A/N: Frodo is twenty one here (13 ½) and Sam has just turned nine (5 1/2). I am still a student of dates, genealogy and such like, so do not hesitate to point out any mistakes. Like my dearest of friends said, as writers, we're always learning. :)

S.R. 14 April 1398

The birds in the trees were singing their joyous refrain. The clusters of pale pink blossoms were firmly set against the crisp blue sky. Yes, this day was a glorious one. And not only due to the gorgeous spring weather. Frodo was going home. Really home, a place to call his own. True, his Brandy Hall relations had been more than generous, but the memories were still too real. It had never felt quite like home. He had been ready for a change.

But poor Merry. He had sobbed so hard when Frodo had to leave. Aunt Esme and Uncle Sara were sad too. After all, he had been like there son. He would miss them all and would never forget their kindness. But Frodo needed to get away. The myriad of emotions that had assaulted the lad lately had caused him to get into trouble and now he was a little bit relieved to be leaving there. A quiet life in Bag End with Bilbo would be a welcomed change from the constant bustle and crowdes of Brandy Hall.

The wagon rolled up to Bag End. It was a wonderful smial, though Frodo had already visited it many a time. But now it was home.

"Frodo-lad, welcome home." Bilbo said sitting next to him on the front seat of the wagon. Frodo grinned.

The inside of the smial had not changed much. In fact, so far, it hadn’t changed at all. He hung his cloak and jacket on *his* coat pegs. He walked down the hall and looked into each room as he passed it. There was the kitchen to the right, and the parlor to the left. He recognized it all, but today he was seeing it with new eyes. He felt a soft hand on his shoulder.

"Frodo-lad, your room is over here." Bilbo opened one of the many doors in the Hall. It reavealed a lovely room with soft green painted walls. A bed was in the corner opposite the window. There was a warm quilt of pale blue on the bed. On his bed. He could hardly believe it. He walked about it and touched the finely carved mahogany chest of drawers. He turned to Bilbo, who was standing in the doorway fidgeting nervously with something in his pockets.

"Do you like it, lad?"

"Oh, Uncle Bilbo! I love it. Thank you so much! I can't believe it!" Frodo rushed over and hugged his unlce, who was rather surprised but returned the hug. "Oh, Uncle Bilbo! Thank you, thank you! You've given me a home, and the best home a lad could ever wish for." Bilbo smiled to himself.

"You're quite welcome, lad. It's about time Bag End got someone with such spirit and livelness to fill its halls. I am quite glad I can adopt you. Which reminds me, we're going into Hobbiton tomorrow. I have to pick up something that I ordered a while back." Frodo nodded. "Now,you run along and explore, or do whatever it is you like to do. I'll be in the study if you need anything."

"Thank you, Uncle. I don't suppose I shall need anything for a while. I'll just unpack and then explore outside. You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not! Now, you run along."

*~*~*~*~*~*

Frodo stood at the garden gate. He had unpacked his things and wandered somewhat awkwardly about Bag End, reinspecting everything (including the numerous pantries). The most mysterious room in Bag End was the Man size bedroom. The large bed and high ceilings amazed young Frodo and were a constant source of wonder. But soon the outdoors called his name, and he had to go outside. He had walked down the path leading to the back gardens and was surprised to see a young Hobbit of only nine years old staring at him with huge brown eyes.

"Hullo. I'm Frodo Baggins, what's your name?" Apparently the youngster wasn't used to be spoken to by strangers, for his eyes got even wider and he nodded. Frodo laughed.

"I don't bite. How old are you? Can you speak?"

"Sammy!" A rather gruff voice sounded behind him. It was the gardner, Mr. Hamfast. "Speak to yer betters, lad. Ain't polite to ignore them." Sam nodded to his father and then spoke slowly.

"I'm Sam. I just turned nine."

"Really? I have a cousin who's about your age. His name is Merry." Sam giggled.

"He has a lass's name?" Frodo smiled back at him.

"No, it's just short for Meriadoc. But he's just a small lad like you, and Merry fits him better." Sam gave Frodo the most winning smile.

"Where did you come from? Are you living here?" the lad asked.

"Yes, I am. I am living with my uncle Bilbo now."

"Why aren't you living with your mum and da?" A flicker of pain crossed Frodo's face. It was only for a moment, but the tender hearted and perceptive lad saw it immediately.

"They died nine years ago." Sam, surprising himself as well as Frodo, rushed up to the older lad and hugged him. Frodo returned the hug. Sam sensed that Frodo needed someone to hold, and he whispered.

"Mr. Frodo, I love you." Frodo smiled into Sam's honey curls and whispered back.

"I love you, too, Sam."

Bilbo smiled from the window overlooking the garden. Somehow, the two seemed to belong to one another. It just seemed right somehow that they had met and formed so fast a friendship.