Special Thanks to cpsings4him for beta reading.

~*~*~

When Adventure Knocks

Chapter One: Things Arranged

3. Forelithe 1374

Frodo sniffed the air of the parlour ponderingly and glanced into the kitchen. His mother sat at the kitchen table spreading some jam on two slices of bread. His stomach grumbled - obviously unimpressed by the fact that it was only one hour past breakfast. It was high time for a snack. He ran to his mother and wanted to take a slice but before he could grab one his mother slapped his fingers. "They are for your father. He hasn't had anything for breakfast yet. I can make you one later." Frodo looked disappointed but nodded.

As soon as he wasn't occupied with his second breakfast anymore the strange smell he had noticed before attracted his attention once again. He glanced over to the stove where a kettle hung just above the fire. Steam was rising from its spout. Frodo wrinkled his nose. "What's this?"

His mother smiled at him and walked over to take the kettle from the fire. "It's sage tea for your father. He has a sore throat and feels rather sick today."

Frodo grimaced in disgust. He couldn't stand the taste of sage. The mere thought of being sick and having to stay abed all day, drinking sage tea made him shiver. His father must feel really terrible if he endured tea and blankets and having breakfast brought to his bed. Frodo grinned. It was by all means possible that he could get used to the last idea. If his mother would bring his breakfast to his room even if he was well? Before he could ask his question he felt his mother's gentle hand resting on his forehead. He frowned and looked up at her quizzically.

Primula Baggins didn't miss her son's trembling. She raised an eyebrow and quickly dried her hands with her pinafore before laying a testing palm on his forehead. Luckily she didn't notice any warmth. "Are you feeling well, dear?"

Realizing where she was driving at Frodo dodged from her hand and nodded frantically. "I'm not ill," he declared looking at her with the brightest and, what he thought, most healthy-looking smile he could manage. After a short pause he added "I'm outside." And with that he dashed out of the kitchen not risking any more examinations.

"Take care," she called after him knowing very well that Frodo heard her although he did not answer. Smiling to herself she went back to lading a tray with tea and a plate with the slices of bread she had spread earlier, before heading for the room she shared with her husband.

Drogo Baggins and his small family lived in a comfortable hobbithole near Bywater. His wife and son were all his pride and nothing could trouble his contented life - until that very day in Forelithe when the last airs of spring were mingling with the first warm breezes of summer, and birds twittered in the branches of verdant trees in the sparkling sun of the early morning. On this morning Drogo woke up coughing and with a sore throat. His temperature was slightly warmer than usual and his concerned wife quickly advised him to stay in bed.

While Primula got up to arrange breakfast for their son, Drogo had drifted back to sleep. To his dismay he felt a headache begin when he woke up not long before Primula re-entered the room with a tray in her hands. Her light brown hair shimmered in the morning sun which was shining through the small round window just above the shelf where she placed the tray. Primula turned to him, a smile brightening her face - the very smile that always reminded him of how much he loved her. "How are you feeling?" she asked, coming to his side and sitting down beside him.

Drogo could not answer.. He was overwhelmed by a coughing fit that made his head feel as if someone was pounding against it with a heavy hammer. Drogo moaned in dismay and, closing his eyes, he pressed one hand on his temple hoping that this would ease his pain. Fortunately it helped a little and when the fit passed and the hammers stopped their hard work, Drogo pushed himself into a sitting position.

Primula didn't need another answer than the one she had already got. Looking at her husband sympathetically she used her right hand to stroke one of his dark brown curls from his forehead and caressed his cheek. "I have brought you some breakfast," she said in a low voice. "I would have returned early, but when I checked on you after breakfasting with Frodo, you were asleep again."

A smile crossed her lips when Drogo looked at her with a guilty expression that reminded her very much of her son. Frodo would give her that same look whenever he had been up to something and she had caught him just a second before any harm was done. He would look at her with those dangerous eyes of his, so she would need all her willpower not to give in and just pull him into a warm hug. Drogo's expression had the same effect on her, though his eyes were not half as perilous as Frodo's.

Primula chuckled and kissed her husband's forehead. "I have also made some sage tea which should ease the pain in your throat. Does it still hurt?"

When he nodded Primula got up to hand him the cup of tea which Drogo gladly accepted. He sipped the steaming liquid carefully while Primula also handed over the plate with the slices of bread.

Drogo eyed the food suspiciously then shook his head. He didn't feel like eating. All his body was in pain and every bite meant more pain for his aching throat. Not wanting to risk any further uneasiness the thought of skipping a meal started to appeal to him. "I'm not hungry," he said giving both, tea and plate, back to his wife.

"You will eat at least one slice," Primula declared handing the plate back. "What should Frodo think of you if I tell him that his father rejected his breakfast? You don't want to frighten your child, do you?" Noticing the shaken expression crossing her husband's face she winked. "Besides, I'm sure you don't want me to worry needlessly."

A sigh escaped Drogo's lips and he closed his eyes to avoid the look Primula gave him. It was a cunning look mingled with a whiff of defiance and he knew all too well that he had no chance to convince her that he felt no urge to eat. Before he could answer another fit of coughing shook his body and he arrived at the conclusion that sighing had not been the best way to express his feelings. The hammers in his head were back at work when Primula handed him the cup again and he took another sip of the tea.

When he looked at his wife her eyes were again full of sympathy. "Take at least some bites," she begged, "and I promise, I will not tell Frodo." Primula winked and he could not help grinning at that.

Drogo took a small bite of one of the breads with jam and earned a bright smile from his wife. "Speaking of Frodo, where is the lad?"

"He is outside," Primula told him chuckling. "I think he wants to make sure that I don't declare him for ill as well. He looked quite scared when I tested his temperature some minutes ago." Seeing her husbands questioning look she added. "He's well and as healthy as I could wish him to be."

"I prefer that doesn't change," Drogo answered interrupted by coughing. "I don't want to pass anything on to him. Maybe it would be better to bring him to a relative for some days."

Primula pondered his words for a moment. Drogo looked rather pale and he was losing his voice quite quickly. After every coughing it sounded hoarser than before. Maybe Drogo was right and it would be better if Frodo wasn't at home for some days - just to be sure he would not catch the illness as well. Besides, Primula didn't even know yet, what her husband suffered from. Maybe he would be better tomorrow and she could take Frodo back home. The thought of giving her young son away for longer than one afternoon didn't please her, but it would be better than having him at home, bedridden and sore.

"I'm sure Bilbo could look after him for some days," Drogo said casually while handing the plate back to her. He had only eaten half a slice.

"No," Primula shook her head. "Not Bilbo."

"Why not? He has looked after Frodo before."

"No," Primula repeated. "You know, I like Bilbo and I know he has looked after Frodo before but--" she paused giving him a sullen look. "He's a bachelor after all, and although he does a good job in looking after Frodo for an afternoon, I'm not sure if he is the right one to care for him for several days."

Drogo smiled at her and sank back into his pillows after taking the last sip of his tea. She looked very much like Frodo when she was in a defiant mood. Yet the sullen expression on her face gave way to concern and he hoped he could shatter those worries quickly. He was in no fit state to argue with her. "Bilbo loves Frodo. No harm would come to him in Bag End. Frodo, too, is very fond of his cousin, seeing in more an uncle than the cousin Bilbo is - you know that. I'm sure he would be happy if he could spend some time in Bag End. Bachelor or no, Bilbo can look after a child like Frodo. Besides, he is the one of our relatives living closest." Drogo hoped very much that, if not the other things he said, the last argument would convince his wife that Bilbo was the best choice for Frodo to stay.

Primula looked at him for a very long time. On other days Drogo might have known what was on her mind but on this morning he was too tired and could do nothing but wait for an answer. The sun sparkled in her curls when she got up and silently placed the teacup and the plate on the tray again. Drogo closed his eyes fearing that he already knew her answer and that Frodo would probably stay at home.

"All right," she suddenly said and Drogo opened his eyes again. "I will take him to Bilbo afterwards."

"I'm sure you won't regret your decision." The smile he gave her was interrupted by a coughing fit.

Primula didn't tell her husband but she still had her doubts about Bilbo. There was no denying that she liked Bilbo but he didn't seem to be the right person to look after a child. Yet she had seen him many times playing with Frodo. The two of them always rejoiced in being together. Still, she hoped that she could take Frodo back home soon, no matter how much Bilbo knew about minding children - especially a child like Frodo.. Not that Frodo was much different from other boys his age but he was her child and that made him special enough.

~*~*~

A in the middle of the Baggins family's garden a small pond reflected the golden light of the morning sun. The air was filled with the odour of lilac and the sound of young birds. A light wind was blowing while Frodo was standing under the branches of the lilac tree, his eyes full of excitement. A sparrow had built his nest in the twigs of the tree and now three hungry little birds were chirping for their mother to bring them food.

Frodo walked backwards to have a better view at the young birds when his toes suddenly touched water. Inhaling sharply the young hobbit looked at his feet and stepped out of the pond again when his eyes suddenly grew wide. Small animals which looked like tiny balls of wool with a loose thread were swimming in the pond with a snaky movement.

Frodo knelled down and glanced at them in awe. He had seen animals like this before. How did his father call them? Tadpoles? Yes, it must have been tadpoles and in some time - if weeks or even months he did not remember - these tadpoles would become frogs. A broad grin was on the young hobbit's face when he drove his hand into the water to catch a tadpole, but the slimy animals slipped from his fingers and swam away. Frodo giggled in delight and followed the swarm of tadpoles. Ever and anon he tried to catch one but he soon found out that one hand did not suffice. Sitting down on a stone on the edge of the pond, Frodo placed both his feet in the water. Mud tickled between his toes and he dug them deeper into the sludge on the pond's ground. With his hands he formed a bowl and dipped them into the water.

Motionless he waited like this with a broad grin on his face until the tadpoles that had fled from his feet returned. As soon as one of the tiny animals got astray just above his hands Frodo captured it. "Mommy!" With a dart he jumped up, almost toppling over and dashed into the hobbithole where he called for his mother again.

Primula, mistaking her son's delight for fear, dashed out of Frodo's room where she had been packing some cloths he would need during his stay at Bag End. "Frodo, what is it, dear? What happened?"

"Look!" Frodo cried out happily as he stood by her side and proudly presented her the tadpole that was wriggling helplessly in his palms. "It's a baby-frog! The pond is full of them. There are hundreds and --"

Primula draw in a breath as she recognised the mess her son had left behind with his muddy feet and the water dripping from his hands. "Mommy?" Frodo frowned and looked at her expectantly. "Look!" he asked again holding up his arms so she could see the contents of his palm better.

"Oh, Frodo," she sighed and her son's brow creased at the sound of her voice. He let his hands sink but without forgetting to see to it that the wriggling animal in the hole of his hands did not escape. "Look at that mess!" she sighed again and shook her head but then her tone softened and for a moment she smiled. "It's a wonderful tadpole but bring it back to the pond. And clean your feet and your face when you're outside."

Frodo, who had been looking over his shoulders and grimaced at the mud traces he saw, smiled at his mothers words. He quickly nodded and ran back into the garden where he dipped his hands into the pond again and watched as the tadpole swam away.

When Primula came into the garden some minutes later, Frodo was sitting beside the draw well and splashed his feet into a bucket filled with water. He smiled when he noticed her coming and waved at her but then his brow creased and he looked questioningly at the backpack she carried in her hand. "Where are you going?"

She smiled. "Not me - you will be going. You will spend some days with your uncle Bilbo until your father is better."

"Uncle Bilbo?" Frodo squealed with glee and jumped up to hug his mother. "Shall we bring him some tadpoles? He has a big garden and there is surely a place where some of our tadpoles can live."

Primula smiled and shook her head. "No, Frodo. I don't think your uncle would like to have frogs in his garden. Besides, tadpoles live in the water. They are happier in our little pond than in your uncle's garden."

"But Bilbo could make a pond, couldn't he? A huge pond for thousands and thousands of tadpoles," Frodo waved his hands to put his statement into words and grinned broadly at his mother.

"Go on," she laughed and lightly slapped his bottom as they trotted down to the road that should lead them to Hobbiton.

~*~*~

They arrived at Bag End on time for Elevenses. Bilbo had led them into the kitchen where he offered them tea and some biscuits he had made the day before. Frodo ate them greedily and for a moment he even forgot the tadpoles he wanted to tell his uncle about. Primula took her chance to tell Bilbo the reason for her visit. "I would be glad if he could stay here for a week or so," she finished her explanation. She still had her doubts about Bilbo, but her husband was right: Bilbo loved Frodo and only wanted his best, just like she did.

"Of course he can stay!" Bilbo called out. "That's no problem at all, is it, my lad?" He ruffled Frodo's curls making the child giggle. "I'm sure we will get along well, don't you worry. Just you look that Drogo is back on his feet soon."

"I definitely will," she smiled at him before turning her attention to her son who was nibbling at one of the biscuits and listened to their conversation curiously. Without taking her eyes off him, she absently tipped the backpack she had brought with her. "Here is some extra-clothing and some of his toys - I'm sure you will need them." She fell silent and locked on to her son's gaze, making him blush and quickly averting his eyes. "Don't always trust the innocent look in his eyes," she told Bilbo and looked at the old hobbit again. "He's up to something more often than one thinks. And if anything happens --"

Bilbo laid a hand on her shoulder. "Nothing will happen, Prim. I'll look after him. Put aside your concerns and concentrate on caring for your husband. Frodo will be all right."

Bilbo winked at Frodo and grinned before leading Primula to the door and opened it for her. "Send Drogo my best wishes."

Nodding she sighed "Thank you, Bilbo," and bent her knees to kiss her son's cheek and whisper into his ear: "Goodbye, my love. Be a good lad now and listen to what your uncle tells you."

Frodo nodded and hugged her tightly as he kissed her cheek as well. "Goodbye, mommy."

Primula often turned to look back at her son who was standing beside Bilbo and waved at her. The old hobbit had laid an arm on his shoulder and watched her with a smile on his face. Primula sighed. "He is in good hands," she told herself and hoped she was not mistaken.

As soon as his mother had left Frodo had started to babble - beginning with how much they could do while they were together and ending with tadpoles and a new pond in Bag End's garden which Bilbo should excavate after lunch at the latest. Bilbo tried to convince his young nephew that such a thing was not possible - or rather that he did not wish to have a pond in his beautiful flower garden - but Frodo was determined and the look in his eyes made it almost impossible for Bilbo to contradict. Primula would have known this gaze for Frodo used it whenever he wanted to get his way and knew that his opponent could easily be twisted round his little finger. Frodo Baggins was a cunning little lad and knew very well about the effect his eyes could have on people, despite the small number of years he counted.

To Bilbo's relief the pond and its slimy inhabitants were forgotten as soon as lunch - vegetables of all sorts and a slice of pork for the two of them - was served and the matters of drinking were discussed. Frodo had already drunk two glasses of fresh elder juice and announced it the best drink he had ever had. "It's, by all means, better than mommy's sage tea," he had declared and shuddered in disgust by the mere mention of sage. To put his dislike into words the young hobbit had stuck out his tongue and given a nauseated sound, then had sighed: "Poor dad has to drink all of mom's sage tea now."

Bilbo had laughed at that and told his nephew that the tea would help his father to get better, no matter how bad it tasted. Frodo, of course, had not been convinced and stuck to his opinion, before resting an inquiring look on his uncle and asking why tea that should help one feeling better always tasted nasty.

"I don't know why that is, my lad," Bilbo had told him, ruffling the boy's curls, "but as far as I know, medicine that helps always has a bad taste. At least that's what my mother told me when I was a lad."

A mischievous, grin had crossed the child's face at that and Frodo had grabbed one of Bilbo's hands, bouncing excitingly on his seat on the corner seat of Bag End's kitchen. "Let us invent some new medicine then, Uncle Bilbo. We will make up some tasty drinks for all kinds of illnesses and no-one will have to drink sage tea ever again."

Bilbo had laughed hard and the two of them had spent some time deciding which sorts of teas were allowed and which were not. Sage tea was definitely on the not-wanted side of their list, together with nettle tea and cod-liver-oil.

But now even the teas and different medicines were forgotten and Frodo leaned on his uncle's left side, eyes half-closed, and was silent, but if he was drowsy or just gathering his strength for another five hours of talking, Bilbo could not tell. Since Primula had left almost three hours ago, Frodo had hardly ever paused in his reports and musings and in some way Bilbo was glad for the quiet minutes that were granted him, no matter how much he loved Frodo and his chattering. He had laid an arm around his dear nephew and held him tight, hoping that the child might fall asleep.

Frodo, however, did not fall asleep. Visiting his uncle was too exciting for him to drop off to sleep though he didn't mind the little rest he indulged himself to. His mind was already occupied with what he could do in the afternoon when he suddenly jerked at the sound of somebody coughing. "Who's that?" he asked puzzled, looking around to discover the source of the sound. Seeing no-one in immediate vicinity of the kitchen or the table he was sitting at, he moved closer to his uncle, his eyes resting doubtfully on the door which looked to the parlour.

Rubbing his nephew's arms Bilbo grinned. "Don't be afraid. It's just Hamfast Gamgee working in the garden."

Frodo straightened his back and look at his uncle insulted "I'm not afraid," he declared matter-of-factly, but his eyes were already back on the door if only for a moment. Then, giving Bilbo a sideways glance, Frodo got up and headed for the hall where he looked cautiously to both sides before turning round to Bilbo. "Is Master Gamgee making a pond?"

"I think he is only planting some new flowers," Bilbo said, wondering how long it would take Frodo to forget about his idea of a pond.

Frodo did not answer but hurried outside to see if Bilbo had guessed right. For a moment his eyes were dazzled as he stepped into the bright sunlight. Frodo blinked two or three times and his eyes quickly got accustomed to the light. His uncle had a splendorous garden and even though it was only Forelithe it was a firework of colors. Yellow and white lilies were in full bloom, as well as anemones and petunias. He admired the flowers for a while - somehow he had failed to notice them when he had arrived with his mother in the morning - when he suddenly noticed somebody crouching on the ground in an empty bed. He was digging earth with a small shovel. "Hello!" Frodo called out and advanced the hobbit in the garden with an inquisitive grin on his face.

Hamfast Gamgee hadn't heard him coming and turned around startled. When he saw the young lad with dark brown curls and shining blue eyes, he smiled. "Hullo, little master! Visiting your uncle, are you?"

Frodo's grin became even broader. Now that he saw the hobbit's face and heard his voice, he remembered Gaffer Gamgee again. He had seen him many times before and every time the hobbit had been working in his uncle's garden. Frodo remembered that the Gaffer did not live very far from Bag End though he could not tell where exactly.

"Mommy brought me this morning. She said she doesn't want me to become ill like my dad and that's why I'm staying here for a while," Frodo explained kneeling down beside Bag End's gardener. A soft wind tickled his ear as his gaze wandered across the empty bed. "What are you doing?" he asked, looking at the Gaffer again.

Hamfast Gamgee's brown curls hung into his face and small drops of sweat glittered on his forehead. The two top buttons of his shirt were open and revealed an already tanned chest. He smiled at the child and picked up one of the seedlings lying, yet unnoticed by Frodo, beside him and put it into one of the holes he had dug before. "I'm planting those seedlings so that Mr. Bilbo's garden will be beautiful even when those lilies and petunias are withered."

"What kind of flowers are they?" Frodo wanted to know and took one of the seedlings to have a closer look at it.

"The one your holding is an aster," the Gaffer told him and smiled, "and the one I've just planted will be a viola next Rethe."

Frodo frowned and looked puzzled at the gardener. "That's almost a year!" he exclaimed and looked at the first seedling in the empty flower bed in awe. "Why do you plant it now when it will only bloom in Rethe? Can't you plant it in Solmath? You would have more room for other flowers then."

Hamfast laughed out loud and ruffled the young hobbit's curls. "Some flowers need their time to grow, little master. Would I plant them in Solmath, they would still only bloom a year later, if they bloom at all."

"Oh," was all the young hobbit answered. He watched when Hamfast went back to his work, and thoughtfully turned the seedling in his hands. He sniffed at it but could smell nothing that he hadn't smelled before as well: earth, flowers and sweat. Frodo looked from the seedling in his hand to the ones Hamfast had planted and observed that the one in his hand was only one small flower whereas the ones already planted were small bunches with fine roots. "When will the asters bloom?" he wanted to know, holding the flower under the gardener's nose to make sure he got all his attention.

"They'll bloom from Afterlithe to Winterfilth," the Gaffer told, looking at the young one's expectant face. A smile crossed his face. Having three children of his own, he knew all too well what was on this lad's mind. Casting a sideways glance to the entrance door of the smial, he saw his master nod. "You can help me planting them, if you wish to."

With a dart, Frodo jumped to his feet, taking the Gaffer's shovel and grinning from one ear to the other. "What must I do?" Seeing that his uncle was watching them, his grin grew even broader, as he got to the gardener's other side and kneeled down again to have a better look at what the old hobbit was doing. The seedling he had still in his hands.

"If he causes any trouble, send him to me," Bilbo called over to them with a grin.

"I'm sure Master Gamgee will do his work all right," Frodo answered and blushed as he noticed the look Bag End's gardener was giving him. He mumbled something incomprehensible that should probably have been an excuse.

Bilbo shook his finger, but when he turned to go back into the kitchen to clean the table, he smiled. He had watched the two of them for a while now and the picture had pleased him. Frodo would be quite tired in the evening if he helped Hamfast in the garden. He could only hope that the lad was not too inquisitive to disturb his gardener. But there was no need to worry for Hamfast looked pleased as well. Bilbo remembered that he was always happy when one of his children helped him in the garden and obviously he did not bother that this time the child was not his own but his master's talkative young nephew.

~*~*~

"You know, we have tadpoles in our pond," Frodo told Hamfast and dug a new hole for the last seedling. He had turned up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows and some of his dark curls were sticking on his sweaty forehead. "Do you think Uncle Bilbo would like to have a pond in his garden? I'm sure some of our tadpoles could find a good home here. I have already talked with him but Uncle Bilbo didn't look very pleased at all. Maybe you could help me to persuade him to make a pond. Don't you think a pond would look wonderful in the garden?"

Hamfast looked into the shining eyes of the child and wondered if Frodo would ever get tired of talking. In the last hour he had learned everything about the Baggins family there was to learn, beginning with how much Mrs. Primula loved her home and her garden and ending with the pond Mr. Drogo had made for her only a year ago. He patted the earth around the last seedling and got to his feet stretching his back.

"Are you finished?" Bilbo called over from the bench from where he had been watching them.

Frodo ran to him, forgetting about the answer Hamfast still owed him and jumped on the bench to give his uncle a hug. Bilbo could feel the heat of his nephew's rosy cheeks when the lad pressed his dirty face to his neck. Bilbo stroked Frodo's curls and noticed the warm wetness of his neck that was already cooling in the soft breeze. Maybe it had not been such a good idea to allow him to work in the blazing sun.

"Now, what was that for?" Bilbo asked being a bit surprised at the passionate embrace.

"Just felt like it," Frodo grinned and kissed his cheek. "Can I have another glass of elder juice?"

"Of course, my boy," Bilbo smiled and only minutes later the two of them were in the kitchen. It was cool inside compared to the warm sunlight in the garden and Frodo shivered slightly. The young hobbit sat on a chair at the kitchen table, his feet dangling as he watched his uncle preparing the juice. While he waited he noticed that he had become hungry again. Bilbo had smiled, knowing that so much work raised ones appetite - especially the appetite of a hobbit-child - and went into one of Bag End's pantries.

Frodo followed him, looking around curiously and saving every little detail in his mind. Who knew which of the pantry's treats could ease his stomach's need - not only today but also the next day and the day after. Maybe his uncle made some of the biscuits he had had this morning. Unfortunately Frodo did not see any more biscuits. On the shelves were only jars and pots with different jams and honey, butter, some eggs and milk. Bilbo took a jar of jam with him and Frodo hurried back to the kitchen, where he stood at his uncle's side, watching him open the cork of the jam jar and spread its contents thickly on a slice of bread. It was strawberry jam, Frodo's favourite.

Bilbo placed the bread and the mug of juice, together with three glasses, on a plate and went back outside. They called for Hamfast to have a glass of juice with them and he and Bilbo also shared a smoke while Frodo ate his bread.

~*~*~

Later that afternoon, after Frodo had gone on an excursion around the garden and discovered the rain barrel, the young hobbit sat on the ground delighting in wetting his feet with a watering can. Bilbo had looked for him only minutes ago. By then Frodo had still contended himself with standing in the grass and pouring the water over his feet but now he was sitting on the already soaked ground and splashed his hands and feet into the puddles around him, giggling and humming as he did so. His breeches were already soaked through and his shirt, hands and face were adorned with dirty spots. Frodo was altogether happy, having everything a young lad needed - sunshine, a big garden, permission to stay with his favourite uncle for several days and lots of water to splash around.

As he poured water over his feet once again he noticed a worm wriggling into one of the puddles he had made. Frodo grinned. "Do you want to take a bath, Wormy?" he asked the animal. "I can make you a bigger one, a better one. Just wait a moment, Wormy, and I'll have it prepared."

Frodo got up and walked over to a bed of herbs. There he dug a small hole with his hands, just big enough for Wormy. Then he walked back to fetch the watering can. The puddles he had been sitting in glittered in the sunlight and a sludgy noise could be heard when the young hobbit stepped into them and, for his own delight, jumped three times to see the water splash. Giggling he went back to fill the provisional tub he had made for the worm with water. "I'm finished," he called, took the worm off the ground and put it into his self-made worm-tub. "How do you like it, Wormy?" he asked, watching the worm wriggling, and pouring water over him whenever the one he had poured in earlier had sunk into the ground.

"Frodo, what are you doing there?" Bilbo asked, coming to see what his nephew was doing at the back of the smial. He saw him kneeling in front of the kitchen bed, the watering can in his right hand. He was talking to himself, and Bilbo wondered what he was up to.

Frodo jumped at the voice of his uncle and turned round. "Uncle Bilbo," he exclaimed and sighed in relief. A smile crossed his lips and he bid his uncle to come and see Wormy bathing.

Bilbo did not even find time to excuse himself for startling Frodo, or to wonder what or who 'Wormy' was. His jaws dropped at the sight of his young nephew who was wet and covered with mud and dirt all over. His dark curls were dishevelled and went into all directions. "What in the Shire have you done?" he asked, his voice a mixture of shock and amusement.

"Nothing," Frodo answered looking confused. He waved his hand for Bilbo to come. "Look, I have made a tub for Wormy. He is taking a bath and afterwards--"

"A bath is exactly what you need as well, my lad," Bilbo told him, looking over the young hobbit's shoulder and shaking his head. "Wormy, eh?" Frodo grinned innocently. "I believe Wormy would like to be alone now, don't you think? The two of us should go inside at once. It's getting late."

Frodo moaned. "I don't have to be inside that early. Mommy allows me to stay--"

The young hobbit was again cut short by his uncle. "You're in bad need of a bath, my lad, no matter if your mother would allow you to stay outside for a little longer." He put the watering can back to the rain barrel and, saying goodbye to Hamfast, he shooed Frodo inside.

~*~*~

Steam was filling Bag End's bathroom and amidst the vapour two figures could be made out. One was kneeling on the floor, holding a sponge in his hands and rubbing the back of a smaller person, who was sitting in the tub, giggling and splashing water at the other one whenever he thought he was not looking.

Sing hey! for the bath at close of day
that washes the weary mud away!
A loon is he that will not sing:
O! Water Hot is a noble thing!

Frodo was the one to intone the first verse of a song. His father had taught him the lyrics only some weeks ago but Frodo could not remember how it continued. To his delight Bilbo knew the song as well and sang on, while Frodo giggled and splashed and hummed the melody of the bathing song.

As the time went by Frodo's hands and feet turned wizened. The child looked at his hands for a while then at the hands of his uncle resting on the tub. A grin crossed his face and he looked at Bilbo impishly. "Now I look almost as old as you do, uncle!"

"Then let us get you out of there," Bilbo laughed and helped Frodo climbing out of the tub. He wrapped his nephew into a towel and dried his hair. When he rubbed down the child's back and arms, he heard somebody knock at the door. "Can you do the rest by yourself?"

Frodo nodded and Bilbo got up to open the door. Bell Gamgee greeted him with a steaming pot in her hands. "Good evening, Mr. Bilbo. I have brought you some stew," she smiled. "Me Hamfast told me he feared you're having a lot on your plate this evening, having your nephew visiting and all."

Bilbo greeted her, but hesitated to accept the stew Bell had brought until the woman threatened to let it drop if he didn't take it. "That's most generous of you, Mrs. Gamgee," Bilbo said smiling. "You really shouldn't have."

"That's no problem," she answered, her eyes shining as she peeked over his shoulder to see if she could possibly have a look at the little one Mr. Bilbo was hiding somewhere inside the smial. She had seen the master's nephew before but only from afar, and she thought he was one of the most beautiful children she had ever seen, his face full of joy and mischief. "A bright lad he shall be, after all what Ham told me."

Bilbo laughed. "That he is, bright and talkative."

"Who's talkative, Uncle Bilbo?" Frodo asked turning up behind him. He had put on his nightgown and yawned as he took Bilbo's left hand and leaned against his leg, tired eyes looking curiously at the woman his uncle was talking to.

"You can be quite talkative, my dear," Bilbo said with a grin.

Frodo did not answer but yawned again. Bell smiled lovingly at the child and resisted the urge to touch the rosy cheeks and run her hand through those dishevelled, damp curls. "I'll be going then," she said, without taking her eyes off Frodo. "Good night, Mr. Bilbo! Good night, Frodo!"

Bilbo and Frodo said their goodbyes and Frodo waved at Bell until his uncle shut the door. Looking at the pot Bilbo was caring, Frodo sniffed. "What's in there?" he wanted to know.

"Dinner," Bilbo answered with a grin and led his tired nephew into the kitchen.

~~~~~~

Shire Calendar: [ LotR - Appendix D]

Afteryule
Solmath
Rethe
Astron
Thrimidge
Forelithe
Afterlithe
Wedmath
Halimath
Winterfilth
Blothmath
Foreyule

Bath Song: The Fellowship of the Ring - A Conspiracy Unmasked

Chapter Three: Breakfast for Two

4. Forelithe 1374

Birds chirped joyfully announcing the new morning, and the first sunbeams shimmered into the spacious bedroom, illuminating the shelf on the opposite side of the window. Various books and rolls - not only in the Common Tongue but also in Elvish - lay on it. Beneath the window stood a big wooden chest where Bilbo kept his linens and some small treasures. One door of the scrolled, wooden drawer was open and Bilbo's neatly folded shirts could be seen. A basket filled with laundry stood on a carpet at the foot of the bed. Beside the bed on a nightstand lay a book and a burnt-down candle.

Frodo looked at all these things wide-eyed though the last shreds of sleep still shimmered in his bright, blue eyes. He was lying in Bilbo's bed, held securely by his uncle's right arm. Snuggling closer to his uncle and taking a deep breath of the smell of pipe-weed that still lingered on him, Frodo smiled and listened to Bilbo's soft snoring.

He remembered the evening before, when Bilbo had brought him to bed after dinner. Bilbo had prepared a bed for him in one of the guestroom - a room bigger than his own bedroom at home - and although Bilbo had left the door open, Frodo couldn't find any sleep there. The moon, though only half had cast eerie shadows on the wall and in the hearth, while the fire had long gone out, had been a ghastly glow of embers. Frodo had pulled his blanket close and shut his eyes to listen. Surely he would forget his fears if he listened to the comforting sounds inside the hobbithole. But there had been hardly any sound inside Bag End. He hadn't been able to hear the crackling of the fire in the hearth, couldn't catch the hushed voices of his parents as usual - and Bilbo had not talked for there had been no-one to talk to. Frodo had wondered how lonely his uncle must be and how quiet his life was - too quiet for his liking. Opening his eyes again Frodo had lain in silence a little longer before getting up and scuffling into the parlour with his blanket wrapped over his shoulders.

When Bilbo had seen him, his eyes were full of concern. Frodo had managed a sleepy smile and had shyly announced that he didn't feel very comfortable in the big, silent chamber Bilbo had prepared for him. Bilbo had carried him into his room then and promised to stay with him until Frodo had fallen asleep. Frodo didn't know if his uncle had gotten up again afterwards or if he had fallen asleep even before he did.

Now Frodo realized that the blanket he had brought with him the evening before was gone and that he was snuggled not only into his uncle's arm but also his blanket. The young hobbit smiled again and slowly even the last dots of sleepiness vanished from his eyes. Yawning he wondered what he should do next. Of course, he could stay in bed coiling up and trying to find some more sleep, but that was absolutely not to his liking. He would have to lie quiet then, for he didn't want to disturb his uncle who was still in deep slumber. The old hobbit looked so very peaceful that Frodo didn't dare to wake him and he just lay beside him and watched, listening to the twittering birds outside.

When Bilbo showed no sign of waking but snored even louder than before Frodo became restless. Lying in bed when the day had already begun was boring and he decided that he could entertain himself quite well until his uncle had wakened.

Carefully he tried to wriggle from Bilbo's embrace which turned out to be quite difficult for his uncle's arm rested heavily on his ribs. Taking Bilbo's limp arm warily into his hands Frodo lifted it - and froze in his movement as his uncle suddenly murmured in his sleep and turned around. To Frodo's relief Bilbo now had his back turned towards him and his arm was no longer wrapped about him.

Slowly Frodo turned to get up. He suppressed a yelp when his feet touched something cold and soft on the ground. Looking down he noticed it was his blanket he was standing on. In the course of the night he must have thrown it onto the ground. On his tiptoes the young hobbit stepped to the door, freezing whenever a beam creaked.

With a sigh of relief Frodo leaned against the wall when he finally closed the door behind him. Bilbo had not wakened, which was at least a good beginning. Now he needed only to decide how he would entertain himself until his uncle did wake up.

In the hallway it was still dark and Frodo trotted into the kitchen where he had at least the light of the dawning day. There he sat down on a chair, feet dangling, twitching one of his curls that didn't know where it belonged and just stuck out into the air. His mother always said that his hair was hard to tame, especially in the mornings and this morning was obviously no exception. Frodo held both his hands on his head in hope the opinionated strand of hair would thus stay where it belonged - but it didn't. With a sound of "hmpf" Frodo gave it up and rested his chin on his hands looking into the distance, thinking.

He could light a fire - a proper day always started with lighting the kitchen fire - but he wasn't exactly sure how to make the ashes burn again and his father had told him that he still was too young for such a task. Frodo was just about to sigh when another thought hit his mind, and instead of a sigh a chuckle escaped his lips. What else did a proper day start with? Breakfast, of course! He would prepare the breakfast table and thus surprise his uncle.

Frodo could almost see his uncle standing in the door - eyes half closed, hair dishevelled - looking into the kitchen in surprise. Bread, jam, honey, butter, tea - everything was already on the table and he, Frodo, stood beside it and grinned proudly at his uncle, who was still blinking and rubbing his eyes, obviously unsure if he could believe what he saw. The kitchen table sparkled in the first light of the day and Bilbo had nothing to do but to sit down and eat his breakfast.

With that image in his mind Frodo hopped down from the chair raring to go. Suddenly he stopped his face a picture of meditation - brow furrowed, eyes thoughtful, lips pressed firmly together. He knew what had to be on a breakfast table, but he had no idea where to find these things. Well, it was best to look in the pantry first, as he already knew of some things that could be found there.

On his tiptoes Frodo stepped into the hallway, making absolutely sure his uncle wouldn't wake before he was finished. To Frodo's despair the pantry was even darker than the hallway and he could hardly make out what the many jars on the shelves contained. He sighed trying to remember what kind of light Bilbo had used the day before when his eyes suddenly fell upon a candle and a matchbox. Carefully, not to burn his fingers - he was only allowed to light a candle when either his mother or his father was with him - Frodo lit the match producing some sparks. He gasped, eyes growing wide. Very slowly he moved his hand to the candle, his nervous eyes locked on the small flame. The wick caught fire and Frodo's eyes sparkled in the new light. Flickering shadows danced across the shelves and over his face making visible the broad grin the child was carrying, while the flame on the match burned down licking at Frodo's thumb and forefinger. The young hobbit shook his hand letting the match drop, yelping and biting his lip just an instant later. Blowing his fingers and sucking at them Frodo stood and listened, hoping he had not woken his uncle with his cry.

When he heard no sound he sighed in relief, looking at his fingertips. They were slightly red and hot but did not hurt that much. Picking up the match from the floor, Frodo put it into the matchbox and sighed. He mustn't let Bilbo know that he had played with fire. The soft light of the candle illuminated the shelves and Frodo could see the jar of strawberry jam Bilbo had fetched the day before standing on the shelf just inches above his head and Frodo had to stand on his tiptoes to reach it. With a victorious smile he pressed the jar to his breast and looked up again. He could see some butter, honey and milk but no matter how much he stretched, he would not be able to reach them.

He needed something to stand upon and the first thing that came to his mind was a chair from the kitchen, though it would be difficult to get it into the pantry without making too much noise. Thinking of another solution Frodo finally arrived at the decision that there was none, thus he silently hurried back into the kitchen and stood on his tiptoes to place the jar of jam on the table before fetching a chair and manoeuvring it into the pantry. The chair proved harder to carry than Frodo had hoped. He had difficulties with it forever and anon, bumping it noisily into the wall.

Frodo sat down, recovering his breath, looking up at the shelves and listening. There was still no sound of Bilbo. The candle flickered when the child picked it up, stood on the chair and placed it on another, higher shelf. Frodo was now just in height of butter, milk and eggs. A grin crossed his flushed face as he grabbed for the milk and put it down on the chair before reaching for the butter. He didn't believe that eggs would be needed.

Now only that jar of honey was missing. Frodo looked up. It was just like before when he had to grab the jar of jam, only he was standing on a chair now. Looking at the ground, Frodo noticed that it was quite high to fall and an uneasy feeling spread in his stomach. Closing his eyes he swallowed hard. There was no room to be scared now if he wanted to surprise his uncle - and what was a breakfast table without honey? He took a deep breath and stood on his tiptoes. The chair swayed but did not fall while Frodo reached out his right hand and felt for the jar.

"Please," he whispered when his fingers touched the cold glass but couldn't grab it. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable on the unstable surface. Standing on the edge of the chair he stretched even more and was finally able to get hold of the jar. It was in this moment that his left foot slipped from the chair. The candle flickered. Luckily Frodo reacted swiftly, held on to the shelf above him with his free left hand and caught his balance just in time.

Frodo held his breath while hot tears were burning in his eyes and he slowly got down off the chair. His feet had turned to jelly and his hands were trembling. Gasping for breath he sat down. He had almost fallen - but he had got the honey. He looked at the jar in his hands, quickly forgetting his fear and a smile returned to his face.

Swiftly he brought his acquirements into the kitchen, standing on his tiptoes to place them on the table beside the jam. The milk slopped over the edge and some of the liquid dripped on the floor. The butter also slipped from his hands and fell to the ground where Frodo picked it up again, before hurrying back to the pantry, still making a point of not waking his uncle. The candle still stood on a shelf above him and Frodo got, once more, on the chair to get it down again and blew it out. He mustn't leave any traces of his playing with fire earlier. With the chair in his hands Frodo went back into the kitchen, bumping into the wall and stumbling just as he did before.

In the kitchen he first opened the cupboard where Bilbo had put in the loaf of bread the day before and took it to the table. Haste was needed for sunrise was now over and his uncle could wake up at any moment. Frodo opened almost every drawer and lower cupboard in the kitchen to find knives and dishes for Bilbo and him. The cutlery he did find but instead of cups and plates he found many pans and cooking pots. Whether he liked it or not, he would need the chair again to reach the higher cupboards.

The first door he opened was filled with pots of flour, sugar, dried herbs and fruits and other useful things one needed in the kitchen. Frodo was taking hold of the lowest shelf to make sure he wouldn't fall while he looked into every one of the pots to see if there maybe was something in them he might need. The chair swayed and the young hobbit desperately wanted to grab the shelf with his other hand as well, but instead he took hold of the sugar pot which fell down and its grainy contents was scattered on the work space. Frodo let the pot lie where it was - maybe Bilbo needed sugar for his tea?

Meanwhile the chair stood still again and the lad fought to open the next door where he finally discovered what he had looked for - plates and cups. Frodo ran to put the dishes on the table as well, being a bit more careful than with the jam and the honey, and sat on the corner seat before placing them on the table making sure they wouldn't fall down.

Now only cheese and a bit of ham were missing, but Frodo hadn't found them, though he had opened every cupboard in the kitchen - without closing every one again. Nervously the lad looked out of the window and noticed to his surprise that it was darker than before. Looking up at the sky he saw dark rain clouds gathering - clouds that made it impossible for him to tell how much time had passed since he had started his breakfast-making. If only Bilbo didn't wake up until he was finished.

Quickly Frodo hurried into the second of Bag End's pantries and was greeted by the smell of cheese. His stomach grumbled in response though Frodo couldn't see where the source of the smell was as it was utterly dark and Frodo regretted having blown out the candle he had used before. He was too scared to light it again; his fingers still remembering their first encounter with fire. As if the mere thought of it had awakened it again, the burning pain returned to his fingertips and he sucked at them. He would have to find what he needed in darkness, only with the help of his nose and hands. To Frodo's utter delight his nose was a very good guide and it didn't take him long to get some cheese and some sausages to take back to the kitchen.

When the table was finally set and everything was prepared Frodo gave a proud eye to what he had achieved. He peeked into the hallway to see if the door to Bilbo's room would open - but nothing happened and Frodo began to wonder how long a hobbit like Bilbo could sleep. "If he doesn't wake up soon he'll sleep away the day!"

But then another thought hit his mind. Had he not pondered about having breakfast brought to his bed just a day ago? Frodo would surprise Bilbo even more if he brought his breakfast to his bed.

The picture in Frodo's mind of Bilbo standing in the kitchen door and gazing at the table in awe disappeared, and was replaced by the image of a just awakened Bilbo sitting in his bed, drowsy eyes resting on Frodo, who was carrying a tray in his hands and grinned at his uncle in delight. The old hobbit wore an expression of utter joy and surprise.

Frodo giggled and ran to the table, standing on the chair and sitting down on the edge of the desk, so he could reach the jar of jam. He would spread his uncle a slice of bread with jam and then maybe prepare another piece of bread with a slice of cheese.

The jar was closed with a cork and Frodo pulled at it to get it open, but it didn't work. He tried to turn it, but the cork didn't move an inch. Pressing his lips together and penning the jar in between his thighs Frodo pulled at the cork with all his strength. His face flushed, small tears of strain gathering in his eyes. The tip of his tongue stuck out while Frodo gasped for breath to find new strength - but the cork did not move. However, the lad did not give up, pulling even harder until he was almost trembling with strenuousness.

That was the scene that presented itself to Bilbo as he stepped into the kitchen. Frodo only wearing his nightgown, sitting on the edge of an already prepared breakfast table, hair dishevelled, face flushed, eyes teary with strain and body trembling. Milk was dripping from a puddle on the table just inches away from Frodo's bottom. Beside the puddle of milk that had formed on the ground was a grease spot and Bilbo could see that it was obviously from the butter, as there were some dirty crumbs on it. Several cupboards and drawers on the other side of the kitchen were open and Bilbo could see the sugar bowl lying on the work space, sugar scattered all over it.

When Bilbo had wakened just moments before and realized that Frodo was not beside him anymore he was on his feet within a second, fearing that Frodo might have gotten into mischief. Bilbo's worry increased, when Frodo did not answer to his calling. Now that he saw him sitting on a set table he could hardly believe his eyes. Blinking he looked at his young nephew. "Frodo, what's this all about?"

Frodo jumped, giving a yelp and the jar of jam dropped from his hands and fell onto the ground where it broke into pieces. He looked at Bilbo, eyes wide with shock but didn't say a word. His gaze wandered over the kitchen table to the broken jar on the ground before coming back to rest upon Bilbo. "You shouldn't be here," he sobbed breaking into tears.

Bilbo did not understand. For a moment he could only stare at the lad and at the mess in the kitchen. What had he done to upset his young nephew so much he had to cry?

Frodo was wailing loudly now, sitting forlornly on the edge of the table. The picture in his mind had broken to pieces like a mirror falling onto the ground, and he cried out all the anguish of a spoiled surprise. He had taken great pains upon him and now Bilbo turned up in the middle of everything and all because of that stupid cork that didn't get loose of the jar.

Frodo's wailing was all Bilbo could take and he swiftly crossed the distance between them and fetched his dear nephew into his arms to soothe whatever pain he had caused him. He didn't even have to ask what had happened - Frodo started talking as soon as Bilbo had lifted him off the table. Unfortunately all he could make out was 'spoiled' and 'surprise' but that was enough for Bilbo to know what was the reason for all this. His heart bubbled over with love for this little child. "I am surprised," he assured.

Frodo looked at him, flushed face now wet with tears. "Really?" he asked, his bright eyes demanding the truth. Bilbo nodded, but the lad wasn't satisfied yet. "But the jam," he sobbed, gasping for breath between his words, "I couldn't open it and I couldn't bring the breakfast to your bed and…'"

"My dear lad," Bilbo soothed kissing his cheek before Frodo could finish his sentence. "You really wanted to bring breakfast to me?" When Frodo nodded Bilbo hugged him even tighter. "You're a gem, but you shouldn't coddle an old sleepyhead like me. If I don't get to breakfast in time you shouldn't bring breakfast to me. That would make me even lazier than I already am and you would have a lot of work to do every morning."

Frodo giggled, when Bilbo winked and brushed his tears away. "Why are you such a sleepyhead, Uncle Bilbo?"

"That's a long story, my lad," Bilbo laughed, "too long to be told before breakfast. You must be starving!"

Grinning broadly, Frodo nodded, but then his smile faded and he looked shaken, his eyes wandering to the broken jar. "I have spoiled the jam."

"We'll clean that up swiftly," Bilbo assured with a smile, putting Frodo back on the ground and ruffling the boy's curls. "And then we'll have a nice cup of tea and a proper breakfast."

Frodo looked up at his uncle, wiping away the last traces the tears had left on his face. "I've prepared everything else, so you will have to make the tea," he declared and a cheeky grin crossed his flushed face. "And don't dawdle - I'm starving!"

Bilbo shook his head and chuckled hurrying off to fetch a cloth.

Chapter Four: A Deliberate Mess

Wind whistled and howled while ever-darkening rain clouds watered the land beneath. The soft patter of rain against the small, round window of the parlour mingled with the crackling in the fireside where a fresh log was greedily swallowed by its licking flames. A comforting glow of yellow and red filled the room when Bilbo rose to his feet, placing the tongs in a fixture beside the hearth, stretched and returned to his armchair sitting down with a contented sigh. Taking up his book about elvish poetry Bilbo glanced over to his nephew with a loving smile.

The young hobbit sat on the ground playing with some carved animals - a pony, a pig and two sheep - he had found in the backpack his mother had prepared and talked with disguised voice. Bilbo chuckled. Even when Frodo had no-one to chat with he kept talking.

The tears Frodo had shed in the morning were quickly forgotten, not least because Bilbo had allowed him to spread jam on a piece of bread once the jar had been opened. During breakfast Frodo had given him a full account of his adventures while preparing everything - at least that was what Bilbo thought, but Frodo mentioned neither the candle nor his almost-accident with the match. Bilbo couldn't help but wonder how Frodo had found everything without any light, though he suspected that the young lad's report was missing something. Yet, as nothing had happened, Bilbo did not show that he suspected what the boy's secret was. Other things, such as Frodo's breakneck activity on the shelf, disturbed him much more and he didn't even dare to think about it longer than for the length of Frodo's account. He certainly had to be up earlier tomorrow to avoid such things from happening again. This day the boy had been saved by luck, but who knew what could happen the next day?

Bilbo began to read. It was early afternoon now. The rain had started some time after breakfast when he had cleaned up the mess Frodo had left. Luckily it hadn't been as much work as Bilbo had feared and he had finished quickly. Frodo had been playing with his carved animals since the morning and only paused for lunch. Bilbo was amazed at how little entertainment the young hobbit needed and wondered why Primula worried so much, when he was so easy to look after.

Bilbo, of course, did not know what was on Frodo's mind. He was so engrossed in his book and his own thoughts that he didn't realize that the lad's talking had become less and that he was sneaking a glance at him ever so often now. Frodo was also moving slowly but deliberately to his uncle's side always taking the animals with him so not to attract any attention. The thought of the past night had returned to his mind. It was definitely too quiet in this hobbithole and Uncle Bilbo seemed to have forgotten about how important talking was. Rain pattering against a window was all right, but if no-one drowned the in itself nice sound after a while, Frodo began to feel uncomfortable. Besides, the animals bored him by now and he felt the urgent need to go in for something with his uncle, who - in Frodo's opinion - didn't look all content either. Frodo liked stories, but books, too, must be getting boring after a time - even if the reader was Bilbo Baggins, master of tales and storytelling.

Frodo chuckled. He had given Bilbo that name some time in Afteryule when his uncle had come for a visit and told him many tales while he sat at the fireside, snuggled into his father's arms, a scarf warmly wrapped around his sore throat. Just before his father had carried him into his bed Frodo had declared his uncle the master of tales and storytelling and he had been very happy to have found such a creative and suitable name for his uncle. His parents and Bilbo had laughed and Bilbo had told him that he liked this name far better than master burglar - the name he had gotten from the dwarves.

Bilbo jerked and looked at his nephew in surprise as the boy made himself comfortable on the ground in front of him, leaning his back against his legs. A smile crossed his face though he had not even time to wonder how the boy had sneaked up on him without his noticing. Frodo leaned his head back so he could look into his face and grinned broadly, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. Now, was that what Primula had tried to warn him of?

"Uncle Bilbo," Frodo began, making his voice sound as innocent and harmless as he could manage. Looking directly into his uncle's eyes, his own eyes huge and pleading, he smiled again, knowing that he had now his uncle's full attention. "Play with me!"

Bilbo grinned, laying the book aside. Wasn't that what he had secretly waited for? He lifted the boy up to sit him upon his lap. "And what would you like to play, my lad?"

The young hobbit laid both hands around his uncle's neck, twitching a grey strand of hair just behind Bilbo's ear. "I don't know," he said shrugging, but his eyes glinted.

Yet again, Bilbo found himself wondering if that was the look Primula had spoken of. 'He's up to something more often than one thinks,' she had said and Bilbo could now clearly feel that Frodo had something in mind though he didn't know yet what implied 'something' was. However he was sure that it wouldn't take long until Frodo came out with it.

"How big are dragons?" the young hobbit wanted to know and the seriousness in his voice surprised Bilbo.

"Well," Bilbo responded stunned. If the lad wanted to hear one of his tales why didn't he say so straight away? Frodo wasn't that timid usually - on the contrary. Anyway, he would tell him about Smaug, the dragon, and his adventure with the dwarves. "The dragon I have seen, Smaug, was red and golden and his body was enormous. He was vast beyond measure and his chest was littered with diamonds and sparklers."

"Yes," Frodo interrupted, somewhat impatient. "I know that already." He had stopped twitching the curl behind Bilbo's left ear and looked now gravely into his uncle's eyes - a look that made Bilbo feel uncomfortable. Frodo was up to something. "I don't mean how the dragon looked like. I just want to know about his size," the lad explained matter-of-factly. "Would he fit into Bag End's cellar - hypothetically?"

Now Bilbo was completely at a loss. Why was Frodo so mysterious? What was the lad driving at? Well, he had been warned, hadn't he? Now he experienced first-hand what Primula had told him before - and not only she but Drogo as well. They had told him about Frodo's cunning many times and Bilbo had laughed and answered that it was the Baggins-side appearing. He hadn't even thought that the lad would outwit him one day - or that this day would come so soon. "Well, I don't think so," he answered haltingly.

Frodo mumbled something incomprehensible, leaning his head on Bilbo's shoulder and after a time Bilbo thought the muffled words had sounded like: "No dragons in the cellar then. So, where else could I find an adventure?"

"So that's what you're up to," Bilbo exclaimed turning his head so he could look into Frodo's face. "You want to go on an adventure."

Frodo's cheeks turned rosy and he looked at his uncle with a caught expression, bright, blue eyes shyly lowered. Burying his face bashfully in Bilbo's collar, Frodo's small hands resumed their work on his uncle's curls.

Bilbo chuckled. "Now that's what all that talk about dragons is all about," he ruffled Frodo's curly head. "I fear, my lad, you won't find any dragons inside Bag End."

"Let's go outside, then," Frodo suggested his eyes shining.

"I guess there won't be any dragons outside either. Least not when it's weather like this," he mentioned with a nod to the window. Thick raindrops were dripping down the windowsill and a strong wind bent the plants in the garden.

Frodo sat up on his uncle's lap looking confused - brow furrowed, lips thoughtfully curved. "Don't dragons like the rain?"

"I don't think so," Bilbo answered grinning, "but I know what you might like as we have to postpone whatever adventure might be waiting for us. What about a card-game?"

The lad looked disappointed but after a while, when he couldn't think up anything better, he complied. Thus Bilbo put a new log into the fire and while the rain continued the two of them sat down at the table and started their game. Frodo suggested which game they should play as he didn't know all possible card-games. Anyway, his father had showed him some of the simpler ones and he now chose one where your aim was to get all your opponent's cards. The one who first lost all his cards also lost the game. Frodo was the one with better fortune. Out of four games he won thrice.

However, as Bilbo had expected, the card-game soon bored Frodo and the boy complained that he was hungry. As Bilbo was hungry himself and had a craving for berries he thought about baking a strawberry cake. He knew Frodo loved strawberries and, like every other child in the Shire, would die for sweets and cakes. Luckily the Gaffer had picked up the strawberries growing in Bag End's garden yesterday morning, only minutes before Primula and Frodo had knocked at the door.

Leaving a rather bewildered Frodo standing alone in the parlour Bilbo went into one of Bag End's cellars where he kept the berries so they would stay fresh a little longer. Like in every other room without any windows and thus without any light, a candlestick and a matchbox stood just beside the door. Bilbo lit the candle and in the sparse light he went down into the deeper and cooler parts of the smial.

A shelf stood on the end of the corridor and there Bilbo found what he was looking for - a bowl filled with almost freshly picked strawberries. He looked at them in the dim candlelight, sniffed and ate one to proof if the berries were all right. They were delicious and thus perfect for a cake. A smile crossed his face as he took the bowl into his hands and hurried up the corridor again.

At the door Bilbo was already expected by Frodo who was gazing doubtfully into the darkness. He looked rather sceptical and fearful but when he saw Bilbo coming closer in the candlelight his face lit up as well. "What's in there?" he asked, pointing at the bowl and standing on his tiptoes in hope he could catch a glimpse of its contents.

"Strawberries," Bilbo told him with a grin, blowing out the candle and placing it beside the door again. "I thought you would like helping me baking a strawberry cake."

"A cake!" Frodo exclaimed, bouncing and running ahead to the kitchen. "What do we need? I can bring you everything."

"Easy now," Bilbo tried to calm down the boys excitement. "I will bring all the ingredients and you can help me mix them together."

Frodo nodded and dashed into the kitchen. Bilbo sighed and hoped he could slow down Frodo's eagerness. At least he was with him this time so nothing could happen - neither could Frodo climb any cupboards nor throw down pots with crumbly contents in the attempt. He went into the pantry to fetch six eggs and some butter before heading for the kitchen himself.

Frodo was already waiting for him. He had taken a chair from the table to climb onto the work space. There he sat now, feet dangling, fingers tapping impatiently on the wooden plate. "Quick," he urged. "I'm very hungry."

Bilbo grinned. "If you're that hungry you should probably eat something else now, as it will take at least an hour until the cake will be done."

A look of disappointment crossed Frodo's face but he quickly declared that he wasn't that hungry in fact. "But the sooner we start, the sooner we can have tea," he explained, picking a strawberry from the bowl as Bilbo put it down.

"You have a point at that," Bilbo laughed, ruffling Frodo's curls. Opening one of the lower cupboards he fetched a bowl and scales and placed them beside Frodo who eyed them curiously. "We need flour and sugar and a bit of water," Bilbo went on, took a cup from one of the upper cupboards and gave it to Frodo. "You may go and fill it."

Frodo hopped down, placed the cup on the chair and hurried with stool and all to the drawing well at the sink. Bilbo's eyes followed him, though the elder hobbit was soon occupied with weighing out sugar and flour. Swiftly Frodo climbed on the chair and placed the cup in the sink underneath the tap. With both hands the young hobbit gripped for the lever pulling with all his strength. There was a silent gurgling and with a splash the cold water came crackling down. A hiss escaped Frodo's lips because the cup was knocked over by the great amount of water.

"Everything all right?" Bilbo asked alerted by Frodo's sounds of discontent. The young hobbit quickly nodded and arranged the cup back in place before pulling at the lever once again - this time with less fervour. The gurgling was repeated, Frodo's heart sank and he quickly let go of the lever fearing another splash of water would erupt from the well. He grimaced, shielding his face with his hands as if that could lessen the water amount and - behold! - he was successful.

Frodo shouted with excitement, grabbed the cup and hopped down the chair spilling half of the water onto the stone floor. Bilbo jumped at Frodo's joyful outcry and almost lost hold of the pot of flour whose filling he was just pouring onto the scales. Anyhow, most of the flour ended up on the work space and the floor, joining the water that dripped form Frodo's hands and the cup the lad was holding out to him.

"Goodness, Frodo," Bilbo exclaimed, his voice slightly louder than he intended.

Frodo winced. "I didn't mean to startle you," he hurried to explain looking frightened. "I just… I have the water you wanted me to get." He held out the cup to him, his gaze pleading to accept the excuse lying hidden in the deep, blue pools of his eyes.

Bilbo took the cup, sighing. "It's all right. Nevertheless, could you please express your joy a bit more gently? I'm not used to such happy outcries."

The young hobbit nodded sheepishly and let Bilbo sit him on the work space again. A grin crossed his face. "You should visit us more often, Uncle Bilbo. You would get used to happy outcries then."

"I guess so," Bilbo answered returning to weighing out the flour. When he was done he put eggs, sugar and some spoonfuls of water into a bowl and beat everything with a spoon. Frodo watched him for a while in awe wondering how long it would take his uncle to get tired.

Obviously his uncle didn't tire easily and while Bilbo was still beating the mixture Frodo finally asked what had troubled him since Bilbo had brought him to bed the night before. "Aren't you lonely, Uncle Bilbo? I mean, everything is so awfully silent all the time and you are quiet too. Don't you like talking? Yesterday, when you brought me to bed suddenly everything fell silent and it was," the child hesitated for a moment, "it was creepy. Wouldn't you like to have some company - someone to talk to?"

Frodo eyed him curiously and yet his shining eyes were full of concern. The deep love Bilbo had felt in the morning stirred within him once again and he could hardly abstain himself from flinging his arms around the boy and hugging him tightly. Instead he smiled though the smile didn't truly reach his eyes. "Well, who should I talk to?"

"To me," the boy suggested. "I could stay up longer so you can chat a bit."

"That would please you, wouldn't it?" Bilbo laughed and this time it was true joy shining in his eyes. Frodo nodded, grinning broadly. "No, Frodo. I'm used to the quiet and I think I would be quite scared if there was somebody around me all the time."

"Do I frighten you?" The lad looked shaken and astonished at the same time.

Bilbo grinned. "You do the contrary, my lad. You remind me that there are other things than books and elvish scrolls in life - things that are more important, though that can be quite frightening too at times."

Frodo giggled as Bilbo winked though he didn't understand exactly what his uncle wanted to say. Bilbo paused in his beating, shaking his right arm to ease the pain in his tiring muscles. "I can help you," Frodo offered seeing that the quick, stirring movements finally took their toll.

"I have something different for you to do," Bilbo said stooping to fish a baking pan from one of the lower cupboards. "You can butter the baking-tin."

Frodo did as he was told and Bilbo returned to beating the mixture. When his task was finished the child hopped down again and hurried to the sink where the chair still stood. For a moment Frodo glanced out of the window noticing that the rain had lessened. Yet it was still dark and, as it would soon be teatime, he didn't expect to see the sun today. When he finally stood on the chair Frodo gave a disgusted sound as he made a fist and spread his fingers again. Small lumps of butter had found their way to the spaces between his fingers and his hands were all greasy. He grabbed the lever of the drawing well and pulled, but even before the first drops of water emerged, his hands slipped off. With a yelp Frodo stumbled sideward and fell from the chair.

Bilbo, seeing from the corner of his eye that his nephew was falling dropped everything in his hands and hurried to him. Unfortunately he knocked over his bowl spilling the yellowish-white mixture all over his work space.

For the second time that day tears were flowing, but Frodo's wailing was more from shock than from pain for Bilbo quickly noticed that the child had stopped the fall with his backside so there wasn't too much harm done. Cradling the young hobbit in his arms Bilbo tried his best to calm him and it didn't take long until loud sobs turned to silent whimpers. "It's not your good day today," Bilbo soothed stroking the boy's curls.

Frodo snivelled, hugging him even tighter pressing his flushed, damp cheek on his uncle's neck. Suddenly his eyes caught something and amidst his last sobs he started to giggle. "Neither it's your good day, Uncle."

Bilbo turned to see the mess on the work space. The cake mixture was spread all over it and some of the viscous liquid dripped on the floor, joining the water and flour that had been spilled earlier. "Oh dear," Bilbo sighed. Had he thought that nothing could happen now that he was with Frodo? He was obviously mistaken for what awaited him now was far worse than the mess his nephew had left in the morning.
Washing the child's hands Bilbo sat him back on the work space, where some strawberries helped to dry the last tears, while he busied himself with the cleaning up. Sadly he didn't have another six eggs and couldn't mix a second paste. Frodo was disappointed and almost began to weep anew when Bilbo found a solution. And when tea time finally arrived the two of them savoured eating a well-deserved bowl of strawberries with cream.

~*~*~

Frodo was all ears hanging on Bilbo's lips like a bee would stick to honey. The old hobbit sat in his armchair while Frodo was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, shining eyes wide open. A fire crackled in the hearth and its flickering flames cast long, eerie shadows on the wall, while the red light of their fire illuminated the faces of the two hobbits. Frodo felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle as his uncle explicitly described the dragon and the fire it spat. As unimpressed as he had acted in the afternoon, as stupefied he was now in the dim light of the hearth and with Bilbo's euphonious words in his ears that made everything even more authentic.

The ringing of the bell on the front door made them jerk and Frodo and his uncle exchanged enquiring looks. "Can I open the door?" the lad asked and when Bilbo nodded he added, "You can stay here, Uncle Bilbo. I'll tell you who it was and if I need you I can still call."

Bilbo chuckled but granted the boy his wish, though he pricked up his ears so he could intervene if Frodo didn't get along. He guessed Bell Gamgee would greet his nephew, bringing some stew like she had done the day before. That woman was just too good to him - and, if he guessed correctly, rather fond of Frodo.

The young hobbit quickly made his way to the door jerking it open, his eyes shining with joy. Then he froze, all excitement leaving his face making way to shock, surprise and even fear. Wide-eyed and with his mouth open Frodo stared at the person in front of him, feeling his legs slowly turning to jelly. Without any word he slammed the door shut and dashed back into the parlour, taking his concerned uncle's hand and hiding behind him, as the old hobbit rose to his feet.

"Uncle Bilbo, there's a monster at the door!" the lad exclaimed now all shaky, eyes still wide with fear. He pressed against his uncle's legs as Bilbo made an attempt to go to the door, half holding him back and half trying to stay as close to him as he could in case the monster would attack.

Bilbo had not even a chance to ask what happened for Frodo burst into a bubble of words. "It's a monster," he repeated, his voice shaking with alarm. "It is tall … and broad and," he paused to gasp for breath, "and it has hair in its face, Uncle Bilbo - long hair!" The child desperately clung to Bilbo's hand as the old hobbit made his way into the hallway. "Don't open the door, Uncle Bilbo. Please, don't open it."

Frodo closed his eyes in desperation, pressing his cheeks against his uncle's hips and hiding himself behind the old hobbit so that only his nose could be seen when he peeped out. "Don't open!" he pleaded again and then Bilbo's hand reached the knob.

Frodo thought of Bilbo and his long friendship with the dwarf, and of Balin's visit to the Shire long ago. [FotR - The Bridge of Khazad-dûm]

~*~*~

Chapter Five: Old Friend Monster

One thing was clear for Bilbo when Frodo ran to him, all shaky and frightened: it was not Bell Gamgee who was at the door. Whoever it was must be quite a sight to bring his lad into such a desperate state and Bilbo had to admit that Frodo's fear made him just a bit worried about who he would greet when he opened the door.

Frodo was still hiding behind him, acting as if he was leading him into a dragon's lair and Bilbo laid a comforting hand on the lad's shoulder to calm him as he slowly reached out for the knob. Once the door was open he froze, just as Frodo had done before, and behind him his nephew inhaled sharply, small hands squeezing his own.

The sight his eyes caught was all but calming. Someone stood before him, looking just as Frodo had described it to him - tall and broad with a hair-framed face and stout, dirty boots. The person's stature was but a shade before the darkening evening sky, for though it had stopped to rain it remained dark and cloudy. Raindrops were dripping from the hood the person was wearing and in the dim light coming from inside the smial Bilbo thought that the hood was scarlet. But as it was dark and the hood was drawn deeply into the stranger's face. Bilbo didn't recognise his guest.

~*~*~

Balin was taken aback when the little one opened the door instead of the old hobbit and close friend he had expected. In the eyes of the child he could see a reflection of the same surprise he was experiencing. For a moment he was so stunned, he found himself unable to speak. He took a deep breath to gather himself and was just about to introduce himself properly when the door was banged shut.

Even more bewildered than before he rose from what would have been a bow if the little one had waited a little longer and stared at the green door in surprise. He could hear the trampling of hobbit feet briskly making for a room in the back of the hobbithole. He cleared his throat in hope it would help him to order his thoughts.

Taking a step back the dwarf looked at the green door and the shiny yellow knob in its middle. Then he looked at the dark rain clouds above him before turning round to gaze at the garden door and the path that led towards it. Yes, he definitely was at the right door.

Again he made his way to the door, pondering if he should ring a second time. His musings were unnecessary for just as he was about to pull the handle, he heard the soft tapping of hobbit feet and silent pleas not to open the door.

Nevertheless the door opened, if only slowly, and before him stood his old friend Bilbo - there was no trace of the little one though. The dwarf smiled but that smile quickly faded when he noticed that the hobbit before him was just as stunned as the little one had been, when he opened the door earlier. Somehow he began to feel uncomfortable. Why was everybody looking at him with so much disbelieve in their eyes? He was at the right door after all.

Suddenly Balin noticed that he was still wearing his hood, drawn deeply into his face to shield his eyes from the rain. He threw it back, the smile returning to his face. Surely Bilbo would recognise him now.

The dwarf was not mistaken for the shocked expression left his friend's face and made way to both, excitement and disbelief. "Balin," the hobbit whispered not taking his eyes off him.

"At your service!" Balin answered bowing deeply.

Bilbo gazed at his old friend in surprise. He didn't know who he had expected when Frodo came running to him, but it was no dwarf, especially not one as dear to him as Balin. Yet, it made all sense. Frodo had never seen a dwarf before and for him his friend must be looking quite scary. "At yours and your family's!" Bilbo answered bowing, suddenly remembering his manners. A grin crossed his face and he briskly moved aside to wave his friend in. "Come in, come in, Balin, my friend. I'm sorry for this unusual greeting but--," he paused. He could explain everything afterwards. First he had to make sure his guest was warm and comfortable.

Frodo, who had been watching everything closely, was even more surprised when he heard who the stranger was. Could it really be? Frodo doubted the stranger's identity and yet, why should he not be who he pretended? Suddenly Bilbo moved away to allow the stranger to enter the smial. Frodo inhaled sharply and dashed after his uncle, seeking shelter behind him and clutching his hand fearfully. Even if this was Balin he remained big and broad and scary.

Gladly accepting the invitation Balin stepped into the smial, just when Frodo hurried to take cover behind his uncle. Now, that was where he had been hiding all the while. The dwarf grinned. "And who would you be, little one?"

The young hobbit pressed himself against his uncle's legs, hoping to thus escape the dwarf's eyes. To his utter distress Bilbo moved aside and pushed him forward which Frodo grudgingly allowed though he stood stark and stiff when he deemed the distance between himself and the dwarf close enough. "Come on, my boy," Bilbo encouraged, closing the door, "introduce yourself. You're not that shy usually, either."

Swallowing, the child looked at his uncle seeking help - but Bilbo did do nothing and thus Frodo turned to gaze at the stranger again. Well, the dwarf didn't look as if he was going to harm them - expect for his enormous size and the boots that is, those looked quite scary. In the dim light of the hall Frodo could have a closer look at the one, who was obviously going to stay for a while. He was wearing big, leathery boots, such as Frodo hadn't even seen his Buckland relatives wearing, which were covered with mud and dirt as was to be expected with that stormy weather all day. Apparently Balin had been travelling long. Apart from his size the dwarf looked rather friendly though he seemed very, very old - his long white beard definitely contributing its share.

"Frodo," the lad finally stammered, "Frodo Baggins at your service!" He indicated what should probably have been a bow, but was too taken with the sight of the dwarf, he couldn't take his eyes off him.

Balin grinned broadly bowing low his hand on his breast. "At yours and your family's, little master!" Handing his cloak to Bilbo the dwarf looked shamefaced at the dirty spots on the ground. "I am sorry. I should have removed them outside."

Frodo was impressed by the formality of the dwarf's greeting. Never had anybody besides Master Gamgee called him 'little master', a name he could, by all means, take to, let alone bowed before him. Anyway, the doubtful feeling towards his uncle's guest lingered and Frodo involuntary took a step backwards to his uncle, but unfortunately Bilbo left the hall just in that moment, telling Balin, who had in the meantime removed his boots, to follow him. Frodo hurried along the dim lit hallway and grabbed Bilbo's hand, though his uncle hardly paid any heed - he was busy talking to his guest.

~*~*~

"And he is really the same Balin as the one who travelled with you?"

"That he is," Bilbo answered and the candle in his hands flickered as he swiftly walked down into the cellar, Frodo hurrying after him. He had already offered his guest some tea and a proper dinner and now, two hours later, they were both in for something stronger - something like a bottle of Old Winyards. "You were quite close-lipped all evening," Bilbo observed concerned, slowing down a bit and taking the lad's hand. "Are you all right? I hope you don't see Balin as a monster anymore."

"Well," Frodo answered hesitating, though a smile was playing on the corner of his lips, "he is certainly no monster but…," and there he paused casting his eyes down. He sighed, feeling warmth reaching his cheeks and ears, and met Bilbo's gaze again. "He is different from how I imagined him to be."

A smile crossed Bilbo's lips. The tone in Frodo's voice had contained neither disappointment nor joy. It did not reveal his feelings and yet it was full of emotion. Yet again he felt how much he loved the lad and it almost frightened him that Frodo could move him so much with a simple statement that hadn't even anything to do with him. "Are you unhappy now that you know Balin?" He couldn't help but to ask him and Frodo seemed willing to answer for his reply followed close.

"No," he paused again lowering his eyes. "Well, I don't know. He is just different, but I can't tell in which way. Why is that so, Uncle Bilbo?"

The child's gaze met Bilbo's again. The flickering light of the candle was reflected in the now dark blue eyes filled with embarrassment and concern. "I don't know, my lad," Bilbo answered laying a comforting hand on his nephew's shoulder. "When we are told about people we don't know we picture them in our minds and when we actually come to meet them we're often disappointed because the picture in our minds doesn't fit the one we are meeting. At times we are also surprised in a positive way that the person differs from the image we have made ourselves and sometimes we don't remember the image at all once we have the pleasure to meet pictured someone."

They reached the wine shelf and Frodo stood silently thinking, while Bilbo searched for the right bottle. Finally he looked up again. "I guess I don't remember my image of Balin at all," he answered, his voice slightly concerned. "Is it very bad if I don't?"

"Not at all," the old hobbit explained, ruffling the child's curls and taking his hand again once he had found the bottle he was looking for. He did not have to say anything else for Frodo was not paying him any heed. The lad was looking into a dark corner, his eyes staring blindly into the darkness. "Everything all right?" Bilbo asked curiously but, if he was concerned he worried needlessly for Frodo was smiling again when he looked at him and they quickly went back to their guest.

Frodo made himself comfortable beside his uncle, listening eagerly to the conversation though he could hardly follow it. Many names he already knew were mentioned, such as Bard, the old King of Dale. Balin told that he believed Bard's son, Bain, would soon be made King though nothing was arranged yet. Frodo also learned many things of Dàin, the King under the Mountain and of the comings and goings in the area around the Lonely Mountain.

Ever and anon Balin's gaze wandered to the young hobbit sitting beside his friend while he and Bilbo exchanged the latest news of the Mountain and the Shire. Bilbo had quickly assured him that Frodo was not his son but his nephew, or rather his cousin. "A curious little fellow from the look in his eyes, though a bit shy he is," Balin thought as he observed the lad's eyes growing wide at the mention of Dale and the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo surly didn't miss telling the child about his adventures. He winked at the boy and chuckled, which caused Frodo's already rosy cheeks to blush and the child quickly hid his face sheepishly behind his uncle's arm.

Bilbo grinned from one ear to the other. Balin certainly impressed his young nephew for he had never known the boy to be so close-lipped and shy, except when he was very tired. Without further warning Bilbo's grin expanded into a laugh. Now, that was the reason for all the silence after two days of talking almost non-stop. It was high time for Frodo to go to bed. Noticing the puzzled looks he earned from Balin and his nephew Bilbo's laughter died to a chuckle and soon his amusement passed entirely. "I fear, Balin, my friend, we have to take leave of my little nephew now," he explained.

Frodo immediately turned to him, his face a mask of shock. "I'm not tired!" he protested. "Please, Uncle Bilbo, let me stay. We can make an exception. I am allowed to stay up late tonight and I promise I will go to bed early tomorrow. Please, Uncle Bilbo!" The young hobbit captured Bilbo's left hand in both of his and gazed deeply, almost piercingly into his uncle's eyes. He just had to allow it.

Deep blue eyes pleadingly resting upon him were almost as much as Bilbo could bear. He sighed and closed his eyes. If he yielded now Frodo would try the same trick tomorrow and before he knew it Frodo would have his will every evening. No, he mustn't give in.

The fire in the hearth flickered as Bilbo opened his eyes again and locked on to Frodo's gaze. The young hobbit quickly realised that he had lost and lowered his eyes grumbling. "Wash yourself and change your clothes. I will come to you later," Bilbo said and Frodo slipped grudgingly down the sofa disappearing in the hall.

Balin grinned from one ear to the other. "You didn't succumb to Smaug that easily."

"I did not succumb," Bilbo told him offended but a smile was playing on the corner of his lips.

"Just not, I daresay," Balin answered before bursting into a fit of laughter which Bilbo quickly joined.

Frodo listened to their laughter, sulkily dipped his hands into the washbasin and splashed the cool water into his face. Only the light of a candle Frodo had taken with him from the parlour lit the bath room casting long, dark shadows on the wall. As soon as he was gone they were joking and having fun. That was not fair and, come to that, why couldn't he stay up longer? It would only be for tonight, he had after all promised to go to bed early and he would certainly keep that promise if only he could stay up longer this day. "I'm finished," he called sullenly as he headed to Bilbo's bedroom where he quickly put on his nightgown.

When Bilbo entered the room shortly afterwards Frodo sat on the bed wearing a sullen expression and grumpily messed around with the coverlets. The candle on the nightstand illuminated only one half of his face, the other was in darkness. "Why?" he asked, his eyes even more demanding than his voice.

If Bilbo hadn't known that Frodo was only five he would have thought him much older from the look in his eyes. For a moment he could perfectly imagine him rebuking some rascally children wouldn't it be he who was the child. "Because it is late and you need your sleep," Bilbo answered shortly, taking the blanket from the boy's hands and waiting for him to crawl into the bed.

Apparently Frodo had other plans for he did not move an inch staring directly into his uncle's face. "I can sleep tomorrow, I told you so. So, why are you having fun out there while I have to wait for sleep - which won't come when you are laughing," he declared matter-of-factly and Bilbo quickly realised that Frodo must have gone through this conversation beforehand.

"I know you promised," Bilbo answered calmly. He mustn't make a mistake now or Frodo would twist him round his little finger within a moment. "And I don't doubt you would keep it, but--," he paused, Frodo's expectant eyes still resting upon him. "--but Balin and I have some things to talk over and we wouldn't like to bore you with our conversation."

"You didn't sound bored after you sent me away," Frodo answered sullenly, crossing his hands before his chest. "Besides, I like all this talk about the Lonely Mountain and all."

"I don't doubt that," the old hobbit answered, deliberately ignoring Frodo's first comment. "Yet we have exchanged all there is to exchange about the comings and goings at the Mountain."

The child sighed and Bilbo needed all his willpower not to snicker. Had he defeated him? "Can I stay up tomorrow?"

He had succeeded. "We shall see," he replied. "Now to bed with you."

Another sigh escaped Frodo's lips as he reluctantly snuggled into the pillows. Bilbo tucked him into the blankets and kissed his brow. "Good night, my lad."

"Good night," the child answered and turned over while Bilbo already headed for the door. "Uncle Bilbo…" The old hobbit turned around, his eyebrow raised questioningly. "Tomorrow."

~*~*~

The strong smell of pipe-weed filled the parlour and mingled with those of wine and the low burning fire in the hearth. Bilbo and Balin sat beside the fireside in Bilbo's comfortable armchairs, smoking, drinking and talking like old friends always do after a long time of being parted. Thick smoke was hovering above their heads always being enriched with new artfully blown smoke rings. Outside the rain clouds had passed and the stars glimmered brightly on the night sky.

"Well," Balin went on in his report about the reason for his visit to the Shire, "you know Thorin had made a home in exile east of the Ered Luin before we came to meet you and went out to fight Smaug. There are still some scattered dwarves roaming the area around Lhûn and the Ered Luin. Some have even come to the Tower Hills and sent news to Dàin. Rumour has it that ore could be found there and that's why I am on my way to the Tower Hills. Some dwarves are investigating the possibility of mining in that area. I shall look at the doings myself and then return with tidings to Dàin. If we find any nameable resources there might be some dwarves living in the Tower Hills again."

Bilbo sighed, laying his pipe down. "I wish I could accompany you, Balin, my friend. I would very much like to travel with a dwarf again. Yet, I fear, it will not be possible. Frodo is staying for the entire week and he is too young to walk such a distance."

Balin nodded. "I will visit you again, when I return to the Lonely Mountain. Maybe you could accompany me then, only as far as Bree, of course - and only if Frodo is at home again."

Sighing once again, Bilbo nodded knowing very well that this would be the best decision. Yet he could not think of anything else than to be off with Balin. He could take Frodo with him, couldn't he? For the child it would be an adventure, just like when he went off more than thirty-three years ago. It wouldn't be a long journey either. They would accompany Balin as far as Waymoot, spend the night there and then return back home the day after tomorrow.

A smile crept over his lips and Bilbo took up his pipe again leaning back in his armchair. "My friend, I think we're coming along with you anyhow."

Chapter Six: Of Mice and Young Hobbits

5. Forelithe 1374

The creaking of the drawer wakened Frodo the next morning. He blinked sleepily wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "Mommy?" he mumbled drowsily, for the moment unsure of his surroundings.

"Good morning, my lad," Bilbo greeted from the drawer where he was packing some clothes into his backpack. Laying aside his work he walked over to sit down on the edge of the bed. "Have you slept well?"

Frodo pulled himself up and leaned on his elbows, nodding sleepily. He let his eyes wander across the room and slowly grew aware of where he was. "What are you doing?" Yawning the child laid his head on Bilbo's lap and allowed himself to be snuggled.

The first golden streams of sunlight glimmered through the round window while the old hobbit stroked the child's hair and back and Frodo's eyes fell close again, as he snuggled closer to his uncle and almost drifted back to sleep had Bilbo not broken the oncoming silence with the answer to the child's question. "I was packing some warmer clothes if it should get cooler the following day."

"Clothes?" Frodo murmured turning to look at Bilbo's face through half-closed eyes. He was curious why Bilbo was looking for warmer clothes and yet he enjoyed the silent cuddling so much, he was reluctant to break the atmosphere. Frodo felt for Bilbo's right hand, the one that was not occupied with caressing his back and played with the long, wrinkled fingers.

"Yes," Bilbo answered grinning. "I thought we might accompany Balin a while on the road."

Frodo's fingers immediately stopped their playful movements on Bilbo's hand and his head almost hit the old hobbit's chin as he jerkily got up. "Balin?" he exclaimed voicelessly and all of a sudden he remembered the past evening. How could he forget about that stout dwarf standing on the doorstep? He blinked the last drops of sleep out of his eyes ere breaking into a breathless bubble of questions. "Where is he now? Have you been talking long? What do you mean accompanying him? Where is he going? Where are we going? When will we leave? Is there still time for breakfast?"

Bilbo stopped him so the child would catch some breath again and he could find some time to answer all the questions that had been flooding over him like a wave. "Easy now, my lad," he calmed pulling the child to him and capturing him in a warm hug, for Frodo was on the point of dashing into the parlour to see what had become of Balin. "Right now we are going nowhere and Balin is already having breakfast in the kitchen so, if you wish you can join him right after you have washed and are properly dressed. Concerning your other questions," Bilbo continued, "Balin is going to the Tower Hills and we are coming along with him as far as Waymoot - if your parents allow it, that is."

"They surely will," Frodo quickly answered trying to wriggle from the old hobbit's embrace but to no avail. "Let me…" the boy urged but the end of his sentence was lost in a surprised squeal. Bilbo had pulled him even closer tickling his belly, making him giggle uncontrollably. Between breathless pleas and endless squeals Frodo tried to push Bilbo's treacherous hands away, wriggling and struggling helplessly.

Bilbo enjoyed his young nephew's delight and though he always made sure Frodo could breathe easily he didn't allow him much rest. Only when Frodo's mood changed, his delighted giggling ceased and his expression showed signs of distress, Bilbo stopped.

"Uncle Bilbo!" Frodo scowled at his uncle, pushing away from him. "If you don't let me go I will never see Balin today." He looked for his clothes then suddenly turned to Bilbo with a charming smile on his face and a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. "I could have breakfast before I have washed," he told him, his voice sweet as honey.

Bilbo could hardly keep a straight face as he rose to his feet. "No, you can't," he told, took Frodo's clothes from the wooden chest beneath the window and shooed the boy out of the room. "Into the bathroom, you rascal!"

Frodo grudgingly allowed Bilbo to lead him into the bathroom where he washed his face much more properly than he had done the evening before because Bilbo kept telling him the parts he had forgotten, beginning with his neck and ending with his ears. His uncle was almost as meticulous about washing as his mother, who would probably have taken a sponge to rub the back of his neck as well. Frodo sighed quietly. He could not understand why everybody was making such a fuss about washing.

"Can we go and see Balin now?" the child urged while Bilbo kneeled down before him to button up his shirt and comb through his curls for a last time. The lad impatiently pushed Bilbo's hands away and slipped on his braces. "I'm beautiful enough," he declared and headed for the door where he turned again and urged Bilbo to come along.

Bilbo slowly rose to his feet and stretched his back. "Go ahead, lad."

Frodo stopped short his body tensing as he slowly turned to face his uncle. The dim light of the lamp was reflected in the child's eyes that were looking at him doubtfully. "And you aren't coming?" he asked rather uncertain.

Bilbo grinned from one ear to the other. That was exactly the reaction he had expected. Frodo had been way too awed yesterday evening to face Balin all alone today - especially in the morning. Hopefully that would change throughout the day and, in fact, Bilbo was sure it would, considering how much Frodo liked to talk and delighted in the company of others. "Of course, I will," he answered finally, his grin growing even broader as he placed a hand on the lad's shoulder. "I just don't like to be stressed out in the early morning hours."

Frodo stared at him in disbelief. It was a miracle he could keep his mouth shut while wearing an expression of utter incredulity. His eyes spoke volumes and for a moment Bilbo feared the child would burst into an insulted bubble of words. But Frodo said nothing as he tramped along the hall beside his uncle. "I know you only did that to make me angry," he grumbled when they had almost reached the kitchen. Frodo also wanted to complain about how nasty it was of his uncle to deliberately move so slowly although Bilbo knew how much he wanted to see Balin, but he thought it was better to stay silent.

Moreover they had reached the kitchen door and Frodo could see the dwarf sitting on the corner seat beside the window feasting on a richly set table. Balin's stout stature made a perfect contrast to the bright sunlight streaming in from the window while he helped himself filling his plate with sausages, cheese and salted pork. When Balin finally noticed their presence he lifted his head, grinning broadly. "Good morning, little master," he greeted, "Have you slept well?"

Without taking his eyes off the dwarf, Frodo felt for Bilbo's hand but the old hobbit had already gone to the fireside where he took up the teapot and filled two cups. For a moment Frodo pondered hurrying to him to seek shelter behind his uncle's legs like he had done the evening before but then, when he looked at Balin's broad grin again, he couldn't help but answer it.

Bilbo kept an eye on Frodo, as the child shyly advanced to Balin and after some moments dared to sit down beside him. That's that! It would not be long now until Frodo would prattle away.

But before Frodo abandoned his reserve he closely observed every one of Balin's movements as the dwarf went back to eating. Especially the white beard, forked and carefully plaited, fascinated the child and he could not take his eyes off it and had to restrain himself from reaching out his hand and touching it when the sun glimmered in the white strands.

"Will you not eat something?" Bilbo asked, causing Frodo who was so entranced with observing their guest, jump. "I thought you were hungry." Bilbo had seen his guest's growing discomfort under the inquiring eyes of his nephew and felt himself obliged to ease his friend's tension.

Frodo looked at him puzzled and for a moment Bilbo was not sure if the child knew what he had just said, but then he nodded and smiled. "Of course I am," he told him and greedily reached for the cheese.

After Bilbo had slowed down Frodo's eagerness they ate in silence and without any embarrassing observations though Frodo kept sneaking glances at Balin whenever he thought the dwarf (and Bilbo) were not looking.

~*~*~

"Touch it, I won't bite."

Frodo felt heat rising to his cheeks and bashfully lowered his eyes, a shy smile on his face. He did not want to stare at Balin's beard but somehow he could not resist. "Really?" he asked doubtfully.

Balin grinned and handed Bilbo, who was clearing the table, his plate. "Do you think I don't notice how you're looking at me?" Frodo's face and ears were scarlet by now and he mumbled something incomprehensible, glancing over to Bilbo as if seeking his support.

"Touch it," Balin invited again facing the child and leaning over. He grinned from one ear to the other, his long white beard now tickling Frodo's hands that were busy fumbling around with his shirt. "I can see your hands twitch," the dwarf chuckled.

Slowly Frodo lifted his head looking straight into the dwarf's eyes, his own eyes glimmering brightly. His lips curved into a shining smile as he carefully reached out for the dwarf's beard and stroke his fingers over the white hair. "It's soft to the touch," Frodo said, gently combing through the fine hair at the tip of the plaits. "Do all dwarves have soft beards?"

"I think they have," Balin chuckled. "You need to know that the beards are very important for us dwarves and we spend a lot of time tending them."

Frodo giggled as he imagined how long dwarves would need in the bathroom when they had to comb not only the hair on their heads but also their beards. If they were as painstakingly as his mother they would need hours. He could only hope that young dwarves didn't have an uncle who combed through their hair a million of times in the morning.

"It is rather nice to see you smile again," Bilbo said and sat down on a chair.

Looking up to his uncle Frodo's smile widened and he let go of Balin's beard again. "When will we depart?"

"As soon as I have packed everything," Bilbo answered and exchanged a look with his friend who nodded approvingly. "Is there anything you want to take with you, my lad? You won't need much as we will be back tomorrow evening."

"My animals," Frodo declared jumping from the seat and dashing out of the kitchen.

Balin watched him disappear. "I think he's slowly coming out of his shell."

"Wait until he has lost all his reserve." Bilbo grinned and stood up as well. Before they left he had to talk to Hamfast. The gardener should take care of the hole until they returned tomorrow.

~*~*~

Frodo trod along the hallway. He had found all four carved animals - the pony, the pig and the two sheep - and kept them safely in his trouser pocket, where they would remain even when they began their journey with Balin. The boy could hardly wait for their trip to begin - his very own adventure, travelling with Bilbo and a dwarf across the Shire.

As he passed the door to Bag End's wine cellar Frodo suddenly stopped. Had he not heard something strange when he had been in the cellar the other day? In one of the dark corners there had been a rustling and had he not also seen something? The young hobbit felt a cold shiver running down his spine and he shuddered. What had it been? It could not be a dragon, for Bilbo had told him that a dragon would be too big to be inside a hobbithole and besides, the shadow of the thing he had seen had been small. If he could dare to go and look what kind of secret creature lived in Bag End's cellar? No, certainly not alone. Who knew what kind of creature lived in the dark corners deep underneath the earth - however small its shadow was?

A weak draught caressed his cheeks - somebody had opened the front door - and Frodo heard the angry hiss of a flame almost blown out. Alarmed Frodo looked up, a flickering, yellow flame illuminating the fine features of his young face. A lamp, whose light had been disturbed by the soft wind, hung on the wall not far from the cellar door. Frodo remembered that Bilbo had always lit the lamp along the hall in the morning hours and he had got so accustomed to it (his father did the same at home) he didn't even realize it. With a light, of course, he would dare to go into the cellar. He was, after all, five going on six and could very well mange secret creatures lingering in Bag End's cellar. At least he thought he could.

To the child's utter delight Bilbo had a second chest, looking exactly the same as the one he had in his bedroom, standing in the hall preferably right under the lamp. A broad grin appeared on Frodo's face. With that lamp he would go into the cellar and nothing could happen to him - after all he was the one with the light in his hand and from the tales he had heard he knew that no-one bearing a light would ever be attacked by anything ghastly.

Frodo had no problems in climbing the wooden chest and getting the lamp away from its fixture. Taking a deep breath he opened the cellar door hoping very much that the tales told to him were true.

The candle in the lamp flickered illuminating the hallway leading down to the cellar. Frodo went down slowly, listening and always looking if he could spot the creature he had seen the day before. His eyes quickly got accustomed to the darkness and Frodo increased his pace though he kept walking as silently as only hobbits could.

A silent squeak made him freeze, his blood running cold. He was on the point of running back into the hall. Five years or not - that sound frightened him. Probably he would have gone back had his eyes not caught something small under the shelves standing on its hind paws cautiously sniffing the air. A bright smile suddenly lit up the child's face. It was only a mouse and that was certainly nothing to be frightened of - alas, it would even have been embarrassing had he run away from it like a baby.

Slowly Frodo kneeled down holding the lamp in front of him and carefully advanced towards the small animal. Maybe he could catch it. Bilbo would surely be happy when he presented him a mouse that was running wild in his cellar. Frodo could already see Bilbo's surprised but happy face in his mind, though he quickly abandoned the image remembering what had become of the images he had in mind yesterday morning.

Warily Frodo crawled closer to the small animal, but as soon as the mouse sensed his coming closer it squeaked again and flit away. "Wait!" Frodo called and dashed after it, leaving the lamp to stand on the floor while he followed the mouse into the darker corners. He had no problems in pursuing it as his eyes quickly got accustomed to the added darkness.

The mouse disappeared under a shelf and Frodo let himself drop on the ground and peered into the gap between the shelf and the cold stone floor. Sitting on its hind paws and sniffing curiously the mouse stood just beyond his hand's reach and seemed to mock him.

Grumbling Frodo banged his hand on the ground. Somehow he had to shoo it away from under the shelf. He needed some place where he could capture it easily - some place like the corner where he had seen the mouse the day before.

The mouse, startled by Frodo's quick and loud movements, dashed out from underneath the shelf and in its fright jumped over the lad's feet and disappeared in the darkness. Frodo jumped and squealed at the sensation of small feet and a soft tail tickling the sensitive skin around his ankles. Giggling silently he crawled after the mouse again searching feverishly for its new hiding place, always whispering in a calming voice to soothe the fright he had caused the small animal.

~*~*~

Meanwhile Bilbo had returned from his short visit at Bagshot Row - not without many pieces of advice about how careful he had to be when he undertook such a long journey with a young child like Frodo, and a strawberry pie Bell had just baked as provisions - much to the displeasure of her own children. Still, Frodo would be delighted, especially after their mess with their own strawberry cake the day before.

Bilbo quickly packed the last things into his backpack, as Balin came into the hall with his own pack already shouldered. "Ready?" the dwarf asked.

"I'm quite finished," Bilbo nodded, looking around questioningly. Something was missing. "Where's Frodo?" After Frodo had left behind some of his reserve he would have thought the child would not leave Balin's side.

Balin did not even have time to answer for suddenly a terrible, heartbreaking cry echoed through the hobbithole. Something horrible had happened. Bilbo felt all colour vanish from his face as he gasped for breath to find his voice again and call for his nephew. The child's voice had come from somewhere in the back of the hole and that was the direction Bilbo now headed for with Balin right behind him.

The terrible cries were soon replaced by desperate calls for Uncle Bilbo, but the old hobbit still had difficulties finding out where the voice came from. Bilbo could clearly hear the panic and fear in his nephew's voice and it was all he needed to almost panic himself. He hurried headless into every room of his home always calling Frodo's name until Balin suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder and motioned to the cellar door. "He's down there."

Bilbo frowned wondering what Frodo would seek in the wine cellar but then he heard the desperate cries again and, pushing his friend aside he hurried along the hallway fearing the worst. A shelf could have toppled down and buried the child beneath it, or maybe -

Bilbo didn't have to pursue his thoughts any further for in the dim light of the lamp Frodo had left on the floor he could see the boy lying on his stomach in a corner and his hand - Bilbo gasped - disappeared inside the wall. He quickly picked up the lamp and hurried to the child.

Frodo was crying at the top of his lungs, his eyes dark with fear as he desperately tried to free himself from the wall. "I'm pinned," he wailed, his uncle's presence obviously not doing much to calm him. More and more tears streamed down his cheeks while he desperately called for his mother and looked at Bilbo with huge, pleading eyes full of fright.

Balin suddenly appeared beside the old hobbit, who was at the moment totally swamped with the situation. Seeing his young nephew in such a distressed state was too much for him and he needed all his strength not to cry himself. Still, for Balin one short glance was enough and he knew what needed to be done. "It's a mouse hole," he observed and stroke his hands across the crumbly wall just above Frodo's wrist - the rest of the child's hand had disappeared. "I will fetch my chisel and you will be free before you can say Smaug, the dragon."

Frodo looked at the dwarf, his lower lip trembling pitifully. "Smaug, the dragon," he whispered as Balin disappeared and tried to free himself again, but only some crumbs fell onto the ground. Hitching sobs escaped Frodo's lips and some more tears slid down his flushed cheeks, when Bilbo finally found his voice again and gently stroke the child's hair and neck. "Hush, dear. Balin knows what's to do," he soothed and hoped very much that he could trust his own words.

The dim light of the lamp flickered as Balin returned with the chisel and carefully went to work. Cautiously he loosened the crumbs on the wall and though Frodo was all tense and frightened he soon learned that Balin was a master in his craft and, though it took him a bit longer to free the child than he had promised it would take, Frodo was soon free again and flung himself into Bilbo's arms where new tears welled up and stained the old hobbit's travel shirt.

Casting a thankful glance into Balin's direction Bilbo held his boy close and rocked him gently trying to soothe him with soft words as he stroke his hair. Balin meanwhile leaned against the wall and waited for Frodo to calm down. It must have been quite a shock for the boy to suddenly be pinned and he was happy he had been able to help him.

The air was somewhat smelly in the cellar and now that the first shock had passed Bilbo and Balin soon realised that it was not that warm either. Still, there was one question that needed to be answered before they could finally start their journey in the bright sunlight - a thing that seemed almost impossible in the darkness of the cellar. When Frodo had finally calmed and his sobs had ceased Bilbo dared to ask that last question. "What have you been doing here?"

Frodo looked at him with a guilty expression Primula would have known perfectly well. It was the same look Drogo was capable of, though Frodo's eyes made everything worse - or better, depending from which side you were looking at it. "The mouse disappeared in there," the child snivelled, "and I wanted to look where it had gone to."

"Frodo, one looks with ones eyes," Bilbo explained sternly but a smile that was both, annoyed and amused was playing on the corner of his lips.

"I know," the child told him and wiped his eyes with Bilbo's shirt. "But my eyes did not see anything and so I used my hand to at least feel something."

Shaking his head Bilbo sighed and kissed Frodo's forehead. "My dear little lad, you truly have the gift of getting yourself into trouble - just like your father."

Frodo's eyes brightened up as he looked into his uncle's face. "Really? What kind of trouble did he end up in?"

Bilbo ruffled the child's curls. "I will tell you that another time. Now it's high time for us to leave. After all, we have a long journey ahead of us."

Chapter Seven: Dwarven Tales And Dragons' Gold

The curtains had been closed and there was not much light in the small bedroom. The smell lingering in the air was not very inviting either. Trying to ignore the obstinate knocking on the front door Drogo pulled his blanket over his head and pretended not to hear anything. Another knock. Drogo did not heed it until a weak hand shook his shoulder and a hoarse voice mumbled. "The door," and after a short pause added in a muffled tone, "You go." Drogo moaned but after another knock he managed to open his eyes, reluctantly brought himself to leaving the warm comfort of his bed and dragged himself to the door. Impatient voices reached his ear even before his slightly trembling hand got hold of the knob. Was this his son's voice? Confused he opened the door and was dazzled by bright sunlight that made him feel even dizzier than he had felt before.

"We have wakened you," Frodo observed with a cheeky grin on his face as his father's crumpled and pale form appeared in the doorway. Drogo's hair was dishevelled, some strands sticking to his forehead and his eyelids struggled to stay open. "Are you feeling better?" Frodo went on, not yet sure if he could dare to hug his father though he very much liked to, "Because, you know, you look terrible." A harsh sound of Bilbo, standing behind him, silenced the child.

"What are you doing here?" Drogo asked hoarsely doing without any greetings this morning. He leaned heavily against the doorframe trying to focus on his son and his cousin, but he hardly succeeded because his head was spinning and he felt all but able to think clearly and discuss whatever problem had occurred with Bilbo. He felt an urgent need to send them both away, no matter how much he would have liked to give his son a hug and bid him and Bilbo inside for a cup of tea. Hopefully they would leave soon anyhow and he could return to his bed joining his wife in another good day's rest.

"Good morning, Drogo. Well," Bilbo began, placing his hands on Frodo's shoulders, "we were wondering if you would allow the two of us to go to Waymoot. We're going on a little adventure one might say and wanted your permission."

While Bilbo talked Drogo rolled his eyes. Going to Waymoot was, much as he'd like to, nothing Bilbo needed to ask permission for. If Frodo went with him they should go, but Drogo knew his son very well, even in his shaky condition. He was sure Frodo was probably full with enthusiasm now, but after four or five miles would turn into a whining, sulky lad who would drive Bilbo potty. He was about to answer his cousin just that when the old hobbit moved aside and revealed what Drogo, to his own surprise, had not noticed before. A tall, broad person with a long white beard and heavy boots was standing some way behind Bilbo and his son. Drawing in a sharp breath Drogo clutched the doorknob tighter and would have reached out to protect his son had he had the strength to do so.

"Please, dad, can I accompany Balin?" his son asked, looking up at him with huge, pleading puppy-eyes before Drogo could even think of an answer. "He is the one who was with Bilbo on his adventure, you know, and though he looks scary he is not. He even allowed me to touch his beard and…"

Frodo would probably not have stopped his explanation before lunchtime if not for Bilbo who just like that placed his hand on the child's mouth to hinder him from speaking. "May I introduce my friend Balin. He has taken upon him the long way from the Lonely Mountain and has honoured me with his visit before he heads for the Tower Hills."

Even as Bilbo spoke his last words the dwarf behind him bowed low. "Balin, at your service."

Drogo was too baffled to answer having even difficulties to breathe. His tired and slightly swollen eyes rested on the dwarf in amazement and perhaps even a whiff of fear until he finally was able to at least nod - he felt it impossible to bow - and stammer the correct answer.

"May I, dad? May I accompany him?" Frodo asked after freeing himself from Bilbo's hand - not without casting an insulted glance at his uncle, of course - and looked at his father again. His eyes were speaking volumes promising his father the moon and everything that was beyond if only he allowed him his wish.

Drogo find himself unable to reject his son's and Bilbo's plea, not after he saw that both Bilbo and Balin were wearing a similar expression as his dear son. The dwarf especially looked rather amusing with his dark eyes and usually stern face looking pleadingly at the hobbit before him and that was all the conviction Drogo needed.

After he had given his blessing to the journey to Waymoot his son broke into effusive cheers and was about to hug him but was held back by Bilbo for which Drogo was thankful. Their goodbyes were quickly said, but as Bilbo turned to leave Drogo reached out a trembling hand. "You will look well after him, won't you?"

"Of course I will, don't you worry," Bilbo answered smiling. "Get well soon, Drogo," he said with a nod and then, after he realised that Primula was not around and had probably fallen ill as well, added, "both of you."

Drogo nodded and after looking one last time at Frodo who was dancing around Balin in his joy he closed the door to head back to his bed. One thing was clear to him: no word of the dwarf to Primula - not in her current condition, or his. Primula could get furious on matters that concerned her only child, even when she was ill. He would wait until she was better - and he himself felt well enough to defend himself. Having a last look at his beloved wife, who was fast asleep, he thankfully lay down again and was soon sleeping as well.

~*~*~

Frodo's joy vanished, when Bilbo turned to him and he realised that his father had gone inside again - with neither a hug nor a kiss for him. Sighing he came to his uncle's side. "Will dad be well again?

"Of course," Bilbo answered, placing his hand on the child's shoulder. "Your mom and dad just need a lot of rest."

Frodo nodded and the joyful smile he wore earlier reappeared on his face. He glanced up at the blue sky closing his eyes as a soft breeze caressed his rosy cheeks. A sparrow was flying not far above the heads of the travellers and Frodo opened his eyes just in time to watch it - and the worm it had captured with its beak -disappear behind the hobbit-hole that was his home. "Look!" he called joyfully, pointing at the animal but then he stopped short even before Bilbo and Balin had lifted their heads. "We can't leave," the child suddenly told them and grabbed Bilbo's hand. "You haven't seen our tadpoles yet!"

Without any further warning Frodo took hold of Balin's hand as well and pulled his uncle and the dwarf with him, hurrying up the path they had been walking down. "You know, we have a pond in our garden," the lad explained Balin, who hadn't heard the story yet. "Just before I left to see Uncle Bilbo I saw tadpoles swimming in there. I thought about taking some with me to Uncle Bilbo, after all he has a big garden, but he is unwilling to make a pond." Frodo glanced at his uncle sadly, not without a glimmer of hope in his eyes that the old hobbit may change his opinion, but seeing no signs of it he went on. "I have tried to convince him for hours but he is so very stubborn. He said he liked his flowers more than a pond and Master Gamgee said…"

While the lad went on in his report Balin looked in baffled desperation at Bilbo. Was this the same lad he had met the day before - the one he had considered shy? This Frodo, who was holding his hand now and leading him into the garden of his home, was all but that. This lad was gregarious and more talkative than any dwarf-child he had known before. Amazed about that change Balin allowed himself to be led behind the hole by a child who reached just inches higher than his knees.

Bilbo chuckled as he saw Balin's puzzled expression. He had, after all, warned him that once he had left his reserve behind, Frodo could be a friendly chatterbox. Secretly however, Bilbo rolled his eyes. Not again that discussion about a pond! He had thought Frodo would have forgotten about it after two days but obviously he was mistaken.

The pond sparkled golden in the light of the slowly rising sun and the smell of lilac met the noses of the lad and his companions. The angry twitter of three young sparrows in a nest on the lilac tree disturbed the morning silence. The sparrow they had seen before hopped on one of the branches hurrying to feed the young birds. Frodo grinned from one ear to the other and his eyes sparkled even brighter than the water in the pond while he was watching the happening, still holding Bilbo and Balin by the hand.

When the bird left in search for more food Frodo turned to the pond and kneeled down on its edge looking closely into the water. There they were - slightly longer and bigger than they had been when he had left two days ago - all his pride and joy, his tadpoles. The child cheered when he saw the small animals swimming and snaking on the bottom of the pond and made sure Bilbo and Balin would observe every little happening that occurred in the small pond. With shining eyes Frodo kneeled in the grass ready to catch the first tadpole daring close enough to the edge, but before he could put his intentions into action Bilbo grabbed him by the shoulder and told him that they had to move on.

Frodo sighed getting up reluctantly. He would very much have liked to stay a bit longer observing his animals and maybe catching one or two of them, but when Bilbo and Balin left the garden he cast a last woeful glance at the pond and hurried after them. He was, after all, on his way to his very own adventure - something wherefore leaving a pond full of tadpoles behind was a small sacrifice.

When he had caught up with Bilbo Frodo looked questioningly at the old hobbit, a knowing grin playing on the corner of his lips. Bilbo noticed it and shook his head. "No reason to grin, my lad. I haven't changed my opinion."

"Are you sure?" Frodo did a bit of probing. "I mean, now that you have seen them, haven't you grown to love them?" He smiled from one ear to the other winking as if he knew very well that Bilbo would like to have some tadpoles of his own.

Bilbo tousled the boy's head and laughed. "Oh, you silly lad! There won't be any tadpoles in immediate vicinity of Bag End, I can tell you. And no ponds either."

Frodo pushed forward his lower lip looking disappointed, but then he giggled. "But you almost like them, don't you? There's no way concealing it, I know you do." With that he ran ahead, waving at them and telling them that he would meet them at the next crossing which was only so far away that Bilbo could see it and thus keep an eye on his high-spirited nephew.

~*~*~

They were travelling at a slow pace, enjoying the fine weather and each other's company. There was no sign of the rain clouds of the other day and it was warm though a welcomed breeze was caressing the hills and roads of the Shire. Frodo was full of energy, running ahead singing and giggling to himself, hunting butterflies and examining worms and other critters on the wayside. Twice he caught a caterpillar to show it to Bilbo and Balin and once he got hold of a ladybug landing accidentally on the young hobbit's shirt. Their journey to Waymoot was full of fun and breaks. Every three miles they rested, eating some of their provisions - of which Frodo ate the most - or just waited until the child was fit enough to walk on. So far Drogo's fear of Frodo losing his enthusiasm about the journey - fears he hadn't been able to tell Bilbo about after his shock of seeing Balin - were totally unsubstantiated. Yet, after they had taken their lunch at an inn Frodo's spirit lowered, he didn't run as far ahead as he had done earlier and his discoveries grew less.

It was almost tea time when Frodo fell back entirely, holding on to his uncle's hand and walking more or less in silence beside him. They had travelled almost seventeen miles by now and would soon arrive at their destination. Frodo was visibly exhausted and they decided to rest again and have their tea. To the child's utter glee Bilbo brought forth the cake of Mrs. Gamgee - a gift he had kept secret so far - and offered every one of them a generous piece.

"That's not very nice," Frodo declared his face and fingers smeared with cream, as the last bite disappeared in his mouth, "keeping such an important thing secret. What would you have done had the cream melted? We would have had to eat everything out of your package - and that would have been a nasty and sticky affair, I can tell you!"

Bilbo chuckled. "So, you do have experiences in this?"

Flushing furiously to the tip of his ears Frodo squirmed. "No - not of late," he finally replied remembering very well the piece of cake he had gotten from Peony Proudfoot, his next door neighbour, last summer. He had wanted to save the last remains in his pocket but unfortunately the cream had melted and his breeches had gotten all sticky. His mommy hadn't been all too content about that.

Balin chuckled. "You certainly have the right touch for trouble, just like Bilbo said. But then, I fear, it's all your family who is blessed with an extra sense for it."

Frodo, smelling a great story, looked delightedly at the dwarf casting a sideways glance to Bilbo. What kind of trouble might he have gotten himself into? He moved over to Balin, while Bilbo prepared himself a pipe and handed some of his pipe-weed to the dwarf. This would certainly be one of their longer rests and Bilbo leaned back against a tree trunk to listen - and correct his friend if need be.

Balin lit his pipe and puffed two times gazing thoughtfully into the distance, before starting his tale. "Your uncle has told you about the dragon, I guess." Frodo nodded vigorously, pulling his knees close and flinging his arms about them while his shining eyes rested on the dwarf. He loved to hear about his uncle's adventures. "Well," Balin went on after another puff of his pipe, "he was in the dragon's liar three times. The first time he stole a two handled cup but that wasn't the most dangerous thing he did. His second walk down the tunnel was far more perilous, because he talked to the dragon. It is difficult not to slip into talking to a dragon, or so I have always heard, and your uncle was no exception. Yet Bilbo did a good job in talking in riddles because that's how you have to handle conversations with dragons."

"Not only a good job, but also a difficult one," Bilbo interrupted, his face alight with the pleasures of old memories. "It didn't take me long to trip over my own tongue - a mistake that cost me more than just a few hairs." He absentmindedly touched the back of his head where the dragon's fire had burned his hair so many years ago.

Balin chuckled. "You gave us quite a turn, you did, and not only once!"

Frodo's eyes wandered form one to the other in wonder. All the tales Bilbo had told him so many times suddenly grew to life - more than they did usually and it had all begun with Balin's arrival the other day. A shiver of delight ran down his spine and he hoped his two companions would never stop their talking - even if he would not talk for the time their conversation lasted. For them it was a mere exchange of old memories but for Frodo it was legends coming to life.

All his weariness had passed as they walked on and Balin kept talking. The dwarf seemed to have an unquenchable resource of adventurous memories to entertain the child though he and Bilbo jumped to and fro in the passing of events - which did not matter much to Frodo, of course.

"I was on watch while the others were debating what might have happened to your uncle," Balin said chuckling. "So far not a mouse has crept along unnoticed - but your uncle, he just slipped in under my very nose! Of course he wouldn't have achieved that without that ring of his."

"The ring of that slimy Gollum?" Frodo asked puzzled but shuddered at the mere thought of Gollum. He always hoped his uncle would skip that part of the story because he feared the ghastly creature. Yet, he never asked for it, not only because he did not want to show that he was afraid but he also liked the riddles Bilbo told and always bid his uncle to tell every single one of them. Anyhow, concerning the ring, his uncle had never said more than the fact that he had found it in Gollum's cave and thus Balin's comment confused him.

Bilbo looked uncomfortable, fumbling around with something in his trouser pocket but no-one noticed it. "Yes, that ring," he replied shortly and would not say more though Frodo's expectant eyes rested on him a moment longer until Balin went on in his telling.

Thus the afternoon wore on and the sun was moving swiftly towards the western hills of the Shire sending a golden gleam on the road still ahead of the three travellers. Frodo had grown weary of both, walking and storytelling, and at last Drogo's fears came true. The child held Bilbo's hand scuffling listlessly, and deliberately slow beside his uncle and complained about every step he had to make. Bilbo could understand that he was tired, after all, he was exhausted himself, but the constant whining was tearing at his nerves.

"Are we there yet?" Frodo asked with a deep sigh for he knew the answer already. No - it was always no since he first asked that question about an hour ago. Would it ever change to yes? He doubted it and that was the reason why his mood sank even lower than it already had. For today he had enough of walking - in fact he had walked enough it would last for a whole month. "Can we stop?"

Bilbo's hair was blown into his face as he looked down at his young nephew. "It's not far now."

Sullen eyes met Bilbo's and Frodo let go of his hand to stop. "Carry me," he demanded, blinking as the wind grew stronger.

Bilbo stopped and sighed. "I have my pack to carry already, Frodo. You will make that last mile, won't you?"

Shaking his head vigorously Frodo repeated his demand and Bilbo hoped his answer did not sound as irritated as he felt. "I know you're tired, but you must understand that I can't carry the pack and you as well."

"Then put away your backpack," Frodo suggested, tone as sullen as his eyes. "I won't walk a single step further!" With that he folded his arms and sat down cross-legged in the midst of the road giving his uncle a wilful look.

Bilbo rolled his eyes, sighing deeply. "Frodo, get up!" His annoyance, which he unsuccessfully tried to conceal, was clearly heard in his voice. He was not in the mood for childish sulkiness. Frodo repeated his headshaking and avoided his uncle's gaze looking stubbornly at a cloud that was fortunately crossing the sky.

The wind was getting stronger and what once had been pleasing was now cool and urged the weary travellers on. Maybe this was the reason for Balin's offer to take Bilbo's package so that the old hobbit could carry his exhausted nephew. As Bilbo did so he soon came to regret his harsh tone towards Frodo for when they arrived at the inn in Waymoot Frodo was fast asleep, head resting on his uncle's shoulder and hands dangling on either side of Bilbo's neck - a picture certainly contributing its share in the time the innkeeper, a chubby woman in her mid-sixties, needed to prepare their rooms.

Frodo did not wake up when Bilbo laid him into the big bed, undressed him and tucked him securely into the coverlets only minutes later.

Chapter Eight: The Long Way Home

6. Forelithe 1374

"No, I have to stay here in case the little one wakes up," Bilbo whispered from the door casting a glance over his shoulders to the big bed where his nephew was still sound asleep. "I wish you a safe journey, my dear friend, and don't forget to drop by when you head back to the Lonely Mountain."

Balin gave his small friend a hug. "Farewell, my dear Bilbo. I will certainly not miss your invitation." He smiled looking over to the bed. "I hope Frodo is not too sad that I leave without a word, but it would be a pity to wake him now, especially after he had been so tired yesterday evening."

"He will understand," Bilbo assured him though he was not so sure about that himself. Yet he did not want to wake Frodo either, it was, after all, still early in the morning and the child needed his sleep after the long journey the other day - and the one that was still ahead of them. He bowed deeply. "Goodbye."

He watched as Balin walked along the hallway to the common-room to have some breakfast. Only when the stout form of the dwarf disappeared in the shadows of the lamps hanging on the wall did Bilbo close the door and headed back to the bed where he carefully lay down beside his nephew.

He and Balin had talked far into the night, smoking their pipes and discussing Balin's departure in the morning. They had been sitting in the common-room though Bilbo was rather uncomfortable and got up to check on Frodo every few minutes, but the child had slept like a log and Bilbo guessed not even a herd of Oliphaunts would have wakened him. While they had talked it soon became obvious that Balin had to leave early and that Frodo would probably not be able to see him off - which would most likely end with Frodo being sad and disappointed, but that could not be helped.

"Daddy," the child mumbled in his sleep, his brow creased and his small hand lying beside his face on the pillow clenched. Bilbo stroke his nephew's tousled curls whispering words of comfort and Frodo snuggled closer to him sighing with relief and drifting back into the bottomless sleep he had had all night. Bilbo sighed. The past day's journey had tired Frodo out. He now thought that it had not been such a good idea to walk all the way with the child and he secretly cursed himself for expecting too much of Frodo. Maybe he could spare the boy today's walk and find someone who would take them as far as the crossing of the East Road and Bywater Road.

With that decision made, Bilbo's eyes dropped close once again and he fell into a deep slumber with his nephew snuggled close to him, warming him with his small body.

~*~*~

The flickering flame of a candle on a table was the only light that conquered the darkness in the room. It was a small room with no window and beside the big bed there was only a table and a chair in the far corner of the room. Bilbo's pack lay on the chair and Frodo's clothes hung neatly folded across its back.

Frodo's brow creased. When had he undressed? He turned on his back to let his gaze wander across the room. Where was he anyway? He could not remember anything but - walking, yes. Lots of walking! Too much walking! Carefully Frodo stretched his legs and reached down to touch his feet. They were sore and still tired from the long journey yesterday. Frodo moaned and leaned back in his pillows deciding without much brooding over that he would not walk again today, or tomorrow, or the day after that. Never again would he walk such a distance for which his feet would, without any doubt, be grateful.

Frodo turned over to examine Bilbo's sleeping form more closely. The fact that the old hobbit was with him was the only reason why he remained at ease, although he was at an unknown place in a room he had never seen before - a fact in urgent need of a change. He knew his uncle was a sleepyhead and liked to sleep long in the mornings, but now, with decisions made and unanswered question disturbing his not yet fully awakened mind the thought of waking him was more than inviting. He reached out a testing finger to touch the hollow of his uncle's neck which made the old hobbit wince. Frodo grinned and decided to repeat that treatment. The old hobbit grumbled in his sleep, his brow creasing. Frodo giggled delightedly and pulled himself up so that he could tickle his uncle's neck with both his hands.

Bilbo's protest grew louder and he drowsily pushed away the tickling trouble makers when he finally grew aware of his nephew's delighted snickers. "Frodo," he mumbled groggily trying to focus on his nephew's mischievous face.

Frodo was now sitting on the bed cross-legged wearing an exceedingly broad grin. The dim light of the candle cast a red flicker on his sleep-flushed cheeks. "Awake, sleepyhead?" he asked cheekily, seeing in his treatment almost a revenge for Bilbo's tickling the other day.

"You--" Bilbo threatened and flung the blanket around the child capturing him in a warm hug and ruffling his already tousled curls.

Frodo squealed but did not protest when Bilbo snuggled him against him but instead curled into the loving hobbit's arms and smiled. "Have you slept enough now?" Frodo asked. "Because, if you have, I want to tell you that I am not going to walk home today - or tomorrow - because walking is stupid and my feet would be very much obliged to you if they would not have to walk for at least a week." Frodo put on a determined look, lips stubbornly pressed together.

Bilbo raised an eyebrow at the child's precocious words. "Is that so?"

Frodo nodded firmly.

"Suppose we need to be staying here for a while then."

Another nod, then Frodo's brow creased. "Where is here and when did we arrive? Where is Balin?"

"You were already asleep when we arrived in Waymoot yesterday evening," Bilbo explained. "Balin and I arranged rooms for us in The Rose Garden and that's where we are now." The hobbit paused gazing thoughtfully into the candle's flame knowing very well that Frodo was looking at him expectantly although the child was busy messing around with the blanket Bilbo had wrapped him in. At length he went on, even if avoiding mentioning Balin's whereabouts. "I know it was a long and exhausting way for you so I already thought about our return journey. I shall see to it that we don't have to walk too far today."

"That's good," Frodo announced his attention now entirely focused on the blanket's lappet so Bilbo hoped he had for the moment gotten round the question about his friend. "What about Balin? Is he still asleep?"

Bilbo sighed inwardly, biting his lips. It didn't need long for his hopes to shatter. There was nothing for it; he had to break the news to him. "Well," he hesitated.

That was not a good start for Frodo's fingers stopped their fumbling and his brow creased. He was suspicious already. Bilbo coughed when Frodo's doubtful eyes met his. "Yes?" the child urged.

"Fact is," Bilbo went on unwilling to hurt Frodo and yet knowing that it would pain his nephew to learn that the dwarf had left. "Fact is that Balin left early this morning." Frodo's eyes grew wide. "You were still fast asleep and he - we both - didn't want to wake you because you had been so tired yesterday. He was very sorry that he had to leave without --"

"He's gone?!" Frodo called out freeing himself from the blanket and his uncle's arms. "How could he just leave?" Frodo's lower lip trembled, his fists clinging to the coverlets. Apparently the lad did not know if he should be sad or upset. "I thought he would--" he took a hitching breath his sad eyes suddenly looking up seeking understanding in Bilbo's. "He could have said goodbye at least, couldn't he, Uncle?" Another hitching and an unsuccessful try to hinder his lower lip from trembling. "Why did you not waken me?"

Bilbo laid an arm around the boys shoulder and pulled him close. He could understand his sadness but he knew it had been better this way. Balin had left an hour before sunset and as far as Frodo was concerned - Bilbo knew he would not have slept again, once he had been wakened. Considering their long walk the other day Frodo needed all the rest he could get or otherwise he would be grumpy and tired all day and their journey home would have been an ordeal for both of them. "Don't cry, Frodo," Bilbo soothed although the child was not crying - not yet. "We don't want to start every day you're with me with tears, do we?" Frodo shook his head but buried his face in the blanket he had pulled with him when Bilbo had hugged him. "Balin has a long journey still ahead of him, longer than the one we have taken upon us yesterday and he wanted to use as much of the day's light as he could. He was very sad not to have spoken with you a last time but he didn't want to wake you. Besides, he is going to visit me again when he returns back home and maybe we could arrange another meeting between the two of you."

"Really?" Frodo looked up. "Do you think mommy and daddy would allow it?"
"I know what I can do about your father and with his help, I think, we shall be able to convince your mother as well," Bilbo winked at him causing the child to smile, his bright eyes sparkling in the dim light. Bilbo heaved a sigh of relief. That's that!

~*~*~

The innkeeper herself, Linda Grubb, took care of Bilbo and Frodo when the two of them arrived in the common-room to have their breakfast. She offered them as good a breakfast as any hobbit could wish for with loads of cheese and sweet raspberry jam for the little one. She was a busy woman though willingly took her time to spoil her youngest guest for it was rather unusual that one of his age was staying at her inn. Beside Frodo and Bilbo there were only five more hobbits in the common-room taking a break from working and having a second (or maybe already third) breakfast.

Frodo watched the laughing and smoking hobbits wide-eyed while eating the fourth jam smeared slice of bread. This was something entirely new for him as he had never been at an inn before. The common-room had many windows along the eastside and was large beyond measure - at least to Frodo's eyes - full with tables and chairs and the air smelled of pipe-weed and of the wine, which remembered Frodo very much of Bilbo's wine cellar where he had found the mouse the day before, of beer - a strong smell which Frodo disliked - and of sweat and hay, after all the haymaking season had already begun.

While Frodo was busy scanning his surroundings Bilbo had a talk with Linda who had sat down at their table. He told her about their long journey and Frodo's weariness which Linda understood fully - she even scolded him for expecting so much of the little one which was enough for Bilbo to guiltily lower his eyes. But to his relief Linda was not only angry with him, but also offered her help. She told him that her husband, Togo, would go to Frogmorton around Elevenses for he had business with his friend, the innkeeper of The Floating Log. "I'm sure you can join him as far as the crossing," she assured Bilbo though her eyes were more on Frodo than on him.

Bilbo thanked her many times before heading back to their room where Bilbo packed the few belongings he had taken with him into his pack again while Frodo entertained himself with his carved animals. They had slept long that day and therefore did not have to wait long until Linda knocked on their door to tell them that Togo had the cart prepared and was ready to depart. Frodo and Bilbo quickly said their goodbyes before they left, Frodo being all delighted to be travelling with a cart this time. The last time he had travelled in a cart had been at Yule when he and his parents had visited his relatives in Buckland.

The first few miles Bilbo, sitting on the coach box, kept talking to Togo about his family and business while Frodo sat behind between the wine cask - the ones Togo was bringing to the innkeeper of The Log - gazing wide-eyed from one side to the other observing the farmers and waving at every passer-by, only interrupting the two of them from time to time to call their attention to an animal he saw on the road or to ask some questions.

Soon, however, Frodo got bored and wanted Bilbo to sit with him, a wish the old hobbit gladly granted his nephew. He deftly climbed over the coach box to sit down beside his nephew and intoned a song. It did not take Frodo long to learn the tunes and he quickly joined Bilbo in his singing though he only hummed the melody.

The day went by swiftly, the sun shining as warmly as it had done the day before. The wind was still blowing softly though it had grown less in the course of the day. Frodo leaned his head on Bilbo's shoulder looking bored. His right hand was stroking over the smooth surface of his carved pony while the cart joggled along the road. The child observed the carvings minutely and, after a while, turned with the same close look in his eyes to face Bilbo. Bilbo chuckled, knowing very well that his nephew was planning something. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing," Frodo answered, too quickly for Bilbo's liking. Besides he had lowered his eyes and a shy smile appeared on his bright face, though only for a moment. Frodo swiftly regained control of himself and looked at his uncle again, eyes enquiring. "I was just wondering."

Bilbo could see his eyes sparkle and was suddenly reminded of their conversation two days ago when Frodo asked him about the dragon. The look in the lad's eyes was all about the same now. This definitely was the look Primula had warned him of. It was Frodo's I'm-up-to-something-look, as Bilbo secretly named it for himself since he was able to interpret it. Yet, the fact that he knew about the look, did not mean he would not succumb to it. Primula had once said that Frodo's eyes were dangerous and only now did Bilbo understand what she meant with that. You could do nothing but believe those eyes and grant them every wish they ask for. For a moment Bilbo wondered how long anybody could be angry with Frodo - if one could be cross with him at all.

"I was just wondering," Frodo repeated and took his uncle's right hand into his, "if you could tell me about the troubles dad had gotten himself into when he was young."

Pleading eyes looking directly into his Bilbo found himself unable to answer anything but "Of course, I can, my boy." Frodo knew all too well how he had to use those eyes to get away with everything. Poor Primula had a hard toll to take, but fortunately she knew about it.

Frodo's eyes lit up and sparkled even brighter than before as he gave his uncle a hug and cheered loudly. A broad grin appeared on his face as he made himself comfortable beside him and waited for Bilbo to begin while the pony cart joggled on.

"Well," Bilbo began thinking about which event he could best tell his little nephew. There was a long silence in which Frodo already thought he had to shake his uncle in order to wake him from his daydreams but then he suddenly began, having found a suitable story to tell. "It was in the year 1323, your father was fifteen, I think, when he and your uncle Dudo came to stay with me and my parents at Bag End for the weekend. Your grandparents, Fosco and Ruby were invited on a birthday party of one of Ruby's Bolger-relatives and they took your aunt Dora with them because she was already old enough, being twenty-one, after all."

Frodo chuckled at the thought of his father being so young. He had difficulties imagining him as a child, but he did not interrupt Bilbo. He knew very well that it was best not disturb his uncle when he was telling a story, especially if you wanted a tale you would understand. Only once had he dared to interrupt his uncle's telling with questions only to understand nothing of what has been told because Bilbo was jumping back and forth in the happenings of the tale, leaving him entirely confused. But if one did not disturb him - well, Bilbo was not without reason the master of tales and storytelling.
"My parents were already very old by then," Bilbo went on gazing dreamily into the distance, "and as I was almost of age it was mostly my task to look after the children. We spent a wonderful day together, playing in the garden and having fun and when my mother brought Drogo and your uncle to bed in the evening I sat by the fireside with my father and we shared a smoke together, my father also drinking a glass of wine. He always had a glass of wine in the evening, preferably Old Winyards."

Frodo, of course, did not understand anything about wine, but seeing the far-away look in Bilbo's eyes he said nothing. His uncle was not only telling the story, he was living it and that delighted Frodo all the more.

"It was getting late and my mother was joining us at the hearth and we talked long together, maybe that being the reason for our late rising the next morning. Your father, being always one to wake early, was up before everyone else was and he found the bottle of Old Winyards my father had forgotten in the parlour the day before. There was only half a glass left of the wine, but Drogo was thirsty and drank all of it rather quick, I guess. Anyway, the wine was strong and didn't become your father well. When my mother woke up, not long after Drogo did, she found him lying in the parlour being all pale and miserable and yet he was giggling uncontrollably. He was sick all day - and the day after - and swore that he would never drink wine again once he was sober - a promise he had, of course, not kept though his next sip of wine was many years later."

Bilbo chuckled silently and so did Frodo. "Poor dad, I wonder if he feels the same when he has to drink mommy's sage tea?"

Bilbo laughed, ruffling Frodo's dark curls making him giggle. "I doubt it, my lad."

"We're there, Mr. Baggins," Togo called, bringing the cart to a stop.

Bilbo lifted his head to look around. They had indeed reached the crossing far swifter than he had thought they would. "Well then, that's it. Jump down, my lad," Bilbo called to Frodo, "the last miles we have to walk."

Frodo sighed and rolled his eyes at the thought of more walking - his poor sore feet had to suffer so much - but he obediently jumped down from the cart. The sun stood already deep in the west but it would still be some two hours until sunset.

They said their goodbyes and Bilbo gave Togo some coins for the ride, shouldered his pack and took Frodo by the hand. He took a deep breath looking from the cart that was slowly joggling eastwards to the road ahead of them. "On to a last walk, my lad."

Frodo looked up at Bilbo, his eyes speaking volumes. Adventures or no, he would never understand why his uncle was thus so fond of walking.

Chapter Nine: Another Guest

The evening was getting late. The rolling hills of the Shire were shimmering in a golden light when Frodo stumbled along Bywater Road. The long walk of the day before had left its traces and though Bilbo walked slowly he soon realised that Frodo was tiring swiftly. The child was grumpy, moaning unceasingly, which Bilbo would not have imagined after the delightful afternoon in the cart. Yet, he found himself longing for his home as well, having his legs put up and smoking a quiet pipe by the fireside. He was sure Hamfast had everything prepared already.

Frodo unexpectedly stopped, his dark hair glistening like embers in the light of the sinking sun, his deep blue eyes gazing sadly on a path leading north-east, where he lived with his parents. He suddenly felt an overwhelming need to go to them, to hug them and be with them. "When can I go home again?" he asked mirthlessly turning to look at his uncle.

Bilbo felt a sting in his heart at his nephew's question. Was he so longing to be home again? He could not blame him, after all it had not been the perfect two days for a five-year-old like him. "As soon as they are better your parents will come for you," Bilbo assured the boy placing his hand on the little one's shoulder. Frodo nodded, as if he had already known the answer, which Bilbo was sure he had. "Come, I shall carry you the rest of the way."

Frodo's face lit up just a bit as Bilbo lifted him onto his shoulder and walked on. He flung his arms around his uncle's neck and rested his chin on his head watching the hobbits on the road. Some greeted him and Bilbo, some just walked by probably still pondering over today's or tomorrow's work and some - mostly young girls still in their tweens or just of age - were too busy chattering and giggling as they walked by as to notice the two weary travellers.

Now that he did not have to walk anymore Frodo fell back into his usual chattering, informing his uncle about his observations and telling him his random musings. "Why are you so fond of walking?" he suddenly asked after a short pause.

Bilbo chuckled to himself. He should have known that the thought of walking would not let go of Frodo easily. "Because it keeps me fit and I get to know new and secret places."

Pondering that for a moment Frodo buried his chin in his uncle's curls. "We haven't seen any secret places on our journey," Frodo declared. A long silence followed in which Frodo's brow creased thoughtfully. "Is it very important to be fit?"

"Well, I think so, but you can stay fit with other things but walking as well," Bilbo assured with a wink. "You have helped Master Hamfast in the garden the day you arrived. That's a very effective way to keep fit as well."

A smile appeared on the child's face and he lifted his head again. "Then I will be a gardener when I'm grown up," he chuckled, "and I shall make sure that there's a pond in Bag End's garden with lots of tadpoles!"

Bilbo laughed out loud gently twitching the child's feet which made him squeal. "You little rascal!"
As they walked round the last turn so that they could see the top of Bag End's roof, a cool but gentle breeze tickled their faces. Bilbo welcomed the fresh wind as he was beginning to feel that Frodo had grown and was not a toddler anymore. Sweat glimmered on his forehead as he walked up the path to his home. Frodo stretched on his shoulders to see further ahead, but suddenly he jerk as if somebody had punched him. "What is it?" Bilbo asked concerned.

"There's someone sitting on the bench in front of the smial," Frodo told him, his voice a mere whisper. He looked suspiciously to both sides, his fingers clinging tightly to Bilbo's cloak as he shrank until he could almost hide his head behind Bilbo's. "It's no hobbit."

Bilbo frowned, getting a tighter hold of Frodo's legs. The child was squirming nervously while he tried to hide behind him despite the fact that he had only Bilbo's head to shield his whole body from whatever stranger was sitting on the bench in front of Bag End. Who could be waiting for him there? If it were Hamfast, or maybe his oldest son Hamson, Frodo would not have reacted so haggardly and would definitely have recognised them as hobbits. He broke into a run, his curios mind defeating his tired legs.

Frodo bumped up and down as his uncle hurried up the hill. Carefully he peeked forth from behind his uncle's head. "He wears a pointy hat," he observed then added, "like the one you said Gandalf would be wearing."

Bilbo stopped short and Frodo had to steady himself not to fall from his uncle's shoulders. "Gandalf?" Bilbo called and a grin appeared on his face.

Hushing his uncle Frodo shrank again. "I don't know. It's just that the pointy, grey hat reminded me of him." He bent down so that his chin rested on Bilbo's shoulder and whispered into his uncle's ear. "Could it really be him?"

"Frodo," Bilbo began matter-of-factly, the cold wind tousling his hair. "You say the person wears a pointy hat." A fierce nod beside him acknowledged him that he was right. "And you also say that this person is no hobbit - probably because he is taller than a hobbit?" A short pause in which Frodo carefully sat up to have a peek at the stranger in front of Bag End; then another nod; "So, who else could it be?"

"I don't know," Frodo admitted, his voice still only a whisper. "We should be careful anyhow. Maybe it's… it's…," Frodo's breath tickled Bilbo's neck and the old hobbit could feel Frodo's body trembling. "A monster," he confessed, his voice shaky, "sent by a dragon to spy on you."

The loud laugh of Bilbo that followed the comment made Frodo jump. "O, you silly lad," Bilbo said within snickers. "Your mother is right. There are far too many stupid ideas in your head."

The child looked shaken. How could Bilbo make fun of it, after all he was being serious. What made his uncle so sure that there was no monster waiting for him? Could he prove it? He arrived at the decision that Bilbo could not. After all he, Frodo, was the one who had heard the many stories and knew every monster that could possibly appear. The fact that he had heard most of the stories he knew from Bilbo, the child left deliberately aside.

Bilbo hurried up the hill despite Frodo's warning, the fresh wind blowing into their faces. From afar Bilbo recognised Gandalf already, but as he pushed open the garden door and wanted to greet his old friend his concerned nephew got in first. "Are you a wizard or a dragon's spy?" he called from Bilbo's shoulder.

The old man with the grey cloak sitting on Bag End's bench and smoking a pipe, rose to his feet and slowly turned around observing in a low, melodic voice that he was certainly not the latter.

Frodo sucked in his breath, his eyes growing wide. With a desperate plucking at Bilbo's cloak he motioned the old hobbit that he wanted to be taken down, being for a moment unable to speak. The size of the person before him - not yet Gandalf, but at least no dragon's spy - was completely unbelievable. He was at least trice the size of Bilbo if one reckoned the hat he wore as well and for Frodo he looked more like a monster than the friendly and helpful wizard Bilbo had told him about.

To Frodo's relief his uncle obliged and put him on the ground again, where the child swiftly took his chance to hide behind his uncle's legs, just as he had done two days ago when he had first met Balin. From down here the man looked even taller than before. Frodo swallowed hard, his small hand in desperate search for Bilbo's which he grasped tightly once he had found it.

Gandalf smiled as he saw the scene before him. The huge eyes of the child were resting upon him, tensely waiting for him to move, while Bilbo patted him reassuringly on the shoulder to take away the fear that was written clearly on the little one's face.
"Good evening, Gandalf," Bilbo piped up turning to face him. "I'm sorry. You must excuse the unusual greeting. It seems to be a week full of unexpected things to happen."

"That I see, my friend," the wizard observed not taking his eyes from the child who seemed to be unsure if he should hide behind Bilbo or allow his curiosity to take the better of him. His cheeks shimmered red in the light of the almost sunken sun that was reflected in his eyes like a flame would be reflected by the sea. Gandalf remembered how Bilbo had told him about a child with eyes blue as the sea on his last visit almost four years ago. "You must be Bilbo's cousin Frodo, are you?"

Gandalf. That was how his uncle had called him and though the stranger had not said that he was a wizard, Frodo believed him - not only because he knew his name, a fact that should be examined more closely later. He looked too much alike to the Gandalf Bilbo had mentioned in his stories. The wizard, with his grey cloak and hat, with bushy eyebrows, a long grey beard and - what was the most obvious prove for Frodo - the staff, a long brown stick leaning beside the bench where Gandalf had been sitting.

Bilbo had bent down to him when he had so desperately tried to hide from the wizard, comforting him and reassuring him that Gandalf was no-one to be afraid of, just like Balin. He was still very nervous, the height of the wizard still reminding him more of a monster than of anything else, but he had looked into his eyes, eyes that were - though hidden by bushy eyebrows - kind and friendly. No monster would have eyes like this. "Are you the Gandalf?" Frodo finally dared to ask his heart being in his mouth. He paused looking for support in Bilbo's eyes and tightening his grip on his uncle's hand before facing the wizard again. "I mean, the same Gandalf Uncle Bilbo told me of and the same Gandalf of which Balin spoke?"
Frodo had flushed to a deep red by now but in the light of the sinking sun nobody could see it. He was fumbling with his uncle's fingers, loosening and tightening his grip on Bilbo's hand he was holding with both of his own by now. "Are you?" he asked again when Gandalf did not answer at once, though his voice was very shaky and just above a whisper. Had the wind not blown into the wizard's direction he would probably not have heard the hesitant words.

"I guess I am the one you have heard of," Gandalf answered with a wink of his eyes. "Though I wonder how Balin could have spoken of me. Has he been here lately?" Gandalf looked questioningly at Bilbo, but the old hobbit waved his hand.

"Let us talk about everything inside, Gandalf, my friend. I'm sure you have had a long journey and so have we. My feet are tired and my belly is hungry. We shall discuss everything after supper with a pipe of Old Toby beside the hearth."

That was a suggestion appealing to everyone of them, especially Frodo whose stomach grumbled loudly at the mention of supper. Still holding Bilbo's hand the child followed the old hobbit inside the smial though he kept looking over his shoulder so not to lose sight of Gandalf. His eyes grew wide as the wizard stooped to enter the small hobbit-hole. Though Bilbo had often told him about it, Frodo had always thought it impossible that one so tall would fit into Bag End, but obviously it was no problem as long as one kept the beams on the ceiling in mind, which Gandalf carefully tried to circumvent.

~*~*~

"I expect you to be clean even behind your ears, young mud lark," Bilbo waved his finger threateningly at the child who was standing beside a wash basin in the bathroom and was busy brushing a sponge over face, arms and hairy feet.

Frodo rolled his eyes, mumbling an impatient "Yes, Uncle Bilbo" and scrubbed his arms with more eagerness to make sure his uncle believed him. The old hobbit nodded contently, ruffled the boy's curls and stepped out of the bathroom.

A fire was burning in the small hearth on the opposite side of the room plunging the chamber into a warm, comforting light. Hamfast had obviously believed at least one of them would be taking a bath when they were home. Probably that would indeed have been the case had Gandalf not been sitting in front of the smial. Gandalf. Frodo could hardly believe his luck. First he had met Balin and now Gandalf the wizard was sitting in the parlour of Bag End. This was a week full of tales coming true. An excited prickle had spread itself in Frodo's belly and the child could hardly stand still since the moment Bilbo had led him into the bathroom to wash and change clothes.

Of course, he could not be done fast enough with this matter. The child was all too eager to go back into the parlour to admire their new, and enormously tall, guest. As soon as Frodo could not hear Bilbo pacing about in the hall anymore, he threw the sponge into the wash basin, put off his breeches - his shirt he had already cast into the laundry basket when Bilbo was still with him, to make sure he did not forget to wash - and jumped into his nightgown.

"You're going rather fast, my lad," that was Bilbo's voice and Frodo froze in his movements. "I doubt your feet and face are clean already."

"I am swift!" Frodo declared turning round to face his uncle. He had his head tilted just a little so not to wake any doubts as he peered at his uncle innocently.

Bilbo leaned in the doorway one half of his face lit by the fire in the hearth and gave his nephew a look that told him he should not take him for a fool. Frodo was acquainted with that gaze and lowered his eyes immediately, knowing that he had lost. "But, there is Gandalf sitting in our parlour," he observed sulkily, shifting his weight impatiently from one feet to the other.

"Yes," Bilbo answered flatly, "and the sooner your feet and face - and ears, mind me - are clean, the sooner you can go and see him."

Frodo moaned, but hurried back to the wash basin to pick up the sponge again. Shaking his head Bilbo left the bathroom and started for the kitchen. He had already fetched the last four eggs from the pantry, as he had decided to make some pancakes. "A very cunning lad he is. If you don't keep an eye on him all the time, he will trick you within seconds."

"Frodo?" asked Gandalf, who was sitting on one of the chairs, when Bilbo re-entered the kitchen.

"Yes, he was about to come to us without washing," Bilbo replied still shaking his head. "I guess he has left most of his reserve behind, now that he has already met Balin. So, don't expect having a quiet time while you're here. Frodo's not only cunning but also very inquisitive - not to mention talkative!" He smiled at Gandalf with a wink of his eye then busied himself with the preparation of the pancake pastry.

"So Balin has been here?"

"We accompanied him to Waymoot. He left the inn in the morrow heading for the Tower Hills. Seems as if some dwarves are investigating the possibility of mining in that area. Dàin sent him to see if there were any nameable resources."

Gandalf pondered those words for a moment, the light of the kitchen hearth illuminating his thoughtful face. Hamfast had lit a fire in almost every room of Bag End, making sure his master and his little guest would not be freezing and had everything they needed. Bilbo had even found a small pot of stew on the kitchen table, no doubt yet another little present of Mrs. Gamgee to make sure Frodo would have enough and decent food.

Taking the teapot from the fire and putting on the stew Bilbo filled his friend a cup full of it before turning his attention to the pancakes. The light of the sun had faded in the meantime and beside the fire there was only the glow of a lamp hanging above the stove to light the room.

"I doubt that they will find much there," Gandalf finally said taking a sip of his tea. Bilbo just shrugged and said nothing, being almost sure that the wizard was right, though he would have loved to have dwarf settlements so close to his home.
"I am clean!" Frodo announced as he entered the room, giving his uncle a long, sullen look. "I'm almost sparkling." Then, seeing Gandalf sitting in the kitchen despite his assumption that the wizard was in parlour, he gasped staring at the wizard in amazement. Gandalf did not wear his hat anymore which now hung on a peg in the hall, the long wooden staff leaning right beside it. Frodo had spent some moments admiring the wizard's belongings before he had come into the kitchen.

There he stood now, for the moment unable to speak or even move, gazing wide-eyed at the wizard. The prickle in his belly had returned and Frodo felt like bouncing with joy. Yet he did not move an inch, for there was still another feeling in his stomach. It was not exactly fear - after his first meeting with Balin he did not believe that Bilbo would belie him and that Gandalf was in fact an evil monster - but it was a feeling very close to it. Frodo stood in awe of their guest. He was, after all, a wizard and could at least strike blue light on the end of his staff. After all that was what Bilbo had told the child and Frodo was now, more than ever, willing to believe every word of it.

Carefully Frodo walked over to the table, without taking his eyes off Gandalf even for a second. "Are you," he took a deep breath to gather all his courage. "Are you going to stay?"

Gandalf smiled at the little one who was so closely observing him. "Yes, at least for tonight, I am."

"Oh," was all Frodo answered as he climbed onto the corner seat - at the far end of Gandalf, no need to take a risk. Yawning he added "You can have the room Uncle Bilbo has prepared for me, because I am sleeping in his room." The child looked questioningly at his uncle to make sure he was saying the truth and Bilbo would not suddenly abandon him, but the old hobbit nodded.

"That's very kind of you," Gandalf replied and if he would have wanted to say more he could not add it, for Frodo interrupted him.

"Can you sleep in our beds? I mean, you're so tall and--," Frodo paused in his babblings and a grin appeared on his face. "You're shrinking, aren't you? Shrinking, so that you fit into a hobbit-sized bed?"

Gandalf and Bilbo both broke into a laugh. "I'm certainly not shrinking, my dear hobbit," Gandalf said and Bilbo added. "He will sleep on the floor, as always. And I will arrange as many blankets as I can find to make him comfortable."

Frodo lifted an eyebrow and looked at his uncle with a somewhat disappointed expression. That was a far more un-magical way of sleeping than he had expected. There was nothing spectacular in sleeping on the floor. Frodo watched Gandalf from the corner of his eye as the wizard talked to his uncle again. To tell the truth Gandalf did not look very magical either. Maybe he was a special wizard who hid all his immense powers? Or, maybe he had no power at all - except for the blue light striking on the end of his staff that is?

And there was another matter. Gandalf had known his name though they had never met before. Frodo was just about to ask the wizard out about his secret powers when Bilbo put a plate with pancakes on the table and his attentions were drawn to the food. The child's stomach grumbled loudly. He had, after all, not eaten since teatime and that was now hours ago. His questions could wait - first there was a more urgent need that needed to be taken care of. Greedily he reached out for one of the cakes but Bilbo slapped his fingers. Startled Frodo looked at his uncle who reminded him that the pancakes were still hot and that he had to wait until their guest had his plate filled. "Guests are always first, my lad, mind that."

To Frodo's relief it did not take long for Bilbo to fill Gandalf's plate and the old hobbit soon piled up pancakes on his own which the child eagerly held out. They ate in silence, all three of them being busy emptying and refilling their plates. Frodo especially grew uncommonly quiet - usually being one to not even stop chattering while having a meal, least not when there was a guest he could pester with questions.

When he had finished his supper, Bilbo smiled lovingly at the child whose eyes were dropping closed even while eating. Frodo blinked drowsily, suppressing a yawn when he felt Bilbo's gaze upon him sneaking a glance at the old hobbit to make sure his uncle did not notice. "I'm not tired," he declared when he noticed his uncle's knowing expression. Frodo had his eyes wide open, but his body betrayed him for he could not stifle another yawn and had difficulties in opening his eyes again once they fell closed.

Bilbo nodded. "Come, I shall bring you to bed."

"But," the child protested half-heartedly as Bilbo lifted him onto his arms. "Gandalf."

"I will still be here tomorrow," the wizard promised wishing the child a good night.

Frodo leaned his head on Bilbo's shoulder as the old hobbit carried him into his bedroom. Once they had left the dim light of the kitchen and walked into the dark hall Frodo could keep his eyes open no longer and was almost asleep when Bilbo tucked the blankets about him and kissed his brow. Bilbo sat for a moment on Frodo's bed and once again he felt his heart warm with love for his nephew.

Chapter Ten: Powerful Wizard

7. Forelithe 1374

He woke early in the morning. It was not that the bed Bilbo had prepared was uncomfortable - quite the contrary! It was far more comfortable than anything he had slept on the past few months, but Gandalf had always been one to rise early. He stretched his back as he walked down the hallway and into the parlour where he kneeled down by the fireside and rekindled the glowing embers. Long had Bilbo and he been sitting beside the fire the evening before and had talked about past adventures and the comings and goings outside the Shire. Bilbo was always eager to learn the news from beyond the borders of his land and Gandalf was willing to tell them - at least parts of them.

The sun had not even risen and there was only a pale shimmer on the eastern sky announcing that the new day was not too far anymore. Gandalf sat in one of Bilbo's armchairs in the living room and closed his eyes for a moment. He loved the peace and quiet of Bag End. The hobbit-hole had become a place of rest for him, a place where he could forget about his worries for a few hours. His eyes caught sight of Sting hanging above the mantelpiece. It was a good place for a sword that would probably never be used again.

A log was swallowed by the flames and an odd crackle filled the room. But there was something else. Gandalf's brow creased as he slowly turned around. Eyes, hidden by a mop of dark brown hair rested upon him curiously. Frodo stood in the doorway, his right hand resting on the doorframe and his nightgown, which probably had been white once but was now more of a greyish colour glimmered red in the light of the fire. Frodo's head was hidden in shadow but Gandalf could see that the curly hair was tousled with dark curls going into every direction. "Good morning," he greeted the child.

A smile appeared on the still somnolent face and Frodo slowly scuffed to Gandalf's side, his curious eyes shimmering delightedly in the dim light. "Good morning," the young hobbit greeted. "Have you slept well?"

"That I have," Gandalf said with a smile. "I have not had such a good night's rest in months."

Frodo frowned. "Why are you up then already?"

"I have never been one to sleep long," the wizard explained and Frodo was disappointed to see that there would not be another, longer answer.

He looked at the wizard for a moment wondering if he might say more or asked some questions of his own, but Gandalf did not seem one to ask many questions and so Frodo climbed into an armchair next to his new guest. The child was almost sinking in the soft cushions of the chair and Frodo snuggled against the soft cover of the furniture. Once he was comfortable, he stared at the wizard again suddenly remembering his questions from the former evening but not yet awake enough to ask them.

Gandalf, gazing into the flames, was beginning to feel uncomfortable under the watchful eyes of the child and shifted his weight. The fire crackled and the shadow of the flames danced on the wall and the faces of the two unlikely people. He looked at the child from under his bushy eyebrows. "Are you always piercing strangers with your eyes?"

Frodo blushed furiously, heat rising from his neck to the tip of his ears. He shook his head tentatively. "Not always," he stammered shyly lowering his head only to lift it again a moment later, "only if it is somebody of particular interest."

"And you think I am of particular interest."

The child nodded vigorously, his eyes shining. "You're a wizard."

Gandalf's eyebrow rose in cognition and a smile stole across the grave face. "Now, how could I forget about that? Go on then, what do you want to know? And don't tell me there is nothing you want to ask. I can see it in your eyes that there are at least three questions you want me to answer."

Gandalf could not know that he was going to regret those words. Alas, how should he have known about the inquisitiveness of this particular hobbitlad? Once the first tentative steps were taken nobody could stop the young Baggins from asking whatever question or telling whatever nonsense that came to his mind. Bilbo had warned him after all and now he, Gandalf, walked straight into his first day without rest in Bag End.

Frodo's questions were many, beginning with how the wizard knew his name without him telling it first. The fact that Gandalf only knew about it because Bilbo had told him earlier was rather humble and in Frodo's opinion absolutely not magical.

Magic. Gandalf soon found out that this was the keyword to Frodo's questions. All his inquiries boiled down to one thing: what kind of powers did he have and how far could they be considered magical. Once Gandalf knew what Frodo was driving at - which did not take very long to find out - he grew rather canny in avoiding certain answers, telling only as much as he had to and skilfully circumventing the facts he did not want the child to know.

Frodo, however, was not easily fooled and soon observed with a knowing glimmer in his eyes that Gandalf was not answering his questions. He was, after all, very practised himself in avoiding answers to certain questions, especially when Mr. Proudfoot's plum tree was involved.

Bilbo was the one to rescue Gandalf from his awkward situation by coming into the room and proclaiming that Frodo was already getting on their guest's nerves even before he had breakfast. Frodo's face took on a deep red immediately but Gandalf ruffled his hair and explained that Frodo was not getting on his nerves but made it his business to keep him entertained until his sluggardy uncle would finally wake up. It was Bilbo's turn to blush at that comment, and Frodo's to giggle.

~*~*~

"You know, we have tadpoles in our pond," Frodo explained and Bilbo almost choked on his tea.

Gandalf looked at the old hobbit with a frown as Bilbo coughed. "I doubt that Gandalf is interested in your tadpoles, my lad."

"Of course he is, aren't you, Gandalf?" Frodo first looked insulted at Bilbo then turned to Gandalf with a hopeful expression.

The wizard raised an eyebrow looking from one face to the other. Bilbo rolled his eyes and shook his head while Frodo's expression was full of hope and joy. "Well," he hesitated, wondering if he could allow himself another mistake like the encouragement of Frodo's unceasing questions. He decided that he could. "Why should I not be interested in them?"

A victorious smile brightened the already sparkling eyes of Frodo. "We have hundreds and hundreds of tadpoles. I found them only minutes before mommy brought me to Uncle Bilbo. I already asked him if he would like to have a pond - and tadpoles, of course - of his own, but he wasn't very pleased about that thought and still isn't. Maybe you could--"

Bilbo sighed and sipped his tea. Yet again he found himself wondering how long it would take his nephew to abandon the thought of both pond and tadpoles in Bag End's garden. He chuckled as he noticed Gandalf's stunned expression bidding him for help. "No, my friend," Bilbo thought and took another sip of his tea, "I have warned you already and you would not listen. I can do no more."

It was now one hour past lunch and Gandalf and Bilbo were sitting on the bench in front of Bag End smoking their pipes and enjoying each other's company. Frodo had been sitting with them at times joining their talks and asking questions of his own. The two old friends talked about many a thing in and outside the Shire but while Frodo was with them their topics were utterly different. The child was the one who decided about what to speak steering the conversation skilfully round to his interests. Of course, the matter of how magical Gandalf, the wizard was, was one of the most important topics though the child was rather disappointed by the answers. Somehow Gandalf's replies where all too logical to be magical as well. Yet, when Gandalf asked him what he meant by a magical answer, Frodo did not know what to say and went back to play with his carved animals in the grass.

Soon, however, the child returned again bringing their conversation back to the topic that seemed most important to him lately. Though Frodo had told Gandalf about his pond already he seemed to be convinced that Gandalf also wanted to know how the pond came into being and - this with a sideways glance to Bilbo - how wonderful it was to have tadpoles too. Bilbo thought that soon half the Shire would know about the tadpoles in the Baggins' pond - and if Gandalf passed the story on half of Middle-earth would as well.

A bee buzzed past them landing on one of Hamfast's white lilies. The gardener had the day off to spend some time with his family. It was a sunny and warm day smelling of flowers and summer. The wind that had caressed the fields and hills of the Shire for days now was still blowing gently though its powers grew less and would soon be all faded to leave the land to the sun's heat.

"Balin's beard is tended better than yours," Frodo told, brushing his fingers through Gandalf's grey beard. He was sitting on the wizard's lap, being as fascinated of Gandalf's beard as he had been of Balin's, fingers combing through the grey strands and curious eyes examining every inch of shaggy hair.

"Is that so?" Gandalf raised an eyebrow. "Well, after all he is a dwarf, isn't he? And I'm not." Gandalf had resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn't find any rest in Bag End and was amused by Frodo's merry chatter.

Frodo nodded. "His beard is softer. But don't you worry, Gandalf. In return your hat is much more beautiful than Balin's hood which is rather boring." The wizard laughed and Frodo's eyes lit up, his fingers stopping their constant combing of Gandalf's beard. "Can I play with it?"

"My hat is no toy, my dear hobbit," Gandalf pointed out.

"I know," Frodo declared nodding to show that he really knew what Gandalf wanted to say to him. "It's a wizard's hat and one has to be very careful with it because no wizard is complete without his hat and --" the child's eyes shone even brighter than before as he looked into the wizard's face. "Can it do any magical tricks? Is it a magical hat?"

Bilbo chuckled as Gandalf tousled the lad's dark curls. "I doubt that there is anything magical about the hat. Go then and play with it, but be careful! After all it is a wizard's hat."

Cheering Frodo jumped down from Gandalf's lap and hurried into the hobbit-hole. Bilbo relit his pipe and puffed, his eyes following his nephew. "You make him very happy with your permission to take your hat."

Gandalf smiled and looked down at the party field behind Bag End. "I know."

Frodo rushed into the hallway, his eyes sparkling with joy, his heart pounding with excitement. He, Frodo Baggins, was allowed to wear a wizard's hat! Trembling with excitement he glanced up at the peg where the hat was hanging and reached out his hand, standing on his tiptoes to get hold of it. Carefully he grabbed the hat and pulled it down from the peg to just hold it for a moment. His inquisitive fingers caressed it like they would caress the greatest treasure in the world. The grey garment was soft to the touch and felt very warm. Surely Gandalf would never freeze when wearing it.

A shiver of delight ran through the little hobbit, as he dashed past Gandalf's staff into the garden putting the hat on his head and screaming "Here comes Frodo, the powerful wizard of the Shire!"

As soon as those words were said the hat slipped down Frodo's face until its brim was just underneath the young hobbit's chin. Gandalf and Bilbo laughed and shook their heads. Shooting his two observers an insulted glance Frodo pulled the hat up again and repeated his former outcry, this time without any embarrassing incidents. Yet, as soon as he dashed off in search of an adventure for the new-born wizard the hat slipped down again, covering his entire face so that everything before him went grey.
"Silly lad," Bilbo said shaking his head and laughing. Gandalf chuckled, his eyes following Frodo as the child disappeared on the other side of the garden, wondering how long it would take Frodo to abandon the hat because of its huge size - at least for a hobbitlad.

Frodo, in the meantime, sneaked about the garden telling himself the story of Frodo, the powerful wizard on his adventure to save the world from all evil, be it dragons or burglars or any other mean creatures, like goblins or that slimy Gollum who had threatened his uncle to eat him. Of course, he did not mention that Frodo, the powerful had problems with his hat which kept slipping down and had to be rearranged every three steps.

~*~*~

Frodo hid behind a bush. He had sneaked about the garden for almost two hours and was now near the bench where his uncle and Gandalf were still talking to each other. Frodo wondered what the two of them had to talk about that they could speak for hours without even pausing for a little treat. He himself had allowed his belly such a treat, had sneaked off into the kitchen in the course of storytelling and had secretly eaten one of the leftover pancakes they had had in the morning.

"Frodo sat behind a bush, observing the two goblins talking over their new plan to attack the dwarves that were mining in the mountain. Frodo knew he could conquer them but there was only one way," the child lifted his head sneaking glances to both sides. Lowering his voice he whispered, "He needed his staff."

Casting another glance to his uncle and Gandalf Frodo grabbed for the brim of the wizard's hat and silently dashed off into the other direction running around the smial and then silently disappearing inside. Gandalf could strike blue light on the end of his staff - if he could do the same? Of course he had never seen Gandalf doing anything magical with his staff, but his uncle had and that was all Frodo needed to know. Who knew what great wonders he could work with not only the wizard's hat but also his staff?

Standing in the hallway Frodo found himself staring admiringly at the staff leaning against the wall. It was made of wood and looked rather common, nothing too magical. It was not even specifically curved, but looked just like a regular branch of a tree that had been burnished so Gandalf would not get a splinter into his finger. Yet, although Gandalf had not shown anything magical all day, Frodo was sure everything was camouflage and Gandalf only needed to whisper some words and to swing his staff and everything bad would turn into good.

The heart of the hobbit was pounding fast as he listened intently and glanced stealthily to every side before carefully reaching out for the magical item. He was still wearing Gandalf's hat but had let go of its brim as he was too enchanted by the staff to care for anything else. The world stood still. There was nothing but his pounding heart, his trembling fingers and the staff leaning against the wall. A truly magical moment.

"That's no toy for little hobbits!"

Frodo shrieked, his heart skipping a beat. The stern voice came from nowhere and yet from everywhere at the same time. He felt movements beside him and something brushed his shoulder but he could not see what it was. The hat had slipped down again and covered his head from chin upwards. The world was grey. Whatever thing had touched his shoulder was gone again, there had been a sound of wood hitting wood and the voice still rang in Frodo's frightened ears. He backed away, his bottom hitting something hard, then he stumbled and fell.

He gasped and yelped, desperately trying to get rid of the hat but his shock made him clumsy and he didn't succeed at the first try which frightened him even more. What if the hat had suddenly woken to life and was now trying to capture him - to eat him or turn him into a strange creature like Gollum? Panic seized him and he called for his uncle between desperate shrieks.

Finally he succeeded in getting rid of the hat and with an angry and frightened outcry cast it into the corner and dashed away. Fortunately his uncle was already standing in the doorway, ready to catch and soothe him.

Gandalf was stunned. He had not intended to frighten the little one but obviously he had succeeded in just this. Frodo screamed, bumped against his knee and fell on the floor with a thud and a frightened shriek. All he had wanted was to see if Frodo was not up to any mischief for that Bilbo feared when he noticed that he had not seen his nephew for at least half hour. Gandalf said he would have a look for Frodo inside while Bilbo would walk around the garden. He had seen Frodo right when he came inside, reaching out for his staff and a moment later, after he had regained his staff, Frodo was sitting on the floor fighting with his hat. Gandalf wanted to help him but Frodo got rid of it himself and just in that moment Bilbo appeared in the doorway looking no less paralysed than Frodo did.

Frodo burst into tears as soon as he stumbled into his uncle's arms mumbling incoherent words between hiccupping sobs and sniffs. Bilbo, a dark shadow in the doorway with the sunlight in his back, looked at Gandalf accusingly with eyes that spoke volumes, promising to hurt everybody who hurt Frodo ten times as much.

Gandalf could do nothing but stand idly, watching Bilbo soothing Frodo and waiting for the child to calm. Picking up his hat from the floor he brushed some dust away and hung it on the peg. Maybe allowing Frodo to use his hat had not been a good idea at all. He should have known that young hobbitlads are only up to mischief, especially one as curious as Frodo.

The young hobbit turned to face Gandalf, his eyes glittering with tears. "It tried to turn me into something nasty!" he cried out, stifling a sob and burying his face in his uncle's jacket.

Bilbo had lifted Frodo onto his arm and rocked him gently murmuring soothing words. One of Frodo's small hands clung to his jacket the other to the collar of his shirt. The old hobbit cast a puzzled look at Gandalf, but the wizard could do nothing but shrug. Whether they wished it or not, they had to wait for Frodo to calm and tell them why he was so petrified.

They did not have to wait too long until Frodo calmed enough to tell them about the evil hat which had robbed him the gift of sight and then had threatened him. Bilbo could only frown but Gandalf's confused expression lit up and he could tell both, Bilbo and Frodo what truly had happened. Bilbo was relieved unlike Frodo.
"No more wizards," the child told his uncle leaning against him and wiping his eyes with Bilbo's jacket. For today the lad had had enough of wizards and their queer belongings.

Chapter Eleven: Farewells and Revelations

8. Forelithe 1374

He was sitting on Bilbo's lap, head resting against his uncle's breast, warm arms wrapped about him, holding him, protecting him. The fire was glowing in the hearth plunging the room into a comforting shimmer of red and yellow. The light was reflected by the blade of his uncle's sword hanging above the mantelpiece. It was silent in the parlour for neither Gandalf nor Bilbo spoke. Apparently they had run out of topics. He was silent as well, for he was too tired to speak, though he would never admit it.

Gandalf sat in an armchair beside them smoking his pipe, obviously deep in thought. Frodo could see his eyes shimmer under his bushy eyebrows. The wizard was blowing smoke-rings absentmindedly and so was his uncle, but Gandalf's smoke-rings were special. They were of different colours - one blue and the next green - and of different sizes. Small smoke-rings were chasing bigger ones and went right through them before coming back to hover over the wizard's head.

Frodo was enchanted by the presentation, stunned eyes resting on the green smoke, looking like a thundercloud, above the wizard's head. Yet, in the dim light of the parlour and with eerie shadows dancing on the walls - especially those behind Gandalf and the cloud of green smoke - the lad was not only amazed but frightened as well and snuggled closer to his uncle, reaching out for the old hobbit's hand so that he would have a tighter hold on him.

His lids grew heavy and soon his eyes closed despite his efforts to keep them open. He knew Bilbo was smiling when he felt his hands caressing his cheeks and he snuggled even closer finally giving in to his body's yearnings and drifting away from the fireside, the parlour and Bag End landing in the warm comfort of his dreams.

But now he was back from the land of dreams and only his mind was still holding on to the former evening when Bilbo had fulfilled his promise and had allowed him to stay up long. Frodo blinked and pulled the blanket over his head. Right at the moment it was far more comfortable to lie in the warm softness of his bed than to get up and greet the new day.

Sunlight streamed into the bedroom, illuminating the shelf with Bilbo's books and rolls. A mop of dark brown curls looked forth from underneath the blanket as Bilbo entered the room. "Good morning," the old hobbit announced when he heard a grumbling from the bed.

The blanket was thrown back and Frodo sat up. The child looked as if he had made very close contact with lightening. If Bilbo could tell Frodo's dark mop looked worse than on any other day. Primula was right: the little one's hair was all but easy to tame. Frodo did not answer but tilted his head and stretched out his arms waiting for his uncle to hug him. Bilbo obediently went over to the bed to pull his nephew into a strong hug, stroking his back and combing his finger through the obstinate dark curls.

Frodo buried his face in his uncle's arms and heaved a content sigh. It was almost the same like at home though he was missing his mother terribly. Were she and his father well again? What about his tadpoles? Had his parents looked after them? He heaved another sigh, deeper this time and filled with longing.

Bilbo noticed it immediately. "What is it, my boy? Are you feeling unwell?"

Slowly turning his head Frodo looked into his uncle's eyes. The night had left some traces on him and his left cheek where he had lain on the cushion was wrinkled. The child blinked, sea blue eyes still glimmering with sleep, and shook his head. "I thought about mommy and dad," he admitted a whiff of sadness in his voice. "Do you think they are well again?"

"Maybe," Bilbo answered his heart aching with the longing he saw in Frodo's eyes. The poor child was still too young to be parted for long from his parents. "I'm sure they will come soon. Once they are feeling up to it they'll be standing in front of the door eager to see you again."

Frodo nodded and nestled into his uncle's arms, eyes closed. "Where's Gandalf?" he mumbled after a long silence.

"He's outside discussing the planting of cauliflower with Hamfast, I think."

"Is Master Hamfast here already?" the child asked, lifting his head.

Bilbo nodded. "It's almost time for elevenses. Gandalf will be leaving soon but he wanted to wait until a certain sleepyhead got out of his bed as well." He winked.

"He's leaving?" Frodo pulled himself up to a sitting position, looking sad and confused. "Why? He said he liked it here, so why does he go?" He looked at his uncle with a bewildered expression.

"Gandalf never stays in one place for a long time, my lad," Bilbo told him. "He is travelling Middle-earth from north to south to east and west. Whenever he is near the Shire he drops by but seldom longer than for a few days."

"He only arrived the day before yesterday," Frodo observed seeing no reason for Gandalf leaving so soon.

"Well, I fear, Gandalf has already decided."

Frodo got to his feet. "Do you think I can convince him to stay?"

"You may try," Bilbo answered, seeing hope glimmer within Frodo's eyes. He was unwilling to spoil those hopes though he knew Frodo would probably not succeed in winning Gandalf over. "Yet, I doubt that you can change his mind."

"We shall see!" Frodo called and dashed out of the room, his heart full of hope. He ran out of the smial and almost bumped into Gandalf who was on his way back inside after a long conversation with Bag End's gardener. "Good morning, Gandalf! Will you not stay a bit longer?" That was rather direct but Frodo could think of nothing better in a hurry.

"Careful, lad!" Gandalf admonished. "You can't catch up with the hours you have slept away like this."

The sun was shining brightly and Frodo was dazzled by its light. The garden sparkled in all colours and in the midst of a sea of flowers Frodo could see Hamfast picking some limp leaves and blossoms. He waved at him and the gardener waved back with a cheerful "Good morning, little master!" But Frodo's attention was back on Gandalf immediately, eyes resting huge and pleading on the wizard's face.

Gandalf looked at him for a moment, brow creased as if pondering the child's words, but then he shook his head. "I fear I can't accept your offer, Frodo. I have some things to do outside the Shire."

"Can't they wait until…," Frodo hesitated looking hopefully at Gandalf, head tilted to one side, "…tomorrow?" Gandalf chuckled and tousled his hair, but unfortunately he shook his head. Bilbo had been right: it was not easy to convince Gandalf. Yet Frodo did not want to give up and opened his mouth to have another try but the words that came out were utterly different. "Do you have to learn things about something magical? Will you have to use magic?"

Frodo frowned, being for the moment totally stunned by his own words. Gandalf laughed out loud and that was enough for Frodo's curiosity to defeat his bewilderment. "I don't know if there is anything magical about it, but I shall not learn it if I stay at Bag End, will I? So, I fear, I have to leave."

The child did not answer, but allowed Gandalf to lead him back into the smial. When they arrived in the kitchen and sat down Frodo glanced at the fire in the hearth and sighed. "You will come back and tell me about whatever magic you may find? Will you?"

Gandalf smiled and nodded. Jumping down from his chair Frodo walked over to Gandalf and sat down on the wizards lap, hugging him tightly. The child knew now that he could not convince Gandalf to stay longer but the fact that the reason for his departure might be something magical made it somewhat easier for him, though he was sad that he had to say farewell after such a short time. "Please come back soon," he whispered as he nestled his face into Gandalf's beard."

"I will return as soon as I can," Gandalf promised and stroked the child's dark curls. He smiled wondering at how fast he had grown attached to the lad despite his inquisitive and talkative nature or maybe because of it? He could not tell. He only knew that Frodo was special and he was sure they would meet again whether by accident or not.

The fire crackled and Gandalf lifted his head to see Bilbo standing in the doorway. He smiled broadly and his eyes spoke volumes. Gandalf knew the old hobbit was thinking the same as he did. This was not their last meeting.

~*~*~

There were no clouds in the sky. The smell of hay lingered in the air and bees buzzed merrily across Bag End's garden. Three young boys, one taller and older than the other two ran across the meadow playing tag, when Bilbo stepped out of the smial carrying a tray with a mug of elder juice and five glasses on it. "Careful!" he called out when all three hobbits dashed passed him, Halfred rebuking his older brother of running too fast for his short legs to keep up.

Their play of tag, however, quickly came to an end when the young hobbits noticed the juice and they came running to Bilbo's side everyone of them picking a glass from the tray and bidding Bilbo to fill it. Hamfast had just finished planting the cauliflower in the kitchen garden and joined them, taking a glass of juice himself, when Frodo suddenly jumped up, his bright blue eyes shining with joy, and dashed to the garden door.

Primula and Drogo came walking up the hill both of them smiling broadly when they saw their son. Primula reached out her hands to catch him and lift him up. "Oh, my dear boy! My Frodo! Has your uncle looked after you well? Have you missed your mommy?" she bubbled between endless kisses on Frodo's forehead, cheeks, nose, chin and entire face. There was no doubt where Frodo's talkative nature came from. Primula hugged her child and kissed him over and over again, unwilling to ever let go of him. Even Drogo who was eager to greet his son as well had no chance of separating the mother from her child again.

"Hello Drogo!" Bilbo called out coming over to join them. Drogo answered the greeting but a moment later his impatient eyes were back on Primula, or rather, his son but the two of them were still unwilling to part, though Frodo, who at first had kissed his mother as well, looked now rather unpleased with the many kisses his mother was giving him. Finally the child reached out his hands to be taken into his fathers arms - with hope of thus escaping the kisses - but unfortunately his father flooded him with kisses as well, though with less than his mother had done.

"I hope he has behaved well," Primula said after she had greeted Bilbo and they walked over to the bench, Frodo walking between her and her husband holding each by the hand.

"That he did!" Bilbo assured with a chuckle.

Primula eyed the old hobbit suspiciously. She had not yet abandoned all her doubts about Bilbo's qualities in childminding even though Frodo did look no worse than a mother could wish. She tousled her son's curls as she sat down on the bench.

Hamfast in the meantime had gotten up from the bench and greeted Frodo's parents. "Me sons and I will leave you, Master Bilbo," he said already heading for the garden door.

"You can stay," Bilbo and Drogo assured simultaneously making Frodo and Hamfast's younger son Halfred giggle.

"Nay," he answered. "We shall go home. You've guests and I don't wanna bother you with me children. Besides, Bell will already be waitin' for us to come home. Need to repair a chair that broke down yestereve. Don't know how he did it but Hamson here managed to break it." The young hobbit standing beside his father blushed to a deep red, his younger brother giggling.

Bilbo nodded. He could understand his gardener's arguments though he was sure that would stay a little longer if Primula and Drogo had not come - broken down chair or no. Thus the four of them sat down on the bench. Bilbo had also taken three chairs from the kitchen - two to sit upon and one for the tray.

Frodo was sitting on the bench between his parents, leaning against his mother's arm in this moment and against his father's in the next. His bright eyes were sparkling with joy of finally being with his parents again.

"So, what have the two of you done all week?" Primula asked looking first at Frodo then at Bilbo.

The old hobbit chuckled again. "We had a quite adventurous week, hadn't we, my lad?" He winked and Frodo giggled again nodding vigorously.

Primula frowned. She was not yet sure if she liked the word 'adventurous' especially in combination with Bilbo and her son. Casting an unsure look at her husband she raised an eyebrow wondering if maybe he knew the answer to the riddle the two other Bagginses seemed to share. But Drogo looked innocent - like her son would look innocent when she had watched him stealing Mr. Proudfoot's plums and approached him about it. She did not trust that look.

"First there was Balin," that was Frodo who began with his first, rather short account of the events of the past week. "He is huge, mommy, but not half as tall as Gandalf. Anyway, Uncle Bilbo and I accompanied him to Waymoot. My very first adventure - going on a journey with a dwarf! And when we returned home the other day I met Gandalf who was--"

"You did what?!" Primula called out being utterly perplex. She had needed some time to order the words that flooded out from her son's mouth. "You walked all the way to Waymoot with a dwarf as companion?!" She could only just keep herself from asking Bilbo if he had gone mad.

"Dad allowed it!" Frodo announced hoping to thus calm his mother's sudden belligerent mood.

Drogo bit his lip and shot both Bilbo and his son a glance looking innocently at his furious wife. Had he perhaps forgotten to tell her about it? Well, he had all reasons to, seeing her eyes now. If Frodo had not been with them right then he guessed, she would burst into an angry bubble of words telling him how care- and witless he had acted in allowing Frodo to accompany a dwarf. A dwarf! Drogo could almost hear her voice though Primula remained silent her eyes piercing him and speaking volumes. He managed a weak smile. "Balin looked really nice and after all, Frodo was not alone with him but had Bilbo as well and I didn't see any harm coming from it."

Primula's eyes told him that she had supposed he had not seen any harm coming from it. But she did! Involuntary she pulled her child closer to her, shooting Bilbo a glance that made the old hobbit shrink on his chair, but still said nothing.

"Balin is really nice, mommy," Frodo assured her, eyes sparkling at the memory of his journey with the dwarf. "He knows wonderful stories." He sighed leaning against his mother's arm.

Drogo smiled winking at Bilbo and looked at his wife and son from the corner of his eyes. That content, dreamy look on Frodo's face would melt away Primula's anger and she would see not only the frightening aspects of such a journey but also the beautiful ones - like he had done when he had allowed Frodo to accompany the dwarf.

Primula sighed and stroked her son's cheeks. At least he seemed to be happy about the journey and if Bilbo - or Balin - had managed to make him walk as far as Waymoot then there had to be something about it. She would very much like to get to know that Balin herself. Maybe he wasn't that bad a fellow after all. "What else did you do?"

Frodo's eyes lit up and he sat up straight again a smile brightening his face. "When we arrived at home Gandalf was sitting on the bench right where we are sitting now."

"Gandalf?" Primula raised an eyebrow and so did Drogo. "Gandalf, the wizard?" Both parents cast a questioning look at Bilbo who proudly nodded, though the old hobbit feared Primula's wrath. Hopefully Frodo's account of the past week would not infuriate her any more.

Frodo nodded vigorously again. "Exactly! But he isn't very magical, except for his hat that was…"

"… pointy!" Bilbo finished the sentence and shot Frodo a look telling the child to be silent. Frodo understood though he seemed confused why his uncle was unhappy with him telling of what he had experienced in the past week. "Anyone wants more elder juice? Or some tea maybe? Biscuits?"

"Biscuits!" Frodo popped up grinning from one ear to the other. The mere mention of food made him forget about what he had wanted to talk about.

Primula frowned. "You're hiding something, Bilbo Baggins! And I shall learn what it is. If anything has happened to my dear you shall never be happy in your life again."

Bilbo grinned innocently as he stood up and fetched the tray, though he knew very well that Primula would hunt him if anything had happened to Frodo. But Frodo was all right, wasn't he? So, there was no need to worry.

Drogo watched Bilbo disappear in the smial before facing his son. "Did you enjoy your stay at Bag End?"

"Yes, very much," Frodo answered, eyes sparkling. "Can I come again soon?"

Drogo smiled contently, looking at his wife. "See, I told you that there was nothing to worry about when he is with Bilbo. The old hobbit loves him and looks after him as well as we would - even if there are dwarves and wizards."

He did not say those words out loud but Primula understood them anyhow. "Maybe you're right," she answered and kissed him. Frodo smiled at them with a knowing glance. Primula ruffled his curls making him giggle. "My little rascal!" she laughed.

Yes, with Bilbo her child was in good hands.

~THE END~