Sunday, 25 Rethe S.R. 1389, Evening

Bilbo had banked the fire, and now he went to lock the doors; not something commonly done in Hobbiton, but he had made a habit of it since returning from his journey to find his smial being plundered and his goods auctioned off. Then he padded along to the kitchen to fix himself a late night cup of tea; he would take that with him to his room. All his guests were finally abed.

He was very pleased with the way this day had gone. First of all, a chance to score one on the S.-B.s, something always to be relished. He allowed himself a smile at the memory of Lotho’s bruised face. Frodo had done a nice job there.

Otho had not been pleased to be threatened with an action at law by Saradoc either.

And Frodo had been overjoyed at the news he would finally be coming to live at Bag End. Though Bilbo had hoped it would be so, he had not been absolutely certain. After all, Brandy Hall had been the child’s home ever since he could remember. He knew Frodo was very fond of Sara and Esme, and deeply attached to little Merry, so he had been afraid that perhaps he would not want to leave them. But Frodo had not hesitated, and that pleased Bilbo no end. He would have to watch him though after they left. He was sure to be somewhat lonely for them--especially Merry.

Best of all, Gandalf and Balin had finally arrived, and his old friend had loved his new room. All in all a most satisfactory day.

_____________________________________________

Frodo lay awake in his bed--his bed, his room, not a guest room any longer--but his very own room at Bag End.

Such a day this had been! First of all, for Bilbo to tell him that he was going to live here now, that Bilbo was adopting him. He had dreamed of such a thing, but it had always been on some far off day in the distant future, not something to be had in the here and now. He thrilled at the memory of Bilbo introducing him to Gandalf and Balin: “My cousin and heir…who has come to live with me”.

Gandalf. He had met the Gandalf.

He supposed he might have seen the Wizard before. He certainly remembered those Litheday fireworks in Tookland, the summer before he turned five. Still, that was not the same as meeting him. But when he met him, and looked into those wise eyes today, he knew he was not only meeting a famous Wizard, but a friend, a good friend.

He had enjoyed meeting Balin, as well. The Dwarf was affable and funny. After supper, they had all sat in the front room, and Bilbo and Balin had told stories about their adventure together. It had been funny to hear the familiar story told from another point of view than Bilbo’s. There were moments, too, when Frodo could tell they were both leaving something out--they would look each other in the eye, and seem to skip forward in the story, as though by agreement certain things should not be said. Frodo wondered if Bilbo would ever tell him what they had left out. He guessed it was probably things that were too scary to talk about in front of Merry. And Gandalf had sat upon the floor next to Bilbo, chuckling and nodding from time to time. Every so often, with the smoke from his pipe he would make pictures of the story as they talked: mountains and trees, dragons and eagles. They had floated silently across the room and vanished.

Merry had cuddled close in Frodo’s lap, clinging tightly, finally falling asleep to the sound of Bilbo’s and Balin’s voices. Saradoc had lifted up his little son, and carried him away to his own bed. He did not even stir.

Which was why Frodo was alone right now.

Alone.

When Merry went back to Brandy Hall, he’d be here every night, alone.

As he felt the familiar swell of the dark sorrow beginning to surge, the door cracked open. A tiny form padded over and clambered into Frodo’s bed. Merry placed his hand on Frodo’s cheek and brushed away the tear.

“I love you, Frodo,” he whispered.

“I love you too, my Merry,” and the darkness rolled back.

__________________________________________

Gandalf sat in his new chair in his new room, breathing in the smells of new wood and paint and spring flowers and night breezes through the window.

His room. His place.

And the friendship of hobbits.

In a time long past, in the West, he had been reluctant to take up his task. And it had so far been a long and thankless one, with no end in sight.

But it had been worth it all just to have known the friendship of hobbits.