Chapter 9
In four parts

I

Best Bedroom

Frodo lay awake. The softness of the feather pillow under his head did not lull him, neither the shifting patterns on the wall of the room, of moon and star light dancing through the leaves of the ivy that grew up around the window. He was not tired, though he had a long day and a full one, and he had stayed up very late trying to question Gandalf after Bilbo had gone.

The smial seemed unnaturally quiet; empty and hollow. The Dwarves were absent; some had departed in the night, the others were billeted in the back garden. Frodo felt as if he were listening with his whole body, straining for the sound of a single snore or the soft pattering of bare feet in the kitchen. Wouldn't it be nice, he thought, if it all had been a dream? If the day I had just spent-- the day that has left my feet sore from dancing and my stomach cramped from laughter, and my head spinning with wine and grief-- if it had all been something imagined while listening to a fireside tale?

Frodo watched as the patches of moonlight waned before the rising sun. He lay still until he heard the soft bang of the back door closing, and the clatter of the kettle on the kitchen hook. Someone, probably Samwise, had come to help get the day started. Frodo laid an arm over his face, to shut out the morning light and ease the ache in his eyes. Wishing could not undo the day past, nor delay the coming of the next.

He sat up with a sigh, shifting his legs over the side of the huge bed and looking around the room. The Best Bedroom, this was called. It had been Bilbo's room. This past night had been the first night Frodo had ever spent in it alone. Once, maybe twice before, when Frodo had come visiting with his parents long ago, he had crept out of their room and climbed onto the big bed with his uncle Bilbo. Bilbo had not sent him away, but had made a space beside him for the lad and told him tales until he fell asleep. He had woke the next morning to find Bilbo asleep in his big comfortable chair, wrapped in a quilt.

The chair was still here in the room, the old quilt folded and draped over the arm. Everything else that had been Bilbo's had been removed yesterday, and all Frodo's things were arranged in their places. Bilbo had known that Frodo would never have moved his things in on his own, but would have left it all as it had been, just as if Bilbo would someday be back to take up his pipe and sit in his chair. Therefore, while Frodo was busy at the party, Bilbo had instructed the Dwarves to move Frodo's things into the Best Bedroom, leaving only the grand bed and the chair.

Frodo rose and pulled on his dressing gown. The envelope that Bilbo had left for him, that he had taken down from the mantelpiece last night, lay on the table next to the bed, still unopened. Frodo decided he needed a cup of tea before he could read what his uncle had written.

He turned to leave the room, but hesitated. He came back to the bedside table, staring at the envelope. He picked it up and placed it in the pocket of his robe.

In the kitchen, Frodo found Gran busily preparing breakfast. There was only one place set at the table. Frodo felt his stomach twist; he had no appetite. But he forced himself to sit and eat the breakfast that the Dwarf had prepared for him. He knew he would need his strength today.

Frodo finished eating, but Gran had not finished cooking. Indeed, he was laying in a sizable meal, as if he were cooking for a party again. Then Frodo remembered... he would be receiving guests today; some invited and many more that were not. Bilbo's disappearance would bring most of them back in flocks. Frodo covered his eyes with his hands and groaned. Gran shot him an understanding grin, refilling his coffee cup.

Last night, Frodo had returned to the party to bid the guests goodnight, after his brief talk with Gandalf in the darkened and empty Bag End. It had been well after mid-night before the last of the carriages rolled away, containing hobbits that were still muttering with dissatisfaction. It was rather later before all the guests were cleared out; Sam and his gaffer had organized a small army of hobbits with barrows to wheel home those who had inadvertently been left behind. By the time it was all over, Frodo felt like he would have liked to be wheeled home, too. But he couldn't go yet. There was one last problem to solve... well, two problems, really.

Merry and Pippin were insisting to their parents that they needed to stay with Frodo that night. Frodo would not have minded, had indeed actually been hoping for them to stay, but Eglantine was beside herself with distress at the state of Pippin's good party clothes, and she was demanding that he come along with her so that they could get an early start back to Tuckbourogh in the morning. Pippin was begging her to let him stay with Frodo and Merry.

Frodo touched Paladin's sleeve and took him aside for a moment. "I know Aunt Eglantine is upset, but do you think that she might be persuaded to consider coming up to Bag End for second breakfast? Bilbo left some instructions for me, and I could use your wisdom and patience."

Paladin nodded, laying a firm hand on Frodo's shoulder. "Leave her to me, lad. We'd best humour her for now, though." Paladin turned toward his son and wife, who were still arguing tearfully. "Come, Peregrin. Obey your mother. Frodo will still be here tomorrow..."

Frodo hastened to reinforce Paladin's words. "Go on, Pip! Your father is right; I'll be just fine alone for one night!" Frodo looked around for Merry, who had always been most able to handle Pippin when he was upset. Merry was nearby, explaining to Saradoc and Esmerelda that he need to stay and help Frodo. Frodo walked over and gave his aunt a short bow. "Aunt Esme, I could use Merry's help tonight, if you could spare him. I want him to go along with Pippin." Frodo cut Merry off before he could utter his protest. "Please, Merry. He needs you tonight more than I do," Frodo whispered.

Merry consented, clapping Frodo on the back. He kissed his mother on the cheek and nodded to Saradoc, then walked over and scooped Pippin up in his arms. "Come on, Pippin!" his voice was rough, but he made it sound cheerful, "let's get out of here before they really do make us wash the dishes!"

Frodo watched all of them leave until he was the last hobbit in the vacant field. The Dwarves had retired to their tents and Frodo was left to walk up the Hill to his home.

His home. It still didn't sound right to him. Bilbo had lived here all his life, but for one adventurous year, and it was still Bilbo's, in Frodo's thinking. He stood before the entrance for a long minute, just staring into the darkened recesses of the hole, before he finally stepped inside and closed the door.

Gandalf had already gone to bed; the hole was utterly quiet. Frodo checked to make sure the hearths were safely banked, but it was mostly an excuse to look through all the rooms to make sure someone had not remained behind, maybe reconsidered and returned...

On the mantelpiece in the parlour lay the envelope that Bilbo had left for him. Frodo had set it back there, not wanting to lose it in the party field, a part of him not wanting to find it when he returned. He took it down again, feeling the weight of the papers folded inside and the odd dimple in the corner where the ring had settled. With a sigh, he carried it toward his room, thinking that he had best wait until he was in the privacy before he opened the packet. There would probably be a note inside.

Frodo opened the door to his room, and halted abruptly. A single lamp had been left burning on a stool in the center of the room; it was otherwise utterly empty. All his things were gone, even his bed. The floor was swept clean and the fireplace was empty. A small key lay on the table next to the lamp.

Frodo picked up the key. He knew to which room it went and why it was here. Picking it up, he held the key in his palm, slowly closing his fingers over it, smiling gently. He turned from the empty room and walked down the hall to stand before another door. He pushed it open with his fingers.

The oiled hinges did not creak, the room was lit with lamps and there was a warm fire laid beyond the grate. Behind the door, Frodo hung the key on the little golden hook, and laid the envelope from Bilbo on the nightstand. Best to wait for light of day to read it, he told himself. He sat down on the bed with a sigh. The feather mattress cradled him softly.

II

Inviting Trouble

Even as soft as that big feather mattress and pillow had been, it had provided no rest for Frodo. He sat now at the kitchen table with his head in his hands, trying to wrest his foggy mind out of the past and concentrate on what was needed to get through the day. Gran's strong coffee helped, and after the second cupful he began to think clearly and to realize that Bilbo's party was not yet over; yesterday was for their Birthing day and as ribyadan they had distributed gifts to their guests, as was the custom of hobbits in the Shire; today Bilbo would distribute—even in his absence—gifts to friends and relations by the execution of his Will.

Since a Hobbit's Will is usually only dealt when that hobbit is deceased, this was a most unusual occurrence. But unusual was usual for Bilbo Baggins, and he had sent out with the party invitations special notes to certain persons to call at Bag End on September twenty-third, to receive from him a parting gift.

Bilbo had disappeared—not died—and yet most of the hobbits that began to trickle up the Hill after second breakfast were dressed in mourning gear, looking morose and speaking of Mr. Baggins in the past tense. Frodo gently but firmly reminded those who offered their condolences to him that his uncle was not dead. He welcomed each caller who came up the Hill personally, meeting them on the front step. If they were among those specially invited, he let them inside, showing them into the hall. There, piled floor to ceiling, were presents and pieces of furniture, knick-knack and mathoms galore, all labeled with neat little tags, some of them conveying a message or personal joke.

Even with Paladin's assistance, and with Pippin and Merry working as his extra hands and feet, Frodo was soon overwhelmed, for the hobbits who arrived did not always take their gifts and go, but remained and asked, over and over: where was Bilbo? What had happened that he disappeared? When would he return? Most of them were polite about it, merely bewildered and unsettled about the strangeness of it all. Some were more insistent, and these Frodo handled with Paladin's temperate help. As Thain, his authority was recognized throughout the Shire. What some wouldn't hear from Frodo 'that young whipper-snapper from Buckland', they would accept from Paladin.

And so the morning went, not as smoothly as Frodo could have wished, but certainly better than he had expected. After luncheon, Paladin and Pippin bid Frodo farewell; Eglantine was eager to return to Tuckborough, 'where hobbits did not disappear into the thin air'. Pippin's face was showing much rebelliousness, for he was keen to stay and keep an eye on Frodo; the whole incident seemed to have shaken his belief that Frodo would never leave the Shire. He begged his father to let him stay until Paladin agreed that he could return after a week, when things had cooled down a bit more. Frodo reinforced this by extending a return invitation to Pippin as he bid the Tooks goodbye. Merry whispered his own promise into his cousin's ear; that he would stay with Frodo the entire time and be there when Pip returned. Only then did Pippin climb into the carriage with his parents.

Frodo was to learn his troubles had not yet begun.

He was sitting in the parlour about to take a cup of tea when Merry called him to the front door. The urgency in his cousin's voice made Frodo set his cup down un-tasted, hastening to his cousin's aid. He opened the door and found a great crowd of hobbits standing there, backed up to the gate and down the lane, some pushing hand-carts or hauling wheel-barrows. They were chattering and clamouring and shouting at one another.

"Frodo! What's this all about?" asked Merry, clearly alarmed.

Frodo shook his head; he was just as confused as Merry. He stepped out of the door and held up his hands for silence. "What is the meaning of this?" he said loudly.

"Why, we 'erd that all to be givin 'way!" declared one hobbit, near the front of the column. "I come t'get m' fair share! This's much better than 'n auction-- we was tol' all was free for the takin'!"

"My dear hobbits!" Frodo exclaimed, and he stood on the top step and spoke as loud as he could. "There has been a mistake! There is no sale, no auction, and nothing to be given away! Please, return home!"

A hobbit Frodo did not recognize stepped forward, crossing his thick arms stubbornly. He said, "There seems to be a lot of comings and goings here this morning, Mister Baggins..." the hobbit said Frodo's name as if there was some doubt as to his entitlement of the honour. "... there must be something going on up here! There's been traffic up and down the Hill and I think that is a mite odd, and I don't mind saying so!"

"Is there something odd about receiving relatives on a Friday morning, sir?" Frodo said, forcing himself to speak with a touch of levity. "All these who have visited today—which I will agree with you has been all-together too many!" there was a scattering of chuckles from the gathered hobbits listening, "—have all been members of my family and close friends, come by invitation. I do not know your name, good sir, and if you have business on the Hill, I beg you to return tomorrow. I am quite busy today, as you can see!"

There was still some muttering and grumbling from disappointed hobbits, but most turned away after Frodo's speech. Frodo went back inside and closed the door. It was knocked on almost instantly. He leaned against it and sighed.

Merry clasped his shoulder. "Frodo, go and have your tea! I shall handle this! You've been running off your feet all day, and you need a rest."

Frodo sighed, massaging his aching eyes with his fingertips. "Very well. Thank you, Merry! I'll take my cup in the study. I have some papers I have been meaning to read over. Tell anyone who asks to see me that I am indisposed, please."

Outside, the road up the Hill was a mess of arguing hobbitry. There was so many packed in the lane that those in the front could not find their way out, and those in the rear who had not heard Frodo's speech were not leaving, still hoping to take home a treasure from the Hill.

And right in the middle of all the confusion, the Sackville-Bagginses arrived.


III

Unwanted Heirlooms

Frodo closed the door of his study, resisting the urge to lock it firmly. Even the stout oak panel did not feel sufficient to keep everything out. And it would do no good, as that which Frodo most wished to avoid was not outside but lying on his desk.

The envelope Bilbo had left for him was thick and heavy, sealed with a knot of red wax. Using the thin sharp knife that he kept on his desk for this purpose, he slit the packet open, careful not to cut the documents inside. Bilbo's Will, important documents concerning Frodo's inheritance, and a small envelope were inside. When Frodo unfolded these papers, a golden ring fell out of the packet and dropped with a clatter to the desktop.

It rolled on its edge, gleaming in the sunlight that leaked in through the window, making a long circular path over the clean desk to return and wobble to a halt, directly in front of Frodo. The sound of it was a curiously musical ringing that seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet little study.

Frodo stared at it, hardly able to believe that his uncle would have left such a useful and valuable treasure behind. He reached toward it, to take it into his hand, but hesitated at the last moment. It was very beautiful, plain and yet shapely, and its colour was a perfect mellow gold. There were no blemishes that he could see, no wearing of time or stain of use. Bilbo had left it for him. He had also left a letter. Frodo wondered what it said, and why he had waited so long to look at it.

Leaving the ring where it lay, Frodo spread the papers on his desk, examining them. The Will was indeed here; several thick pages of creamy paper neatly written in Bilbo's hand. Though he had seen it before (Bilbo had insisted that Frodo read it carefully after he had drafted it) Frodo perused it again, noticing that there were now seven signatures on the last page, witnesses that Bilbo had engaged to make the document legal and binding. The ink used for the witnesses was red, as required by custom. Frodo smiled when he noticed that; many hobbits had scoffed at Bilbo's adventurousness and said that he was no proper hobbit, but he knew his history and customs better than most, and furthermore, he had been careful to instruct his heir in these practices and policies.

The small envelope contained a letter from Bilbo, as Frodo had guessed it might. He unfolded it slowly, sighing as he recognized more of Bilbo's handwriting. He set the note down for a moment, closing his eyes against the burning sensation of tears. Then he picked it up and began to read.

Dearest Frodo,

How much easier this all had been, when long ago on my first Adventure I ran out of my hole with nothing in hand. There had been no goodbyes to speak, no extensive preparations to make. Thorin had taken care of all those things, and I was blinded by excitement and befuddled by Gandalf's clever machinations. Oh, yes, it was easy that day in April, to leave the Shire behind.

I am excited by this Adventure also, though the preparations seem to have been years in the arranging (some were indeed begun years ago!) but it is not so easy to step outside and take the road. It is not that I shall regret leaving the Shire, nor the comforts of Bag End of which I am fond; It is that I shall miss you, my lad. Your eagerness to learn, your intelligent questions, your astute observations—I will be hard-pressed to find a companion who comes remotely close to replacing you, and I shan't bother looking for one! You are the son I could have wished for, more dear to me that if you were indeed my own flesh. I know you will do well, and that is why I can leave now. My heart is singing to be on the Road again.

I will leave you with a last few words of advice, Frodo-lad. Firstly, be aware that there will be some confusion until things settle down; I arranged that intentionally. The other hobbits will try to smooth things over and get everything back to normal as quickly as possible, so those who would stir things up will meet quite a bit of resistance. You can handle those who will try to make trouble, I am sure I need not even name them. Remember what I taught you, and exercise patience.

Secondly, try not to make the same mistakes I made. You have many friends, here in Hobbiton, in Buckland, in Tuckbourogh, all through the Shire. Cultivate them, and try not to be so much alone. And if a troupe of Dwarves show up with a contract, carefully read it BEFORE agreeing to do anything! Ha ha!

Thirdly, you will notice that I have left an heirloom in your keeping, and I advise you to uphold our practice of secrecy. While I owned it, I told no one of it except my Dwarven travel companions and Gandalf, and you. Gandalf once said that such things were dangerous to mortals, but of this one only good has come to me; though I feel great relief in imparting it to you, I also feel some reluctance. I have promised to do this, so I will leave it with you. I suggest that you keep it on a chain or in a safe box, as it has a most particular habit of slipping out of a pocket at odd times. I found that I feel much more comfortable knowing where it is at all times.

I could make a book of words of advice, but in truth, I think that you already know all that I would say, as you are a sensible and intelligent hobbit. Enjoy all that you have, my dear Frodo, and keep your friends close to you, and don't forget the stories that we shared. Wherever I wind up in the Great World, be assured that I will be thinking about you and hoping for your happiness.

I do so hate to say goodbye, so I will merely say farewell. Farewell, Frodo Baggins, Master of the Hill!

Very sincerely yours,
Bilbo Baggins, Esquire and Adventurer
Formerly of Hobbiton

A soft knock on the door of his study brought Frodo's attention up from his Uncle's letter.

Merry sighed as the door quaked; someone was pounding on it, completely disregarding the bell that hung in plain view. This had been a long day, and there was no sign of it coming to an ending soon. He took a deep breath, determined to maintain his temper, and opened the door.

He regretted it instantly.

"It is about time! We've been waiting on the step for you to open the door!" Otho pushed into the smial without waiting for Merry to invite him inside. Lobelia was right beside him, looking around in dismay at the empty hall and parlour, now nearly cleared out of all the packages and parcels Bilbo had addressed to his friends and relatives.

She clutched Otho's arm and hissed, "He has given it all away! He had no right!"

"Hush, Lobelia!" Otho commanded, and his wife bit her lip and scowled at Merry. Otho looked at him and said loudly, "Well? I demand to see Frodo! You'd think the 'Master' of Bag End would be greeting his own visitors, or has he already become so high and mighty that he feels he needn't bother? Where is he in all this mess?"

Merry gritted his teeth, but smiled to cover it and bowed politely. "He is indisposed. He is resting."

"Hiding, you mean!" Lobelia sneered, leaning around her husband's shoulder. "Anyway, we want to see him and we mean to see him. So just go and tell him so!"

Merry's smile was frozen on his face. "If you'll be so kind as to wait here," he said, then he turned and went through the parlour to the kitchen, where Gran and Frerín were still working industriously. "Gran, would you be kind enough to mind the door for me, and to keep an eye on those two. I must tell Frodo that he has an appointment that cannot wait."

The Dwarf looked toward the pair of hobbits lingering in the hall. "Aye, I'll see to 'em. See 'em out the back door and into the midden, if you like!"

Merry laughed. "No, no… well, no! That shouldn't be necessary. Just see to it that they don't take more than they are entitled to. I should be back shortly."

Merry cut through the narrow service hall to the door of Frodo's study. Gently, he knocked on the door. "Frodo?"

"A moment." There was a long silence before Frodo opened the door. He had a piece of paper in his hand that had been folded once into a small packet. "What is it, Merry?"

"I'm sorry, Frodo," Merry said, wishing he did not have to disturb his cousin. "It's the Sackville-Bagginses. They insist on seeing you, but I think I will tell them to come back later. You look tired, and—"

"No, send them in, Merry. I might as well see them now as tomorrow—but wait a moment. Come inside and shut the door."

Merry did so, wondering what it was that his cousin was about. On the desk was a lot of papers; they covered the polished surface so that nothing else was seen. Frodo had turned away and was pacing the study, his hands behind his back and still holding the single sheet of paper.

After a few minutes of watching Frodo pace, Merry asked, "Well?"

"Hmm?" Frodo glanced at him sharply, as if he had forgotten that Merry was there. He chuckled softly, clapping Merry on the shoulder. "Sorry, friend. I was just thinking that there was no need to hurry them in here. I feel a sudden desire to be unaccommodating! Let them wait, eh? I did want to ask you something, Merry. Who do you think is the wealthiest Baggins in the Shire?"

Merry's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Yesterday I would have said Bilbo was the wealthiest, but today-- Frodo, why do you ask?"

Frodo pointed at the papers on the desk. "Because Bilbo left no money to me. There isn't a mention of gold coin or silver anywhere in the Will, nor has he given me ought in secret." Frodo waved away Merry's consternation. "Never mind that! I have money that my parents left me; that is not my worry. I am only curious, and I know that some others will find it hard to believe that Bilbo did not hand me over a hoard of gold."

"But... Bag End is yours!" Merry exclaimed, stunned. Everyone, all his life, had gone on and on about how insanely wealthy Bilbo Baggins was, and how his Hill was stuffed with jewels and dragon-gold and treasures beyond imagining. That is just what it all was, treasure imagined! Merry laughed out loud, then quickly muffled the sound with his hands. "That wily old hobbit! What did he do with it all?"

Frodo sank into his chair, smiling sadly. "Gave it away, mostly. He never really felt it was his, having been taken from robbers and thieves, and the dragon-gold he spent generously through the long years of his life. I am going to miss him, Merry," Frodo added softly. "But I am glad that you are here to help me now. I wanted to take a moment and say so. Thank you for everything you've done, and for being here today."

"This is what friends are for," Merry said. He pushed the lock on the door firmly and turned to the cabinet built into the wall next to the bookshelves. He swung the small doors open, removing a bottle of Brandywine Brandy. He took two small glasses and filled them with the smoky liquid. "If we are going to have to deal with the most unpleasant things today, let us enjoy for a moment the most pleasant things we can! Cheers!" He handed Frodo one glass, and gently tapped his own against the rim.

Frodo drank his down, grateful for the bracing burn of the smooth liquor. "Well, it won't do for me to receive the S-B's with spirits on my breath, so I guess we had better take some tea before you show them in." Frodo took his time pouring two cups. "One lump or two? Cream?" he asked, though he knew perfectly well that Merry took neither. Time was his to spend now.

IV

Bilbo's Will

As soon as Merry left them, Lobelia began to sort through the remainder of the stack of presents, reading the labels with a growing look of disgust on her face. Otho stalked into the parlour, but backed out quickly when he saw a Dwarf setting up a tea tray on the table. Ignoring Gran's hospitality, he returned to the hall and glowered about at the walls, muttering loudly of his annoyance at being forced to wait.

"Otho! Look..." Lobelia pointed at a large, heavy package. "It has my name on it!"

Otho picked the box up. It was fairly heavy and wrapped in beautiful foiled paper. There was a tag tied to it that bore the following legend:

For LOBELIA SACKVILLE-BAGGINS, as a PRESENT, to complete her collection.

Otho tore the wrapping off swiftly, revealing an ornately carved wooden case. He opened it eagerly, but was disappointed to find it was filled with a splendid set of silver spoons. "Spoons? Why would he give us spoons? Mad! I have always said he was mad..." Lobelia tore off the label and crumpled it in her fist, her sallow face nearly scarlet with rage. She did not answer Otho's question, but she knew very well what Bilbo's point was, and she was not pleased. She set about looking at the other packages, tearing off labels and muttering darkly.

A clatter from the next room sent her skittering back to her husband's side. "What was that?"

"There are Dwarves in the parlour," Otho said, as if they were an infestation of domestic parasites. "What is taking that Bucklander so long? I haven't all day to be standing around waiting." The fact that he had arrived uninvited did not occur to Otho to be a good reason for a delay.

Eventually, Merry returned to the hall and bowed, gesturing toward the hall. "This way, please."

"It's about time! What took so long?" demanded Otho. Merry said nothing but led them to the study, opening the door and bowing again.

Otho pushed past him with Lobelia on his heels. Frodo was sitting behind the desk; but he stood politely as they entered the room. "Thank you, Merry." The young cousins' eyes met across the room, and Merry offered Frodo a grin, then turned and left them alone, leaving the door open.

Frodo was tired, but he smiled as cheerfully as he could manage. "Otho, Lobelia, good afternoon. I know you have been waiting; it has been a rather stressful morning and I wasn't expecting any appointments today. Please, do sit down."

There were two chairs in front of the desk. Frodo pulled out one of the chairs and held it for Lobelia. She looked as if she wanted to refuse his gesture just for spite, but her feet were sore from standing in the hall. She sat down cautiously, as if she expected Frodo to yank the chair out from under her.

Of course, Frodo did no such thing. He seated his cousin comfortably and brought her a cup of tea. Otho waved away such courtesy, pointedly refusing Frodo's hospitality. He was looking intensely at the desk, which was covered with papers, some of them very official-looking documents. He longed to sort through those pages, but that would be a great breech of etiquette, and rude as the Sackville-Bagginses could be, some habits were well and deeply ingrained.

Frodo returned to his desk, standing so that it was between him and his cousins. He did not sit, but stood with one hand on the back of his chair, the other in his pocket. "What can I do for you today?" he said, still as polite as ever.

Otho abruptly decided to try a new tact on his young cousin. Obviously all this inheritance business had quite gone to the youngster's head. This could be an advantage, Otho supposed. He straightened his shoulders and forced a smile.

"That is a handsome china hutch we saw in the parlour, Frodo." Otho was please with how even and earnest his voice sounded. "It's been in the Baggins family for some generations, hasn't it? It would be a pity, I think, to see it gone away in a moment of blind generosity. I would be happy to make room for it in my home, if you need help clearing out some of Bilbo's old things."

Frodo smiled as if Otho's suggestion was interesting. "That is kind of you to offer, sir, but there is no need for you to make such a sacrifice. My uncle told me that his great-grandmother Berylla originally owned that hutch, which her husband joined with his own hands. Of course, that would make them my great-great-grandparents," Frodo added, tactfully reminding his cousins that in his keeping, the hutch would be remaining in the Baggins family.

Otho refused to take the hint. "I could offer you something... say, ten silver coins? Twelve?"

Frodo chose to ignore such a ridiculous offer. The hutch, were he of a mind to sell it, was worth many times that amount. Instead, he offered Otho a plate of cookies. "Try one! Dwarven shortbread; they are Frerín's specialty."

Otho took one of the biscuits but did not eat it. "How about those portraits of Bungo and Belladonna? Surely, you don't want such things cluttering up your mantelpiece..."

"No, thank you, Otho." Frodo smile faded, but he voice remained courteous. "I like those paintings where they are; I am quite fond of them. Only the things that Bilbo specifically tagged are to be given away. Everything else stays where it has always been."

Otho lost his composure at Frodo's confident refusals. "Well! This whole affair is very fishy, if you ask me! Dwarves taking over Bag End, that dratted wizard poking around where he isn't wanted, and Bilbo up and disappearing in a flash of smoke! Only one thing is clear to me, and that is that you are doing exceedingly well out of it! I insist on seeing the Will!"

Frodo promptly picked up a stack of papers from the desk. He sorted it quickly and handed a thick sheaf to Otho. "Of course. Here it is. Is there enough light for you to read by, or would you like me to open the window?" Otho all but snatched the papers out of his hands.

Frodo noticed something on his desk, on the spot now cleared of paper. He casually set the letters he still held down on top of it, before Otho or Lobelia could see the glimmer of gold. As his cousins leaned over the documents to read greedily, he discretely swept the ring into his hand and slipped it into his waistcoat pocket. It lay as a weight there, strangely comforting and distracting at the same time.

Frodo believed that he knew the things Otho was looking for in the Will; he also knew that the clauses were drawn air-tight, as Bilbo would put it. He remembered the years his uncle had spent composing the document and, in a typical Bilbo fashion, he had joyfully filled it with things he knew would give Otho apoplexy. Otho's reddened face was shifting to a deeper shade of purple as he scanned the lines and flipped the pages. Lobelia read as fast as she could, but clearly she had little understanding of what the papers contained.

Frodo decided that this unpleasant meeting need not be drawn out longer than necessary. He could hear the doorbell ringing again, and Merry's voice drifting up the hall through the open door. He kept his voice light as he said, "You'll find that Bilbo has passed on to me not only his hole, the property thereon and the lands surrounding it, but the fields in North- and Southfarthing that are leased to farmers, and the two wooded areas known as Bindbale and Piney Knoll. There is an added clause that they are to be kept as is: preserved, that is, for the birds and beasts that live there, with no traffic permitted except hiking and camping. No axes, mills, or lumbering will be allowed. Oh, and here," Frodo came round the table and pointed, in case Otho might have missed the bold printing, "you can see that he has extended to me all his projected earning from the leasing, as well as any debts and titles he owned. Luckily, there are no debts to settle, as Bilbo was quite good at keeping such things paid."

"Exceedingly good as spending the family gold, yes," Lobelia muttered.

Frodo turned to her and said in his most reasonable tone, "How many dragons's lairs have the Sackville-Bagginses plundered?" Lobelia scowled but said nothing, her jaw working as if chewing on a retort.

Otho looked at Frodo sharply, his ears catching what Frodo had said earlier. "Debts and titles? What do you mean by 'titles'; the ownership papers of all this land?"

"No, sir. Those are covered in the previous clause. What is meant by titles in that line is the honourific title of Master of the Hill, which Bilbo held since the passing of his father. He has passed it on to me, though I doubt that I can be as efficient in the manner of family government as Bilbo was." Frodo's modesty was genuine, but he was enjoying (maybe a little too much) rubbing Otho's nose it. "It is, however, what I have been trained to do and what I will do, until such a time as the family decides to reappoint the title. It is, as I understand the custom, something that the elders of the entire family must agree upon. And I don't know about the Sackville-Baggins clan, but trying to get all the Bagginses to agree on any one thing is hard! Are you sure you don't care for any tea?" Frodo stirred his own cup and gently tapped the spoon on the rim before setting it on the saucer, enjoying the tiny musical ringing sound.

Otho stared at the last page of the wretched document, where all these outrageous clauses were made perfectly legal and binding by the presence of seven signatures in official red ink, witnessing Bilbo's intent. He read the names and snorted; it was perfectly correct, and there was nothing Otho could do now to change even a word of it.

Otho stood up angrily, tossing the papers back onto the desk. He took Lobelia's arm and gestured for her to come with him. "Foiled again! And after waiting sixty years!"

They turned to leave, but Otho stopped in the doorway and came back to confront Frodo, who was carefully unsmiling and calm. "I tell you, you haven't heard the last of this, Baggins! I will get what is coming to me... I'll have you know it! Spoons? Fiddlesticks!" He snapped his fingers under Frodo's nose and stamped out of the study.

Frodo let out his breath all at once, then sank into his chair. He had been toying with the ring his uncle had left him, turning it around with his fingertips inside his pocket. While Otho had fumed and shouted, he had remained calm and collected; but he had been wondering, what would his cousins have done if he, too, had suddenly vanished before their eyes? He had not put the ring on, but his mind had laughed at the idea. Now he felt a little sick about the whole affair.

He pushed his teacup aside, its contents now cold and unappetizing. Yes, this 'Master' business is a mixed blessing, Frodo told himself, and that was for sure and for certain.