Two Loves

October 22, 1388 S.R., 11:30 a.m.

Frodo walked toward Dahlia Bywater, fixing his bow tie as his hands trembled slightly. “Dahlia, I have something to tell you. I – I love you,” he muttered to himself. “No, no, I cannot say only that. I would startle her if I do.” He passed by a tall tree, closer and closer to the lass of his affections with each step he took. “Hullo, Dahlia. What are you doing this fine afternoon? No, no – that is not a good question; it is quite obvious she is sketching something. Hullo, Dahlia. How are you?” Frodo sighed. One more step and he would have to say something.

The lass watched as Frodo approached her and she flushed. What was he coming to her for? She continued to sketch, pretending not to notice that the person she was sketching approached ever closer toward her.

“Hullo,” both said in unison. Frodo smiled, as Dahlia lowered her head and glanced shyly at him.

“How are you?” Frodo asked.

“I’m quite well, thank you. And yourself?”

“The same, thank you.” Frodo tried to catch a glimpse of the page her drawing tablet was opened to. “What were you drawing?”

“Oh, nothing, really.” She brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“It must be something. I – uh – watched you drawing.”

“It – it isn’t finished, Mr. Baggins.”

“Frodo, please.”

“Thank you, Frodo,” Dahlia replied, her face practically beaming. “Only if you call me, Dahlia.”

Frodo smiled. “Let me see, Dahlia, please?”

Dahlia sighed and chewed her bottom lip nervously as she revealed what she had drawn.

“Why, it’s me!” Frodo’s blood rushed to his cheeks. Why had she drawn him? Could it be? No, he could not get his hopes up.

“Yes, I reckon it is.” Dahlia watched a bird fly to its nest and begin to feed its twittering babies in the tree by which they were standing.

“Why ever did you draw me?”

“I -” she began, but she could not finish, for her father came up to her. Why did he have to come when the moment was so perfect?

Frodo sighed inwardly as he noticed Dahlia’s father approach them in a hurry. The moment had been perfect. He could have told her.

Dahlia quickly shut her notebook and held it fast. “Father,” she said.

“Hullo, Master Bywater,” Frodo said cheerfully.

“Frodo,” he said gruffly. “Come along, Dahlia. It be time t’ go now, dearest.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Baggins,” she uttered before leaving, and Frodo could see the silent disappointment in her eyes.”

“Good day, Miss Bywater.” Frodo watched as Tom Bywater grabbed his daughter’s arm and directed her to their cart where her mother sat, watching.

~*~

11:45 a.m.

Dahlia looked back as the cart rolled away and waved, but he had already turned.

“Dahlia, turn around.”

“Yes, sir,” she answered, turning.

“Now, why did ye go talk t’ that Baggins lad after I specifically told y’ not to?”

“Father, you know why. I love him.”

“You’re already promised to Wilcome Took, a fine man.” Tom looked back at his daughter as she leaned back against the side of the cart.

“Father, I don’t love him. You should see him. He pays attention to every lass but me, but Frodo – he gives me sole attention when I am around. He makes me feel important, Father, special even.”

“That’s the last I’ll hear of that, young miss!” he snapped.

“Tom,” protested Dahlia’s mother.

“Rose,” he warned. “She needs to be kept in line. She’ll be wed to Wilcome soon, and we don’t need that Baggins lad to be any trouble.”

“Tom, what harm could it do? You heard your daughter – Wilcome doesn’t seem interested in her. I’ve seen it myself.”

“Rose, be quiet. We can have this discussion later, but not in front of her.”

Rose sat silently, saddened for her daughter. Only the sound of the horses’ hooves and the squeaking wheels could be heard the rest of the way home.

~*~

1:00 p.m.

Frodo was just about to sit down to a good book to get his mind off of Dahlia Bywater when his youngest cousin, six, walked up to him. “Frodo!” he said excitedly.

“Why, hullo, Merry!” Frodo greeted, putting his book beside him and picking up his cousin and lifting him high. Merry laughed. “What are you doing, lad?” he asked as he put him back down.

“Fetching water,” he answered, lifting his fallen bucket off the ground where it had came to rest upon Frodo lifting Merry up.

“Ah, then you had better get going, lad,” Frodo advised his cousin, a sparkle in his eyes, but whether of sadness or happiness, Merry could not tell.

“Why do you always call me ‘lad’?” Merry asked inquisitively, trying as hard as he could to lengthen the time before he went to fetch the water.

“Well, ’tis but a habit of mine, I suppose,” Frodo replied, kneeling on the ground to be eye level with Merry. He could not stand having little ones look up at him. It always gave him an odd sense of being too tall.

“Oh,” was all Merry said as his mind searched for more questions to stall. “You gone for a swim?”

“Well, no, not yet today.”

“Wanna go for a swim later?”

“Use better diction, Meriadoc,” Merry’s cousin Primrose said as she walked past them, nose in the air. “Oh, and Frodo, do stand up, and straight at that; it does make you look so much better,” she added, her eyes flirting him, but Frodo figured it was inadvertently.

“Prim, good day,” he said, tipping the hat he was wearing.

“Good day to you, Frodo!” she exclaimed, thinking he was actually taking interest in her. It was out of her nature to show expression to anyone, but to her Frodo was not just anyone; he was special. “Do you have any plans tomorrow?”

Frodo sighed. Was he to be the next on her long list of beaus? Not if he had anything to say about it. Uncle Meradoc might have something else to say, he thought woefully. “No.”

“Oh good! Then, you would be free to join me for a picnic on the banks of the Brandywine tomorrow, is that correct?”

“I would have to check with Uncle Meradoc,” he said, hoping beyond hope that he could get out of this just like that.

“I already spoke to him, and he was quite enthusiastic about you and me spending time together. Says he does not want to see you spending time around that Dahlia Bywater. Whatever would make him think you had an interest in her? One can obviously tell you have an interest in me, not her.” Primrose laced her arm around Frodo’s, as he had stood during her invitation.

Frodo squirmed, trying to get away from her without being too obvious. “Oh, I do not know. You’re very omniscient. Why don’t you know, oh wise one?”

Primrose’s eyes widened and her eybrows arched as she jerked away from him, slapping him across the face. “I hate you, Frodo Baggins! And, I do not want to see you again! You are impertenent!”

“Why, thank you,” he said, smiling as he bowed.

She began to storm off, but not before adding, “Hmph!”

Merry and Frodo began laughing before she was out of earshot, and she shot a glare at them.

“And that is how you get rid of a lass, Merry,” Frodo informed his younger cousin while gasping out spurts of laughter. “But, she will be back, I fear.” Frodo sighed and stopped laughing; he was on the ground now.

“That was a good one, cousin,” Merry complimented while sitting up.

“Thank you. Ah, it feels so good to be free of that lass at last, though it may not be for longer than a few hours. Now that I have seen that, I believe all her other actions around me make sense. She has been after me for a while, but until now I was blind enough not to see it.” Frodo stood. “Well, lad, you need to go fetch that water for your mum.”

Merry looked up at Frodo with pleading eyes.

“Don’t give me that look; it will not work, it shall not. Now, go, and perhaps afterward we may go to the lake.”

“Yes! I’ll be back quick!” Merry bounded off, and laughing, Frodo went inside Brandy Hall.

~*~

3:21 p.m.

Frodo and Merry walked in, their hair dripping and their shirts clinging to their arms; their feet were also muddy from the walk home.

Meradoc came storming up to them, looking particularly at twenty-year-old Frodo. “Frodo Baggins!”

“Yes, Uncle?” Frodo gulped. Was this about their unruly appearance, or something that happened earlier?

“What is this I hear about you mistreating Primrose?”

Frodo almost yelled back his answer, but he managed to keep himself under control, being a gentlemen. “Mistreat her? All I did is ask her why she did not know the answer of her question to get rid of her. She was clinging to my arm. It was the most polite way to get her to leave.”

“Frodo, you could withstand that desire a while longer. Just appease her, go on that picnic. She is waiting for you in the hall to apologize, and I expect you to do so in a polite manner.” Meradoc gave his nephew a stern look and then walked off.

“I have to go, Merry. It was nice to know you.” Frodo walked off to the hall as one whose will has been broken.

~*~

3:33 p.m.

Primrose looked up, her face delicate and tear-streaked. “Hello, Frodo,” she said quietly, as though she was trying to steady her voice.

“Prim,” Frodo replied. “I am – I just wanted to tell you how sorry I was about earlier. It was rude of me, and I should not have said what I said. You were right. I was impertenent, just as you said.”

“Oh, Frodo,” she said, blinking her eyes. “You did not have to say that. I took it too much to heart. You were only teasing me.” She was close to Frodo now, her right hand on his left shoulder.

“A-hem!” He moved back slightly. “Well, now that that’s settled, would you still like to go on that picnic tomorrow?” He hated saying every word of his apology. She was the most stuck up lass in Buckland and he was not sure he liked what this new side of her was doing to him. He gazed into her eyes, and she fluttered them as though embarrassed.

“Yes, that would be fine. Shall I see you at noon, then?” She let her right arm dangle back at her side.

“Yes,” he promised.

“Good-bye, Frodo,” Primrose said with a slight smile and her blue eyes sparkling up at him.

He took her hand, as was a proper practice at the time, and kissed it gently. She closed her eyes as his soft lips touched her delicate hand. “Good-bye,” he said, his voice soft and his face a bit flushed. He watched her glide across the hall, humming softly a lullaby he had heard his mother hum to him before his parents had left that fateful night.

What was she doing to him? Suddenly, he felt attracted to her. For a moment, Dahlia was completely forgotten until Primrose was out of his sight when he unexpectedly felt a pang of guilt as though he was betraying her somehow. Why was it so difficult all of a sudden?

~*~

A/N: I hope you enjoyed. I have already written the next chapter and am well on my way in the third, so let me know if you’d like more, please. Please, review even if you didn’t like it, but please be constructive in your criticism. Thank you for your time.

Also, I’ve had one person tell me this is a Mary Sue, but she’s clearly not after you read a few chapters. So, please, give it a chance. Thank you, if you do.