Frodo could not believe what had transpired this very night. Suspicions. That was what he’d experienced and of all times he hoped he was wrong, this instance was a large one.

He knew he had to be strong. He was no child, but master of Bag End

However, Frodo could not escape one thought that stubbornly clung to his mind like a piece of grass on one’s feet.

He had never felt so alone. He had wonderful cousins, but was now bereft of the closest thing to his parent  since his had drowned.

Come back, Bilbo. I miss you dreadfully.

 Author's Note: I do not know about you all, but I can certainly identify with Bilbo here on many an occasion!        ~Speedy

                 “Confound and bebother it all, why can’t I get this right?”

                Bilbo slammed his quill down upon the table, and got up to prepare his third snack of the afternoon. He was recording his adventures with the dwarves and wanted to tell the story just right. However, the proper words simply would not come.

                After applying liberal amounts of jam to a croissant, Bilbo returned to his desk and reread the chapter he wrote about the Misty Mountains goblins.

                “Oh, this dramatic struggle I was in sounds dull as dishwater!” the hobbit lamented. Writers block, you are not my friend.”

More from Speedy: Ohhhhh, writer's block- I'm not at a loss for LJ entries or drabbles, but don't get me started about end-of-semester papers =/

                “Tina, dear, would you mind keeping the children in the back room? I’m setting up a surprise.”

                Eglantine’s task was no mean feat. The daughters knew patience, but five-year-old Peregrin was insuppressible. He was small and looked three, but fleet-footed.

                “No!” Pimpernel blocked the door just in time; Pippin had almost escaped. The wee hobbit lad pouted petulantly as his sister walked him to his mother’s lap.

                The child had a new strategy to try and leave the room. “Mummyyyyy!!!!! I’m hung-wyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!” Pippin wailed.

                Paladin heard Pippin from the other end of the smial.  He added more cake frosting, chuckling.

                Coughing and sniffling, Frodo rolled over onto his other side, nearly displacing his bedsheets again from tugging. He could hear other young hobbits at play and longed to join them, but the very nose made his head hurt more. Flipping his pillow to the cold side, he drew one end over his ears in hopes to stifle the sound. Hustle-bustle is never pleasant for the ailing’s senses.

                One thought kept pervading his mind, making the thirteen-year-old feel sad and childish.

                If only Mum and Da were here to give me a mug of steaming chamomile tea and read to me.

“It’s midnight” Odovacar Bolger declared, looking at the time.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

Several young voices exploded into cheers as 1399 turned into 1400, and the parents, Freddy, Estella, and Fatty’s good friend Folco enveloped each other into a many-armed hug.

“It’s not the 1300s anymore!” Estella squealed.

“1400, 1400, 1400!” Freddy chimed in.

Folco added a comment that elicited laughs from everybody. “We can tell our children that we’re so old that we saw TWO centuries!”  

Rosamunda Bolger grinned at her husband. “Oh,  I DO feel old now… but look at Bilbo Baggins! He was born in 1290! That’s three!”

Author’s note: Happy  new year, everybody! And now… to stop putting off the first day of three consecutive days  of sprintwork my coach oh-so-sweetly assigned as a New Year’s present… or perhaps I’ll complain about it in my livejournal first! (My livejournal username is speedyhobbit... big surprise)

Enjoy your day, all! =)