by Rabidsamfan
Bilbo retreated into the newly positioned chair and settled down to look at the tiny hobbitling in his arms. You could never really tell what a newborn baby was going to look like when it grew older, but even in the crumpled newness of it, this one had a look that made think of the old stories
about the faery wife. �Suilad, tithen m�n*,� he said softly.
The baby�s eyes opened and studied him with sleepy solemnity for a long moment before taking on the puzzled air that all babies seemed to have when studying the world. �Don�t know what to make of me, do you?� Bilbo
asked it, ignoring the delighted exclamations from the bed as Primula and Drogo discovered the bottle of Old Winyards wrapped in the center of the fine new goosefeather bed. �Well I know what you are: another twelve-mile cousin
come to plague me.� He reached into his pocket and found the silver rattle, bringing it out to shake gently before the baby�s eyes. �It won�t work you know,� he whispered. �You�ll have to bring me a present too.�
*Greetings, Little One