The young mother sighed in relief. The labour had gone well, and now she was holding her first son. She smiled fondly at him. The wee lad squirmed and started to whimper. Primula held him close and soothed him. Her husband walked in. Primula smiled at him. He was grinning ear to ear, his clothes and curls were all in a state and he looked like he had been a nervous wreck.

"Come see your new son, Drogo." Primula said. Drogo came over and clasped her hand in his. He looked down at his son. His son! How he smiled at the word!

"How are *you*, dearest?" He asked suddenly.

"I'm fine. Would you like to hold him? I am rather tired and would like a rest." Drogo got the look of  a lad at Yule. But as he picked up his son, he was as gentle as a lamb.

"What do you think of Frodo, Prim?" Drogo beamed down at his wife.

"Sounds wonderful, dear. Now you take Frodo-lad out and let me have some rest." Just as Drogo turned to leave, Primula called out once more.

"Drogo..."

"Yes?"

"We're parents!"

*~*~*~*~*~*

Drogo stood in front of the fireplace in the small parlor in their smial. The baby seemed to enjoy being held by his father. Drogo looked at his son in amazement. The black hair on his head, and the dark fuzz on the soft, pink feet, this tiny creature was his son. And he would grow into a fine lad, Drogo was sure. He wondered what kind of a lad he would be? Would he be rowdy, or calm? Would he have that Tookish advernturous streak? Curious, or cautious? Or both? He would just have to wait and see. Drogo could have laughed for joy, but his son as well as his wife needed rest.

"Frodo Baggins, you are a beautiful baby. I wonder what you will grow up to do. Something special, I'm sure." Almost in response to his father talking to him, the baby opened up wide, blue eyes and made a contented sigh. Frodo smiled at his Da before falling back asleep. A September wind rattled the windows, but father and son were tucked safely away in the cozy smial that they called home.

 "Yes, my son, you are destined to greatness."

TBC.....

Copyright text 2006 Frodo Baggins

A/N: In this story, Frodo is twelve, which is the equivalent of seven and a half to eight years.

23 September 1389

The overcast sky only added to that dismal day. A young Hobbit lad stood by two freshly dug graves in the family cemetery. It wasn’t right that a lad so young should have to be standing here by his parents’s graves at only the age of twelve. In a single day, his innocent, carefree life was shattered and he was forever changed. Frodo Baggins stared as if in a daze, his young face looking much older than his years. Evidently he understood all too well what was going on. He had not spoken a word to anyone since the bodies of Drogo and Primula Baggins had been found three days earlier.

When Frodo had seen the bodies of his beloved Mum and Da, he had screamed and cried, trying in vain to rush to his parents’s sides. His relations held him back and dragged him to a spare bedroom. Frodo had struggled fiercely with his uncles and cousins and aunts. But that night he collapsed in his bed from overexertion and after that he had not said a word.

His two closest cousins, though he called them uncle and aunt because of their significant age difference, were deeply concerned. Frodo’s Unlce Saradoc and Aunt Esmeralda had loved Saradoc’s cousins Drogo and Primula and their son. Frodo had just wrapped them around his little finger with his winning smiles and sparkling blue eyes. But no more smiles graced his lips, nor did those blue eyes twinkle in that mischievous, boyish way. He shut himself up and would let no one enter his heart. The only hope had laid in the coming of Bilbo. Surely, this lad would at least open up a little bit for the "Uncle" he had always been so fond of? Did not Frodo always follow Bilbo around like a shadow, watching (and sometimes mimicking) every move? And did not those blue eyes sparkle with zest and imagination as he sat enthralled by the elder Hobbit’s stories? But when the old Hobbit came, Frodo did not even say hello. He just nodded to his cousin and looked at him with that blank stare. Bilbo had tried nearly everything, but the lad would not be moved.

Before the funeral, he allowed himself to be dressed by Aunt Esme like a rag doll. She wondered if he was even aware of her. But when she took his hand and she felt a return squeeze, she knew that he was well aware, and that now, in his own way, was looking to her for reassurance. Bilbo, Saradoc and Esmeralda all stood by Frodo, almost as if they were protecting him from the myriad of aunts, uncles, cousins and numerous other relations offering condolences. Saradoc and Esme did not miss that most repeated their offers to them as if they were his guardians. The couple also noticed that no one offered to take in the lad.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Frodo was safe in bed, and three adults stood about the fireplace in the sitting room adjacent to Bilbo’s guest room. The fate of Frodo was being decided.

"Well, we can’t just leave him without any one to look after him. He needs somebody." Saradoc said.

"You are right, of course. I would take the lad, goodness knows how that little imp has me wrapped around his finger. But, I don’t believe that I would offer him the care he needs. I think what he needs right now is a mother and a father. Not just a silly old bachelor Hobbit to fill his head with ‘unnatural’ tales." Bilbo added with a slight chuckle.

"You’re right, Bilbo. He does need a mother. Oh, Sara, why can’t we take him in? We love the lad just as much as Bilbo does. And besides, we’re his closest relations that are even willing to care for him. Poor Prim was your sister and my friend. We owe it to her and to Drogo to take care of their son. Besides, you know we don’t have children yet, but we want some. Frodo’s as good as any. In fact, he’s better than most lads. Please, Sara?"

"Esme, I declare! You are just as bad as Frodo himself at getting what you want! Of course we’ll take him in. Bilbo and I will go over tom...."

Just then, Saradoc was interrupted by the object of their conversation. Frodo poked his head in the door and sniffed. At first he looked startled, and then apologetic.

"Come here, dear. It’s all right. You don’t need to be sorry." Esmeralda said, perceiving his thoughts. He came into the room and clamored onto his Aunt’s lap. She stroked his curls as he laid his head on her chest. "Any thing the matter, lovie?" She guessed well enough, and she didn’t expect to get an answer. But to her surprise, a small, quiet voice whispered,

"I want Mum and Da." The hearts of the three adults melted at the first words spoken for days by this grief stricken lad. The voice was so broken and sad.

"I know, lad, I know. I miss them too. Shhhh. There now." With that, Esme began to hum a well known lullaby until her little nephew fell asleep. Saradoc made to pick up the little lad, but Bilbo whispered,

"Please, may I?" Saradoc nodded and watched how tenderly the old Hobbit picked up the exhausted lad.

*~*~*~*~*~*

As Bilbo lay Frodo down to sleep, the lad’s eyes sleepily and he mumbled,

"Da?" But as his vision cleared, he saw that it was not so. And like a deluge the trauma of the past three days rushed back to the twelve year old’s mind. He clung to the front of Bilbo’s waistcoat and sobbed into it. Bilbo wrapped his arms around the lad and held him close. He murmured soft words of comfort to the lad, but inside he felt just as helpless. When Frodo had calmed enough, the blue eyes turned to their unlce’s and he said,

"Oh, I miss them, Uncle Bilbo! I miss them! I want to go home, but I can’t, can I? Will you take care of me?"Bilbo pressed the dark, curly head to his chest.

"We all miss them, lad. And, I wish you could stay with me, but you need to stay with your uncle and aunt here at Brandy Hall. They love you, Frodo. As do I. I always will."

"I love you, too Uncle. But, I’ll miss you os. I want to go away from here. Why do I have to stay?"

"Because, lad, they need you as much as you need them. And I’ll miss you too. How would you like it if I promised to come see you as often as I can? Would you like that? And if you practice your letters very well, we can write sometimes too. Do you like that?"

For the first time, the lad’s eyes showed a spark of enthusiasm. A yawn covered up any response he was going to make. Bilbo tucked him in, and then, as if on impulse, he leaned down and kissed Frodo’s forehead. Frodo leaned up as far as he could and kissed his chin.

"Goodnight, Unlce Bilbo. I love you."

"I love you too, lad. Sleep well." He closed the door and then whispered quietly to himself, "I love you so much, Frodo-lad, so much."

TBC....

Copyright text 2006 Frodo Baggins

A/N: Frodo is twenty one here (13 ½) and Sam has just turned nine (5 1/2). I am still a student of dates, genealogy and such like, so do not hesitate to point out any mistakes. Like my dearest of friends said, as writers, we're always learning. :)

S.R. 14 April 1398

The birds in the trees were singing their joyous refrain. The clusters of pale pink blossoms were firmly set against the crisp blue sky. Yes, this day was a glorious one. And not only due to the gorgeous spring weather. Frodo was going home. Really home, a place to call his own. True, his Brandy Hall relations had been more than generous, but the memories were still too real. It had never felt quite like home. He had been ready for a change.

But poor Merry. He had sobbed so hard when Frodo had to leave. Aunt Esme and Uncle Sara were sad too. After all, he had been like there son. He would miss them all and would never forget their kindness. But Frodo needed to get away. The myriad of emotions that had assaulted the lad lately had caused him to get into trouble and now he was a little bit relieved to be leaving there. A quiet life in Bag End with Bilbo would be a welcomed change from the constant bustle and crowdes of Brandy Hall.

The wagon rolled up to Bag End. It was a wonderful smial, though Frodo had already visited it many a time. But now it was home.

"Frodo-lad, welcome home." Bilbo said sitting next to him on the front seat of the wagon. Frodo grinned.

The inside of the smial had not changed much. In fact, so far, it hadn’t changed at all. He hung his cloak and jacket on *his* coat pegs. He walked down the hall and looked into each room as he passed it. There was the kitchen to the right, and the parlor to the left. He recognized it all, but today he was seeing it with new eyes. He felt a soft hand on his shoulder.

"Frodo-lad, your room is over here." Bilbo opened one of the many doors in the Hall. It reavealed a lovely room with soft green painted walls. A bed was in the corner opposite the window. There was a warm quilt of pale blue on the bed. On his bed. He could hardly believe it. He walked about it and touched the finely carved mahogany chest of drawers. He turned to Bilbo, who was standing in the doorway fidgeting nervously with something in his pockets.

"Do you like it, lad?"

"Oh, Uncle Bilbo! I love it. Thank you so much! I can't believe it!" Frodo rushed over and hugged his unlce, who was rather surprised but returned the hug. "Oh, Uncle Bilbo! Thank you, thank you! You've given me a home, and the best home a lad could ever wish for." Bilbo smiled to himself.

"You're quite welcome, lad. It's about time Bag End got someone with such spirit and livelness to fill its halls. I am quite glad I can adopt you. Which reminds me, we're going into Hobbiton tomorrow. I have to pick up something that I ordered a while back." Frodo nodded. "Now,you run along and explore, or do whatever it is you like to do. I'll be in the study if you need anything."

"Thank you, Uncle. I don't suppose I shall need anything for a while. I'll just unpack and then explore outside. You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not! Now, you run along."

*~*~*~*~*~*

Frodo stood at the garden gate. He had unpacked his things and wandered somewhat awkwardly about Bag End, reinspecting everything (including the numerous pantries). The most mysterious room in Bag End was the Man size bedroom. The large bed and high ceilings amazed young Frodo and were a constant source of wonder. But soon the outdoors called his name, and he had to go outside. He had walked down the path leading to the back gardens and was surprised to see a young Hobbit of only nine years old staring at him with huge brown eyes.

"Hullo. I'm Frodo Baggins, what's your name?" Apparently the youngster wasn't used to be spoken to by strangers, for his eyes got even wider and he nodded. Frodo laughed.

"I don't bite. How old are you? Can you speak?"

"Sammy!" A rather gruff voice sounded behind him. It was the gardner, Mr. Hamfast. "Speak to yer betters, lad. Ain't polite to ignore them." Sam nodded to his father and then spoke slowly.

"I'm Sam. I just turned nine."

"Really? I have a cousin who's about your age. His name is Merry." Sam giggled.

"He has a lass's name?" Frodo smiled back at him.

"No, it's just short for Meriadoc. But he's just a small lad like you, and Merry fits him better." Sam gave Frodo the most winning smile.

"Where did you come from? Are you living here?" the lad asked.

"Yes, I am. I am living with my uncle Bilbo now."

"Why aren't you living with your mum and da?" A flicker of pain crossed Frodo's face. It was only for a moment, but the tender hearted and perceptive lad saw it immediately.

"They died nine years ago." Sam, surprising himself as well as Frodo, rushed up to the older lad and hugged him. Frodo returned the hug. Sam sensed that Frodo needed someone to hold, and he whispered.

"Mr. Frodo, I love you." Frodo smiled into Sam's honey curls and whispered back.

"I love you, too, Sam."

Bilbo smiled from the window overlooking the garden. Somehow, the two seemed to belong to one another. It just seemed right somehow that they had met and formed so fast a friendship.

A/N: Sorry for any confusion, but I changed Milo's name to Griffo (which is his correct name). My error was pointed out to me by the great Queen Galadriel; she told me that he really had a name in the book. I decided to look it up to make sure I had the correct name, and sure enough I didn't! My apologies!Chapter three

Five months later

S.R. 10 August 1398

"Daisy! Take yer brother Sam and go to the market fer me, will you? Mrs. Twofoot just had a baby, and I’m makin’ her dinner and dessert. I need some beef, flour, blueberries, milk, and sugar."

"Yes, mum."

"Thank ye, lass."

Daisy hurried to find her brother. Her guess was correct; he was in their small garden, ‘planting’ who knows what. And getting all dirty, to his elder sister’s annoyance. He sulked when she told him to come in and wash up.

Finally, after much fussing and coaxing, the two were on their way to Hobbiton to buy the required items. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, birds were singing in the breeze. Sam stopped along the way to inspect a new kind of flower. He picked it and put in the basket to take home and show his Da. His Dad would know what kind of flower it was. His dad knew everything.

Hobbiton was no busier than usual. There were some hobbits bustling, some of them were shopping, and some were just milling about. Daisy stopped at the butchers, much to her and Sam’s dislike. The produce stand was next, and when the blueberries were purchased, she and Sam each treated themselves to two of the juicy berries. When all the necessary items were finally purchased, Daisy made her way home. But then Sam darted from his sister’s side. She looked to see what caused such behaviour in her brother. She gasped at what she saw. Sammy had run up to Mr. Frodo and was giving him a big bear hug! She walked over.

"Mr. Frodo! I’m so sorry. Sam is being rude." Daisy said, while pulling her brother away from his future employer.

"Quite alright...Daisy, isn’t it?"

Against her will, she blushed. "Yes, sir."

"Just Frodo, will do." Frodo’s smile was genuine.

"Yes, Mr. Frodo." She said politely.

Sam tugged on his sleeve. "Mister Frodo, guess what?"

Frodo went down on one knee so that he was eye level with Sam. "What?" he asked with enthusiasm. Daisy couldn’t help but smile. He was a natural. He would make a good father one day. Sam proceeded to tell Frodo that Mrs. Twofoot had a baby. It was a girl, which he wasn’t pleased about. Yet another girl in the neighborhood. She wasn’t even cute. She was all red and tiny and she cried a lot. Frodo chuckled and told Sam that he had thought the same thing when his cousin was born. But the baby would definitely get cuter as she got older. Sam might even marry her one day.

Sam made a face at this last statement. "No, sir! I won’t marry any girl! I don’t like ‘em one bit! ‘Specially not Rosie Cotton."

"Well, well, well. If it isn’t that half Brandybuck brat and his little pet." A voice sneered behind the group. "I always knew he was of lowly stock. Going for his gardener’s daughter!"

Frodo slowly stood. Daisy could see fury beneath his thin mask of calm. "Lotho." He said between clenched teeth. His voice was flat.

"Ah, yes. I’m ashamed to be even distantly related to you. Unfortunately, we’re pretty closely related. What are you doing in the dirt talking to one of your servants?"

"Being a polite gentlehobbit, and a friend."

Lotho laughed cruelly. "A friend? A friend? To the likes of them? Frodo...you must be joking!"

Frodo ignored his remark and gently nudged Daisy and Sam in front of him. "Come, Daisy. Sam. Don’t pay any mind to him. He’s an ignorant fool, and knows not of what he speaks."

Without warning, a fist flew threw the air and caught Frodo on the jaw. Slowly, Frodo turned to face Lotho. "I don’t want to fight you, Lotho." Frodo said evenly.

"I know. You never want to fight. You’re a lass. All you ever do is sit around all day being spoiled and listening to your crazy unlce tell stories that he made up!"

"I am not a lass! But you are a fool." Frodo would not even attempt to argue the validity of his uncle’s stories, or his state of mind. Lotho’s mind couldn’t be changed about that.

Lotho was quicker than Frodo expected. He hit Frodo in the stomach, causing the younger lad to double over. Another blow sent Frodo to the ground. Frodo got back up again, panting, and this time, fists up.

"I’ll teach you, you cocky Buckland upstart!" Another flurry of fists, and Frodo was on the ground with a bleeding nose and a black eye. But he was up again. With a satisfaction that he hid from his oponent, Frodo noted the shocked look in Lotho’s eyes. He was not expecting Frodo to be so resilient. This time the blow to Frodo’s head was dodged and countered with a sound knock to Lotho’s face. Sam cheered. Frodo dodged two more blows and returned them with equal force. And then, furious, Lotho hit Frodo so hard it sent Frodo flying to the ground. Lotho knelt on the lad, preventing escape, and laid into the helpless lad. Finally, when he thought Frodo had learned his lesson, he stopped and stood. Seeing that Frodo didn’t move, he gave one last kick, and then turned to leave.

Frodo lay there for a few moments. But his aching muscles hardened in resolve. He sprang up and, from behind, hit Lotho. Lotho spun around to see two hard, blue eyes glinting from a bloody, bruised face. Lotho took Frodo by the front of his shirt and lifted him.

"Don’t you ever make a fool of me again. You hear me, you son of a pig?"

"LOTHO SACKVILL-BAGGINS!!" A male voice bellowed behind him. Lotho stiffened and dropped Frodo. He was caught! He tried to run but a brawny hand grabbed his shoulder and halted the guilty retreat.

Lotho was spun around to meet the dark eyes of Master Griffo Boffin. "You leave that lad alone, DO YOU HEAR ME?! I am sick and tired of your bullying and abusing! This is NOT the way gentlehobbits are to act. Now get lost before I beat you myself!"

Terrified, Lotho ran for his life. Mr. Boffin bent to help Frodo to his feet. "Now, there, lad," The hobbit’s voice was gentle now, "Who are you?" He held out his handkerchief. Frodo took it and held it to his nose.

"Thank you, sir. I am Frodo Baggins, at your service and your family’s."

"Ah, Bilbo’s new heir. That’s right. I’m glad to finally meet the famed Frodo Baggins." He smiled and winked. "When your Uncle’s not talking about his adventure, he’s talking about you. I am Milo Boffin. I live fairly close to Bag End, actually. And who are these...?" He gestured towards Daisy and Sam, who were standing very close together and staring wide eyed at the whole scene.

"My friends, Daisy and Sam. They are my uncle’s gardeners, Mr. Gamgee’s, children."

Mr. Boffin stood and shook the hands of both the children and made a proper introduction of himself. He apologized for the rough manner in which he handled that...that...lad, Lotho Sackville-Baggins, but he had to stop that bully. His son had been targeted a few times before.

"I don’t mean to be rude, sir, but me and me brother here must be gettin’ back home. Our mum’s probably worried, we’ve been out so long. Thank ye, sir, for yer kindness. Come, Sammy. Goodbye, Mr. Frodo." Daisy said. She felt rather awkward. What could she say after such a fight? To comment would probably not be polite.

"Wait, now, Miss Daisy. Your home was well as Frodo’s is on my way home. I was just headed that way, so I’d be pleased if you’d walk with me."

Surely this wasn’t proper, but...Lotho would be seeking revenge, and Mr. Boffin did offer, so it would be even more improper to turn him down. "Thank you, sir." she said.

The foursome walked home. Griffo’s easy nature made the awkwardness melt a little.

"Frodo, I must say, that was some fight you gave! And to think you can even walk after what he did to you. You’re made of a tougher stuff than you would have us believe."

"Thank you, sir."

"I have a son your age. Have you met him?"

"N-no sir, I don’t believe I have. I...haven’t been out a lot."

"Don’t be so ashamed. It’s perfectly understandable. Why, you’ve moved half way across the Shire, and you don’t know where all the lads meet. No matter. I’ll send my son, Folco, over one of these days. He can show you around this area and introduce you to some of the lads."

Frodo smiled appreciatively at this kindly hobbit. Soon they arrived at Number Three, Bagshot Row, and Daisy and Sam were given a warm farewell.

At Bag End’s round, green door, Mr. Boffin explained that he had been meaning to visit Bilbo anyway. The door opened and Bilbo’s warm greeting died on his lips as he spotted Frodo, barely able to stand.

"Frodo-lad!" he exclaimed, and helped his nephew inside. He helped Frodo to his bed and laid him down.

"I’m fine, uncle Bilbo. Really." But it was hard to breath and speaking was painful.

"Griffo," Bilbo said, "I’m terribly sorry to be so rude, but, would it bother you terribly to go down to Number Three, Bagshot Row and tell one of the Gamgee children a healer is needed for Mr. Frodo?"

"Of course not, Bilbo." And with a nod to Frodo, he left.

"Who did this?" Bilbo asked, noting the distinct fist marks. Frodo made no answer. "Frodo Baggins. Tell me who did this."

"Lotho." the lad whispered. Bilbo’s jaw set in anger. How could anyone do this to his Frodo? That Lotho....he would have a word with Lobelia. Then, something occurred to Bilbo. Frodo had not protested the fetching of a healer! His lad was hurt seriously, than. Bilbo looked at his nephew, who was sweating and trying very hard not to cry.

"It’ll be alright. I promise, it will be alright." That healer had better get to Bag End on the double, or Bilbo would go mad with worry!

*~*~*~*~*~*

TBC....

________________________________________________________________________

A/N: Sorry, but could anybody tell me the difference between "then" and "than" and their uses? Thanks!

Copyright Frodo Baggins 2006

Chapter Four

10 August 1398

"Mrs. Burrows! Mrs. Burrows!" A young, childish voice called Mrs. Burrows as she was gathering herbs in her herb garden. She looked up to see Samwise Gamgee standing breathless at her gate.

"Yes, child, what is it?"

"It’s...it’s Mr. Frodo! He’s been hurt pretty bad!"

"Come inside, lad, while I get my things."

Mrs. Burrows was soon on her pony with Sam holding on behind her. He was squeezing her pretty tightly, for he had never been on a pony before. At least, not a pony going this fast. But this was no time for riding lessons. One of her patients needed help, and she would give it to them as fast as she possibly could. Besides, when it came to someone he cared about, Bilbo was not a patient Hobbit. Soon she arrived at the gate of Bag End.

"Would you mind tying my pony, Samwise?" She was already through the gate and headed towards the door. She was met at the door by Mr. Milo Boffin.

"Mrs. Burrows! I’m so glad you’re here. Bilbo is nearly frantic with worry."

"How bad is it?"

"He is unconscious right now, and he was beaten pretty soundly."

Mrs. Burrows soon saw for herself how bad young Frodo was beaten. But with years of practice, she hid her concern. Her voice remained soft, sympathetic and calm.

"Mr. Griffo, would you take Mr. Bilbo out into the parlor?"

"Yes. Come, Bilbo."

"No...I...Frodo. He needs me! I..."

"He’ll be fine in my care, Mr. Bilbo. It will be better for everyone if you go and enjoy a nice, soothing cup of tea in the parlor."

Meekly, Bilbo was led out and Mrs. Burrows turned to her patient. She took off his bloodied and ripped shirt. He had massive bruises on his ribs and chest and arms. One rib looked broken. She gently pressed it. Yes, it was broken. Frodo moaned and his eyes fluttered open. He frowned in confusion. And then when realization flooded him, he blushed.

"It’s alright, Frodo. You’ve got a broken rib and some nasty bruises. How do you feel other than that." She smiled reassuringly at Frodo, who was obviously uncomfortable being exposed as he was.

"Fine." he croaked. Breathing was difficult, as was talking, the healer observed.

"That’s good. I’m going to set your rib and then wrap it. It will be painful. Would you like me to get your uncle for you?"

"No...thank you. I can...manage."

"I don’t doubt you can. Now, brace yourself." When she set the rib, Frodo couldn’t help but cry out a little, but he bit it back. She deftly wrapped his rib to keep it in place.

"You’re a good patient, Frodo. There is nothing else I can do. Try to do as little moving around as possible. You may only get out of bed to relieve yourself. Other than that, you must stay in bed, and stay as still as possible. I’ll be by to check on your rib in one week. Thankfully, the rib didn’t puncture your lung. All your other wounds are bruises or minor cuts. As for that eye, if you press cold, raw meat on it, the swelling should go down. You’ll probably be a little sore, too. But, other than that, I’m done with you. Take care of yourself and I will see you in a week."

"Thank you." Frodo said. She covered him with a blanket and drew the curtains.

"Rest and drink, Frodo, and you’ll be..." She stopped. The lad was already sleeping. She exited the room and shut the door quietly behind her. Bilbo was already rushing towards her. She held her finger her to her lips to silence all questions for now. In the Hall, Bilbo asked,

"How is he?"

"Sleeping soundly." Then she told Bilbo all that she had told Frodo about his various injuries and the proper care that Frodo was to receive. When she was done, she added, "He’s quite a brave lad, Bilbo. Very sweet. How did that happen, though?"

Bilbo sighed. "Lotho did it. He did tell me the details, though. But Frodo’s not a fighter, and I know he would never have started it."

"He did give that Lotho quite a beating, I think." Griffo added, "I saw that Lotho had a black eye and some nasty bruises on his face. He’s stronger than he looks, that’s for sure. You should be proud of him, BIlbo."

"I am. And thank you again, Mrs. Burrows."

"I was just doing my job." Bilbo paid the healer and she left.

"Well, Bilbo, if you don’t need me around here, I’ll be off. The wife’s making my favorite tonight: Beef, mashed potatoes, boiled vegetables. And cherry pie for dessert."

"That sounds wonderful. Thank you for everything, Griffo. You’ve always been a good friend to me."

"Only returning the favour. Are you sure you don’t need anything?"

"I’ll be alright, thank you. Have a nice day. And give my greetings your family!"

"I’ll do that."

Shutting the door, Bilbo sighed. He walked back to Frodo’s room and entered without knocking. He knew Frodo was out, and there was no need to wake him. He pulled the armchair up to Frodo’s bed and sat there looking tenderly at his lad.. His eye was getting swollen, as were a knot on his cheek, one on his jaw and two on his forehead.

"Oh, my lad." he whispered to the sleeping form, and he reached out and stroked the dark curls away from the pale forehead. His stomach growled, reminding him of the time and that he hadn’t eaten since teatime, and that had been a very light meal. He went off to the kitchen to make a dinner. Something. He should be able to find something to make....

*~*~*~*~*~*

A knock sounded at the door just as Bilbo finished the last of the dishes. Drying his hands on a tea towel, he went to answer the door, wondering who could be calling at this hour. He opened the door to Folco, Griffo’s eldest. The handsome lad was strapping with dark hair and dark, usually joyful eyes. Right now they were serious with concern.

"Mr. Bilbo, sir? I have come to...um...wish Frodo well."

Bilbo smiled warmly. "Of course, lad. Why don’t you come in for a while? Frodo just woke up a half hour ago. Doing quite well, actually. And how have you been?"

"I’ve been fine, Mr. Bilbo." He answered. Bilbo had taken the basket he carried from him. "That is a cherry pie my mum made you and Frodo. She also made some yeast that you can let rise and have the bread for breakfast. There are some fresh strawberries in there as well."

"Why, tell your mother they are greatly appreciated. I’ll show you to Frodo’s room."

Bilbo’s soft knock was answered by a soft, "Come in."

The lad sitting up in the bed reading was a little on the thin side. He had serious blue eyes, fair skin and dark hair. That was an unusual combination. He smiled warmly at him and allowed his uncle to do the introductions.

"Frodo, this is Folco, Griffo Boffin’s son. Folco, this is my nephew and heir, Frodo."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Folco."

"And you, Frodo."

"Well, I’ll leave you lads to get acquainted." Bilbo said as he left.

Folco pulled up a chair and sat beside Frodo’s bed.

"So, that Lotho gave you a proper welcome, did he?"

Frodo displayed his bruised nuckles. "I fought back. We’re pretty closely related, so I’ve met him before at family reunions and weddings and such. He thinks I’m not good enough to be the heir of Bag End, let alone call myself a Baggins."

"Why would he assume such a thing?"

"My mother was Brandybuck, and after my parents died, I was raised by my Brandybuck relations in Brandy Hall. Obviously Lotho doesn’t think very highly of anyone from across the Brandywine."

Folco was shocked. How in Middle Earth could anyone make such assumptions? But then he remembered it was Lotho they were talking about. Lobelia and her husband Otho were extremely judgemental and looked down on anyone who was not of their social status. They apparently passed on their views to their mean son, Lotho. "That’s not logical! Just because someone’s from Buckland is no reason to despise them! And most families intermarry. I don’t see anything wrong with your mother being a Brandybuck. It’s perfectly natural."

Frodo smiled. He liked this Folco. He had true Hobbit sense.

Folco continued. "I’d hate to have those Sackville-Bagginses as relatives."

"Trust me, it’s not very enjoyable."

"Have you met anybody around here yet?"

"Yes. My Uncle’s gardener’s children, Lotho, and now you."

Folco laughed. "That’s a start! I’ll tell you what, as soon as you’re able, why don’t you come with me into town and I can introduce you to some of the lads. How old are you, anyway?"

"I’m to be twenty-one on September the 22nd."

"That’s perfect. I'm twenty and so are most of the other lads. One of my closest friends is Fatty. His real name is Fredegar, but everyone just calls him Fatty."

"Isn’t that...mean?"

"No. Someone called him that a long time ago, and it stuck. It doesn’t bother him."

"Oh. I’d love to meet some friends."

Folco proceeded to tell Frodo all about what he and "the Gang" did. They occasionally did some harmless raiding on their families’s pantries, and they played various games and went swimming. Folco assured Frodo that he would be a welcome member of the Gang.

The two lads got talking about raiding. They compared stories. Folco and Frodo compared successes and losses. Frodo and Folco also discovered that they were second cousins on Frodo’s father’s side. They were having such a wonderful time, they lost track of the hour. Soon, Bilbo knocked on the door and told Folco it was time for him to be getting home.

"I’ll see you around, Frodo. Get better soon!"

"Thanks, Folco!" Frodo smiled to himself. He had made a good friend, he was sure of it. Folco was so kind. He didn’t mind that Frodo didn’t have parents, or that he talked a little differently or that he was from Buckland. Folco actually thought it was neat that Frodo had moved all the way from Buckland. But now Frodo was hungry, and Uncle Bilbo had mentioned something about a cherry pie.

*~*~*~*~*~*

11 August 1398

Sam had been glum all day. His mum and brothers and sisters had been worried about him. Sam was never glum unless he was sick. But he didn’t act sick. He just acted thoughtful, or annoyed when someone would ask him any questions. So Bell decided to ask Hamfast if he would talk to his son about it.

So after Luncheon, Hamfast spoke. "Sam, come and help me in the garden."

Sam needn’t answer. His father expected full obedience, and that’s what he got. While working in the garden, Hamfast casually began the conversation.

"When a flower doesn’t bloom good, the gardener tends to worry a bit. ‘Cause if it ain’t bloomin’ proper, than somethin’s clearly wrong with it. Wouldn’t you say the gardener has the right to know what’s wrong with his flower?"

Sam had a feeling he knew where this was going. "Yes, Dad."

"It’s the same with children. If something’s wrong with one of his kids, he can tell right as rain. And he has the right to know about it. But he has even more of a right to know than the gardener, ‘cause a father loves his kids more than anything in the world. Do you understand, Samwise?"

"Yes, Dad." Sam replied. He had been right.

Hamfast said no more, and quietly tended the flower bed. Pulling out the weeds by the roots so they wouldn’t grow back. Sam was a right smart lad, and he knew what his dad was getting at. He would tell what it was that was bothering him. It didn’t take long for the Gaffer’s prediction to come true.

"Dad?" Sam began hesitantly.

"Yes, son?"

"Um...what...Mr. Frodo was in a fight yesterday and he was helpin’ me an’ Daisy when he got in it and now he’s hurt real bad and it’s all my fault!" Once had gotten started, it had all rushed out.

Hamfast nodded. He knew of Mr. Frodo’s fight helpin’ his daughter and son. He was mighty grateful. That Mr. Frodo was a fine lad. A perfect gentlehobbit, just like his uncle. His Bell was going to make him and Mr. Bilbo supper tonight. (He was right proud of his Bell). But now was the time to help his son through his dilemma.

"What caused Mr. Lotho to hit Mr. Frodo?"

"W-well, Mr. Frodo told me an’ Daisy to go home, after ignorin’ one of Mr. Lotho’s nasty remarks, and he told us not to pay attention to him because he was...an...an ‘ignorant fool’, and that was after Mr. Lotho had insulted me an’ Daisy. What’s ‘ignorant’?"

Secretly, the Gaffer wanted to cheer Mr. Frodo on. Calling Mr. Lotho an ignorant fool! That was truth, and Mr. Lotho needed to hear it. "An ignorant person is someone who doesn’t know what he’s talkin’ about. It usually makes them do stupid things. But you see, it wasn’t your fault that Mr. Lotho hit Mr. Frodo."

"But...if he hadn’t insulted us, Mr. Frodo wouldn’t have gotten all mad."

"Sam, I want you to understand somethin’. Things like that happen all the time. Sometimes they’re nobody’s fault. But in this situation, it was certainly not yours. You understand?"

"Yes, dad."

Hamfast gave his son a hug. "Your mum’s makin’ Mr. Frodo and Mr. Bilbo a supper tonight. You can deliver it and visit Mr. Frodo, if you like. But not if Mr. Bilbo or Mr. Frodo doesn’t invite you to. Don’t ask and mind yer manners. You hear?"

Sam flashed his dad the most winning smile and gave his dad a quick hug. Oh, thank you dad! I’ll be on my best behaviour, I promise!" With that, he ran off to go help his mum prepare Mr. Frodo’s dinner.

TBC...

Copyright Frodo Baggins 2006

Chapter 5

11 August 1398

Sam’s eyes were wide. He was watched Frodo’s bruised face very carefully. Frodo smiled at the youngster and took a bite of the delicious smelling potato pie. Sam’s mouth moved in imitation of Frodo’s. Frodo laughed and said, "Why Sam! You didn’t tell me you are such an excellent cook! You say you made this?"

Sam finally sat back on the bed and relaxed. He smiled that bright smile of his. "Yessir. My mum helped a wee bit, but I made most of it."

"Tell your mum I said thank you. And thank *you*, Sam. This really is delicious. You’re going to have to help me learn to cook better. I’m not that good."

"I’d love to, Mr. Frodo. And I’m sure you’re not all that bad."

"I don’t know, Sam. You haven’t seen the...things I concoct."

Sam’s face screwed up in confusion. "What does ‘concoct’ mean?"

"To concoct means to come up with something, or to make something. Usually it’s an experiment gone wrong."

"Oh. Well, I bet whatever you...concot, it’s not too bad."

Frodo laughed, and then winced. His rib hurt tremendously. Immediately Sam was at his side and took the tray from Frodo’s lap. "You want me to get Mr. Bilbo?"

Frodo managed a smile, but talking was difficult. "No. I’m...alright. Don’t...don’t worry."

Sam looked at him shrewdly. "Maybe you need to take it easy, Mr. Frodo. Just finish your meal. And don’t talk. Sir."

Frodo nodded. "But you talk to me, Sam, alright? I like hearing you talk."

"What should I talk about, sir?"

"Oh, anything. Why don’t you tell me what the Gaffer is going to plant in the garden next spring."

Sam excitedly talked about how his dad was going to plant this here, and that there. He also talked about what his father was teaching him, pausing only to remind Frodo that eating would really help, and he really should drink more water. When Frodo’s plate was nearly empty, Sam stopped. "Maybe you should rest now, Mr. Frodo. I think you’ve eaten enough."

Frodo nodded. This lad was a wonder. So sensitive and perceptive. He always seemed to know just what Frodo needed. How could he tell that Frodo had eaten all that he had appetite for? And despite the age gap, Frodo viewed Sam more as an equal than as a child. "Thank you, Healer Sam." Frodo managed.

Sam laughed. So pure, happy, it made Frodo have to fight his own laughter. "I’m not a healer, Mr. Frodo. But I best be gettin’ home. Mum will worry about me, and the Gaffer...he doesn’t think it’s proper, me bein’ up here all the time and all."

"Alright, Sam. Thank you again for such a wonderful supper. Tell your mother I said thank you, as well."

"I will. Goodbye, Mr. Frodo! Get better soon!"

"I’ll try!"

*~*~*~*~*~*

24 August 1398

Folco walked with Fatty Bolger up the Hill to Bag End. "I think that Frodo’s all the way healed now. We should invite him to come and play Town Ball* with us."

"You say he came from Buckland?"

"Yes. His parents died from a drowning accident when he was twelve, I think."

Fatty’s brown eyes widened. "They *drowned*? What were they doing?"

"You know water is rather dangerous. And those Buckland folk on the whole are...well...it’s said they have dealings with Outsiders. But my dad said they’re not all that bad. And even if they are, this Frodo fellow certainly isn’t bad at all. Why, if it wasn’t told to me, I wouldn’t have even known it."

Fatty seemed satisfied and they were soon at the green door of Bag End. Frodo himself answered the knock. His face lit up with a smile when he saw who it was.

"Hullo, Folco! I’m glad to see you."

"Hullo, Frodo. You look much better. I’m glad for that. This is Fatty, who I told you about." The two exchanged bows and ‘hullo’s.

"Fatty and I were wondering if you want to come and play Town Ball with us and some other lads down on the Common."

Frodo had a misgiving about any sort of ball game. He hadn’t played much when he was a lad, and when he got older he was not at the other lads’s skill level. This had caused him much embarrassment and forced him into even more of a shell. But he would give it a shot. "I...I’m not very good, though. But I’ll try." Frodo explained.

"It doesn’t matter." Folco said. He and Fatty smiled reassuringly at Frodo. Frodo smiled back and hollered to his uncle that he was going out to play.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Hey Folco! Who you got with you?" A lad yelled as the trio approached the large, grassy field right outside Hobbiton.

"His name’s Frodo Baggins. He’s new here." They were soon surrounded by five lads. The one who had spoken to Folco was apparently the leader of the bunch.

"Hullo Frodo. I’m Milo. Where did you come here from?"

"Buckland." At this, some of the lads eyed Frodo with suspicion.

"You don’t talk like them." one of the lads commented.

"My da was from Hobbiton originally and so I really didn’t pick up the accent."

"You want to play ball?" Yet another lad asked.

"Sure."

And so a game was started. Two teams of four were made. One lined up behind a big oak tree and the other team spread out around "bases" that were made of old flour sacks. Frodo was on Fatty and Folco’s team. They were up to bat first. When Frodo’s turn came, he almost hit the ball, but not quite. Three stikes, and he was out.

‘Great first impression!’ He thought sarcastically.

In the field, Frodo was not much better. He dropped the ball twice, and didn’t get the ball to the base on time. At the end of the game, Frodo tried not to let his embarrassment and shame show.

"You played well, Frodo." Folco said.

Frodo just nodded.

"We’ll do it again sometime, I hope." Fatty said, patting Frodo on the shoulder. "You’re fun to play with. It was nice meeting you."

"And you, Fatty. Thank you for inviting me, Folco and Fatty."

"Our pleasure, Frodo, truly. Well, bye for now!" Folco called and Frodo went his way.

The walk home for Frodo was desolate. He was very thankful that Folco and Fatty had been so very kind to him. Indeed, it touched him. But he had felt like such a fool playing that game. He wasn’t very good at ball. He was good at other things, of course. But he didn’t fit in. And that was all he wanted. Just to fit somewhere. The only places he could do that were at Bag End, while alone, or while exploring in one of his books. When Frodo arrived home, he found in his uncle’s spidery writing that informed him that he had stepped out to take care of some business. He would return soon. If he wasn’t home by six o’clock, eat supper without him. He was to help himself to the larder.

Frodo sighed. It was only five. The tween went to take a bath. Might as well. It was hot and he had sweated. It felt so good to just sit and soak in the tub. When he got out, he wen to his room and started reading. Soon his Uncle arrived home.

"Frodo lad! I’m home!" Bilbo called.

"Uncle Bilbo! I thought you had been eaten by dragons." Frodo said with a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes.

Bilbo laughed and rustled his nephew’s curls. "You needn’t worry about that, lad! Eaten by dragons! Ha, ha ha! But come! Let’s have some supper, shall we?"

"I’m starved!"

"Don’t go saying that! No one’s supposed to know I starve you and keep you as a slave!" Bilbo was, of course, only teasing. Frodo smiled and went into the kitchen. He loved his uncle. Bilbo could always make him laugh and always have a good time.

As the two sat down to dinner, Frodo tried to avoid the subject of how his day went. But it was inevitable.

"What did you do today, lad?" Bilbo asked.

"Folco and Fatty came and offered to let me play Town Ball with them."

"Hmmm. That sounds like it was fun."

"Yes." Frodo wasn’t really lying. At least he had met some lads his age. "It was fun."

"Good, good. I received a letter today."

"Oh?"

"From your Uncle Saradoc."

Frodo’s face brightened.

"He’s coming to Bywater on business, and wishes to come by and say hello. Perhaps to stay for a couple of days, if all goes well."

"Can Merry come as well?"

"No, lad. He said to tell you that Merry cannot come this time. But the lad does miss you, Saradoc said. He’ll be glad to see you."

"I can’t wait to see him again. I mean...not that...he was better or anything like that...but, he is family after all, and I do still love him...."

"Oh, Frodo. Of course you miss him. And probably your Aunt Esme and little Merry lad. It’s only natural after they cared for you."

Frodo was relieved that Bilbo was not mad and that he understood. "Thank you." Bilbo lovingly patted Frodo’s shoulder. "When is Uncle Sara coming?"

"In a fortnight."

"I can hardly wait."

________________________________________________________________________

*Town Ball is what baseball was called during the American Civil War.

TBC....

Copyright Frodo Baggins 2006

7 September 1398

Clop, clop, clop. Clop, clop, clop, clop. Hoofbeats coming up the Hill! Frodo looked out of one of Bag End’s numerous windows. It was Uncle Saradoc! Frodo raced back to Bilbo’s study and softly tapped on the door.

"Yes?"

"Uncle Sara’s here!" With that, he raced to the door to greet his other uncle.

Frodo flung open the door and greeted his uncle with a great hug.

"Hello, Frodo! It’s good to see you. You look like you’ve been taken care of."

"Yes, sir."

"Where’s Bilbo?"

At that moment Bilbo entered the room. "Saradoc!" The two shook hands warmly. "I trust your journey here was not too bad? Come in, come in!"

They walked into the parlour and Frodo made tea as the two elder hobbits discussed the weather and crops and other things of that generally boring nature.

"Frodo, Merry has been simply miserable without you. He has started his studies. He hasn’t quite mastered his letters yet, but he already dreams of writing you."

"Is that so? I miss him too. He is alright?"

"Oh, quite. He is more interested in pranks and playing than in his studies. He told me to tell you that he will try especially hard to concentrate for you."

Frodo smiled fondly. "Give him a hug for me. And how is Aunt Esme?"

"She’s doing wonderfully. We do miss you, Frodo. But I see that you are well taken care of here, and as long as you’re happy, we will be happy too."

"Thank you, Uncle."

"But Bilbo," Saradoc said, "and Frodo, as well. I understand your birthdays are coming up soon. Merry was wondering if he could come up to help you celebrate. Of course, if he can’t that would be perfectly fine. I wanted to run it by you first, and make sure it was alright."

"It sounds fine to me. I know Frodo wanted to ask him anyway."

"That’s good. Merry will be so very excited."

For dinner, Bilbo prepared one of the dishes that made his table famous in the Shire (though he would never admit it). It was lamb, perfectly cooked and perfectly seasoned. Mashed potatoes were soft and creamy; the asparagus was also seasoned and cooked to perfection. The two elder Hobbits enjoyed a glass of the Old Winyards. After dinner, Saradoc and Bilbo retired to the parlor and Frodo excused himself and went to his room.

Eventually, the conversation turned to Frodo.

"Extraordinary lad, is he not?" Bilbo asked.

"Yes. Esme and I still sometimes regret letting him go. But then, with being Master of the Hall and being as young as we are....we simply were not giving him the care and attention he deserved or needed. He is certainly getting it here. And for that I am deeply grateful."

"It is so very hard not to love him. But I have a problem that perhaps you can help me solve."

Saradoc leaned forward. He would offer his help in any way he could. The fire cast a warm glow about the room. "I’ll do what I can."

"You see, Frodo does not enjoy being out doors. Or at least, nothing active outdoors. Ever since he arrived, he has been like a recluse. He plays with the other lads sometimes, but I think he feels like he does not belong."

"Ah, yes. We had the same exact problem. He does like to explore sometimes. Before his parents passed away, his father taught him to ride. He enjoyed it ever since he could sit on a pony. But after his parents passed, he has avoided the stables. I tried to get him to teach Merry, but he wouldn’t do it. I thought if anything would get him back riding it would be Merry. But even that couldn’t persuade him. And Esme and I know that he loves it. It would be an enjoyable activity for him, I’m sure. It might even help him face his grief."

Bilbo nodded. "Yes, you’re right. That does sound like an excellent idea. Thank you, Saradoc."

"Not a problem, Bilbo. In fact, I have the perfect pony for him. Would you be interested in purchasing one for him?"

"That might be a good idea. I will do that. You can send it the day before our birthday to the Ivy Bush here in Hobbiton. Thank you again, Saradoc. I hope this will work."

"So do I. It will be good, I think, if he has something to care for."

"Yes. You look weary, Sara. I could do with a wink of sleep myself. Goodnight, then!"

"Goodnight, Bilbo. And thank you for your hospitality."

"Think nothing of it!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

THE END....No, I’m only teasing. TBC...

Copyright Frodo Baggins 2006

9 September 1398

"Farewell, Uncle Sara. Have a safe journey home. Don’t forget to give Merry a big hug for me and to tell him I miss him. Here." Frodo produced an envelope with ‘Merry’ written in his still slightly childish hand. Still, for a twenty one year old, it was very neat.

"I will be sure to give this, and the hug and your warm wishes to him. He will be pleased to hear from you." He pulled his nephew into an embrace. "It was good to see you again. Maybe you can come and visit sometime?"

"I’d love to. It was wonderful to see you, as well."

Saradoc wished Bilbo well and thanked him again for his gracious hospitality. He swung up on his pony and trotted into the distance. Frodo and Bilbo went inside together.

That evening, Bilbo knocked on Frodo’s door. "Frodo lad?"

"Yes?" Frodo was lying on his stomach, reading.

"You know our birthdays are only thirteen days away."

Frodo smiled at his uncle, and Bilbo knew that Frodo had been looking forward to it with youthful enthusiasm. "Yes, I knew. I’ve been counting the days since August."

Bilbo chuckled. "Of course you have. It’s your first birthday here and the first day we’ve spent together. What would you like to do?"

"I don’t know. You’re older, so I guess you are supposed to decide."

"Oh, I think not, lad. You’re much younger, you know. When you’ve had one hundred birthdays, they don’t seem so very special."

"Alright. How about we have a small dinner, and we each get to invite four guests."

"Splendid, splendid. We’ll have to decide who we invite so that we can start getting birthday mathoms. We will also have to decide what to eat that day. There are a lot of preparations that must be made."

"May I invite Sam?"

"Of course."

The next thirteen days sped by. Frodo personally invited Sam to come to his party; the lad eagerly accepted. He wrote Folco and Fatty Bolger invitations as well. The Day was fast approaching, and Frodo fretted over what to give Bilbo for his birthday mathom. Two days before the party, he was sitting with Sam under the large Oak tree on top of the Hill. It was their special place.

"Sam, I have no idea what to get Uncle Bilbo, and the Day is only two days away!"

Sam could see his friend was truly agitated. "Don’t worry, Mr. Frodo. I’ll help you think of somethin’." The lad screwed up his face in concentration. "What about...some more stationary?"

"He probably gets that from everybody else. I mean, what can I give a Hobbit who has everything he could ever want and more?"

"You already gave him what no treasure or money can buy, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo looked at his young friend puzzedly. "What’s that?"

"You gave him someone to love, and you love him back. No matter how much money he has in that Hill, it could never buy him someone to love and the cherish the way he loves and cherishes you, if you understand me."

Frodo looked at Sam as if he could detect the change that had taken place over his young friend. "W-w-well, yes, I suppose you’re right. But...he took *me* in, not the other way around. And that still doesn’t solve the problem of what to get him."

Sam looked Frodo square in the eye. "Don’t you worry, Mr. Frodo. And, it don’t matter wether he took you in, you still loved him back and accepted his offer to live with him."

Frodo could see the wisdom in Sam’s words. "I suppose you’re right, Sam. Thank you."

"But I do have an idea as to what to get him."

Frodo smiled at his friend. "What is it?"

"Well, maybe he might like some pipeweed. Market day’s tomorrow, and I know there are plenty o’ sellers sellin’ pipeweed."

"Why didn’t I think of that? Thank you, Sam!"

Sam smiled at his future master. He was proud that he had made his friend so happy.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

21 September 1398

Frodo looked at the Grandfather clock in the Hall. Merry and Aunt Esme were due by luncheon. That would be only ten minutes! Frodo (tried to) walk to his Uncle’s study.

"Uncle?" the lad asked.

The greying head turned to Frodo. "Yes? What is it?"

"Merry’s going to be here in ten minutes. May I go outside and wait for him?

"Of course, of course. Let me know when they get here, will you?"

Frodo flashed his uncle a grin. "Of course! Thank you!"

Bilbo chuckled to himself as the lad dashed out of the study to wait outside.

*~*~*~*~*~*

They were late. Frodo paced back and forth. His gaze fixed on the road in the direction they would come from. Maybe something had happened. Maybe they had been waylaid by a pack of ruffians. Maybe...

"Mr. Frodo?" the small voice at his elbow caused Frodo to jump.

"Sam! You...you scared me! Don’t sneak up on me like that."

"Sorry, Mr. Frodo. What are you doin’?"

"I’m waiting for my cousin. He should be here by now. I don’t know what is taking them so long."

Sam could see the worry on his master’s face. "It’s alright, Mr. Frodo. I’ll bet they just stopped for breakfast, or maybe they got a late start or somethin’."

Frodo smiled appreciatively at Sam. His sharp ears picked up something, and he turned to Sam with the biggest grin on his face. "They’re here, Sam! They’re here!"

Just as he said this, a fine coach pulled up in front of the gate. The driver got down and helped Esme out, followed by her boisterous son, Merry.

"FRODO B!" The lad yelled as he crashed into Frodo.

Frodo returned the hug. "Merry! How are you doing? I’ve missed you so." Frodo drew his hand from Merry’s gold curls to his chest in measurement. He gasped, "Why, Merry! You’ve grown! No more growing for you, young Hobbit, or you may be taller than me one day." Merry laughed.

Frodo turned to his Aunt, who was smiling at the two. "I’ve missed you, too, Aunt Esme!" He gave her a hug. "Why don’t you come inside?"

They were met at the door by Bilbo. "Hello, Esmeralda! And young Merry! How are you?"

"Fine, Uncle Bilbo!"

Frodo caught sight of Sam across the yard and motioned him over. Hesitantly, Sam complied. "May I introduce Merry to Sam, Uncle?" Frodo asked.

"Yes, of course."

Merry in tow, Frodo met his young friend across the lawn. Esmeralda and Bilbo went inside for a cup of tea.

"Did you bring the pony, Esme?"

"I did. A fine pony, too. I didn’t tell Merry it was for Frodo, though. I don’t know that he would be able to keep it a secret."

"Thank you, Esmeralda. I do hope this will work."

"So do I, Bilbo. So do I." The two glanced out the window as Frodo and his cousin and his friend talked amiably together.

*~*~*~*~*

"Merry, meet Sam. Sam, this is my cousin Merry."

"Hullo, Sam. Frodo told me about you in his letters."

Sam glanced at Frodo and blushed. "Nice to meet you, as well, Mr. Merry. Sir."

Merry laughed. "Don’t call me ‘Mr.’. I’m not nearly as old as Frodo!"

"Merry!" Frodo playfully mussed his cousin’s hair.

"Well, Mr. Frodo, and Mr. ...I mean, Merry. I have to go home for luncheon. And then da wants me to help in the garden this afternoon. Sorry. Bye!" Sam trotted off down to Number Three Bagshot Row. Merry followed Frodo inside to eat a luncheon of their own.

*~*~*~*~*~*

TBC.....

Copyright Frodo Baggins 2006

22 September 1389

"Frodo B!" Merry screamed as he pounced on his still sleeping cousin. Frodo only groaned and rolled over.

"Merry! It’s my birthday! Let me sleep in, will you?"

"Awww, Frodo. You already sleeped in enough! It’s time to wake up!" Merry bounced up and down. Frodo reached out from his cocoon of blankets and shoved Merry off the bed.

Merry was surprised, but then decided that Frodo wanted to wrestle. Merry pounced on the unsuspecting Frodo and pulled his elder cousin off the bed.

"That’s it, you rascal!" Frodo stood and started pounding Merry with his pillow. At first, Frodo really was mad, but then he softened and decided that since he was up, he might as well comply with his cousin’s demands. Merry squealed in glee and reached for a pillow, beginning a counter attack. The battle was on, until Bilbo poked his head in the door and said,

"If you lads are finished having at each other, breakfast is ready!"

Frodo and Merry whooped in excitement. "Beat you, Frodo!" Merry caroled.

"Ha! I don’t think so!" Frodo let Merry win, and pretended that his younger cousin really was faster. "My goodness! You’ve not only grown taller, but you’ve grown faster, too!"

Merry sat down in triumph. Helping himself to the plate his mother set before him. "Thag oo, mum." He said around a mouth packed with eggs.

"Don’t talk with your mouth full, dear."

He swallowed his breakfast and gulped down his milk. "Done, Mum! Can Frodo and me go play?"

Frodo looked down at his own plate. He was a fast eater, but not nearly as fast as the excited Merry. "I’m not quite done, Merry."

The younger lad sighed. "Hurry!"

"Now, Merry," Esme said, "I want you to stop pestering Frodo. Why don’t you go get ready. We’re going into town today."

"When we going?"

"Right after we get breakfast cleaned up."

"Can me and Frodo pway before we weave?"

"There won’t be time, son."

"Yes, m’am." Merry said sulkily. Frodo was now finished, but Bilbo and his mother were still eating. Grownups always at too slowly. And now Frodo was in the middle of a conversation with them! Merry laid his arms on the table and put his head on his arms with a great sigh. They would *never* be done.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Frodo and Merry sat in the back of the wagon while Esmeralda and Bilbo sat in the front chatting pleasantly. Merry kept up a steady stream of conversation, and Frodo tried his best to follow along. This, however, was nearly impossible. When Merry talked fast, he was not very understandable. Frodo just nodded his head and made an occasional comment.

When the wagon stopped, Frodo frowned slightly in confusion. They were stopped in front of the Ivy Bush. Why were they in front of an tavern? They climbed out of the wagon, and headed indoors. The owner of the establishment immediately ushered the group through the kitchen and out a door that led to the stables. With a bow, he went back inside.

Merry ran to the nearest pony head hanging out of a stall and started stroking the velvety nose. Frodo looked from Esme’s knowing smile, to Bilbo’s thinly suppressed mixture of excitement and nervousness. "What’s this all about?" Frodo asked shrewdly.

"Frodo-lad. I want to give you a birthday gift." Frodo raised his eyebrows. Realization dawned, but he didn’t let on that he knew. Esme led the way to the last stall in the stable. "Happy birthday, Frodo." she said.

The head of his new pony poked out of the stall door. It was the most beautiful pony Frodo had ever seen. It’s coat was a rich brown, with flowing ebony for the mane and tail. The tips of the small ears were black, as were the muzzle and legs. Warm, liquid brown eyes peered lovingly at their new master. Frodo reached out and stroked the whit star on the pony’s forehead. It was just like Da’s pony. The scent of the stables took Frodo back in time. Back when his parents lived with him in a small house in Buckland. Frodo felt that if he turned around, his Da would be standing there, smiling. He could almost hear the deep, rich voice; the pride that voice had carried when Frodo had first learned to ride, the love for his son. He could see their own small two-stall stable and his Da’s pony; he could feel the movement of the pony beneath him, and his father hanging on behind. And suddenly, all Frodo wanted was for his Da to be there. He had not let himself feel that for such a long time. It hurt, but it felt so good, too. It felt good to remember the joy he had shared with his father. How had Bilbo known that he really had missed the ponies and rides? Frodo suddenly remembered where he was. He realized he had been stroking the patient pony’s muzzle all this while. He hadn’t even said, ‘Thank you’. Frodo whirled around, face scarlet, to look at the small group waiting patiently. Merry had now joined them, and he was standing silently at his mother’s side.

"I...I...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean..." Frodo stammered. On sudden impulse, Frodo rushed to his uncle and gave him a hug. "Thank you. Thank you, Uncle Bilbo." He lingered there for a moment and then pulled away. "How did you know?"

Bilbo smiled, and with his thumb, wiped the tears that Frodo didn’t even know he had shed. "Your Uncle Saradoc and Aunt Esmeralda were a big help."

"Frodo-B, what are going to name..." Merry left the question unfinished. He looked to his mother to indicate the gender of the pony.

"Him. It’s a gelding*." Esmeralda said.

"So, what are you going to name him?" Merry finished.

Frodo was quiet for a moment as he went to his pony and stroked the black velvet nose.

"I think....I think I’ll call him Gil-galad."

"Gil-ga...what?"Merry asked.

"Gil-galad. It means starlight in Elvish."

"Oh. That’s a good name, Frodo B." Merry decided. "Can I ride him?"

"Now, Merry," Esmeralda said, "let Frodo ride his pony and get used to him, and then if Frodo lets you, you may."

"After I ride him, you may ride him, Merry."

Merry gave a shout of glee.

"May I ride him right now, Uncle?" Frodo asked.

"Of course, Frodo. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a saddle yet. I didn’t know what size would be the most comfortable for you, so I decided to let you help me pick it out tomorrow."

Frodo smiled. "That’s alright. I know how to ride bareback. Da made me learn that way, so I would really know how to ride, and not just know how to sit on a horse." Frodo put the bridle on his pony and led him out.

Bilbo smiled as he watched Frodo take Gil-galad to the mounting block. He could see Drogo in the lad. Frodo was a natural, as they all soon found out. Frodo’s face had the expression of sheer glee and contentment as he cantered Gil-galad around. Finally, he pulled up in front of Merry and slid to the ground without the use of the block.

"You want a try, Merry?"

Merry nodded. Frodo lifted his young cousin up. "Do you want me to lead you, or ride with you?"

"I wanna ride ‘lone." Merry said.

"No, Mer. You shouldn’t ride alone." With that, Frodo mounted behind his young cousin and they trotted in a few circles. Frodo pulled up in front of Bilbo and Esme.

"Time to go back to Bag End, Mer." Frodo said as he helped his cousin down and led Gil-galad to his stall. Frodo gave his pony a kiss on the velvety muzzle before hurrying after his uncle and Aunt.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The guests filed out one by one. Except for Aunt Esmeralda and Merry. The party had been a success. Everyone had enjoyed themselves and had loved the mathoms that Bilbo and Frodo gave them.

After Merry had fallen asleep, Frodo snuck into his uncle’s study, clutching a finely wrapped package behind his back.

"Uncle Bilbo?" Frodo began hesitantly. The old Hobbit was sitting at his desk writing furiously. Finally, he turned to face his nephew.

"What is it, lad?"

"I just wanted to thank you so much for my birthday gift, and for the most wonderful birthday I’ve ever had. And, well, today...I didn’t get to give you your birthday present, but now I don’t want to because it’s not nearly as fine as a pony." The whole time Frodo had stared at his feet as he made patterns with his toe.

Bilbo rose and brought Frodo into an embrace. "Oh, Frodo. No need to worry about that, lad. It’s not about competing about who gives the grandest gifts, it’s about giving someone something that you know they will love because you love them. No need to be ashamed. I’m sure I will love whatever you have got behind you back." He pulled away and smiled at Frodo, his brown eyes twinkling.

Frodo handed his uncle the gift. The old hobbit unwrapped a new leather pouch filled with pipeweed.

"Oh Frodo! This is lovely! Thank you so much."

Frodo smiled wanly. "You’re welcome. I just...I wish I could give you everything you ever wanted, but you already have everything."

Bilbo embraced Frodo again. "Oh, my lad. Don’t you see that you have given me the greatest gift by coming here to live with me?"

"Sam said that. But it’s good to hear it from you." Frodo whispered.

"Sam said that, did he?" Bilbo almost chuckled. "He is a very wise lad, that one. Very wise indeed. But," Bilbo held Frodo at arm’s length and feigned sternness. "It’s much past your bed time. And birthday or no, you had better get your rest!"

"Yes, Uncle. Goodnight! And happy birthday!" Frodo smiled as he walked off, yawning, to bed.

*~*~*~*~*~*

TBC...

Copyright Frodo Baggins 2006

31 September 1389

"Mr. Frodo ....I can’t....he’s too...." little Sam looked up at the towering pony. Gil-galad lowered his head and blew on Sam’s face. Sam stood very still and tense, ready to spring away. But Frodo came up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"It’s alright, Sam. He is only smelling you. He’s making sure you won’t hurt him."

Sam looked up at his future master in astonishment. "Me hurt him? Why, I couldn’t hurt him!"

Frodo couldn’t help but smile. "I know that, and you know that. But he doesn’t. And he also has to make sure he likes you. Tell him who you are, Sam."

Sam turned back to the pony and looked in the warm brown eyes. He seemed to confirm everything Frodo had just told him. Sam reached up a tentative hand and scratched Gil-galad on his star. The pony relaxed and leaned into Sam’s hand.

"Hullo, Gil-galad. I’m Sam. I’m Mr. Frodo’s friend. You take care of him, ya hear?" Sam smiled and relaxed a bit. "I’m sure you will," he crooned. "You’re sweet. You like being scratched, don’t you?" Gil-galad sighed in contentment. Sam and Frodo laughed.

"He likes you, Sam. Now do you want to ride him?"

Sam looked unsure at first. But then he smiled and nodded to Frodo. Frodo led Gil-galad out to the mounting block and lifted Sam into the saddle. After he had swung on himself, Frodo gently urged his pony into a walk. After they walked around the field a little bit, Frodo felt Sam relax against him.

"Do you want to go faster?" Frodo queried.

"Yes!" Sam said without hesitation. Frodo urged Gil-galad into a trot. After a while, Frodo urged his pony into an easy canter. They rode around the field a few times and then Frodo slowed Gil-galad to a walk again.

"What did you think, Sam?" Frodo asked.

At first Sam didn’t say anything, and then he could barely find the words to say. "Mr. Frodo! That was...it was like flying. Did we fly, Mr. Frodo? Because it felt like it. Did Mr. Bilbo buy this horse from the elves? He seems like an elf horse to me. Except that he’s a pony. Can we do that again, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked, breathless. Frodo laughed. "Of course we can do that again." And so off they cantered again. Sam wrapped his hands in Gil-galad’s ebony mane, as it flowed in the wind. The smooth gait was soothing, and Frodo thought he could go on like this forever.

But his daydreams were rudely interrupted. He didn’t know how it happened. All he knew is that all of a sudden, he felt something whizz past his leg and hit Gil-galad in the side. The pony squealed in terror and bucked and reared. Frodo flew off. All went black for a few moments. As soon as he was aware of where he was, Frodo was on his feet and rushing to find Sam.

The lad was lying on his back in the grass. He didn’t move. Frodo knelt beside the lad and checked for breath. Yes, he was breathing. But his breath seemed a little bit labored. After a moment, Sam opened his eyes. "Mr. Frodo." he whispered.

"I’m here, Sam. You just took a little spill is all. Do you feel pain anywhere?"

Tears started from Sam’s eyes. "I’m so scared, Mr. Frodo. What happened? I’m so scared."

"It will be alright, I promise. Just tell me if you feel pain anywhere on your body."

Sam thought for a moment. "Yes. My leg hurts real bad, Mr. Frodo."

"Move it for me."

Sam tried, but then cried out in agony. "I can’t! It hurts somethin’ fierce." Sam gritted out between his teeth.

Frodo squeezed Sam’s hand. "You did good, you did good. Don’t move. I’m going to go for help. Can you stay here by yourself?"

Sam nodded. Gil-galad had returned and was standing penitentially close by. Frodo stood slowly with a whispered, "I’ll be back. Hold on, Sam." He gathered up the reins and hopped on Gil-galad.

The only thing Frodo could think of as he cantered towards the road was what went wrong. He couldn’t figure it for the life of him. He had ridden Gil-galad many times before he had allowed Sam to ride. Gil-galad had proved himself a very calm horse who didn’t spook often. Again, Frodo’s thoughts were jarred when Gil-galad threw up his head and stopped dead in his tracks. Frodo looked around and saw the perpetrator.

Lotho Sackville-Baggins crouched in the bushes. Frodo swung down from his mount and strode over to his malevolent cousin. Lotho’s surprised expression was met with blue eyes made hard with fury.

"What were you thinking?! Or were you thinking? You...you...how *dare* you? You know enough about horses to know how dangerous that foolish action of yours was."

"I...I missed. You don’t have to get so riled up about it. He wasn’t harmed, was he?"

"First, don’t give me that...preposterous nonsense about ‘I missed’. You’re a Hobbit and that was close range. I’m not a fool, though it may surprise you. And yes, he *was* harmed. Why do you think he is laying in the grass over there?"

"Oh...your Uncle's gardener’s child? I thought you meant your pony."

It took every nerve in Frodo’s body and every ounce of his will to conquer the urge to hit Lotho square in the chin. He hadn’t even thought of the innocent Hobbit child he had hurt. Frodo leapt back on his pony, so that he was out of danger of seriously hurting Lotho. "I didn’t think even you could be so low as that, Loatho. What has Sam ever done to you?" Then he kicked Gil-galad into a full gallop as he sped away down the road to fetch a healer.

__________________________________________________________________

TBC...

Copyright 2006 Frodo Baggins

Frodo tried his best to keep his hands from shaking. After pacing about the stable aisle, he absently picked up the brush and began brushing Gil-galad's coat for the fifth time in so many minutes. He didn't get five strokes before he put the brush down again. His pony turned his great head to look at his master. The intelligent brown eyes questioned Frodo.

"I’m sorry. It’s just...I hope Sam’s all right. Uncle Bilbo sent me down here to be out of the way. But I don’t want to be anywhere but Number 3 right now." Frodo’s quick ears caught the sound of someone entering the stable and he hurried from the stall door. Bilbo met him.

"How’s Sam?" Frodo asked.

Bilbo smiled down at his nephew. "He’s in quite a bit of pain. He was very brave, though and you did a nice job carrying him home. His leg was hardly out of place. You can come see him now."

"I was so worried about him. I know a broken leg isn’t as serious as what could have happened, but..." Frodo’s voice trailed off as he saw a loathed figure walking down the road. Bilbo’s presence was the only leash that held Frodo by the scruff of his neck from hurling himself at Lotho.

Bilbo sensed his nephew tense. "Frodo-lad, what’s wrong?"

"Lotho broke Sam’s leg." Frodo growled.

"Did he? I thought you said Sam fell from the horse."

"He fell. But it wasn’t Gil-galad’s fault, nor Sam’s. It was Lotho. He threw a rock right at Gil-galad’s most sensitive spot and the poor pony threw Sam and I. He didn’t even care about Sam afterwards!"

By this time, Lotho was almost upon them. He looked miserable and his eyes never met Frodo’s.

"Hullo." He mumbled.

"Now, hold on there, young lad. What’s this about throwing rocks?"

Lotho looked up. " ‘M sorry. I was just coming to see him." Lotho apparently found the ground immensely interesting.

"I see. Well, I’ll have to have a talk with your parents about this."

Lotho looked up at Bilbo, "No, sir! Please. I didn’t see the lad, honest. He was in front of Frodo, how could I have? I only meant to scare the horse and give Frodo a little jolt."

Bilbo studied the lad before him, as he kept a firm restraining hand on Frodo’s too tense shoulder. "Well, now. Even if you were trying to ‘jolt’ Frodo, as you say, you were putting my lad in danger. You do realise that, don’t you?"

Lotho nodded, eyes downcast.

"I will consider your request at not telling your parents." To Lotho’s hopeful look he stressed, "Consider."

"Thank you!" Lotho said. He dared a look at Frodo before dashing off and regretted it.

"You’re letting him off?" Frodo asked menacingly after Lotho had left. He couldn’t seem to shake the aloofness Lotho had had earlier when he broke Sam’s leg. "He should be horsewhipped."

"Frodo! Do not speak so harshly."

Fighting tears, Frodo said, "You didn’t hear what he said. He didn’t even care about Sam!"

"True, but he was also genuinely repentant just now. There is no call for horsewhipping. How would you like to be horsewhipped?"

Frodo took the point. "I’m sorry. He just makes me so angry. To disregard a lad like that is so low. He can bully me all he wants, but he will not touch Sam."

Bilbo had to hide his smile. His Frodo and Sam Gamgee had formed such a remarkable bond already. His heart swelled with love and pride for his lad.

*~*~*~*~*

Number Three, Bagshot Row had become like a second home to Frodo Baggins. He had visited often since he moved to Bag End. But every visit until now had been filled with laughter and joy. He walked to Sam’s room with a heavy heart. Why hadn’t he been able to control his pony? Could he have prevented the accident in any way? He feared the lad no longer trusted him. Why would he? Frodo had promised him he would not get hurt.

Sam was lying in his bed. His leg was elevated and he was covered by a light quilt. Frodo knelt by Sam’s bed. The gardener’s youngest son smiled at him. "Hullo." he said.

Frodo smiled. "Hullo, Sam. How’s your leg?"

"Hurts." Sam said through clenched teeth. Frodo knew Sam was being very brave. An idea struck him and he rose.

"I’ll be back, Sam-lad."

"Don’t go! Please. I don’t want you to go."

"Dear Sam, I’ll be back. I promise." ‘What good are my promises now to the lad?’ he thought bitterly. Hopefully, his surprise would make it up. Frodo raced up the Hill to Bag End.

*~*~*~*~*~*

TBC...

Copyright Frodo Baggins 2007, respectively :)