3.  A Merry Occasion!

April 4, 1382

Frodo the Fierce peered cunningly around the trunk of a mighty oak tree before slinking stealthily forward to stretch out in a patch of grass nearer the sleeping dragon.  Frodo was now concealed only by a small blueberry bush.  After a brief moment of consideration, the brave and valiant Elven warrior paused in the hunt to make a quick but satisfying snack of the ripe, juicy berries.  This accomplished, Frodo the Fierce – or was Frodo the Fearless better? – wiped his small, sticky hands on the grass and crept a few paces closer to the slumbering beast. 

Now he was close enough to see the rise and fall of the creature’s chest as it breathed, to see the smoke coming out of the beast’s nostrils, and to hear its low, rumbling snores.  Suddenly realizing he was yet unarmed, Frodo the Fearless glanced around quickly, then darted back the way he had come.

Behind the mighty oak once again, the valiant and brave warrior recovered his mighty sword – Galadrial – and took up his position once more.  Frodo did not know what ‘Galadrial’ meant, but he had heard Bilbo mention the word once before, and hoped it sounded Elvish, for an elf-warrior’s sword really ought to have an Elvish name.

Frodo the Fierce and Fearless drew a deep breath, gazing at his adversary.  This was it, then.  He rose to a standing position and moved forward slowly.  Now he was standing over the foul dragon, sword in hand.  The warrior raised his sword, preparing to strike –

- and the dragon, ‘Bolo the Beastly,’ he decided finally, gave a mighty grunt, rolling over onto its other side.  Frodo lowered his twig and sighed.  He knew the game really ought to end here.  If Bolo woke up and caught him like this, poised to give a good poke with his mighty twig, Frodo would surely suffer unpleasant consequences. 

Perhaps he could get in just one good poke before he ran?  No, better not risk it.  Bolo had, earlier that morning, threatened to stuff him in the huge barrel that Mistress Begonia used to make the pigs’ swill.  Frodo shuddered.  He was terrified of that barrel.  It was taller than he was, and gave off such a dreadful stench.

Just then, Bolo the Beastly grunted again more alertly, and started to open its hideous, glowing red eyes (or so Frodo fancied).  Frodo the Fortunate stifled a squeak of alarm and, before Bolo the Beastly could gather its wits (if it had any), Frodo ran as swiftly as his thirteen-year-old legs could carry him, dropping his mighty twig along the way.

Back inside Brandy Hall, the small hobbit paused for breath.  ‘Oh well,’ he thought.  ‘It was still a grand adventure.’  He couldn’t wait to tell Uncle Bilbo, and immediately began looking for the old hobbit.

Frodo peered into the dining hall as he passed.  Where could Uncle Bilbo be?  Frodo hadn’t seen him since early that morning after first breakfast, when Bilbo had given him some lessons.  Frodo smiled at this thought.  In another few months, Frodo would be old enough to begin his schooling with the other children of Buckland, but Bilbo had begun teaching him his Westron letters already.  Frodo couldn’t wait until he could read all those marvellous looking books in the Brandy Hall library.  He had already vowed before a very amused Saradoc that he would read every book in that library by the time he was fifteen. 

And Bilbo had even promised to teach him Elvish one day!  The thought of being able to read the beautiful and mysterious letters that he had seen in some of Bilbo’s books made Frodo wild with delight. 

Frodo pulled up short, looking around in confusion.  Where was everyone?  He had passed his little cousin Berilac toddling after his father Merimac, but the halls were practically empty

*          *          *

“Don’t worry, Saradoc,” Bilbo said with all the complacency of a confirmed bachelor.  “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

Saradoc Brandybuck, future Master of Buckland and anxious father-to-be, continued to pace the hallway outside the rooms he shared with his wife as though his life depended on it.

“Besides,” continued Bilbo, taking another puff on his pipe.  “The midwife would certainly tell us if there was a problem.”

“I suppose so.”  Saradoc sounded unconvinced.

“Well then, at least sit down on this bench with me before you wear a hole straight through to the wine cellar!”  Bilbo finally said in exasperation.

Saradoc sat down beside his cousin eventually, but could not hold still for long and was soon up again.

“But they’ve been in there since midnight!”  Saradoc protested.  “Is it supposed to take this long?”

“My dear fellow,” Bilbo replied.  “I may not be an expert in these matters, but I think it is safe to say, it takes however long it takes!”

Saradoc sat down again with a sigh.  They could hear the faint murmur of the voices of a dozen hobbit ladies through the door, but Saradoc had to wait with the other men in the hall.  Most of the hobbits who had volunteered to keep Saradoc company were still arrayed about the hallway, leaning against the wall or sitting, many smoking their pipes as Bilbo was. 

“How do you think Frodo fares these days, Saradoc?”  Bilbo inquired, mainly to distract the nervous hobbit.

Saradoc glanced at Bilbo.  A fine hobbit, really, despite his adventurous reputation.  Bilbo had not left his side since the labor began, in the middle of the night, except for the two hours’ break he’d taken to spend with Frodo.  He hadn’t even wanted to send the boy away until Saradoc assured him he would find someone to watch Frodo for a few hours.  It was a fortunate thing Saradoc had found one of the older lads, Bolo, to take Frodo outside.

It warmed Saradoc to watch the attachment growing between Bilbo and Frodo.  He knew Frodo was lonely here at Brandy Hall, and he always noted the positive change that came over the solemn little lad whenever his ‘uncle’ paid a visit.

“He adores you, you know,” Saradoc said then.

Bilbo looked at him in confusion. 

“Frodo,” Saradoc clarified.

Bilbo’s expression cleared.  “The feeling is mutual, I assure you,” he said serenely, after taking his pipe stem from his mouth.

“You have all our gratitude for being so good to him, Bilbo.”

“Nonsense,” said the old hobbit gruffly.  “I love that boy, as I loved his parents.  It’s the least I can do.”

Just then the conversation was interrupted by a long, high-pitched wail, followed by the angry squalling heard from many an irate newborn upon being brought into this cold world.  The hobbits in the corridor started, then began crowding round the door excitedly.  Saradoc was grinning so hard his face hurt.

The door opened, and a matronly hobbit lady beckoned Saradoc inside.

Bilbo ushered the others away from the door to give the new parents some privacy, then took up his seat again, smiling widely around the stem of his pipe.

*          *          *

Frodo walked down yet another deserted hallway, growing more confused than ever.  He knew many of the adults were still out doing their daily work, and most of the older children were having their lessons, but he had never seen Brandy Hall so quiet!

As it frequently did, Frodo’s imagination began to run away with him.  What if Uncle Bilbo had left Buckland?  Maybe he had gotten tired of Frodo already, and had asked the other adults to see him off, wanting to leave without saying farewell to Frodo.  Tears stung the little hobbit’s eyes at this thought.

No.  Frodo gave himself a shake, remembering the affection and tenderness in Bilbo’s voice the night before, when they had shared a snack after Bilbo’s arrival.  Uncle Bilbo would not do such a thing, surely.  And besides, Uncle Bilbo liked spending time with Frodo; the old hobbit had said so himself.

Then a new, worse fear gripped Frodo’s tender heart, as he suddenly remembered another time everyone had gone outside in the middle of a work day.  Maybe there had been another accident on the Brandywine.  Maybe some other little hobbit was going to suffer what Frodo had.  Frodo began to run, unable to control the tears that began coursing down his soft cheeks in response to his distressful thoughts.

Unable to see where he was going, Frodo turned a corner into the hall leading to the kitchens and ran straight into a plump, yielding object.

“Why, Mr. Frodo!”  A female voice exclaimed.  “Whatever is the matter, lad?”

Frodo disentangled himself from the rough fabric of a lady’s skirts and looked up.

“Miss Poppy!”  He sobbed.  “Where is everyone?  Where have they gone?  Has there been an accident?”

Poppy looked into the fearful sky-blue eyes for a moment, then bent down and gathered the small, trembling hobbit into her arms.

“Calm down, dear child,” she said soothingly.  “Everything is fine.  Everyone is fine.  I’ll show ye where they all are.”

With that, Poppy marched in the direction of Mr. Saradoc’s rooms, drying the child’s tears with a corner of her apron as she went. 

On reaching her destination, Poppy set the little hobbit down on his feet. 

“There, now,” she said, pleased to see that Frodo had forgotten his fright in the face of the curious scene before him.  “I expect you have a new friend waiting to meet you, Mr. Frodo.”

Frodo looked back at Poppy in confusion, but the kind scullery maid only smiled back at him and motioned him forward.  Frodo turned around again, his wide eyes taking in all the missing hobbits, male and female, standing in the corridor, chattering excitedly.  He didn’t see Uncle Saradoc or Aunt Esmelda, but he did see an even dearer figure sitting on the bench against the wall.

A smile broke out on Frodo’s face that resembled the sun emerging from behind a cloud, and Frodo ran forward and flung himself into Bilbo’s startled arms.

“Frodo-lad!” the greying hobbit exclaimed.  “You’re just in time!  I’m to be the next allowed in, and you can come with me.”

Frodo was still quite naturally confused, but he allowed Bilbo to pull him up onto his lap, and was content to wait there, listening to the excited hobbits all around him.  Frodo was still smiling; his relatives all looked so joyful, he could hardly help it.

Soon enough, the door opened again, and Uncle Saradoc motioned Bilbo to enter.  When he saw that Frodo was there as well, Saradoc’s eyes lit up.

“Come along, Frodo, I want you to meet my son,” he said with a huge smile.

The other hobbits laughed to see little Frodo’s stunned expression, and then he was standing beside Bilbo and they were being led into Saradoc and Esmeralda’s rooms.

“Aunt Esmelda!”  Frodo whispered on sighting that lady.

Esmeralda grinned back at him.  She was propped up in bed, holding a small bundle.  Frodo suddenly felt a little shy around his favourite aunt, but Bilbo nudged him forward.

“Frodo, dear,” said Esmeralda.  “Come and meet your cousin Meriadoc.”

Frodo leaned forward, awestruck at the sight of the tiny face that was revealed when Esmeralda lowered a corner of the blanket.  The baby was tiny and perfect, and it merrily waved two tiny fists when it caught sight of Frodo.

Frodo hesitantly extended a finger and gently stroked one of the baby’s wee little hands.  A delighted giggle escaped him when Meriadoc seized his finger and gurgled, half-closing a pair of chocolate brown eyes.  Frodo turned his head to see Uncle Bilbo standing just behind him, a gentle smile on his face as he watched Frodo knowingly.

“What do you think, Frodo-lad?”  he asked.

Frodo turned back to smile at Meriadoc.  “Hello, Merrydoc,” young Frodo said, pronouncing the name uncertainly.  “I’m your cousin, Frodo Baggins, and I love you already.”

Esmeralda laughed softly, then pulled Frodo closer to her and soundly kissed his dark curls.  “I believe you will be dear friends always,” she said, and glanced up at her husband, seeing an answering smile in his warm brown eyes.  “And I think I shall call him Merry for short!”