Renacida || Fili x MGIME OC ||

...Here We Are

Uncle Bilbo scurried around the smial, muttering and huffing to himself about all order of things, from the way the pictures hanged too crookedly to the bouquet of fresh flowers picked this morning by Hamfast Gamgee not standing properly in their vase. Uncle Bilbo had on his nicest vest; it was a forest green with gold, embroidered flowers delicately climbing up it. The vest's brass buttons shone bright each time he crossed by a window.

His trousers and white tunic had been freshly pressed, and though his kerchief was perfectly knotted around his neck and tucked into the collar of his tunic, he kept complaining about it. Each time Uncle Bilbo passed a mirror, he stopped and readjusted the kerchief, though it largely remained in the same position after half a minute of fussing.

The kettle had been set, and the scones were fresh out of the oven. Uncle Bilbo laid them in a basket lined with white cloth. He tutted over the placement of the butter knife next to the tray of butter and jar of jam for quite some time. The blankets in the two guest bedrooms had too many creases in them, and the pillows were too lumpy.

But for all of Uncle Bilbo's brow furrowing, hand wringing, and nervous shuffling, when three quick knocks on the door echoed through the smial, he leapt up and beamed.

"Come, come!" he said eagerly. All worry vanished from him, and he appeared exceptionally joyous. "We have a visitor!"

Uncle Bilbo adjusted his kerchief one last time, straightened his back, and cleared his throat. Then he promptly turned the doorknob and opened the door. The bright light of the summer sun flooded the entrance, made all the cheerier as Uncle Bilbo's and a woman's laughter filled the hobbit's home.

"Baggins!" the woman cried. "What is up?"

"You should not have traveled so far!" he attempted to chastise, but his grin betrayed him. "Not in your condition!"

"What do you mean?" she gasped. "Baggins, are you insinuating something about my weight?"

"I well—no—" He tried to frown and wagged a finger at her, eyes narrowed. Then a dry laugh escaped past his lips, and soon he was back to grinning. "Oh, you are simply awful! And why are you still standing at the entrance like a stranger? Come in!"

The woman stepped fully across the threshold, the sun against her back. She was one of the Big People, and she wore a pale blue dress with strangely short, loose sleeves that ended midway on her brown upper arms. A simple leather belt wrapped around her waist, cinching the dress just above her swollen belly. Her curly hair, a dark, shining gray color, was bound up in a prettily braided bun.

Behind the woman was an older boy. He looked similar to her, and he wore comfortable but fine clothes. His shoulder-length black hair, curly like the woman's, had been pulled back from his kind and keen face. Clinging to the boy's leg was a smaller girl of similar countenance, dress the color of sunflowers.

"Where is he?" the woman inquired, looking about the smial. Uncle Bilbo jumped, realizing that he was alone in the entryway.

"Oh—where is he indeed! Frodo!"

Uncle Bilbo's gaze landed on his young nephew half-hiding around the corner, and he gestured for him to come forward. "I want you to meet one of my dearest friends! She came all the way from the Lonely Mountain to see you."

The woman smiled at Frodo, and it was a smile of warmth and love.

It was the smile of a mother.

Tentatively, Frodo walked forward. The woman lifted her dress so she could crouch down on her knees, despite her large, pregnant stomach. "Hello," she spoke, voice like warm syrup. "You must be Frodo."