2. A Seed Is Planted

Over the next two weeks, Frodo settled comfortably into his new routine at Bag End. He loved the peace that pervaded the large smial; he had always imagined it would be pleasant to be alone sometimes, but the reality of not being constantly surrounded by others far surpassed his expectations.

Frodo spent his mornings having lessons with Bilbo and his afternoons exploring or building snow-hobbits with little Samwise Gamgee, while Bilbo worked in his study. In the evenings, they often sat comfortably by the sitting-room fire and read to each other from Bilbo’s enormous collection of books.

For his part, Samwise had been thrilled the first time Frodo invited him to play. Hamfast and Bell Gamgee were a little startled to discover that Frodo considered their son a worthy playmate, but to be so singled out by a young gentlehobbit was an honour and Sam’s parents had readily consented. Poor Sam’s ears had been ringing that first time he went up to Bag End, after Hamfast got through lecturing him on how he must behave in the young master’s company.

It was an unusually cold winter that year, and an inch or two of snow was not as rare an occurrence as it generally was in the Shire. The older Gamgee lads were away from home quite often, earning extra money by shovelling snow off walkways and the like. But Frodo was quite content with Sam’s company. The gardener’s youngest son had a calm, undemanding air about him that Frodo found very comforting. Bilbo assured him that there were plenty of lads his age in Hobbiton and Frodo would meet them all over time, but for now Frodo was satisfied.

Bilbo was overseeing Frodo’s education now, and his lessons were anything but tedious; Frodo found himself keenly interested in school work for the first time. In addition to improving his Westron and Elvish, Frodo was now studying the varied histories of the peoples of Middle Earth. Few hobbits knew anything of Dwarves, Men, or Elves, but Bilbo Baggins was a very unusual hobbit, and he enjoyed passing his knowledge on to an eager young pupil.

On this particular afternoon, which happened to be December 15th, Frodo found himself alone at Bag End. Bilbo had rushed off to the village to see about decorations, for they were to begin preparations for Yule that very evening. Frodo grinned to himself as he finished drying and putting away the last of the luncheon dishes. This would be his first Yule at Bag End, and it was sure to be a good one. Not only would he be spending it with Bilbo, but he would see Merry again! Bilbo had invited Saradoc and Esmeralda to bring Merry for a visit on the third day of Yule, December 27th. The first two days were traditionally spent only with immediate family, but most hobbits spent the rest of the winter holidays visiting friends and relations.

Paladin and Eglantine Took of the Great Smials would also be coming, along with their daughters and new son. Frodo did not know any of his Took cousins very well, but he was looking forward to getting better acquainted.

After putting away the last spoon, Frodo dried his hands and went into the sitting-room. His book lay open on his favourite armchair, and the fire in the hearth was very attractive on this wintry day. Frodo picked up his book and curled up in the chair, ready for more dragon stories.

Frodo was just becoming immersed in Chapter Three when he was interrupted by a loud knock at the front door. He had been so engrossed that it took him a moment to place the sound. He quickly closed his book and hopped down from the armchair.

The knock sounded again just as he stepped into the foyer. Frodo pulled open the heavy green door and said, “May I help you?” He didn’t recognize the callers. They were a middle-aged couple, perhaps in their early eighties.

“So it’s true!” exclaimed the lady. “The sneaky old scoundrel has found himself another heir!”

Frodo stepped back in surprise at her unpleasant tone, and the two visitors pushed past him rudely.

“Where is he?” cried the lady’s husband. “We must speak with him!”

“If you mean Uncle Bilbo, he’s out at present,” said Frodo, finding his voice finally. “Can I give him a message?”

“You can tell him Lobelia and Otho Sackville-Baggins have been to call on him,” Lobelia said haughtily. She was in the dining-room now, opening a drawer and rifling through the good silver.

“Er... is there something I can help you with?” Frodo was becoming alarmed by Lobelia’s behaviour, but he could hardly tell a grown hobbit to drop the silver and leave. Unfortunately, he had drawn Lobelia’s attention back to himself, and she turned her beady gaze on him.

“You!” she exclaimed furiously. “You’re nothing but a spoiled, trouble-making brat from Buckland of all places! How the old coot could have made you his heir is beyond me! I’ll make him see sense, you can count on that!”

Frodo was too shocked to reply, which suited Lobelia just fine. She bent down and grabbed Frodo by the upper arms, putting her scowling face right up close to his. “You listen to me, boy,” she said angrily. “That fortune is ours by rights, and as soon as Bilbo discovers how much trouble you are, he’ll ship you straight back to your... Buckland relations!” She said ‘Buckland’ as though it left a bad taste in her mouth.

Frodo could only stare at her dumbly; he was accustomed to being ignored and occasionally snapped at by the adults in Brandy Hall, but never before had he been spoken to in this fashion.

“Come along, Lobelia,” Otho said impatiently. “Bilbo will tire of the boy soon enough, and then our Lotho will have his proper place back again.”

Lobelia released Frodo’s arms with an angry shake and flounced out the door after her husband. Frodo rubbed his sore arms and distantly noted that he’d seen at least three silver spoons poking out of Lobelia’s handbag. Frodo closed the front door and returned to his favourite armchair. He did not pick up his book again, but sat staring into the fire, stunned both by those dreadful people and what they had said to him.

Would Uncle Bilbo eventually tire of him? Would he wish he had never adopted Frodo in the first place? What a dreadful thought. Frodo moved over to the worn green couch and pulled the blanket draped over the back tightly around himself. He lay listening to the crackling of the fire, and eventually his trembling eased. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes. He would just have to make sure he never caused Bilbo any trouble, that was all there was to it. True, he had been ambivalent about leaving Brandy Hall at first, but Frodo had come to love his new home, and guardian. He desperately did not want to be sent back to Buckland.

Bilbo marched up the path to Bag End, his arms laden with prickly green boughs of cedar and mistletoe. Juggling his load, he opened the front door and shrugged awkwardly out of his cloak.

“Frodo-lad!” Bilbo called. “I’m back!”

There was no answer, so Bilbo headed for the sitting-room, dropping his decorations on the kitchen table as he passed. “Frodo!” he called again, just as he came to the doorway of the sitting-room. A tousled dark head appeared abruptly over the back of the couch.

“Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo said dazedly.

“Were you asleep?” Bilbo asked, coming to sit beside him.

“I was for a bit,” Frodo replied. Bilbo frowned. Frodo’s voice sounded oddly strained.

“Is everything all right, lad?” Bilbo asked finally.

“Yes,” Frodo said quickly. And then, after a brief hesitation, “You had some visitors.”

“Oh! Who was it, my boy?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Sackville-Baggins”

“Oh!” Bilbo exclaimed again, but in a completely different tone of voice this time. “Then I am very sorry indeed. I did not expect the S.-B.’s to call so soon, not at all. I hope they didn’t upset you, Frodo?” Bilbo was alarmed. No twenty-three-year-old child should have to cope with Lobelia and Otho, but especially not Frodo; Bilbo was fully aware of how angry the S.-B.’s would be that he had cut them out of a large inheritance. He certainly hadn’t told them about adopting Frodo, but he had known it would be only a matter of time before they found out.

“No, Uncle,” Frodo said, but he sounded even more strained now. “But I think Mrs. Sackville-Baggins took some of your spoons.”

Bilbo let out his breath in a relieved chuckle. “Is that what’s worrying you, dear boy?” the old hobbit said, thankful it was nothing worse. “Well, don’t think on it another moment. Lobelia has many unpleasant habits, not the least of which is pocketing things that don’t belong to her,” Bilbo said grimly. “But worry not, lad! She won’t be getting much more than a few spoons, not if I can help it.”

The following morning, Frodo felt a little better when he woke up. Bilbo had shown no signs that he was getting tired of Frodo’s company yet, and Frodo was awake earlier than usual. He had an idea for how to show his uncle that he could make himself useful.

Bilbo wasn’t up yet, and if Frodo hurried, he could make breakfast himself. Frodo knew he could not afford to experiment in the kitchen; he would stick with what he knew. He dragged a small stool over to the stove and fried up some sausages and eggs. Then he sliced up some bread to toast. Miss Poppy at Brandy Hall had taught him a great deal about cooking, and Frodo put her lessons to good use.

Just as he was finishing, Bilbo walked into the kitchen.

“Frodo!” the old hobbit exclaimed. “Are you cooking breakfast?”

“Yes, Uncle,” he answered. “It’s all ready.”

Bilbo sat at the kitchen table and looked on with amazement as Frodo brought out the serving dishes.

“It all looks wonderful, dear boy, but you didn’t have to do this!” Bilbo said.

“I wanted to, Uncle,” Frodo replied, sitting down opposite Bilbo.

“You were up rather late last night,” said Bilbo, sounding concerned, as they began helping themselves to breakfast. “I was going to let you sleep a little longer.”

“I wasn’t tired,” Frodo shrugged. In truth, he hadn’t slept very well at all, but Bilbo wasn’t to know that.

Frodo finished his first five sausages and turned his attention to the egg. Uncle Bilbo had just taken a bite of his egg, and the oddest expression had come over his face. But Bilbo swallowed quickly and picked up a sausage. “Delicious,” Bilbo murmured. “I didn’t know you could cook, lad.”

“I’m glad you think so, Uncle,” Frodo replied, delighted by the praise. He then took a bite of his own egg, and nearly gagged. He had used far too much salt! The thing wasn’t even edible. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Uncle Bilbo!” Frodo cried, stricken.

“Don’t be silly, dear boy!” Bilbo said. “It’s the effort I appreciate, not the end result! And besides, the sausages were excellent.”

Frodo looked suspiciously at his cousin, but Bilbo merely gazed back at him with twinkling brown eyes, his mouth twitching slightly. Frodo knew Bilbo was trying not to laugh, and finally he relaxed. Bilbo stood up with a chuckle.

“Well, my boy, since you did the cooking, why don’t I clean up?” Bilbo said. “Then we can start our Yule baking.”

Frodo nodded reluctantly. It was going to be harder even than he’d expected to show Bilbo that he wouldn’t be any trouble to have around.