Title: Tears in the Brandywine
Author: Laura  history_freak17@hotmail.com
Pairings: Pre-slash F/S, M/P, Bilbo/(implied)
Rating: G, will eventually be R or maybe NC17
Summary: Bilbo's POV on Drogo and Primula Baggins' death.
Disclaimer: I am not JRR Tolkien, I will never be him.  I do not make any money off of 
this, I do it purely for pleasure, and to avoid my homework.  I am a poor college 
student, please don't sue me.
Author's Note: This story will move through time chronologically from the death of 
Frodo's parents on.  It will be several chapters and is not PWP.  If you like it, or don't 
like it, please let me know.  I would love all reviews!
 
Bilbo's POV
He was 12 when his parents drowned.  It was terrible to watch; he was so upset he tried 
to throw himself in the Brandybuck River too.  Fortunately his cousins Saradoc and 
Merimac were able to restrain him.  The pain in his wide, blue eyes and the tears 
running down his face hurt to look at.  I know - I was there.  
It had been during a party at Brandy Hall.  Drogo and Primula Baggins had gone out 
boating after dinner, to relax.  I remember him wanting to go with them, but his young 
cousin Pearl had wanted him to play with her.  When they found his parents' bodies 
later that afternoon, he was beside himself, yelling and screaming.  The thing that cut 
me the most was hearing him yell that it was all his fault - if he had been there maybe 
they wouldn't have died.   I couldn't stay and watch; I could feel the tears welling up 
and I wanted to be somewhere private to cry for Drogo and Primula and especially for 
my poor little cousin.  Going back into Brandy Hall I found a small private parlor and 
sitting in a chair near the fire, I put my head in my hands and cried.  
I don't know how long I sat there.  I stopped crying eventually and noticed that 
someone had left a mug of ale and my pipe on a table at my side.  For a long time I just 
sat and stared at the fire; then I heard a small sound at the door.  Turning, I saw him 
coming into the room.  He climbed in my lap, cuddling up close.  I looked down at him, 
my favorite cousin: the only one with adventure in his blood, who loved to go on walks 
with his strange cousin Bilbo, who sat and listened to my stories with stars in his eyes.  
He wasn't crying anymore, but the pain still showed on his round little face.  
"Cousin Bilbo," he said softly, "tell me a story, please."  
What else could I do when he looked up at me with those sad, blue eyes?  I held him 
close and told him a story.  I told of the elves, how they were created by the Valinor, 
and placed here on Middle Earth, I talked of the happy days of the past when the elves 
were still young.  As I talked he snuggled closer, relaxing; I saw him close his eyes, felt 
his breathing slow and steady, yet I kept talking even after I knew he was asleep.  
Maybe I needed the comfort of a story too.  
I kissed him gently on the crown of his head and then looked up.  I would have started 
had he not been in my lap, for when I looked there were a good 10 hobbits sitting 
around the parlor in silence.  Apparently my story had drawn a small crowd - it made 
me smile a bit, if sadly.  Our large and extended family had its differences, but tragedy 
always seemed to draw us together.  
"Here Bilbo, let me take him to his bed."  
"Actually Esmeralda, if you don't mind, I'll go ahead and take him."  
"You needn't trouble yourself Bilbo," Saradoc responded, "I am sure we can get a 
servant to come take him to bed."
"I know, but it is no trouble and I do wish to put him to bed myself."  So saying, I stood 
up slowly, adjusting the poor boy to a position that was easier to carry.  And holding 
him tight, I left the room, walking with him to the room he stayed in while in Brandy 
Hall.  
Setting him gently on the bed I looked down at him.  Children are so sweet when they 
sleep - angelic even - and if worn out after a long day, they are impossible to wake up.  
This being the case this night as well, he never stirred while I undressed him and got 
him into his night shirt.  Lifting him up again I pulled back the covers of his bed and set 
him gently down, then tucked the blankets loosely around him.  I watched as he 
snuggled closer into his pillow, and then he did something that I don't believe he has 
done since he was 6: he put his thumb in his mouth.  I almost broke down in tears again, 
knowing the pain that he must be going through to revert to childhood habits.  
I leaned over and kissed him gently on the forehead, blinking back tears.  I would be 
gone before he awoke in the morning.  I needed to get back to Bag End and to Hobbiton 
for a number of reasons that pulled me away from Buckland.  Not the least of these 
being that my gardener Hamfast Gamgee was having another child, (in actual fact, his 
wife, Bell, was having the child) a child whom I knew would be very special; I wanted 
to be there for his birth.  I also needed to get back to start taking care of things in the 
smials of Bag End as I knew that I would sometime be writing to invite my young 
cousin to come stay with me.  
Smiling softly, I kissed his forehead again and turned to leave the room.  Esmeralda was 
standing there smiling at me.  
"You are so good with children Bilbo, why do you not have any of your own?"
I smiled sadly back at her, "You know why Esme."
"I know, I just wish there was some way you could."
"Maybe there is… we'll see."
Shaking her head she left the room.  Moving to follow, I reached the door and turned to 
look at the boy sleeping peacefully, "Sleep well, Frodo – lad."  I whispered as I closed 
the door.