Author's Note: Now we get to the main story!

A Hint of Frost

Bilbo Baggins, the Baggins of Bag End, sighed in contentment as he sat down on his chair next to the fireplace and propped his feet up on a small ottoman. Although he spent most of the day indoors writing notes for some future memoir people seemed to want him to write, it felt as though he spent a full day in the garden. Who knew mere notes could be quite so tiring? Still he thought he made a good start, getting the basic outline of his adventure down on paper. The details would come later as he refined his work. Already he could see it much like his garden – the seeds had been planted; now he needed to tend it, weeding and pruning until the final form took shape and bloomed. Then he could share it with the others.

And he would spare no one, least of all himself, in the telling – he made that silent promise to himself.

The story he wrote would be complete, including all of the high and low points of each member. No matter what, even when the words painted him in a bad light, he felt that if he was going to accept this charge – the charge of writing a history of his journey and all of the events he found himself witnessing – then he would write the truth. This, he knew, would be the only way the youngsters could learn from their successes and their failures. It would be his gift to them – the future children of all the Free Peoples. After all, were they not the hope of each race?

Speaking of hope and the future…

He smiled at the group of children gathered around on the floor, preparing for a new game. Like most Hobbits, Bilbo possessed a deep and abiding affection for children. Adopting his nephew Frodo proved to be one of his best ideas ever. It meant Bag End rang with laughter once more as childish chortles and giggles would float through the air each day. The Hobbit hole had been built with that in mind – his parents hoped for several children and his father designed everything based on that. Alas – it was not to be. Still, it did mean he could welcome a number of youngsters for tea without fearing where he put his feet.

Frodo sat on the floor closest to Bilbo, his delicate, almost Elvish features in stark contrast to his current game partner Samwise Gamgee, better known as Sam. Sam possessed a broader build and an earthier look about him than the others. Of all four, he seemed to be the most Hobbit-like, though his stubbornness would not have been out of place with some Dwarves Bilbo knew. Two more Hobbits, the youngest two, rounded out the set – Meriadoc Brandybuck, generally called Merry, and Peregrin Took, usually known as Pippin. Both of them Hobbit through and through, but sometimes Bilbo thought he glimpsed a hint or a flash of the same fire and steel he remembered from Bard and many of the Dunedain rangers…

He caught himself and shook his head in amusement at his own fancies. Such woolgathering he seemed to be doing. These children would no doubt live out quiet Hobbit lives here in the Shire and his stories would remain just that – fireside-tales and children's stories. They did not need his observations getting in the way – not to mention Merry and Pippin did not need any encouragement to cause additional mischief. And really, they were much too young for such fancies right now. Not one of them had passed their tenth year, and tiny Pippin was barely three years of age.

The sound of the wind drew his attention to the far window.

Bilbo frowned at the frost on it. This winter seemed to be worse than most, coming too early and the cold biting too deeply. The frost patterns might be pretty for the young Hobbits and they might be enjoying the extra snow, but the elders – those of Bilbo's generation and older – remembered another early winter…the Fell Winter of 1311 (as dated by Shire-reckoning, or Third Age 2911 according to the calendars of Men). Bilbo's nose twitched with amusement – he might be the only Hobbit who bothered to remember that kind of detail.

The Fell Winter though… He remembered it, though he'd barely been in his tweens – only twenty-one at the time and still twelve years from reaching his maturity. Winter encased them then as well, to the point of freezing the Brandywine River. Howling could still raise the hair on his toes, though sometimes he could not quite decide if that was due to his memories of the white wolves or the wargs.

"My Da says the river'll freeze."

Bilbo turned his eyes from the window to the boys at the light voice. He found Merry's blue-grey eyes smiling at him. "Does he now, young Merry?" Bilbo replied, letting interest paint his voice. He did his best to keep any concern or anxiety out of his tone. There was no reason to scare the lad. "What else does your Da say?"

"He says it's too cold," Merry told him. "He had Ma and the others clean out the cellars. Said it was for just in case."

"Just in case what?" Sam asked, but Merry could only shrug.

"Never you mind, young Sam," Bilbo told the serious youngster. "The Master of Buckland just likes to be prepared." He pointed at the boys, giving his finger a light shake. "Remember, prepare for the worst and it almost never happens." All four nodded at him, even the little three year old Pippin – though Bilbo doubted he understood the idea behind the words. Still – it was never too early to teach youngsters the hard-earned wisdom of their elders. He gave them a bright smile. "Now, boys, before you go back to your game, there's a persimmon pastry for each of you in the pantry."

Four boys cheered and dashed into the kitchen. Bilbo managed to keep the smile on his face until the last little bare foot disappeared out the door…then his expression became grave. If Rory Brandybuck cleaned out the cellars Bilbo suspected, then that meant he recognized the same signs. The Shire would need to start keeping sharper eyes on the borders. Such drastic weather would make watching them much more difficult, regardless of how much effort the Bounders and the Dunedain put into keeping the land of the Hobbits safe.

Most of the Hobbits tended to ignore the world outside of the Shire, but Bilbo knew better – he knew how quickly things could go wrong should their defenses fail. He knew what lurked in the dark beyond their borders…and he could only hope the children would never find out.

Though it might do some of the adults around here good if they understood how protected they… No, Bilbo sighed to himself, no. That was not the way to think about it. While it might make them more understanding, it might also ruin this bright patch of sunlight and color on the map of Middle Earth. They too had a place in the tapestry of this wide world – the Elves with their deep wisdom, the Men with their fiery drive, and the Dwarves with their passionate endurance – surely all of them needed the cheerful innocence of the Shire as well.

Even when that innocence turned into a smug certainty of its own rightness.

Bilbo remembered the looks and the whispers he received when he returned home from Erebor. The stares started the moment he crossed over into the East Farthing and they only gathered steam as he reached Hobbiton. His mere return proved more than enough to get the gossips and tale spinners going – though the gratitude of all of Bagshot Row must be acknowledged since his return prevented them from suffering with Otho and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins as neighbors. Even more than the fact of his return, the way he returned drew almost as much attention.

For Bilbo returned home with an escort fit for a hero.

He tried protesting, but found it difficult to argue with thirteen Dwarves, a handful of Elves, and one stubborn Man and his family, not to mention a rather gruff Wizard and an insistent Skin-changer. Thus it was that this unassuming Hobbit returned home in a cart driven by Dwarves and escorted by a pair of Elves as well as Gandalf the Wizard.

The elder Hobbits shook their heads and declared how it must be his Took blood becoming much too evident – it seemed ready to eclipse his Baggins steadiness.

"This is what happens when wizards stir up trouble," old Halfred Greenhand informed everyone at the Green Dragon. "Respectable Hobbits get all muddled up and become 'adventuresome'." His face scrunched up in unhappy distress. "Much as I hate to use that kind of word to describe any Hobbit, let alone a Baggins."

"It means trouble," Granny Diggle agreed. "You'll see."

Time passed…and no trouble came.

That did not mean Bilbo returned to his pre-journey level of respectability. He would host all manner of guests at Bag End – Elves, Men, Dwarves – particularly Dwarves really. Every couple of months Hobbiton would get a visit from Dwarven merchants – all selling excellent quality items, the likes of which you could not find in the Shire. They always cost a pretty penny, but there was always something in the price range of every Hobbit family, even the poorest. After a day of selling their goods, the Dwarves would spend an evening and a day and an evening at Bag End before moving on. No, Bilbo Baggins never quite steadied into a good Baggins frame, but people got used to his oddities.

"At least he's a generous host and a polite neighbor," the town gossips would sigh. "More than you can expect from some and less than you'd receive from others. Though why he wants to teach the children their letters…" They would shake their heads. "A bit cracked…well, as long as it does no harm. It does keep them out from underfoot…and he feeds them." (Young Hobbits ate a lot and no parent could be blamed for appreciating a free meal or two for their youngsters – even if it did mean the children learned reading and writing and figuring.)

"Uncle Bilbo!" Frodo's voice rang through the doorway, interrupting Bilbo's musings.

"Yes, Frodo?" he called back as he shook off his dark thoughts. Affection warmed his voice and smile as he pulled himself to his feet. He began to make his way towards the kitchen.

"Don't you want some?" Bright blue eyes blinked up at him when the younger Hobbit came out of the pantry. The other three slipped by them, cheeks like a chipmunk's in the autumn, as they returned to the parlor.

"There are only four," Bilbo explained. "One for each of you."

"I want to share mine with you," the youngster shook his head, holding up his pastry.

Warmth spread through Bilbo's chest as he smiled down at his nephew. He reached out and ruffled Frodo's hair. "Why, thank you, Frodo my lad," he replied in a cheery tone. "Perhaps I might have a nibble or two and you can have the rest. How does that sound?"

"Sounds good, Uncle Bilbo!"

"Then let me get a knife and we'll divide it between us, hmm?" Bilbo rummaged for a moment and then pulled out a proper pastry cutting knife. He cut off a small piece of the pastry for himself before handing the rest back to Frodo. "There you are," he announced. "Now I can share a little as well and the whole of us will have had some. Is that better?"

Frodo nodded and ate the small pastry before running back to join the other boys by the fireplace. It amused Bilbo to listen to their cheerful voices as he cleaned up the crumbs and did a quick sweep of the floor.

"Here, Pip, let me show you," Frodo laughed.

"No! I do it!" Pippin's voice sounded as demanding as his great-great-grandfather, the Old Took, ever had.

Another laugh came rippling through the house as Frodo gave in. "Okay, okay, you do it."

"Are you sure he should be doing that?" Sam asked, his voice quieter than the other two. "He's only three."

Bilbo's eyes narrowed and he turned towards the open door, broom in hand, only to relax a moment later as Frodo spoke once more. "He can't hurt anything – it's just a wooden puzzle."

"Best we keep it away from the fire then," Sam replied. There came a pause. "Oh, wait, don't do that Merry!"

"Firewood!" Merry laughed. Pippin gave a wail as Frodo and Sam's voices grew agitated.

Bilbo winced and moved hurried to the parlor, propping the broom against a wall as he walked through the door. "Well, well, my lads, what are we doing in here, hmm?" He repressed a smile as Merry hopped away from the fireplace, hands disappearing behind his back. Instead he tapped a finger on the boy's nose. "Merry?"

"Yes, Cousin Bilbo," Merry sighed, a pout sliding over his face as he brought his hands forward. One of Pippin's puzzle pieces rested in his small grasp.

"That was most unkind of you, Meriadoc Brandybuck," Bilbo scolded. He took the puzzle piece and handed it to the sniffling Pippin. "We do not act this way. Why would you want to hurt Pippin?"

"Didn't." Merry looked down, shuffling his feet. "Just playing."

"Playing means being nice to one another," Bilbo told him. "Being mean is not playing." When Merry pouted again, he sighed. "If you are mean, then you are behaving like Lotho. Is that what you want to do?"

The young hobbit's eyes went wide with distress. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!"

"I know, I know," Bilbo pulled him into a hug, patting him on the back. "You would never be mean on purpose, would you?" Merry shook his head and then Bilbo smiled. "Good lad. Now, wipe your eyes and give your cousin a hug. We have to take care of those younger than us – always remember that."

Merry rushed over and threw his arms around Pippin. "I'm sorry!"

A slow, happy smile crept over Pippin's face and he hugged his older cousin. "Merry!"

"Now, come," Bilbo coaxed all of them. "Gather around by me." He took his seat once more and watched with another indulgent smile as the boys moved their cushions so they could sit between him and the fire. "What do you want to know about tonight, hmm? Another story about the Elves?" His gaze flickered between them. Pippin stood up and toddled over to him. He held up his hands and Bilbo swept him up, letting the youngster curl on his lap. "What do you think, little Pip?"

"Dwarfs!" Pip clapped his hands.

"Dwarves," Bilbo corrected, a patient note in his face.

"Uh, huh!" Pip nodded. "Dwarfs."

A chuckle bubbled up in Bilbo's throat. "Dwarves, it is then," he agreed. "I shall tell you a little of Thorin Oakenshield, the King under the Mountain, and his Companions. We might even have time for the troll story." Four pairs of hands applauded as their matching eyes fixed on him.

Bilbo fell into a storytelling rhythm as he talked of his friends and companions. He could still see each of them clearly in his mind, and talking about them stirred the embers in his heart, once more bringing up a flare of longing. Erebor… Yes, he would need to make some sort of plan to go back. He missed them too much to stay away much longer. Maybe when spring arrived and the cold snap broke…

"Trolls, Mr. Bilbo?" Sam peered up at him through curly bangs. "Will you tell us about the trolls?"

"Very well, I think we have enough time." Bilbo lifted Pippin from his lap and placed him between Merry and Sam. "So there I was, at the mercy of three monstrous trolls. And they were all arguing amongst themselves about how they were going to cook us." His nose wrinkled in distaste – he could still smell those trolls. "Whether it be turned on a spit or whether they should sit on us one by one and squash us into jelly."

"Yuck!" Merry stuck out his tongue and Bilbo nodded.

He took up the story once more. "They spent so much time arguing the witherto's and whyfor's that they never noticed Gandalf arrive. He stood on top of the rock and gave a great shout. 'The dawn will take you all!'" All four children jumped as Bilbo shouted. They continued to hang on his every word. "Then Gandalf brought his staff down on the rock and it cracked in two. Half of it fell away and the sun's first light shone through. Then…Poof!" The four boys jumped again. "It turned them all into stone!"

Cheers went up and Frodo gave a grin. "You were really brave, Uncle Bilbo!"

"Oh, I don't know about brave," Bilbo shook his head. "It was just…something that needed doing." He eyed the frost-covered windows once more. "Let's get you four into bed. It's going to be a cold night, so I want to get you in there while the rooms are all still warm. No Hobbit-ice tonight, hmm?"

The boys laughed and grumbled and stumbled around getting ready for bed, but it didn't take long for them to drop off once they let themselves relax into the warmth of the bedclothes. Bilbo stood in the door, watching for a few minutes and enjoying the sense of peace and tranquility settling in the house.

A sudden burst of wind howling outside his door stole that from him.

"Not another one," he murmured as he moved to make sure the fire was out. "Not another winter like that one." A small prayer never went amiss, but he should still make plans…just in case. His footsteps directed him to his own bed where he stared at the ceiling for much too long as he worked through some half-formed ideas in his mind. Should another Fell Winter be in the making, danger would come – and he was no longer a footloose bachelor. He had Frodo to worry about – the youngster must be kept safe.

Tomorrow, he told himself, tomorrow he would put everything aside and concentrate on making preparations – just in case. His earlier words to the boys came back to him:

"Remember, prepare for the worst and it almost never happens."