5. A Nephew's Stubbornness

12 May 1380 S.R.

The next morning after second breakfast, Primula packed a basketful of sandwiches, fresh mushrooms, and cherry tarts. Today, the family would be sharing elevensies as well as lunch by the Brandywine River. It only took a few minutes for them to walk outside of Brandy Hall, and for Primula to set up a comfortable spot for them underneath an oak tree.

As she sat down on the blanket, she began to unload the food from the basket. She glanced up every now and again to watch Frodo, Drogo, and Bilbo toss a medium sized ball back and forth. She smiled as she knew that for as long as he was visiting, Bilbo's time would be either monopolized by Drogo or Frodo as both adored the older cousin they both called "uncle".

After arranging the food, Primula sat back on the blanket, not calling her family to the meal yet as to allow them time to play and enjoy one another's company. About fifteen minutes into the game, Frodo had thrown the ball past Drogo, and just turned his back to retrieve it, Frodo charged his father, latching on to his father's waist.

Drogo managed to retrieve the ball from the river reeds where it had rolled to, tossing it back to Bilbo before he turned to tickle his son whose attachment by now had slid down to Drogo's legs. Frodo howled with laughter as he fell completely to the ground, his father kneeling beside him, tickling him in an almost frenzy.

'Do you surrender, my little scamp?' Drogo asked, laughing himself.

Tears rolled down his face and his face turned red from laughter but Frodo refused to surrender. 'N...nnnn...NO!'

Drogo looked up at Bilbo, 'Come, uncle, lend me a hand in getting this little scamp's surrender!'

Bilbo laughed and shook his head, "I think not, Drogo, this is one battle you'll have to win yourself.' By now, he had joined Primula on the blanket, and he was sipping on a cup still warm tea as they awaited his silly nephews' presence.

Finally Frodo could take no more of his father's tickling; "I surrender!"

With a satisfied smile, Drogo helped his son up, taking a moment to take deep breath of his own as Frodo ran towards the tree where elevensies awaited them. Drogo's pace joining them was slower than usual and when he sat down beside her, Primula gave him a worried glance.

***

Later, when Frodo and Bilbo were occupied talking down by the Brandywine, Primula noted his pale and tired Drogo still seemed. Shortly after elevensies ended, he had laid back against the oak, declining his son's invitation to the river.

Primula waited until Frodo and Bilbo were out of earshot before she spoke quietly to Drogo, who laid with his eyes closed. 'Are you all right?'

'Yes, I'm fine.' Drogo answered, opening his sea blue eyes.

'Are you sure?' Primula persisted, touching his brow.

Drogo caught her hand with his own, bringing it to his lips. 'I'm sure, Prim. Stop worrying so much.'

***

After lunch, the three adults returned home while Frodo was given approval to spend sometime with his cousins. When they returned home, Drogo went to take a nap while Primula and Bilbo settled in by the hearth. Bilbo pulled out his pipe and began to smoke while Primula worked on repairing a hole in a pair of Frodo's pants.

'Primula,' Bilbo began after a long time of silence, 'Is Drogo all right?'

Primula didn't look up as she replied, 'Of course, Bilbo. Why do you ask?'

'I don't know...it's just he seemed a bit washed out earlier after running and playing with Frodo. Now at my age, it's expected that I might be tired after playing with a hobbit-lad Frodo's age but since Drogo's so much young-'

'Drogo's fine, uncle!' Primula said, and when Bilbo looked at her skeptically she continued, 'Well it's just that I don't think he slept too well, not with the excitement of you being here and all!'

'Hmmmph...' Bilbo replied, and said not another word as he resumed smoking his pipe.

***

On the second night of their stargazing lesson, Frodo seemed more distracted and less interested in what Bilbo was telling him about. Much to everyone's surprise Drogo had slept right through the last two meals of the day, begging everyone's leave as he said he was "fatigued". And before Bilbo could say a word of concern about this to Primula, Frodo had asked if they were going to continue with their stargazing lesson.

'Frodo,' Bilbo said finally sitting up, 'Is something bothering you, my boy? I ask because you're not paying all that much attention to what I am saying at all.'

Frodo looked up at him, "Sorry, uncle.'

Bilbo's eyes widened with concern as it was apparent something was bothering the child. 'Frodo, is something troubling you, lad?' He waited for Frodo to answer and when he got none he said, 'It's all right, Frodo, you can tell me if something's wrong. You can trust your old uncle.'

Tears were in Frodo's eyes as he spoke, 'Uncle, I'm worried about Daddy. Lately he doesn't seem like himself.'

'Can you give me some examples, lad?'

'I mean like this morning when he got so tired after he chased and tickled me, I got scared when I saw how he looked,' Frodo said. 'Uncle Bilbo, Daddy looked like a sheet on my bed!'

Bilbo nodded, 'Anything else?'

Frodo nodded. 'The night before you arrived, I was in bed and I heard Mama and Daddy talking. They were talking about the cut on his hand and Mama said something about how the cut should have healed weeks ago!' Bilbo was silent as he thought for a moment before he spoke, thinking of a coarse of action to take.

'Frodo, if you'll go onto to bed when we head inside, I'll talk to your father about going to see a healer first thing in the morning.'

'All right, uncle,' Frodo promised.

'That's a good, lad. Now help me up from here.'

***

13 May 1380 S.R.

The next morning before Frodo had made his appearance, Bilbo asked if he could have the attention of Drogo and Primula for a moment. Wondering what the older hobbit wanted, they sat down at the table with him, locking hands on the table's surface as they waited for him to speak.

Sighing Bilbo began; noting that Drogo's bandaged hand was hidden. 'I hate to be discussing anything serious so early in my visit but Drogo, Primula, it's come to my attention that one of you might be seriously ill.'

'Uncle, neither of us is ill,' Drogo replied.

'Oh really?' Bilbo said, arching an eyebrow, Well, Drogo, my boy - it's also been brought to my attention that you've got a cut that refuses to heal and that you're refusing to go see a healer about it.'

Drogo looked at his wife, 'You promised you wouldn't bring this up while Bilbo was here!'

'It wasn't Primula who brought this to my attention, nephew. It was Frodo,' Bilbo said, 'And before you think of asking how the lad knew something was wrong, Frodo told me last night that he overheard you both talking about this the eve of my arrival while he was in bed.'

An annoyed look crossed Drogo's face. 'I think I shall have a talk with Frodo about eavesdropping on other people's conversations.'

'Now, Drogo, before you go getting all upset with the lad, just remember he was in bed at the time he heard you talking. He told me he couldn't sleep that night. Drogo, he's worried about you, especially since he saw how tired you got yesterday. If you won't go see the healer for me, or Primula, or yourself, then go for the sake of your son's peace of mind,' Bilbo said.

Drogo sighed, his gaze dropping to the bandage on his hand, 'All right, I'll go see Dr. Gentlewinter today after luncheon. I promise.'

At that moment, Frodo ran into the room and running straight for Drogo, he hugged his father's neck. 'Thank you, Daddy!'

Drogo smiled, "You're welcome, son!'

Just as he had promised, Drogo went to see Dr. Gentlewinter
after lunch. Primula went with him while Bilbo stayed behind with Frodo
in the smial, keeping his young nephew occupied with tales of his adventure
from years ago.

'...So there I was trapped in a dark cavern with no visible way out
and I had that Gollum creature there before me, threatening to eat me if
I couldn't answer his riddles,' Bilbo said.

Frodo was wide-eyed with excitement, 'How did you get away, uncle?'

'Well you'll remember that the bargain with Gollum was if I answered his
riddles, he wouldn't eat me but if he failed to answer one of mine then
he HAD to show me a way out of that blasted cavern. Well we traded riddles
back and forth, and there was a time I was beginning to think I'd run out
of riddles before he'd be stumped or I feared, he'd tell me a riddle I
couldn't answer.'

Bilbo paused for dramatic effect, and he smiled when Frodo said, 'Go
on please!'

However, at that moment, the door to the apartments opened up and in
walked Frodo's parents into the smial. The tale suddenly forgotten, Frodo
ran over to his father to get a hug even as Primula headed into the kitchen
to occupy herself with some sort of chore or another.

'What did the healer say?' Bilbo asked.

Drogo didn't answer, and the older hobbit saw the grim look on his nephew's
face. Looking down at his son, Drogo said, 'Frodo, go help your mother.'
For a moment, both hobbits thought the lad would protest but after a moment
he merely nodded.

'Yes, Papa.'

Drogo watched him go to his mother before he picked up his pipe. Glancing
to his uncle, and then to the kitchen, he called out to Primula, 'We're
going for a walk outside, Prim. We'll be back soon for dinner.'

Trying to keep a brave face for her son, Prim nodded. 'All right, Drogo,
don't be too late.'

***

Bilbo followed his nephew out of Brandy Hall without speaking a word,
and he waited patiently once they were outside as Drogo lit his pipe. When
they reached the Brandywine, Drogo blew out a smoke ring before he finally
looked at Bilbo.

'I'm dying, uncle,' he said quietly.

Bilbo who had been inhaling from his own pipe nearly choked on the smoke
and Drogo had to pat him on the back for several moments before he could
speak. Wiping tears from his eyes, Bilbo stared at Drogo unable to believe
his ears.

'W-what?' he asked between coughs. 'The healer told you that you were
dying?'

Drogo nodded. 'Yes.'

'How by the Valar does he know that for certain?'

'He knows, Bilbo, because he has had two other cases similar to mine.
Both of his patients had similar symptoms as mine, and they both died within
a year of his prognosis,' Drogo replied.

Tears of grief filled Bilbo's eyes now as he gazed on his nephew's face,
'Did he say that there is anything he can do to help you?'

Drogo sighed. 'He said that there is very little he can do. He can help
me if there is pain but other than that he said there is nothing to be
done.'

'Hmmmph,' Bilbo said, 'Well maybe there's nothing he can do but maybe
there's hope in Elvish medicine. Maybe if I contacted the Elves-'

'Bilbo, please! There are NO Elves around these parts for miles! You've
said so yourself their closest settlement to the Shire is Rivendell, which
is leagues away from here. Why the journey alone to reach Rivendell would
sap my strength and it would rob me of the little remaining precious time
I have left to spend with my family. Plus, there's no way of knowing if
their medicine could help or heal me once we've reached Rivendell. I'm
sorry, uncle, but I cannot, will not seek the help of the Elves,' Drogo
said.

Bilbo said nothing to him in reply for a moment, gazing instead out
at the Brandywine, tears running down his face as he blew out smoke. He
spoke after a long moment, his voice rough with grief, 'Well if there is
nothing else to be done, you, Primula, and Frodo must all return with me
to Bag End.

And please before you argue with me, Drogo, let me just say what I have
to say. I want you to come to Bag End because you're all the family I've
got, and please don't you mention the Sackville-Bagginses. They're distant
relations and I don't count them, not really because they've ALWAYS just
wanted Bag End and not me.

It's you, and Primula, and Frodo I have always counted to be my family.
To be honest, my boy, having you and Frodo in my life - well you are both
are the closest I've ever come to having children of my own. I love you
all more than you could ever know which is why I want you to come home
with me. I want you to spend your last days in a peaceful, quiet home instead
of this place that us more hustle and bustle than a thousand Dwarves' voices
raised in song! Please say you'll come home with me?'

Drogo and Bilbo returned to the smial shortly after they left. Both
tried to put on a brave face so that Frodo wouldn't wonder what was wrong
until after dinner. However as they all sat down to eat, all three of the
older hobbits hadn't much of an appetite, and all three were too quiet
at the table.

Finally after fifteen minutes of quiet tension, Frodo excused himself
from the table, asking permission to go outside a little while. However
before permission was given, Drogo knew that it was time to tell his son
what the healer had said.

At first it seemed as though Frodo didn't understand what his father
was saying and then Drogo saw the words clearly sink into his son's mind.

"No, he's lying! The healer's lying!" Frodo cried.

Drogo laid a hand on the hobbit lad's shoulder, tears in his eyes. "No,
Frodo, he wasn't lying. He was telling the truth. I...am dying." Drogo
tried to pull Frodo into his arms as the boy wept angry tears but Frodo
pulled out of his grasp.

"He's lying! I hate him for lying!" he said, his voice a high-pitched
shrill. "I hate him!"

Before any of the adults could stop him, Frodo ran out of the door,
and he ran through the hallways of Brandy Hall. By the time he had reached
the outside he had nearly knocked over several adults and he caused Pansy
Brandybuck to fall over into a mud puddle at the front door.

Once he was outside, Frodo didn't stop running until he had ran all
the way to the banks of the Brandywine River. Collapsing to the ground,
he cried angry tears with sobs of anguish escaping every now and again
as he looked at the river's swiftly flowing waters.

Gazing up at the summer storm clouds that gathered there, Frodo wanted
to yell and to shake his fists at Eru for allowing his father to get sick...

~~*~~

I would like to take a moment and thank everyone who is reading this
story for their comments. I am enjoying writing this and I can't wait to
see how it turns out, not to mention I can't wait to see HOW long it's
going to be!

Again, thanks for taking the time to comment on my story and please
enjoy following chapter!

~~*~~

Twenty minutes later, as the summer storm drew closer Frodo. His tears
and anger had been spent for some minutes; numbness setting in as he sat
threw rocks into the river.

Suddenly a streak of lightening flashed across the sky and with it came
Longo Brandybuck from over the hill. He was running, fishing gear bouncing
in his arms as he hurried towards the safety of Brandy Hall. Longo came
to a halt when he saw Frodo sitting calmly by the river making no movements
to go home.

‘Frodo,’ Longo called as the wind began to blow hard, ‘Frodo, are you
just going to sit there like a lump on a log while the storm comes?’

Frodo only shrugged, not really caring what was going on around him.
Longo waited for Frodo to make some other kind of movement for a few seconds
and was rewarded with a loud clap of thunder for his concern for his cousin.

Finally shrugging himself, Longo said, ‘I’ll see you later, cousin.’
before he hurried inside the smial.

Frodo only continued to stare into the waters of the Brandywine as cold
summer rain began pouring down…

~~*~~

Primula stared worriedly at the door as they heard a clap of thunder
rumble above them. Frodo had been gone for sometime and all three hobbits
were worried about him, especially with the storm brewing. Finally after
the umpteenth clap of thunder, Drogo rose from where he sat, startling
Primula.

'I'm going to look for him,' Drogo said as he put on his coat.

Bilbo stood. 'I'm going with you.'

'No, uncle, you stay here. It's getting rather nasty outside,' Drogo
replied.

'Which is why I should go with you, my boy. If two of us search for
Frodo then we're more likely to-'

At that moment, the door to the smial opened and the three hobbits looked
expectantly at it. However a split second later, their hopes were dashed
as they saw that it wasn't Frodo but Longo who stood on the other side.

'Longo Brandybuck,' Primula began, 'What are you doing here? Have you
seen Frodo?'

The hobbit-lad nodded, 'Aye, I have. He's out by the river, ma'am. He
was sitting out there when I ran home to avoid the storm. I stopped to
ask him if he was gonna come inside because of how the storm was brewing
and he just shrugged. He never spoke a word to me. Miss Primula, is something
wrong?'

Drogo walked out of the door without another word, and Bilbo only looked
at Primula briefly to say; "We'll find him. I promise you, my dear, we
will.'

~~*~~

The bolt of lightening that seemed to get Frodo's attention finally
was the bolt that struck a tree nearby where he was sitting still by the
Brandywine. With a startled cry, Frodo got to his feet and started to run
as the rain continued to pelt stingingly against his face. He ran towards
Brady Hall or so he thought but wasn't 100% sure as the rain kept getting
into his eyes and it was menacingly dark outside.

A cry of pain escape Frodo's lips as he tripped over a fallen tree branch,
a huge mud puddle breaking his fall...

***

'FRODO!' Drogo yelled, his hands around his mouth.

Bilbo did the same, only he yelled, 'FRODO, WHERE ARE YOU LAD?'

Drogo jumped as when he heard the sound of a lightening striking a nearby
tree. Oh, Eru, help us to find my son, he thought
to himself. Please...

'FRODO!' Bilbo yelled again.

'Uncle?' a small, frightened voice replied above the howling wind.

Drogo joined in, 'KEEP TALKING, FRODO, SO WE CAN FIND YOU!'

'Daddy, I'm over here! I hurt my leg!' Frodo said, trying to keep from
crying.

Within seconds, Drogo and Bilbo appeared and Drogo knelt beside the
hobbit-lad, trying a look at Frodo's leg. He had torn his pants and there
was a fairly large cut on his leg but at the moment Drogo was more concerned
with getting them out of the storm. Frodo wrapped his arms around Drogo's
neck as he picked up his son.

'Let's get back inside!' Drogo said to Bilbo.

~~*~~

After he was comforted, bathed, fed - which all took a little over an
hour - Frodo was asleep in bed after he was promised a long talk with his
parents in the mornings about the news from earlier. At first the young
hobbit had trouble getting to sleep, as he was worried with things hobbit-lads
his age are not usually worried about and so Primula sat with him awhile,
holding him as she had when he was a baby, singing a soft lullaby in his
ear.

Slumber my darling, thy mother is near

Guarding thy dreams from all terror and fear.

Sunlight has past and the twilight has gone,

Slumber my darling, the night's coming on...

As she sang, Primula stroked his hair, silently thanking Eru that her
precious son had been found before something more serious than a scratch
could have happened to him.

Sweet visions attend thy sleep

Fondest, dearest to me,

While others their revels keep,

I will watch over thee.

Slumber my darling, the bards are at rest,

The wandering dews by the flowers are caressed,

Slumber my darling, I'll wrap thee up warm,

And pray that the angels will shield thee from harm.

Frodo slept peacefully by now in her arms, but Primula decided to finish
the last part of the song as she had always done since she began to sing
this lullaby to him...

Slumber my darling till morn's blushing ray

Brings to the world the glad tidings of day:

Fill the dark void with thy dreamy delight

Slumber, thy mother will guard thee tonight.

Thy pillow shall sacred be

From all outward alarms;

Thou, thou art the world to me

In thine innocent charms.

Slumber, my darling, the birds are at rest,

The wandering dews by the flowers are caressed;

Slumber, my darling, I'll wrap thee up warm,

And pray that the angels will shield thee from harm.

After she had laid him in bed, Primula pulled the blankets over Frodo,
kissing his brow as his father appeared to do the same. Quietly they left
the room, and after they had pulled the door closed, Primula collapsed
in her husband's arms.

'Oh, Drogo, we could have lost him today,' she whispered, tears falling
from her eyes.

'I know, I know.'

'I couldn't go on living if we'd lost him out there today.'

Tears were Drogo's eyes as he whispered in reply, 'I know, Prim. Neither
could I.'

***

They returned to the front part of the smial to find Bilbo seated by
the hearth, his pipe in his mouth. At Primula's insistence, he had gone
to his own rooms to take a hot bath and change clothes while they tended
to Frodo.

'Is he asleep?' the older hobbit asked they both sat down.

Drogo nodded, 'Yes.'

'Poor boy, so young to have to go through this,' Bilbo said.

'But it can't be helped now,' Drogo said.

'Have you told him about your decision to move to Bag End?'

'No, uncle, we decided to save that for the morning. Frodo's had too
many upsets for one day,' Primula said.

'Indeed, he has,' Bilbo agree standing, 'I am going to bed. Goodnight
to you both.' He gave Primula a kiss on her cheek even as Drogo stood to
hug him.

'Goodnight, Bilbo. Sleep well.'

***

Frodo awoke the next morning before first breakfast and he just laid
in bed, remembering what had happened the day before. During that time
he laid there, he decided that everything that had happened and everything
he had been told was just a horrible dream.

His father WAS NOT dying!

Yes, that was it! His father was fine and everything had happened in
a nightmare!

Smiling he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes just as his mother
opened the door to his room. 'Time to get up, sleepyhead! First breakfast
is almost ready and your father wants to talk to you.'

'All right, Mama.'

'Get dressed and come to the table.'

She closed the door and Frodo pushed back the quilt, halting when he
saw the bandage on his left leg. Touching the cloth, Frodo was puzzled
because he remembered hurting his leg in the dream. So what was this bandage
doing on his leg here, outside of his nightmare?

It shouldn't be here unless...

Unless it really wasn't a dream!

No!

Please no!

It had to be a dream!

Frodo sat there staring at the bandage until his room's door opened
again, and Primula popped her head in again.

'Frodo Baggins, I thought I told you to get dressed!' she said stepping
into the room. When he didn't respond she moved closer to the bed. 'Frodo?'

Tears pooled in his sea blue eyes as he looked up at his mother, 'It
wasn't a dream!' He hugged Primula's mid-section as the tears overflowed.
'It wasn't a dream!'

***

The Baggins spent the morning talking over the decision to leave Brandy
Hall and move to Bag End so that Drogo could spend his last days in the
peace and quiet. Frodo wasn't crazy about the idea of leaving the only
home he had ever known since he was a wee baby but he also didn't want
to cause his parents any distress over leaving either.

After much talking, the adults began to pack the pony-trap that would
take the belongings that Primula and Drogo wanted with them at Bag End
while Frodo was given permission to go say goodbye to his friends.

The Baggins would depart for Bag End in the morning...

***

Author's Note: The lullaby Primula sings above is called "Slumber
My Darling" by Foster as sung by Allison Krauss...

14 May 1380 S.R.

The Sun had long ago sought her bed by the time Bilbo tugged on the
reins to halt. The grey pony had pulled the trap all the way from Brandy
Hall¹ and it had been a long ten hour trip from Buckland to
Bag End. As they disembarked the pony-trap, the weary travelers stretched
their arms and legs, each stifling a yawn.

Then as Drogo moved to unhitch the pony, Bilbo shooed him away, "I'll
see to him. You go on inside."

"Now, uncle, don't be absurd," Drogo said. He walked to the opposite
side of the pony from Bilbo and loosening a fastening and he added, "I'm
not bedridden yet."

Bilbo decided not to waste any further energy arguing with Drogo, and
instead went around to the back of the trap to awaken Primula and Frodo.
A few hours ago both of them had fallen asleep, Primula holding Frodo so
he wouldn't be jostling to and fro, even as she slept leaning against the
cart's side.

Bilbo touched Primula's arm first, 'Primula-dear, we've arrived. We're
at Bag End."

Primula opened her eyes, rubbed them briefly, and she looked down at
Frodo. Pushing back a stray lock of his hair from his face, she looked
up again at Bilbo. 'Where's Drogo?'

'Settling the pony down in the pen at the bottom of the Hill for the
night,' Bilbo replied.

"Uncle!' Primula fussed in a low whisper as to not to awake Frodo, 'He's
in no condition to be doing such!'

Bilbo nodded, 'I agree, but trying to get my nephew to go along with
such is like trying to get a Dwarf to pluck off his beard...neither are
very likely to happen anytime in the 3^rd Age!'

As he spoke he helped Primula to get out from the still sleeping hobbit-lad
by holding him still as she climbed out of the cart. After a quick stretch,
Primula scooped up the sleeping hobbit-lad into her arms, and then followed
Bilbo into a dark Bag End.

15 May 1380 S.R.

Frodo awakened to the distinct scent of bacon being prepared, groaning
audibly when he saw the position of the Sun through the room's open window.
The Sun gave her silent testimony in the fact the hobbit-lad had missed
first breakfast and if he didn't hurry, he thought, he would miss second
breakfast too.

Pushing back his quilt, Frodo placed his feet on the floor and got out
of the bed, stretching as he searched for his clothes. The journey here
from Brandy Hall had been exhausting, and the fact he remembered little
about the previous night proved it. He could hardly recall their arrival
to Bag End and he recalled even less of how he got changed into his nightshirt
before being deposited into the warm, soft bed in his own room for the
night.

As he pulled on a clean pair of brown breeches and light blue shirt,
Frodo heard the peculiar sound of Snip! Snip! Snip!
just outside of his window. Inclining his ear, he listened further, and
he could hear someone humming softly, a tune he vaguely recognized as being
a favorite for dancing among the adults at Brandy Hall.

Finally the 'snipping' stopped, Frodo decided to climb up into a chair
to investigate and see who was outside of his window. Pulling a chair over
to the window seal, he at first didn't see anyone outside. It wasn't until
he leaned over the windowpane that he saw a hobbit-lad he guessed to be
around his age. But all Frodo could seem of him was the curls atop his
sandy-brown as he was on his knees, grass shears in hand quite absently
clipping away at the grass beneath the window

Deciding that he wanted a better look at the hobbit working below him,
Frodo cleared his throat. The sudden, unexpected noise startled the young
hobbit, and in all his days, Frodo had never seen anyone move, nor disappear
as fast as the lad did within the next few seconds.

The hobbit looked up and jumped visibly when he saw Frodo looking down
at him. Quickly he roses, brushing the patched knees of his mud brown breeches,
muttering apologies only half of which Frodo caught.

'Beggin' your pardon, young master. No one told me that Mr. Bilbo was
entertaining guests. I'm sorry if I woke you,' he said. He began to slowly
back away from the window as though Frodo were some king and he a lowly
servant who had disturbed a master whose presence he was unworthy to be
in. 'Though I must say it is a queer hour to be still asleep.' With that
last impertinent statement, the hobbit-lad disappeared around the Hill
and Frodo wondered who he was and whether or not Bilbo knew he was working
on his property.

At that moment, the door opened and Primula walked in, 'Ah, you're up!
Good!' She walked over to the window where her son was still staring after
the strange hobbit-lad. 'Frodo?'

Frodo looked at her. 'There was another hobbit outside my window, trimming
the grass when I woke up.'

'Where is he now?'

"I startled him, Mama. I didn't mean to. He ran off around the corner.
Who do you think he is?'

'He probably Bilbo's gardener,' Primula said, extending her hand. 'But
never you mind you him. Come and have your first breakfast though for everyone
else it'll be second.'

'All right,' Frodo climbed down from the window and as soon as his feet
hit the floor he asked Primula, 'Can I ask Bilbo who that hobbit was?'

''May I, May I...' ask Bilbo who the hobbit was
and yes you may.'

***

After second breakfast was completed, Bilbo invited Frodo to sit outside
with him while he smoked his pipe. Once they'd settled on the front stoop,
Frodo described the hobbit he had seen earlier to Bilbo. Bilbo smiled as
he lit his pipe, inhaling and exhaling a satisfying puff of Old Toby before
answering his nephew.

'I had intended on introducing you to Sam Gamgee later on today but
from the sound of it, you meet him this morning,' Bilbo said, taking another
huff of his pipe.

'But, uncle, who is he? Does he work for you?'

'Samwise Gamgee is the son of Hamfast Gamgee, my gardener. Sam doesn't
directly work for me, you see, not yet anyway. He's loves all things that
grow and he's been coming to help his Gaffer do the work in the garden
since he was knee high to a grasshopper. Sam's a very sensible lad who
knows his way around Hobbiton and if you'd like someone to show you around,
I'll introduce you to him later today after he's finished with his work.'

Frodo nodded. 'All right.'

~~*~~

Author's Note: As you noted in the last chapter, Sam is about 10 years old in this story. I had to make him only a few years younger than Frodo in order to make this story work.

Also, I would like to thank all the readers of this story and say to them that by the time this fic is finished I may have altered several elements to make them different from the canon LOTR and this is also my only warning to Tolkien purists that even more changes to what Tolkien established...

It was sometime after lunch that Bilbo finally pulled Frodo away from
helping his mother unpack. He led him around to the back of the smial to
where the gardener and his son had just finished tending to the nearly
ripen tomatoes.

Hamfast Gamgee, known throughout Hobbiton as the Gaffer, stood up at
their approach and motioned to his son to do likewise. The same hobbit-lad
Frodo had encountered outside of his bedroom window now stood beside his
father wiping his hands with a handkerchief that he shoved in his pocket
after he had finished with it.

'How are they coming along, Master Hamfast?' Bilbo inquired, pointing
at the tomatoes.

'They're nearly ripe, Mr. Bilbo. I'd say give 'em another week on the
vine and they'll be ready for the picking anytime you please,' the Gaffer
replied.

'Splendid! I'll look forward to next week then,' Bilbo said. He cleared
his throat and laid a hand on Frodo's shoulder to urge him to step forward,
'Uh, Gaffer, the reason I came outside was not to check on the progress
of the tomatoes but because I wished to introduce my nephew Frodo to your
Samwise. Frodo and his parents, Drogo and Primula, have just moved here
from Buckland for personal reasons. Anyway, Frodo is not as familiar with
these parts as I'd like for him to be, with your permission, and yours
too young Samwise, I'd like for your son to act as Frodo's guide until
he learns his way around Hobbiton.'

'Of course my Sam will be happy to show young Mr. Frodo around, won't
you, lad?' Hamfast said.

All eyes fell onto Sam and the hobbit nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

'In that case...Frodo-lad, I'd like you to meet Samwise Gamgee,' Bilbo
said.

As the two teenaged hobbits walked down the lane of the Hill, Sam spoke
when they were out of earshot, 'Thank you kindly, Mr. Frodo, for not mentioning
the impertinent thing I said to my Gaffer. He would have scolded me for
sayin' such a thing to one of Mr. Bilbo's guests.'

Frodo smiled at the gardener's son, 'First things first, Sam, we're
practically the same age as I understand it from what Bilbo told me so
no more of this Mr. Frodo nonsense, alright?'

Sam nodded, 'Whatever you say, Mr. - er Frodo.'

They'd reached the bottom of the Hill sometime ago, and Frodo reached
down to pick up the stick he was just about to walk by. 'Secondly, Sam,
I didn't find what you said all that impertinent. Yes, I was surprised
by your observation but I think I was even more surprised by finding you
outside my window then anything else.'

Again Sam nodded, 'Well thank you just the same, Frodo. So where would
you like for me to take you first?'

Frodo shrugged. 'Where do the other children go to play?'

'Oh there's Old Farmer Chubb's fields where many of the children around
these parts go to play. I don't because anytime he catches any of us on
his farm he thinks we're trying to steal some of his prized mushrooms.
He's been known to tan a few backsides, if you follow me, and then he tells
your parents that you were stealin' when you really weren't and you're
libel to get tanning on top of the one he's given you!'

'Have you ever been fishing, Sam?' Frodo asked.

'Fishing?' Sam asked, 'Can't says I ever have.'

'What about swimming?'

Sam froze in his tracks to shoot Frodo a surprised look, 'Certainly
not, Mr. Frodo!'

At the slip of his newfound friend's tongue, Frodo dropped the stick
onto a soft tuft of grass on the road's side, and grabbing the younger
hobbit-lad he wrestled him to the ground. Before Frodo realized it however,
Sam had pinned him to the ground laughing as he began to tickle the older
lad.

Frodo was laughing so hard he could hardly catch his breath to say,
'Y-y-you...w-w-w-win!'

Sam smiled mischievously at him, 'I win what?' When
Frodo didn't answer him but instead tried to wiggle out from under him,
Sam tickled even harder. 'I win what, Mr. Frodo?' He
let up a second to allow Frodo to catch his breath, and to speak his concession.

'You...can...call...me "Mr. Frodo"' Frodo said, and sat up when Sam
got off of him. Wiping his eyes free of his tears of mirth, he stared in
astonishment at Sam, 'Where on Middle-Earth did you learn how to wrestle
like that, Samwise Gamgee?'

Sam grinned, 'From me older brother Hamson and my Gaffer, of course!'

'Well, remind me never to take you on again unless I am willing to be
tickled within an inch of my life!' Frodo said with a laugh.

'Aye, Mr. Frodo, I will!'

5 June 1380 S.R.

In the following weeks, Frodo and Sam had fallen into an easy routine:
First Sam would help out his father with the gardening work and would be
occupied with this until after lunch. Then Hamfast would dismiss his son
for the rest of the day so that he could spend time with Frodo playing
or whatever it was the lads did everyday.

On this particular day in the late summer, Sam reluctantly had to inform
Frodo that he would be more than an hour later in being dismissed from
his work in the gardens. And so after he returned from running an errand
for his mother into Hobbiton to buy some spices she wanted for meat pie
she was making, Frodo ventured into Bilbo's study.

Bilbo looked up from the parchment he was carefully writing on and offered
his glum nephew a smile. 'Sam can't spend time with you today, my boy?'

Frodo shook his head; 'He told me he'd have to help his father in the
garden today for an extra hour, maybe two.'

'I see,' said Bilbo, noting that Frodo was circling his study. He allowed
for a minute of silence before he spoke again. 'Frodo-lad, are you searching
for something to do? If so I could ask Primula if she needs you -'

Frodo's eyes widened, and vehemently shaking his head, 'Oh no, uncle,
I was - just going to ask you if there's some places in Hobbiton to go
swimming.'

'Oh I think there are some brooks and streams here and there. But there's
nothing so grand as the Brandywine to be found here. Why don't you ask
Sam to take you to some of them after he's finished with his father?'

Frodo nodded, 'Good idea.'

Bilbo halfway returned his attention to the parchment before him, noting
with much amusement that Frodo was still in the room, giving his selection
of books a once over, followed closely by a twice and third look over.
Putting down his quill again, Bilbo turned to Frodo fully, an amused smile
lighting his features.

'Frodo would you like a book to take outside with you to read?' he asked,
startling the youngster out of his distracted thoughts.

Frodo looked at him, 'May I?'

'Of course, my boy. You may take any book in this room with you as long
as you return it when you come back inside. And,' Bilbo pointed to a shelf
in the study's right corner, 'As long as you don't take any books from
that shelf.'

'Why?'

Bilbo got up from his chair and walked over to where Frodo was standing,
laying a hand on his shoulder as he spoke, 'Well because most of those
books are on loan to me by Lord Elrond of Rivendell.'

Frodo's eyes widened. 'Oh.'

'Yes, oh indeed, Frodo. Lord Elrond is letting me borrow them for a
little while so I can translate their text from Elvish into our language
so that ordinary hobbits will be able to read them.' Bilbo explained. 'Now,
my lad, let's find you a book to read so I can get back to my translations!'

***

Frodo had finally settled on a book of ancient tales about the lost
island of Númenór. He went outside, walking to a small grove
of trees that Sam had shown him on the first day they'd spent together.

Sam had brought him to this place, calling it his quiet place.
This place, he said, was the place he went to escape the noise created
by his older brother, his two younger sisters and his new baby brother
who had been born in the early spring.

Sam's quiet place was beautiful with grass so soft
that you could lay down on it for a nap, and it'd be no time before you'd
be snoring softly. Five oak trees provided the grove with sufficient shade
from the Sun. Also there was a small brook running in the grove's northern
side but it was to small for the swimming Frodo had hopes of doing soon.

Sitting down on the largest oak of the grove he opened his book, soon
finding himself absorbed the tales of the ancient Númenórean
Kings.

***

Two hours had passed when Sam made his way into the grove carrying a
basket laden with food. Frodo was still so absorbed in his reading that
he did not hear his friend's approach, and so Sam cleared his throat. Frodo
looked up, mildly startled at the noise and then a puzzled expression crossed
his face.

'Has it been two hours already?' he said.

Sam plopped down beside him on the grass, 'Just about, Mr. Frodo,' He
patted the food basket, 'Yer mum sent this so we could have tea here instead
of having to back all the way to Bag End for it.'

'Splendid!' said Frodo, 'Let me just mark my place and then we shall
take our tea a bit early.' He carefully placed the attached blue ribbon
in-between the pages, and shutting the book he laid it on the ground beside
him.

Frodo stood to help Sam spread blanket that had sent along with the
food. He retrieved his book from the ground; a sitting down again as Sam
began pulling out the various foods, treats, and drink from the basket
Primula had prepared.

For a time they ate in silence, each enjoying the quiet of Sam's grove,
and the sound of the birds singing in the trees. Not long after they finished
the mini feast of mushrooms, tarts, fruit, and cider Sam rose stretching.

'If you don't mind, Mr. Frodo, I think I shall see whereabouts I'd like
to put my garden,' he said.

Stifling a yawn, Frodo looked up at his friend in interest, 'What's
that? A garden you say?'

Sam nodded. 'Here in the grove?'

'Aye, my Gaffer says I can have one as long as I kept up with my work
at Bag End and at home. And I've been thinking about where I'd be wanting
to have one. I finally decided against havin' one at home seeing as I can
never get any peace from my sisters whenever I'm there. I figured the grove
is just as good a place start a garden of my own as anywhere else.'

'Will the plants get enough sunlight to thrive here?' Frodo asked unsure
of Sam's intentions.

Sam nodded, 'Aye, I am thinking they will if I plant on the far side
of the brook - seein', as it's not wide and all. It'll help me keep the
garden properly watered with it so close by.'

Frodo thought for a moment, and after finally realizing that his friend
was the gardener and he wasn't, he nodded before he picked up his book
again to read. Silence reigned over the grove as Frodo resumed his reading
while Sam began to mentally plan out his garden.

Twenty minutes passed had when Frodo heard Sam's voice, 'Mr. Frodo,
are you all right?'

Frodo blushed in embarrassment at having Sam catch him wiping away his
tears. He looked up at Sam, 'Aye, Sam, I'm fine. I was just reading the
account of the Fall of Númenór - it's a very sad tale, and
sometimes I get caught up in what I am reading about. Does that every happen
to you while you're reading?'

Sam had rejoined him on the blanket. 'Is that what your book is about,
Mr. Frodo? About Númenór?'

Frodo nodded, 'It is. Does the history of the world interest you, Sam?'

Sam shrugged, 'I've never had much use for studyin' the history of the
world aboard, Mr. Frodo.'

'Well, Sam, why don't you try reading a selection or two from this book.
You might be surprised by just how much you're interested in it.'

'I don't think so, Mr. Frodo.'

Frodo attempted to hand him the book, and when Sam refused it, Frodo
sighed, 'Oh well then you shall never know which King of Númenór
looked like an Elf.'

Sam looked at him stung, finally rising to his feet; 'I can't read!
I never learned how!' Then ashamed at his outburst, Sam ran off towards
home, leaving a stunned, silent Frodo in his wake.

***

As many readers have noted in the last few chapters, this story is taking
a different road than what J.R.R. Tolkien established for the dear characters
we all love and cherish. For example, in this story, Sam is the second
oldest of the Gamgee children instead of being the second youngest. In
order for this story to work I needed Sam to be nearly the same age as
Frodo and so I switched Sam's birth order with that of his brother Halfred.

I also will probably be changing a bit more canon where Sam is concerned,
especially in this next chapter when Frodo approaches Sam about wanting
to teach him how to read and write whereas in THE LORD OF THE RINGS we
know it was Bilbo who taught him how to read:

"Mr. Bilbo has learned him (Sam) his letters -- meaning no harm, mark
you, and I hope no harm will come of it." -- The Gaffer, FOTR, A Long-Expected
Party

Anyway, back to the story!

**

7 June 1380 S.R.

Frodo had watched for Sam so that he could speak to him the morning
after the incident in the grove. He tried to wait patiently for Sam's arrival
but when Hamfast arrived alone for work the next morning, Frodo learned
that Sam had awakened feeling poorly that morning, so upon the advice of
Mrs. Gamgee, the Gaffer had allowed his son to stay home from work that
day.

Now a new morning came and after he'd finished breakfast, Frodo went
out into the garden hoping to catch the sight of Sam somewhere. He soon
found Sam working along beside is father, weeding a flowerbed, both so
absorbed in their work that neither noticed Frodo's approach. Frodo cleared
his throat, hoping that he wouldn't startle either of them too badly, and
immediately Hamfast looked up.

'Oh, good morning to you, young master!' he said.

'Good morning, Mr. Gamgee, Sam, the Sun seems to be shining her light
finely on this day.'

'Oh, that she is, Mr. Frodo. That she is," the Gaffer replied before
he yanked out another weed. He soon noticed that Frodo was not making any
movements to leave them alone at their work. 'Uh, is there something we
can do for ye, young master?'

'Actually, Mr. Gamgee, I was hoping a might a private word with Sam
here, if you can spare him for a moment. I promise I won't keep him long,'
Frodo said.

'Of course, young master,' Hamfast replied.

Not wanting Hamfast to overhear their conversation, Frodo walked to
the other end of the garden and sitting down on a bench, he waited for
Sam to join him there. Sam, for his part looked uncomfortable as he took
the place beside Frodo and before he could say a word, Sam was spouting
out an apology.

'I'm sorry about what happened in the grove, Mr. Frodo. I shouldn't
have yelled at you like I did.'

'It's all right, Sam, I didn't call you out here to get an apology,'
Frodo began, 'I called you out here because, well I wanted to ask you if
you would like me to teach you how to read.'

'Me? Learn how to read?' Sam said. 'O Mr. Frodo, I would love to learn
how but my parents would never approve of it, seein' as it is a frivolous
thing for a future gardener to learn how to do. I mean it can't very well
help me or my Gaffer do the work here in Mr. Bilbo's garden. Thank you
for the kind offer, Mr. Frodo, but no I can't be accepting it.'

'Are you sure, Sam? I mean I'm not an expert or anything but I believe
that someone somewhere has written a book or two on gardening. In fact
I am quite sure Uncle Bilbo has such a book in his collection somewhere
around Bag End,' Frodo said, watching Sam.

Sam was a bit flustered at this and said, 'I don't know, Mr. Frodo -'

'If you want to learn how to read, we can begin with the gardening book
or whatever book you like after I teach you your letters,' Frodo stated.
'Come on, Sam, it's easy to learn and you never know how being able to
read will come in handy in the future.'

Sam let out a sigh. 'Oh, all right then. I'll try to learn but we'd
better not let my parents hear one word about this.'

Frodo smiled. 'If you think that's best.'

'I do.'

***

28 June 1380 S.R

It had only been three weeks since Sam begun to learn how to read from
Frodo and already Frodo was seeing what he thought was amazing progress.
Under the older lad's tutelage, Sam had memorized the alphabet and had
begun to learn simple words such as tree, flower, weed,
garden, etc.

Everyday, after they had finished each lesson, Frodo would read in part
or in their entirety, stories about the Elves. As Frodo read, Sam would
work nearby on the patch of earth he had hopes of making into his very
own garden.

It was late on one such afternoon that Frodo closed the book he had
been reading aloud the Tale of Eärendil the Mariner who sailed
into the West to seek the aid of the Valar to fight the Dark Lord Morgoth.
Sighing Frodo finished the story, closing the book he laid on the ground
beside him. Sam looked up from where he had been hoeing the ground in preparation
for the planting of seeds.

Wiping his brow with the back of his hand, Sam looked at Frodo, 'Do
you have any Elvish poetry you could read, Mr. Frodo?'

Frodo looked up towards the sky as the reason he had stopped was because
it was fast becoming dark as though a storm was a brewing. 'I think we've
done enough reading for the day, Sam.' He pointed at the dark clouds; 'We
need to head back to Hobbiton now before the bottom falls out of those
clouds.'

Sam looked to where he was pointing, 'You're probably right, Mr. Frodo,
as those clouds aren't lookin' a wee bit friendly. Just let me get my tools
together and we'll be off as quick as lightening.'

Not two minutes later while Sam was still gathering his tools did the
wind began to blow briskly, so briskly in fact it caused the loose papers
in Frodo's hands to blow into the nearby stream.

'O sticklebacks!' Frodo exclaimed, hurrying to the edge to grab the
sopping wet papers from the stream.

'Mr. Frodo?' said Sam walking up behind Frodo.

'O, Sam, do help me get these papers out of the stream before they are
completely ruined,' Frodo said snatching out another paper. As Sam knelt
beside him, Frodo explained, 'These are some of the Elvish translations
Uncle Bilbo was working on and when he sees how I've ruined them..."

'O I'm sure Mr. Bilbo will understand when you explain what happened,'
Sam said, pulling the last of the sopping parchment from the stream.

Frodo took the papers from him, trying the dry the running, wet ink
with the end of his sleeve, 'You don't understand, Sam, I wasn't supposed
to have these papers in the first place!'

By the time Frodo and Sam reached Bag End, rain was falling hard and the wind was blowing pretty hard. Despite how nasty it was outside, Sam hurried on home down Bagshot Row after he had made sure Frodo was safe and sound at Bag End.

Time he was in the door, Primula took the basket from his arm, and gave him instruections to go change his wet clothes. Frodo went to do as his mother told him, forgetting about the ruined books and papers that were still tucked inside the basket.

When Frodo entered the kitchen a few moments later, Primula had set the book and parchment on the table. Frodo’s heart sank as he caught sight of them, even as his mother asked him about them. Frodo knew better than to lie about them, and he told her they were Bilbo’s and that he had taken them without permission. Without another word, Primula had led Frodo down the hallway to the door of Bilbo’s study.

Primula crossed her arms, nodding towards the door to Bilbo’s study, saying ‘Go on.’

Swallowing hard, and gathering up his frail courage, Frodo clutched the damaged book to his chest before knocking on the doorframe. Bilbo quickly granted him permission to enter, and slowly Frodo made his way in, and over to Bilbo’s desk. The older hobbit looked up as Frodo halted beside his chair, and putting down his quill, he smiled at his nephew.

His smile vanished when he saw the look on the other’s face, ‘Frodo-lad, why whatever is the matter?’

Frodo held out the book towards him, ‘I’ve ruined your book, uncle. I’m sorry.’

Bilbo took the volume, about to tell the lad not to make such a fuss over it when his eyes met the Elvish script on the book’s cover. Without a word he opened the cover, discovering the ruined parchments inside and moments passed as Bilbo examined them as well as the book. Finally he laid them aside, and turned his chair so he could face his nephew.

Bilbo sighed, ‘Is this one the books I asked you not to take from my study?’

Frodo muttered, ‘Yes, uncle.’

‘Why did you take it then?’ he asked, and Frodo was silent. ‘Well, are you going to answer me, lad?’

‘I wanted to read the book.’

Bilbo gave him a dubious look, ‘This book was written in Elvish, a language I was unaware you read.’

‘Um...’

‘Do you want to try the truth, Frodo?’ Bilbo asked.

Frodo answered, ‘If I tell you, I will be breaking a promise I made to someone.’

‘A promise? To whom?’ Bilbo asked, and then added at Frodo’s reluctance, ‘I won’t tell anyone whatever it is but I would like an explanation for the book.’

Frodo sighed, ‘I’ve been teaching Sam how to read and write.’

‘What?’

‘It’s true, uncle. One day while we were exploring together Sam told me he had never learned how to read or write.’

‘I see,’ Bilbo said, ‘Frodo, I think it is a fine thing for you to teach Sam, but why do it in secret?’

‘Because he’s afraid his parents won’t approve of him learning his letters,’ Frodo replied.

Bilbo thought for a moment about the kind of reaction they might have. He was sure Bell Gamgee would be thrilled at the thought her son learning how to do something she was never able to learn herself. Hamfast on the other hand he wasn’t so sure about as he was the type of hobbit to consider whatever activities that did help him to get the gardening done to be a waste of time. He was a fine gardener all right but just persuading him to let Sam have a few hours off every afternoon to be with Frodo had not been an easy task. Perhaps both Frodo and Sam had shown wisdom in keeping the reading lessons a secret but that did not however excuse Frodo’s taking the book from his study.

Bilbo sighed, ‘Frodo, I normally would not approve of a lad keeping secrets from his parents,’ He gave Frodo a meaningful look, ‘But in Sam’s case. I believe you were right to do so as his father. As while Hamfast Gamgee is the best gardener in all the Shire, he is also likely inclined to think of book-learning as a waste of time when there’s other work to be done.’

He noted a somewhat relieved look passed on Frodo’s face, ‘However, Frodo-lad, I am still disappointed in you.’ He picked up a piece of the ruined parchment, ‘This was to be your birthday present. I’ve worked on these translations since our birthday last year because I know how much you like Elvish poetry.’ He watched Frodo’s face fall, ‘But these aren’t good for anything but to feed the fire now.’ To emphasis his point Bilbo rose from his chair, and threw the now wrinkled, dry parchments into the fireplace, the flames licked and then consumed the offering.

He waited until the pages had curled into ashes before he turned again to Frodo, ‘Now about the book - since an explaination for Lord Elrond shall have to be written, I think it is only fair that you be the one to write the letter.’

‘Me?’ Frodo said. ‘But, uncle, I don’t know how to write in Elvish!’

‘That’s quite all right, because Lord Elrond can read Westron,’ Bilbo replied. ‘I shall expect your letter soon so I can put it in with the next batch of letters I will be sending to Rivendell.’

‘All right, uncle, I’ll-’

A knock came at the door, and both turned to see Drogo standing there with a rather severe look on his face, ‘Uncle, if you’rfe finished with Frodo I want to speak to him.’

Bilbo nodded, ‘Of course.’ Frodo started out the door, ‘Remember what I want you to do, lad.’

‘Yes, uncle.’

Drogo started to follow his son out the door when Bilbo called him back. He told Frodo to go to his room, that he’d be along shortly before he turned to see what the other wanted.

Bilbo waited until he was sure Frodo was down the hallway before he spoke, ‘I assume Primula told you what happened?’

‘Aye, she did.’

‘Are you going to punish Frodo further?’

‘Aye, Frodo knows to listen to and to obey his elders. I know you asked him not to take the book from your study,’ Drogo answered.

Bilbo sighed, ‘Are you going to spank him?’ When he nodded he said, ‘Oh, Drogo, is that really necessary?’

‘He should know there are consequences for his actions,’ Drogo replied.

Bilbo hated the thought of Frodo being caused pain but he knew from his own childhood experience that few things got his attention or emphasized a point as when his father had swatted his backside every now and again.

September 2, 1380 S.R.

Bilbo was seated across from Frodo at the table, working on consuming the scrumptious first breakfast Primula had made that morning, worried that neither she or Drogo was present at the table to enjoy it with them. For the past four weeks, Drogo’s condition had grown considerable worse as he now grew tired more easily than ever, taking often to his bed earlier than most folks did, and he often complained of shortness of breath, and at times of dizziness. Always Drogo tried to keep how serious his illness was from his son but the further it progress the harder it was to do. Finally he had to admit how sick he really was when Frodo asked him to spend sometime with him outdoors, away from Bag End.

And just this morning Drogo had awaken with a light fever, and though it may have been a little reaction on her part, Primula had insisted that he spend the day in bed. So she had made first breakfast, leaving it on the stove for Bilbo and her son while she took a tray of the food to her ailing husband. Meanwhile Frodo for the most part ate distractedly, picking at the food on his plate, and not eating more than a few real bites.

The lad’s a bright one, Bilbo thought, He knows something is amiss with his father.

The older hobbit sat there and watched his nephew have a most unhobbit like interest in his food for as long as he could take it, and finally an idea came to him of what he could do to help life Frodo’s spirits. Rising from his seat, he spoke not a word to Frodo but walked to his study to retrieve a book, ragged, and nearly falling apart with age. He returned and laid it on the table before his nephew, waiting for Frodo to react. A second later, he was rewarded with the reaction he was hoping to get when Frodo picked it up, his eyes wide in wondrous awe.

‘That, my lad, is the book I first used when I began studying the languages of the Elves, given to me by Lord Elrond himself.’ said Bilbo.

Frodo ran his fingers over the Elven script, saying, “Really?”

Bilbo smiled, ‘Yes, really and now I’m giving it to you.’ If it were even possible Frodo’s eyes grew even bigger, especially when Bilbo uttered this next, ‘I’m giving it to you, lad, because I want to teach you Elvish. That is if you’d like to read, write, and speak it for yourself. Would you?’

‘O yes please, uncle, I would!’ Frodo replied excitedly.

‘Splendid!’ Bilbo stood up, ‘We’ll begin your first lesson after you’ve finished your breakfast – and I do not want to hear the excuse that you’re not hungry as we don’t want you to be distracted by the growling of an empty stomach now do we?’

‘No, uncle,’ Frodo replied, and began to attack his breakfast with gusto.

Bilbo smiled, ‘I’ll just wash these few dishes, while you finish your breakfast, and then we’ll see about getting started.’

The suite was decorated in calming shades of white, cream, greens reminding one greatly of the outdoors with all of the intricate leaves and flowers and even a tree or two craved into the borders of the walls. The master bedroom was also the brightest as it had the largest window in Bag End, facing the east, allowing for the Sun to greet them with her warmth and light each morning. But unfortunately, since Drogo’s illness had begun to worsen, they had to keep the drapes closed for the Sun’s light had begun to hurt his eyes.

Primula stepped inside the room, and allowed time for her eyes to adjust, before weaving her way into the room where Drogo laid covered in a pile of quilts. She set the tray down, and came to the bed, sitting as gently as possible on the bed as not to disturb him as he laid was his eyes closed as though he were asleep. She watched him for a moment before extending her hand to touch his forehead, and she discovered a sheen of sweat there.

In a concerned voice she said, ‘Drogo?’

He opened his eyes, and whispered hoarsely ‘Prim?’

‘Aye, it’s me, love,’ she replied, ‘Are you feeling any better?’

Then he began to cough, she had to help him sit up, and then hand him a clean cloth to help stifle the coughs. Drogo coughed for a good minute before the attack let up, and when he finally pulled the handkerchief away from his mouth, there were tiny spots of blood present. Primula tried not to allow her fear to show as she helped him to lay back down on the bed, pulling the quilts back over him.

‘Do you need anything?’ she asked as he settled again.

Drogo shook his head, ‘No.’

‘Are you hungry, love?’ she asked. ‘I brought a tray laden with all of your favorite first breakfast foods.’

‘No, love,’ he replied, closing his eyes, ‘I just want to sleep right now if you please.’

Primula said nothing for a moment, and then she touched his forehead again, ‘Your fever has become worse. I think I should send for the healer.’

Drogo halted her when she started to get up by laying a hand on her arm, and when she looked at him he said, ‘We…need…to talk.’

‘We’ll talk after the healer has seen you,’ Primula replied.

‘Please...Prim...I think...my...time...is short now,’ Drogo replied.

Primula shook her head, ‘Don’t say things like that, Drogo. You’ve just caught a chill, that’s all. The healer will give you so medicine and you’ll be fine, love.’

Drogo looked on her sadly, ‘Primula...you....know that’s...is not...true. The healer....said that....I have...a sick...ness that will...kill me...within six...months...if not sooner. I’m dying, love.’

Tears spilled down Primula’s face, ‘No, Drogo, I can’t accept this. I will not lose you now!’ He moved to touch her again but this time she stood up before he could. ‘I’m going to ask Bilbo to send for the healer.’ With that she gathered up the tray she had prepared for him, and left the suite before he could say another word.

‘Is something wrong with Mr. Bilbo?’ Hamfast asked, clearly worried.

‘Or Mr. Frodo?’ Sam interjected, and was immediately shushed by his father.

‘O no, Mr. Gamgee, and Frodo is fine, Sam. He’s inside with Bilbo,’ Primula replied, ‘My husband awoke with a fever and I want to make certain it is nothing more serious than a late summer cold.’

Hamfast nodded, ‘Sam here will go for the healer, won’t ye, lad?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Sam said laying down the small shovel in his hand, and brushed his hands on his breeches.

‘Do you know where the healer Tolman Bracegridle leaves?’ Primula asked.

‘Yes’m, I do,’ Sam responded.

‘Please go ask him to come immediately to Bag End.’

Sam nodded, took off running the gate, he hurrying down Bagshot Row and was out of sight within a second.

‘Thank you, Mr. Gamgee,’ Primula said as she started back inside.

‘Yer welcome, ma’am, and please call me Hamfast,’ was the reply, ‘O and I hope Mr. Drogo will be getting better soon.’

The look on his face was grim as he said, ‘I’m sorry, Mrs. Baggins, but your husband has the beginning of the gaffer’s friend.’

Primula gasped, ‘O no!’

‘I must ask you has your husband been ill for a very long time?’ Bracegirdle asked gently.

Primula nodded, ‘Aye, he began to become ill around May while we lived yet in Buckland among my family in Brandy Hall.’

Bracegirdle bristled at her mention of Buckland, for as with all inhabitants of the Shire-proper, he thought that Buckland was a queer place, and it bred even queerer folk. He bushed aside his intial reaction, and cleared his throat, ‘Did he ever see a healer there, Mrs. Baggins?’

‘Aye, he did.’

‘Of what did the healer tell him, ma’am?’ asked Bracegirdle, ‘Please, ma’am, it is very important that you tell me everything you can remember.’ Primula recounted everything she could remember that Milo Gentlewinter had said, and when she had finished, Bracegirdle actually smiled in relief, and he even touched her hand. ‘I don’t know who apprenticed Healer Gentlewinter but I’ve never heard of such an illness, Mrs. Baggins!’

‘Are you certain?’ Primula asked, her hope rising.

‘Aye, for it seems like poppycock to me,’ Bracegirdle replied, ‘And I believe if we get your husband through this case of the gaffer’s friend, he will make a full recovery.’

Primula was reeling from this news, the news that her husband was no dying and would recover if they could just get him through this bout of illness. But she thought about the past five months and she wondered if this healer knew everything. She voiced her concerns to him and he merely smiled.

‘I am quite sure after being told such nonsense, Mrs. Baggins, your husband actually started to believe that he was dying,’ said Bracegirdle, ‘But I really believe that it could all be due to that foolishness that Gentlewinter put into his head.’

Primula nodded, her hope renewed, ‘Tell me what we have to do to see my husband through his illness.’

‘Who was that?’ he asked.

‘Tolman Bracecgirdle,’ Primula answered, already in action to see to her husband’s needs.

Bilbo followed her into the kitchen, ‘The healer?’

‘Aye, the healer.’

‘What did he say about Drogo?’

Primula stopped for a moment to look at Bilbo, ‘He said that Drogo has the gaffer’s friend.’ Bilbo drew in a sharp breath, closing his eyes briefly and just as he was about to say something. Frodo entered the kitchen with a paper in his hand to show his uncle. Shaking his head, Bilbo hoped Frodo would hear nothing wrong in his voice as he said, ‘Very good, Frodo, very good indeed.’ He noted that Primula had turned her back so it blocked what she was doing at the stove, and he pulled Frodo towards the door when he saw that was where the lad was headed next, ‘Go practice some more, Frodo, I’ll return shortly to show you some more letters and words.’

Frodo nodded, ‘Yes, uncle.’

Bilbo waited until he was certain Frodo was down the hallway and halfway back to his study before he spoke, ‘Primula, you know how much I love Drogo and how much I will do anything to help you see to his comfort. But, Primula dear, you must consider this, if the time has come for him to go, then there are worse ways to pass.’

‘What?’ Primula asked in an outraged tone as she turned to face him, ‘Are you saying we should just give up and let him die now?’

Bilbo shook his head vehemently, ‘O no, no, no - Please do not misunderstand me! I just meant that this would be easier for him and I do not mean to give up on him but if this illness seems as though it is going to overwhelm his already weakened strength, then perhaps we should then concentrate on keeping him as comfortable as possible, and just let him sleep away. As I said, the gaffer’s friend would be an easier way to pass as his other illness could mean more pain for him before he’s gone.’

‘I cannot believe I am hearing this!’ Primula replied, ‘I would never think that you had such little regard for Drogo that you’d simply want to give the fight for his life!’ She finished her task and gatherered together the medicines given to her by Bracegirdle on a tray, intending on storming out of the room and when he stepped in her path she merely kept going by weaving around him.

‘Primula, please!’ he called after her but she did not stop, ‘Sticklebacks!”

Bilbo replayed their conversation in his head, and he knew he sounded cold and unfeeling. He sounded as though he had never loved Drogo a day in his life but Bilbo knew that was not true as he had loved him from the moment he was born. Inside he was hurting and grieving as much as Primula was, and he worried for his nephew, worried if the gaffer’s friend did not take his life, the other one certainly would in a far more painful fashion.

Special thanks to FrodoBaggins88 for being my beta for this chapter!

September 18, 1380 S.R.

Some nights later, when everyone in Hobbiton lay tucked cozy and warm in their beds in their own holes, a stranger to most, friend to far and few of its inhabitants, crept through quietly its streets, making his way eventually up to Bagshot Row. Finally the small cart pulled up in front of his destination, and after a wording halting the weary horse, the visitor climbed down off his cart. He unhitching the horse from the cart before taking up his staff in hand (for he was an old man), and opening the gate he lead the animal inside, turning him loose to graze on Bilbo’s grass.

As he walked to the door, he knew he would have to rise early and do something about his cart as he did not doubt it would attract young, curious hobbits as moths to a flame, for it was laden with all sorts of items related to his trade as a wizard. The young could never resist pilfering some of the treasures it contained, and some of those treasures as he well knew were very dangerous in inexperienced hands.

He knew Bilbo had taken up the habit of locking his doors at night because he had had unwanted visitors, indeed unwanted relatives, barging in on him at all hours of the day and night. Since the lights were out and it appeared that Bilbo was in bed, the wizard decided not to follow his usual custom of banging in the door with his staff. Instead he reached inside of his robes, burrowing deep into hidden pockets, searching for one particular item, and pulling out several other items that he did not want or need at the moment before he found the object of his search. Finally he pulled the key to the door from his pocket, and leaning over, he unlocked the door without much trouble before stepping inside of Bag End.

He set his hat by the door as well as his staff, as both were too big and would only hinder his careful navigations through Bag End’s tunnel as quietly as he wished. After all, Bilbo was most likely in bed and he did not wish to be an inconsiderate houseguest by giving his dear friend a fright with some sudden, unexplained noise from what should have been a completely silent smial.

He was halfway down the South tunnel, headed for the room where he usually stayed while he visited Bilbo when he decided that a cup of tea would be in order before he lay down his wearied head. So, turning around, the wizard made his way back toward the kitchen, and once there he quickly stoked up the fire and put the kettle on to boil before finding the Big Folk tea cup Bilbo had had made for him. Soon the kettle whistled and he quickly removed it from the fire, pouring the hot water into the teapot and waiting a few moments before he poured it into his cup.

With a satisfied smiled, Gandalf the Grey closed his eyes, intending to savor the warmth and taste of his tea in the quiet of Bilbo’s kitchen before he sought out his bed at last.

Primula awoke suddenly and sat up in bed, glancing at Drogo as though he had made the noise that had awakened her from her slumber. But thankfully he only lightly snored in his sleep, and after she touched his forehead to reassure herself he really was recovering, she slipped her feet out of bed. Pulling on a dressing gown before straightening her night bonnet, Primula padded her way softly down the hall, stopping first at Frodo’s room to make sure he was sleeping soundly.

Once she was sure he was fine, she went to check the rest of the smial, and when she found nothing in the other rooms, she was convinced that she had dreamed the noise that had awakened her.

She had turned to return to her room when she noted a light coming from the kitchen as though someone had stoked the fire up. As she was sure that everyone else who lived in Bag End was asleep at 11 o’clock at night, she decided to investigate and see who or what had invaded Bilbo’s kitchen at such an unreasonable hour of the night.

Gandalf opened his eyes just in time to see a hobbit sized blur run into the kitchen and over to where Bilbo kept his pans. Within seconds, a hobbit matron stood before him wielding a Dwarven-made iron skillet, her eyes ablazed with fury as she waved it at him, ‘Out, you over grown cowardly thief!’

Gandalf looked on her in amusement more than anything else and he raised his hands, saying, ‘Madam, please,’ he said, trying to rise awkwardly from the too small bench, causing the hobbit to scream.

‘You’re not intimidating me, you big oaf!’ the hobbit matron replied, connecting the skillet with his mid-section just to prove her point. ‘I said get out!’ Gandalf had had the wind knocked out him at least, and as he drew in a breath to speak, they were both startled by another voice coming from the kitchen’s doorway.

‘My dear Gandalf,’ said Bilbo in a stunned voice before he recovered his wits enough to say, ‘O good heavens, Primula! Put that skillet down! This is no thief come to rob me but a very dear friend of mine!’ He waited until she reluctantly lowered the skillet before continuing, ‘Gandalf, this is my nephew Drogo’s wife, Primula.’

Gandalf knelt so he was more at Primula’s level when he said, ‘A pleasure at last to meet the wife of Bilbo’s favorite nephew.’ The old wizard actually took her hand and kissed the back of it, causing his former enemy to blush.

‘You’re the Gandalf the Grey?’ she asked skeptically. ‘The wizard?’

‘Indeed I am, madam,’ Gandalf responded with a smile and wink.

‘Well somehow I thought you’d be taller,’ she replied as he rose up from the floor.

Her comment caused a chuckle to escape from the wizard even as something small attached itself to his leg. Gandalf looked downwards to see a small hobbit lad hugging his left leg tightly, and he touched the boy’s head, saying, ‘Ai, now who have we here?’

Bilbo smiled, ‘Gandalf, may I present Drogo’s son and my favorite nephew, Frodo Baggins?’

At hearing Gandalf’s name, Frodo looked up at the wizard and exclaimed, ‘I knew it was you! I knew it!’

When the lad looked at him, Gandalf was taken aback, for rarely had he seen such a Light as bright and beautiful as his Lady Varda’s stars themselves shining forth from an adult mortal, much less from one who was still a child! The wizard positively gasped as he beheld the small face turned up in joyous rapture as it smiled on him in anticipation. Gandalf found that he had to fight tears as for an instant he had a premonition regarding this boy’s feature – a premonition that was gone as quickly as it had come.

‘Frodo,’ Primula admonished her son, ‘Let go of his leg!’ But the little hobbit continued to clutch his leg as though his life depended on it, so much so that an embarrassed Primula had to pry her son off of Gandalf’s leg, ‘I’m terribly sorry, sir. I don’t know what’s come over him.’

Gandalf smiled, ‘No harm done.’

A sudden knock came on Bilbo’s front door, making all 4 of the kitchen’s occupants jump, and Bilbo hurried to answer it muttering, ‘Who on Middle-earth could that be at this hour of the night?’ He swung the door open to seeing a gathering of his neighbors, mostly menfolk, standing on his stoop clutching pitch forks and other forms of household items as weapons.

‘Mr. Bilbo, are ye and yers fine?’ asked Hamfast from the midst of the small crowd.

Bilbo smiled, ‘We’re all right as rain here, Master Hamfast. I must ask what are you all doing standing here on my front step in the middle of the night?’

"Well, Mr. Baggins, wees all heard this bloodcurdling scream a’comin’ from yer hole and we’s afraid that some thief had broken in and was murdering ye,’ Hamfast answered for the crowd.

‘I’m fine, I assure you all,’ Bilbo replied.

‘Who does the cart belong to, if you don’t mind me asking?" asked Daddy Twofoot.

‘To me, Mr. Twofoot,’ said Gandalf from behind Bilbo, bending down to look at the crowd of hobbits.

‘We should have known that it was that confounded wizard!’ said a voice that sounded a lot like that belonging to the miller.

‘I am sorry that we disturbed everyone,’ Bilbo said as the crowd began to break up.

‘Mad Baggins,’ some said on their way down the Hill, while others shook their heads saying, ‘Old Bilbo’s cracked all right, associating with the likes of wizards and such other queer folk.’

Hamfast waited for the crowd to disperse before he stepped closer to the door, ‘Is there anything ye’ll be needing, Mr. Bilbo a’fore I be heading home?’

Bilbo nodded, ‘Only for you to apologize to Bell for me for interrupting your night’s sleep.’

‘O don’t ye be worrying about us, Mr. Bilbo, we’re all fine,’ replied Hamfast.

‘Still, please send her my apologies as I know your youngest son just stopped getting his days and nights mixed up recently,’ Bilbo said again.

Hamfast nodded, ‘I will, sir. Will there be anything else?’

‘No, no,’ said Bilbo, ‘You just get yourself home and get some more sleep if you can.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Hamfast, ‘Well, good night, Mr. Bilbo, to ye and yers – what’s left of it anyway.’

‘Goodnight, be careful as you go down now,’ replied Bilbo before shutting the door, then opened it again as he thought of something else, ‘If you would not mind, keep an eye on Gandalf’s cart after you arrive here tomorrow morning.’

‘Aye, Mr. Bilbo, I will!’ promised Hamfast.

‘All right, thank you and goodnight,’ Bilbo said, this time locking the door back after he shut it. Looking at his guest and family he said, ‘Let’s go to bed, shall we?’

Even with the promise Bilbo obtained from Hamfast Gamgee, Gandalf was up before the Sun sitting outside to enjoy a smoke as he kept watch to make sure that no prying hands belonging to over-curious young hobbits found their way into the back of his cart. He was just tamping out his pipe as Hamfast and Sam made their way up through the gate to begin their work for the day.

Upon seeing the wizard, Sam stood with his mouth wide open, and he remained that way for several moments until Hamfast tapped him on the head. ‘Come along now, Samwise, and close yer mouth. Wees have plenty enough work to do without ye standing there attracting flies with yer mouth all apage.’ He looked at Gandalf, ‘Good morning, Mr. Gandalf. Do ye still want me to keep an eye out for yer cart?’

‘Good morning to you too, Master Hamfast, Master Samwise.’ Gandalf nodded to each as he spoke. ‘No, thank you; I’ll be moving it momentarily so that some rascal doesn’t get it in his head to pilfer my fireworks.’

‘Do ye really have fireworks with ye, Mr. Gandalf, sir?’ Sam asked, unable to stop himself.

Hamfast had walked on, stopping when he realized that his son was not with him, and when he heard Sam ask his question, ‘Samwise, come along now and quit yer botherin’ Mr. Gandalf!’ Sam scurried to catch up with his father.

‘I do indeed, Master Samwise,’ Gandalf called after the hobbit lad, laughing at Sam when he jumped in happiness as soon as Hamfast’s back was turned to him. Gandalf laughed long and hard until he felt a twinge in his side, and he had to wipe away a tear or two of mirth away. Yes, indeed he loved his time among hobbits, especially the young ones who were always curious enough to seek out mischief whenever he came calling to Hobbiton.

Rising from the stoop, Gandalf whistled for his horse who appeared a moment later and stood still long enough for the wizard to reattach the harness. Within moments, he had the cart moved to where it was out of sight, on the other side of the small stable where Bilbo kept his own pony. After turning his horse loose in a nearby paddock, Gandalf went again back up the Hill, re-entering Bag End to discover that someone had arisen, and was cooking a first breakfast that promised to be a hearty one by the smell of it.

As he came close to the kitchen Gandalf smiled upon hearing the young voice of Frodo Baggins chattering away, asking questions. He waited just outside the door as to see whose voice would be answering the young hobbit. It was not entirely to his surprise that he next heard Primula’s voice attempting to answer her son’s questions regarding his hat and staff.

‘Mama, if he really is Gandalf the Grey, then where was his pointy hat and his staff?’ asked Frodo in between bites of the bread and jam designed to tie him over until his mother could finish with their real breakfast. The young hobbit had spent the entire night (at least until he fell asleep again) trying to figure out why he had seen a tall stranger dressed in grey in Bilbo’s kitchen, a stranger who claimed to be the famous wizard Gandalf did not have his staff or the pointy blue hat that marked him as a wizard!

After hearing an exasperated sigh from the lad’s mother he stepped inside of the kitchen, ‘I did not have my hat or staff, Frodo Baggins, because I had left them laying beside Bilbo’s door, as is my custom to do so when I come calling at Bag End.’ He nodded a greeting to Primula before going to sit down at the table awkwardly, determined to enjoy a cup of tea as Frodo continue to stare at him.

‘Frodo,’ came Primula’s voice, ‘it is impolite to stare at other people. Now stop.’

Frodo returned his attention to his bread and jam, only half-heartedly picking at it now, and Gandalf smiled as he sipped his tea, saying, ‘Why do you not ask me some of the other questions you were asking your mother just now. You may find me somewhat more knowledgeable about the subject of wizards.’

And that was all the invitation Frodo needed as he began an onslaught of questions that did not end until after Bilbo had made his way to the table, and had greeted his old friend before setting into the food that Primula had prepared onto the table. Primula spoke not a word to Bilbo, instead her eyes looked rather cold whenever they fell onto him, and after she excused herself to take a tray to Drogo, Gandalf invited Bilbo to step outside with him for a smoke.

Sensing what Gandalf wanted, Bilbo turned to Frodo, ‘Why don’t you go practice the letters and words I showed you yesterday? I’ll be along in a few minutes to help you.’

‘You’re not leaving, are you, Gandalf?’ Frodo asked suddenly.

‘No, I’m not, at least not for some days,’ he replied, ‘In any case, I shall be staying through your uncle’s birthday, for I have a special surprise planned for it.’

‘You’re staying for our birthday?’ Frodo said excitedly before Bilbo hurried him along.

Gandalf seemed puzzled at the wording the Frodo’s question, ‘Our birthday?’

Bilbo nodded, ‘You see, Frodo was born on the twenty-second of September as well, and in three days he turns twelve.’

‘And you will turn ninety if I am not very much mistaken,’ Gandalf said as they stepped outside of Bag End.

Bilbo sighed, ‘You are not.’

They had walked around back towards the garden that was in the height of its bloom, and the flowers were opening to release sweet scented into the morning air as they both settled down on a stone bench. Hamfast, upon seeing them coming, had picked up his tools and moved to another part of the garden to accord them some privacy. Sam was still nearby, however, trimming the grass, but he was let be by his father, as he was not close enough to overhear whatever the two friends had to say to one another.

‘Does it distress you to speak of your age, my friend?’ Gandalf asked.

Bilbo was seated turned away from him on the bench, so the wizard did not see Bilbo’s hand absently go up to his weskit pocket and reach inside to caress something. ‘It does not bother me as much as the fact I don’t actually look it.’ The hobbit sighed again. ‘My father was eighty when he died, and when I close my eyes, I can still remember how he looked when he died. Gandalf, he looked so much older, so much more worn out than I do, and here I am nearly at ninety!’

Somewhere in their conversation, Gandalf had produced his pipe and was now casually blowing smoke before he said thoughtfully, ‘Perhaps, dear friend, you have only inherited the longevity of your grandfather Gerontius Took. As I seem to recall, he was of one hundred and thirty years of age when he passed away.’

‘If that is so, then his longevity bypassed my mother all together to reach me as she was two and eighty when she died, looking as old and worn out as my father did when he died!’ Bilbo replied with equal thought. ‘And the Old Took did not exactly look like a very old tweenager when he died, and from some of the comments I’ve heard made, I know I really do look too young for my age.’ He finally withdrew his hand from his pocket, deciding to also bring out his own pipe for a smoke. ‘In any case, you did not wish to see me out here in the garden just so we could talk about my age or how old I look, did you?’

Gandalf puffed for a moment before answering, ‘Indeed, I did not. I could not help but notice some tension between you and the Mistress Primula.’

Bilbo sighed and puffed on his own pipe for a moment, thinking of how to answer Gandalf, ‘First of all, have you been curious as to why you have yet to meet Drogo, although he is here now living in Bag End?’

Gandalf shrugged, ‘I merely assumed that he was recently ill when I noted Mistress Primula preparing a tray to take to their suite.’

‘You assumed correctly,’ Bilbo confirmed, ‘Just this past week Drogo has begun to recover from a rather serious bout of the gaffer’s friend.’

‘I see.’

‘It was during his illness, when he was most ill and possibly near death that I said something I should not have to Primula,’ Bilbo sighed, ‘I suggested that perhaps it would be better if Drogo were to succumb to his illness as it was less painful than the end he was otherwise facing.’

‘And upon hearing you say such, Mistress Primula thought that you really have very little regard for Drogo if you could say such a thing,’ Gandalf concluded, and Bilbo nodded. ‘But tell me, what other end is Drogo facing that you would say that death from pneumonia was far less painful?’

‘In May, I went to Buckland to visit Drogo’s family where they lived in Brandy Hall among Primula’s kin – she was a Brandybuck, you know, before she married Drogo. A day or so after I arrived Frodo told me of a conversation he had accidentally overheard his parents having, and it seemed that Drogo had had a cut on his arms that was weeks old and had not healed yet. Frodo asked me to convince his father to go to see a healer. Milo Gentlewinter, do you know him?’ Bilbo asked and was surprised when the wizard nodded, ‘Well the healer told Drogo that he was dying, that he had had only seen a few cases like Drogo’s and both of the afflicted died within a year of his diagnoses.’

‘Tell me exactly what Healer Gentlewinter diagnosed your nephew with, Bilbo,’ Gandalf instructed and listened as the hobbit did indeed tell him everything he knew.

‘Do you think that the Elves could help him, Gandalf?’ Bilbo asked as he finished.

Gandalf gave his pipe a few more puffs before knocking out its contents and smothering it with his booted foot before stowing the pipe away to say, ‘Elvish medicine is wise in the ways of healing wounds more than it is healing mortal sicknesses.’

Bilbo shrugged sadly, ‘It’s just as well as Drogo says he won’t leave the Shire to travel to Rivendell. Lord Elrond would have to come to him to render him any aid – the stubborn fool!’

Gandalf furled his bushy eyebrows together in thought, ‘Perhaps not, my friend. I have a rather fast way of sending a message to Lord Elrond, though it will take several days for his reply to reach us. Yes, I will write Elrond and see if he may offer your Drogo any sort of aid, if not a cure!’ With that, the wizard left the hobbit alone in his garden, and Bilbo wondered if his friend would return or not.

September 22, 1380 S.R.

Gandalf had indeed returned several moments later, apologizing for his delay in returning as he explained he had to thwart several young hobbits’ attempts to lift some of his fireworks. In his hands he carried a small bird, which he asked Bilbo to hold while he attached with a leather cord a small tubular case that held a short message to Lord Elrond. After he spoke in his own language to the bird, he gently released her, explaining to Bilbo that the bird would carry his message to Rivendell and to the Elven Lord.

But that had been three days ago, and thankfully Gandalf had managed to keep the bulk of his supply for tonight’s display. This year Bilbo had opted for a rather quiet celebration with his family with the Gamgees being the only others (outside of Gandalf of course) to be invited to eat dinner at Bag End that would be prepared as well as catered by Widow Goodbody and her daughters.

The fireworks display, however, would not be a quiet affair as all of Hobbiton had been invited to lay their blankets out near the Party Tree and snuggle with their families as Gandalf had promised a display to rival that of the one he had last given at the Old Took’s last birthday party. And snuggle the families of Hobbiton did, bringing with them their dinners packed away in baskets, pulling out treats as they awaited the promised extravagance, which would not start until the appearance of the Bagginses.

The wait seemed an eternity to the young hobbits but finally the door to Bag End opened, and Bilbo emerged, followed closely by Frodo (since it too was his birthday) along with both of Frodo’s parents, and lastly the Gamgees (as Gandalf had excused himself early). They all made their way down the Hill and towards the Party Tree where seats had been reserved for them around the base of the tree.

"Happy birthday!’ many of the hobbits yelled toward Bilbo and Frodo.

The family settled in, Drogo wrapped in a blanket as well as seated on one, with Primula snuggled in close to him on one side and Frodo on the other. Just as Bilbo settled himself close to Frodo, the first rocket soared into the sky, bursting into a shower that rained jewel-colored flowers on the upturned hobbit heads. For the next half hour the hobbits "ooooo" and "aaaaahed" in delight as flowers, mountains, Elves, stars, dragons, and creatures from the earlier Ages of Middle-earth in a rainbow of colors lit the sky.

The night ended with the final boom of Gandalf’s fireworks, but the memories did not stop there, for the next morning Bilbo found a piece of folded on which a short poem was written: