,’ Fili answered looking away from the baby, ‘But I believe he is in pain.’
Frodo gave another loud wail as Fili gently tried to make him lie flat, and curled up again, clutching his feet until he lay on the bed sheets, compact as a stone.
‘My word! What it going on here?’
Thorin’s thoughts of calling on Bilbo, Frodo’s caretaker and the one being in the world that seemed to know what Frodo wanted only by glancing at him, was cut short by the arrival of just the very Hobbit. Bilbo all but jogged into the room, looking around with worry in his eyes. Thorin noticed that Frodo quieted a little when he heard Bilbo’s voice, his tiny face turning to search out his uncle’s familiar person. Bilbo approached the bed and Fili jumped out of his way. This time there was no denying; Frodo’s cries died down to heart-breaking sobs. He reached out his two tiny hands towards his uncle, and Bilbo picked him up and cradled him to his body.
‘Hush now, little one. What is the matter?’
Frodo hiccoughed, resting his head against Bilbo’s shoulder and leaving wet marks of tears and snot on his vest and the collar of his shirt. Ah, well, clothes would always wash. Bilbo rubbed the heaving back of his Nephew, feeling how cold he was through his night shirt. Frodo would not be soothed, though, and Bilbo reached down to close his hands over one of his feet. It was quite warm, and Frodo stilled his slight squirming at the touch, going absolutely limp and heavy in his arms.
‘Oh, little one, is it time already?’ Bilbo spoke in a soft voice, giving the foot a squeeze, ‘No wonder you cannot sleep’.
‘What is the matter with him? Bilbo, is he ill?’ Thorin asked, and Bilbo turned around to face him.
‘No, he’s well’ Bilbo said, ‘But I should think he needs some warm blankets and some cuddles for his pains.’
‘I’ll see to the blankets, straight away, Bilbo!’ Kili said, jumping to attention before hurrying out of the chamber. Fili hesitated for a second and then followed his brother, ‘I’ll make sure he does not set them on fire.’
Bilbo looked after them, and then said to Thorin, ‘Close the door, please. There is a draught.’ Thorin did as he asked, and Bilbo took a seat in front of the fire. He heard Thorin move closer, and offered:
‘I’m not going to catch fire. I am well distanced from the flames. Frodo needs the warmth.’
‘Is he not ill, then?’
‘No, simply growing. He is a bit early than I would have expected, but it’s nothing to be alarmed by. Come and sit by me, and I will explain.’
Thorin came closer, but did not venture closer to the fireplace and the crackling flames than the armchair that had been placed in front of it and in which Bilbo enjoyed his books in the evenings. The King sat down in the armchair, and Bilbo did not comment. He was quite aware of Thorin being wary of fire still, even though years had passed since Smaug, the last great dragon of the north, had been destroyed.
‘Here, feel his feet’, Bilbo said, settling Frodo sitting up in his lap, leaning against his belly and chest still, gently squeezing his feet. Thorin hesitated but then reached out, and pulled back as soon as his fingers touched agitated skin.
‘He has a fever, he is ill!’ It made Bilbo smile.
‘No, my Heart, don’t be too quick to draw conclusion. He does not have a fever. His skin is rather cool, except for his feet. They are growing, and that is why he is so upset.’ To emphasise this, Frodo gave a tired, hiccoughing sob. Bilbo squeezed his feet again and then reached out a hand to Thorin.
‘Give me that blanket next to you. I need to wrap him, else he’ll be cold.’
Thorin shifted and took the blanket that was draped over the back of the chair, giving it to Bilbo who quickly swaddled the tiny Hobbit child with it, leaving only his feet sticking out from the folds of the luscious Dale throw.
‘Will you hold him?’ Bilbo asked, and Thorin accepted the child into his lap after a quick discarding of his outer jacket. The blasted coat had been making him feel uncomfortable all day, heavily decked in embroidery and gold, but it was expected of him to wear traditional finery when in conference with Lords or their representatives. He was the King of Erebor, and he needed to present himself as such. Now however, in the deeper dark of night and in front of the warmth of a fire, the coat was dropped onto the floor and promptly forgotten. He had only just accepted the child into his arms when the door opened again and Fili and Kili both returned.
Bilbo got up and accepted the small mound of blankets that the two princes had brought back with them. They were warm, toasty even, and he thanked them profusely, returning to the armchair as he did so. He quickly switched Frodo’s blanket against a warmed one, and now the child’s sobs were muted down to snuffles, though they broke their hearts no less. Bilbo’s heart ached to comfort the little one, and he put a second blanket on the floor before kneeling in front of Thorin and the child.
He reached out and brushed a lock of damp, curly hair from Frodo’s forehead and settled the blanket further around him to make sure he kept warm. Then, he gently freed his feet further from the folds and took hold of one, enclosing it in between his hands and squeezing it, carefully but tightly. Frodo whimpered, but Bilbo could feel him relax and Thorin reacted to this as well.
‘He is still!’
‘Yes, I know,’ Bilbo murmured, quietly as to not startle Frodo into tensing up again, ‘His feet are hurting him.’
‘His feet?’ Thorin asked, and Bilbo nodded.
‘Yes. His feet have started to grow.’ He looked up at the Dwarf, and when he found Thorin looking puzzled he continued, ‘Haven’t you noticed how small his feet are? Hobbits have large feet, and his are yet very small. We are born with small feet, and then they grow. It’s much like teething. It will hurt and itch and be a right bother for a little time.’
‘Can we do anything to help?’ Thorin asked, and Bilbo smiled.
‘We can be here to offer comfort and to rub his feet when it becomes too much for the little one to handle on his own. This is a change he must go through, but we can sooth him and cuddle him while he does. It’s very upsetting for a small Hobbit to feel such discomfort. We are rather used to life being quite pleasant.’
‘Indeed.’ Thorin offered with a smile, and then turned his head to look at his nephews.
‘Fili, Kili, thank you. You may leave. I’m sure young Master Baggins will sleep well now that Bilbo is here to care for him.’
‘Yes, Uncle. Goodnight, Uncle. Bilbo.’
The brothers bowed out of the room. When the door had closed behind them, Thorin turned his gaze to the child in his arms. Frodo was still incredibly small, being just two months past his second birthday. He had already known the child for half a year, ever since Bilbo had rented out his home to a caretaker and travelled to Erebor with his newly adopted nephew.
The lad had been barely waned off of milk when his mother and father had perished, in what had been a terrible accident. The young boy had been left to other relatives, but Bilbo had stepped in and “rescued him”, as he would put it. This declaration was usually followed by a lengthy speech of how unsuitable his other relatives were at looking after young Hobbits. They could not offer Frodo any love, and Bilbo had lots. So he had taken the boy in.
Frodo was settling down, his breath evening out although the occasional snuffle still sounded. Thorin’s chest filled with the need to protect the small Hobbit, and his heart felt light at the feeling of the child leaning heavily against him, full of such trust. Frodo was still small enough that he needed other people to look after him, to offer him love and keep him safe. When Frodo sighed softly and shifted inside his blankets, relaxing further as Bilbo gently rubbed his aching feet, Thorin felt that he would face a hundred dragons, and a hundred of Bilbo’s angry hobbit relatives, to know that this small child was safe and happy.
‘Love is a good look on you,’ Bilbo spoke up, softly. Thorin looked at him, and Bilbo smiled, ‘Why you worry about Frodo not being happy here, I will never know. He is content.’
‘He is a child of green hills and open country, not caves and mountain halls. I worry he will grow up like a weed grown in darkness, pale and brittle.’ Thorin answered, keeping his own voice soft so as not to make the child stir from his relaxed state.
‘Don’t be silly. Frodo is happy. He is loved, well cared for and he loves these halls. I can tell.’
‘Can you?’
Bilbo reached out with one hand and placed it on Thorin’s knee, a movement that made Thorin feel as though he was relaxing and tensing up at the same time. His collar felt awfully tight around his throat as Bilbo smiled at him, his thumb rubbing soothingly against the fabric of Thorin’s trouser leg, ‘Yes, I can tell. He is very happy.’
‘Then I am glad’ Thorin smiled back, shifting a hand from holding Frodo to reaching out and putting it over Bilbo’s instead. Bilbo turned his hand and his fingers closed around Thorin’s briefly, giving them a squeeze before he pulled back again and turned his focus back to rubbing Frodo’s aching feet. Thorin watched them both; Frodo who was gently being lulled to sleep, and Bilbo who was watching his Nephew with soft eyes. His face was a painting of his affection for the child, and Thorin loved him deeply for it. The hobbit noticed him looking, and smiled up at him. His face was in shade, or at least appeared so as the fire was throwing its light against the back of Bilbo’s head and making the edges of his curly hair glow golden. His eyes were wide and dark, such as eyes became when being used to life in the general dark of mountain halls. Thorin smiled back, and Bilbo spoke up, voice still soft and quiet.
‘Will you stay here tonight, with us?’
Thorin nodded, smiling at his Hobbit.
‘Aye, I can do that.’
They settled into silence, and this time, not even the crackling of the flames managed to disturb Thorin. Instead he relaxed into the backrest of the chair watching Bilbo, as Frodo slipped into blessed sleep in his arms.
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