DISCLAIMER:  Of course.  The characters don’t belong to me, I just get to think about them day and night.

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MASTER OF BAG END

Chapter 1 --- Without a Word

“Keep it secret.  Keep it safe!”  And he was gone.

I’m alone.

I’m alone.  Bilbo has left without a proper goodbye.  Gandalf couldn’t even stay long enough to explain anything to me.  Bag End… is mine now?  And everything in it?  Including Bilbo’s ring, apparently.  Keep it safe…

There’s no safer place than the chest that holds Bilbo’s maps.  Why, there’s hardly a hobbit in the Shire who cares what’s beyond the borders.  No one ever cared about Bilbo’s maps… but I do.  Gandalf said that he’s gone to stay with the Elves, which means that he’s gone somewhere… Outside.  Somewhere on those maps.

I’ll find you someday, Bilbo.  Here, I’ll hide the ring under your maps.  Someday I’ll follow you, and find you, and give it back.  You love it so much, you never let it out of your sight.  How could you part with it?  Just leave it behind, on the floor like that?  Did it drop out of your pocket?  Maybe you’ll realize it’s gone, and come back to look for it, and you’ll say Frodo-lad!  Did I forget to say goodbye?  And we’ll hug and cry and you’ll explain everything to me.

Won’t you?

There, all hidden away under your maps.  Bag End is mine now?  And everything in it?  They’re my maps, then, how astounding!  Oh, Bilbo, all your maps, books, papers, pictures, clothes… mine?  Bag End is mine?

I can still hear the Party going on from the front… from my front door.  Down the hill from my garden.  You left me everything?  I’ll be all right, then, I suppose.  Bag End is an amazing home, and I love it so much.  How could you leave it, Bilbo?  What could you possibly be looking for Outside that you couldn’t find in the Shire?  Will I ever know?

They don’t need me down there; the Party will go on until the food runs out, or until the sun rises.  I can get some sleep and think about everything in the morning.  Where should I sleep?  Should I take your bedroom, now, Bilbo?  No, not yet.  Tonight I’ll sleep in my own room, and pretend that you’re sleeping in yours and I’ll see you for breakfast like always.  I love our breakfasts together, Bilbo.  Where will you be having breakfast tomorrow?  Did you take enough blankets so you won’t be cold at night?

I’m being silly, aren’t I?  You’ve been everywhere and done everything.  You can take care of yourself, and so can I.  You saw to it, didn’t you?  You made sure I could take care of myself and be strong when you went away.  Because I know you had to go away, Bilbo, I really do.  All those maps… you would never have drawn them if you were content in the Shire.  You were telling me all along, weren’t you?

And you did say goodbye, didn’t you?  Tonight at the Party.  Maybe it would have been too hard for you, otherwise.  Ah, so that was it.  You can face anything in Middle-earth, Bilbo, dragons and trolls and goblins --- but not saying goodbye to me.  Because you love me.  Thank you for loving me so much, Bilbo.  I love you, too.  And I’ll be all right.

You and Gandalf have left a frightful mess, but I’ll clean up tomorrow.  Lots to do tomorrow in my home.  Imagine that.

** TBC **

MASTER OF BAG END

Chapter 2 --- Bilbo’s Heir

Frodo stood looking down at the chest for a long time, holding an unusually shaped key in his hand.  Bilbo had so many chests, scattered around Bag End  --- full of maps and old books and mementos --- but only this one, in his bedroom, was ever locked.

“If you’re ever in trouble, Frodo-lad, or you find yourself alone, see if anything in here will help you.”  Bilbo had gestured to the oddly-shaped chest that he kept hidden in his bedroom.  “The key will always be right here,” he continued, patting the pocket of an old jacket that hung on a hook.

“…if you find yourself alone…”  Frodo sat down on the floor, laying his hand gently on the old chest.  Some money, he assumed.  Sting had disappeared along with a few other things; could Bilbo have left him a weapon of some kind?  A magical way to contact Gandalf?  Or maybe his secret recipe for seed-cake…

“Bilbo,” he sighed.  “I miss you already.”

“Everything all right, Frodo?” A voice rang out from the other side of the closed door.

“I’m fine, Merry!” Frodo called out.  “Could you see that Pip gets breakfast?”

“Hah!  No one has to see to that, cousin, but I’ll see that he leaves you some!”

Frodo smiled to himself.  When he hadn’t returned to the party, Merry, Sam, and Pippin had pleaded with Sam’s father to unlock Bag End so they could make sure he was all right.  Finding him fully dressed and sound asleep on his bed, they had simply camped out in the extra bedrooms to wait for morning.  They didn’t want him to be alone.

“I have good friends, Bilbo,” Frodo whispered.  “I don’t know what you could have in here that’s any better than that.”  He put the key in the lock, turned it, and raised the lid.

The inside of the chest had been partitioned into three sections, and one section was full of money.  There were so many coins that Frodo knew, even without counting, that Bilbo had left him enough to live on for many years.  With this realization, he felt a weight lift from him that he hadn’t even realized was there.

“Maybe I should give Sam a raise,” he chuckled quietly.  “And now, what’s this?”

In each of the other two sections of the chest lay a large, bulky, drawstring pouch.  Frodo lifted one, surprised at the weight of it, thrust his hand inside, and gasped.  Hardly breathing, he pulled out a handful of gems.  Frodo stared at his palm in disbelief, wherein lay four diamonds, six rubies, and two perfect emeralds.  And the bag was… he looked inside.  The bag was nearly full.  These were riches beyond comprehension.

“Bilbo,” he murmured, “I never dreamed…”  He poured the gems back into the bag, returned it to the chest, and opened the second, lighter bag.  Gold --- pure, glittering gold pieces.  There weren’t many of these --- Frodo presumed that Bilbo had either been trading them for coins, or taken some of the gold with him when he left.

It was one thing to have heard a lifetime of stories about dragon treasure --- it was something else again to hold it in your hand, to see it before your eyes.  If this was what was left after 60 years, how much had Bilbo brought back with him?  Frodo put the second bag back into the chest and closed the lid, then locked it, not quite ready yet to stand up, or even think clearly.  He only knew that he was, most likely, the richest hobbit in the Shire.  He would never want for anything, and he could be as generous to his friends and family as Bilbo had been.

“I’m the Master of Bag End,” Frodo whispered.  “It’s really true.”

*~*~*~*~* 

“All right, out with it.”

“Out with it?”

“Out with it, Frodo Baggins!  Last night you woke up for two seconds, mumbled something about talking in the morning, then fell back to sleep.  This morning you said we’d talk at breakfast, then you disappeared for an hour.”  Pippin leaned his elbows on the table and cupped his face in his hands.  “Here we are.  Talk.”  He frowned.  “Did Gandalf spirit him off again?  Another dragon to be slain, and poor Bilbo the only hobbit up for the job?”

Frodo grinned at his cousin, who sat with him, along with Merry and Sam, at a dining room table full of food --- normal breakfast fare, and leftover party food.

“Your face is dirty, Pip,” said Frodo.  “Is that still from the fireworks?”

“No, and don’t change the subject.”  Pippin sighed and motioned around the room.  “In case you haven’t noticed, Frodo, we’ve been trying to clean up a bit around here.”  He grinned.  “I earned every smudge.”

“Plus, it’s from the fireworks,” Merry chuckled.  Pippin threw a sweet roll at him, which he ducked.

Frodo evaded Pippin’s question, for the moment, applying himself to Sam’s excellent cooking.  He wasn’t quite ready, yet, to talk about Bilbo, or Gandalf’s odd behavior.

“Thank you for straightening up this mess.  What’s going on, down there in the field?”

“Well,” Sam said, “Gandalf took his horse, but his cart’s still here.”

“And don’t think Pip didn’t search it!” cackled Merry.

“Empty,” mourned Pippin, fortifying himself with a third helping of eggs.  “Not a sparkler or cracker to be found.”

“There wasn’t much food left, as you can imagine,” Sam continued, “but what there was, we brought up here.  The folks Bilbo hired to clean up the field, and haul away the tables an’ such, are out there now.  They should be done soon.”

“And the guests?”

“Gone,” said Merry breezily.  “Everyone’s probably still sleeping off all that good ale and food.  Oh, and this was left for you.”  He pulled a note out of his pocket and handed it to Frodo.  “Guess who.”

“Speakin’ of dragons,” Sam chuckled.

Frodo unfolded the note, read it, and sighed.  “Lobelia and Otho will be by later, to express their condolences and see if I need anything.”  He crumpled the note angrily.  “Condolences!  And what do I need from them?  What do they want?”

“Oh, they’ll be very subtle,” grinned Merry.  “They’ll ask if you can afford to keep up a place this big, and isn’t it lonely up here all by yourself, and wouldn’t you be happier back in Buckland among relatives who won’t go disappearing on you.”

“My family’ll look after you, Mr. Frodo,” said Sam.

“Thank you, Sam, but I’m not completely helpless,” said Frodo with a smile.  “Bilbo hasn’t exactly been waiting on me hand and foot all these years, you know, so I can look after myself.  And he left me…”

“What?” asked Pippin.

“Enough,” said Frodo firmly.  “I’ll be all right.”

“Frodo…” Pippin looked around Bag End.  “…will you be lonely here?”

“Hard to say, Pip,” Frodo laughed.  “I haven’t been alone yet!”

** TBC **

Many thanks to Baylor, Llinos, and Nilmandra for the genealogy assistance!

MASTER OF BAG END

Chapter 3 --- Family Ties

“Dear Frodo.”  Lobelia brushed her lips to Frodo’s cheek in the sweetest, most motherly fashion she could manage.  “How are you faring, you dear boy?” 

“Do come in,” said Frodo, trying not to shiver from the icy lips touching his skin.  He fought back the urge to scrub his cheek with his sleeve, and then take a bath.

Lobelia Sackville-Baggins swept past Frodo into Bag End, instantly sizing up the situation.  Merry Brandybuck (a Brandybuck) and that rapscallion Pippin Took (one of those Tooks, no less) were sitting in the parlor, staring at her.  Did Frodo know that these two… persons… were rumored to be responsible for nearly setting fire to all of Hobbiton last night?  And who was… Lobelia scarcely glanced at the third person present in the room.  One of those Gamgees.

“Please sit down, Lobelia.”  At least Frodo had the decency to escort her to the finest chair in the parlor, she noticed, before he sat down near her.  “Is Otho not with you?”

Lobelia pulled off her gloves and looked at Frodo with what she hoped was a combination of love, respect, and deep concern.

“We talked it over, and I decided to come alone, dear Frodo.  We felt that too many people would intrude on your time of mourning.”  Lobelia looked disdainfully at Merry and Pippin.  “I assume that your little cousins are about to scamper on home?”

Pippin was thinking that if she said ‘dear’ once more he might throw up, but he was restrained from doing so by the thought of having to clean the parlor again.

“Really, Lobelia, I’m hardly in mourning!” Frodo said.  “Bilbo’s just gone off adventuring for awhile.”  He wondered if Otho had just lost his nerve at the last moment.  Right now he was probably savoring a mug of good ale somewhere, enjoying a few moments of peace and quiet.

“Adventuring,” said Lobelia sourly.  Her rapacious gaze took in as much of Bag End as she could see.  It had been 60 years since she was here last, and Bilbo hadn’t so much as invited her and Otho for tea one time since.

Sam, who had disappeared for a few minutes, returned with a tray containing five cups, a teapot, and a plate heaped with small cakes.  Lobelia’s approval at one hobbit who obviously knew his place as an efficient servant, was stifled at the sight of the cakes.  Cakes from… She felt a righteous anger boiling up inside her.  Cakes from the party!  This unmannered, half-Brandybuck upstart was feeding her leftovers!

Frodo, meanwhile, was having the same restless feeling he always got when in the company of a Sackville-Baggins --- like itchy worms were climbing all over his skin.  “How may I help you, Lobelia?” he asked, scratching absently at his arm.

“Don’t scratch, dear, it isn’t polite.”  Ignoring the cakes, Lobelia gave Frodo her full attention.  “What a dreadful mess Bilbo’s left for you, isn’t it?  Such an unnatural disappearance, leaving people to talk, you know.  And now you’re all alone in this drafty old place with no one to take care of you.  Poor child.”

“I’m hardly a child,” Frodo chuckled.  “And I’m sure I’ll be perfectly happy here until Bilbo returns.”

“How sweet.”  Lobelia sighed.  “You really believe he’s coming back, don’t you?  But such delusions aren’t good for you, dear boy.  Why, it hardly sounds as if you’re of sound mind.  Otho and I were afraid of this very thing.”

So that was it.  Frodo could see that Merry was about to explode in anger.

“Lobelia,” said Frodo evenly, “there is nothing wrong with my mind --- or my claim to Bag End, if that was going to be your next point.  This is my home, and I am not leaving.”  He stood up.  “Was there anything else I can do for you?”

Lobelia’s jaw dropped at this impertinence.  Was she being dismissed?  She got to her feet, fuming.

”Don’t forget your gloves,” mumbled Pippin helpfully, his mouth full of cakes.

“Please give my regards to Otho and Lotho,” said Frodo, as he escorted his outraged relative to the door.  “It was ever so nice to see you, Lobelia.”

Speechless with indignation, Lobelia swept imperiously out the door and down the path.  Frodo put his back to the door, closing it, and slid down weakly until he was sitting on the floor.  No one said anything for a long moment.

“Wow,” breathed Pippin at last, breaking the silence.  “I’m glad I’m not related to her.”

“Ah, but you are, dear Pip,” Frodo smiled tiredly.  “You and Lobelia are…” He closed his eyes for a moment.  “…second cousins twice removed, through marriage.  Why, dear Lobelia and you are practically mother and child!”

Pippin paled visibly and grabbed for one, no, two more of the cakes to sustain himself.

“Sam, you’re so lucky,” Merry sighed.  “Your family isn’t as hopelessly intertwined every which way, like ours.”

“I always knew I was born lucky, whatever my Gaffer said,” Sam said with a grin.  “But I never dreamed it was because of this!”

“Hah!”  Pippin snatched up another cake.  “Frodo, you need to adopt Sam as your heir and bring him here to live with you.  Then he’ll be a Gamgee-Baggins, or a Baggins-Gamgee, or something, and as mixed up as the rest of us.”

“A Gamgee livin’ at Bag End?  Not likely!”  Sam chuckled.  “That’s a powerful imagination you’ve got, Mr. Pippin!”

“I’m proud of you, Frodo,” announced Pippin.  He looked at the empty plate, startled.  “Where did they all go?”  He turned to Merry accusingly.  “You didn’t even leave any for Frodo.”

“I didn’t?”

“That was wonderfully done, Mr. Frodo,” said Sam admiringly.  “I must say, your family certainly has some fascinating folks in it.”

“Fascinating…” Frodo sighed, still from his position on the floor.  “Can any of you stay one more night?  This is all going to take a bit of getting used to.”

Merry shook his head regretfully.  “Can’t, Frodo, sorry.  Pip’s parents and mine are waiting for us at the Green Dragon.  We’re all due to leave for home in…” He looked at his pocket watch and gasped.  “Pip, we have to get back there now.”  Merry leaped to his feet and grabbed Pippin.  “We’ll come back as soon as we can, Frodo.”

“I can stay, Mr. Frodo, at least long enough to get a proper dinner into you,” declared Sam.

“You do that, Sam.”  Pippin fastened his cloak and followed Merry to the door, still blocked by his cousin’s slumped form.  “Frodo, you’ll have to get up so we can get out.”

Frodo sighed again and got to his feet, then frowned at his cousins, then Sam.

“Why does no one think I know how to cook?  I’m perfectly capable of throwing a bit of, uh… well, whatever it is you throw together, to have a proper dinner!”

“Mm hm.”  Merry gave Frodo a hug.  “Of course you are, Frodo, we know that.”  He shot a worried look at Sam, who just smiled and nodded his head at him reassuringly.

“All right, then,” muttered Frodo.  He returned Pippin’s fierce hug, then watched as his cousins dashed down the path.

Merry couldn’t help chuckling at the conversation he heard behind him, through the half-open door.

“Come on, Mr. Frodo --- I’ll show you where the kitchen is.”

“That’s not funny, Sam.”

** TBC **

Special thanks to Nilmandra for helping me picture the view from The Hill!

MASTER OF BAG END

Chapter 4 --- Over Hill and Under Hill

“You’re so lucky to know me, Frodo,” said Pippin with a contented smile.

“Lucky?  Pippin, I shouldn’t even be seen with you anymore!” Frodo tried to sound stern, but no one could ever be too stern with Pippin.  Besides, the mushrooms his young cousin had liberated (Frodo didn’t dare ask from where), and brought him, were just too scrumptious.

“Look at that,” Frodo continued, motioning to all of Hobbiton spread out below them.  The view from the top of The Hill above Bag End, where the three cousins were sitting, really was beautiful.  “People are already starting to mutter about another cracked Baggins living up here --- thanks, I’m sure, to dear Lobelia.  I need to begin consorting with more reputable folk than my out-of-control cousins.”

“But we’re completely in control,” argued Pippin.  “Merry always comes up with the most perfectly executed plans, and I follow his orders to the letter.”  He popped another delicious deep-fried mushroom into his mouth.  “Why, think of how it would be without us around, cousin Frodo!  You’d be rattling around up here with no excitement at all.”

“And no mushrooms,” added Merry.  “You didn’t cook these, Frodo, and don’t try to tell us you did.”

“Sam did,” admitted Frodo, “but I could have if I wanted to.”  He rolled over onto his back and laced his fingers beneath his head.  “It’s been months; where do you think he is?”

“Who, Sam?” asked Merry.

“Bilbo,” sighed Frodo.  “It’s nearly winter, and he could be anywhere.”

“Frodo,” asked Pippin quietly, “Do you think he’s ever coming back?”

“I wish I knew.  I think…” Frodo was quiet for a moment.  “I think he was starting to feel old, Pip, and wanted to go on one last adventure somewhere.”

“Bilbo was never old,” Pippin said admiringly.  “It was really quite amazing.  He had some magic about him, don’t think he didn’t.”  He lay his head companionably on Frodo’s stomach.  “He’ll be just fine, Frodo.”

“And he loves you.”  Merry, on Frodo’s other side, lay down and planted his head next to Pippin’s.  “He’ll be in touch --- or at least send Gandalf around to say hello.”

“Gandalf never comes around to just ‘say hello’.”  Frodo sat up, dumping his cousins’ heads onto the grass and plucking the last mushroom from the bowl.  “You should thank Sam for these, before you leave.”

Merry smiled.  “I never asked him how it was, you know.”

“How what was?”

“Dancing with Rose Cotton.  Finally.”

“Oh,” Frodo said with a grin.  “Every time her name comes up, he blushes and practically loses the power of speech.”  He chuckled.  “When I asked him that very question, the day after the Party, he mumbled something like, ‘Oh, it was fine, sir.  Just fine.’  And then he turned bright pink and busied himself with some seedling or other.”

“I like Sam,” said Pippin.  “I think I like everybody, except the S.-B.’s.”

“They don’t think much of me, these days,” Frodo said, “if they ever did.”

“That’s because they think you’re sitting up here, laughing at them,” said Merry.

Frodo stared at him in amazement.  “Why would they think that?”

Merry groaned.  “Don’t you know?  Because that’s what they would do if they ever got their claws into this place.  They’d drag chairs up here and look down on ‘their town’ and laugh their heads off.”

“Frodo can’t imagine anyone acting like that, Mer,” said Pippin.  “He’s too nice.”

“Not to mention rich,” Merry grinned.

“And good looking,” added Pippin.  “Dangerous combination, that.”

“You can see The Water from here,” said Frodo casually.  “I wonder how long it would take the body of a Took or a Brandybuck to reach it, if they were tossed off The Hill?”  He nudged Pippin.  “You two are so interchangeable these days, I doubt one of you would be missed, if the other was still about.”

“I’d be missed,” Pippin stated firmly.  He eyed Merry speculatively.  “We could see how far Merry’s body would get, though…”  His eyes lit up.  “You know, if we brought Gandalf’s cart up here, and put Merry in it, and gave the whole thing a push…”

“I’m the one who needs to begin consorting with more reputable folk,” said Merry.

“You do that, Mer, and see how boring it is,” Pippin sighed.  “We need to stick close to Frodo, here, and something adventurous is bound to happen.”

“I don’t want any adventures,” said Frodo with a frown, “not if it means leaving the Shire like Bilbo.  I love it here.”  His gaze swept over the meadows, and the river, and out into the far-off trees.  “Still, I do wonder what’s out there…”

“Mushrooms,” said Pippin dreamily.  “Nothing but miles and miles of mushrooms, as far as the eye can see.”

“He’s the cracked one,” chuckled Merry.  “Why do you think I keep such a close eye on him, Frodo?”

“Cracked,” muttered Frodo.  “If I hear that word one more time…”

“The next time anyone calls you ‘cracked’, just say you’re proud of it!” declared Pippin.  “That’ll make ‘em even more confused, and maybe they’ll stop saying it.”

“Good idea, Pip,” mused Frodo.  “I think I might just do that.”

** TBC **

MASTER OF BAG END

Chapter 5 --- Speaking of Marriage

“And what might this be?” asked Sam.  He eyed the small bag warily.

“I thought you deserved a raise,” answered Frodo.  He pushed the bag across the table.

“Now, Mr. Frodo,” Sam shook his head.  “You gave me a raise not six months ago --- just after Mr. Bilbo left.  There’s no call for this.”  He pushed the bag back towards Frodo.

“But Sam,” protested Frodo, “you spent the whole winter helping me carry in wood, and clearing snow off the path, and making sure the chimney was adjusted so I didn’t fill Bag End with smoke… again… and making sure I didn’t starve to death…”

Sam chuckled.  “That’s what folks do for each other --- especially folks who are friends.  Now you just put that back wherever you got it, and we’ll finish the cake and have another cup o’ tea.”

Frodo smiled, and gave the bag the tiniest push back towards Sam.  “A little extra might come in handy, if you’re thinking of…”

“Of what?” Sam asked suspiciously.

“Getting married, maybe?”  Frodo adopted his most innocent expression.  “If anyone’s caught your fancy, that is.”

Sam began rearranging the knives and forks in front of him.  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, sir,” he murmured.

“Perhaps I was mistaken,” said Frodo.  “Well then, what else shall we talk about?  Will you be putting in any new roses this year?”  Sam blushed.  “The rose is such a lovely flower, don’t you think so?”

Sam flushed a deeper red and began building a rickety structure with the silverware.  “She’s so… so…”

“She’s wonderful.”  Frodo chuckled at his friend’s discomfort.  “How will you ever ask her to marry you, if you can’t even say her name out loud?”

”Rose Cotton!” Sam declared loudly.  He looked astonished at his own bravery.  “Maybe someday…”

“Maybe someday you’ll let me pay for the wedding,” said Frodo.  He gazed at his friend.  “Sam,” he sighed, “Bilbo left me so much money, I don’t know what to do with it.  And no one deserves it more than you do.”

“You deserve it!” exclaimed Sam, shocked.  “And why do you have to do anything with it?  You’re likely to live as long as Mr. Bilbo, if not longer, and you may need it someday; no one can tell what’s goin’ to happen in the future.”  He looked at Frodo carefully.  “Are you feelin’ all right, Mr. Frodo?  Didn’t you enjoy your visit to Buckland?”

“Yes.”  Frodo added a spoon to Sam’s pile of cutlery.  “And no.”  He frowned.  “Every time I visit Buckland, or Tuckborough, all my aunts and cousins --- oh Sam, there are so many of them --- they arrange all these dinners, and teas, and outings, and picnics, and…” He added a small fork.  “Did I mention how many cousins I have?”

“Female cousins, are they?”

“Yes,” muttered Frodo.  “Odd thing, that.  Most of them are female.”  He grinned suddenly.  “Poor Merry, they’re going to descend on him in a few years.  And Pippin will have it even worse.”

Sam sat back and eyed his friend critically.  Surely there wasn’t a better catch in all the Shire than Mr. Frodo.  To have him settled down, and taken care of, and sharing Bag End with someone special…

“You don’t want to marry, sir?  Bag End was meant to house a crowd o’ kids, and that’s a fact.”

“Sometimes I do.”  Frodo’s gaze swept past Sam, to the window.  And beyond.  “And sometimes I want to follow Bilbo.”  His voice grew soft and distant.  “Where could he be?”

“Didn’t Gandalf say anything?”

“He said Bilbo’s gone to stay with the Elves,” replied Frodo.  “That means Rivendell, I suppose, or perhaps Mirkwood.”

“Where the spiders are?”

“I forgot about that,” Frodo grinned, “Rivendell, then.”

“Is it very far?”

“Weeks and weeks,” sighed Frodo, “if you can even find it.  There’s supposed to be something hidden and secret about the place.”  Suddenly he burst out laughing.  “What is that you’re building, there?”

“Gandalf’s cart,” Sam said with a smile.  “You just have to imagine that this teacup is the horse, and these cookies are the wheels…”

“What shall we do with Gandalf’s cart?”

“It’d make an interesting planter,” said Sam thoughtfully.  “If it were a-brimmin’ with flowers and vines all overflowin’… why, after a few seasons, you’d hardly remember it’d ever been a cart at all!”

“Great idea,” said Frodo firmly.  He got up and started to pick up the dishes.  “Serves Gandalf right, not sending word, and leaving me with more questions than answers.”

“Would that be all right, then, sir?”  Sam popped one more cookie in his mouth, then piled the silverware on the empty cake plate.  Mr. Frodo’s baking was improving, no doubt about it.  “Should we be fiddlin’ with a wizard’s property, like that?  Seems like askin’ for trouble.”

“Don’t worry, Sam,” Frodo chuckled.  “I’ll ask him not to turn you into anything too strange.  No toads or snakes…”

“How about a bird?” asked Sam with a grin.

“Oh Sam,” gasped Frodo, “how about an eagle?  You could fly me everywhere, and we could see everything together!  Can you imagine what it would be like to be so high up, on the back of an eagle?”

“’Twould be a wondrous thing, at that,” agreed Sam.  He looked nervously at Frodo.  “Can a wizard turn folks into other things?  I mean, if he gets mad enough?”

“I don’t know,” replied Frodo.  He laughed.  “Maybe we should just leave that cart be, for awhile longer.”

“Good idea,” said Sam, relieved.  “Let’s do that.”

“What are your plans for this afternoon?”

“It’s such a nice spring day, Mr. Frodo; just perfect for seein’ to the flowers.”

“It would be nice to have more roses about, Sam.”  Frodo grinned.  “That’s the loveliest flower of all.”

“Aye, sir, you’re right,” Sam smiled shyly.  “She surely is.”

** TBC **

Special thanks to Baylor for the Shire-area history lesson!

MASTER OF BAG END

Chapter 6 --- Borgin One-Hand

“You two are becoming the terrors of the Shire,” began Frodo quietly.  Too quietly.  Pippin started nervously shredding the piece of bread he was holding, and making a crumbly pile in front of him.  Frodo couldn’t truly be angry with them.  Frodo was never angry.

“What were you thinking?”

Merry looked up guiltily and saw Frodo’s bright blue eyes focused on him.  He swallowed hard.

“What were you thinking, Merry?”  Frodo leaned forward across Bag End’s dining room table, anger giving way to concern.  “Pippin could have been hurt.  Merry, he could have been killed.”

“Nothing happened, Frodo,” Merry mumbled.

“Well now, wasn’t that lucky.”  Frodo sat back and surveyed his two wayward cousins.  They had been visiting with him for a week, and everyone was having a wonderful time until Pippin let it slip about his and Merry’s most recent excursion.  “Heavens above, it isn’t as if you don’t know about those dogs.”  Frodo shuddered at his own memory of the farmyard guardians.

“We got clean away,” insisted Pippin.  “Farmer Maggot never even saw us, Frodo!”

“This time.”  Frodo sighed.  “I can only wonder what will finally make you two more responsible.  You can see no consequences to your actions, because there have been no consequences.”  He shook his head.  “You’ll have to grow up someday, Pip.”

“But not tonight,” said Pippin hopefully.  “Right?”

“Right,” Frodo smiled.  “Not tonight.”  He got up from the table and wiped perspiration from his brow.  “The sun has set, and it’s still so beastly hot.  Come on, let’s get everything ready.”

Frodo and Merry each entered one of Bag End’s bedrooms, pulled out pillows and quilts, then brought everything down to the deepest cellar.

“Oh,” Merry groaned, “it feels wonderful in here.”  He dropped his load of bedding onto the straw-covered floor, and closed his eyes in ecstasy.  This deep, dark storage cellar was where Bilbo (and now Frodo) stored ice in the summer, the large blocks having been cut from Bywater Pond during the winter.  This particular summer day had been so hot, the cousins had decided to sleep down here (or “camp out”, as Pippin called it), in the blissfully cool air.

“Take this, Frodo,” said Pippin, coming down the steps with a lit candle in one hand and clutching several spare candles in the other.  He handed Frodo the lit candle, then used it to light each of the others, which he deposited about the room to chase back the darkness somewhat.  The light from the flickering candles created strange shadows as it illuminated the preserved meats, the barrels and crates, and the shelves stacked with jars and wrapped cheeses.  Pippin looked about uneasily.

“Well, Peregrin?” Frodo plopped down onto his pile of bedding.  “Are you planning to sleep on a block of ice?”

Pippin grinned and raced back up the stairs, on his way to rip apart another of Bag End’s many beds.

“When Bilbo first brought me to Bag End, I was terrified of this cellar,” said Frodo casually.  It was getting very late, and he and his cousins lay on top of their soft “beds” enjoying the cool room.  All the candles, except for one small one, had been extinguished, giving Pippin just enough light to see Frodo’s face as he spoke.  Merry lay on Pippin’s other side, listening.

“You may not know this, Pip, but the Shire has a long, long history,” continued Frodo.  “Way before hobbits ever came to this land, Elves, Dwarves, and even Men traveled these parts.  Long, long ago…” His voice drifted off.

“What does that have to do with this cellar?” asked Pippin.

“Everything,” said Frodo.  “Bilbo told me that The Hill above Bag End was the site of an ancient Dwarf settlement --- an encampment for those passing through Eriador on their way to or from the mines in the Blue Mountains.  There was a tragedy here.”  Frodo paused.  “It was dreadful… maybe I’d better not talk about it until daylight.”

“Now!” Pippin was excited to hear a new story.  “Talk about it now, Frodo.”

“All right,” Frodo continued.  “The Dwarves tunneled deep into The Hill, whether looking for gems or for shelter, I don’t know.  Bilbo said that when his father had Bag End built and enlarged, it was obvious that some of The Hill had been dug into before.  This cellar, for example, was apparently an old, filled-in hole excavated long ago.  When Thorin and the other Dwarves came to Bag End with Gandalf 60 years ago, they told Bilbo the story of what happened here.”

“Well?”  Impatiently, Pippin poked Frodo in the side.  “What happened?”

“One day there were two Dwarves down here, in this very room,” said Frodo quietly.  “There was a terrible argument over something --- no one knows what started it --- and one of the Dwarves took out his axe and…” He hesitated, then continued.  “He was yelling, and he tripped, and… the axe came down, and chopped the other fellow’s hand clean off!”

Pippin gasped.  “Clean off?”

“Clean off,” said Frodo solemnly.  “Borgin One-Hand, he was known as forever after.  It was an accident, but the axe-wielding Dwarf fled the settlement, never to be seen again.  And the hand…” He paused, sighing again.

“What about it?”

“I’d better not say,” said Frodo.  He got up and snuffed out the candle, plunging the room into total darkness.  “Let’s get some sleep.”  He lay back down next to Pippin.

“Frodo Baggins!”  Pippin couldn’t believe his ears.  “I’ll never get to sleep until you finish the story!”

“All right, if you’re sure,” Frodo said.  “Well, Pip, no one ever found it.”

“What do you mean?”

“The hand --- no one ever found it.  It just disappeared.  Maybe it fell through a crack in the wall, or in the floor, or just got overlooked somehow.  Soon after that, the Dwarves started avoiding this room, and it was eventually  filled in, but never forgotten.  Folks reported hearing strange sounds in the earth, and feeling a cold chill come over them.”  Pippin shivered suddenly.  “After about a year, the Dwarves left the area and resettled elsewhere.”

Frodo’s voice grew soft and low and Pippin strained to hear him, regretting the fact that they had snuffed out the candles.  There were too many nooks and crannies in the cellar… too many places for something to be hiding…

“Bilbo said that once this cellar was dug out, even his father didn’t like coming down here too often.  He said something felt odd about the room… creepy, somehow.  Like there was something still alive down here, maybe looking for revenge.  Something… still hunting… something crawling about…”

Suddenly Pippin felt something touching his leg.  A hand… crawling…  He shrieked in terror and skittered backwards, kicking out at the thing.

“Ow!” said Merry.  “Take it easy, Pip!  It’s only me!”

Gasping for breath, Pippin looked wildly about as Frodo re-lit the candle.  For some reason Frodo was grinning, and Merry…

“It was you!” Pippin gasped.  “Meriadoc Brandybuck, you scared me out of a year’s growth!”

“Oh Pip!” Merry couldn’t help laughing at his cousin’s aggrieved face.  “You jumped higher than I did when I heard that story!”

“He did not,” chuckled Frodo, sitting back down on his bedding.  “As I recall, Mer, you had run nearly to Bywater by the time Bilbo and I caught up with you!”

“Ridiculous,” snorted Merry, then he started giggling again.

“It wasn’t funny,” Pippin muttered.  He glared at Merry and pulled apart his bedding, just to make sure that no hands or legs or other body parts were lying in wait.  “Is any of that story true?”

“Well,” Frodo answered, “Dwarves did come through this area.  Who knows what could have happened here?”  He put a hand on Pippin’s shoulder.  “We’re sorry we scared you.”

“Forgiven, Pip?” Merry scooted close, and Pippin found himself surrounded by contrite cousins.

“Well…”  With a bloodcurdling howl, Pippin pounced suddenly at Merry and tried to push him to the ground, but his cousins were too quick for him.  Pippin shrieked with laughter as Frodo and Merry wrestled him, squirming and wriggling, into the mounds of quilts and pillows.  Soon all three were so tangled in the bedding, and laughing so hard, that they could scarcely move.

Finally the three cousins settled down (after Pippin had extracted a promise from Frodo that he would get to play the part of the crawling hand someday, for some other hapless cousin).

“Are you going to celebrate Bilbo’s birthday, Frodo?” Pippin ended his question with a yawn.

“That’s a whole month away,” answered Frodo sleepily.

“You mean, it’s only a month away,” corrected Merry.

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Frodo said.  He was quiet for a moment.  “It’s hard to believe that it’s been nearly been a year since he left.”

“You’ve done well on your own,” said Merry.  “We’re all so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mer.”  Frodo smiled into the darkness.  “I do want to celebrate Bilbo’s birthday, but I just want to keep everything simple.”

“Gandalf might come back and bring more fireworks!” said Pippin.  “It’ll be a year since he left, too.”

“That’s far from simple,” Frodo chuckled.  “Besides, every time Gandalf appears, some Baggins disappears.”

“Maybe we’ll just spend a fun evening at the Green Dragon,” Merry suggested.  “Some good ale to toast Bilbo’s health, a little singing…”

“We get a little out of hand when we sing,” Frodo reminded them.  “I’ll make sure good old Sam is there to keep an eye on us.”

“If we’re at the Dragon, we all know who Sam will be watching,” chortled Merry.  “And it won’t be us!”

** TBC ** 

MASTER OF BAG END

Chapter 7 --- A Shower of Stars

“Gandalf’s cart finally came in handy,” observed Merry.  “The sides keep out the wind, and this thick straw we put in is nice and warm.”  He laced his fingers under his head, gazing up at the brilliant, twinkling stars.

“It’s a perfect place for star-gazing, especially on a chilly night like this one --- and it only took us a year to discover it!” chuckled Frodo.  “Last month, when Pippin heard about Borgin One-Hand, I think he would have been happy to sleep out here.”

“You’re exaggerating, as usual,” sniffed Pippin from somewhere in the straw.  “I didn’t believe that story for one second.”

“Mr. Frodo,” said Sam reprovingly, “you didn’t tell Mr. Pippin that dreadful tale?  Whatever for?”

“Tradition,” replied Frodo firmly.  “Family tradition, Sam.  The Gamgees must have traditions, and don’t try to say they don’t.”

“Of course we do,” agreed Sam.  “But takin’ a poor lad down into the dark, and tellin’ him about Dwarf hands prowlin’ about…” He grinned suddenly.  “Why, everybody knows those Dwarf hands prefer nice, soft places.  Like this straw.”

“Samwise Gamgee,” Pippin warned, “don’t you dare.”

“He’s right, Sam, we shouldn’t tease,” agreed Merry.  “Besides, Dwarf hands prefer to hang under things.  Like this cart.”

“We need to meet a real Dwarf, Frodo,” Pippin declared, rubbing straw into Merry’s hair.  “I’ll bet they don’t even carry axes anymore, let alone lose track of their hands.”

“There has been rumor of Dwarves on the borders of the Shire,” said Merry.

Pippin’s eyes lit up.  “They might be coming back to claim Bilbo’s share of the dragon gold!”

“Bilbo risked his life for that treasure,” said Frodo firmly.  “It’s his.”

“Not yours?”

“It just doesn’t feel like mine, Pip.”

“Can we see it?”

Frodo grinned.  “No.”

“Look at that!” Sam pointed to the glowing trail of a shooting star, then another, and another.

“Elwing,” Frodo murmured.  “That’s ‘star spray’.”

“Is that Elvish?” Merry asked.  “Did Bilbo teach you?”

“Just a little bit.”  Frodo smiled.  “Sam’s the one who should learn Elvish, since he wants to see Elves so badly.”

“If the Elves knew what a good cook he is,” Pippin chuckled, “they’d be wanting to see him.”

Frodo turned over in the straw and looked at Sam.  “You should come to Rivendell with me,” he said.  “You’ll get to see Elves, and I’ll bet Bilbo’s missing some good Shire cooking.”

“I’d come with you, Mr. Frodo,” replied Sam.  “I’d surely not have you dashin’ off alone.”

“Are you going to Rivendell, Frodo?” asked Merry.

“I’m thinking about it.”  Frodo plucked a piece of straw from Merry’s hair and chewed it thoughtfully.  “Perhaps in another year or so, if I haven’t heard from Bilbo by then.”

“That gives you lots of time to learn more Elvish.”  Pippin suddenly dug about in the straw.  “Did we eat all the apples?”

Frodo sat up.  “I’ll get more.  If you starve to death, your parents would never forgive me.”

“If he does starve to death,” Merry pointed out, “we can just ship him home in this cart.”

“That’s convenient,” Frodo agreed.

“Never heard of a hobbit starvin’ to death in the Shire,” said Sam.

“You could be the first, Pip,” grinned Merry.  “You’d be famous.”

“Frodo…” Pippin whimpered.

“Apples it is,” said Frodo, vaulting over the cart’s side and landing lightly on the ground.  “My, it is chilly tonight.  We’re so warm in there, I forgot.”

Frodo walked up the path and opened the door to Bag End, glad that they had prepared a good fire in the parlor’s hearth.  He took a moment to walk about, taking pleasure in his warm, comfortable home.  His eyes flickered over the books… maps… chests…

Without knowing quite knowing how he got there, Frodo found himself kneeling in front of a large chest, his hand on the latch.  This chest held only two treasures ---  Bilbo’s maps… and his ring, still sealed in an envelope.

‘Keep it secret’, Gandalf had said.  What nonsense; Frodo knew in his heart that Bilbo wasn’t coming back, and he suspected that Gandalf wasn’t coming back, either.  He was alone, and would never get any answers, and would be Master of Bag End for the rest of his life.  The ring was his.

“I should wear it,” Frodo murmured to himself, “or carry it with me, like Bilbo did.  It’s mine.”  He started to wonder if it was as beautiful as he remembered, and whether it would fit.  “It’s mine,” he whispered.  “I wonder if---”

“Frodo?”

Frodo gasped in fright and leaped to his feet.  “You can’t have it!”

“Frodo, it’s me!”  Merry looked at his cousin, concerned.  “Are you all right?”

Frodo stared at Merry for a moment, then suddenly began to laugh.  “Of course!  I was just thinking about… things…”  He looked puzzled.  “What’s wrong?”

Merry sighed.  “You’ve been gone for so long, we were worried about you, is all.  Now Pippin wants apples and cheese.”

“What do you mean, I’ve been gone for so long?”

Merry frowned.  “It’s been at least 15 minutes.  Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Fifteen minutes?”

Merry pressed his hand to Frodo’s forehead.  “No fever.”

“Of course I don’t have a fever.”  Frodo smiled.  “Come on, you can help me load up a basket for our starving cousin.”

“Too late,” Sam sighed as Merry handed the basket of food up to him.  “Mr. Pippin’s left us.”

Frodo and Merry rejoined Sam in the cart, and solemnly observed Pippin’s feet sticking up through the straw, all that could be seen of their cousin.

“What a shame,” mused Merry.  “If we hadn’t been delayed bringing this delicious peach pie with us, we might have been in time to save him.”

“Peach pie is Pippin’s favorite,” added Frodo.  He shook his head sadly.  “Or I should say, it was his favorite.”

Something under the straw started moving, but Merry casually pushed it back down.  A hand broke the surface.

“Is that a Dwarf hand?” asked Frodo.  “I think Bilbo left an axe around here, somewhere.”

There was a yelp, and great heaps of straw starting flying about as a thrashing and coughing body suddenly emerged.

“Pip!” exclaimed Merry in delight.  “We thought we’d lost you!”

“Pie?” asked Frodo, holding out a plate to his straw-covered cousin, who grinned and took it.

“Mr. Frodo,” said Sam, “if you don’t mind me sayin’, sir, you should be settin’ a better example.”

“You’re right,” Frodo replied contritely.  “I’ll start tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Pippin breathed.  “Look!”

Four pairs of eyes gazed skyward, as the beautiful star shower intensified.  The hobbits lay back in the straw, momentarily forgetting even food as they marveled at the display.

“That’s amazin’,” murmured Sam.  “The best ever, I’d say.”

Merry heard Frodo sigh, and he gently took his cousin’s hand.

“Wherever Bilbo is, right now,” Merry said softly, “He’s looking at this same ‘star spray’ as we are.”

“I know,” Frodo smiled.  “I know.”

** TBC **

MASTER OF BAG END

Chapter 8 --- Sweet is the Sound of the Falling Rain

“Cheers, Gaffer!”

Flushed with good ale and a bit of singing and dancing, Frodo looked around, then stood up from the table and held his mug high for one last toast.

“To Bilbo!”

“To Bilbo!”  “To Mad Baggins!”  “What’s young Frodo on about?”  “If he’s buyin, I’m drinkin’!”  The crowd’s reaction to Frodo’s toast was mixed, but any reason to enjoy a free mug of the Green Dragon’s finest ale wasn’t something any self-respecting hobbit questioned too deeply.

“To the Shire!” shouted Pippin, sitting on a nearby table with Merry and giggling uncontrollably.

“The Shire!” the crowd roared as one.

“The Shire,” Frodo murmured to himself.  “Oh, Bilbo, wherever you are, I hope you’re surrounded by friends.”  He drained his mug and sat down again.  “It was a good party, eh Sam?” he asked, his eyes dancing.  “Bilbo would have loved it.”

“Aye, sir, he certainly would,” Sam agreed.

“Sam…” Frodo whispered urgently.  His friend leaned over to hear better.  “Sam…”

“Mr. Frodo?”

“Before we leave…”

“Yes, sir?”

“Are you ever going to talk to her?”

Sam had spent most of the evening staring at Rose Cotton, and drinking far more ale than was good for him.

“Well, it’s getting late, and she’s been busy, and---”

“Rosie!” Frodo cried, “come over here, if you please, lass!”

“Mr. Frodo!” Sam hissed.  “What’re you doin’?”

“Now this is a lively lot,” came an amused, feminine voice to Sam’s right.  “May I bring you something else?  Hello, Sam.”

“Rosie…” Sam murmured.  He looked up into laughing, sparkling eyes, and suddenly, there was nothing else in the room… in the world.  He watched with interest as his hand reached out all by itself to grasp one of Rose Cotton’s small, soft ones.

Rose smiled encouragingly at the gentle gardener.

“Yes, Sam?”

“Rosie, I…”

“More ale over here, Rosie-lass!” boomed a voice from across the room.  Rose started to pull away, but Sam, in a fit of ale-induced courage, swiftly stood up, raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it.  For the rest of his life, Samwise Gamgee would never forget the look on Rose Cotton’s face at that moment -- her joyous, radiant smile… just for him.

Frodo’s mouth dropped open, and there was a sound, from somewhere behind him, of Merry gasping and Pippin falling off the table in amazement.  A hush fell over the room, broken suddenly by the same voice as before.

“Leave that youngster your hand, Rosie, and serve me some ale with the other ’un!”  There was uproarious laughter, and a blushing Rose gently (and with obvious reluctance) disengaged her hand from Sam’s and went back to her duties.  Sam slowly sat back down, a look of wonder and awe on his face.

“Here, young master, close that mouth before the flies get in!”  A grinning Hamfast Gamgee reached out a finger and gently pushed Frodo’s lower jaw back up.  “Didn’t think ’e had it in ’im, did you?”  He clapped his son on the back.  “About time, I’d say.”

Sam looked at Frodo, still entranced.  “Shall we be goin’, then, sir?”

“I suppose we shall,” Frodo murmured.

~*~*~*~*~*

Walking back to The Hill, Frodo put an arm around his friend, both still somewhat in a daze from the evening.  He stopped and leaned his head back.  Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath of the sweet evening air.

“You love it here, don’t you, sir?”

Frodo opened his eyes and smiled.  “I can’t imagine living anywhere else, Sam.  Can you?”

“That I can’t.”  Sam looked up the lane and frowned.  “Didn’t you leave any lights burnin’, Mr. Frodo?”

Frodo followed Sam’s gaze to where Bag End stood, its windows dark.

“I thought I did,” Frodo said, trying to remember through the fog of ale.  “We were in such a hurry to leave, maybe I forgot.”  He smiled.  “I don’t need lights to see the way in my own home, Sam.  You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I may not have to, sir, but I think I always will, just the same.”

“Thank you, Sam.  At least I don’t have to worry about you anymore!” Frodo grinned.

“Good night, Mr. Frodo.  I’ll be by bright and early to do that trimmin’ under your window.  And maybe…”  Sam continued softly, “maybe I’ll ask Rosie out for a walk tomorrow evenin’.”

“It was a good party, Sam, wasn’t it?” Frodo repeated softly.

“It was that, Mr. Frodo.”

“She likes you.”

“I hope so,” Sam sighed, “since I’m as purely in love as anyone can be.”

“Good night, Sam.”  Frodo watched as Sam walked away, a bit unsteadily, then leaned his head back once again to drink in the thousands of glittering stars overhead.  A gentle rain earlier in the day had washed the skies clean.

“Happy birthday, Bilbo,” Frodo whispered.

Frodo put his key to the door of Bag End and was startled when the door swung open on its own.  He had left lamps lit, and a fire in the parlor’s hearth, hadn’t he?  He took a few hesitant steps into the dark, cold room.  There was something odd… something…  Suddenly a large, shaking hand grabbed his shoulder, and even as his heart leaped in terror, he was spun sharply around to find himself face to face with Gandalf.  Frodo’s eyes grew wide; Gandalf looked… frightened?

“Is it secret?  Is it safe?”

** END **