EtheGoldenSnitch: Awwww, thank you! :) That gives me warm fuzzies. I hope you enjoy! I hope you liked the kissing scene. :D
Diem Kieu: Happy birthday! I mean . . . Valentine's Day! X) I wish I could give you a Frodo juice-bomb, but I don't have one yet. :/ Especially when he's so sweet. He makes me happy. :} Right back at ya! DFTYA!
Jayla Fire Gal: :D I'm so glad you ship! That'll make this story so much better. XD Well, but Bix . . . yeah, it'll be exciting. I hope. O.o
I knew from the day before that Father was planning to disappear as a joke—but it wasn't until he looked into my eyes and whispered "good-bye" that I realized the rest of his hinting at plans was no joke. He told me he wanted a holiday . . . a permanent one. I planned to run home after him, but Frodo and I were swarmed by guests with questions. I answered to all of them that things would all be revealed in good time, that there wasn't anything to worry about, and handed them all off to Frodo before racing up to the front door.
I stepped inside, only to find Gandalf smoking thoughtfully by the fireplace. "He's gone, hasn't he?" I sighed. "I was hoping he simply meant it as a joke, but I suppose he needed to leave." I knew with Gandalf to be anything less than assertively practical would be to irritate him.
Gandalf glanced up. "Hello, Bixbite." He glanced behind me. "Frodo."
I turned just enough to see Frodo as he softly stepped up behind me. He affectionately squeezed my shoulders, then glanced up at the wizard, who gestured to the mantle.
"Frodo, there is an envelope of deeds and legal documents for you. Bixbite, your father has given Frodo permission to bequeath to you anything he wishes, but has left his ring under your custody."
"His ring?" My brow furrowed. "I wonder why on earth—perhaps someday it shall prove useful." I reached up to locate it, but the moment I reached for the envelope of the two on the mantle addressed to me, Gandalf stood.
"Not yet, Bixbite," he scolded. I flinched away from the envelope, not taking my gaze from him. "Await instructions on the ring. It is magical, as you have noted, and I would ask that you not use it unless you know it is safe, or necessary."
I nodded slowly. "I will take your advice, but I must assert that I still do have last charge over the ring," I pointed out.
Gandalf waved it aside and began arranging the house and various other technical things with Frodo. I left them to bid the guests a good night, assuming all of them were willing to leave now. Most were drunk or giddy by this point, and as I let them out the front gate they stumbled about, and were wonderfully lenient.
Most were gone by the time the party field was quiet again, and I turned to go inside for the night. I rubbed my forehead; again, another late birthday night, perhaps 2:00 or so. I only hoped Frodo wouldn't keep up this tradition, if anything at least send all the hobbits home a little earlier.
The moment my fingers left my forehead, I noticed Sam, Rosie, Pippin, Merry, and two or three other young hobbits cleaning up bits of the party field. I approached them.
"Pay it no mind," I said. Rosie and Pippin looked up, but the rest kept going. "Please," I persisted, "go get some sleep. We'll be back to do this tomorrow afternoon, and we'll have a great deal more help. I've already asked some of the party members to come back and assist."
Pippin and Merry raced off, thanking me briefly. I thanked them for coming, but they were already long gone before I could really say anything. Some of the others bowed and curtsied to me, not vocal about it but obviously glad to get to bed. Rosie bid me a good night, and after a brief hesitation admitted that she wished the Masters of Bag End a good night as well. As she turned away my eyebrow shot straight up; perhaps she did fancy my cousin. I could only hope—she was trustworthy at least, perfect for him at best.
I turned last of all to Sam. I couldn't contain my smile; somehow I felt my future was before me. I could almost see the next few years, certain Sam would be a part of me. It gave me even greater hope to see him reflecting that happiness back to me.
He embraced me gently, holding me close. "Good night, Miss Bix." I nestled against his shoulder affectionately, and he froze for a moment. Of course, Sam would take longer to adjust to this for his overall timidity, but I already felt at home. I waited until I felt claustrophobic to pull back, then reached up and eased my lips against his. Sam kissed me back, at first uncertain, but then I broke it and kissed him again. He shivered, likely from apprehension. For me, it was just a channel of affection; I did not fear it, nor did I fear him.
Luckily enough for me, Sam would never let things get out of hand, and I trusted him. But I knew not to invade him, either, and so released him when I felt we were still safe. I stepped back slowly, and he squeezed my hand. His eyes had a dizziness to them, certainly, but he enjoyed it, I knew. I turned and trotted back up to Bag End, my insides fluttering. I was never much an emotional creature, and so did not squeal as perhaps other girls might have done after being single all their lives and being kissed by the most wonderful creature in the Shire.
I slipped quietly into Bag End. Frodo stood in the corner, his arms crossed and a huge grin spread across his face.
"It's high time you thought Sam a good kisser, Bix."
I did not have to blush, and therefore didn't. I completely confessed, for Frodo would not mind. Besides, he was in charge of the hole now, and had already given Sam permission to court me. They were best friends; I doubted anything could ever come between them, especially me.
"Oh, certainly," I said, doing my best not to sigh and glance out the window; perhaps Sam hadn't left eyesight yet. But I suddenly flicked my gaze back to Frodo and allowed a grin to creep over my face. As I'd guessed, his expression grew a little apprehensive. I slowly approached him, dragging my toes on the ground. "But now I wonder . . . is Miss Cotton a good kisser, Frodo?"
I'd never seen him blush, and was surprised not to now. His jaw dropped, and he abruptly pivoted on his heel and strode towards his bedroom.
"Come now, Frodo," I called after him. "Don't tell me that dance went so horribly!"
His response trembled with embarrassment. "Sleep well, Bix!"
I chuckled quietly to myself and found myself slipped into bed, after preparing the house for the night. I nestled against my mattress, and thought continually of Sam. I couldn't get him out of my mind, and I'm sure any who have been through a similar situation have felt the same. I let my mind wander, considering perhaps that I had a better future than I thought before.
A knock sounded at my bedroom door; I hoped (but knew better) that it was Sam, but Frodo stepped in carefully then. He knelt down beside my bed, cupped my jaw, and affectionately pecked my cheek.
"Good night, my sweet girl," he whispered, squeezing my shoulders. I smiled in spite of myself.
"Thank you, Frodo."
He sat on my bed and held me for a minute. I didn't quite understand until he spoke: "I know you wish Bilbo had stayed. I'm going to miss him too; but Bix, I'm going to look after you. I promise."
How he knew I missed Father enough to mention anything, I'll never know. I let out a soft sigh, allowed him to hold me a moment longer before I admonished him to bed. He gave me another sympathetic look before closing my door behind him.
I fell asleep quickly after that, thank goodness; I didn't feel ready to think about the next day.
~0~
Frodo read Father's will a little more closely, with Gandalf looking on. I spent my time that morning getting the garden ready for Sam, but the moment they were finished arranging the will Frodo poked his head out the window and called me inside. I turned my head down the walk, and could see Gaffer waiting at the front door of his home. Sam would probably emerge soon.
But not soon enough, I realized. I slipped up from the garden, which was slightly muddy from the night before, and brushed flecks of mud from my knees. Gandalf bellowed my name, and I raced inside.
I apparently had been deaf or blind the whole time (perhaps just thinking about Sam): I had to dodge a train of hobbits waiting to go inside, and scattered individuals walking out with various labeled items.
"Bix, can you grab Mr. Proudfoot?" Frodo called out. He sounded distressed, and I immediately searched for a Mr. Proudfoot. I had a vague idea of what the man looked like from the night before, and when I found him slinking along the side of the house with Father's best set of candlesticks as well as their candles in hand, I grabbed him by the shoulder. I couldn't drag him back; he protested against me, insisting he'd heard the house was giving free things away. Merry emerged from my house a few minutes later and helped me shove Mr. Proudfoot back inside.
Once I actually managed to stop my head from spinning, I realized there were hobbits marching around, poking into all corners of the house. Frodo had to put some Sancho (I cannot recall much about him) in a headlock to get him out of the basement. It was a long, messy process, but we finally kicked everyone out.
Merry made some tea, bless his soul, as Frodo and I rested on the couch. My inner angst was soothed when I heard Sam cutting the grass outside. Frodo must have noticed my grin in spite of his exhaustion, for he leaned up from his slouch against the couch arm and nudged me.
"I give you every right to distract him; just don't let him cut himself on his own shears."
I immediately thought up a retort before I could possibly shame myself. "Did Rosie get swept inside with that great big horde? You should have given her the chocolate in the pantry, and the roses from the garden." He opened his mouth, and I stopped him. "And a declaration of love in your will, with a signature on it too."
He still didn't blush, just sank back into the couch and shook his head.
"Bix . . . your desire to look out for me is impeccable," he said.
I grinned cheekily at him. "Why, thank you. Until you are settled with either Rosie or some other incredibly amazing lass, I shall not rest and neither shall you."
"But I have something to fall back on," he reminded me. "I could become a bachelor. But every lovely young lady is charged with being married at some time or other."
"Well, where do you think the term 'spinster' ever came from?" I pointed out. "I make no guarantees on a life with Sam, and I pray you have nothing mischievous to add to my relationship with him."
Frodo shrugged. "Not thus far. Just don't let Pippin and Merry know, and I'll refrain from doing anything obnoxious." He glanced outside, and I forced myself not to follow his gaze: I assumed he could see Sam. And I didn't doubt he would end up doing a thousand little things that I found unnecessary—or perhaps irritating depending on how devious they were—and never know I thought the worse of them.
"Well?" Frodo cut off my thoughts about the future. "Aren't you going to go greet him?"
I glanced up at Sam, and almost smiled watching him tenderly scatter a few seeds in the patch of mud I'd created by removing weeds. But then an approaching cart caught my eye.
"Frodo, get out of here," I said. "Go to the gate where you met Gandalf yesterday." Frodo opened his mouth to ask. "You curious creature, get out of here! I'll explain later," I hissed.
Frodo leaped out the front door when he realized I was serious, and he broke away down the road. I sucked in an apprehensive breath as Lobelia Sackville-Baggins approached, a sour smirk on her face while she drew her carriage up to the front walk of Bag End.
I shuddered to myself, trying to determine how I would shove my way through all this when she knocked loudly. I rose up from the couch after a moment of reluctance, but Merry already leaped to the door. For a moment I could breathe, until the door opened, allowing in the stinging autumn sun and Lobelia's dark expression.
She marched right past Merry; apparently she had come in earlier, looking for Frodo, and she confronted me about him, insisting it wasn't his inheritance, and she had the nearest male heir to Father. She ranted about being given nothing more than a few spoons in the will, how foolish it was to leave me at home and not get me married sooner, and the insolence of Bagginses that weren't even Bagginses, but Tooks and Brandybucks.
But the moment she started raving about Father's "foolish" decision to get married and Frodo's character, I knew I didn't want to hear it. I stood abruptly from the couch.
"Mrs. Sackville-Baggins," I said sternly. She halted to glare at me. "That is quite enough." I nodded to the door. "I appreciate your passion for Bag End, but it belongs to my cousin now. Perhaps I could be as angry at him as you are, for I would have inherited it straight from my father had he not bequeathed it to Frodo instead. But the law is written, and if you have anything poorer to say I suggest you leave."
Lobelia sniffed disapprovingly, then spun on her heel towards the door. Before she got out, she turned and stomped on the front step.
"I'm telling you, that Frodo doesn't belong here! He's not even a Baggins; he's a—a Brandybuck!"
I closed the door as gently behind Lobelia as I possibly could with all my irritation bubbling under my skin. I turned back to Merry, shaking my head.
"Poor, sweet Frodo," I sighed, finally releasing my anger. "That was an insult, if you like."
Merry sniffed. "No, that was a compliment. And absolutely not true. If he were a Brandybuck he could see the flock of lasses right in front of his nose and know what to do with them."
I shook my head at his remark, then ducked outside to bring Frodo back. It took me a decent hour or two, but I found him by the gate where Gandalf had come in yesterday and told him it was safe. When he asked what was wrong, I told him Lobelia had been by.
Frodo's brow furrowed. He had a sweet, sympathetic glow to his face, which I didn't quite understand, but accepted for my circumstance. "I thank you, Bix, but I'm sure it wasn't pleasant to be there alone."
I snickered to myself. "I wasn't alone; I had a Brandybuck." I took some sort of pleasure in Frodo's confusion at my joke.
I led him back home, and I greeted Sam on my way in. Sam stood, flicked his gaze hesitantly between me and Frodo, bowed as he addressed us, and knelt down again. Frodo shot me a hinting glance, and I walked deliberately past him before he could say a word.
We decided to lock the front door; I told Frodo that Lobelia wanted to confront him personally, and she would probably be back in an hour or so. Sure enough, someone knocked loudly some ten minutes later. Frodo and I left it, in the hopes that Lobelia would go home. The knock came repeatedly, but was less irking than talking to her personally. Frodo almost answered it once or twice, expressing that perhaps it was overly rude of us to leave any guest outside.
He wasn't quite as antisocial as Father or me, I gathered. I told him if he'd been here when Lobelia was insulting Father and our family he wouldn't let her in . . . although I doubted the words almost as soon as I said them: Frodo certainly had more of a sense of propriety than Father or I ever did.
Finally a great smack sounded at the window.
"Frodo Baggins, if you do not let me in, I shall blow your door to the back of your hole!" Gandalf bellowed.
"Gandalf!" I cried. Frodo scampered to the front door and opened it swiftly, calling for Gandalf to come inside. He apologized profusely, explaining we thought it was Lobelia.
"You have no need to defend me, Frodo," I said, waving it aside. "He attempted to let you in, Gandalf; I apologize. I didn't realize you were out."
Gandalf snorted. "I saw Lobelia on my way here. She had an expression that could slaughter any beast."
"She almost slaughtered me," I sighed. "And the reputations of Frodo and Bilbo, I suppose; she isn't too glad to have lost inheritance."
Gandalf waved it aside. "That is not why I came," he interjected. "I have come in urgency, to tell you that I must be away."
"So soon?!" I shook my head. "Gandalf, you arrived just yesterday."
"Yes, but there are things I must see to, Bixbite." He nodded to Frodo, and after busily gathering his things, he bid us a hasty farewell and slipped out the door.
We did not see him again for seven months.
