Chapter Text
The air is comfortably warm and Bilbo takes a deep breath. He longs for his pipe but it is inside on the mantle, untouched since he realized he was pregnant. It would be safe outside to smoke, his smoke rings rising upwards, away from Frodo who lay swaddled in his blankets and basket at his feet. He didn’t move though; content to watch the stars and lights of the surrounding houses.
The stars overhead are different than the ones that he’d watched over Erebor, sitting outside with Thorin and the others after Smaug had been defeated. It seemed like days they’d camped outside, the dragon stench overpowering, making it impossible to stay inside for long. Kíli and Fíli had told him outrageous stories about the stars, stories that had had the entire company laughing and even Thorin had cracked a smile at his nephews’ antics.
That had been before he’d realized he was pregnant with the child of the newly crowned King under the Mountain, when the thought of staying at Erebor had been a good one. Until he’d woken up, nauseous, day after day, waving away Thorin’s palpable concern.
When he’d been forced to say goodbye to the Dwarves he’d come to see as family, and the one he’d fallen in love with it had felt like he would never make it beyond Erebor's front gate but he'd forced himself out, barely resisting the urge to look back. Thorin had just reclaimed his mountain and he didn’t need a half-breed child running wild in the halls to get in the way of a marriage that would secure the line of Durin beyond just Fíli and Kíli.
Frodo mewls, breaking him from his reverie. Leaning down he smiles at his son. “Time for dinner I think.”
Scooping up the small bundle Bilbo retreats inside, locking the door as he does so. He settles Frodo into a sling across his chest before heading out through the side door to the small garden and more recently the small pen with a sweet nanny goat and her kid. Picking up the pail from the small chest outside the door he enters the pen, scratching the goat’s ear as she presses close.
The kid is asleep, a brown and white spot of fluff in the straw. Setting down the stool Bilbo carefully moves the sling to his back before sitting down, hands going to the goat’s teats. This isn’t something he ever thought he’d be doing, milking a goat with his child across his back. But then, ever since Gandalf showed up on his doorstep that one day over a year ago, his life hasn’t been the same.
No other Hobbit has faced trolls and giant spiders, goblins and dragons, or spent long days and weeks in the company of Dwarves, helping them reclaim their home. And no other has fallen in love with a Dwarven prince and born his son.
Once the pail is full Bilbo scratches at the nanny’s ears and she bleats before settling in the hay near her kid.
Frodo is fussing against his back and Bilbo carefully fills one of the delicate glass bottles Gandalf had brought him from Rivendell not long after he’d returned to the Shire. He fastens the nipple over the top and moves to the dining room. He perches on the stool, the same one Thorin had once sat on as they had discussed Erebor and brings Frodo around to his chest.
A plump hand waves at him and Frodo’s face is scrunched up and red, like he can’t decide if he wants to cry or not. He gently eases the nipple between tiny lips and Frodo immediately relaxes, drawing on the bottle with great gusto. Closing his eyes he relaxes, the sound of Frodo’s sucking echoing through Bag End.
Once Frodo finishes Bilbo changes him and carries him to his room, settling him in the crib near the head of his bed. It was a beautiful thing, dark wood carved with plants and animals along the railings and legs, a gift from his family. With the rumour of fairy blood on the Took side of the family no one had looked askance when he’d returned home, belly swollen and when Frodo had been born, there had been nothing but support.
The Sackville-Baggins had been blissfully absent except for one appearance, when they’d tried to get a peek at Frodo only to be chased off. The local goodwives have taken them under their wings, popping in and out to drop off food and run errands for him, sharing their experiences with their own children and Bilbo loves it all.
A day never passes that he doesn’t miss the Dwarves but at the same time he would never trade what he has now for anything.
With Frodo asleep Bilbo returns to the kitchen for a last cup of tea and a small seedcake. Sitting in the kitchen he sips at his tea and can’t help but smile at the cake on the plate in front of him. Short of the fire behind him it’s a beautiful night just like the one the Dwarves had invaded his home and turned his life upside down and now he can’t eat the cakes without thinking about Dwalin.
Washing the plate and cup Bilbo sets them next to the sink on the towel to dry. Banking the fire for the night he blew out the single taper on the table, making note to pick up several more when he goes to the market in the morning. He pads back to his bedroom and quickly changes into his nightshirt before slipping under the sheet and light blanket.
Bilbo tucks an arm under his pillow and closes his eyes.
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By some miracle Bilbo wakes naturally, rather than by Frodo’s crying. Rubbing at his eyes he slides from the bed and crosses to the crib. Frodo is awake but staring at the ceiling and his fist is shiny with saliva from where’s he’s been chewing on it. He smiles and scoops him up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Must be time for breakfast, if you’re snacking on your fingers.”
Frodo burbles and presses his sticky hand to Bilbo’s cheek. Bilbo smiles and captures the tiny hand in his, keeping hold of it.
It doesn’t take long to go through their morning routine, Bilbo getting Frodo fed and changed with a minimum amount of fuss. It takes a little longer for him to get ready as he has to keep an eye on Frodo who keeps making attempts to get out of his crib.
With Frodo in a sling across his back Bilbo steps out of Bag End. It’s already warm despite the earliness of the morning and Bilbo’s glad he’s not putting off going to the market until later like he usually would. He feels fingers pluck at the edge of his waistcoat and he reaches back to gently jiggle Frodo’s foot through the fabric. Frodo giggles and Bilbo smiles as he makes his way out of the gate and down the path towards the market.
His shopping list is relatively short for a change. He needs more candles and a fish and if he can find something appropriate, another toy for Frodo. There have been times he’s thought about sending a letter to Erebor, to Bofur for one of the animated toys he’d heard so much about on their adventure but there was no way without arousing the Dwarf’s curiosity and it was better to not reopen any wounds caused by his leaving.
“How’s the wee thing doing this fine morning?”
Bilbo stops, turning towards Arabella Bumblefoot. She’s smiling brightly from beneath the brim of her straw hat, a basket of produce hanging from the crook of her arm. Her apron is already stained with berry juice from her latest baking project and Bilbo smiles. “Awake and quiet, which is a miracle.”
She comes closer and gently pulls down the edge of the sling to look at Frodo who gets an arm free and reaches for the pink ribbons dangling from Arabella’s hat. She twitches the ribbons from his reach and touches her fingers to his downy cheek. “Such a sweet lad. I better be gettin’ home before Harrier thinks about getting into my tarts but I’ll bring one by for you tomorrow morning. And something for Frodo.”
Bilbo nods as Arabella moves past him and he settles an arm under Frodo, supporting him better as he squirms. The rest of the walk to the market is quiet as most respectable Hobbits are still having breakfast and Bilbo smiles at the thought. He hasn’t been respectable since he ran out of Bag’s End over a year ago.
The market is equally quiet and Bilbo takes his time looking at the various stalls, the books and other little odds and ends along with the stalls dedicated to food. It doesn’t take long for him to find a fish he likes, fresh from the river and he smiles as the young buck wraps it in paper before handing it over with a smile. He lingers at the candle stall, checking lengths and scents, under the careful watch of the matron minding the stall. In the end he gets four triple wicked pillar candles and on a whim he buys a smaller candle, a rich ivory colour with a scent reminiscent of Thorin, dark and sharp and it’s a little bit of sentiment he can’t resist.
Purchases firmly in hand Bilbo returns to Bag End. Setting everything in the kitchen he goes to put Frodo on the floor of the living room, with his horse close by. He immediately pushes up, with a grin, showing his gums and gurgles. Twisting a curl of dark hair in his fingers Bilbo stands and ducks into the pantry. Frodo isn’t quite to the point where he’s trying to walk and there’s nothing in easy reach of him so Bilbo doesn’t mind leaving him alone for short periods of time. There are enough potatoes in his barrel to get him through for the next week at least but he’s almost out of carrots, which means a visit to Hamfast. He’s got apples and it’s almost time for plums. There are three big wheels of cheese and plenty of bread though he needs more seed cakes.
Bilbo takes the small piece of paper from the shelf where he keeps it and jots down a quick list of what he needs. He won’t manage an actual shopping trip until someone stops by to watch Frodo. It’s not like he actually has to carry anything home, with so many people more than willing to deliver for him but Frodo isn’t quite up for the rigors of long negotiations.
List made he sets it where he’ll remember it before reentering the living room. Frodo is happily chewing on his horse’s leg, drool on his chin. Sitting on the floor Bilbo reaches up for the table and the small leather bound book there, along with the well worn quill and bottle of ink. He shakes the ink, smiling as he watches his son who looks like he’s about to fall asleep despite the vigorous gnawing he’s doing on the fabric.
By the time Bilbo removes the cork from the ink Frodo is asleep again, fist curled against the carpet, small mouth partially open. Assured at least two hours peace Bilbo opens the book to the soft ribbon lying across the pages. There are already words there, the beginning of his journey to Erebor, staring with the encounter with Gandalf that morning. He’s been working on this since he got home, when he was so big trying to do anything else was difficult. So far he’s only managed to get through Fíli and Kíli’s arrival, unable to get any further despite his best attempts. Any thought of Thorin makes his quill pause and he’s almost given up on ever getting the account finished.
The rest of the day passes in quiet, Frodo waking briefly, to be fed and changed before falling asleep again. Bilbo takes the time to clean up a little bit, something that’s being neglected with Frodo around, and gets a fire built up so he can bake his salmon. It’s not his favourite way to cook it but as it requires less watching than frying it’s become a staple since Frodo has gotten more active.
After dinner they go back outside. Bilbo leans back against the wall, with Frodo against his chest. He finds himself recounting the story of the trolls, their conversation about the best way to cook the Dwarves, how Thorin had been the first to catch on to his ruse with the parasites. Gandalf’s sudden, life saving appearance, the stench of the troll hoard and the chest of buried gold he retrieved on the way home.
By the time he goes back inside Frodo is a warm, sweet weight against his shoulder, each tiny breath ghosting across his neck. He settles Frodo on his stomach in his crib, drawing a light blanket up over him. After a few seconds of watching he ventures out of his room and back into the kitchen for a last cup of tea and a seed cake.
Rinsing his cup and plate Bilbo banks the fire and moves into the living room. He blows out the candles and picks his way back to his room. He drops his suspenders and quickly changes into his nightshirt before slipping into the bed. The sheets are cool against his legs and it doesn’t take long before he drifts off, lulled by the sound of his son’s breathing.
-----
The howl of a warg wakes Bilbo and he scrabbles for Sting, heart pounding in his chest as he closes his fingers around the handle. There’s a soft mewl from the foot of his bed and he relaxes, remembering he’s safe in Bag End, Frodo asleep in his cradle. Even now there are days he still has nightmares about the wargs, their flight from them before Rivendell and the never ending terror of the night Azog had hunted them down.
He sets Sting aside and settles back into his bed, eyes falling shut.
Another howl rises in the still night air, joined by others and Bilbo jolts upright. This is no dream.
There are wargs in the Shire.