Extreme Makeovers: Bag End Edition

By: Elemmírë

Summary: Bilbo prepares for Frodo's arrival; based on a Shirebunny. Bilbo is 99 & Frodo is 21 (ages 63½ & 13½ in Man years.)

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings does not belong to me, nor am I making any profit off either its story or characters. Also, the chapter titles do not belong to me either; they belong to their respective HGTV shows from which they were inspired.

Author's Note: This story was inspired by a Shirebunny: As Bilbo prepares the room at Bag End that will be Frodo’s, he reflects on how his life will change once the tween comes to live there ....This is my very first Shire bunny to be adopted! This story was also inspired by my own struggles with renovating my apartment in a very old two family house that has been in my family for over 100 years.

Bilbo Baggins was the most happiest of hobbits in the Shire. He had a worthwhile heir at last! In exactly six weeks' time, the paperwork for adoption would be complete and finalized and his young nephew, Frodo Baggins, would be coming to Bag End to live permanently. The only other hobbit that could possibly be as happy and excited as he, was the orphaned tweenager himself.

When Bilbo’s father, Bungo Baggins, had excavated The Hill and built Bag End for his beloved wife over one hundred years ago, he had had a large room created down the hall from the Master bedroom. This room had been intended to be a nursery, but Bilbo was the only child ever to occupy it on a long-term basis … until now. Having since moved into the Master bedroom about a year or so after his mother passed on, Bilbo’s old room had been closed essentially. It had only ever been used when a wee Frodo had visited with his parents and the family stayed overnight. Frodo had loved the fact that his guestroom used to be his uncle’s bedroom as a lad and he reveled that only he had ever been granted the privilege of staying in it. Frodo most especially had liked the roomy old bed with its carved headboard and storage drawers underneath the frame.

Due to lack of use, Bilbo had found it easier to simply close the room up shortly after Frodo’s parents had both died tragically, rather than to keep up the work maintaining it along with Bag End's other numerous rooms. For nine long years now, Frodo had been living in Brandy Hall, all the way in Buckland. And while Bilbo could easily just up and go visit his nephew across the Brandywine River anytime he liked, it was much harder for Frodo to have someone agree to take him all the way to Hobbiton. In fact, many of the times he’d visited in recent years, Bilbo either went and escorted the lad himself, or Frodo was dropped off while his guardians were on their way to Tuckborough to visit relatives or to conduct business in Michel Delving.

When Frodo came to visit, it was simply easier to air out one of the more frequently used guestrooms and quarter him there for the duration of his stay. Frodo had never once questioned his uncle’s decision or asked him why the change in rooms. Bilbo had the impression that Frodo would sleep outside in the Gaffer’s tool shed if it meant being away from the noisy bustle, and crowds of Brandy Hall for any length of time.

Bilbo stood in the round doorway of what had once been his own room as a lad and surveyed it with a critical eye. The furniture was covered in old sheets, the window was shut tightly, and the brick and stone fireplace was cold and empty. There were cobwebs and dust bunnies in the corners and underneath the furniture. The walls were faded and Bilbo thought his old room seemed very lonely and empty rather than the sunny, cheerful place he remembered it being long ago as a child.

Bilbo wanted to create the same sort of refuge he once had as a young hobbit for Frodo--Frodo, who wanted for nearly everything and yet asked for nothing. Oh, the lad was certainly treated well enough at Brandy Hall and his basic needs were always taken care of … but the orphaned lad had very little that he could call his very own. His clothes were often hand-me-downs from when his older cousins, like Milo or Seredic, had been young. The clothing was often too large for Frodo’s slight frame, and had to be taken in or hemmed, which his numerous aunts apparently found easier than taking a trip to the tailor. It seemed the only time Frodo ever received any new clothes was as mathom on Yule, or on his aunt's or uncles' birthdays, or from Bilbo himself.

Frodo also had very few of his own toys, just whatever had come with him to Brandy Hall and what was gifted to him during birthday parties or Yule. Frodo never once complained, however, but it was easy to see the longing in the lad’s big blue eyes … longing for the simple family life that he’d once had just like any other hobbit child before the river changed his life forever one tragic night.

What Frodo needed the most right now as he entered his tweens was a quiet, peaceful environment, where he would not lack for attention and begin to thrive once more. This, Bilbo could easily give the lad along with so much more. After nearly sixty years of living alone, coupled with his increasing quarrels with the greedy Sackville-Bagginses (who would have inherited Bag End and all his possessions), Bilbo felt he was more than ready to tackle raising a growing lad. He had faced down a deadly dragon and journeyed far beyond the borders of the Shire. How hard or difficult could it be to care for one child?

“Tween,” Bilbo corrected himself. “He’s a tweenager now. It’s not like I’ll have to potty train him or anything dreadful like that, for goodness sake.”

He understood that having Frodo for a few weeks’ visit and having him as a permanent fixture at Bag End were two very different things. Bilbo was prepared to give up certain aspects of his bachelor lifestyle to accommodate the youngster or better yet, to incorporate Frodo into them as much as possible. Bilbo knew that there were things he was going to probably need help with in guiding Frodo to his coming of age in twelve more years, and he knew there were things that he didn’t have any clue about at all. None of that mattered to Bilbo--he and Frodo would have to learn together what worked and what didn’t as they went along, just as any other first-time parent.

What the Master of Bag End did have (besides enormous riches and a kind, generous heart) was ninety-nine years of life-long experience to draw from and the fact that he was still going strong despite his old age. He had the memories of how his own parents had raised him; he had the full support of Frodo’s current guardians and many others of the Brandybuck, Took, and Baggins families. And most importantly, he had the practical Gamgee family living right down the lane, in Number 3 Bagshot Row.

Bilbo stepped into the darkened room, placing his hands on his hips. He nodded his head. He was going to make this into a haven for his beloved nephew, who showed so much spirit despite so much hardship … and he was going to do this all by himself. No expense would be spared for his lad.

“I can do this,” he resolved, his Baggins determination and stubbornness coming to the foreground.

* * * * *

Over the course of the first week, Bilbo outlined his plans and jotted down extensive notes on transforming what would become Frodo’s new bedroom, lest he forget all his grand ideas. He was resolute that he not have any hired hands or any form of help in fixing up Frodo’s room. Bilbo soon realized his foolishness when he came to the inevitable conclusion that he would need some help when it came to achieving certain goals on his to-do list that he simply could not do all by himself.

He started by conferring with Hamfast Gamgee’s youngest son, Samwise. Frodo and Sam had befriended each other during one of the older lad’s visits to Bag End. It had been Sam’s job to determine what Frodo’s favorite color was. Bilbo was positive it was blue, but he needed confirmation nonetheless. He then chose his overall color scheme based on the information little Sam had eagerly provided.

Bilbo next made his list of furnishings for the room. He decided to keep his old bed for Frodo’s use, since the lad had loved it so much as a wee hobbit. Whenever Frodo came to visit him with his parents as a faunt, he would clamor to be allowed to sleep in the ‘Big Bed’ as he had called it when Primula insisted on laying him down for his afternoon nap.

Bilbo smiled in fond remembrance, envisioning a pint-sized Frodo-lad curled up in his security blanket, sucking on a thumb, clutching his stuffed toy bear as he slept in the middle of the bed. Looking at the old bed now, he realized that it needed to be refinished. The drawers would need new pull knobs as well, and a new feather-down mattress and pillows were an absolute must.

Having decided on a replica of his own desk and chair in his study to be made for Frodo’s use, Bilbo made a note to make an appointment with the best furniture maker in Hobbiton on the morrow. He wanted the desk set to be smaller to accommodate Frodo’s size, but he also wanted the lad to be able to use the pieces later as he grew. He was sure that Master Little would have the perfect solution.

Wanting to somehow incorporate Frodo’s parents into the redesigning of the room, Bilbo decided the rest of the major furnishings would come from Drogo and Primula’s property. After they had died Frodo, being their only child, had been left to inherit all their belongings. Most of their personal effects were being stored in one of the spacious mathom rooms at Brandy Hall until Frodo came of age and could decide what he wanted to do with them. Other pieces, mostly of Drogo’s possession, were stored here at Bag End or at Dora Baggins' smial.

During his last recent visit to Brandy Hall, Bilbo had managed to sneak away from Frodo for one afternoon to take inventory of the large mathom room which stored Drogo and Primula’s things. Although Frodo knew he was going to be adopted and would be moving soon, Bilbo wanted the new bedroom to be a complete surprise for the lad.

It had been very sad for him to go through a lifetime of his dearest cousins’ possessions and ultimately decide which items Frodo might like to have for his use now. Bilbo could remember the stories behind many of the items and many a time he was forced to wipe away a stray tear as he tagged a piece and wrote it on his list. When he was done, Bilbo left the list with Old Rory--the Master and Primula’s eldest sibling--for when the time came that he asked they be delivered to Hobbiton. He had then found Frodo and distracted them both by telling him and his shadow, little Meriadoc Brandybuck, a tale of his adventure with Gandalf and the Dwarves.

* * * * *

The next morning after making an appointment for the furniture maker to come to Bag End the following day, Bilbo walked into Tim Tiggs’ Tool Supply & Paint shop. Tiggs had been supplying the paint for Bag End for years and had the best reputation in the West Farthing for such. Bilbo could remember going with his father to see Mister Tiggs about a fresh coat of green paint on Bag End’s front door every Spring. Mister Tiggs had long since passed on and the shop was now owned and run by his son and grandson, Tam and Nat.

Bilbo ordered one gallon of whitewash, along with one gallon of Robin’s Egg Blue paint to be delivered to Bag End by next Monday. He had paint brushes somewhere in the smial, but such a special project deserved nothing but the best, so he also ordered several of the highest quality paint brushes, along with some buckets, tin-lined trays, and drop cloths. He looked over the various sample shades of stains, choose the one that closest resembled the original varnish of his old bed, then conferred with Tam Tiggs about the best way to go about the painting and such. He made sure to get enough varnish to refinish the hardwood floor in addition.

* * * * *

After showing and describing to Master Little exactly what he wanted for Frodo’s desk, Bilbo headed off to Michel Delving the following day. He first went to the Mayor’s office to take care of the final wording on the adoption papers and also met with his lawyer to have a new will drawn up stating Frodo as his heir to Bag End and all that he owned. The new will could not go into effect until Frodo was actually adopted by him and the required signatures of seven witnesses in red ink were dry on the parchment. Bilbo already knew from whom he was going to obtain the signatures; they were to be the very same hobbits who were also to sign Frodo’s adoption papers, making the lad his own and his sole heir by all legal intents and purposes.

Bilbo then settled to having a nice luncheon at the inn he was staying at and went shopping afterwards. He enjoyed haggling over the prices, offering the poorer merchants much more than they would normally ask and making sure to give the wealthier merchants less than they deserved. He ended up buying eight beautiful brass knobs of the finest craftsmanship for the drawers on the bed. He also selected the softest of feather-down mattresses and pillows, ordering them to be delivered to Bag End during the last week of the month.

The next day, Bilbo walked back to Hobbiton and made ready to start the real work on Frodo’s room.

* * * * *

Week #2

“I really want to thank you once again for your help, Master Gamgee,” Bilbo huffed as the two hobbits slowly made their way down the long tunnels of Bag End, carrying a heavy oak chest between them.

“ ‘Tis no problem, Mr. Bilbo, always glad to help out. ‘Sides, ye couldn’t have moved all this heavy furniture by yerself. Careful ye don’t pinch your toes now,” Hamfast Gamgee said as they lowered the solid chest to the floor.

Behind them were the Gaffer’s eldest lad, Hamson Gamgee, and Daddy Twofoot’s eldest, Willidad Twofoot. The two tweens were handling Bilbo’s old night table, making sure not to nick the corners of the piece or the beautiful, dark wood paneling adorning the lower half of Bag End’s walls.

Bilbo directed the boys where to place the night table in the now overcrowded room located in the far depths of the smial. This room had been mostly empty … Bilbo couldn’t even remember what it had once been used for in the past, but for now it would make an excellent storage area.

“Will ye be needin’ anything else then Mr. Bilbo, sir?” the Gaffer asked, wiping the dust from his hands upon his worn breeches.

“No, no. I’m afraid that’s all for now.” Bilbo ushered the three hobbits out of the room and down to the other end of the smial. He served them all a cold drink and offered them slices of the cinnamon-raisin cake he’d baked last night.

The Gaffer looked to be quite uncomfortable sitting in the large kitchen of his employer’s grand smial. He finished his drink and slice of cake in as quick a time as was polite, without offending his master.

“Well, if that’s all ye be needin’ for today, I best be headin’ out to tend the garden, sir. Ye just let me know when yer ready to move that bed back into the room. Come on, lads.” Hamfast stood and donned his straw hat before heading out the back door on the far side of the kitchen.

Hamson and Willi were following when they were stopped by Bilbo. “Here lads, a silver penny each for your hard work today, which I heartily appreciate. Go buy yourself some sweets from the cart at the market. There’s enough coin there to get plenty to share with all your brothers and sisters.”

The two poorer tweens looked down at the coins in their hands then back up at the Master of Bag End. “Thanks, Mr. Bilbo!”

Bilbo smiled and chuckled as they ran out the door and full tilt down the lane. He could hear their delighted chatter as they disappeared down The Hill and his thoughts turned to Frodo. He pictured the shy, quiet lad running down The Hill after his new friends, smiling and laughing merrily with them.

The old hobbit's smile faded. Within a few month's time after the lad's arrival to Hobbiton, many of the area tweens would be starting or going back to their apprenticeships either here or in another part of the Shire. In fact, the only tween in the area that Bilbo could think of that would not be starting a working class apprenticeship, was the only one that he did not want Frodo to be around at all, namely, Lotho Sackville-Baggins.

The few times the two lads had been in the same place nearly always ended in Lotho tormenting poor Frodo. Lotho was four years older and outweighed the slight Frodo by at least two stones. The ill-mannered twerp had made it his task in life to provoke his orphaned cousin every chance he got and of course, his just as ill-mannered parents did nothing about it and probably even encouraged it. So far, the spirited Frodo never let his older cousin get the best of him, at least as far as Bilbo saw. The Master of Bag End was going to have to keep a sharp eye out as far as Lotho was concerned.

Bilbo had a feeling that Frodo was going to befriend the younger hobbit children in the area, just as he had done with the little ones at Brandy Hall. Bilbo realized that just as in Buckland, there were really few hobbits around Frodo's own age to play with. His many cousins were either much older than him--having come of age years ago--and now were having their own children, which in turn were Frodo's much younger cousins. Frodo seemed more comfortable with his younger cousins, as if he could relate with them better than those his own age and they simply adored him in return.

Bilbo hoped that in any case his soon-to-be heir would make some new friends here. He would have to remind himself to be sure to better introduce Frodo to his cousin Daisy and Griffo's delightful young son, Folco Boffin. And, there was always faithful little Samwise Gamgee to rely upon. Why just the other day during his lesson, Sam had carefully printed out a list of all the fun things he and Master Frodo could do together! Little Samwise appeared to be as excited as the Master about Frodo coming to live at Bag End.

* * * * *

Once his old bedroom was bare of furnishings, Bilbo could see that the walls of the room remained in good condition through the years, but they needed a thorough cleansing. Borrowing the ladder from the Gaffer’s tool shed in order to reach up high, Bilbo spent the afternoon wiping down the walls with a cleaning rag and a bucket of soapy water mixed with a touch of vinegar, until their cream coloring could be seen readily once again. He made sure all of the cobwebs were out of the corners and all of the dust bunnies were gone. He also removed the curtain from the round window, surprised when it near disintegrated in his hands from rot, before washing clean the dingy glass window panes until they sparkled in the sunshine.

Bilbo inspected the alcove seat underneath the window, deciding it needed a new cushion and perhaps a recessed bookshelf, knowing of Frodo’s love for books. Bungo had originally installed the window seat in the nursery so his wife could sit and look out at her garden while nursing. When Frodo was a babe, Primula too, had often retreated here away from the mixed company in order to nurse. Bilbo himself, remembered sitting there while a story was read to him on a rainy day or using the window seat as a backdrop for playing with his favorite toys as a child.

The old hobbit just knew that Frodo was going to love this feature of his new room and would use it to its full potential … and probably then some, knowing the lad’s vivid imagination. Bilbo found himself a little anxious and excited at the prospect of sitting with his heir snuggled close, both in their nightshirts, while Frodo listened intently to an Elvish tale or poem that was read aloud to him before bedtime. The lad was nibbling on a biscuit and sipping at a mug of warmed milk with honey and nutmeg, occasionally pointing to a word and asking what it meant ….

Bilbo’s vision faded as the reality of the now bare room set in and he let out a heavy sigh. He had a lot of work to do first.

* * * * *

After thoroughly scrubbing the hardwood floor of the bedroom until it was sparkling clean, Bilbo refinished it using the technique Tam Tiggs had advised. Despite the awful smell of the varnish, Bilbo took his time redoing the floor, wanting it to come out just right. He was very glad to be wearing a pair of his oldest breeches and shirt, however, as he had gotten plenty of the stain on himself during the somewhat messy process.

Only when the entire surface of the floor was refinished--save the spot he was kneeling in--Bilbo sat back on his heels to admire his handiwork. With the new coat of varnish in place, the wood planking of the floor shone beautifully in the mid-afternoon sunlight streaming in through the open window. The Master of Bag End nodded his approval, quite pleased with the outcome and feeling confident that he had this momentous undertaking well under his control. It was when he stood up, wiping his hands on an old rag he'd kept in one pocket of his worn breeches, that he became aware of his dilemma.

Bilbo had started to apply the varnish to the flooring furthest away from the bedroom door, just as was recommended to him. However at one point, due to being so focused on his task, he had turned himself around and had absentmindedly applied the sticky coating in front of the closed bedroom door unawares. He had backed himself into a corner, so-to-speak, forced to stand in place near the window, opened for ventilation.

"Sticklebacks!" he swore. "How could I have been so foolish?"

Bilbo idly pressed one hand to his forehead, while the other continued to hold his paint brush ... thankfully, it was the clean one he held to his head. "What am I going to do now?" he wondered aloud, looking forlornly at the doorway across the room. He most certainly could not walk across the sticky floor without ruining all his hard work that he was especially proud of, not to mention the fact that he would become stuck.

He was seriously contemplating having to spend the night sitting on the one dry spot on the finished floor of the bare room, when the fresh breeze blowing in from the open window provided him with his answer.

* * * * *

The Gaffer was whistling a happy tune as he worked in the flower garden of Bag End that afternoon. He was currently busy pruning the shrubbery underneath some of the smial's front windows, when he heard a loud rustling sound followed by something large hitting the ground with a heavy thump.

He walked around the corner to see what the ruckus was, only to see the branches of the old rose bush in front of one of the bedroom windows shaking wildly to and fro without reason. Dead leaves from the thorny bush fell to the ground and the gardener wasn't sure, but he thought he heard what sounded like curses being mumbled in a foreign tongue. The bush gave one final shake, then stopped.

Thinking a large animal was hiding, or even burrowing, underneath the branches of the semi-overgrown shrub, the Gaffer crept forward cautiously. He most certainly did not want to be on the receiving end of a hissing badger or a venomous snake. Although he had missed having his youngest son with him today, the gardener of Bag End was suddenly glad little Sam was at home with his mother and siblings. Sam would no doubt have crawled underneath the bush, headlong into trouble as children often do.

After poking underneath the bush with the pointed end of a garden stake he'd found nearby, the Gaffer just stood there with his clipping shears in one hand, scratching his head in confusion with the other. Nothing had emerged from under the rose bush and its thorny branches were once again still, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened just minutes before.

"Humph!" he grunted, before returning to his work. He missed seeing the open window above.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, Lobelia and Otho Sackville-Baggins were strolling through the front gate on their way to pay Cousin Bilbo an unscheduled visit, when to their astonishment they observed the green front door to Bag End swing inward on its hinges, revealing the large high-ceilinged foyer. Thinking Mad Baggins had finally come to his senses and was going to greet them properly at the front door (as all guests should be greeted), Lobelia hurriedly pulled her husband by one arm up the stone path ... only to have the round door, with its shiny brass handle in the center, be slammed in their faces.

"Well! I never!" Lobelia shook her unopened umbrella she always carried at the door. "Come Otho, we don't have to tolerate such rudeness! We are obviously not wanted!"

Otho shook his fist at the closed door. "Some day, Cousin!" he bellowed so loudly that all down on Bagshot Row could hear (and cringe in sympathy for the dear Master). "Some day, Bag End will be mine and there is nothing you can do about it!"

The Gaffer, keeping quietly to his own work, just shook his head. Apparently Mr. Bilbo had no intentions of telling these particular relations of his about his grand plans, not to say he blamed him as such. Although all discord was certain to break loose once the S-B's found out, it was going to be very nice indeed to see his master put one over on his most disliked and greediest of relations. The Gaffer just hoped that young Master Frodo wouldn't be the one to suffer all the consequences and repercussions that were likely to occur. The lad was too nice to have to put up with all that nonsense; yes, sweet as could be that one was and one of the nicest hobbits one could ever hope to meet. Mr. Bilbo was certainly doing the little one a favor by bringing him all the way back to Hobbiton to live amongst decent folk once more, on the proper side of the Brandywine River as it were.

* * * * *

"Whew, that was close!" Bilbo gasped, trying to catch his breath. First, he had tumbled from the bedroom window into the old rose bush, ending up with scratches and cuts all over his body from the nasty thorns and prickers. Then, he had almost been poked in the side by the pointed end of a garden stake by Master Hamfast! To top it all off, as he slunk unseen across his own lawn to his front door--silent as only a hobbit could do--the dreaded Sackville-Bagginses had been making their way hastily up the lane. Bilbo had made it to his front door as they had come through the gate, and he had slammed the round door in their faces just in the nick of time ... and with more than a hint of satisfying pleasure too.

"At least they had the sense to leave their brat, Lotho, behind this time," the old hobbit muttered.

Bilbo had heard everything Lobelia and Otho had shouted, of course, and as he slipped his magic ring off his finger, he merely grinned. "We shall see, dear cousins. We shall see."

Owning a magic ring was quite handy at times: it could be used during embarrassing situations to sneak out an open window so no one (like your gardener or neighbors) could see you, and it could also hide you from distasteful and wretchedly rude relatives. Bilbo tossed the simple gold ring into the air, catching it with confidence in one hand, before placing it back in his pocket with a reassuring pat.

He went into his study and unlocked his desk drawer, retrieving a number of letters to be sent out on the morn. He flipped through the bundle, reading each name approvingly: Mr. Rorimac Brandybuck, Mr. Ferumbras Took II , Mr. Saradoc Brandybuck, Miss Dora Baggins, Mr. Porto Baggins, Mr. Griffo Boffin, and Mr. Paladin Took.

These particular hobbits were those he wished to bear witness to Frodo's adoption. They were chosen for their familial ranking to himself and Frodo, along with their strategic legal value and positional status in the Shire. Two more letters were to be sent to the alternates (Mr. Dudo Baggins and Mr. Milo Burrows) in case someone was unable to show on the appointed day. All the letters were a mere formality as Bilbo had already spoken with each hobbit in person about his special request of them. All had readily agreed to serve as witness.

Bilbo chuckled. "I think you will find my dear Cousin Otho, that it is you who will not be able to do anything about it."

* * * * *

For the next several days as the varnished floor dried, Bilbo busied himself with his usual tasks and the general upkeep of Bag End. He didn't particularly want to admit it (especially since he still looked as he did at age fifty), but his body was feeling the aches and pains of being on his hands and knees all day. Muscles that were unused to such rigorous and physically demanding work were sore and he even went so far as to sneak some of the liniment he'd obtained special from the Elves to give to the Gaffer for his birthday mathom. Bilbo felt like he could hardly move, but the discomfort was minor compared to the good feelings derived from accomplishing something by one's self. It would all be worth it to see Frodo settled and happy at last.

When the varnish was dry, Bilbo was ready to proceed with his next undertaking in the bedroom however, the weather conspired against him, turning sour and raining non-stop for the next week. It wasn't until the next weekend came that the dampened air was dry enough to begin the task of painting Frodo's new room.

Clad in his old clothing once more, he then set to work whitewashing the walls with a long-handled, soft bristle brush. The whitewash dried within a day's time and the old hobbit applied two fresh coats of Robin's Egg Blue paint to the four walls.

As with the varnish, Bilbo took his time and was very careful not to get any paint on any of the wood paneling in the room, or the moulding, window frame, or mantel and fireplace. He was careful to wipe up any paint drips immediately. The only mishap he encountered was accidentally stepping back in the narrow closet as he worked and getting paint in his curls and on his backside. That, and the flecks of blue paint that flew from his brush only to land in his foothair as he painted. Oh yes, and there had also been that close call he’d had with the paint tray as well, nearly stepping back into it as he’d admired his work.

When he was done, he removed the old bed sheets and tarp he had laid on the finished hardwood floor for protection and left the window open to air out the strong odor of the fresh paint. After a hearty supper, Bilbo climbed into a hot bath and soaked his sore muscles, his body unaccustomed to such labor. He also washed his curls, but it would take him several more baths during the week until he was able to wash all of the blue paint out of the thick hair of his head and feet.

* * * * *

(For Dreamflower)

Finally, peace and quiet at long last. Bilbo stretched out in his favorite oversized chair in the sitting room, in front of a cozy fire. He was clad in his most favorite nightshirt and had covered his legs with a warm blanket. He took a large sip of the Old Wineyards, figuring that saving his sanity was as good enough an occasion to open a bottle as any.

So engrossed he had been in following the step-by-step plans Master Hamfast's brother-in-law had provided him with to install a recessed bookcase under the window in Frodo's room, he had clear forgotten that it was Friday.

The first Friday of the month to be precise.

The first Friday of the month when at three-o'clock in the afternoon his cousin Dora--the eldest matriarch of the Baggins family and Frodo's aunt--would arrive for their customary afternoon tea.

Dora had looked him up and down when Bilbo had finally answered the doorbell ... and had given him a disapproving frown. He had been clad in his varnish and paint-stained breeches and old shirt. His shirtsleeves had been rolled up past his elbows (as was no doubt improper when receiving a guest) and his hair had been covered in sawdust.

Staying her distance, Dora had followed him through the smial to witness the fruits of his labor before waiting for him in the sitting room, as he cleaned up and changed into something more presentable for afternoon tea. Bilbo, in his absentmindedness, had also realized that he had forgotten to bake. If Dora caught wind of this, she would be most displeased and start lecturing him--that is advise-- him on the proper way a guest (no matter how they were related) should be treated properly. Dora was not one to mince words when it came to advice on propriety and good manners.

Thankfully, Bell Gamgee had remembered it was the first Friday of the month and had sent little Samwise and his sister, May, up The Hill with a freshly baked pie made from the season's first strawberries. Bilbo had hastily wrote himself a note to come up with some sort of 'thank you' gift that would be seen as acceptable in the Gaffer's eyes. He was truly blessed to know the Gamgee family and have them live so close ... they were certainly his saving grace many a time over the years.

Dora had been very pleased with the pie, but it had not stopped her from giving him an earful of advice concerning not only the proper way a lad's bedroom should look, but also on the proper way a certain lad should be raised. She had spent the afternoon advising him on such things as Lessons--that most children do not like Lessons and being cooped up inside when they could be Outdoors.

Bilbo had scoffed at this. Frodo was one of those rare children who loved Lessons and was a quick study. He had never had a problem with settling the boy down with a quill and parchment whenever he came to visit ... Frodo had already mastered the writing and pronunciation of the Elvish alphabet. The fact that Frodo might actually need to be Pried away from his Books, as Dora's advisements went, was more of a reality.

Bilbo, of course, had known where his cousin stood on the subject of Adventuring. He had tried not to roll his eyes when Dora had blathered on about how Hobbits were not meant by Nature to have Adventures, or to go wandering far from Family and Home. And while Children may find it exciting to hear such Tales at the hearthside, or to Play at them in the meadow, when Bedtime comes they will be just as glad to be snuggled warm in their own beds.*

Dora had been notably concerned that Frodo was already showing signs of going through a more troubled tweenage period than most lads his age, getting himself into all sorts of trouble unimaginable at Brandy Hall.

"Well of course he is, Dora," Bilbo had rebuked. "Frodo's not had the easiest or most pleasant of childhoods you know. He has few memories of happier times spent, when his parents were alive, to help him find his way.

"I know you deem it acceptable that a child listen to tales as they are a History of sorts and even play at Adventure to help them 'settle down' as they grow older. But it's different for Frodo, Dora. When he pretends he is off on an Adventure, his imaginings serve to take him away from the harsh reality that he has been living the life of an orphan. Frodo's always had an ear for my tales, ever since he could talk, but I do believe they serve to help him cope with his grief in many ways now. And I'll not take that away from him, Cousin. Ever."

Dora had sipped at her tea before saying, "I'm not asking that you stop telling the lad tales, Bilbo-dear. I just do not want to you to encourage them overly, so that Frodo does not know what it means to be a respectable Baggins. He is going to have enough trouble as it is with certain folk around here--and I know you know of whom I speak--that he is also of Brandybuck heritage and has lived for quite some time on the other side of the Brandywine River. I want Frodo to be happy living here with you Bilbo, as all his family does. You have a certain way with the lad that we've all taken note of, at one time or another ... and you have nothing but our respect and support for your adoption of him."

After Dora had conceded to his point, the subject had changed to much more pleasant subjects like the cooking of meals and so forth. After Dora had left, Bilbo had immersed himself in his work on the bookshelf until it was complete (and not falling apart on him). He had bathed and was now settled comfortably with a new book of Elvish history, sent to him by Lord Elrond of Rivendell. Bilbo took another hearty sip of his wine and began to read.

* * * * *

For the next several weeks, Bilbo was inundated with letters from Dora. Apparently she found it difficult to believe that he, a lifelong bachelor and a male hobbit at that, could have thought of everything to prepare for a child's arrival, despite his reassurances to the contrary. Her bountiful letters were chock full of advice, some of which was useful and which Bilbo took into consideration, but most of which was not. It seemed to he that his cousin desperately needed a hobby ... perhaps he could persuade her to write all of her sage advice and wisdom into a proper book (instead of to him). By the time Frodo was moved in and the two hobbits were living comfortably together, Bilbo made another vow to himself--when he decided on his final parting gifts to bequeath to his family, Dora was most assuredly going to receive his wastebasket.

* * * * *

*quoted from chapter 2 of Dreamflower's 'Miss Dora Baggins' Book of Manners '

Bilbo swore as he accidentally cut his hand while running a cleaning cloth over the sword he begot from his journey with Gandalf and the Dwarves, Sting. Luckily, the small cut was not deep enough to warrant a summons for the healer or suturing, however the incident got him to thinking about child-proofing Bag End. What if it had been Frodo who had been cut?

Bilbo’s increasing worries that some ill would befall his nephew while living with him grew until he couldn’t take it anymore and he sought out the wisdom of Bell Gamgee, mother of six.

Bell laughed. “Nonsense, Mr. Bilbo, sir! I don’t expect Bag End has changed all that much since you were a lad growing up there, now has it?”

Bilbo thought about this for a moment. “Well no, I suppose it hasn’t. But I've made sure any medicines I have are locked away safely, as are the Old Wineyards and ale. But what if I’ve overlooked something?” he fretted.

Bell refreshed the cup of tea the Master was sipping before sitting down opposite him at the kitchen table of Number 3. In the corner, her youngest child of six--five-year old Marigold--played quietly with her rag doll.

“Mr. Bilbo, ye can do all the preparin’ in the world, but when it comes to raisin’ a child--especially a tween--ye cannot foresee everythin’ that might happen.

"Take yer fancy sword, for example. Nows ye can do one of two things with it--ye can either hide it away and hope the young Master don’t go explorin’ an’ hurt himself when he finds it. Or, ye can leave that sword right where it ‘tis an’ set some ground rules about the handlin’ of it, like he can only look at it if yer home and give him permission. Besides, hasn’t Master Frodo been in Bag End before with that sword hangin’ on the wall?”

Bilbo frowned, not having made this obvious realization himself. “Well, yes he has. …. I’m a ninnyhammer as Master Hamfast would say. Frodo has seen Sting before and has never looked closely at it without my express permission. Of course, he was not of a height to even reach it over the mantel … but he will be one day.”

“And ‘tis going to be yer job to make sure he continues to do as he’s told, even if he grows to be bigger than ye,” Bell affirmed sternly. She continued in a softer tone, laying a hand on the Master’s forearm. “Ye’ll be a fine parent, sir. Make no doubt about it. It’s when ye stop worryin’ so that ye should wonder. Ye cannot watch over them every minute of the day for their whole lives, but ye will never stop carin' 'bout them all the same.

“Why, I’m sure Mrs. Belladonna never stopped worryin’ about ye after ye came of age.”

This brought a small smile to Bilbo’s face. “No, she didn’t,” he said fondly of his mother. He watched Marigold playing as he finished his tea, thanked Bell for her sage advice and hospitality, and headed back up The Hill, his mind greatly eased.

* * * * *

After his foray into the rose bush outside of the bedroom window, Bilbo decided he wanted it removed and a nice flower bed planted there instead, along with some morning glories perhaps. He wanted Frodo to awaken each morning with the sweet scent of blooming flowers drifting in through an open window. He wanted Frodo to be able to look out his window and see the green, rolling hills of the Shire beyond. Bilbo knew just the hobbit for the job.

"I'd always knew someday ye'd want this here rose bush gone, Mr. Bilbo, sir," Hamfast Gamgee said, as he surveyed the offending bush. Nine-year old Samwise sat on the lush grass nearby, watching his father's every movement and taking in every word with interest.

"Well, Master Hamfast, it seems to me that it's been more of a pricker bush than rose bush for some years now. No offense to you or Holman's wonderful gardening skills, by any means," Bilbo apologized, hoping he didn't upset the Gaffer.

"No offense taken, sir. It seems to me that young Master Frodo will far more enjoy looking at blooming flowers than this here mess of dead brambles." The gardener bent one of the little branches between his rough fingers and it broke off with a loud snap. He inspected the insides of the little twig ... there was no green to be had anywhere. The once beautiful rose bush was dead.

Bilbo smiled broadly, rocking on his heels. "Exactly."

He watched for a few moments as the Gaffer donned a pair of heavy work gloves to protect his hands from the many thorns and began to dig out around the base of the bush, while talking to his son the while about what he was doing and why. Bilbo wanted very much to help in the planting of the new flowers, as he'd overseen every aspect of the project thus far. However, he knew without a doubt that Master Hamfast would think it highly improper for his employer to be helping him with a job that was rightfully his. He left the Gaffer to his work, but not before producing a toffee from one pocket, sneaking it into Samwise's chubby little hand.

The hobbit child beamed his thanks and was careful to pop it into his mouth when his father's back was turned, knowing Gaffer disapproved of the number of toffees Mr. Bilbo always handed out to the Gamgee children. Gaffer said it would spoil them.

* * * * *

It was well after tea time when Bilbo went outside again to check on Master Hamfast’s progress. When he opened his front door and walked around the front of the smial to where Frodo's bedroom was, he was quite surprised to see just how large the uprooted, old rose bush really was. It lay upended a few feet away from the window, its many roots sticking out into the air instead of the soil. He felt a slight pang of regret seeing it lying thus. The rose bush, now obviously dead, had been planted a very long time ago by his father, Bungo. It had been a present to his wife, Belladonna, after she gave birth to their only child. The bush had been planted under the nursery window and had thrived under Holman's green hand. It had bloomed gorgeous pink roses that had once opened up to the size of Bilbo's hand.

However, the rose bush had come under blight the year Bilbo was whisked away on his Adventure and Holman (and his then young apprentice, Hamfast) had been unable to save it. The Master of Bag End hadn't the heart to have the shrub removed, since his mother had loved it so very much. He hoped she would understand, Eru rest her soul. Frodo needed bright, happy, growing things to look at and cheer him up, not a gloomy dead plant that was as old as his wayward uncle.

With one final glance at the rose bush, Bilbo looked to see Master Hamfast and young Samwise putting the finishing touches on the new flower bed underneath the round window. Sam patted down the loose, upturned earth around the bases of the transplanted flowers with the back of his father's trowel, while Hamfast carried over a bucket of water from the outside pump.

"Is this good, Gaffer?" Sam asked his father, hopeful that he had listened and done it right.

Hamfast knelt down to check his son's work, then gave the tousled honey-golden brown curls a sound pat. "Very good, Sam," he said proudly before showing his son how to carefully water the new plants so they would take root in the soil.

"This is a fine job indeed!" Bilbo praised with glee, bending down to inspect the brightly colored marigolds, pansies, tulips, violets, and daffodils. By the time his nephew would be settled in, the morning glories would begin to grow on their trellis that now outlined the round window, adding to the surrounding beauty. Little Samwise blushed and stared at his bare toes, wiggling them in the loam. He wondered if Master Frodo would like the new flowers just as much as he did.

* * * * *

Bilbo woke up quite early on the morning the furniture from Brandy Hall was to arrive--after all, delivery was scheduled to occur any time between first breakfast and afternoon tea. He was quite surprised when the Master of Buckland himself arrived with the cart, along with his son, Saradoc, and his youngest brother, Dinodas.

“Good Day, Bilbo!” Old Rory called out heartily. He and his son were driving the cart, while Dino followed along behind them, riding on a grey-dappled pony.

“Oh my! I wasn’t expecting any of you to be the ones to make this delivery,” Bilbo hailed his first cousins of varying degrees.

“Sara here wanted to make sure you’re fixing up the place nice for Frodo’s arrival,” Old Rory replied, only in half-jest. He eased himself to the ground with a grunt, brushing the dust from his fine clothes. “Let me assure you, Bilbo, that it was no easy task getting all this here. Frodo’s curiosity is as strong as ever and we had to load the cart up before sunrise, just so we knew he would be asleep. We were all afraid he'd see his parents’ things and either figure you out ... or get the wrong idea completely and think we were getting rid of it all.”

Saradoc came to stand next to his father and laughed. “Aye,” he agreed. “I had to tell him Dad, Uncle Dino, and I had to go away on business for a few days and that he was in charge of seeing to it that little Merry stays out of trouble.”

Now it was Dino’s turn to laugh. “Seems that’s the only way you can keep young Frodo from getting into trouble himself. He’s less apt to find mischief if he’s watching that clever son of yours, Sara.”

“After all,” Rory added, “It takes one rascal to know one.”

Bilbo frowned. “Has Frodo been misbehaving again?” The lad had promised him he would be good and stay out of trouble although Frodo had not yet known about his uncle's request of adoption yet. Of course, Frodo had been crying at the time as Bilbo had helped Esmeralda to clean the lad’s dirty, bloodied, torn back and bottom from where the irate Farmer Maggot had thrashed him soundly for trespassing and stealing mushrooms. The child had been terrified of the three large, seemingly-viscous dogs the farmer owned and had kept crying out that he would be a good lad each time a welt stung when they gently wiped it clean.

It was during this particular incident, in the midst of a family meeting called by Esmeralda and Saradoc, that Bilbo had decided to legally adopt Frodo as his heir.* Once Frodo was made privy to this news regarding his care and future and had given his own consent at the arrangement, the lad had again made a solemn promise to his favorite uncle that he would stay out of mischief until the time came for him to move to Hobbiton.

Rory sighed at his oldest first-cousin’s question. “Not really, Bilbo. Frodo’s behavior has improved considerably since your last visit … at least he’s not done anything that could qualify as terrorizing Buckland. I hate to say it, but it seems his run-in with Farmer Maggot and his dogs did Frodo some good.”

Rory placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “I think a permanent change of scenery will do our nephew some good as well. It’s been years now since the accident and his melancholy and mischief only seem to grow worse with each passing year, despite whatever we all try with the lad.”

An uncomfortable silence followed broken only by Dino, who suggested they start to unload the cart. The Gaffer and Hamson soon arrived from Number 3 and helped the gentlehobbits finish unloading the cart and carry the heavy pieces into the bare bedroom in Bag End, putting them where Mr. Bilbo directed.

The two Gamgees returned home for luncheon, politely declining Mr. Bilbo’s invitation to stay for a bite to eat. Bilbo served a quick, yet delicious lunch to his guests who really did have to travel further to Michel Delving on true business. After their corners were filled, Master Little and his apprentice arrived with the new desk set. Bilbo saw to it the desk was placed in its proper spot in the bedroom and praised Master Little’s high-quality craftsmanship.

Saradoc eyed the desk, knowing that Frodo would just love it and suddenly felt more at ease than he had thus far about Frodo’s adoption. There was no doubt that Bilbo most certainly loved the little lad dearly, but he could plainly see that Bilbo would go to any length to make certain Frodo was well-cared for and would never want for anything, without making the boy overly spoiled in the process.

Saradoc ran his hand over the beautiful desk. His father had been right. Despite all appearances, he had been uncertain about Frodo moving here to live with a 99-year old hobbit, who despite being a lifelong bachelor, inexplicably seemed to be the best solution for Frodo's future in more ways than one.

Saradoc also felt a touch inadequate--he and his wife had tried so very hard for nine long years to help the orphan come to terms with his loss and to living life in Buckland. He felt like he hadn’t tried his best with the lad, that he hadn’t paid him enough attention even though he had … well, he had at first, but then Merry came along, which was no excuse. He could try to be a father all he wanted and talk until he was blue in the face, but he could not make Frodo listen unless the orphaned child was ready to be a willing participant.

Saradoc had given very little protest when Bilbo had informed them all of his intent to formally adopt Frodo. He knew it was for the best. Frodo was suffocating in Brandy Hall and had been for quite some time. But what was it about Bilbo Baggins that caught Frodo’s attention and made him want to listen that Saradoc did not have?

He loved Frodo dearly and he already missed the lad, even though Frodo hadn't moved yet. Over the years of fostering the child, Frodo had become more of another son to him and Esmeralda, rather than just being their very much younger cousin. In fact, Frodo was in some ways the couple's first child, rather than their own son, Merry.

Saradoc sighed heavily. Frodo would have so much more of a future in Hobbiton and be able to know his father's Baggins family better. Bilbo would be able to give the boy so much more than he and Esme would ever have been able to. Frodo was getting the opportunity of a lifetime by being adopted by the old hobbit. He would someday become Master in his own right, inherit wealth unimaginable, and also have the opportunity to become head of the Baggins family ... none of which he would have had if he were to remain at Brandy Hall.

When the three hobbits from Buckland departed in their now-empty cart, Saradoc shook Bilbo’s hand firmly before enfolding the old hobbit in a warm embrace. “Just make him happy again, Bilbo,” he implored before joining his father and uncle.

“I will try to the best of my ability, Saradoc Brandybuck. That is all I can promise--the rest is up to Frodo,” Bilbo replied.

* * * * *

That night as Bilbo polished Drogo and Primula’s furniture with the pine-scented oil and rag Bell Gamgee had recommended, he thought about Saradoc’s words. What if Frodo was no happier here than he was at Brandy Hall?

“Nonsense! That boy worships the ground you walk upon, Bilbo Baggins,” he admonished, rubbing the oil into the old wood until he could see his reflection in the grain. “ … Although I haven’t the faintest idea why.”

No, Frodo seemed to love him as much as Bilbo loved his most favorite of relations in return. And all you needed was love, as his mother used to say when asked how an adventurous Took could marry a boring, predictable Baggins.

For whatever strange reasoning Fate had, Bilbo knew that he and Frodo belonged with one another for now at least. He absently fingered the magic ring on its chain in his pocket, as he made sure he had missed no spots with the oiling rag on the piece of furniture.

Comforted, Bilbo finished his polishing and went to bed, for tomorrow was another day and he had a new feather mattress and seat cushion to see to.

* * * * *

*The Brandybuck family meeting concerning Frodo was first referred to in my story, 'Contentment'

Now that Frodo’s new bedroom was furnished completely, Bilbo just needed to add the little things that would help make it feel like home to the tween. One rainy afternoon, Bilbo pulled forth several of the old trunks that contained many of his mother’s linens from one of the storage closets in the very way back of the large smial.

The old hobbit smiled fondly as he rummaged through the various linens, blankets, and quilts stored in the trunks, as the rain continued its soothing pitter-patter sound against the roof and windows of Bag End. Every so often, he would come across a piece that he remembered his mother working on and he would stop to reminisce. One trunk in particular seemed to contain much of her prize-winning sewing and at the bottom of the trunk were various faded ribbons that his mother had won at the Free Fairs.

Finally, Bilbo found what he was looking for and he triumphantly held up the white curtains with the finely crocheted blue lace trim that would match the pale blue walls of Frodo’s room perfectly. Along with the new curtains, he’d also come across a decorative pillowcase that would look nice on his … on Frodo’s bed. The pillowcase was made of different shades of blues and greens of quilted patchwork, with a yellow and white daisy embroidered in the middle.

In his mother’s cedar chest, still located at the foot of the large double bed in the master bedroom (where Bilbo now slept), were a few sets of bed sheets and one soft, pale green blanket that were in decent condition. All of the items smelled more of mothballs than cedar and would require a good washing, as would the curtains and the pillowcase.

As Bilbo closed the lid of the cedar chest he felt a sense of completeness to his life that he had never known before and the enormity of adopting Frodo crashed down upon him. His mother’s cedar chest was very old indeed--it had once belonged to his great-grandmother on his mother’s side. Upon her death, Grandmother Took had inherited it and then she had consequently gifted it to her eldest daughter upon her marriage to Bungo Baggins.

“And perhaps when you marry someday, Frodo-lad, you will hand it down to a daughter of your own,” Bilbo whispered, running a worn hand across the smooth wood of the old chest. For no more would he have to worry about his family heirlooms and treasures being sold at auction after his own passing or worse yet, being used (or abused) by the Sackville-Bagginses.

And that, was a very comforting thought indeed to the aging Master of Bag End.

* * * * *

After he painstakingly washed and starched the curtains until they were once again a crisp white, Bilbo hung them on the new curtain rod he’d installed over Frodo’s window earlier that morning. He had almost ruined one of the curains while ironing them out, having accidentally left the hot iron on the delicate cloth while answering the doorbell to accept his mail from the Post-hobbit. He had retrieved the hot iron just in the nick of time before any permanent damage could be done.

Bilbo straightened the curtains out and lovingly ran a hand over the delicate blue edging. He remembered when his mother had made these, long ago. Belladonna Took would be happy to see them being used once again. She would have loved Frodo, her youngest great-nephew, he thought sadly. She would have enjoyed his spiritedness as much as I do.

The next morning, when the sheets were dry and ironed out, Bilbo made the bed up, folding the top sheet neatly over the lightweight pale green blanket. He plumped up two brand new feather pillows and rested them at the head of the bed in their crisp white pillowcases. He stuffed a third, smaller pillow into the decorative pillowcase his mother had once sewn and made sure it lay at the proper angle against the other pillows.

“There, that looks very good and inviting, I think,” he said, smoothing out a wrinkle in the soft blanket. He did not worry about putting a heavier quilt on the bed just yet, as he knew Frodo would undoubtedly want his special quilt in place.*

Bilbo then retrieved a throw rug he had found amongst his cousins’ possessions in the mathom room at Brandy Hall. Cousin Amaranth (the oldest Brandybuck sister) had been able to tell him that Primula had made the round rug of varying shades of blue and white shortly after she was married to Drogo. Frodo would probably not recognize the little throw rug, but he would no doubt treasure it simply because his mother had made it. Anyway, the throw rug went nicely at the side of the bed, displayed right in front of the night table (which had been Drogo’s as a tween) … this way, Frodo’s feet would not hit the cold floor when he hopped out of bed in the morning

Just as he had done at the start of this project, Bilbo stepped back and surveyed the entire bedroom feeling a great sense of satisfaction. All that was missing was his most favorite nephew and soon-to-be heir.

* * * * *

Bilbo was nervous as he sat in the legal writer’s office in Michel Delving. He was here at long last to change the course of the future … his, the entire Baggins’ clan, and most of all, Frodo’s.

He twiddled his thumbs and brushed an imaginary piece of lint off his cloak, folded on his lap, as he waited for the legal writer to return with the adoption papers. He’d waited too long for a proper and deserving heir and he didn’t trust for the all-important papers to be delivered to him by the Post. He wanted them safe and secure.

After the adoption papers were scrutinized to make sure all was in legal order, Bilbo had the legal writer formally strike out his old will and write him a new one as he dictated and made his amends. The new will would be signed in red ink by the appointed number of witnesses at the same time as the adoption papers. By using the same witnesses for both, no one would be able to easily protest the legality of either document.

Once both sets of documents were in order to Bilbo’s satisfaction and all loop-holes seen through, they were notarized by the legal writer with the raised seal of the Shire. Bilbo then returned to Bywater, where he rented a pony cart from Farmer Cotton, and left in haste for Buckland.

In only three more days’ time, both the adoption papers and new will would be signed in red ink by seven witnesses per Shire legal etiquette and Frodo would be his heir!

* * * * *

* See ‘Sewn with Love’ ( a future story coming soon!)

It was approaching tea time when the pony cart bearing Bilbo and now his heir, Frodo Baggins, rolled past the three hobbit holes lining Bagshot Row. Curious pairs of eyes peeked out of the round windows of Numbers 1, 2, and 3 as Widow Rumble, the Twofoots, and the Gamgees sneaked a peak at Mr. Bilbo’s new heir that came all the way from Brandy Hall in Buckland. Bilbo found it rather amusing; it wasn’t as if his tenants had never seen his shy nephew before when the lad used to come for a visit every now and then.

As tired as he was from all the traveling the past two days, Frodo felt a sudden burst of excitement rush through him when he saw Bag End and its familiar roof tree atop The Hill. He sat up straighter and his large blue eyes took everything in. He still could not believe that he was going to live with Uncle Bilbo in Hobbiton forever!

Bilbo halted the pony in front of the white gate and helped lift his small nephew down from the high seat. The Gaffer came from the gardens to meet them and helped unload Frodo’s too few possessions. One trunk contained all the lad’s clothing, which Bilbo carried inside. Frodo followed him, managing another smaller trunk that held the toys and games he had packed--many of his toys had remained behind in Buckland, given to his little cousin, Merry, to have in his absence and to remember him by. Lastly, there was a sturdy crate filled to the brim with all sorts of books that the Gaffer brought inside.

Frodo stood awkwardly in the high-ceiling foyer of Bag End, still holding onto his small trunk; he thought he felt more uncomfortable than Gaffer Gamgee looked, despite all his earlier excitement. It was one thing to come to Hobbiton for a visit, but now he would be living here … and he did not know what Uncle Bilbo’s expectations of him were. He shifted his hold on the trunk that felt like it was growing heavier, and he leaned back against the polished wooden bench that ran along the right-hand wall under the row of shiny brass cloak hooks.

Bilbo bid Master Hamfast a goodnight and turned to his waiting nephew. He could not believe that Frodo was here to stay at long last! The Master of Bag End carefully schooled his features. “Do you remember where my old bedroom is, lad?” he asked.

Frodo thought for a moment, then gave a hesitant nod.

“Good, good. You can just go bring that trunk you’re holding down there for now, until we get you settled,” Bilbo instructed. He followed the slight tweenager down the long, curving tunnel, bearing the heavy crate of books. They could retrieve the bigger trunk of clothing later.

Frodo set his small trunk down on the floor by his feet and pushed open the round door to his uncle’s old bedroom. His eyes widened in surprise and he looked back over his shoulder, making sure he was at the right room.

“Well, what do you think of my old bedroom, Frodo-lad?” Bilbo chuckled.

“Y-you had it redone!” Frodo’s wide-eyed gaze wandered around the room, taking in the fresh paint and the mixture of new and old furniture.

“I not only had it redone,” Bilbo said proudly, “I did all the work myself.”

Frodo tore his eyes away from the bedroom to look askance at his uncle. “You did this all by yourself?” he asked disbelievingly.

“Well, I had a little help from Master Hamfast and his sons, but yes Frodo, I did the majority of it all by myself. … Do you like it?”

Bilbo fidgeted nervously in place, afraid all his hard effort to please would be for naught.

Frodo’s blue eyes wandered about the room once more. It looked so warm and cozy, just as a bedroom ought to look. … Just as mine used to look, he thought sadly. Out loud he said, “It’s quite lovely, Uncle.”

Bilbo caught the wistful tone in the orphan’s voice and he placed an arm around his nephew’s narrow shoulders. He guided the youngster into the room until they were both standing in the center of the bright, cheery space. “It’s yours, Frodo.”

The tween stared up in awe at his old uncle. “Mine?” he squeaked.

Bilbo laughed, hugging a dumbfounded Frodo to his side. “Well yes, my boy! You need to have your very own room if you’re to live here at Bag End now, don’t you think?”

Frodo remained awestruck. “You … you did all this yourself … for me?”

Bilbo knelt and placed a kiss atop the pale forehead underneath the thick, unruly mop of dark chestnut curls. He looked straight into the deep blue eyes. “For You … and no other. Welcome Home, Frodo Baggins.”

He unlatched the lid of the trunk that held Frodo’s toys and from the top, removed a portrait that had been wrapped very carefully in the softest of muslin. Bilbo unwrapped the muslin, letting it fall back into the trunk, before hanging the oval frame on a hook he’d already placed above the fireplace mantel opposite Frodo’s bed. The picture was the only surviving portrait the lad owned of himself and his parents posing together as a family. Now the tween would be able to see them every day when he woke up. Frodo had been just barely out of faunthood when the portrait had been painted and Bilbo remembered sitting off to the side telling the child a story in order to keep his attention as the painter worked. The trouble was, Frodo had kept wanting to squirm out of his parents' laps and run over to his Uncle Bilbo.

The old hobbit gazed with a wistful fondness at the picture, mentally promising the happy looking couple that he would take care of their beloved son for as long as Time would allow him. Bilbo straightened the picture a final time before turning away from the wall.

Meanwhile, Frodo walked around the bedroom slowly, examining and exploring everything. He ran his small hands along the shiny new desk that stood in one corner, his fingers itching to try the new quill set laid out next to a stack of the best quality parchment inside the main drawer. In a small vase sitting on top of the desk was a pretty bunch of freshly-cut yellow and white tulips. Frodo absently wondered if little Sam had helped his father grow them.

He opened the closet, peeking inside to smell the fresh paint before examining the large bookcase located in the far corner, next to the stone fireplace. Next to the bookcase was a wicker basket containing a few new toys of Dwarven-make and several puzzles. Frodo’s eyes lit up when he spied the puzzles, wondering if Bilbo would help him put one together some evening.

In the corner next to his bed, near the window, was another wicker basket. It had a little wooden sign hanging off it which read, ‘Laundry.’ Lastly, Frodo came to the window seat, which contained another bookcase underneath, and hitched himself up on the soft green cushion that lined the seat. He rested back against one of the embroidered pillows. The round window was open, its white ruffle curtains tied back, letting in the sunlight. They swayed to and fro in the gentle breeze that smelled of fresh Spring air and flowers outside. Frodo inhaled deeply and relaxed. Bilbo sat down beside him and gathered him close.

Frodo cuddled next to his uncle, still unbelieving that the old hobbit had gone to so much trouble just for him and that he was adopted after nine long years stranded at Brandy Hall, under the care of his mother's enormous family. Uncle Saradoc and Auntie Esmeralda had meant well however, and had taken care of him best they could. He would miss them and Merry terribly. He decided he would use the new quill and parchment to pen a letter to them first thing after he was settled. He knew they were all worried about him moving here and he wanted to let them know he was doing well.

Frodo's gaze lingered on the clothes cupboard located against the wall in between his bed and the window. He reached out a hand, tracing the ornate carvings etched into the large piece.

"This reminds me of the clothes cupboard Mama and Da had. It looks the same." Frodo remembered once hiding in his parents' large oak clothes cupboard when he was a faunt, playing hide-and-seek with his father.

Bilbo grasped one of the small, fine-boned hands within his own larger, ink-stained one. "It is the very same," he said, and then told Frodo of his perusal of the mathom room which contained Drogo and Primula's things. The old hobbit then went on to identify eveything in the room that had come from the deceased couple's belongings. "They belong to you now, Frodo, and there's no reason to wait until you come of age to legally inherit them and use or do with them as you see fit."

Tears welled in Frodo's eyes at the loving thought and consideration shown him. When he was able to tear his gaze away from the clothes cupboard, he noticed that the bed was the same one his uncle had slept in as a lad. He had always loved sleeping in Bilbo's old bed when he was a faunt and he had been sorry to see it covered up when Bilbo had decided to no longer use this room. The old bed had been refurbished and its wooden headboard gleamed with polish like it was brand new. The drawer pulls had also been replaced with shiny new brass ones. Frodo vaguely recalled a distant memory, in which he had begged his mother to let him take his afternoon nap on the ‘Big Bed.’

Next to the bed was a night table complete with an oil lamp and a drawer filled with tapered candles and a striker if he needed to get up in the middle of the night. There was also a water pitcher, and basin for washing up nearby, and a stack of washcloths. Also inside the drawer of the night table was a neatly folded stack of pocket handkerchiefs, all monogrammed F B.

Frodo sighed happily in content. Uncle Bilbo had taken the time and gone to great lengths to make him feel special, loved, and welcomed into his new home. His uncle had even remembered his favorite colors. Bag End was his home now ... and this was HIS room!!

After uncle and nephew had enjoyed a wonderful supper prepared and left for them by Mrs. Gamgee, Bilbo helped Frodo to unpack. He hung up the lad's small shirts in the closet and folded the breeches and vests, placing them on the lower shelves of the clothes cupboard within Frodo's easy reach. Frodo went about placing his toys and many books where he thought he might want them. Bilbo smiled when he secretly watched his lad decidedly place his old worn stuffed bear, Beorn, on the window seat propped up against the pillows there.

"Tomorrow my boy, we'll go into the village and visit the tailor to see about ordering you some more clothes to fill these empty shelves and drawers," Bilbo stated as he tucked the young hobbit into bed and unfolded Frodo's special quilt over him.

Exhausted from the two-day journey to Hobbiton, Frodo soon fell asleep easily in his new bed and dreamed pleasant dreams. When he awoke the next morning, it was not to the odd feeling of waking in a strange place. Instead, he saw his parents' faces smiling down upon him and also a beautiful array of mixed flowers blooming right outside his bedroom window. Frodo stretched out in his large bed and sniffed the scent of sizzling bacon coming from the kitchen.

He was Home.

~The End~

Thank you to all who have stuck with this story to its end. And a big thank you again to all who took the time to review. I appreciate it and all the kind words you have given me. Your comments help inspire me to write more and it is a nice feeling to know that there are such good-hearted people out there. Hugs to all! ~Julie~