A/N: In October 2007, I asked readers of my LiveJournal to provide a sentence that I would use to begin a story. This story begins with the sentence provided by shirebound. This is a drabble, drabble-and-a-half, and double drabble plus 10 (210), without counting the first line.

Frodo touched the garments hesitantly -- they were by far the softest, most finely-made he had ever owned. He looked up at Bilbo, who was grinning widely. "Do you like them, Frodo lad? I wanted to have some new clothes for you to welcome you to your new home."

Frodo nodded dazedly, looking again at the dizzying array of colors and fabrics in the wardrobe.

"These on the end here are a little longer in the sleeve and leg; your aunt tells me you've been growing like a weed! Would you like to try something on?"

As Frodo tentatively chose soft brown breeches and a cream linen shirt, he knew he was going to like living with Bilbo.

Frodo touched the garments hesitantly -- they were by far the softest, most finely-made he had ever owned. He protested, "I don't need-" but Aragorn cut him off. "You *need* something more fitting than castoffs and children's clothes to wear, and these are what the tailors thought appropriate for you."

"But such expensive fabrics! What's wrong with linen and wool . . ." he trailed off, fingering the rich garments strewn on his bed. "This really is too much, Aragorn. I cannot accept these."

"My dear hobbit, they are a gift of appreciation. You must accept their gratitude."

Frodo sighed. "I will wear them. But I insist on something less... ornate for ordinary wear. I don't wish to stain these with my clumsiness."

Aragorn patted Frodo's shoulder. "A good compromise. Will you wear some of these now?"

Frodo picked the least fussy tunic and trousers. When he'd changed, he thought the clothes hung on him like they did on the hanger, limp and loose, but Aragorn said, "There, isn't that better?"

Frodo touched the garments hesitantly -- they were by far the softest, most finely-made he had ever owned. He had delayed this moment as long as he could, preferring to mend and patch his clothes until he was patching patches -he didn't want to lose this last physical connection to the Shire, to those he'd left behind. He hadn't packed much for this journey, and so had few remembrances of his former life. Perhaps it was better thus. Elrond finally persuaded him to allow the Elves to make him new garments, though Frodo insisted they be in hobbit style. No flowing robes for Frodo, though he be in Elven lands! He'd trip, or drag a sleeve in the fire...

The Elves had done well. Some of the shirts were longer than was his wont, but that could be easily fixed if it proved a problem. The colors were different, more muted than the hues of the Shire, but Frodo cared not about color. Bilbo had paid painstaking attention to the colors and styles of his clothing, striving for the best combination of hobbit simplicity and Elvish elegance, but he was gone, dead these past six months.

Frodo reluctantly put his worn hobbit clothes aside for the last time and donned a new outfit. He eyed himself critically in the mirror and found himself wondering what Sam would think.