Frodo’s first few days in Hobbiton are a bit stressful for him.

The New Lad

Late Halimath, 1389

Frodo sat upon the bench swing in the garden of Bag End watching the world pass by. “Go outside, lad,” he heard Bilbo’s suggestion echo within his head. “There are plenty of lads your age who stand about near the market playing games all day long.”

“I have been to the market everyday since I arrived four days ago,” Frodo answered to no one in the garden. “I am the new lad that nobody knows and cares not to be acquainted with.”

The first morning after he arrived to live with his cousin Bilbo, Frodo walked to Hobbiton market, taking Bilbo’s advice to heart. When he drew near to the village square, Frodo spied a group of young tweens playing Ponyshoes near the inn. He stood by and watched the game for a while, hoping to be invited to join a team of lads. One lad even laughed at one of Frodo’s remarks, though no one really addressed him throughout the event. Growing bored, Frodo moved on, eventually walking back to Bag End.

The second day, Frodo again walked to the village, noticing several lads sitting on the porch of the Green Dragon while smoking their pipes and talking amongst themselves. Frodo asked if he could join them. “Ye’re the new lad that old Mad Baggins adopted, aren’t ye?” asked one lad with sandy hair then pointed toward a distant building with a large turning wheel that churned up water from the river. “Name’s Ned--Ned Sandyman. My uncle owns the mill yonder.”

Frodo introduced himself, acknowledging the fact of whose heir he was. “I came to live with Bilbo two days ago from Brandy Hall,” he answered.

“Listen t’ him!” Ned snickered. “Ye’re not a Baggins--ye’re a Brandybuck if I ever heard one of’em!” The other lads laughed along with their leader.

“He talks like a proper hobbit from Brand Hall,” said another lad, mimicking Frodo’s pronunciation of his words.

“That he does, Bob!” Ned said, playfully whacking the back of Bob’s unruly curls.

“Good day, lads,” said Frodo, getting up from the porch. He got the point that he was no longer welcome in their little party.

On the third day, Frodo walked one more time to the market, jaw set in determination of finding a new friend or two in Hobbiton. As he approached the inn, he could hear the same lads he met yesterday, but could not readily see them. Then he observed them; loitering behind the Green Dragon. When they saw the newcomer, the lads darted off while laughing. “Brandybuck, Brandybuck!” called Bob over his shoulder as he followed his band of friends.

Frodo slumped his slim shoulders, decidedly walking back toward his new home. He didn’t regret his decision to come live with Bilbo, however, Frodo had not felt this lonely since after the death of his parents. Feeling friendless and humiliated, Frodo slipped his hands into his pockets, taking the long way round the market. Most of the hawkers were busy selling their goods and wares, however, Frodo gazed up just in time to see a lad a bit older than he looking in his direction. “Don’t pay them any mind, Mr. Frodo,” said the stranger-lad as he paused in hawking his ropes.

“Ev’rythin’ that lot does comes to naught but trouble, if ye get my meanin’,” said the second lad, standing beside the first.

Frodo gaped at the strangers, startled that the lads knew his name, but he did not know theirs. Still, young Frodo was heartened. He picked up his pace heading down the lane toward The Hill.

Upon returning to Bag End, Frodo went directly to the garden. He dreaded to hear yet another of Bilbo’s tales of how many tweenaged lads there were in Hobbiton, had he gone inside the smial. Frodo truly was fond of Bilbo, however, he would much preferably sulk at the moment.

The tweenager had occupied the swing now for more than an hour, lazily kicking back and forth using the ball of his foot as if the weather was the dog days of summer rather than a cooler day in late Halimath. He stilled the swing when he heard voices coming down Bagshot Row.

“Hullo, Mr. Frodo,” greeted the same lads that Frodo saw in the market. They walked in the lane as they passed by.

Frodo sat up straight, unsure of whom these lads were. He said nothing in return, merely gawking as they walked by the gate.

“Oof!” grunted one, though the tall sunflowers in Bilbo’s garden mostly hid the lad. “Hi, little brother!” the older lad laughed, “Next time be easy on me!”

“Did ye get to work with dad today, Sam?” asked the other lad. “Good!” Obviously the answer from yet a third lad was a “yes”. “Daisy!” he called again, “Tell dad we’re on our way t' supper!”

Frodo’s eyes grew wide with trepidation as he heard the gate creak open. He leaned forward in his seat, peering round the bend of sunflowers as if he were spying on his neighbours.

“Hullo, Mr. Frodo!” said the second lad, startling Frodo out of his skin. “Sorry--I thought ye were expectin’ us. We can leave if ye want.”

“We just thought it rude to walk by without sayin’ anythin’,” said the elder one, toting a small child upon his back. “My name is Hamson Gamgee, and he is my younger brother, Halfred. And this one,” Hamson gave a wee lift from his back as he laughed, “is Samwise, though we just call him Sam. Don’t we, Sam?” The child smiled, nodding in agreement. Ham continued, “We’re Ham, Hal, and Sam Gamgee--at yer service,” he bowed so as not to let his brother tumble from his back. “Mr. Bilbo has talked a lot about ye t’ our dad,” he added.

Next, Hamson, Halfred, and young Samwise stared at the new lad waiting for him to speak, to at the least introduce himself. After all, it was only proper after Hamson introduced them all to him.

Frodo feared this moment ever since earlier that day--actually, since the day before when the young rogues at the market jeered his Buckland accent.

“Wait!” Frodo jumped out of the swing, calling out as the group turned to leave. “I…I grew up in Buckland. That’s why I don’t sound like I’m from Hobbiton. I do not have any brothers…nor sisters. I have lots of cousins, though--and,” he looked at Sam, “a very dear cousin not much younger than you, Sam, that I left behind in Brandy Hall. I already miss him terribly; he is like a little brother to me.” Frodo hesitated, then bowed low in return, “And I at yours.”

“What’s his name?” asked Sam, instantly feeling a soft nudge from Hamson.

“Call him “sir”, or Mr. Frodo,” instructed the elder brother.

“What’s his name, Mr. Frodo?”

“Meriadoc,” answered Frodo with a smile, “though people rarely remember it. We call him Merry, because…he is.”

“He’s always merry?”

Frodo knelt down to be eye-level with the child, “He is mostly. Sometimes things make him sad, but never for long.” Just then, a feminine shout was heard down the Row.

“We have t’ go,” said Halfred, taking Sam by the hand. “Supper’s on and dad will have our hides if we’re too late.”

Rising up, Frodo smiled at the prospect of new friends that were his neighbours. “Thank you for stopping by, Hamson--and Halfred…,” then he shook the littlest one’s hand, “and you, too, Sam. I’d be pleased if we could all have luncheon together sometime.”

“Maybe one day we will,” said Hamson as he ushered his brothers out of the gate, “but I know Sam will be round mostly. He’ll talk yer ears off sooner than yer grandma!” The tween stopped in his tracks realizing who’s grandma he erringly referred to.

Frodo laughed. He had not laughed since before saying goodbye to his “little brother” at Brandy Hall. “Think not on it, Ham. I am so pleased to have met you and your family.”

Hamson gave the new lad a nod and a smile, though he wasn’t the “new” lad anymore.

The End