The gently rolling hills of the Shire were a-blossom with the delicate flowers of spring. A cool breeze carried a hint of apple that was almost tantalizing. As each flower bud opened, one could almost see the semblance of fairies peering out from within. Even the meandering brook testified to the presence of Springtide.

Covered in the prettiest flowers in the entire Shire was Bag-End. Its shuttered windows still held a hint of the morning dew. One of the Shire's "most interesting " (which some used to imply notorious) of hobbits was inside, busily preparing dandelion vinaigrette for the morning's elevensies' salad. As a soft rapping resounded against the wooden door, Bilbo Baggins hurriedly wiped his yellowed fingers against his apron and then opened the door. A rather unwanted sight stood just outside it.

"Oh, gracious, Bilbo," began a rather pugnacious Lobelia, "your fingers are as yellow as a bee! I always knew you were up to something". Lobelia added a proficient smirk for emphasis.

"Now, Lobelia, before you have time to make any further fuss about how I choose to use my spare time or manage the estate…"

"Nonsense, Bilbo. I only came down here to see how the boy was getting along. Due to my good judgment, I am purposefully leaving my thoughts on how you are not capable of managing anything, let alone yourself, out of this conversation. Now, if you would be the cordial host you ought, do let me in!"

Bilbo opened the door wide enough for Lobelia to force herself in and then proceed to the sitting room. She nonchalantly ran her finger upon the mantel before taking a seat near the hearth. As she did, Bilbo begrudgingly went to the cellar to pick a bottle of wine that he wouldn't mind serving to "that confounded relative" of his.

During Bilbo's absence from the room, Lobelia took the liberty to inspect a few of Bilbo's belongings. A few well-worn parchments had been meticulously filed upon the desk. In another part of the room, she found a book lying open that appeared to have been recently written in.

Astron, 4th 1380 SR

~ Yesterday was a rather uneventful boy did nothing but stay in his room moping so I went for a walk. I spotted several of the more rare birds such as the jade-bellied bluebird and a wren. The flowers seem to be blossoming quite nicely...

The sound of Bilbo's footstep in the hallway nearly caused Lobelia to jump. With the swiftness that only a snoop has learned to achieve, she returned to her seat and feigned innocence as he returned to the room with a bottle of wine and some cakes.

"I hope you don't mind seedcakes, Lobelia."

"No, that will do quite nicely, thank you. Now, as I was saying, that boy of yours has got to learn to be social. In the entirety of the two months he has been here, neither I, nor the rest of the family, have seen him once. I just thought I'd warn you, Bilbo, keep an eye on that boy - he's part Brandybuck!"

"Now, Lobelia…"

"Don't interrupt! As I was saying, one can never trust a Brandybuck. He is bound to have at least some measure of trickery up his sleeve or I'm a black-tailed weasel!"

Bilbo stifled the temptation to point out that maybe she wasn't that far from the truth. He had always thought her temperament somewhat resembled a varmint.

"Well, at any rate, I do hope that you take me advice to mind. I must be off now; Lotho is bound to be getting lonely. At least he is of respectable lineage." The caustic remark played upon Lobelia's rounded lips. "Good day, Bilbo". And with that, she helped herself out of the hole, leaving Bilbo once again alone with his apron and yellow fingers.

"That good for nothing woman didn't even take the time to drink the wine I so generously poured!" Bilbo muttered to himself before returning to the kitchen.

In the other end of the hole, sitting all by himself, gazing solemnly out of his window, was "the boy" Frodo.

The sun peaked through the open window, catching on a corner of the glass, and danced in rainbows on the opposite wall. Frodo had spent most of the last two months inside peering out of that very window.

The sudden death of his parents had left a lot on his mind and a wound in his heart. The little comfort he could find was sitting on the window seat and looking towards Buckland in hopes that if he looked hard enough, the pains of the past would simply vanish.

Many a tear had been shed in that room, unnoticed by the rest of society. But then, when did they ever detect the presence of the orphaned. They were always to busy noticing their perfect little lives, their perfect families.

Frodo sighed before closing the window. The darkness returned to the room and the rainbows disappeared.

It was then that his nose became attuned to the wafting of baking bread that was flooding the hole. His stomach grumbled, reminding him how many hours it had been since he last ate.

Despite Bilbo's attempts to get him to come out of the room, he had refused and had been taking all of his meals in his room. This one would be no different, he thought.

It wasn't long before Bilbo knocked on his door and asked him to come to the kitchen for elevensies. Even though he had sworn to never leave the room, he found his feet involuntarily moving towards the door and the smell of the food. Bilbo raised an eyebrow in surprise as Frodo sat down in the kitchen.

"I thought you said you were never going to come out". Bilbo said with a chuckle.

"I…uh…the room was getting stuffy…I thought that I had better make sure you weren't burning the bread."

"Oh, so you don't trust my cooking, is that it?" Bilbo winked.

"Something like that." Frodo grumbled in response.

"Well, I'm glad you decided to come out at any rate. Here, best try the bread for yourself. Make sure it isn't too brown." Bilbo chuckled and winked again. "Perhaps it's time that you explored Hobbiton. You never know, you might just learn to like it."

When he had finished eating, Frodo decided to follow Bilbo's advice and ventured outside. The flowers were even more beautiful than they had appeared to be when he saw them from his window. As he walked by a couple of the nearby holes, he let his eyes fall as a few of the neighboring hobbits watched him from the corner of their eyes. They had a unique way of making him feel unwelcome.

Further down the lane was an orchard. The trees were covered with yellow flowers and ripe fruit. At the base of one of the trees, the moist ground had made the perfect environment for mushrooms, which had just began to peak out from beneath the soil. Frodo couldn't hide the natural smile of delight that crept across his face. Nimbly, in order to keep them in the best possible condition, he pulled them out of the ground and placed them in his jacket pocket. He decided they would make the perfect midnight snack. As he did, he hummed a little hobbit tune he had heard long ago, sang to him by his mother.

Memories flooded back to him as he walked. His parents, Drogo and Primula, had been a lovely couple, well loved by many a hobbit. They were the sorts of people that left smiles on your faces. Shortly after their marriage, Drogo, a goodhobbit from the respectable Baggins family, relocated to Buckland to live with his sweetheart in the presence of her many relations. There, the couple also had their only child, Frodo. Many a tear was shed that unfortunate day - they were together to the end. Tears trickled down Frodo's cheeks as her remembered the horrible day that his cousins told him about his parents boating accident. Some of the relations, mostly of the Sackville variety, who always resented Drogo's desire to marry an "unruly Brandy," even had the gall to suggest that his mother was responsible for their death, pulling her husband into the water and drowning them both.

The kindness of Bilbo, who was actually more accurately the boys cousin than his uncle, was met with many a raised eyebrow. Seemingly out of nowhere, a letter arrived requesting that the boy, who had been shuffled from relation to relation for months, come and live with him and be his heir. The look on Lobelia's face when she found out could have curdled an entire river of milk. But, the head of the Baggins estate had spoken - and their was no persuading "Mad Baggins" into changing his mind, no matter how many hate letters she sent. And so, here was the controversial orphan, walking through Hobbiton, feeling like almost feeling like a pawn midst a game of Chess that Lobelia and Bilbo played.