more wingfic
Hobbits and Wings
4. Sam's Wish / Frodo's Stubs
The morning after the two wanderers returned home dawned bright and cheery. Whistling happily, Frodo strolled out of the smial. He looked for Mr. Gamgee and noted that Sam was working by himself. He smiled fondly at the busy lad. "Good morning, Sam, how is it that you are alone today?"
Sam stood. "Good morning Mr. Frodo. My Gaffer needed to pick up some seedlings early over at Tookborough this morning. He said fer me to come on up and start weedin’ the tater patch."
"Do you mind if I sit here with you for a while?"
"O’ course not, sir, ‘tis your garden anyhow," grinned Sam. "Would you have the time to tell me somewhat o’ yer walking party?"
"Oh, Sam, it couldn’t have been better! We saw Elves!"
Eyes growing round as saucers, Sam entreated, "Oh please sir, I would dearly love to ‘ear about it!"
Frodo settled himself to help Sam weed the taters (ignoring Sam‘s flustered objection about it not being proper and all). Spinning his tale, Frodo transported himself and his young friend to the glen. He spun his story so skillfully that Sam could imagine what a flight in Bilbo’s arms would be like. "It would be somethin‘ like when me da gives me a good lift above his head playful like…" murmured Sam.
Smiling, Frodo commented, "Yes, it would be very much like that, Sam."
They spent a companionable morning digging in the dirt. Sam was startled when a clod splattered on his hand. "Hoi!"
Frodo couldn’t help laughing at Sam’s expression. "Sorry, Sam. If you could see your face!" Sam blushed and grinned…that set Frodo off again, and his contagious giggling drew young Sam into the fun.
They were startled when…"Frodo, my lad, time to come in for elevenses!" called a cheerful Uncle Bilbo (he had been watching his ‘two lads’ and was delighted they were getting on so well).
"Coming, Uncle!" Frodo stood. "See you later, Sam." Slapping the dust from his britches, he washed up at the well and walked into the back door of the cosy hobbit hole.
Sam watched Frodo disappear through the kitchen door. Humming softly under his breath, he settled under a shade tree and spread out the elevenses his mum had packed. Staring up through the waving boughs, a dreamy look stole into his eyes as he munched on a piece of crispy bread. "I canna’ hardly wait fer my wings to grow!" he whispered to the canopy above him.
Inside the hole, uncle and nephew were enjoying their own pre-midday repast. Later, while drying the last plate, Frodo asked, "Uncle, what was written on the piece of parchment that was on the front door?"
"Never you mind, my lad, it was only of importance to me, being of a business nature." The old hobbit hummed to himself for a moment, his gaze distant. "Odd though, not coming through the Post. Odd…"
Frodo nodded and dismissed the question from his mind. Uncle Bilbo was close about his personal business, and Frodo quashed his curiosity about such.
Placing an arm around Frodo’s shoulders Bilbo commented, let's make up a few lessons, shall we?"
Eyes twinkling, Frodo exclaimed, "Yes, uncle! We can start on the Elven languages now, can’t we? After all, I will see them more often and it would be more polite to converse with them in their own language, don’t you think?"
Bilbo’s laughter filled the smial, "You have a point, my boy! You have a point indeed!"
* * *
Many long days, weeks and months passed in relative serenity in and around Bag-End. (Except when Frodo’s two younger cousins, Pippin and Merry, were visiting. Their unquenchable cheer, incessant laughter and insatiable curiosity never failed to ‘liven up’ the hole.)
One morning, about the middle of his 28th year, Frodo woke up with an awful itching in his back. He tried to relieve the torment by rubbing his back on the bed as the ponies do when they are rolling in the grass…to no avail. "Now what do you suppose? Is it…?"
Stumbling out of bed and pulling on his dressing gown, Frodo hopped to the door. He sped into the kitchen, causing Bilbo to flair his wings and slosh water out of the kettle he was just about to put on.
"My stars and fishhooks, lad!" exclaimed Bilbo, "What is the matter?"
"Uncle, I am sorry to startle you, but I think I am starting to grow wings…at least it itches bad enough to make me wonder!" Frodo’s face was contorting strangely as he tried to scratch his back on the corner of the cupboard.
"Stop that, lad! You will just make your shoulders sore. Here, let me take a look and see if you are right."
With a grimace, Frodo shrugged off his dressing gown. He unlaced his nightshirt with trembling fingers so that his uncle could get a good look at his back. ‘Could it be, at last?’ A bit fearful, Frodo held his breath as his uncle began his examination.
Firmly pressing around Frodo’s shoulder blades, Bilbo murmured, "Hmmmm, it seems that you are right, lad. You have small stubs at the right place on each shoulder and the bone of each blade is starting to thicken nicely." Bilbo quickly blinked back the tears that threatened, ‘So soon? Has it been that long since Frodo came to be with me?’
Barely restraining himself from leaping up from the chair and dancing all over the kitchen (after all, he would be of age in five years and felt he should show some decorum), Frodo merely cleared his throat. Still, his voice quavered a little as he said, "That is wonderful, Uncle. Now what should I be doing?"
Smiling at his ‘grown up’ tween, Bilbo instructed, "First, you need to take a nice hot bath every morning to relax the muscles so they can accustom themselves to the new growth. That should also relieve most of the itching. You will need to follow this regimen for at least the next year or so. When the skin starts to break and let the wing bones through, we will apply the balms and salves that will keep the pain at a tolerable level. When you are feeling especially bad, my boy, do not hesitate to ask for willow bark tea. I am afraid you will become either grossly sickened of the taste or accustomed to it by the time you have small wings."
Twitching his dressing gown back on, Frodo sighed, "So long to have even small ones?"
"Why, Frodo, if they grew in faster and larger than they do at first, your body would not have time to adjust. Patience, my lad. Patience is one of the best virtues growing wings can help you gain."
"If you say so, Uncle, I will try to garner patience, but you know it is not my strong suit."
Chuckling, Bilbo patted his lad on the top of the shoulder, "You go and have that bath while I put up some first breakfast and get our day properly started." Whistling, Frodo walked down the hall, his carriage already more erect as if he was balancing the weight of his wings.
Sadly Bilbo thought, ‘They grow up so quickly…too quickly it seems.’ He sighed and shook himself, "Humph, Bilbo Baggins, you can not stop the lad from growing with wishes. Now, let me see, what can I prepare to celebrate my lad’s new wings? Blueberry tarts! They will be perfect! Then later on this morning, I can start writing the invitations to Frodo’s ’First Wings’ party." Delighted with his plans, Bilbo bustled into the larder for the fixings of a grand first breakfast.