December 1, 1391

The hobbit-hole was warm and cozy.  There was a fire crackling merrily in the hearth, and two overstuffed armchairs squatted close together in the cheerful room.  The room had a pleasant, lived-in look; there were shelves along one wall, but books and papers were spread over every surface.  There were articles on the walls, as well.  Framed portraits of generations of Bagginses... painted tiles... various knick-knacks, including some more exotic items.  Swords?  Perhaps.  A coat-of-arms, certainly.  Pieces of treasure... well, Bilbo would hardly be likely to mount a dragon’s treasure on the walls, would he?  So, no treasure... maybe just the swords then.

Footsteps crunched in the snow outside the hole.  Frodo blinked, and the imagined cozy sitting room of Bag End was replaced by walls of snow meticulously packed by small hobbit-hands.  He was lying on his stomach in the main hall of the snow-hole that he and Merry had burrowed in a snow bank just outside the west door of Brandy Hall two days before.  Frodo was alone in the hole now, though.  His heart ached at this thought.  Esmeralda had explained to Merry the day before yesterday that Frodo would be leaving Brandy Hall to live in Hobbiton, and Merry had been devastated.  He had refused to see Frodo after that, staying stubbornly in the suite he shared with his parents.  ‘How can you leave me, Fwodo?  You’re mean and I hate you!’ Merry’s furious words echoed in Frodo’s head.

Frodo felt so muddled up inside.  Bilbo had arrived yesterday afternoon with a pony, sled, and a local tweenager to drive the pony, and Frodo had been thrilled that he was finally going to live with Bilbo.  It had been over a year since he had first agreed to live with Bilbo; the adoption had become official the very week before Bilbo’s one-hundredth birthday.

Life had been nearly bearable this past year, simply because Frodo knew he would soon be moving to Bag End.  And yet, he was nervous about going to an unfamiliar place.  Would he find friends in Hobbiton?  Would he fit in?  Would he like living in Bag End?  Worst of all, though, was the knowledge that Merry did not want him to go.  It was truly painful to think that he might have to leave Brandy Hall with Merry still angry at him.  Frodo had planned to spend his last day at Brandy Hall adding another wing to the snow-hole with Merry.  Instead, he had spent the day alone.  Bilbo had promised to speak with Merry, and he had been in there for nearly an hour.

“Frodo?” a very unwelcome voice called irritably.

Reluctantly, Frodo wriggled down the main hall and out the grand, round entrance of the snow-hole.  Standing and brushing the snow off his trousers, Frodo did his best not to look at the hobbit standing in front of him.

Bolo sighed.  “Esmeralda’s looking for you.  She wants to know why you left your packing, and she said to tell you you’re leaving in an hour.”

“Thank you,” Frodo said politely.  Bolo had been behaving himself rather well these last few months, confining his bad habits to the occasional snide remark.  Frodo turned to go inside.

“You’re really going to Hobbiton, are you?”  Bolo said.

“I am,” Frodo replied warily.  He hoped Bolo wasn’t going to say anything about Mad Baggins; he didn’t want to quarrel with Bolo on his last morning here.

“You watch out, Frodo Baggins,” Bolo said.  “Everyone knows that folks in Hobbiton are downright peculiar.”

“Thank you for your concern, Bolo,” Frodo said blandly, and watched Bolo glare at him in irritation.  Frodo giggled and followed his cousin inside.  He had discovered that the best way to deal with Bolo’s troublemaking was to pretend to misunderstand every insulting comment.  Of course, in this case, Frodo suspected that Bolo actually believed what he’d said.

Frodo returned to his room.  His packing was almost complete.  He hadn’t accumulated many possessions in his years at Brandy Hall, and everything he owned fit neatly into one medium-sized trunk that he couldn’t quite lift, plus an apple crate for his books.  Frodo finished filling his trunk and, sitting on the lid, locked it securely.  There, nothing was left to do but have elevensies and set off with Bilbo.

Frodo sighed.  Merry...

*         *          *

“Merry-lad,” said Bilbo, bending down to meet the tear-filled eyes of the nine-year-old hobbit.  “I know this is very upsetting for you.  But I need you to listen to me, all right?”  Bilbo hoped Merry could be reconciled to this.  The adoption papers had been signed and given to the attorney over a year ago, and now Frodo’s new home was ready to receive him.  Frodo was now his heir, but he knew it would break the lad’s heart to part on bad terms with Merry.

Merry shook his head furiously and folded his chubby arms.  “I don’t want Fwodo to leave me!”  He tightened his lips and turned away, refusing to say anything more.

“I know you don’t, lad,” Bilbo sighed.  “And rest assured, Frodo doesn’t want to leave you either.”  This caught Merry’s attention, and he turned to look at Bilbo again despite his earlier resolve.

“Then why’s he going?” the child asked pleadingly.

Bilbo settled into the big armchair beside the fire and pulled Merry into his lap.  “Let me ask you a question, Merry.  Who takes care of you?”

“My momma and dad,” Merry answered, looking confused at the change in topic.

“And who takes care of Frodo?”

Merry frowned.  This was more difficult.  He knew that Frodo’s momma and dad had died before Merry was even born.  He would have said that his own parents took care of Frodo... but he knew they did not take care of Frodo in the same sense that they did for Merry himself.  His mother had once explained to him that she and Saradoc were responsible for making sure Frodo was looked after, but the whole of Brandy Hall did the looking after part.  Yet they didn’t really, did they?  Merry had never seen any of the Bucklanders care for Frodo the same way Esmeralda and Saradoc cared for Merry.  Except...

“I do!”  Merry finally answered.  “I take care of Frodo!”

Bilbo raised his eyebrows, trying hard to stifle a chuckle at this bold proclamation.  “Is that so, my boy?” he said finally.

“’Course it is,” Merry said stoutly.  “I stopped him climbing any more trees in the dark, didn’t I?”

“So you did,” Bilbo replied, and he bent to kiss the curly brown head in front of him.  “For which I am very grateful.  But who tucks him in at night?  Who wakes him up in the morning?”

“Well, his momma and dad would’ve done that, I guess.”  Merry knew from experience that only grown-ups did such things.

“Yes, I’m sure they would have, dear boy,” Bilbo said.  “As it is, no one does those things for Frodo.”

“Really?” said Merry, sounding concerned now. 

"Merry...” Bilbo paused.  “I love Frodo very much and I would like to do those things for him.” 

“Oh,” said Merry, thinking hard.  “That’s why Fwodo has to go away.”

“That’s right, lad,” Bilbo replied.  There was a long silence.

“Well then,” Merry said finally, hopping off Bilbo’s lap and turning to address him.  “I better go help him pack.”

Bilbo stood as well, and squeezed Merry’s hand.  “Frodo is very fortunate to have a friend like you,” he said.

Merry beamed with pleasure, and they went out into the hall.

*          *          *

Frodo continued to sit on the lid of his closed trunk as he looked around the room that had been his home for the last eleven years.  His cousin Berilac still occupied one half of the room, but Frodo’s half now looked empty and sad, as though no one had lived there at all.

Frodo was staring absently out the round window when he heard a noise behind him, in the open doorway.  Before he had time to wonder who it was, he found that a pair of small arms were winding their way around his middle, and a small face was being pressed against his back.

“You’ll come back and visit sometimes, won’t you Fwodo?” a dear voice whispered.

Frodo turned his head to see Merry hugging him from behind.

“A whole army of Trolls won’t be able to stop me,” Frodo replied seriously.  He turned around and pulled his little cousin up to sit beside him on the trunk.  Merry grinned at this image and rested his head against Frodo’s shoulder.

“You know I didn’t mean it, don’t you?” Merry asked soberly.  Frodo looked at him questioningly, and Merry gazed back with steady brown eyes.  “When I said I hated you.”

Frodo planted a kiss on the top of Merry’s curly head.  “I didn’t believe you for a second,” the older lad said firmly.

“Good,” Merry replied.  “Now let’s get our elevensies!”

*          *          *

Elevensies was a cheerful meal, as it usually was no matter the circumstances.  What hobbit could fail to be cheerful when confronted by so much good food?  It was made even more interesting for Frodo by the presence of a new face: the tweenager that Bilbo had hired from Hobbiton.  Frodo hadn’t seen anything of the new boy until this morning, and he was intensely curious.  Bilbo would only say that the boy had felt more comfortable staying in the kitchen the day before, but he had been persuaded to take this last meal before their departure with the family instead of with the servants in the kitchen.

Frodo tried to curb his unhobbitlike curiosity, but the best he could manage was to not stare too openly.  The boy was certainly older than Frodo; he looked to be Bolo’s age, perhaps 26 or 27 years old.  His clothes were rough and plain, and Frodo knew that meant he was of a lower class than the Brandybuck clan.  But the boy had sandy-brown hair and honest hazel eyes, and Frodo liked him immediately.  He wondered what the other children of Hobbiton were like.

After elevensies, Bilbo sent Frodo and the hired lad to bring out Frodo’s belongings.  Frodo led the way to his room, the older boy following along agreeably.

Frodo glanced at the tweenager, and realized they had not yet been introduced.  “What’s your name, please?” he asked politely.

The other lad looked at him in surprise, but he responded readily, “Hamson Gamgee, sir.”

“Frodo Baggins, at your service.  I’m pleased to meet you,” Frodo replied.  He was confused by Hamson’s formality; the servants of Brandy Hall certainly addressed him that way, but none of them were so close to Frodo’s own age. 

Frodo tried to shrug off his awkwardness and make the tweenager feel welcome.  “Have you ever been to Buckland, Hamson?” he asked.

“No indeed, Mr. Frodo,” Hamson replied with a nervous laugh.  “In fact I’ve never even been out of Hobbiton.”

“Truly?” said Frodo.  “I have been to Hobbiton before, but I was very young and I don’t remember it.  What’s it like?”

Hamson seemed to relax then, and he told Frodo how beautiful Hobbiton was in the winter.  Frodo learned that the Gamgees’ hole was near to Bag End, Hamson had two brothers and three sisters, and Hamson’s father was Uncle Bilbo’s gardener.  Hamson himself spent his summers doing farm work when it was available, and odd jobs in the winter.  But the tweenager would be leaving home next autumn; he was to learn a trade with his uncle, Andwise Roper of Tighfield.

“Do you like roping, Hamson?” Frodo asked curiously.

Hamson shrugged.  “I like working with my hands, anyway, Mr. Frodo.  I reckon I’ll take to roping all right.”

They had recovered the baggage from Frodo’s room and were walking out to the North door, where the stableman had Bilbo’s hired pony and sled hitched and ready to go.  Hamson had insisted on carrying the trunk, and indeed he seemed to manage the unwieldy object with practiced ease, so Frodo carried the small apple crate full of books.

At the door, Miss Poppy waited with his winter clothes.  He bundled up quickly, and all three went outside.  The sled was loaded in moments, and Hamson climbed up.  Bilbo had already made his farewells and was seated in the sled.  Frodo turned around to face the small group of hobbits that had gathered to see him off.  He hugged Miss Poppy, much to her embarrassment, and then he hugged Saradoc and Esmeralda.

“You’re a good lad,” Saradoc said huskily.  “Make sure you come back and visit us soon!”  Esmeralda could not speak, but she kissed him tearfully and held him close for a moment.

Last of all, Frodo bent down to look into Merry’s solemn brown eyes.  Merry hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek.

“We’ll go on great adventures together some day, Cousin Fwodo,” the little boy said.  “Folks will tell tales of us.”

Frodo smiled.  “I’ll see you again soon, Merry-lad,” he said.  “Make sure and mind your parents, now!”

Merry smiled back.  “And you mind Uncle Bilbo!”

“I certainly shall,” Frodo replied with great dignity.  He kissed Merry on the forehead and clambered into the sled with Saradoc’s help.  Hamson tightened the pony’s reigns and urged the animal into a walk.  The sled surged forward, and Frodo looked back to wave farewell to Brandy Hall, his home for eleven years.  He didn’t turn around again until little Merry was a tiny speck in the distance, and his chubby hand could barely be seen waving frantically.

The pony was trotting now, and they had rounded a bend in the road.  Frodo faced forward again; they were coming to the North Gate, where Frodo had spent so many hours over the years waiting for Bilbo to arrive.  Now they were through the gate, coming to the East Road, and turning west toward Hobbiton. 

Frodo didn’t realize he was crying until Bilbo handed him a handkerchief.  The old hobbit put a reassuring hand on Frodo’s shoulder.  “We’ll see the Brandywine Bridge in a few minutes, lad,” was all Bilbo said.  Frodo dried his eyes quickly and put Brandy Hall and Merry out of his mind with an effort.  The road was ahead of him, white and pristine, but he could not see what lay beyond.  Farmland was passing on both sides, and soon he would see unfamiliar country.  It was the beginning of an entirely new adventure.

~THE END~