Lord of the Rings Growing Up

_Growing Up_

  
  


Frodo sighed as he sat, elbow on the table and chin in hand, and watched little Primula play with her food. He'd been trying to feed her vanilla pudding for elevensies, but the small pudgy fists delighted in knocking the spoon aside midway to her mouth. Prim normally loved the pudding or sweet applesauce he would alternate with her usual milk, beginning to incorporate 'solid' foods into the baby's diet. But today she was in a mischievous mood, and he hadn't the heart nor energy to scold her.

Small fingers reached out and tipped the shallow bowl towards the ambitious child, then released it to clatter on the table, moving within easy reach. The fingers plunged into the milky goo, one hand immersed while the other smacked the surface and then splattered on the table. Cooing with contentment, the girl brought the other fist to her mouth, sucking a bit off her thumb while the rest smeared across her face. She tried again, still hitting the now gooey surface of the table enthusiastically, though this time the fist deposited most of the pudding around her mouth rather than in it.

With some resignation, Frodo decided she'd probably need another bath when she was through, even though he'd just bathed her earlier that morning. Especially if she ended this with her usual finale-placing the bowl upside-down upon her head. She was now concentrating closely upon her fists, clumsily trying to grasp a glob of pudding between two fingers, focusing so intently her eyes nearly crossed. As if knowing her father's train of thought, she looked up at him with her blue eyes wide and an innocent expression on her angelic face.

Then she laughed, a high, giggling shriek of pure delight as she took the bowl and dumped it on her head. With a wide, toothless grin she clapped her sticky hands and bounced in her seat as the confection slowly seeped down her dark downy locks.

Frodo smiled in spite of himself.

~~~~

Frodo was startled from poring over his notes by a strangled gasp. He was fighting through a difficult passage of the Red Book, trying to determine where each member of the Fellowship had been on a certain date. And his memory was sadly lacking at some points of the journey, so he often had to reference what Sam had told him about where he himself been!

He turned to young Primula, seated beside him at her own small desk, angled next to his own to fit into the space he called his 'study.' Her back was stiff, her face pale, and her expression stricken.

"What's wrong?" he asked gently, reaching to rub her back soothingly, mindful that he didn't get any of the ink on his fingers on her clothing.

Her chin quivered as she pulled back to reveal the wet pages before her. "I'm sorry, Da!" she wailed as she burst into tears. "I didn't mean to! I accident'ly bumped it..."

"Shh, it's all right," he reassured her, sliding out of his chair to sit next to hers and draw the sobbing girl into his lap. As she cried into his shoulder, he brushed back her tangled curls. She'd insisted on combing them herself this morning, confident she could do it better than he since she has five fingers and he has only four. He hadn't told her *why* he had only four, that tale would wait until she was older. He'd promised himself to finish the Book by the time she would be old enough to understand most of the story, and judging by her progress thus far it would not be long.

Frodo ruefully surveyed the damage to primer on her desk. It was an old book but well preserved, carefully kept by Bilbo and then given to Frodo. Bilbo had learned his letters from it, as had he, and now Prim was continuing the tradition. He'd told her to be careful with the book, and he suspected that command was the source of much of her despair over this small accident.

Prim's tears slowed on their own before Frodo leaned forward to whisper, "I want to show you something," in her ear as he lifted the book from the desk. It was only slightly damp now, her weak tea leaving faint, irregular stains upon the already worn pages. She quieted and watched closely as he thumbed to a page closer to the back. He opened the page to display a leaf only barely legible, a dark black smear of ink obscuring most of the text. "Guess who did this," he urged.

She looked up at him with wide eyes and then back down at the page. "You?" she murmured.

"Yes, me. I wasn't paying attention to where I put the inkwell," he said with a wink.

"Oh..." she breathed, staring at the ruined page. Now her spill didn't seem so bad at all.

~~~~

The cold and darkness had returned, right on schedule. Pain shot through his shoulder and arm and he fought to keep from crying out. He couldn't wake Primula; it would frighten her too badly. A few hours... that was all he had until she would wake and he would have to hide the pain, acting as normally as possible. It was difficult, and becoming more so with every passing year, but it was necessary. For Primula's sake. He couldn't worry her like that, she was still too young to understand.

He shivered as a chill swept through him and was startled to feel a warm towel laid upon his shoulder and hot water bottles tucked next to his arm and side. Cracking his eyes open, he beheld his daughter perched on the edge of the bed, her nightshift wrinkled and her curls sleep-mussed, looking at him with concern in her eyes. "Prim?" he asked uncertainly, thinking his eyes were playing a cruel trick on him.

"Yes, Da," she replied, comfortingly rubbing the back of his hand where it lay upon the quilts.

So many questions were whirling through his mind he had a hard time settling on which to ask. "How..." he began, not sure how to continue, or even if he should.

She regarded him seriously. "I figured it out a while ago," she stated simply, answering his mostly unvoiced question. "How could I not notice?" she added chidingly. "When it always comes at the same time... And even though you didn't tell me what it was, you told the Book."

He'd underestimated her. Again. And not for the last time, he was certain. He'd skipped over those parts of the story, not wanting to give her nightmares. She was barely a tween, after all. But in some things she showed wisdom far beyond her years, and things regarding her father seemed to fall in that category. He'd tried so hard to shelter her from this, but she had the uncanny ability to find out anyway. "How long?"

Again she understood. "When I was 12, the week after my birthday."

About eight years, then. Eight long years he'd gone on pretending, and she knew anyway. Her subdued, accommodating attitude on those days made sense now. She'd been making it easier on him. "I-I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to deal with my pain."

She frowned. "Why not? You do," she pointed out with childish simplicity. Crawling under his quilts, she carefully snuggled up next to his cold arm and threw a small arm over his chest protectively. "Sleep, Da," she instructed, her warm breath tickling his neck. "I'll take care of you."

Words abandoned him completely as a small smile flitted across his face. He laid his hand over hers, and a feeling of peace stole over him as he drifted back to sleep. Arwen's pendant dangled, forgotten, from the delicate chain around his neck.

~~~~

"Here, try this on," he encouraged her, surrendering a bundle of blue fabric to her hands.

"What is it?" Primula asked, unfolding the item and trying to figure out which way it was supposed to go.

"You mean you can't recognize a dress when you see one?" he teased. "I would have thought I brought you up better than that."

"Da..." she groaned in exasperation before she left the room, examining the garment appraisingly.

Frodo turned his attention back to the trunk before him. Merry had sent it over, saying he'd found it while cleaning out one of the many storage rooms at Brandy Hall. It had been his parents', undoubtedly put away following their untimely deaths, and its existence hidden from him. He had spent hours poring over the contents the previous night, reveling in the long-forgotten memories of his mother and father that it brought to light, and now he brought it out in hopes of showing some of the belongings inside to his daughter. She'd never had the chance to meet her grandparents, after all. This would be her only way of knowing them, particularly her namesake, whom she resembled so strikingly.

When she returned, still tugging and pulling at the fabric to hang properly, it was as if his mother had returned from the dead and was standing before him once again. The dress fit perfectly, his daughter having the same wiry frame as his mother, and seeing her wear it took him back to the last time he'd seen his mother in it, not long before that fateful night...

"Da?" Prim's questioning voice, laced with concern, pulled him back from his memories. He realized she must have been trying to talk to him for some moments before he'd finally heard her.

"Yes?"

She cocked her head to the side and studied him a moment before shrugging and dropping to sit on the floor next to him. "I need you to tie me," she said, lifting her dark unruly hair out of the way so he could tighten and tie the lacing up the back. As he did so, she in turn studied the items in the trunk, peering at a few old portraits of his parents before picking up a pair of braces and a vest from underneath some scattered trinkets. She moved the items to her lap, stroking the fabric thoughtfully with her fingertips as she observed how perfectly they matched the dress.

"It fits you well," Frodo said with a small smile as he tied off the laces and sat back to survey the results. "Perhaps you could wear it for your coming-of-age next week."

"Oh, yes," she replied absently, still lost in her musings as she fingered the vest. Then her head snapped up, having come to a decision. "And I want you to wear these," she told him, moving them from her lap to his.

He looked at the items in surprise, then up at her, and back at the vest and braces. "I-I couldn't..." he stammered.

"Why not?" she challenged.

He had no explanation that could be put into words. "I-I just can't."

"Yes, you can. And you will, if you want me to give you your mathom," she responded devilishly with a mischievous gleam in her eyes, putting her hands on her hips for emphasis.

"Well, all right then. But only for the mathom," he said with laugh.

~~~~

The breeze combed insistently through their hair and dried their tear-stained cheeks. Waves gently rolled onto shore as father and daughter embraced, each unwilling to let go just yet. But the time had come.

"Go on, Da," she urged him, sniffling as wiped her eyes with a sleeve, still embracing him, though for support as much as an unwillingness to let go.

He looked reluctantly over his shoulder at the ship bobbing gently on the water, and then back at her, torn. He didn't want to leave her alone in the world, but he wanted -no, needed- to sail.

She saw the conflict in his eyes and reassured him softly, "Don't worry about me. I have a husband to take care of me. I'll be all right."

He smiled slightly, though his eyes were brimming with unshed tears. "Why do I suspect it will be the other way around?" he teased, and she blushed.

"It might be," she admitted ruefully. The conversation paused as each tried to find the right thing to say, the right way to say farewell. "I'll miss you," Primula finally said, tears beginning to flow down her face again.

"And I'll miss you," Frodo returned, holding her close. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she said fiercely. They both knew he wouldn't last much longer if he stayed on these shores; the illnesses had grown progressively worse, and his advancing age made it harder to recover each time. The time had come to seek healing elsewhere, though the balm of Prim's presence had done much to delay that inevitability.

Frodo sighed and stood up straighter. "It is time," he whispered, and Primula nodded. Father and daughter turned towards the quay, slowly crossing the short distance to the waiting ship. Two elves waited to escort the honored perian's faltering steps onto the deck, where he took a position along the rail to see his daughter standing next to Sam and Merry and Pippin as they watched mournfully from the shore.

As the ship began to draw away from the dock, Primula reached inside her pocket and pulled out the star-glass. The light blazed forth from her hand, bidding him farewell. She stood so long after the ship was out of sight, waiting until the sun crept over the horizon and vanished in a rainbow of pink and orange to place the Phial again in her pocket.


End file.
