The Gift

By: Elemmírë

Summary: “I spent my entire childhood pretending I was off with you--on one of your adventures.” Frodo receives a very special birthday present from Bilbo on his 22nd birthday. Frodo is 22, Bilbo is 100 (ages 14 & 64 in Man years).

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings does not belong to me, nor am I making any profit off either its story or characters.

Author's Note: This tale is a combination book/movie verse, but mostly book.

“It was a wonderful party, Bilbo. Thank you …”

“Thank you all for coming. Goodnight, goodnight now,” Bilbo Baggins bid the last of his party guests farewell in the cool, crisp night air of late Halimath. His 100th (and Frodo’s 22nd) birthday was now officially over. He roused the few remaining hobbits, who had fallen into a drunken stupor amongst the now empty ale kegs and beer barrels, and sent them on their way.

Bilbo surveyed the large pavilion he had ordered raised for the occasion and found his young nephew curled up on the grass underneath the head of the family table, sound asleep. Bilbo smiled. Today had been their first joint-birthday party celebrated together again at Bag End in nine years. It was the first birthday party of many to celebrated comfortably together at Bag End since he’d adopted Frodo last year. The anticipation and excitement of the day had finally caught up with the over-stimulated and newly turned 22-year old hobbit lad.

Bilbo knelt down and gave Frodo’s narrow shoulder a gentle shake. “Frodo-lad? Time to wake up, my dear boy.”

Frodo mumbled something unintelligible and curled up tighter, but didn’t wake. Within the small fingers of one fair hand lay a half-eaten biscuit; there were crumbs outlining the rosebud lips softly parted in sleep. Bilbo's smile widened and he felt his heart drawn to the sight of such innocent sweetness.

Reaching underneath the heavy oak table, Bilbo scooped his nephew and heir into his arms and carried him up The Hill from the Party Field to his bedroom in Bag End. The half-eaten biscuit fell to the ground from the lax fingers and lay forgotten amidst the scattered refuse. The Party Field would be cleaned tomorrow of all the wrapping paper strewn about, the empty mugs and plates lying here and there, and what few scraps of food had been carelessly dropped. The pavilion and tables would be taken down, along with the party streamers and lanterns hanging from the low boughs of the Party Tree. The enormous banner proclaiming Bilbo and Frodo a 'Happy Birthday' would also be taken down and rolled up to be stored away for next year’s use. By tomorrow evening, the Party Field would look as green and pristine as ever, with no evidence of the litter that riddled the lawn currently.

"It's a good thing you're not a stout lad yet," Bilbo grunted as he lugged Frodo up The Hill, stopping several times to rest. Frodo was a very slight lad for his age, a fact which Bilbo bemoaned normally. Tonight, he found himself grateful for the lad's spareness. Frodo also had not begun his tweenage growth spurt yet; most hobbit lads reached their full-grown height by the time they were between 26 and 28 years of age. As it was, Frodo barely came up to Bilbo's shoulders and he had several inches to grow until he even reached his uncle's full hobbit height of three-foot, six-inches. Still, as tiring as it was to go up The Hill after the long day, Bilbo enjoyed being able to carry his lad while he still could, knowing that someday very soon this would be all but a memory to them both.

As he entered his life-long smial, Bilbo found himself reflecting on the past year. It was an utter joy to have Frodo in his life every single day now. The problem was, the 100-year old hobbit bachelor had never realized just how lonely he’d been at times until Frodo Baggins had entered his life 22 years ago.

Nearly all the remaining Bagginses of the dwindling family name lived in Hobbiton--as they always had since the founding of the Shire. Frodo’s father, Drogo Baggins, had been no exception. And so, Bilbo had known Frodo since the day he was born. Bilbo had fallen instantly in love with the tiny babe and they bonded to each other quickly as they shared not only the very same birthday, but many of the same interests as well. Bilbo had decided long ago that Frodo was more than just another much younger first-and-second-cousin-once-removed to him, and he had deemed the infant as being his favorite nephew. As a faunt, Frodo could sit and listen for hours to his uncle’s tales, always demanding more or toddling after him, trying to handle one of his uncle’s large-volume books, shouting, “Story! Story!”

When Frodo was seven, his parents had made the decision to move smial to the sheltered outskirts of Frogmorton, near a branching tributary of The Water. It was clear by then that Frodo was going to be the only child they ever had and Primula wished to live closer to Buckland. She had grown up there and nearly all of her family resided there still. She and Drogo had compromised on moving halfway between his relations and hers so that travel would be fair for all concerned. They bought a small hobbit hole near the banks of The Water and had settled there comfortably for the next 4 ½ years, until tragedy had struck on the banks of the Brandywine River during a routine visit to Brandy Hall.

After the boy’s parents had died in a tragic boating accident, Bilbo had found himself trying to spend more and more time with the orphan stranded at Brandy Hall. The Master of Bag End, and head of the Baggins family, had made frequent trips all the way to Buckland to see the boy or invite the youngster to visit with him in Hobbiton. As the two kindred spirits grew more attached to each other, Bilbo had found himself missing the lad terribly after such trips, most especially after Frodo had come to stay with him for a few weeks one Spring. The lad’s bright and mischievous spirit had filled the quiet hallways of Bag End with such light and joy that they seemed empty and quietly sad when he had returned to Buckland. And an idea that startled Bilbo to no end had begun to take root in his mind.

Increasingly unpleasant altercations with his closest family ties, the Sackville-Bagginses, had left Bilbo more determined than ever not to leave them with his beloved estate when he died. Around that same time, Frodo too was having his own increasing troubles to deal with at Brandy Hall as a growing teenager. Both uncle and nephew were unhappy with their lot and becoming more so with each passing day. After surviving one too many insults and battles with Lobelia and Otho, and receiving news of Frodo’s worsening melancholy coupled with his escalating and out-of-control misbehaviors, Bilbo had finally decided that it was high time he took matters into his own hands. At 99 years of age, he'd adopted the spirited young orphan as his heir and gave him a permanent home at Bag End. Legally, Frodo was now his son by all accounts and all that he had would be passed down to him when it was time. Bilbo felt both proud and relieved that he couldn’t have chosen a better heir in all of Middle-earth. No one deserved his wealth or Bag End more than his beloved little Frodo.

Once the lad was moved in to stay forever, Bilbo discovered that he rather enjoyed having someone around to take care of and having someone be totally dependent upon him. Frodo was one of the few relations he had who didn’t think him mad or cracked and loved him merely for who he was ... and not for all his riches. Frodo was a very special lad, that much was certain. Every day spent with him was like an adventure it seemed.

The century-old hobbit entered his nephew’s bedroom and spotted a heavily wrapped parcel sitting on the bed where he had placed it hours earlier, right before the start of the party. It had been his intention that Frodo be surprised and find it after their party was ended.

It's just as well, Bilbo thought to himself, looking down at the bundle of sleeping hobbit child in his arms. The day had been busy enough as it was and he wanted to watch Frodo open this particular gift when they weren’t being rushed or exhausted from the events of the day. The young tweenager was totally unsuspecting as they had exchanged their birthday mathoms to each other early that morning, after first breakfast. This one was to be a very special present indeed. It was a gift that said, ‘I’m glad you’re here with me.’ It was a gift that said, ‘I love you and I want you here with me no matter what.’

Bilbo expertly shifted Frodo so that the lad was propped on his hip and cradled in one arm, the bare little legs and feet swinging back and forth gently with the maneuver. Frodo yawned and snuggled his head into his uncle’s shoulder in contentment while Bilbo moved the bulky parcel to the window seat with his free hand. Making sure the gift was strategically placed where the lad would see it first thing in the morning, he placed Frodo’s limp form down onto the bed and began to remove the lad’s party clothes ... after he stretched the kinks out of his century-old back.

As Primula and Drogo had once done when their son was but a babe and faunt, Bilbo marveled at the size of the miniature clothing. The vest, shirt, suspenders, and breeches were so little when compared to his own, especially as Frodo was a very small, slight boy and years away from his growth spurt. The Master of Bag End tsked at the grass stains and dirt marring the new blue corduroy breeches. Frodo had acquired many such stains over the course of the day, running around and playing party games with his younger cousins. Bilbo couldn’t fault the boy; it wasn’t as if Frodo had deliberately rolled around the Party Field in his new clothing or hadn’t tried to take care of them. But lads will be lads and Bilbo thought it more important that the day had been a happy one that brought a smile to the often melancholy lad, rather than worry about stained clothing that could be easily washed and mended.

Bilbo tossed the dirty clothing into a half-full wicker laundry basket sitting in the corner. Smallclothes indeed, he smiled ironically, leaving Frodo clad in only his white, linen undershorts at the moment. He then moved to retrieve a soft cloth from the wash basin atop the dresser in the opposite corner of the room.

He carefully wiped off the small, pale face and hands with the damp cloth, making sure to get at all the crumbs and the faint smudges of dirt here and there. Frodo had always been a beautiful child, being fair of face with large blue eyes that sparkled and always shone the depths of his emotions. He was growing into a just as beautiful young gentlehobbit, both mentally and physically despite his traumatic early childhood. Frodo’s behavior had settled down quickly while living at Bag End over the past year, although he remained as spirited as ever, much to his uncle’s delight.

“Oh, the lasses will be after you for sure,” Bilbo whispered, with a soft curve of his lips. “If they’re not so already.” He was happy that he had secured the future of Bag End and the Baggins family by adopting this child. Now, there would always be a Baggins living under The Hill, just as there always had been since the construction of Bag End by his own father, Bungo Baggins, over 100 years ago.

With what was now an eased practice, Bilbo slipped a clean nightshirt over the dark curly head and over the pale shoulders. He then threaded the thin arms through the sleeves of the small nightshirt that had been modeled after one of Bilbo’s own, and wrested the soft material down over the rest of the little body. With pride, Bilbo thought he was getting quite good at parenting--a year ago, he wasn’t able to change a slumbering Frodo’s clothing without waking him up in the process. He now had it down to a well-timed art and the tired young hobbit remained blissfully unawares as he continued to sleep undisturbed.

Bilbo drew the covers from the foot of the bed over the tween and Frodo curled up onto his side, burying his head into the soft feather pillow with a pleasant sigh. Bilbo tucked an errant chestnut curl behind a delicately pointed ear and tenderly kissed his nephew goodnight upon his brow. With one final check to make sure Frodo was tucked in warm and cozy underneath his goose-down quilt, Bilbo blew out the lantern on the nightstand and left the room, leaving the round wooden door ajar. Bilbo hoped that the lad didn’t grow up too fast, as he had discovered over the past year that he rather enjoyed moments like this.

* * * * *

The next morning, brilliant rays of early morning sunlight streamed in through the round window of Frodo’s bedroom, flooding part of the room and landing on the young hobbit’s serene face. The bright light and resulting warmth upon his face gradually woke the lad from a peaceful sleep. Frodo stretched his body out and yawned before turning over and facing away from the window. He nestled under his quilt, reveling in its softness and cozy warmth; he was too comfortable to get up just yet and so he curled up once more to fall back asleep. Besides, he didn't smell first breakfast being cooked yet. His sleepy mind reflected on what a perfect day yesterday had been and he nodded off with a sweet smile gracing his lips, feelings of happiness and love resounding in his heart.

One hour later, the sun had risen higher in the clear blue sky and the light coming through the window shifted. It now flooded the entire bedroom and it was shining directly onto Frodo’s closed eyes. Awake once more, he grumbled and wondered why the curtains hadn’t been drawn closed over the window last night. The more he thought about it, he realized that he didn’t even remember going to bed last night. Bilbo must have tucked him in.

As much as he knew Uncle Bilbo enjoyed taking care of him and providing for him, Frodo likewise enjoyed seeing to it that the older hobbit was cared for as well. He understood that Bilbo had given up much of his former freedoms in order to adopt him and assume the responsibility of guardianship over him until he came of age. It was because of him that his uncle hadn’t gone out on any of his long walking trips this past year, even despite Frodo's suggestions and hints that they could go on a ramble together. Bilbo had said no, choosing instead to remain confined at Bag End with a young tweenager for the time-being. So far Bilbo didn’t appear to seem to mind, but Frodo was upset about the fact and didn’t want his uncle to become unhappy or change his lifestyle because of him. Frodo enjoyed the feeling of being wanted and loved so much, but he was also used to doing for himself and didn’t like to be an imposition or a bother to anyone. He didn’t want to disappoint Bilbo in any way or make him regret adopting him. He wanted his uncle to be proud of him.

Sitting up in his bed with a sigh, Frodo soon discovered the large wrapped parcel sitting mysteriously on the window seat of his room. “When did that get there?” he wondered aloud. He didn’t remember seeing it there yesterday. And who put it there?

Curious, he crawled the length of his bed and reached out a hand trying to get a hold of what looked like a tag affixed to the strands of brightly colored ribbon. He snatched his hand back when he heard the door to the bathing room open and Bilbo’s soft footsteps sound from the hallway.

Tossing aside his blankets, Frodo scampered out of bed and down the curved hallway, sliding to a halt on the tiled floor of the kitchen. Bilbo, still clad in his nightshirt and dressing gown, was standing at the water pump with the kettle in hand.

“Good morning, Frodo-lad!” he greeted cheerfully. He didn’t have to wonder for long if his nephew had spotted the gift sitting in his room. The lad was positively bursting with energy and looked ready to start jumping up and down at any given moment. Oh, to be that young again!

“Good morning, Uncle Bilbo!” Frodo greeted, giving his uncle a quick hug about the waist before stepping back to help with the preparations of first breakfast.

Pleased that the lad helped out with the keeping of the smial all the time without him ever asking, Bilbo turned and put the kettle on it’s iron hook over the slow-burning fire in the hearth, for the water to heat. He counted the seconds, waiting for Frodo to spill forth. It didn’t take very long.

“Uncle, there is a wrapped parcel in my room!” Frodo exclaimed whilst setting the kitchen table for two.

Bilbo turned from where he had been cracking eggs into the skillet on the wrought iron stove built into the side of the large fireplace. “Is there now?” he said as nonchalantly as he could. Several cold, smoked sausage links joined the eggs in the frying pan.

“Yes! Do you know what it is or who it’s from?”

Bilbo turned his back to the tween, lest his grinning like a fool give him away too soon. It wasn’t often he could get away with things like this with Frodo being such a sharp and bright lad, but this was just too much fun to resist this morning. “I know,” he said finally over the crackle of the sizzling sausage in the pan.

“You do?” Frodo stopped paying attention to what he was doing and nearly spilled the apple juice he was pouring from an earthenware pitcher into two glasses. He realized just in the nick of time to keep the second glass from overflowing onto the table.

Bilbo chuckled. For all his smarts, Frodo sometimes wasn’t too quick on the upstart in the early morning hours. He turned around to face his nephew and heir. “Of course I know. Who do you think left it there? An Elf lord? Now, do you want your eggs sunny-side up or scrambled this morning?”

Frodo’s mouth dropped open. “Uh, scrambled please. But … but why? You already gave me a birthday mathom yesterday before noontime.” He moved on to help prepare the morning tea, making sure there were enough fresh leaves in the tea ball before letting it dangle inside of the flowered china teapot.

Bilbo finished scrambling the eggs and gave the sausages a final poke with a fork before dishing them out onto the waiting plates. He sliced what was left of the cinnamon-raisin bread before pouring the now boiling water from the iron kettle into the waiting teapot. As the tea steeped inside the pot, he turned and knelt so he was face to face with his nephew, grasping his upper arms gently, wanting to make sure he had the tweenager’s full attention.

“This one is different, Frodo my lad,” he began. “This one is something very special … something I think you’re old enough for now and ready to have. Come now, let us have first breakfast and then you can open it.”

Without delay, the two hobbits sat down at the little wooden table in the kitchen to enjoy their first breakfast together. Both of them ate a bit quicker than normal for hobbits in their eagerness to get first breakfast done with and on to matters more important than food this morning.

After filling up the corners and leaving the dirty dishes to wash later on, Bilbo escorted Frodo to the lad’s bedroom where he first helped the young hobbit to make the bed. Frodo was being so good, so patient even though it was very easy to see that he was extremely curious and excited with anticipation. The lad kept eyeing the large parcel as he hurriedly pulled up his down quilts and smoothed out the wrinkles. The bed made, Bilbo had Frodo sit down comfortably on it before retrieving the bulky parcel from the cushioned window seat.

“I think you’ve waiting long enough, Frodo-lad. Here,” Bilbo said, placing the gift on Frodo’s lap before sitting on the bed beside the boy.

“It’s so heavy,” Frodo exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise. He ran his small hands over the fancy wrapping paper, but could not discern what lay hidden underneath. He looked up at his uncle questioningly.

“Well, go on, Frodo my lad. Open it,” Bilbo nudged. He had waited months for this moment to arrive and he couldn’t wait to see the look on the young hobbit’s face.

Without further delay, Frodo untied the multi-colored ribbons and began to carefully run his little fingers under the seams of the fancy, gilded paper, loosening the glue holding the edges together. Out of the corner of his eye he observed his fidgeting, overeager uncle and deliberately began to take his time, stretching the momentous anticipation out for as long as he could, making a game of it. After all, Frodo reasoned, if Bilbo could make him wait to open such a special gift, then it was only fair that he make his uncle wait in turn!

After he heard Bilbo let out a heavy sigh and saw him open his mouth to speak in frustration, Frodo tore open the rest of the wrapping paper with relish and a delighted grin on his face. Uncle Bilbo had always enjoyed a good teasing of him and Frodo had as much fun teasing him back in return.

Bilbo memorized every nuance of the moment as he watched the emotion openly displayed on the youngster’s face go from delighted mischief to surprise and astonishment ... to bafflement ... to guarded disbelief and incomprehension ... to finally unbridled love. The big blue eyes filled with tears and the little rosebud mouth fell open moving silently, too choked with emotion to form proper words.

* * * * *

The pretty paper fell away slowly and Frodo held a pack in his hands--a traveling pack just like the one his uncle owned and used on his once frequent walking trips. Frodo stared at the pack in his hands, then up at Bilbo, then back at the pack again, too tongue-tied for words. Could it really be? Did his uncle really mean ...?

“You’re getting to be a big lad now, Frodo. And a mature and responsible one at that,” Bilbo said, putting an arm around the little shoulders and pulling his young heir closer to him. “I think it is high time we started having some adventures of our own. What do you say?”

Frodo nodded his head absently, his attention focused solely on the unexpected and well-thought gift resting on his lap. He lovingly ran his small hands over the pack in awe, hardly believing what he held and now apparently owned. The pack itself was a warm brown color, made from a heavy, long-lasting textile material that was resilient and would withhold in all sorts of weather. The waxed stitching was well-done, tight as a drum, and would not allow a single drop of water to leak inside. On the backside of the pack were two shoulder straps made from the most durable and resilient of leather. They were adjustable and would easily accommodate his growth into adulthood.

Bilbo chuckled at his stupefied nephew before reaching over to unbuckle the shiny brass latch securing the pocketed flap over the top of the pack. He un-cinched the draw cord and drew open the spacious mouth of the pack. “There’s more for you to discover inside,” he hinted.

At his uncle’s urging, Frodo overcame his bewilderment and delved into the pack bringing out numerous items, some wrapped in the same fancy paper, others not wrapped at all. There was a full-bodied, hooded cloak resplendent with a dark, cherry wood button at the closure. It was a rich pine green color and was an exact replica of the old cloak Bilbo had once worn on his adventure with Gandalf and the Dwarves long ago. Frodo supposed that Bilbo no longer had that cloak from nearly fifty years ago as he had never once seen it, only heard it described in his uncle’s tale.

“I’m afraid I had it done up quite a bit larger than you are now, so it will be roomy around the shoulders and hood until you fill out some,” Bilbo explained. “The length is done up right, though. We can let the hem out as you grow into it when need be.”

Frodo set the cloak aside with care to next unwrap a bedroll and blanket, which could be stowed by the small holding straps atop the pack. Tucked inside the soft, warm folds of the bedroll was a smaller version of Bilbo’s own favorite walking stick. Frodo ran his hands over the staff, marveling at the smooth, polished texture of the hardwood. His very own walking stick!

Next there was a water bottle crafted from the finest burnished leather. It too was sewn tight enough with strong leather lacings to prevent seepage and there was detailed scrollwork etched into the adjustable carrying strap. The bottle was heavy and Frodo uncapped it to discover it was already filled with water, much to his surprise.

Then there was a set of traveling garments. The breeches, shirt, vest, and jacket were not as fine as many of the other sets of clothing Bilbo had plied him with in the past year, but they were elegant enough for a gentlehobbit all the same. In fact, they were similar to the comfortable, yet plain, everyday sort of clothing he had worn when living in Buckland.

Frodo next unwrapped a metal nib pen; a stoppered inkwell that was much smaller than a normal-sized one; and a medium-sized leather-bound journal embossed in gold with his initials on the cover, its blank pages waiting to be filled with stories of adventure.

In the very bottom of the pack was a bundle of neatly pressed and folded pocket handkerchiefs. They were tied together with a blue ribbon and made from fine, white linen, his initials embroidered in blue thread on the corner of each one.

“Never go anywhere without a pocket handkerchief, my boy,” Bilbo told him. “For you never know when you might have use for one. Remember that.”

Frodo then explored the various buttoned pockets of the pack, finding even more useful items. There were many packets of dried fruit and meats and coupled with the filled water bottle, there were enough rations in fact to last a young hobbit several days. He glanced up at Bilbo with suspicion. A sneaking hope began to take shape in his mind. Was he finally going to have an adventure of his own? Bilbo had said so, but he couldn't believe it! It was like a dream come true to the young hobbit who was forever pretending of having his own adventures.

In another pocket, Frodo unwrapped a pocket knife; its sharp blade folded in on itself, tucking into a crystal quartz handle with a picture of a dragon with ruby eyes inlaid in silver upon it. Frodo felt honored that Bilbo thought him responsible and old enough to be trusted with such an object.

Last but not least, Frodo came upon a painstakingly hand-drawn map of the Shire folded into one of the pack’s many pockets. It had been made by his uncle on the best quality parchment, using the finest black ink. Its borders were decorated with scrollwork and the map itself was weather-proofed with a flexible wax coating serving as a laminate. To the East of the Shire and the Old Forest bordering Buckland, was an furled hand, the index finger pointing the way to the Misty Mountains and onward to the final desolation of Smaug the dragon. To the South led the old North-South road pointing the way to the realms of Men: Rohan and then Gondor. To the North was an arrow leading to the ancient ruins of Annúminas near Lake Evendim. To the West were the Tower Hills, the Blue Mountains of the Dwarves and finally, the Sea.

Frodo traced a finger over where the Sea was depicted, wondering if he was ever to see such a sight save only in his dreams. He looked up at his guardian with tears of happiness in his eyes. Bilbo had given him so much and the young tween felt overwhelmed. Bilbo had adopted him and given him a permanent home in Bag End, which was something Frodo felt he could never repay in his lifetime. Bilbo showered him with unconditional love and didn’t ask or expect anything in return, save Frodo simply be his heir. And now his uncle presented him with all this on top of giving him a wonderful gift yesterday, along with hosting their splendid birthday party--the first celebrated comfortably of many. It was too much for the young hobbit to take in.

This must have cost Bilbo a fortune. Why does he go to so much trouble for me? Frodo asked himself silently.

Uncle and nephew sat together and Bilbo watched the delight and joy light up Frodo’s little face while the young hobbit explored the contents of the bag. Nothing in all of Middle-earth made him feel more proud or accomplished than simply being able to put a smile on this one little hobbit’s face--this one little, orphaned hobbit who mattered more to him than any other being in all Middle-earth. And it was those rare smiles that not only lit up Frodo’s handsome face, but his striking eyes as well, that made him seemingly glow with an almost Elvish, unearthly inner light that no other hobbit possessed. To Bilbo, Frodo had the most beautiful and endearing smile in all Middle-earth. Frodo was worth more than any treasure or other riches he possessed. The old bachelor would gladly give up his life’s wealth in a heartbeat, so long as Frodo was happy. His heart rang with unbounded joy when Frodo turned to him, set aside the map, and squashed him with the greatest hug the smaller hobbit could muster.

"Hanta lle," Frodo said in Elvish. "Amin mela lle."

Bilbo was proud that he was able to pass down his own self-taught lessons of Quenya and Sindarin to his heir. Frodo showed a genuine interest in learning about the Elves' history and their languages. Frodo also had a hidden talent the way the Elvish words rolled off his tongue so easily, almost as if it were second nature to the tween. He was soaking up the knowledge as quick as Bilbo could teach it to him; it was something special that only the two of them shared, the only two hobbits of the Shire ever to do so. He had a feeling that soon Frodo would be called Elf-Friend as well.

“You’re very welcome, my lad. I love you too, more than you could ever know. You’ve made me a very happy old hobbit for as long as I shall live and I'm very proud of you, Frodo.” Bilbo squeezed the slight body in return before picking up the map of the Shire. He pretended to study it with deep interest before finally lifting his gaze upon his nephew. “So, Frodo-lad, where shall we have ourselves an adventure to first?”

The reality of such a gift and the possibilities it presented finally sank in. Thrilled with the prospect of traveling with his adventurous uncle, who had seen and done so much already, Frodo wasted no time in kneeling on the mattress beside his guardian, looking over his shoulder at the map. Steadying himself with a hand on his uncle’s shoulder, Frodo leaned over and randomly pointed to a spot near the top of the map. “There,” he proclaimed.

Bilbo nearly burst out laughing at the excitement in Frodo’s voice. His eyes tracked to where the small finger was pointing and he nodded his head in agreement. “A most-excellent choice, Frodo,” he said. The Bindbole Wood was not too far away a place for his nephew’s first outing and he himself had not traveled there in ages. Oddly enough, he found himself thankful that Frodo had not chosen a place beyond the safe boundaries of the Shire, such as the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo knew just how dangerous the Outside World could be and he both wanted and needed his lad safe. It was one reason why he had drawn the map to be only of the Shire, but he couldn't resist including at least some mention of the Outside World. Frodo already knew it existed and to deny it wouldn't make the Outside World disappear like the rest of the hobbits seemed to think in their content, centuries-old ways. Nearly all hobbits were, after all, content to ignore and be ignored by the world of the Big Folk. But as much as Bilbo wanted to protect Frodo, he wanted just as much for him to be prepared if the time ever came for him to set foot outside the Shire. He wanted Frodo to meet the Dwarves and Elves that sometimes traveled through their land, and to learn about the world of Men from himself and Gandalf the Grey. After all, he did not want Frodo to be as unprepared for the Outside World as he had once been.

Bilbo stood up from his seat on the bed. “Very well then. You get dressed and arrange your pack as you would have it while I change into my clothes and retrieve my own travelling things. We’ll start out immediately.”

Frodo’s head whirled. Everyday with Uncle Bilbo seemed like an adventure to him, the tweenager thought. “W-we’re going now?” he squeaked.

“Of course. I’ve been packed for weeks and I’ve already set the food and drink aside for such a journey. The Gaffer is aware I’m taking you on a ramble this afternoon, I’ve only to let him know where we are headed and how long we'll be away,” Bilbo tossed over his shoulder as he rose from the bed and was leaving the room to get dressed and see to his own things.

Frodo stared after Bilbo for several long minutes wondering, not for the first time, just how true the rumors of Mad Baggins really were. With a sudden frenzy born of excitement he began to carefully, yet hurriedly, stow the thought-out items back into his pack. His pack. Finishing in record time, Frodo hopped to the floor and began to jump up and down, grinning like a fool.

He was going on an Adventure with Uncle Bilbo!!!!

And so after eating what had to be the quickest second breakfast on record in the history of the Shire, the dirty dishes were washed and left to dry, and Bilbo and Frodo stepped out onto the threshold of Bag End. Frodo was dressed in his new traveling clothes and cloak. His filled pack, complete with attached bedroll, was slung over his shoulders. Bilbo had adjusted the straps for him, but the pack itself was rather large as it rested on his small back. It was no matter to Frodo and he proudly clutched his new walking stick in hand, ready to step out into the waiting world. ... Bilbo, however, stopped him before he could set foot onto the path leading from the green, round door of Bag End atop The Hill.

"There is only one Road and it is like a great river. It’s springs are at every doorstep, and every path its tributary. It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door. You step into the Road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to. Do you realize that this is the very path that goes through Mirkwood, and that if you let it, it might take you to the Lonely Mountain or even further and to worse places?”*

It was advice that Frodo would continue to hear for a good many years until Bilbo left the Shire on his 111th birthday and Frodo’s Coming of Age.

~The End~

*Quoted from The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Rings