A/N: A bit shorter than the previous meeting, but I wanted it done in time for their birthday.

Disclaimer: Written for my pleasure. No profit will be made from this work of fiction.

A crisp was in the air, hinting at autumn about to begin. A casual observer would have seen what looked to be a small, curly headed child scuffing his feet along the road, hands in his pockets and head bowed. However, the lad was seventeen – to be eighteen – year old Frodo Baggins. It was two days before his birthday. As the reader is probably aware birthdays are a joyous time for hobbits as they present gifts to their closest friends and family. Since losing his parents six years before, Frodo had lost the joy of giving gifts, or even receiving them from his numerous Brandybuck cousins.

An odd child by hobbit standards Frodo frequently enjoyed solitude as the boisterous atmosphere of Brandy Hall wore on his raw nerves. His love was for odd bits of lore and books rather than company of others and the overindulgence of food (not to say that Frodo was not overly fond of his meals!). His rambling walks frequently took him out into fields and woods. At times his cousins would accompany him and lift his melancholy mood, but not on this day.

Gifts. Presents. Those two words were currently what haunted Frodo's mind. As an orphan his parent's worldly goods had been packed into storage or sold to the highest bidder, the funds had been placed into a trust fund to be received upon his majority. The first few birthdays Frodo had celebrated without his parents no one had expected the bereft lad to provide gifts for his guests and relatives. But this year it was a different story. It had been six years and people expected him to be "over it" and "moved on from the grief."

Frodo had been hoarding his money and any presents he had received from the following year with the tenacity of a dragon, but he feared it still was not enough. Rumor had it that his strange "uncle" Bilbo was planning to attend the party and celebrate a double birthday. Bad enough that he had to share a birthday with the unusual hobbit who went off on crazy adventures, but to physically have to celebrate at the same time was more than enough to drive a young hobbit mad. Frodo had also heard rumors that his eclectic uncle was absurdly rich and always gave away the best presents for his birthday, no old mathmons to be seen. How was he to compete?

Dragging his heels as he kicked a pebble Frodo let out a heartfelt sigh. His sensitive hobbit hearing picked up the sound of humming coming down the lane. It wasn't any hobbit tune that he had heard before. With barely a thought Frodo scrambled up the first few branches of a nearby tree. A few moments of breathless anticipation brought a finely dressed hobbit strolling into sight.

"The road goes ever on and on…" the gentle-hobbit sang cheerfully. His waist coat was impeccable but he wore the most horrid green cloak Frodo had ever laid eyes on. Obviously the fellow was well off with finely brushed toes and sparkling buttons. A prickling sensation began to make itself known behind Frodo's eyes. He quickly pinched his nose in hopes of suppressing the sudden urge to sneeze. Yet, as fate would have it, the sneeze left his nose with an explosive roar right as the gentle-hobbit passed beneath the tree Frodo was sheltering in.

"Hullo, why I say, come down from there," the older hobbit invited with a smile. "It's rare to find a hobbit who likes to climb trees. But then again," he paused, "you never know when climbing might come in handy during an adventure."

A sinking feeling crept into Frodo's stomach as he began to guess who this particular hobbit was. As he shimmied down the tree his face and ears stood stark red against the whiteness of his shirt and clashed horribly with the green of his waistcoat. "Hullo, sir," said Frodo, looking down at the ground.

"I'd say 'good day,' but I'm trying to break myself of the habit. A friend once pointed out to me that 'good day' can be used for an alarming amount of circumstances," prattled on the older hobbit with nary a glance at the woebegone youngster before him. "Walk a bit with me, my boy, I've a fondness for company while I travel. Of course I could have traveled with the cart, but the driver is rather dim." With an appraising eye Bilbo cast a glance at Frodo. "You don't look to be the dim sort. No, a bit of Took in you if I'm not mistaken. No, no one could ever accuse a Took of being dull."

Frodo opened his mouth to reply in the affirmative, but the older hobbit continued his rambling monologue without so much as a pause. "In fact it is because I myself have got a bit of Tookish blood from my mother's side." A genealogical recitation kept the Bagginses busy as they strolled down the lane towards Brandy Hall.

The closer to the Hall the more nervous Frodo became. This was his first meeting with his Uncle Bilbo and he was not looking forward to the recitation of his parent's untimely death, nor the pity that was sure to accompany it. With a quickly drawn breath Frodo stopped in his tracks and said, "Sir."

A confused look skittered across Bilbo's mien as he observed the lad next to him for the first time. The dark hair, typical of most hobbits, was not surprising, but the keenness of eye and the fairness of face was not so typical.

With wavering courage Frodo plunged on. "Frodo Baggins, at your service," he said. "I apologize for my lack of courtesy earlier. I beg your forgiveness for not minding my manners."

Bilbo had to work hard to keep his face from contorting into an all-out grin. The lad had pluck! "And Bilbo Baggins at yours, Master Baggins. I'd offer my services to your family as well, but I believe that would be a bit redundant, don't you, my lad?" With that Bilbo set off towards the hall with a purpose. Frodo stood rooted in place. "Well, aren't you coming? Rorimac knows how to set a fine table and I don't intend to miss afternoon tea. This isn't exactly the wilds and I plan to enjoy civilization for a while."

"But…" the words seem to jumble around as Frodo sought for a coherent thought. "Aren't you going to tell me how sorry you are? I mean, that I lost my parents and…"

"Do you want me to pity you? You don't look like the type to wallow in self-pity nor except it from near perfect strangers," asked Bilbo. "Of course the unexpected death of a loved one is horrible and something no child should experience, but you don't need that constant reminder."

Frodo blinked. "No. I hate to be pitied. It makes me feel empty and useless."

"Of course it does. Come along now before all the best treats are taken." And with that Bilbo hurried down the path.