Author’s note: The idea for this short fic stemmed from my own spring-cleaning that involved plenty of shifting things about in my rather cluttered dorm and assisting a carpet that was in very dire need of vacuuming.

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

“Frodo-lad, please come here! I need help with moving this bookcase!”

            Frodo’s head emerged from behind the book he was perusing within his room and dashed down the hallway to Bilbo’s study. It was March of 1401 in the reckoning of the Shire's denizens, and Bilbo Baggins was going through the process of spring cleaning. The endeavor involved straightening up the clutter of Bag End and plenty of dusting. There was much to be done.

            “Here I am, Uncle!” Frodo said agreeably, taking the end of the bookcase opposite from where his venerable uncle was struggling to budge the offending furniture.  “Dear goodness, this really IS rather heavy!” At any other time of the year, however, there was little to complain of, for both Bagginses were quite fond of reading.

“Let us just remove some of the books from the shelf; lighten the load a bit,” Bilbo suggested. In silent concord to the proposal, the younger hobbit immediately began to remove books from the shelf. Smiling fondly at the 32-year-old, the Master of Bag End followed suit. He could not help but feel compelled to gaze thoughtfully at each and every book that came down off of the shelves to be set upon the desk. He was mentally running through each one… endeavoring to decide to whom each volume ought to be bequeathed. Frodo, quite naturally, would be gifted with the vast majority…

Or would he? Should Frodo accompany him, the books would have to go to somebody else. How would he select an heir if he simply brought his beloved relative along with him? That would make a splendid adventure indeed. Frodo was an inquisitive one, forever making inquiries of the outside world. It was plain that the boy did not have the stereotypical “hobbit sense” any more than Bilbo did. He would appreciate the introduction to the wide world! How Bilbo wanted to discern more, before the day finally came upon him that he would die… for die he must. He was 110, and although seemingly hale, Bilbo felt as though he were slower and thinner than he ever had been. Surely that was the decay before the ever-stalking mortality finally seized hold? Such had to be the case; what else could possibly make him feel so queer, as though butter spread over entirely too much toast?

Leaving with Frodo would permit Bilbo to have the lad in his company for whatever short months or years might be left. However it truly would not be fair to him. Although he did enjoy reading and  learning of the comings and goings of folk outside the Shire, Frodo seemed just as keen to roam about the vicinity. He still derived the utmost of fascination from his own country. Would it be fair to make him leave simply to watch Bilbo fade into the sinister grasp of old age?

It was fortunate that September was months away. There was plenty of time to grapple internally over this crucial decision. Meanwhile, there was dusting and tidying to be done…

Eyeballing the now-empty bookcase, Bilbo said aloud “Let us reorganize these books into alphabetical order” and meanwhile pondered to himself, I have a fair few bookcases, perhaps I can condense my collection and give Hugo an empty one… he has so many of my books I feel quite sure he would appreciate the gift on our birthday!

Frodo seemed rather pensive. Was there perhaps some betraying expression on Bilbo’s face of his intentions? Bilbo did not wish for his nephew to conjecture anything just yet, so he ducked under the desk to seek a rag to wipe off the dusty shelves. It was an excellent means of hiding his face from the astute lad.

“Then, after we organize these, we should break for luncheon…”

Frodo swallowed. “I like your idea, Uncle. I am glad to be helping you with this, you have done so much for me and I’ve done so little in return.”

Bilbo emerged from beneath the desk with a rag, depositing it on top of one of the piles for the moment. He strode over to the youth and embraced him tightly. “Frodo, you have no idea… you truly have no idea…” he said softly.