2.  The Long Awaited Visit

April 3, 1382

Bilbo Baggins took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, enjoying the feel of the warm spring air.  He stretched his arms over his head and ran his fingers through his greying curls, trying to impose some semblance of order.   After glancing once more round his campsite to make sure he’d left none of his provisions behind, Bilbo picked up his pack and walking stick and set off down the road, whistling a walking tune to set the pace.

This was the third and final day of his journey to Buckland, and Bilbo was looking forward to reaching his destination.  Not that he didn’t enjoy the journey, of course; he loved to see other parts of the Shire, and he enjoyed the solitude his trips afforded him.  Bilbo liked being alone with his thoughts.  It gave him the chance to think about the book he was writing, to reflect on his adventures, and to plan future chapters.

Bilbo was alone most of the time at Bag End as well, but he frequently found himself distracted from his book by mundane, everyday considerations.  Out here on the road, there was nothing but the gentle rustling of trees swaying in the breeze, insects buzzing, and the occasional snatch of birdsong.

In any case, Bilbo was eagerly anticipating the end of this particular journey, for it meant he would be seeing his cousin Frodo again.  He had last seen Frodo nearly five months ago, and Bilbo desperately hoped the child had shown some improvement since then.  It wasn’t healthy for a lad Frodo’s age to be so quiet and withdrawn. 

*          *          *

Just after dusk several hours later, Bilbo was approaching the open gate that marked one of the entrances to Buckland.  He always came by this entrance, because it was away from the road and not normally crowded with Buckland hobbits.  Bilbo preferred not to give large numbers of relations the opportunity to comment on all his comings and goings. 

He spied a small figure sitting on a high fence post, swinging its legs jauntily.  Bilbo peered closely in the gathering gloom, almost certain he could make out a head of dark curls.

“Uncle Bilbo!” came an excited, high-pitched cry, confirming Bilbo’s suspicions as to the identity of the small fence post ornament.

“Frodo, my lad!” responded Bilbo, somewhat alarmed at finding a thirteen-year-old child out in the dark, apparently alone.

Bilbo reached the fence swiftly and lifted his small cousin down from his perch.  As soon as he set Frodo down on his hairy feet, the lad flung himself forward to give Bilbo a hug.  Well, to give Bilbo’s legs a hug, more accurately, given the difference in their heights.

“There, now, my boy,” Bilbo said, unfastening the small arms and crouching down to meet Frodo’s eyes.  “I’m glad to see you, too!”

Frodo beamed at Bilbo, favouring him with the slow, sweet smile that Bilbo remembered from years ago and had despaired of ever seeing again.  Bilbo smiled back and took the child’s hand, leading him onto the path back to Brandy Hall.

Bilbo suspected his Brandybuck cousins were not fully aware of how altered Frodo had been since his parents’ deaths, for they hadn’t known the little boy as well as Bilbo had prior to the accident.  That bright smile showed Bilbo that the old Frodo was still inside, just waiting to come out again.

“Uncle Bilbo?” Frodo asked, thrilled to have the attention of his beloved relative.  “Did you meet any Elves on your way?”

Bilbo laughed.  “I’m afraid not, lad.”

“How about Dwarves?” Frodo persisted, undaunted.

“No, no Dwarves either,” Bilbo replied.  “But if you like, I’ll tell you a story about Dwarves and Elves before you go to bed tonight.”

Frodo bounced with glee at this offer, and eagerly nodded his head.  “Yes, please, Uncle!”

They were almost at the end of the long, winding path that lead to Brandy Hall.  Bilbo frowned, realizing that it had been a good twenty-minute walk.

“Tell me, my boy,” Bilbo began.  “What were you doing out by the gate by yourself after dark?”

“Waiting for you,” the child replied, as though this should be obvious.  “Uncle Saradoc didn’t know which day you’d arrive, so I waited for you every night this week!”

Frodo seemed well pleased with the outcome of his enormous investment of time, but Bilbo was alarmed.  “How late have you been staying out, lad?” he inquired. 

“Just ‘till I got sleepy,” Frodo replied.  “I came in about 11 one night, but that was the latest.”

Bilbo tried to process this information.  It was painfully obvious that Frodo was not being adequately supervised.  Did no one keep track of the child’s whereabouts, or make sure he got to bed?

“Where are your Uncle Saradoc and Aunt Esmeralda?” Bilbo asked finally.

“In their room,” Frodo responded easily.  “At least, I think they are.  Aunt Esmelda’s in there most of the time, anyway.”

Bilbo knew that Saradoc and Esmeralda were expecting their first child any day now, but still, had no one been keeping an eye on Frodo?  Bilbo wondered, not for the first time, if Brandy Hall was really the best place for Frodo.  Bilbo sighed.  The fact was, there was no other place for Frodo.  A child needed to be with people who were used to taking care of children, and all the relatives Frodo was familiar with were at Brandy Hall.  Well, except for Bilbo himself, of course, but he was hardly parenting material.

“Let’s go to the kitchens, Uncle,” Frodo urged, tugging on Bilbo’s hand.  “I missed supper, and I could eat an oliphaunt!”

“Why did you miss supper, dear boy?” Bilbo asked, frowning.

“I was waiting for you,” Frodo explained, looking back at Bilbo as though this ought to be obvious.

Bilbo’s frown deepened, but he tried not to show his dismay for Frodo’s sake.  No wonder Frodo was so unusually slender; did no one notice whether he appeared at meals or not?  At any rate, Bilbo was here now, and he was more than willing to spend his visit showering affection and guidance on a child who obviously needed such attentions so desperately.  They were approaching the lighted round windows and doors of Brandy Hall, and Bilbo could now see more clearly the too-thin, blue-eyed form that walked beside him, clutching Bilbo’s hand as though he never wanted to let go.

*          *          *         

An hour later, Bilbo had left his bag in one of Brandy Hall’s many guest rooms, paid his respects to a vary harried Saradoc and a very pregnant Esmeralda, and had settled Frodo and himself in the kitchen with a light snack.

The two hobbits sat side by side at one of the long tables the kitchen staff used for baking, slowly ploughing their way through a thick mushroom soup, some freshly buttered rolls left over from dinner, a few nice thick slices of roast beef, and a small plate of devilled eggs, or ‘egg boats,’ as Frodo persisted in calling them.

“Thank you, Miss Poppy,” Frodo said earnestly to the stout scullery maid who brought him a tall glass of apple juice.

“You’re very welcome indeed, Mr. Frodo,” she replied fondly.  “Will ye be needing anything else, Master Baggins?”

“We’re all set for now, my dear,” Bilbo answered, and she nodded and went back to her work in another part of the kitchen.  He couldn’t remember seeing her on his last visit.  “Friend of yours, Frodo-lad?”

Frodo smiled, licking the filling from one of his ‘egg boats.’  “She is very kind,” Frodo replied.  “I like to help her with the baking when she’ll let me.  And she always saves food for me when I miss a meal.”

“Do you miss meals often?”

“Well, sometimes,” Frodo said meditatively.  “Like when Cousin Bolo tied me up and left me in the hayloft, I missed elevenses, luncheon, and afternoon tea, all on the same day!”

“Indeed,” said Bilbo, making a mental note to talk to the parents of Frodo’s malicious roommate before he returned to Bag End.

“Bolo’s mean to everyone, though,” Frodo said after a moment.  “Even the servants.  He was so rude to Miss Poppy on her first day here!  He made her cry, so I gave her a hug and told her Bolo was mean.  He says I shouldn’t be friends with servants, and he would be nicer to me if the servants didn’t like me so much.”  Frodo paused to drain his cup of mushroom soup.  “He even hates it just when I’m polite to them.  Mama always told me to treat everyone I meet as- as I would like to be treated.  But Bolo says I should save my manners for gentlehobbits, because servants don’t matter.” 

“Does he?” Bilbo said, trying to keep his tone level.  “Well, my boy, don’t you listen to a word Bolo says.  Anyone whose good behaviour is conditional upon someone’s status doesn’t bear thinking about.  And you keep right on befriending those you find worthy, Frodo, no matter what position they hold in life, because your Mama was absolutely right.”

“Truly?” asked Frodo, looking up with a serious expression on his small face.

“Of course.  Your kindness is one of your most admirable qualities, my dear little Frodo.”

Frodo climbed down from his chair and gave Bilbo a fierce hug.  “I’m so glad you came, Uncle,” the child whispered.

“So am I, dear boy.” Bilbo replied, trying to swallow the emotion in his voice.  “So am I.”

*          *          *

Bilbo delighted in spending time with Frodo, but it was really past the lad’s bedtime.  Or what should be the lad’s bedtime, at any rate.  Bilbo often forgot how young Frodo actually was; he so often seemed wise beyond his years.  After finishing their snack, they walked toward Frodo’s room only to be waylaid by Old Rory, calling out to Bilbo through the open door of his study.

Rorimac was actually a few years younger than Bilbo himself, although he looked much older.  The Master of Buckland was glad to see that Bilbo had arrived safely, and wanted to hear all about a couple of Brandybucks who had recently moved to Hobbiton.  While the adults were talking, Frodo fell asleep on the arm of Bilbo’s chair.  It was past eight o’clock, after all.

Bilbo finally carried the lad back to his room, still sound asleep, and tucked his young cousin into bed.  Pulling the covers up to the boy’s chin, Bilbo bent down to kiss his forehead.

“Uncle Bilbo?”  Frodo asked sleepily, opening his startling blue eyes.

“Yes, my boy,” Bilbo answered.  “I’m sorry I woke you.”

Frodo glanced over to the other bed, which was still empty.  “That’s all right, Uncle,” he said.  “Bolo will wake me anyway, when he comes in.  And you promised me a story!”

With a sigh, Bilbo sat on the edge of Frodo’s bed.  “So I did.  One about Elves and Dwarves, as I recall.”

Frodo nodded, closing his eyes again. 

“Very well, but just a short one.  It’s long past the time when little hobbits should be asleep!”

Frodo smiled, his eyes still closed.

“Let’s see then,” Bilbo began, and he told Frodo a little of his experiences with Elves and Dwarves, on his great adventure many years ago.  When Frodo’s breathing was slow and even, Bilbo got stiffly to his feet and turned down the lamp.  After a last look at his beloved cousin, Bilbo left the room quietly, closing the round door softly behind him.