Hobbits and Wings

Hobbits and Wings
By: Nessa

1. A New Home

Bilbo Baggins, one of the oldest Hobbits in the Shire and considered (by some) the oddest, had officially adopted Frodo Baggins as his heir. While celebrating Bilbo's ninety-ninth and Frodo's twenty-first year at Brandy Hall, Bilbo told Frodo that he had better come and live with him at Bag End so they could 'celebrate their birthdays comfortably together,' as both their birthdays fell on September 22nd. Bilbo had patiently waited until then to bring his fondest plan into fruition. The time had come, and Bilbo moved the young Baggins, bag and baggage, into Bag End.

Frodo was delighted with his new home. He had his own room, his own books, his own desk, his own…everything. He was so thankful to Bilbo that he made sure the elder Hobbit knew exactly how he felt at every opportunity.

One cool sunny morning in late autumn, Bilbo and Frodo were sharing a bench in the garden. They sat with Bag End's sun-warmed wall at their backs, watching the honeybees at work gathering their winter horde. Bilbo sucked on his pipe and blew out a perfect smoke ring while Frodo watched admiringly.

"Uncle Bilbo."

"Yes, lad?"

"I am so grateful for all you have done..."

Bilbo had had enough. He laughed, placed his hand firmly on Frodo's shoulder, gave him a gentle shake and said, “Lad, you don’t have to thank me anymore. I am just as grateful to have you here as you are to be here.”

Frodo, hugging his older cousin around his lower back, taking care not to ruffle anything, said, “All right, Uncle Bilbo, I’ll try not to say it anymore…but I will show it as much as possible.”

“That’ll be just fine, Frodo, my boy. What say we prepare second breakfast?”

The young hobbit, like all hobbits everywhere, had absolutely no objection to more food. He carefully disentangled his arm, leaped to his feet, dashed through the round door, and ran down the hall into the kitchen. He started filling the tea kettle from the sink pump.

Chuckling, the old hobbit followed him into the cosy hole. On his way through the generously proportioned hallway, he admired the woodwork and beams as was his wont, very happy to have such a fine home to bring his lad into.

Upon entering the bright cosy room, Bilbo opened the stove grate and knelt stiffly. After tucking a stray bit of fluff behind his shoulder out of harm's way, he began to stir the banked fire into life, adding more wood periodically, until it crackled and popped merrily.

Frodo looked down admiringly, “Uncle Bilbo?”

“Yes, Frodo?”

“Do you think I will have wings as lovely and full as yours when I grow up?”

“I don’t see why not,” answered his uncle, “your Father certainly did.”

“But he would not use them,” Frodo whispered, “Why, Uncle Bilbo? Maybe mum and da wouldn't have died if he…”

Bilbo rose and stretched his wings, settling the feathers back into place with a shake, “I don't know, Frodo. It is one of those things we cannot go back and explain," He took Frodo's hand, squeezed it gently and looked into blue eyes that would never quite lose their shadow of grief, "It may have been that he was deathly afraid of heights and too proud to admit it to anyone, which is rare amongst our folk. We will never understand the whole of it, lad, and it would be better if you did not torment yourself with ‘what ifs’.”

Sadly nodding, Frodo set the kettle on the stove, “You are right, Uncle,” he said softly, “you are right.”

With both of them working together, their second breakfast was soon ready to enjoy. They sat down to a light repast (for hobbits) of a three-meat pie, fried mushrooms, fresh bread and butter, four different kinds of cheeses, blueberry tarts and fresh tea. After they had filled up the corners (which is a custom unique to hobbits), Bilbo did the washing up and Frodo the drying. Glancing shyly at the elderly hobbit, Frodo broke the easy silence between them, “When do you think they will start to grow?”

“What? Oh, your wings. Sometime during your late tweens, and to answer your next question…they take about four years to mature enough to use in flight.”

"Do they always grow in the same colour as our hair? Is it going to hurt or itch and how do I learn to sit a pony or on a chair? What about sleeping...how am I to sleep, Uncle?” Frodo asked with an anxious look in his blue eyes.

Bilbo was astonished, "Didn't your elders at Brandy Hall tell you anything?"

"I wasn’t really close enough to any one of them," Frodo admitted, "so I was too uncomfortable talking to them about it. I...um, it was just too...difficult."

Bilbo, noting Frodo's flushed face, took pity on the lad and replied in a chipper tone, "Let's finish here, retire to the parlour and toast our feet before the fire I built earlier to rid our home of its chill. I will answer your questions to the best of my ability."

With a nod and a sigh of relief, Frodo hung up the soggy drying towel and followed the elder hobbit into the parlour. They settled into comfy chairs close to the fire where Frodo opened his heart to his older cousin in a way that he had not been able to since losing his parents. "Uncle Bilbo, I want to learn to fly. I never want to be without the added protection of wings. I might be able to save someone else the heart-ache... of losing a loved one."

Bilbo reached over and patted his heir's arm. "I am proud of you, lad, that you have such a high purpose in flying. Many young hobbits don't even consider using their ability for any better reason than showing off for a pretty lass."

"Will my wings be all one colour?"

"Yes, they will. Why do you ask?"

"I seem to have a vague memory of a deep blue shade on the inner side of Da's wings."

Bilbo sighed, "So you saw that."

"Why do you say it that way, Uncle?" Bilbo didn't respond. "Uncle?"

Bilbo brought himself back to the present, "Hmm? Oh, sorry my lad, just thinking out loud…

“Now to answer your questions. Yes, it will hurt quite badly during the initial bone-growing period, which lasts from between six to twelve months. You will drink a lot of water and milk. You will also be served and expected to eat lots of vegetables, fruits and nuts. This seems to help. And, of course, you will be very glad for the bitter taste of willow bark tea during this time. It is also expected of all lads going through this period to continue with their chores and duties."

Frodo pondered on this information for some time and thought that some of it was not quite fair. He asked, "Why are lads not allowed some days of respite from their regular schedules? This seems a bit unfair, especially for the outdoor-working fellows."

"Frodo, we have to learn to carry on through adversity. It is our tradition. And it is during this time of changing from lads into grown and responsible hobbits that we can best learn to show our quality."

"Oh... I understand," Frodo said, but thought, 'it still seems harsh.'

Bilbo settled more deeply into his chair, tucking his left wing comfortably to accommodate it. "As for itching; the worst occurs right between the shoulder blades and down your middle back. When it gets bad enough, you will find yourself calling on me or whomever is around to help with this problem. No one will be adverse to helping a fellow hobbit in such straits. There is also a balm that can be used if your back becomes too sore.

"As for relearning the every-day things you are concerned about - sitting, riding, sleeping and so forth, this naturally occurs while the wings grow in and you become accustomed to the added bulk and weight. You will also be taught what strengthening exercises to use as they grow. You will need to practice balancing as they get bigger. Some lads have a hard time with balance.

"As for care of your wings, they must be preened every day, never left wet without a thorough drying and fluffing; and, never, ever try to fly among tree limbs. You are not a tiny, slim little bird. And most important, remember this, no proper gentlehobbit will leave his hole, smial or cottage without his hair, feet and wings completely groomed."

"I will remember, Uncle Bilbo. Thank you so much for talking to me about this."

“Any time, Frodo. Now, you have plenty of other things to learn before wings. It is time for your lessons. Off to the study, and begin with the problems you will find prepared for you on the small study table.”

Frodo stood up and stretched and felt behind his back hoping to find the slightest difference. Not finding anything, he guessed it was too soon and headed for the study. Bilbo watched with a twinkle in his eye, remembering how it was to be an impatient youngling.

Frodo walked into the sunny room, played with some of the gaily dancing dust motes and grinned. He picked up the parchment, sat on a chair that his Uncle had kindly cushioned with a comfy pillow and was soon scratching his head over the figures.

Smiling to himself, Bilbo strolled in, sat down behind his desk, adjusted his wings to the chair and began sorting through a large backlog of correspondence.