You can never really tell what a day will bring you.

My Elements- Nekkid Hobbit, box of nails, hay bale.

You Never Know

By MysteriousWays

Some days start out badly and stay bad. If you wake up in the morning with a raging fever from an infected paper cut it is likely going to be a bad rest of the day.

Some days start out badly but then turn out well by the end. Say you wake up and find that you have nothing to have for your first breakfast so you are forced to go slogging through a cold rain to the local bake shop to get a bun and some coffee. Once you get there you run across a most pleasant surprise. The attractive niece or nephew of the baker is visiting. This attractive person is single. You are single. The two of you converse and by the end of the day you are madly in love and ready to be married.

Then of course there are days that start out well, with the requisite amount of sunshine and daisies there to greet you. These too come in two varieties. One the day continues on to be as charming as it started. However the others start out lovely but then can sour within minutes of you opening your eyes. Sunshine and daisies are good. Then a few minutes later the aroma of your aunt’s stewed prunes wafting into your room to announces the breakfast menu. Suddenly the day is looking dreadful.

When you open your eyes at the start of a new day it is impossible to know what you will get from that day, and sometimes that is frightening,

...as Frodo came to learn.

Roosters were crowing. The sun was shining enthusiastically. The birds were singing a chorus just outside Frodo’s open window. These were the things that greeted Frodo as he slowly drifted up into consciousness. He smiled slowly in a self-satisfied way. A hobbit could easily come to think that such pleasures were all for him. Yes in deed it was good to be a hobbit of thirty-one years of age on such a glorious summer’s day.

Frodo lay in bed letting his extremities take their time in coming to life. He had nothing and no one demanding his attention so there was no point in rushing out from beneath fine linen sheets and coverlet. Frodo loved it when he could start his days so luxuriously slow.

However, hobbit stomachs, especially those of tween-aged lads are limited in patience. Frodo’s started to rumble more and more incessantly with each passing moment. At last Frodo could ignore the need for sustenance any longer and so he was compelled to at last get out of his goose down bed.

Standing up made Frodo aware of other bodily needs as well. A brief pause, to use the facilities and to dress, was made. It isn’t polite to sit at the breakfast table in one’s night shirt.

In the kitchen Frodo decided to make himself some fried bread that he treated to a generous shmear of creamy soft farm cheese, then embellished with some thin sliced apples, pecans and a generous drizzle of honey. To make this true breakfast perfection a hobbit needed only to add tea or coffee. Frodo chose tea. Delicious.

WhenFrodo settled to the table, to partake this modest feast, he noticed that there was a not on the table addressed to himself, in Bilbo’s own jaunty handwriting. It read...

Dear Frodo,

Good morning to you. I trust you slept well. I am off on a bit of a lone ramble. I will likely be gone for most of the day. All the better for writing my book, you know. I wanted to remind you that it is your turn to do the marketing. You had better take the tall, wheeled, market basket as there is quite a lot that we are in need of. I should be home in time for dinner. I have a mind for some trout, do you think you could do a bit of fishing today as well? If not that is all right, I am sure I will be happy with anything that you come up with for our evening meal.

As Ever,

Bilbo

Frodo smiled and tucked into his breakfast. A day of marketing would be all right. He could treat himself to luncheon at The Green Dragon and exchange pleasantries with Ivy, Proprietor Tillek’s oldest daughter. Then spend the afternoon reading at The Water’s edge while catching dinner for Bilbo and himself. Yes, today was shaping into a fine day.

It was the sun that first greeted Frodo when he stepped out his front door, wheeled market basket in tow. It almost seemed to be beckoning him to come out and enjoy the day. Frodo was all too willing to accept the sun’s invitation.

He set with the plan to look for his friend, Sam, first. Frodo had only gone a few steps when he heard to his left, the sound of gardening shears busily working away. Frodo looked and could just see the top of Sam’s curly haired head rising above the shrub that was between them. "Ho, Sam!"

The sound of working shears came to a sudden stop. "Master Frodo!" called Sam in a tone of one surprised. Frodo started to walk around the bush to greet his friend and Sam came out from behind it to do likewise. "Good morning to you, Master Frodo. Your looking well today."

Frodo did not reply immediately, for at that moment all his ability to communicate seemed to have taken leave of him. Frodo just stood there, staring at Sam, in complete shock.

Sam was completely naked!

Frodo blinked several times in an effort to correct the image before him. But no matter how many times he closed his eyes when he opened them, there was Sam, still standing there, with his usual friendly smile and a total lack of attire of any kind. "Er...um... well thank you, Sam. You are..." for the first time since Frodo was eighteen, his voice cracked, "... You are...um... looking well yourself."

Sam’s smile turned to a frown of concern, "If you don’t mind my saying, but I think I spoke too soon. You suddenly don’t look to be quite yourself. Are you feeling okay?"

Frodo did his best to force something resembling a smile on his face. "I’m fine Sam. I um... I lost my train of thought for a moment there, is all. And shadows! Shadows do odd things to one’s appearance. Don’t they? I once thought Bilbo looked like an ogre when he had firelight and shadow playing across his face..." Frodo found he had gone from being unable to speak to being unable to stop babbling. Sam seemed to take it well enough though. He agreed that shadows can do odd things to one’s appearance and seemed to readily accept Frodo’s insistence of being well.

Frodo babbled and tried very hard to not look anywhere but at Sam’s face. This was quite hard to do. Frodo had only seen Sam naked one other time in their lives. Then Sam had been a toddler of two years of age who had run away from his mother who was trying to get him into the bath. Sam was now nineteen. By the time a hobbit is nineteen they have grown into their adult shape with the exception of maybe a few inches in height and some weight gained once they have stopped growing. At this time in a young hobbit’s life they set aside most of the trappings of childhood and settle in to learning what it is to be a responsible adult. A young hobbit adult will not be considered a Master of all things required to care for family and home until they are at least thirty years of age which is why coming of age isn’t until a hobbit is thirty-three. Besides, there is something about the age of thirty-three that has a nice, well rounded finished sound to it, don’t you think?

Anyhoo, back to Sam and Frodo.

At the age of nineteen Sam was solidly built. He had started helping his father in keeping the gardens at Bag End, when no older than the age of five. Years of steadily increasing heavy labor had given Sam plenty of good solid muscles. Years of Bell Gamgee’s good cooking had given Sam a nice bit of padding over those muscles so that he was not too lean. At that moment, standing before Frodo, hiding nothing, Sam had all of the solid appearance of an oak tree. In the midst of Frodo’s shock he did happen to notice this and even felt a twinge of envy. Frodo himself seemed to have inherited some of the Took families tendencies towards leanness in muscle, but still at the same time seemed to have a bit more softness about him than Sam did. Later Frodo in a moment of brutal honesty with himself would admit that he was perhaps overly pampered and soft. Perhaps, he would think, he ought to spend more time rambling about as he used to and a little less time reading, and balance his own softness with a bit more solid strength. A hobbit ought to have good sturdy legs to support a properly rounded belly and strong arms to do a solid day’s work and a solid day’s eating.

As Frodo stood there babbling and trying not to stare Sam shifted so that one foot was a bit forward and his weight resting on the one behind. One hand went to rest on his hip while the other held the garden shears, the bright, shining and sharp, garden shears.

Frodo started!

The shears that Frodo knew Sam took very good care of, keeping them sharp and well oiled, were dangerously close to some of Sam’s important and delicate anatomy. Frodo closed his eyes and turned his head away. "Oh my, look at the time! I really must be going, I’ve marketing to do, you know. I would ask you to join me but you it looks like your quite busy already. Bye Sam." Frodo rushed almost rudely away.

Frodo was nearly running when he went through the front gate but once he was well down the lane he slowed down... to a lot. Usually Frodo stepped along lively when he was off to do the marketing but after the shock he had just received he felt the need to take his time and try to figure out a rational explanation for Sam going about his gardening chores without a stitch of clothing. And how was Sam, a hobbit known for his great sense of propriety, able to go about unclad with apparently no shame being felt.

In the end Frodo decided that Sam must be ill with some strange fever and would soon be discovered, in his state of undressed, by The Gaffer and taken home and put to bed. "That has to be it," said Frodo to himself. "Sam is ill and likely being put to bed this very minute. I will stop by and see him on the way home. I can find out then if there is something I might bring him to make him feel better, like a book."

With the entire matter settled to satisfaction in his mind, Frodo’s steps started to quicken. If he was going to fish for his dinner and take time to visit Sam’s sick bed, he would need to get the shopping done quickly. It would have to be a quick lunch at the Green Dragon. Frodo had not gone far when he heard the sound of children’s laughter. He looked out across the pasture he was walking by and saw what appeared to be a group of five children playing a game of chase. Frodo smiled at the picture until he realized that all five children were naked. There was only one wearing anything at all and that was a little girl with braids in her hair. She wore pink bows on the ends of her braids. Once again, Frodo found himself shaking his head and blinking his eyes, trying to make the image before him make sense. "They were swimming in the brook on the other side of the field," Frodo told himself. "They were playing in the brook and thought to dry off by running in the sun." Frodo turned back and started hurrying down the lane.

A couple of minutes brisk stroll had just about restored Frodo’s senses from his second shock of the day and just in time as he had arrived in town. He was whistling a jaunty little tune determined to restore the day to it’s original glory. "Sam is unwell, the children were playing. I was just shocked to see Sam in the state that he was, that is all. Now I need to focus on getting the shopping done. I should look at my list again." Frodo stopped and pulled his shopping list out of his pocket.

Eggs

Berries of some kind

Bread

A Desert for tonight

nutmeg

Cinnamon

A box of nails

Soap...

As Frodo was reading he could hear the sound of a pony cart coming towards him but ignored it until it had come up beside him. "Hulloo, young Master Frodo."

"Hello," replied Frodo just as he was looking up to see who greeted him. His jaw dropped when he saw it was Hal Farmer and yes, he too was naked. Fortunately for Frodo, Mr Farmer did not stop. Frodo just watched as he went around the bend and into the village. "I didn’t just see that. I couldn’t have. I was mistaken. I have shopping to do. I will get the shopping done and go home."

Once Frodo had some sense of having regained his composure he strode purposefully onward, around the bend and stopped dead in his tracks and dropped the handle on the basket letting it fall over. By Water was bustling. Farmers from miles around had come in for the day to sell their produce and do some shopping of their own. Hobbitesses strolled about with baskets on their arms admiring things to be bought. Hobbit’s stood together in small groups. discussing the future of the weather. Children were scampering all over the place playing games or pressing their noses to the candy maker’s window. All was as it should be on Market Day in Bywater accept for one small detail.

Everyone was naked.

Old , young and everything in between, the only garments to be seen were an occasional hat, bonnet or hair ribbon. There they were, everyone going about their day as though being nude were the most normal thing in the world. There were even naked ladies admiring fabrics in the dress maker’s window.

Frodo could do nothing but stare. Fortunately no one was taking any notice of him as staring really is quite rude.

After he had a good long stare Frodo’s mind started to function again, if only slightly. He at least was able to formulate enough of a clear thought to move himself beneath a weeping willow tree where he could hide among it’s long draping branches.

There, in his hiding place, Frodo peeked out at the scene before him and tried to make sense of it all. The children were not so disturbing. Children tend to be so gleeful when they are free of the restraints of clothing. But the adults, well, Frodo was seeing far more than he wished to. It was all embarrassing to see as well as down right ridiculous when you took into consideration that some folks were wearing hats and the ladies all had their hair neatly pinned up, as is usual.

"What am I to do?" Frodo asked himself as he started to chew on his thumb nail. "I’ve the shopping to do. If I go home without the shopping Bilbo will be displeased and at the rate things are going he will likely not understand why I could not shop among nude neighbors."

Birds twittered in the trees. A breeze set the long branches to swaying gently and gracefully. This was the otherwise soothing setting that Frodo spent many long agonizing minutes of indecision. At last he stood up, a paragon of determination. "There is no help for it, I will just have to march right in, do what I need to do and avoid looking directly at anyone or look only at their faces. I can imagine they all have clothes on. I will tend to my business and be home in an hour, I am sure," said Frodo with a decisive nod of his head. With that he stepped out from beneath the weeping willow tree and walked determinedly into the market square.

At first all went according to plan. Frodo stopped at the farmer’s stalls first and bought his berries, spices, eggs, and even a fresh plucked chicken that he thought he would roast, as once he was home he planned on net setting foot outside his door again. He then went to the dry goods shop to buy soap, again all went well. He kept his eyes looking slightly upward or on the faces of those he was speaking with. Things got a little more difficult in the baker’s shop. Sweet old Mrs. Summerdale, who had been running the baker’s shop for as long as Frodo could remember, stood there behind the counter, her snow white hair arranged charmingly with a few small wildflowers scattered through it. In front of her, on the counter was a pedestaled desert tray with two large buns on it, iced with white sugar frosting and each topped with a bright red, glistening cherry. Though Frodo could not see that of Mrs. Summerdale that was hidden behind the two large, plump, round buns, the buns themselves were as bad. Frodo quickly left the shop deciding he would do some baking that afternoon.

Frodo stopped at the livery stable and took refuge behind a bale of hay after the trip to the bake shop. A quarter of an hour’s quiet rest helped him to gather the last straggling pieces of his composure. Determined to get the whole ordeal behind him, Frodo left his hiding place and made his way to the blacksmith’s to buy a box of nails. There was another scene to make him shudder. The blacksmith, commonly known as "Blacky" on account of his hair being black as coal, worked away at his forge, pound hot, fiery orange metal, dangerously close to his body, sparks flying in all directions, and his only protection was his leather apron that to Frodo, was looking like no protection at all. Frodo kept his eye averted from Blacky, paid Blaky’s brother, Red, for a box of nails and left as quickly as he could.

All purchases made, Frodo felt that he was free to rush home as quickly as his feet could carry him. He just had to get all the way through to the other side of the market square. He took several deep breaths, made sure his grip on his rolling basket was firm, and took one step of a powerful, ground eating stride. "Frodo Baggins! Come here and say hello to me," insisted a cheerful feminine voice. Frodo knew without turning that the vibrant, lovely voice, could only belong to one hobbitess, Miss Impatien Banks.

Frodo was stopped dead in his tracks by that voice. Impatien was a bit older than Frodo, she was thirty-seven, for reasons un-known to Frodo (it isn’t polite to ask of personal matters, you know), Impatien had not yet married. She lived in the small cottage she grew up in. Her father having passed away when she was six years old and her mother when Impatien was twenty-five. Impatien made, sold and repaired baskets for her living, and did rather well as she was able to set a small sum aside for a rainy day. Frodo had long had a fine appreciation with Impatien’s nutty brown hair and warm brown eyes that always seemed to have a gleam of laughter in them. Impatien was as intelligent as she was lovely and Frodo had long had a bit of a crush on her. Slowly Frodo turned to face her. There she stood among the baskets she was selling like some ethereal being rising up from the wooded and grassy wild. Every soft curve and interesting shadow of her body, on display for Frodo to see. For what seemed an eternity to him, Frodo could not tear his gaze from her bountiful form. When he was capable of coherent thought again, he blushed deeply and was grateful that he himself was fully dressed and that the market basket he had in tow was standing somewhat in front of him and tall enough so that it kept Impatien from getting a clear view of certain areas of his own bodily form and the things it was doing.

Frodo’s mouth was dry but still he managed to croak out a greeting. "Hullo, Impatien. How are you, this morning?"

"I am well, thank you. I was about to ask you where you were off to in such a hurry, but seeing how you are attired and the flush of your cheeks, I would have to guess that you are not feeling well and was hurrying home. Would you like me to walk with you? I can get Mrs. Muddyfoot to watch my baskets for me."

"Oh...er... No thank you. I am, or rather, I will be fine on my own," stammered Frodo. He then turned and fled.

Frodo wasted no time in returning home. He walked as fast as he could while pulling a rather heavy basket. He kept his head down and his eyes on the ground so as not to see anymore nude forms. He slipped into Bag End through the back entrance which happened to be by his own room. Leaving the basket by the door he walked into his room and collapsed on the bed. "I’ll only rest here for a moment," he said to himself. The room was dim as the sun was now high in the sky where it could not send it’s rays directly into his window. The afternoon shadows soothed him and before he knew it he had drifted off to sleep.

Sometime later Frodo awoke to the sounds of roosters crowing and birds singing. He opened his eyes and was suppressed to find the sun was shining merrily into his bedroom windows. He looked down and was further puzzled to see that he was dressed in his night shirt.