Title: Young Master Baggins' Portrait
Paring: Frodo Baggins X Reader
Warnings: none
Spoilers: none
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He always came out into the meadows to read, you noticed after a while, Master Frodo Baggins of Bag-End, the nephew of Master Bilbo Baggins (a strange, but humorous hobbit) would read from parchment for hours. In the open. In natural light.
All of it was strange. Frodo was a strange hobbit.
But that's why you liked him.
Everyday since you had noticed his habit of returning to the meadows to read, you had picked up the same hobby, except, yours included a little more sneaking and less reading as such. It wasn't a creepy thing, watching Frodo read; it was wishful thinking, wishing you'd one day learn to read the common language and gain confidence to ask to share the book he read.
Today, you crept by the trees, watching as the light filtered through the meadow and cast shadows of green over his face. Read you couldn't, but draw - there were many pages of parchment etched with Master Frodo Baggins' features that proved you more than aptly skilled. At once you brought the pencil to the parchment, and sketched his familiar figure.
Time passed. The wind whistled. The trees swayed. It wasn't until many hours into sketching Frodo Baggins that you glanced up for a reference for his absentminded smile that you realised he wasn't there.
No, you thought, he can't be gone, I'm not done the picture.
"What's wrong?" You froze. The familiar voice you had never heard speak to you directly was behind your ear and turning, you saw his face with the absentminded smile you were searching for just seconds ago. Frodo seemed to notice your shock, and added, "It is a nice drawing, Miss _______."
You felt a hot blush creep over your cheeks, "Thank - thank you, Master Baggins," you stuttered, "I apologise, I mean -,"
Frodo chuckled. "It seems we both come here for the same reason, Miss _______." Curious, you stopped fumbling over which words to speak next and listened, "Because evidently, I come to see you, and you...you come to see me."
Clearing your throat, you looked down at the parchment where the picture of Frodo Baggins was, and added, "It sounds improper the way you put it, Mr Frodo, I -,"
You felt a hand on your chin raising it to see his non-pencil drawn face, "I want to invite you to my uncle's eleventy-first birthday, with me. So we can get to know each other, talk. If that's alright with you, Miss _______."
"It's perfectly alright, Mr Baggins," You smiled.
YOU ARE READING
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