It was a most pleasant day in Buckland, a most pleasant day indeed. Sun shining, birds singing, sweet soft wind rustling leaves as it passed. Most pleasant of all, it was a birthday. It was, in fact, a double birthday. 22 Halimath, 1389 being the 99th birthday of Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End and the 21st birthday of Master Frodo Baggins of Brandy Hall.

There was, of course, a great deal of celebrating. Hobbits know what a good celebration should be: Food, Drink, Music; with one’s friends and family about to share it all. All of these ingredients were in place on this particular early autumn day. And of course, there were presents as well, as appropriate to a birthday. The ones Frodo gave were mostly small, of moderate expense and Shire-made. As usual Bilbo’s gifts, especially to closer friends and favorite youngsters, were unusual, expensive and made in far off places.

The hours of the day and the crowd dwindled down until Bilbo and Frodo found themselves, as was their habit on these occasions, alone in the small parlor that was part of Bilbo’s rooms when he visited the Hall. The scene had changed a bit as the years had progressed. Once it had been of a young lad sitting on the elder’s lap listening wide-eyed to stories of wild adventures. Then it was a hurting youth and the elder sitting near to one another on the sofa, each reading a book, with either a young head on an old shoulder or an old arm laid across young shoulders. Last year the scene was of a new tweenager who had come to terms with his lot in life and decided to find joy in his world, sitting with the elder as they played a quiet game of chess. They sipped small brandies, mingling the smooth rich flavor with the fragrant smoke of Longbottom Leaf. This year was the same as the last. Life was good between the two dear friends.

Frodo moved his bishop that traveled the white squares back toward his side of the board to avoid immanent capture. “We’ve not yet exchanged gifts, Bilbo.”

The old hobbit smiled. The tween had been near to bursting to say something on the matter but had managed to hold his anxiousness until they were alone. Bilbo exhaled a thin stream of smoke as he moved a knight and captured one of Frodo’s rooks. “What, Frodo, and lose my advantage by keeping your thoughts distracted?”

“Bilbo!”

“I suppose we can take a break from our game, though it will quite disturb the flow of it.”

The tween slumped a bit. “That is a good point, Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo sighed. “It can wait till the game is finished.”

“On the other hand . . .”

“Yes?” The lad’s head came up, a hopeful gleam in his bright blue eyes.

“I do seem to be having a bit of trouble concentrating on the game myself.” Bilbo then adopted a grand manner. “Shall we adjourn to the more comfortable chairs by the fire to further enjoy the blessings of fruit and leaf while we exchange gifts?” He bowed to Frodo as he gestured toward the high-backed chairs by the hearth. Frodo rose and returned the bow. As they chuckled, the move was made to the overstuffed chairs.

“Well?” Frodo had not leaned back in his chair, excitement keeping him on its edge. Bilbo took a long slow draw on his pipe before making any attempt at answering. Frodo fidgeted. “Uncle?”

“You go first this year, my lad.”

Frodo nodded before hopping up to get Bilbo’s gift from the pocket of his jacket that hung by the door. He handed his Uncle a small, simply wrapped, package. “I found this the last time Merry and I visited at Great Smials. Aunt Esmeralda said she doubted anyone there would miss it and that you would most likely treasure it.”

Bilbo’s eyes questioned Frodo before turning their attention to the package. Removing the wrapping revealed a small book. Embossed in gold on the dark green leather cover it read, “Took Verse by Belladonna Took.” Bilbo ran his fingers gently over the golden words.

“I thought you would like this memento your mother. They are wonderful poems, Uncle Bilbo.”

The old hobbit opened to a random page.

Green Hills in the Tookland east
Green pastures in our west.
Green trees giving shade to
Green glades in
Green woods, lovingly viewed by my
Green, Took eyes.

Bilbo closed his hazel eyes and his Mother’s book of verse. “Thank you, Frodo. Thank you my dear boy.” He sat a few moments in thought. “Take your seat, Frodo, it’s time for you to receive my gift to you.” Frodo sat once again on the edge of his chair.

“Your gift, Frodo, cannot be put in a bag nor a box, so I fear you have nothing to open. I hope that doesn’t diminish your excitement.”

“No, Uncle. I rather think it is making it worse.” The tween’s eyes sparkled and danced with light from the fire and excitement. Bilbo’s twinkled in return.

“You aren’t a child anymore, my boy. Not of age yet to be sure, but no longer a child and as such able to make some of your own decisions. I’ve spoken with Saradoc and Esme and this has met their approval. All that remains is for you to decide.”

Frodo’s mind was spinning.

“I have thought well and long upon it,” Bilbo continued, “and my feeling is this, that it would be better for you to come and live at Bag End, Frodo my lad, and then we can celebrate our birthday-parties comfortably together.”

The tweenager sat there, eyes wide, mouth open, unable to speak. Nearly unable to think. But gradually the fog of surprise cleared and the idea began to appear pleasant enough. “Live with you, Uncle Bilbo? Just you and I at Bag End? Live there permanently?”

Bilbo restrained himself from laughing at the lad’s expression. “Yes, it would be permanent, if you wish it to be. I’m finding, as time has passed, that I miss good company about me and you are the best company I’ve found. Do you need time to think it over, lad?”

Frodo fairly leapt the distance between their chairs in order to enthusiastically embrace his favorite Uncle.

“Yes! No! I mean . . . no, I don’t need any time to think it over and yes that I accept. I’ll be a proper Baggins at last!” The lad let go and began to walk excitedly about the small room. “I’ll have all the time in the world to read and write and walk about exploring. My time will be all my own. It will be like being on endless holiday.” He turned back to once again hug Bilbo. “How soon do I get to move? At once I hope.”

“As I wasn’t sure of your decision, Frodo, I haven’t made all of the necessary arrangements.” Bilbo gently pushed Frodo out of their hug. “I will leave tomorrow, two days travelling, a few to sort things out. I will expect you seven days from tomorrow, my boy, 29th Halimath, in the evening. Now off you go to tell Esmeralda and Saradoc. And Frodo,” Bilbo added, stopping Frodo just before he put his hand on the door knob. “Remember to be gentle when you tell young Merry. He is quite fond of you and will most likely not share your excitement.”

“Yes, Uncle Bilbo. I’ll remember,” Frodo replied with a smile. “Thank you so very much. Happy birthday, Uncle Bilbo.”

“Thank you as well, Frodo, and happy birthday to you.” Frodo nodded then left to tell his aunt and uncle of his decision. Bilbo sat quite awhile in thought.

#*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*

Frodo was finding it very difficult to not bounce in his seat with excitement. The roof of the carriage as well as the small storage area at its rear were full of boxes containing all that he owned. He was moving to Bag End! The worst part of the trip was the very end, the part from Bywater to the Hill, which seemed to take twice as long as it usually did. Finally the carriage drew to a slow stop outside the green door of Frodo’s new home. Bilbo had them stack the boxes in the entry hall. “We can attack that job in the morning, my boy,” he had said. Soon all was brought in and the driver from Brandy Hall had left. Supper was one of Bilbo’s excellent stews, so full of beef, potatoes, carrots, onions and mushrooms, there was nearly no room for the thick broth. Pudding was treacle tart.

“Well, Frodo, you’d best fetch your overnight bag and head for the bathroom. You’re looking a bit wrung out so I think it will be bath and bed for you tonight. There should be a goodly supply of hot water awaiting you.”

Frodo found his small bag amongst the boxes in the entry way then headed down the tunnel to the bathroom. It was deliciously steamy in the room. Frodo undressed and walked over to the tub. It was empty. He reached down to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. The tub was empty. It was never empty when Bilbo sent him off to take a bath. At the Hall, servants always filled the tubs, or sometimes when he had been much younger, Aunt Esme had done it. Uncle Bilbo didn’t have servants, but the tub had always been ready and waiting for him whenever Frodo was told to take a bath. He shrugged. Perhaps Uncle Bilbo had forgotten in the bustle of Frodo’s arrival. He put on his robe, wrestled one of the coppers of hot water over to the tub and splashed the water in. He didn’t feel like lugging over the other copper, so he took a quick, non-comforting, shallow bath. He didn’t think to empty his bath water down the drain in the floor, this being another task usually done by Brandy Hall’s servants, he just put on his nightshirt and robe, collected his toiletries into his bag, then headed further down the tunnel to his room.

Frodo opened the door onto a dark room. He stepped back, looked both ways along the tunnel. Yes, it was his usual room. He shook his head as he crossed the thresh-hold, leaving the door open so he could see a bit by the light from the hall sconce. He found and lit the small lamp on the bedside table then shut the door.

“I must be having an odd sort of dream,” Frodo said aloud to himself as he looked around his room. The dust covers were still over the chair and the bed. The wardrobe was closed, not open to air out. The hearth was dark, cold and without wood in the grate. He had never before come to visit at Bag End that his room wasn’t ready. “Uncle Bilbo must have forgot what day it was he told me to arrive. He hasn’t got my room ready.” Frodo shrugged. A small voice in his head reminded him that this time he wasn’t a guest, but he pushed the thought aside and set about getting his room ready for the night.

It was a bleary eyed yawning tween who shuffled into Bag End’s kitchen the next morning. Bilbo sat at the table reading a book, a full plate of food before him.

“Good Morning, Frodo!” Bilbo enthusiastically greeted his nephew.

“G’mornin’,” came Frodo’s sleepy reply as he took a seat at the table and looked around.

There was no other place set at the table.

No food in serving dishes waiting for him to help himself.

No mug of coffee nor cup of tea.

“I left the pan out for you, Frodo. Eggs and bacon are in the cellar. There’s a good knife down there to cut your bacon as thick as you like. Potatoes are down there as well, but you know that, I’ve sent you to fetch them before. The rolled oats are in the green crock in the top right cupboard if you wish some porridge, day old bread in the breadbox if you’re wanting toast. There is hot water in the kettle for tea, you’ll need to brew your own if you want coffee. Help yourself, my boy.” Bilbo turned his attention back to his book.

Frodo sat staring at the empty table for several minutes before getting up and fixing himself some porridge, suddenly it was all he was in the mood to eat. He hadn’t thought he was that late getting up. Uncle Bilbo usually had breakfast made and ready for both of them every morning that Frodo was there. Just as Frodo was nearly finished eating, Bilbo rose and placed a hand on the lad’s shoulder. “Seems that you forgot to empty out your bath water last night, Frodo my lad. Don’t forget to take care of it when you’re done with your porridge.” With a kindly pat to Frodo’s shoulder, Bilbo left the kitchen.

It continued to be a most odd day for Frodo. As he was taking care of the cold, scummy bath water, Bilbo stuck his head around the door. He tossed a cloth near Frodo’s feet with instructions to give the bathroom, “a good, thorough cleaning. Then you can finish putting your bedroom to rights, dust the parlor and the study. But finish cleaning up the bathroom and have second breakfast before getting to all that.” Once the bathroom was finished, Frodo went to the kitchen where he found that he was to make his own second breakfast. He returned to his tasks and, after finishing his room, made his own elevenses. He dusted the parlor then headed for the study. He dusted the small table between the chairs by the fireplace, the mantle over the fireplace then the desk, but he paused when he turned to the bookshelves.

There had always had one shelf of books that he was welcome to read, the titles and the contents of the books changing as he grew older. “But I live here now,” Frodo said to the books, “and I should think I can read any of you I want to. Let me see . . .” He started to look over the titles on the highest shelf he could reach. “This one! ‘Taming Tooks - Essays on the Myths, Legends and Secrets of the Tooks, and Ways They Can be Used to Control Took Relations.’ Now that sounds very interesting!” Frodo chuckled to himself as he dropped his dust cloth and his rear to the floor.

The first page was a blank flyleaf. The second was also blank. The third. The forth. The fifth. He caught the edges of the pages with his thumb and rifled through them. Frodo’s mouth fell open. There wasn’t a page of print in the entire book! Random checking of books from every shelf but his own revealed that only one other shelf had real books, the rest were blank. Frodo sat there several long minutes trying to understand his discovery. What was he going to do? He had been counting on reading material to last him years. But then, he had also been counting on having time to read, which so far looked to be out of the question. Behind him, Bilbo came to the doorway.

“You had best get moving, Frodo, if you wish to have lunch before going into Hobbiton.”

“Going into Hobbiton?” This sounded better to the lad than an afternoon cleaning Bag End.

“Yes. I’ve a few errands that need running,” Bilbo said as he smiled a big smile. “Lovely autumn day, it should be good exercise for you.” Bilbo turned and left Frodo sitting on the floor wondering what exactly was meant by ‘a few errands’.

It was nearly dinner time when Frodo opened the front door of Bag End, shoving through several bags and parcels with his foot before setting down the ones in his arms. He collapsed with a sigh on the entry way bench. He had been to nearly every shop in Hobbiton and had stopped to rest four times on the walk home. Uncle Bilbo, he had decided, had a very strange concept of ‘a few.’ After dinner, which Bilbo had actually prepared for both of them, there were more things around the smial the old hobbit wanted done. Bilbo found Frodo asleep on a chair before the parlor hearth. He had gone searching for the tween to tell him it was time for the lad to fix his own supper. Bilbo woke Frodo enough for the boy to stagger down the tunnel and fall atop his bed fully clothed. Bilbo smiled tenderly at his nephew, covered him with a blanket then kissed his forehead before retiring to the study.

The next day was very similar to the first with a third following suit. By afternoon tea on the fourth day, Frodo could stand it no longer. He went into the study ready to do battle with his Uncle Bilbo.

“What is this all about, Uncle Bilbo? Did you want me here to be a servant to you? Because if that is the only reason, I’ve decided to go back to Brandy Hall where they actually have servants.”

Bilbo unhurriedly set down his quill and corked his ink bottle before turning to face the irate tweenager. “What’s all this, Frodo? I thought you were thrilled to be done with the Hall.”

“I am, or rather I was. This has not been at all as I thought it would be, Uncle Bilbo. I mean to say, I knew I’m no longer a guest, I also knew that you have no servants. But I don’t understand the reason for all the work I’ve been given. I’ve had no time to myself, I’ve had to make nearly all my own meals, and worst of all . . .” Frodo paused, unsure of speaking this thought aloud.

“Yes, lad? Worst of all, what?”

“You’re a fake! You’re a fraud, Uncle Bilbo. You have everyone believing you are so knowledgeable and a great reader of books. But your books are fake! Nearly every one of them is blank. Blank! Just empty pages. I had been looking forward to reading to my heart’s content. Now, not only is there no time for reading, there appears to be nothing to read. Nothing is what I thought it would be.”

Tears were now running down Frodo’s cheeks despite the angry look in his blue eyes. Bilbo sighed and thought for a few moments. “You, my dear boy, look as though you have come to the end of it. You’re quite tired out, aren’t you?” Frodo nodded but his irritated look did not change. “I think you had best take a nap, Frodo. But I will give you this to think on before sleep takes you away from your sorry situation; do you really want to make Bag End your home, not someone else’s home where you just happen to live, as you felt at the Hall? Have a good nap, my lad.” Bilbo said no more but turned back to his desk, uncorked the ink and took up his quill. Frodo went off to his room. He took awhile to fall asleep.

“Frodo, lad. Frodo, wake up now.”

“Um, wha’?”

“Wake up, it is dinner time and you missed tea. I won’t have you miss dinner as well.”

The head full of dark curls disappeared further under the covers. “No,” Frodo’s muffled voice replied. “Tired of my own cooking.”

Bilbo walked to the other side of the bed then pulled down the covers until he could see Frodo’s bleary blue eyes. “We’ve a need to talk about that, lad. Sit up so we can have a proper discussion.” Frodo resignedly complied. “Did you think at all about what I said to you in my study?” The sleepiness left the tween’s eyes as he nodded. “And did you come to any conclusions?”

“Well . . . I don’t want to be a servant but, on the other hand, I suppose I’m really not sure what it means to live here as anything other than a guest. That is all I have ever been here. I’m . . . I’m . . . not sure what you expect nor what you meant when you asked me to come live here nor exactly what you meant about making Bag End my home and not just someone else’s home. Our home, not just your home. I’m a lot more confused than I thought I was.”

“Ah! There’s my bright Nephew!” Bilbo smiled broadly as he patted Frodo’s leg through the covers. “It’s hard to learn anything when you think you already know it. Let’s see if I can help you think this through. You feel I’ve been treating you like a servant, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Because you’ve had to cook, clean, run errands and take care of your own things. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Frodo said quietly. His mind was starting to see things from a different perspective.

“Why do you think I’ve had you do all those things? Are those things only a servant’s work?” Bilbo paused only a few moments before continuing. “Think about whether or not you want to live here, Frodo, or go back to just being an occasional guest. Dinner will be in fifteen minutes and you can give me your answer then.” He ruffled Frodo’s hair then left him alone.

Bilbo stood at the door to the dining room. The door was closed which was not its usual position. Frodo had put on his very best clothes and noticed that Bilbo had done the same.

“Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo said with a slight bow. “I’ve made my decision.”

“And that is?” Bilbo hoped the boy couldn’t tell how worried he was, how he dreaded that the choice had been made to leave Bag End.

“People who live in a place and consider it their own, well, they have to help take care of it because they are there every day, because it is their home. Guests aren’t expected to take care of the house because it isn’t theirs. Servants care for the house because they are paid to, it is how they earn a living. But when they go home they have all of the same things to do to care for their own home. Uncle Saradoc and Aunt Esme care for their home by telling the servants what needs to be done then seeing it is done properly, so they are still actually working at caring for their home.” Frodo looked anxiously at his Uncle. “Did I think it all through correctly, Uncle Bilbo?”

“Yes, Frodo. To have a home of one’s own means work, of one sort or another. That being the truth, what have you decided?”

“I want to live here, if I’m still welcome to.”

“Even with all the work involved in caring for Bag End?”

“Yes. That’s the only way I can make Bag End my own home.”

Bilbo opened the dining room door while giving a grand sweep of his arm. “Then let’s celebrate your homecoming, my lad.”

The table had the best linen cloth upon it. The best dishes and glassware sat atop the cloth. The best silver gleamed softly in the light of the candelabra. Platters and serving bowls were heaped with all of Frodo’s favorite foods. Bilbo stepped into the room and pulled out a chair, motioning to Frodo to be seated before seating himself across from him. There was a rolled up piece of parchment, bound with a red and gold ribbon on Frodo’s plate.

“Open it, and read it aloud,” was all Bilbo said.

Frodo pulled the bow off the parchment. “I Bilbo Baggins do hereby adopt my cousin, Frodo Baggins, as my ward and my heir. . .” Frodo stopped and stared at his Uncle.

“I’m sorry for the trick I’ve played on you, my dear boy.”

“Trick?”

“All the chores and tasks I gave you, the blank books on the shelves, no time to yourself. That isn’t how your life here will be. The work all gets shared or sometimes I hire help, the real books have been put back in place and we will take turns or work together preparing meals. I had to get you to think through whether you wanted to be my family or my guest. What you said on our birthday troubled me. It was quite clear you were expecting life here to be one long visit. I had no need to adopt a guest.”

Frodo smiled and laughed. “Tricks! It was all a prank!” He laughed a bit more before continuing. “Well, it’s one I won’t forget, Uncle Bilbo, though I hadn’t expected such from you.”

“Well, my lad, never judge a book by its cover, as they say. It just might be empty!” Bilbo winked at Frodo. “I want you to call me Bilbo and, Frodo?”

“Yes.”

“If you don’t expect pranks from me, it would do you well to remember why you gave me a book written by Belladonna Took for my birthday.”