My Dear and Most Beloved Hobbits

A/N – This is a short story of Frodo's reflection and interactions with each of the hobbits Bilbo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin. It's intended to shed light on how he views his friends and companions and the meaning that they bring into his life. It is set around the time of Bilbo's departure but before Frodo leaves for Mordor. For readers of the Return to Innocence, I have not abandoned the story. I just wanted to have something different to write in between chapters. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter I

"Bilbo"

"You had better come and live here, Frodo my lad," said Bilbo one day; "and then we can celebrate our birthday-parties comfortably together."

It was a quiet night, probably one of the most peaceful nights the Shire had seen in quite a long while, at least since Spring. It had previously rained steadily for a good hour, but that was earlier in the afternoon. The storm eventually passed, and now the stars were out and the crickets lifted their rhythmic voices together to welcome the first evening of Summer. But there was no one to hear their song, for all the inhabitants of Hobbiton had settled down for the evening and were dreaming respectable dreams, dreams of second breakfasts, ale, or gossip that ran rampant through the Shire. But a soft flickering light coming from one of the windows of the most prestigious, and indeed, the most curious of all hobbit holes suggested that there was one resident who still had ears for Hobbiton's nightly melody.

Within the room in which the light came from sat a young hobbit, hunched forward, quill in hand, writing fervently and pausing occasionally to either re-ink his utensil or to stretch his arms. The window which he sat next to was cracked open to invite the nightly air, and an occasional breeze would enter, threatening the candle that stood on the hobbit's worktable. The occupant was so fixated on his current task that he didn't notice the wax dripping onto the beautiful wood. However, similar markings around the same region indicated that this wasn't unusual and had occurred many times before.

The shirt of the young hobbit was halfway untucked from his breeches, and his braces hung loosely by his sides. His appearance almost made one think that he had started to undress for the evening but became distracted by something much more pressing, and so abandoned his original business.

A gentle knock on the round door across from where the hobbit sat disrupted his focus from the chorus that reverberated from beyond the window. The lad shifted in his seat to welcome the much older and greyer appearance of his intruder.

"Ho, Lad! You still awake?" said a soft but groggy voice of the old hobbit. He looked as though he'd been asleep for quite some time and had risen only for a brief visit to the washroom and was returning to bed. This was in fact, exactly what he'd been doing.

The younger hobbit looked at his visitor fondly with a sleepy gaze. Just seeing the droopy eyes and tousled grey hair of the old bird made the lad suddenly aware of how tired he was himself. "I'm just finishing up, Uncle," he replied.

"Well," said the older hobbit, rubbing a hand across his eyes, "don't stay up too much later. We start first thing in the morning."

"I won't," the younger hobbit assured with a smile. "Goodnight, Bilbo."

The old hobbit returned a smile. "Goodnight, Frodo-lad," and he closed the door softly behind him.

Frodo's grin lingered for a moment longer before he turned back to his desk and continued his scribbling. He was extremely fond of the old hobbit and considered himself fortunate to be able to address him as his uncle. He remembered the day in which Bilbo invited the young lad to live with him in Hobbiton, to which Frodo couldn't say anything, for the one question he'd long to ask for nine years was the one that was answered for him by Bilbo himself twelve years ago.

"You had better come and live here, Frodo my lad," said Bilbo one day; "and then we can celebrate our birthday-parties comfortably together."

Frodo had responded only in tears, to which Bilbo had smiled affectionately with his own watery eyes, for they both knew that this meant 'yes'. So he did go to live with him, and they did celebrate their birthday-parties comfortably together. For eleven wonderful years, they celebrated their birthdays, each year better than the previous one. Of course, Frodo hadn't known exactly what Bilbo had meant when he invited the lad to celebrate comfortably together, and the young hobbitling soon realized that the term "comfortable" meant something very different to the Master of Bag End than it did to Frodo.

After the death of Frodo's parents and before his adoption to Bilbo, Frodo celebrated his birthday 'comfortably' by receiving a "happy birthday" casually from some of his distant relatives when he lived at Brandy Hall. Most of the time, the closest of these, Uncle Saradoc and Aunt Esmeralda, would bake him a small cake and gift him with an article of clothing or scarf that Esme had made a month earlier. But there were a few occasions in which the acknowledgment of Frodo's birth came late or not at all. Frodo never held any hard feelings, though, for he understood that with so many occupants and little ones running around at Brandy Hall, it was inevitable that September 22nd would pass by unnoticed.

This was especially true after his younger cousin, Meriadoc, was born. And while Saradoc and Esmeralda were preoccupied with raising their young child, the orphaned Frodo knew that his birthday was far less important and said nothing about it the next day. Had his parents survived the boating accident, they might have argued his thought process, but as he had no parents, it didn't really matter. And after all, his current guardians didn't ask for his parents' death any more than he did. Frodo was simply a victim of a unique and unfortunate situation.

One may view Frodo's years at Brandy Hall as not very comfortable and they'd be right were it not for a tiny but extremely critical detail that made September 22nd worthwhile for the little lad. No matter who remembered or forgot about the hobbitling, there was always the one person who never forgot, and it was the same person whom Frodo adored more than anyone: Bilbo Baggins.

Every year, he would send the child a letter in the mail to wish him "a very special occasion that no one deserved more". In his letters, the old hobbit insisted that one year they would be able to be together for their birthdays and to celebrate their close bond. When Bilbo visited Buckland on rare occasions, he himself would privately confide to Frodo that he was his favorite nephew. But receiving such recognition from this notable "uncle" whom Frodo so dearly loved was what made him determine his birthdays at Brandy Hall as "comfortable".

On the other hand, when Frodo enthusiastically agreed to live with his uncle at Bag End, he hadn't known that the celebratory occasion of their shared birthdays would begin at least two months prior. He hadn't known that Bilbo planned to publicly announce to practically all of Hobbiton that they were all invited to join in on the celebration. He hadn't known that by adopting Frodo, Bilbo would spoil the child with parties, cakes, music, dancing, and more "happy birthdays" in one single day than he'd heard in all his previous years combined. He hadn't known that by adopting Frodo, Bilbo initiated a series of annual birthday parties that would mark September 22nd as a historically famous and highly anticipated day for years to come. He hadn't known that by asking Frodo to come live with him, Bilbo was expressing his own unvoiced desire that he'd wanted to fulfill since the day after the accident. He hadn't known that Bilbo needed someone to love as much as Frodo needed someone to love him.

And yet, after that first year of 2989, Frodo had finally come to know that the word "comfortable" no longer had two meanings, but one. And every year since then would cultivate a tradition for the two hobbits in Bag End (and the majority of the hobbits within the Shire) that they would carry on for eleven years.

It was traditional, for instance, for Bilbo to announce to Frodo in mid-July that it was time to plan their birthday party. It was traditional for Bilbo to verbalize the fine details of the tasks that would take place over the course of the next two months while Frodo transcribed the old hobbit's thoughts to parchment. It was traditional for the two hobbits to divide these tasks equally. It was traditional for Bilbo to write the invitations while Frodo stuffed them into envelopes. It was traditional for the Bagginses to argue whether an invitation to the Sackville-Bagginses should be extended, to which one of them (usually Bilbo) would mutter some snide remark about Lobelia and the other hobbit (usually Frodo) would let out snorts of giggles.

It was traditional for barrels of food, ale, and gifts to roll into Hobbiton by carts a week before the Day. It was traditional for Bilbo to rummage through all of the packages and declare the contents while Frodo stood off to the sidelines with a quill and paper in hand, checking off the confirmed items. It was traditional for one or two foreigners (occasionally Gandalf) to arrive into Hobbiton and knock on the round green door of Bag End two or three days before the party. It was traditional for the Shire to immediately talk and spread rumors.

It was also traditional for Frodo to place a sign on the gate leading up to Bag End that read "No Admittance Except on Party Business". It was traditional for the Bagginses to toast the night before to all the hard work they'd done and to join hands as they sat across the fireplace, enjoying one another's company. It was traditional for Bilbo to go to his study to cross off September 21st on the calendar while fondling a hidden object within the pocket of his waistcoat. It was traditional for Frodo to stay up late into the night, reminiscing of years past, until Bilbo found him a couple hours later, slumped over the stuffed armchair fast asleep. It was traditional for Frodo to murmur groggily, "I'm glad I live with you, Uncle Bilbo," as the old hobbit ushered the lad off to bed, responding, "So am I, dear boy."

For eleven glorious years, Frodo relished in the reality of this new connotation of comfortability. But this year, the twelfth year, was different, for this year brought some unusual and nontraditional surprises that threatened the hobbit's adopted view of comfort.

For instance, it wasn't traditional for Bilbo to turn eleventy-one this year, a fine age that few hobbits achieve as well as Bilbo had. It wasn't traditional for Frodo to turn thirty-three, the official coming-of-age year of hobbits. It wasn't traditional for Bilbo to announce to Frodo earlier that rainy day in June that "it's time for us to plan our birthday party, Frodo my lad". It wasn't traditional for Bilbo to spend an extraordinary amount of time in his study pouring over old books and maps when he thought Frodo wasn't looking. It wasn't traditional for Bilbo to fondle the hidden object of his waistcoat and pace up and down the hall restlessly. It wasn't traditional for Bilbo to pull out forgotten treasures from his mother's chest and sigh fondly.

It wasn't traditional for Bilbo to glance over at Frodo so often with tears glistening in his eyes, nor was it traditional for the guardian to lovingly stroke the brown curls of his nephew's head while Frodo pretended to be asleep. And it wasn't traditional for the nearly 33-year-old to wonder if this may be the last year that the pair celebrated their birthdays comfortably together.

SPLAT! Frodo stopped writing, surprised by the tear that interrupted his task. He quickly reached a hand to his eyes to wipe away any other tears while looking around nervously, as if someone would notice. When all traces of leakage had been wiped away successfully, Frodo returned his attention to the parchment, where the tear had absorbed a small portion of the ink, smudging a few of the letters. The hobbit felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment. It wasn't traditional for him to write such vulnerable things and then realize that others would see evidence of his sensitivity.

Frodo blinked a few times, aware of the wet eyelashes, and took a deep breath. His uncle would understand. The hobbit neatly folded the parchment and sealed it within an envelope. He flipped it over and took up his quill again to write one more thing on the front.

The heir of Bag End sat back and stared affectionately at his finished work. He stood up stiffly from his chair, noting how his shirt stuck to his back, and tiptoed toward his bedroom door. His eyes swept over all of his possessions, from the bed that had belonged to Bilbo when he was a lad to the walking stick in the opposite corner that the cracked old hobbit presented to Frodo right before their first walking adventure together.

Frodo padded softly out of his room and crept down the hall to Bilbo's study, where he let himself in. He strode up to Bilbo's own desk, where a red book lay open. Next to it was a crinkled old portrait of his uncle in his younger years. Frodo smiled. The old bird had been reminiscing on his great adventure years ago when he went from a reluctant and timid burglar to a great adventurer, legend, and hero. Frodo sighed. His hero.

With one swift move, Frodo placed the envelope that read "Uncle Bilbo" behind the next page of the book for Bilbo to find. The book was still unfinished and had many blank pages left in it for future adventures.

As the young Baggins headed back toward his room, he felt that a weight in his heart had been lifted. It was not the weight of fear or anxiety, nor one of completing a tiresome task or even having a difficult conversation with a loved one. It was finally being able to express to the old hobbit the love that he had for him in words that could not be comfortably spoken in any tongue, other than hobbit, the language of comfort. It was a way, his way, of saying how much he valued his uncle and how deeply he would miss him when he finally left the Shire. It was a declaration that Bilbo's invitation to adopt Frodo twelve years ago was more than celebrating birthdays. It was gratitude that Bilbo became the person Frodo needed when his parents were no longer available to him, and in that way, more was gained in his adoption than was lost on the banks of the Brandywine River.

Returning to his bedroom, Frodo blew out the melted candle, and nestled into bed, staring briefly up at the ceiling before closing his eyes. Quietly, he turned his sharp ears to the sweet songs of the crickets outside, slipped into slumber, and dreamt of a long-expected party.