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.

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