Bilbo sat up and heard his back creak. He had been buried in his study for most of the morning after elevensies, only pausing occasionally for a cup of tea. Though the birthdays weren’t for another whole month, he had been thinking long and hard about what to give Frodo. He had wanted it to be something very fine and precious, because Frodo was a very deserving lad and had made him very happy, but he also had wanted it to be something one of a kind, something no one else could give him, and after some hurried letters to and from Master Elrond in Rivendell, he had hit upon the perfect thing. If it had been any other kind of gift, he would have kept it a surprise, but this particular gift wouldn't wait, and the sooner he told Frodo the better.

Bilbo pushed back his chair, rubbing his hands eagerly. "Frodo!" His voice echoed in the empty room, but there was no answering call or sound of footsteps. Where had he got to now? Ah well, it was his own fault, really. He tended to lose track of things when he was deeply interested in something, and unfortunately his young nephew was no exception.

After meandering through several different rooms, Bilbo heard the faint sound of voices and followed them to the front parlor. Bilbo's face softened as he looked out the window. Frodo was on his hands and knees beside the gardener's boy, Samwise, talking away with his hands in the soil. The bright summer sun beat down on their close-set heads, one dark golden-brown, the other the rich, dark color of well-tilled Shire earth. He must have been telling some interesting tale: Sam's mouth was hanging open, intent on his every word and his hands empty, the marigolds he was supposed to be planting forgotten. Frodo never put on airs, or considered himself above anyone else, (though he had every right to do so, Bilbo thought with a touch of pride, considering that he was a Baggins by birth, and was kin to the future Master of Buckland,) and he wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty, unlike some unpleasant relatives that Bilbo would rather not mention. Lucky for Sam old Hamfast was nowhere in sight-he would have objected strenuously, to put it mildly, at the sight of his son idling while his Master worked. Well, best call Frodo away now, before the gardener's lad got in hot water.

The window was open, and Bilbo leaned out over the deep windowsill. "Frodo! Frodo-lad, are you busy there?"

Frodo and Sam both jumped, and Sam blushed a guilty shade of red. "No, Uncle, I was just giving Sam a hand with these marigolds."

"Could you come in then? Come to my study, I wish to tell you something."

Frodo stood up quickly, dusted his hands and his hopelessly filthy waistcoat, and then leaned down to whisper something to Sam before scurrying out of sight. Sam nodded and went back to work. Bilbo was afraid he had sounded rather breathless and perhaps short-tempered, but that couldn't be helped: His well-rounded stomach had been pressed uncomfortably against the high windowsill, squashing all his inwards into his chest cavity, and it had quickly become a case of keep it short and sharp or risk suffocation.

Bilbo winced and rubbed his bruised stomach, then hurried away to the study. It was a chaotic mess of maps, and books, and untidy piles of paper. Quills were scattered over the floor where he had spilled them while whittling nibs, and his penknife was open and sitting in the saucer after he had absent-mindedly used it to stir his tea. The teaspoon was in the inkwell and there were crumbs of cheese all over the desk. Bilbo sighed and brushed helplessly at the debris. If he had made a mess like this anywhere else in the hole, good Bell Gamgee would have scolded him no end.

There was a polite tap on the doorframe, and Frodo peeked in. "Ah, there you are, my boy!" Bilbo said, rushing to him and ushering him in. He swept some papers off a chair and Frodo sat down. Frodo looked around curiously. He hadn't had much opportunity to be in Bilbo's study, but he was sure it wasn't such a mess the last time he had looked in. Perhaps Bilbo had something on his mind.

"I've had something on my mind..." Bilbo began.

Frodo felt a speech coming on, but Bilbo merely looked at him fondly and absently, two fingers fiddling with something in his waistcoat pocket. Ah, Frodo was a fine boy, an eminently satisfactory boy! Bilbo had lived alone for so long and become so set in the ways of an old bachelor, he had wondered if he could adjust to having a young one underfoot. He had forgotten how pleasant it could be to see a smiling face in the morning (other than his own in his looking glass,) how good it was to have someone listen seriously when he talked about his book, to hear a voice answer when he said goodnight.

"Uncle?" Frodo said expectantly.

"Hm?" Bilbo came back from wherever he had gone. "Oh. Right. Well, I brought you in here to talk about the present I am going to give you for my birthday. We'll be having a grand party, of course, and you may invite whomever you like from Brandy Hall-I know it was a dreadful wrench for you to leave everyone you knew there, Sara's little lad Meriadoc, in particular." Bilbo realized he was beginning to deviate from the point he was trying to get to. "But about the present-" (Frodo grinned and his eyes lit on Bilbo's waistcoat pocket.) "Ho ho, my lad! It's not in my pocket! It's far too big for that!" He drew his hands out of his pockets and put them behind his back, business-like. "I realize our birthdays aren't for another whole month, but this present won't wait till September. I have thought long and hard about this gift, I wanted it to be special and though it's slightly unusual, I hope it will please you. You are special, my boy, and you deserve much more than I can ever give you. You have made me very happy by agreeing to come live at Bag End and be my heir..."

Words were failing him. Bilbo turned to the window, feeling a tad emotional and unsteady. He could stand before hundreds of hobbits and give a speech, he could converse with Elves, or Men, or Dwarves-or even dragons-quite comfortably, about any subject under the sun, and yet he could not tell this one young lad all that was in his heart.

Frodo was confused. He felt warmed by his uncle's kind words, but Bilbo had already given him everything a hobbit could need: Lots of good food, a fine home, a soft bed, more books than he had ever dreamed of, and best of all, affection. And someday, too far away to imagine, he would be Master of Bag End, and every grand thing that went with it! What more could he possibly have that dear old Bilbo had not already handed to him? But now Bilbo looked sad, and his shoulders were rounded. Frodo went to Bilbo and put his arm around him. Perhaps he was still a little upset about seeing him meddling about with Sam. He had thought things were different at Bag End than they were at Brandy Hall, where there were so many servants one could scarcely keep track of them or know more than their given names, much less be friendly with them, but perhaps he had been wrong. Frodo's eyes welled up with tears. He enjoyed Sam's company, but if it upset Bilbo he would have less to do with him. He wouldn't have hurt Bilbo for anything in the world.

Bilbo must have read his thoughts. He bent a little and pressed a kiss into Frodo's hair. "No, no, no, heavens no! You haven't done anything at all wrong, and I am not the least bit angry." Bilbo sighed. "I'm just a scatter-brained, old fool of a hobbit that can't put two good words together, that's all. Run along now, there's a good lad."

~~~~~~~~~~

Frodo wandered off, deep in thought. Sam's mother, Bell, was in the kitchen surrounded by a veritable storm cloud of flour, and Frodo's nose tickled at the good smells of chicken and herbs. It was hot, and the lace ribbons of her cap were fairly melted to her head. "Hello, young Master! I'm just whippin up a nice chicken pie for you and Mr. Bilbo before I nip off and tend to my own. Are you hungry, pet?"

Frodo liked the easy way she called him 'pet', just as if he were one of her own children. Yes, things were different at Bag End-and he rather liked it that way. It brought back sweet (if slightly faded,) memories of his own mother. "Yes please, thank you, Bell."

Bell handed Frodo a large apple tart, which he began to devour in huge bites. Bell's round face beamed with happiness-how she loved to see a hobbit child eat! Nothing wrong with this one's appetite, though he was a trifle reedy. She'd soon see to that-she could stuff the lad with good things until he popped, now that he was officially adopted and in her clutches. Humming happily, Bell carefully flipped the piecrust over the chunks of chicken and vegetables in the pan. There was a heavy jug, half-filled with cold water, next to her elbow, and she dipped her fingers in and began to crimp the crust.

Frodo watched her work and felt the glimmerings of an idea. If Bilbo could give him an early birthday present (and it was something magnificent, Frodo was sure, even though he hadn't found out what it was yet,) he could return the favor. "May I have that?"

Bell looked baffled. Was eating raw pie some queer Brandybuck habit young Mr. Frodo had picked up? Well, he wouldn't be gobbling any raw dough in Hobbiton, that was certain. "You may to be sure, young Master, when it's cooked."

Frodo tried not to laugh. "Not the pie, the jug. I want to pick my uncle some flowers and put them on his desk." It was a small thing, but the best he could come up with on short notice.

Bell wasn't quite finished, but she handed over the jug gladly. Ah, that Mr. Frodo was a dear, sweet, thoughtful boy, sharp as a tack and sensible, for all that he had been growing up among Bucklanders. If Master Bilbo-and bless him, she did love him, for all his queer notions!-if he didn't fill his head with fluff, he'd be a fine master to her little Sam-lad someday.
~~~~~~~~~

Frodo wandered among his uncle's well-kept flowerbeds for a long time. He felt torn with indecision: There was an enormous variety, from the most humble nasturtium to the most exotic lily. But they were all so familiar-Bilbo could look at them anytime he wished. Frodo wanted something special. Casting his gaze around, Frodo spied a clump of purple flowers blossoming on the roof of Bag End, just over the door. He tucked the slippery jug under one arm and began to climb up.

They were a long-stemmed flower, ranging in color from deep violet to palest lavender, with many bunches of small blossoms that smelled sweet as sugar. They looked Elvish, somehow, and Frodo wondered what strange wind had wafted them to Hobbiton. It was rare to find such a thing blooming in the heart of the Shire in August, when all other spring flowers had long since faded, but the tree on Bag End's roof had shielded them from the hot sun. Frodo smiled. They were just what he was looking for! Certainly no other uncle in the Shire would have such a bouquet on his writing desk, and they would fill the whole study with their strong fragrance. Frodo began to pick them one by one, carefully pinching them off close to the ground.

Frodo was so absorbed in his work that he scarcely noticed a roly-poly figure come up the road and in through the gate. It was Freddy Bolger, one of Frodo's numerous cousins, and kin to him through Bilbo. He had followed his nose from his auntie's house to the doorstep of Bag End, drawn by the smell of apple tart and chicken pie. Freddy's fat face was red with exertion and dripping with perspiration. He stopped to wipe his forehead and saw Frodo on the roof. What mad thing was he up to now? He decided to dispense with polite introductions and made his slow, puffing, ascent up the hill. "Hullo, Frodo! My, it's hot! What are you doing there?" He plopped down in the grass and leaned over Frodo's shoulder for a closer look. Sweat dripped off the end of his button nose.

"Picking these flowers." Frodo's reply was short and to the point. Frodo was not inclined to be too chummy with Freddy, whom he considered to be spoiled (his family was very rich,) occasionally bossy (his family was very respectable,) and somewhat dull. The fact that 'Fatty' was one of the few lads in Hobbiton within his social station mattered to him not at all. Later in life Freddy would become quite a bit less spoiled, he and Frodo would become fast friends, and time and circumstances would reveal the wiry hero hidden behind his soft, well-fed exterior. But for now Freddy was only a very fat, very annoying hobbit-lad, sweating all over Uncle Bilbo's flowers. Frodo gave Freddy's midsection a poke with his elbow. "Do lean off, Freddy."

Freddy sat back. "What for?"

"For Bilbo's birthday."

"But that's not for another month!"

"Yes."

More answers were not forthcoming. Rosamunda Bolger had always told her son that a proper gentlehobbit did not barge in and demand food, he must wait politely for his host to offer it. But Frodo showed no signs of being hungry and Freddy (having narrowly escaped a plate of mashed turnips at his auntie's,) was perishing for the lack of apple tart. Perhaps if he hurried things along...

"Here, let's give it to him now!" He snatched the jug out of Frodo's hands.

Frodo snatched it back. "I'm not finished."

"But I want to help."

"I'm doing quite well on my own, thank you!"

Frodo had the jug tucked close to his bosom, like a mother shields her babe, but Freddy made one, last desperate grab and the slippery jug squirted through their hands like a piece of soap. It hit the incline and began to roll, then vanished over the edge of the roof. Frodo turned to Freddy with lightning flashing in his eyes and stormclouds on his brow, but there was no time to give him a good pounding, because down below there was a dull crash and the sound of something heavy striking the earth.

Freddy and Frodo crawled to the edge and peeked over. Bilbo was lying on the doorstep, as if struck by the sudden need for a nap, surrounded by shards of smashed crockery. Water dripped off the end of his nose. He was smiling gently, and pale violet petals were scattered over his face. Little Sam was standing there, horror-struck, with his hands clapped over his mouth, while his Dad knelt beside Bilbo. Bell chose that moment to open Bag End's round front door, then shrieked and threw her apron over her head.

"Oh dear," Freddy whispered.

*************

TBC

Here is where the sharp-eyed reader will see my tinkering with canon: I don't think Freddy was even out of the cradle when Bilbo adopted Frodo! I've always tried to adhere to canon as much as possible in my stories, but Freddy just kept butting his way in somehow. Darn that kid.

Wide-eyed, Freddy started to crawl backward. "It has been a very nice visit, but I think I must be getting home now." Freddy had decided that mashed turnips were highly preferable to the punishment he would receive for murdering Bilbo Baggins. He rolled to his feet with unexpected speed and grace for one so stout, eluded Frodo's clutching hands, and ran down the hill. He leaped over the back garden fence as fleetly as a young deer, fear giving him speed, and the last Frodo saw of him that day was his round shape receding into the distance and his woolly feet kicking up dust. Later Frodo would have time to reflect, and he would think that the one good thing to come from Bilbo’s wounding was that Freddy avoided Bag End for weeks to come.

Hamfast had seen the commotion and was pointing up. "You, there! I see you! Just you be climbin down here, Mr. Bilbo will no doubt want a word with you, when he comes to."

Frodo climbed down slowly and stood waiting. Hamfast seemed a little surprised and flustered to find the culprit was Mr. Bilbo's nephew-he had expected some rascally Goodchild, or Proudfoot lad-but he kept a firm but gentle grip on his shoulder, as if fearing he might bolt, while Sam was sent to Number Three to fetch his older brothers. Hamson and Halfred came on the run, one took Bilbo's feet and the other his shoulders, and together they wrestled his considerable weight through the door of Bag End. They stretched him out on the sofa in the parlor. Hamfast propped a pillow under his head and another under his feet. Bell dispatched Sam again, this time for a bowl of cool water and some sticking plaster. Sam then moved to Frodo's side and stood close, oozing pity and sympathy, while Ham and Hal put their hands behind their backs and shuffled their feet uneasily on the soft hearthrug. They felt decidedly uncomfortable and out of place in Master Bilbo's fine home, with it’s carved beams and fine furniture, and the watercolor portraits of the Old Master’s esteemed parents hanging over the hearth, boring holes in their backs with their painted eyes.

Frodo sat very quietly in an armchair, while Hamfast applied a plaster over the large bump growing on his uncle's head, and wished he could sink through the floor and disappear. Bell put the basin of water aside and fanned Bilbo gently with her apron. Bilbo smiled and his eyelids fluttered.

"Oh, I believe he's comin round!" Bell said. She lifted his hand and patted it. "Sir! Sir, speak to us!"

Bilbo's eyes were glazed. "The eagles are coming!" he murmured.

"He's ravin'," Hal muttered. Hamfast glared at him, and his older brother gave him a kick.

Bilbo's eyes cleared and he looked around curiously. "How on earth did I get in here?" The last thing he remembered was standing in his study looking over the papers he had gathered, and coming to the conclusion that yes, he was the most foolish old hobbit alive. Why, if couldn't find the words to tell the boy about the gift he had prepared, and what his presence had meant to him, he could surely show him. He had rushed to the front door and stepped outside, closed the door behind him, and then..."What hit me?"

"A cream jug," Bell said, flushing slightly and wringing her hands. T'was she that had supplied the young Master with the weapon, such as it was.

"A big'un. With flowers in it," Hamfast added.

"How on..." Bilbo began, and then spied Frodo huddled miserably in the armchair. "Ah. I see. Well." He sat up, wincing, over Bell and Ham's strong protests. "Now, now, I'm quite all right: My head's not an eggshell that will crack under the mere tap of a falling cream jug. You've been very kind, but you needn't fuss, all of you! I want to talk to Frodo-alone, if you please."

They did not please, but he managed to slowly herd them all out of the hole, like reluctant cows heading out of the barn. Sam in particular had to be forcibly removed from Frodo's side by his mother. Sam was sniffling, sure his beloved young Master was about to get the thrashing of a lifetime.

Bilbo came back, sighed heavily, and plopped down on the sofa. Frodo hiccupped and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He wouldn't have been surprised if Bilbo took the fabulous, (and yet unseen) present and tossed it into the garden, as well as shredding the adoption papers and using them for mulch. Bilbo looked at him with pity, smiled, and patted the sofa. Frodo came over and sat down, and Bilbo put his arm around him. "Now then, my lad, would you mind telling me how I came to be sprawled on my doorstep?”

Frodo told of his scuffle with Freddy on the roof. Bilbo would have laughed, if the poor boy hadn't looked so miserable. "I only wanted to give you an early present for my birthday," Frodo said, his eyes wet. "Because you were going to give one to me, and when I left you earlier you looked so sad."

"And concussion was the surest physic for my sorrows?" Bilbo said teasingly.

Frodo's lip quivered, and Bilbo laughed and squeezed his shoulder. "Oh, dear boy, don't cry anymore! I was only teasing a little, and I am not angry, or even much hurt. My old gourd is harder than that. Why, a giant eagle once dropped an enormous boulder on my head, and if a hobbit can survive that, he can certainly survive a cream jug full of flowers!" They laughed a little together and Bilbo wiped Frodo's face with his handkerchief. (He always kept at least two within reach; a long ago, hurried exit from Bag End had taught him a good lesson about always keeping several stashed away on his person.)

"I won't blame you if you don't want to give me that present now," Frodo said. Or ever, he added to himself.

Bilbo looked surprised. “Of course I am going to give it to you! This very day, or night, rather." Bilbo stood up quickly and clapped his hands. "Get your traveling cloak, my boy, and I'll get some food together, then run down to Number Three with the keys and tell Master Hamfast we will be gone for the rest of today and tonight, and possibly tomorrow morning as well."

Frodo jumped to his feet. "But where are we going?"

"Oh, anywhere will do," Bilbo said vaguely. "So long as it's a good distance away, and fairly flat and in the open, so we can see it clearly."

Frodo laughed out loud. Excitement, curiousity, and relief had mingled together and gone straight to his head like a shot of brandy. "Uncle, you're driving me mad! What? What are we going to see?"

"Now that would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?" Bilbo laughed playfully. But he came close and put his hands on either side of Frodo's face, red-cheeked and glowing in the light of afternoon, and looked on him with such deep fondness that Frodo blushed. Frodo smelled soap, and pipeweed, and ink, and the faintest, dusty hint of old parchment.

How dear the boy has become to me in so short a time, dearer than life; his smile is more precious than gold, and the light of his face brighter than any treasure in old Smaug's jeweled nest! Bilbo thought. But Bilbo was a hobbit, and a Baggins to boot, and though they shone out of his eyes, the words he wished to say stayed hidden in his heart.

******************TBC

As soon as could be managed everything was taken care of, Bilbo and Frodo were dressed for travel, and the entire Gamgee clan, from the Gaffer holding the keys to Bag End to little Marigold crowing and babbling in her mother's arms, were assembled to see them go. Frodo was eager to be off, and Sam was dancing with shared excitement, he was so happy to see that his Master was to be rewarded instead of thrashed and sent to bed without supper.

Bell had forgotten her chicken pie during all the fuss, but Sam's sister May had smelled scorched piecrust and rescued it in the nick of time. Now she stood holding it and sniffled a little, while her brothers eyed it hungrily (they had still not had their luncheon), and Bell and little Daisy wept into their aprons. Hamfast pressed Bilbo's hand as if he and Frodo were going off to war, instead of a pleasant jaunt to some patch of woods or meadow. The Gamgees were sensible hobbits, who rose early in the morning and were usually safe indoors after sunset, and to sleep outside on the hard ground in the dark seemed to them not only queer, but also filled with peril.

At last the goodbyes were said and they started off. Bilbo sighed with relief when a bend in the road put them out of sight. Fine folk they were, and they were good and faithful servants and dear to his heart, but how they did run on! "You would think we were archers off to Fornost, the way they behave!" Bilbo said.

"It's only because they love us, Uncle," Frodo said, adjusting the straps of his pack. Bell had loaded him with food enough for ten hobbits, and each of them five feet tall by the weight of it.

Bilbo laughed. "Indeed, my boy, you're right and I shouldn't grumble. There's not a better looked-after hobbit in Hobbiton than we two." He ruffled Frodo's hair and Frodo grinned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They walked all the rest of that day, stopping briefly for a ‘snack‘ that made a considerable dent in their supplies. They napped for a bit under a tree, and then went on at a good pace until the light was fading in the sky and the fireflies appeared. The heat-haze of late afternoon was settling on the horizon, and crickets were beginning to call from their hidden places in the grass. Bilbo and Frodo veered off the road for a good long way, until they crossed a small stream, then came to a clearing bordered by tall oaks. Bilbo dropped his pack off his back with a grunt and a sigh of relief; it was still heavy, and he wasn't as young as he used to be, in spite of his appearance. "This looks like a likely spot," Bilbo said, standing with his hands on his hips and looking at the sky. "No clouds, dark of the moon, just as Master Elrond said. Yes, this should do nicely.”

Frodo looked around, filled with curiosity. There seemed to be nothing special about their location. It was just a nice meadow in the middle of nowhere in particular, not very far off the road. If it weren't for the thick trees, he imagined he might even be able to see the roofs of all the little houses and holes in Hobbiton. Strangely enough, there seemed to be almost a beaten track, a flat, pressed place through the long grass, as though many feet had walked there. "Are we going to meet someone?" Frodo asked.

Bilbo pursed his lips. "Oh, possibly."

Frodo laughed and threw himself on his uncle, hugging him fiercely and then pounding him with his small fists. "I have the cruelest uncle in the Shire!"

Bilbo laughed helplessly until he fell over backwards. "Have mercy on an old hobbit! Have a little more patience! It's coming, I promise you. I could tell you a story while we wait; would that help?"

Frodo pursed his lips in eerie imitation of his uncle. "Oh, possibly."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next few hours were taken up with gathering wood, arranging their bedrolls and preparing another meal, and the slow enjoyment of eating it. Then as the fire burned down to coals they stacked the plates and utensils, (deciding in true bachelor fashion to leave the washing-up for the next day,) and Bilbo settled back with his pipe. (For his next birthday, Bilbo would see that Frodo had a pipe of his own, but for now he had not yet taken up the habit.) Frodo put his head on his pack and laced his hands over his chest, and watched the stars come out, and Bilbo told one short tale after another: Bits of his own long-ago adventures, mostly, but also bits of Elvish history, and what he knew of Men. Frodo felt tired, and it was getting very hard to keep his eyes open. He yawned hugely. Suddenly, right over his head there swiftly passed a streak of white fire.

Frodo sat up and cried out, "Bilbo, look there! And there!" The sky seemed filled with falling lights that flared and went out, some like streaks of chalk on black velvet, some leaving for an instant a trace of apple green or red.

"Master Elrond was right," Bilbo murmured. "It is magnificent."

"Is this the surprise?"

"Well, part of it," Bilbo said hesitantly. "And how do you like it?"

"It's wonderful!" Frodo said. He had seen falling stars, but never so many and so bright, and often it was only a smeary glimpse through a window of Brandy Hall before he was hurried off to bed. Now he was swiveling his head, eyes wide with wonder, trying to see every corner of the sky at once. “However did you do it?"

Bilbo laughed and felt very pleased. "Oh, heavens, I had nothing to with it, nor Master Elrond either. Even an Elf Lord can't command the stars to fall. It's just a little thing that happens every year about this time; Tears of the Valar, the Elves call it, or just Star-Fall for plain folks. Any hobbit may see it if he is inclined to look, but most respectable hobbits are sound asleep in their beds by this hour." Bilbo's eyes twinkled as he leaned over and patted Frodo's knee. "But lucky for us, I gave up on respectability years ago. Far too much work."

"Thank you so much for this," Frodo said, and blushed a little. "It is so kind of you to show it to me, especially after what happened this morning. No one has ever gone to this much trouble to give me a gift before."

Bilbo's heart hurt a little. No doubt Saradoc had done the best he could by the boy, but still, who knew how many forgotten birthdays had gone by in his short life, lost as he was in the bustle of Brandy Hall? A regular rabbit warren that place was, as he well knew, and how easy for a quiet hobbit-lad with nothing and no one to call his own to simply fade into the background. He was like a star behind clouds there, his brightness hidden. Not any more, Bilbo vowed, and felt tears sting his eyes. By heavens, he's my lad now, and I'll help him shine.

Bilbo sighed deeply and wiped his face on his sleeve. He was sitting very close, and Frodo felt the movement in the dark. "Are you all right, uncle?"

"Yes, yes," Bilbo said. "Quite all right. Just a bit of dust in my eyes. The wind is rising."

They fell silent for a while as the wind came up and rustled the grass. Bilbo leaned back on his elbows and crossed his legs at the ankles. Frodo sat firmly upright to keep himself awake, but in spite of that, his eyelids drooped. There was a sweet smell on the air, the night wind felt cool on his face, and he seemed to hear a whisper of song. His head nodded, and when he looked up again there was a glow at the edge of the trees, like a star fallen to earth. He blinked and rubbed his eyes hard, then nudged Bilbo with his elbow.

Bilbo was not asleep. "Ah, so they have come as I'd hoped they would."

The light grew and grew, a shimmering in the dark, and the song swelled, and Frodo seemed to hear in it the sound of the sea and gulls calling across a gray sky. Tall Elves were walking out of the wood, dressed in green and gold, with fair Ladies in silver and white on horses beside them, and the light they made was so bright they cast shadows on the ground, and it seemed the stars themselves were singing.

A Elbereth Gilthoniel,

silivren penna miriel

o menel aglar elenath!

Na-chaerad palan-diriel

o galadhremmin ennorath,

Fanuilos, le linnathon

nef aear, si nef aearon!

Frodo rolled to his knees and crouched in the grass like a frightened rabbit. He had known for a long time that his uncle had dealings with strange folk such as Dwarves and Elves. It was a subject of much rumor and gossip at Brandy Hall, and he had often secretly wished that he might meet an Elf or two; but now that the moment was at hand his courage had deserted him. Beautiful and terrible the Elves were, tall and fair, like kings and queens out of legend, and he had never in his life felt so humbled, rustic, and small. He almost hoped that Bilbo would keep silent and let them pass by, but when the Elves had come within the sound of his voice Bilbo stood up and called out, "Good evening, fair people!"

To his astonishment, the Elf at the head of the column raised a hand to halt the others. He was very tall and his hair was dark and woven through with little bells. He was armed with a bow and on the belt at his waist he wore an ox horn bound with silver. He put his hand over his heart and gave a small bow. "I am Celebrom. Master Elrond told me that I might meet you if I passed this way to the Havens. Are you the Bilbo Baggins, the halfling of famous name? It has been long since you were at Imladris, but you are well remembered."

"One and the same," Bilbo said, bowing low. “Quite a bit older now, and only somewhat wiser! At your service. And this young fellow-" (Here he reached down and pulled a trembling Frodo to his feet.) "This is my nephew and heir, Frodo Baggins."

Frodo suddenly remembered his manners. "At your service!" he squeaked, and bowed so deeply he nearly fell forward on his nose.

Celebrom laughed gently, a deep and musical sound, like falling water. "Well met, little Elf-friend. It is good to know that the House of Baggins endures; such a line should not die out." He turned to Bilbo. "If it pleases you, my folk and I would rest here in this meadow a while. Although our road has been long it is now drawing to an end, and it would ease our hearts to gaze upon the familiar stars of Middle Earth a little longer before we leave them."

"It would please me very much indeed," Bilbo said. "Stay as long as you like!"

The Elves went to and fro, staking out the horses, setting out mats and cushions in the long grass, and their ladies brought out flasks and plates, fruit, bread, and wine. The Elves then set themselves here and there, and ate and drank. It was really like a hobbit picnic in some hayfield or garden of Hobbiton, Frodo thought, though he was sure there were no hobbits in the shire that would have such a light about them, or could look so proud and beautiful, or move with such grace as these folk. Frodo found a full plate placed before him, and an Elf-maid pressed a cup of clear wine into his hand. Frodo blushed to his toes when she touched his hair and spoke to him in her soft voice before she left him. He wished he knew what she had said, and turned to Bilbo hoping for a translation, but Bilbo was deep in conversation with Celebrom.

"I really must ask Bilbo for lessons in Elvish," Frodo sighed to himself, still feeling the touch of that cool hand, the depth of her sad, bright gaze. But Frodo was a very young hobbit still, with other concerns: His stomach growled hungrily, and he looked to his plate and began to empty it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So the night wore on and the stars fell, and of those Elves that had finished eating or doing whatever small tasks that had come to hand, some rose up and sang together. Frodo sat in wonder, listening. He wished again that he knew their words, for although some songs were short and merry and filled with laughter, most were lengthy and sad and seemed to tell of mournful endings, and bitter partings, and the inevitable passing of all things beautiful and good.

Tears welled up in Frodo’s eyes, and the beauty and sorrow seemed to sink into his heart. Bell Gamgee's worst fear had come true, for her young Master Frodo was lost and enchanted, his head eternally filled with 'fluff': For a love of all things Elvish had awakened in him as he listened to those clear voices, and he would never again be the same sensible hobbit-lad that had marched away from Bag End in the morning.

"Master Bilbo, I fear we have talked too long. Young eyes grow weary," Celebrom said to Bilbo with a smile, putting a hand on his shoulder and giving a nod toward Frodo. "And your heir will soon fall asleep in his plate."

Bilbo looked over to Frodo, who was slouched close by, his pale face pinched with tiredness. As they watched, Frodo’s eyes started to close, his chin dipped down, and he began to lean to one side like a felled tree. The empty plate was slipping and the not-quite-empty cup was canting dangerously toward his lap.

“And here I am all this time, rattling on while he sits here not knowing a word!” Bilbo scolded himself. “Gracious me, Celebrom, I believe we’ve bored the poor lad to sleep.” He took the plate and cup from Frodo’s hands and set them aside, then propped a pillow behind his back. “Here, my boy, you’ve been up quite a bit later than you’re used to. Let’s get you tucked in.”

Bilbo gave Frodo a gentle push and he fell back onto the pillow, already half in his dreams. Frodo had the feeling that the pillow was only a small boat on a vast ocean with an enormous, dark sky overhead, and he tightened his grip on it as the green grass rose and fell around him like great waves. The sweet sound of Elvish voices came to him over the water. He was a little afraid, but he could feel Bilbo's warm hand. Even if he drifted away Bilbo was with him, and it was all right. They would go together.

Bilbo pulled a blanket over him and gently brushed the brown curls out of his eyes. Frodo was smudged and dusty and there was chaff in his hair, but there was a sweet look of peace in his face, and he smiled in his sleep. "Dear boy, my best lad, you've had a long day,” Bilbo whispered. “Go ahead and rest, and don’t worry about missing anything. They'll go on singing all night, you know. Sleep well."

****************TBC

What I know about Sindarin could be put in a thimble and still have plenty of room left over. The translation of Celebrom, if I got it right, is Silverhorn. (Or more correctly, the *sound* of a silver horn, which is as close as I could get to what I meant. O Scholars of Elvish, if I'm wrong about this, please don't hesitate to correct me.)

Frodo woke up feeling the warm sun on his face. He caught a whiff of the good smell of bacon and fried bread, and he could hear Bilbo humming to himself. He wondered what kind of day it was going to be, and what time it was. His bed seemed strangely hard, and damp, and his room was a tad drafty. Had he left the window open?

"Frodo!" Bilbo called. "Frodo, come along now, time to get up."

Frodo smiled with his eyes closed. "I had the most wonderful dream..."

"Not at all, my boy," Bilbo chuckled, very close by. "It was very real. As real as this breakfast, and if you want any of it you had better get up. You've slept most of the morning away."

Frodo opened his eyes, sat up and threw the blanket off. Sweat had dampened the hair on the back of his neck. It looked to be another hot day in the making. He looked around, but there was no sign that anyone other two hobbits had camped in the meadow. "So it really happened! Are they all gone? I wish they could have stayed a little longer. I would have liked to have thanked them for their food and drink, and said goodbye to them."

"Ah, but they were in a hurry to go," Bilbo said. "Last night was only a short pause on the way to the Havens, where a gray ship awaited them. All the Elves are leaving Middle Earth, you know. Their time is ending, so they say, and they are taking ship at the Havens and sailing into the West. I believe that some Elves will linger a while, at least through your lifetime, Frodo. At least I hope so. It will be a darker, emptier world when they have all gone away."

Frodo was suddenly very glad to be who he was and where he was, to have deep roots in the Shire and Middle earth. "Will we ever see them again?"

"Oh, we may see Elves again someday, but not Celebrom and his kin. They have gone forever." Bilbo sighed and shook his head. "Though I have heard that it is a wonderful land they are bound for, where it is always springtime, still what a painful thing it must be for them, leaving all that they know to go to some far place many of them have never seen. I've wandered a bit myself, and I can tell you from experience that nothing beats coming home after a long journey to where you were born and bred, to a warm hearth, and a garden and a hole of your own. I don't think I could give that up for any paradise, within Middle earth or without."

"I would never want to live anywhere but the Shire," Frodo said firmly.

Bilbo smiled. "Neither would I."

Bilbo said no more after that, but handed Frodo a napkin and a fork: The dishes were all packed away-still unwashed-and the two untidy bachelor hobbits were forced to eat directly from the pan. They made a good hobbit-sized meal from what the Elves had left and the remainders of their own supply, and then rested for a long spell while they digested. Bilbo leaned back with his pipe and blew smoke rings. Frodo watched a blue cloud of them gather in the still air over Bilbo's head, and he looked very thoughtful.

He's working himself up to say something, Bilbo thought, but decided to let him be rather than fill the silence with idle talk. He'll speak up soon enough, when he's sorted it out.

They walked in a companionable silence during the long trek back to Hobbiton. They halted when they reached a green hill that overlooked the village and threw themselves down in the grass for a rest. Down below a farmer and his pony-cart rattled over the bridge, and the millstream sparkled in the sun. The air was very warm and still, and they heard the clip-clop of his pony’s hooves and rattle of his cartwheels long after he had driven out of sight. The quiet whirr and hum and heat of summer was all around them, and they had long since taken off their coats. Frodo's coat was wadded into a careless bundle and crammed into his pack. Bilbo had done the same, but he had taken one of his many handkerchiefs and fashioned it into a cap on his head to keep off the sun. His collar was unbuttoned and one of the brass buttons on his waistcoat was missing. He looked overheated, and grass-stained, and dusty, and there was a smudge of dirt on the end of his nose. No, it was not at all how a respectable gentlehobbit should appear, and Frodo loved him very much, and was glad of it.

"But I wish I could have given you a gift for my birthday," Frodo said, half to himself. Though someday he would come into a fortune, he had left Buckland without even one silver penny. Perhaps if he saved all his pocket money and refrained from buying books or sweets, he would have enough for something by September....

"You have already given it to me," Bilbo said. "Whether you know it or not. I know I don't look it, Frodo, but I'm an old hobbit and I won't be around forever, and it means a great deal to me to know that there is another Baggins under the hill. I know that you will cherish Bag End for all of your days, and someday there will be a pretty lass in the parlor, and a little Baggins running about underfoot..."

Frodo was blushing. "Uncle!"

Bilbo laughed and went on. "Not everyone can be so lucky as to escape the trap of matrimony as I have! And even if you do escape, and get an itchy foot and take to wandering, that's all right, too. It is enough that I have someone to look after, to teach and to care for while I am in the world, someone to remember me with fondness when I am gone. Your mere presence in my life is my gift, Frodo, and if you never give me another, I will still consider myself highly fortunate, and more greatly blessed than any other hobbit alive."

Bilbo had become very serious. He put his hand on Frodo's shoulder, and his honest hobbit face was so filled with sincere warmth and earnest affection that Frodo felt his throat close up. He put his young, slim hand over the plump older hand that lay on his shoulder and held it tight, suddenly overwhelmed with love for this old hobbit that had done so much for him. He couldn't speak.

After a good long while Frodo and Bilbo turned away from each other and stood up and hoisted their packs, which were now considerably lightened. They were both feeling slightly damp around the eyes, and Bilbo pulled out yet another handkerchief from some hidden pocket of his waistcoat and blew his nose loudly.

"Dratted dust," Bilbo said. "We need a good rain to settle it."

"It would cool the air," Frodo agreed, wiping his face on his sleeve.

Bilbo took a breath. "Well. I'm feeling peckish. What do you suppose Bell is serving for dinner?"

Then the two bachelor hobbits linked arms and marched down over the hill, toward hole and home, where the teakettle was singing on the hearth.

*********
The end.