Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Frodo and all recognisable characters are the property of the Estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. No offence is intended, nor profit made.
Warnings/Author's Notes: mild violence, angst
Summary: Young Frodo, after parents deaths. Frodo starts to recover just as the first buds of spring are opening. His recovery mirrors the opening of a single 'miracle' rose outside his bedroom window.

Prologue

Frodo plopped onto Drogo's lap as soon as his father patted it, motioning for his son to climb on him. The lad shrieked cheerily knowing that they would continue reading the unfinished story from last night.

Frodo loved the tale despite some glumness in its plot. He pitied the troll child, Loth, for having been lost in the woods and separated from his parents. Frodo wondered if the wee troll would meet his parents again at the end of the story or be saved by others. The hobbitling prayed that Loth would end up happy, for Frodo was a sweet, loving child and cared for all living creatures.

Sighing softly, Frodo rested his head on Drogo's shoulder and moved about to find the coziest position in his father's embrace. Lost in his own happiness, the hobbit child never considered the older hobbit getting a cramp from sitting on the floor with Frodo in one hand and the book in the other.

But his doting father didn't mind at all. Drogo adjusted a little, crossing his two legs and tightening his hold on Frodo while clutching an illustrated, leather-bound tome. His child murmured faintly at the small movement but after his cushion no longer shifted about, Frodo drew a deep breath and with eyes slowly turning into slits, gazed drowsily in the direction of the faint blue embers in the hearth.

"Frodo?" asked Drogo.

"Yes, Papa?"

"Are we reading the troll story or do you want to go to bed, love?"

"Aw, Papa!" Frodo scowled, trying to get out of his father's arm. The lad sat straight up and turned to meet Drogo's amused smile. "I'm not sleepy and I want to know what happens to Loth next!"

Etelotya

where might it all be?
dim and silent,
squashing and stifling,
yet bitter cold

if this is what they call
the beautiful, beautiful world
I'd rather stay
hiding in my mama's womb

Nimbë

Frodo could almost smell the snow as he felt the dim coolness in the air. But he also sensed something new. The airy, fresh buds of leaves and flowers. The grass that thrust out of the still, damp earth. The broods of small animals whose eyes peered from behind the shrubs. They gazed toward a spry, happy Frodo but then withdrew quickly when discovered.

Little Frodo chuckled lightly as he walked along the grassy hills near Brandy Hall, enjoying the early morning sunrise. The beginning of spring always lifted his spirit. Not that he disliked winter. Certainly not. He enjoyed it very much, with Yule and all its feasts. But the memories brought heaviness to his heart as he recalled his papa and mama--even though Uncle Saradoc and Aunt Esmeralda took good care of him during Yule time and made it special.

Ah, stop it now, he thought. Whyever burden yourself with sullen ideas about being an orphan and winter with its coldness? It was spring now, when the sun was warm and greeted you every day bringing green grass clothed in sparkling dew. This was time for you to laugh and to play and be merry!

Still, no matter how happy he was to welcome spring, he felt bad to crush the newly sprouted seeds. Frodo placed his feet carefully one after another, seeking bare ground. He did not want to disturb those flower buds, yet to blossom, from their deep slumber. He even regretted having mashed the velvety needles of grass under his smooth soles. Several times the hobbit turned in half circles and stooped to stroke those he had stepped on as if to apologize to them. Only when he reached the bank of a small stream where there was no grass or wild flowers, did Frodo ease his ministrations.

The smile that had become a frown now returned and Frodo lit up, his eyes glimmering as his face tipped towards the bluest of the cloudless sky. His arms stretched away from his sides and the little hobbitling started to sing to the land he loved so dearly.

Dance all ye joyful, now dance all together!
Soft is the grass, and let foot be feather!
The river is silver, the shadows are fleeting.

Frodo smiled shyly to himself as he brought his arms down and headed toward the river. That was definitely not his song! His Uncle Bilbo had taught it to him, perhaps a song from his early journeys. But Frodo had always loved it for it reminded him of happier days.

Stooping, Frodo splattered a small wave breaking against the shoreline and shivered a little at the iciness. But that did not lessen the hobbit's joy for he knew it would soon warm. The river, with its foaming waves, the greening maple trees and the shimmering grass now embraced a jovial hobbit child playing with the water, singing more merry songs, and dancing with spread out arms, turning round and round like a bird fluttering in the far-reaching sky. Too bad no one was there to witness the beauty of his joy. Of the sheer happiness the young lad felt for the springtime.

Alone.

Ulka

Something was not right when Frodo blinked his eyes open. He was no longer by the river and the sky was not clear and blue. Above him was a dense canopy of leaves and in front, looming menacingly, the dark, gaping mouth of a huge cave.

Frodo slowly rose from his tummy, placing his hands, palms down, before him. But all of a sudden his surroundings were spinning around and the little hobbit was forced to lay back with a groan. Chilly winds blew, cluttering the ground with leaves, twigs, even the small branches of the trees. Frodo gasped as he looked up, terrified, but he was soon pre-occupied by the throbbing in his head. Rolling to his side, he reached for his knees as he began to shudder violently. Frodo whimpered as his head pounded in agony; his feeble cry falling on deaf ears.

"Uncle Sara… Aunt Esme… Help me."

Etelotya

but where's my mama?
and my abode?
why am I alone?
and bare?

Nimbë

Women's shrieks and men's shouts for a particular hobbit lad broke loudly through the clearing in the woods near Brandy Hall-thanks to Esmeralda Brandybuck realizing she had not seen Frodo since first breakfast. Her panic immediately sent the household into a frenzy. Domestic chores and meals that had been lavishly prepared were all forgotten as every available hobbit - men, women, and children - rushed out of the smial, each of them certain that the direction they took was the right one.

"He can't be too far from the house, a small lad like that - must be afraid to walk far alone."

"But we've called to him for some time and there's no answer!"

"He might be fast asleep!"

Meanwhile, several of the men had reached the small creek and almost simultaneously they noticed a motionless figure on the pebbled ground. They threw glances to each other as unspoken prayers were offered up.

Saradoc hurled himself ahead of the others. "Frodo!"

And then suddenly they saw it.

As if she had been there all along, Esmeralda was crouching beside the little one, and as she reached for her insentient nephew, the hobbit woman broke into tears.

"Oh, Frodo, love. Wake up, son. Frodo? What's happened to you?"

But no matter how hard she shook him, the boy was silent, his eyes closed tightly and his face, ashen. What's more, his skin was awfully hot to the touch. Frodo had apparently caught a sudden fever.

Turning his wife's shoulders gently, Saradoc took hold of their nephew.

"Come on, Esme. Let me carry him. We need to get back to the house quickly."

There was nothing Esmeralda could do but comply. She felt herself weaken and would not have even gotten to her feet if not for some helping hands.

Ulka

Suddenly feeling his back being prodded by a blunt object, Frodo curled up even more. His body shook from a fear that escalated when a grunt was heard behind him.

The grunt sounded like wuff and Frodo's ears perked up despite himself. Did the creature - whatever it was - just tell him to move? Frodo shifted a little to peek over his shoulder. Gasping, he turned back at once and closed his eyes tightly. It was a beast! The creature behind him was a beast! Frodo's heart pounded heavily as he realized what it actually was.

A troll.

The young hobbit looked deeply into his mind and dimly recalled the story told by his father.

It was a massive creature, with arms as big as the branch of a tree, eyes like a pair of torches, and jagged teeth that could shred a boar. In one of his burly hands was a heavy, scary-looking club, with which Frodo had been poked around. With tears running down his cheeks, he came to realize that the ogre standing behind him looked unerringly like the one described in the story. The hobbit froze as dread overwhelmed his mind. He could not even will himself to shift away from the troll.

As it turned out, he did not have to move himself, for the next thing Frodo realized was his body leaving the ground where he had been lying, along with a searing pain in his head. The vicious brute had hauled him up by his curls! Frodo shrieked in agony as his hair almost ripped from his head. He reached up and grasped the troll's wrist, trying to force it to release him but to no avail. Frodo's feet were kicking around as he struggled to free himself, but it only made things worse. His hair was still a captive in the troll's hand, the grip getting tighter, until suddenly Frodo felt something warm ooze by his ear.

Etelotya

dark and cold
and alone
I can stay no longer
I must take flight

I look up, to my dismay,
to a darkened, cracked plane
through which chocolate soot falls upon me
and I thought - chocolate?

Nimbë

Frodo's brow was scorching hot like a kettle on the hearth, his cheeks shimmering red. The lad had been lifeless on the silky linen bed sheet ever since his uncle had laid him there. His Aunt Esmeralda had regained control and prepared a cold compress for Frodo. It was obvious that the lad had suffered heat shock from the new spring sun, so long rimed in winter haze.

Esmeralda had changed Frodo into his night clothes, sent every one out of the room and was now applying the compress to the lad's forehead. She was sitting at the edge of the bed with Saradoc standing beside her, soothing her by stroking her shoulders.

"He'll be fine," murmured Saradoc. "He shouldn't have spent so much time outside, especially since he has yet to get accustomed to the hot weather. Frodo is a strong boy. He'll awake in no time."

But as Saradoc's last word left his mouth, there was a loud groan from Frodo, followed by a weaker whimper. Esmeralda caught the deep frown that now creased her nephew's brow. Frodo seemed to be in deep pain, alarming Esmeralda greatly.

"Frodo?" Esmeralda looked back at her husband. "Sara? What-"

Before Saradoc could answer, the door to the bedroom suddenly slammed open and Bilbo Baggins burst inside.

"What has happened?" He nearly shouted. "What has happened to my poor little cousin?"

Ulka

His club swinging in his hand, the troll advanced threateningly toward the little quivering creature in the corner of the dark cave.

"Gggrrrhhaahhh! Gggrrhh-loth. Gggrrrhhh-LOTH!"

The monster's guttural grunt made the hobbit press himself deeper into the uneven wall but soon his trembling subsided as he straightened to catch the troll's groans more clearly. Had it really just said Loth? Frodo's mind whirled as it was propelled back to the time when he was being cuddled in his father's arms, being told the story of a troll child gone astray.

The troll child, Loth, has been lost in the woods and separated from his parents.

Hugging his knees close to his chest, Frodo dared a glance upward at the enormous beast. He could almost see grief behind those flickering green eyes but the impression vanished immediately when the troll growled menacingly.

"Rrrhhhwhererrrhhh ggggrrrloth!"

Then it dawned on Frodo that the troll was really saying it - Loth. The hobbit shifted a bit, leaning forward. "You - said - where - is - Loth?" He spoke very slowly, one word at a time, to make sure that the beast understood what he meant.

The troll grunted softly and planted his club down.

"Loth - is - your - son?" Frodo gave another try, eyes gazing warily as the creature shrugged a little and turned around. He felt as if he were facing a confused person instead of a ferocious swine, thus thinking it was safe now to come near.

Yet the moment Frodo lifted himself up, the troll swung around and hollered in his face. "Rrrrrrwherrrrreeee ggggrrrhhhlothhh! Rrrrrrwherrrrreeee ggggrrrhhhlothhh!"

Frodo staggered back but the troll had taken a hold of him with one hand and shook the hobbit with all his might, like a rag doll, making his stomach churn and his head spin. Frodo could only yield to his fear then, as lax and boneless, he crumpled lifeless to the ground.

Etelotya

there's no white dust
scattering upon me anymore
now it's all brown
spring time has come

I can't help it
I'm elated
'tis the time I will be out
and relish the sun

Nimbë

Bilbo stomped into the room, livid. The Squire of Hobbiton was staying at Brandy Hall for the beginning of spring and had expected to enjoy himself with his distant relatives. But now something bad had happened to his favorite little cousin, Frodo. And to make matters worse, no one had told him about it! He had found out for himself when everyone was busy looking. Trust the Bucklanders to ignore an outsider, he thought furiously.

But looking at the tossing and turning lad, Bilbo could not help but blame himself. How could he not notice that Frodo was missing from the usual brood playing around the front and back gardens? Bilbo had been too immersed in the elder hobbits' conversation that morning and had utterly overlooked the lad. The old hobbit bent down beside his cousin and rubbed the back of his hand against Frodo's cheek. Thank Elbereth it now felt cool to the touch, though Frodo was still twisting about.

"Hush lad," shushed Bilbo, smoothing Frodo's sweat-soaked hair. "What is it with you?" The old Baggins looked up to Saradoc and Esmeralda, the latter anxiously wringing her hands. "We must wake him up."

Saradoc could only give him a hopeless stare. "I know not what to do," he said bleakly, "and the healer cannot be found."

It was hard for Bilbo to accept that. Would these people never try anything on their own? But he himself had no notion what else they could do--other than smelling salts, which the Brandybucks had already tried without success.

Now the little hobbit started shivering violently and Esmeralda jumped to his side, stammering amongst her sobs. "Frodo, Frodo, please!" She squeezed him hard in her embrace trying to lessen the quivers with her strength.

The gentlehobbits all widened their eyes in dread.

Yet, no thanks to Esmeralda, the shivers did subside as abruptly as they had come. But it brought no joy to any of Frodo's distraught relatives. His aunt drew Frodo away from her chest and looked down at him. The lad's beautiful face was no longer crimson from the heat but had turned horrendously pallid. Although Frodo's symptoms had been mollified, it was not in a good sense - for he looked as if the thin rope connecting him and the waking world had been severed.

Ulka

Frodo was awakened by the weighty, blunt tip of the troll's bludgeon on his throat, cutting off his air. The troll pulled it up, not because he had noticed Frodo's distress, but rather, the beast had his own ulterior motive - he wanted Frodo to rise. Not knowing what the troll expected, however, the hobbit stayed flat on the floor, rubbing his abused throat. Riled with Frodo's sluggishness, the troll growled and grabbed him up by his hair once again.

There was nothing the hobbit could do since his body was considerably weakened; in fact, he was amazed that he was still breathing after his ordeal. He was not certain if monsters akin to this one usually slayed their quarry or if this particular troll was after something else.

Jostling Frodo toward the mouth of the cave, the troll grumbled a little at the slight streaks of sunlight seeping betwixt the woodland leaves. Too much light could turn him into a stone. He must be clever.

The troll prodded Frodo's back with his wooden rod while grunting that name again and again.

"Rrrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhhlothhhh! Ggggggggggggrrrrrlothhhh!"

But cleverness was not a known troll attribute and the creature was distracted by his grief.

Soon they came to a clearing where the trees were young and sleek and the leaves sparse. The sun shone generously down to the ground, and the slight breeze delivered a lovely, familiar smell to the little hobbit. He smiled as he drew a deep breath. The smell of flowers.

It was so lovely that Frodo almost missed the angry, pained screech suddenly emitted from the troll's mouth as its skin was laid bare to the intense brightness of the sun.

Etelotya

at times it's easy, at times it's not
I'm simply taking a crack
one at a time
first I push my bud up, then stretch my stalk

I trust the land that it will help me
I trust it that it will go moist and yielding
that it will let my petals spread open
and my leaves grow

Nimbë

The adults' feelings were tense at the mind-boggling changes in Frodo's state. First the hobbit child had been still, lying lifelessly. When Saradoc had lifted his lids, there had been no reaction from his eyes. Yet, as suddenly as he had turned comatose, Frodo's unconscious body began jerking - his eyes still tightly shut - thrashing about the bed. He threw his head to the left and right, hands clutching the blanket fiercely as if his life depended on it.

Just then a strong breeze wafted through the open window bringing in the faintest hint of spring roses, sweet and comforting. Without thinking the three adult hobbits inhaled it deeply and somehow it brought them hope and comfort.

They stared down at Frodo, who was emitting incoherent mutterings, sweat sheening on his brow. However, all this passed in the blink of an eye and right before his guardians' close scrutiny, Frodo's fit subsided. The whitening knuckles gripping the coverlet slackened, the kneaded brow evened out, and his breaths mitigated. Not half a second later, the lad looked as though he had merely been taking his afternoon nap. Never had Frodo looked so peaceful.

Bilbo, Saradoc, and Esmeralda exchanged baffled glances. They had scarcely done anything, either to awaken Frodo or lessen the lad's suffering, yet he had clearly survived a crisis. Bilbo had always reckoned his nephew as a brave little hobbitling. Had he done it yet again? Had he fought something terrible - all alone - and succeeded?

As if answering those unspoken queries, Frodo inhaled deeply, and his brilliant blue eyes slit open to reveal a very young lad, pale and worn, and yet himself again, staring in puzzlement at the three overjoyed hobbits by his bed.

Epilogue

Frodo was on his knees in front of a little white rose bud under the window of his room. The hobbit could tell that the flower had yet to blossom fully but its delicate scent generously filled the air. It was this rose that had roused him from his oblivion, its fragrance filling him with joy - as the shining light of the sun had frozen the troll forever.

At least that was what he believed.

Remembering the troll, Frodo could not help but lament its doomed fate. All it had wanted was to get its brood, Loth, back. But that was merely a tale told by his father, was it not? Frodo sighed gravely and scrambled to his feet. His back bumped into something - or someone -- and he turned around.

It was Bilbo, smiling, and he must have been there for quite a long time. "Are you feeling well, lad?"

Frodo nodded and shyly offered Bilbo a little smile in return. Yes, he would be all right. He had his uncles and aunts who cared for him, and others as well to keep him from the darkness.

The End

Notes:

GLOOM (noun): nimbë (sadness)
FLOWER I (noun): lotsë (small single) -
LOT(H) (syn lótë "large, single flower", #lotsë)
BLOOM (verb): etelotya
EVIL (noun): ulka - ULU2