Astrid, 20th 1380 S.R.
My meeting with the Sackvilles is continually reminding me that Frodo is a delightful child with so much potential. The thought of ever having one of the Sackvilles reside in Bag End gives me repulsive shudders that start in my head and go clear down to my toes. Lotho and his mother are handfuls, that's for sure.
It was Highday, but a rainy one at that. So rainy, in fact, that the puddles in the garden were more pronounced than usual. The grass was a deep color of health and the tulips and crocuses were dancing in the drizzle. May loved Highdays; they were so carefree and danciful. Faerie had explained to her that faeries were especially fond of Highdays as well. And, to make everything better, Da and her brothers got to stay home all day! Today, they were all together in the family room. Da smelled like pipe and Ma pies. And the baby was cooing in mama's arms.
Hamson and Halfred were neck- to-neck in a duelling arm-wrestle. May guessed they had been at it for at least forty-eight minutes, if her numbers were right. She was rooting for Hal, his arm struggling to beat his elder. In the end, Hamson won with a whoop of glee and a pat on the back from Daisy.
"Sorry, Hal, you'll just have learn that I will beat you every time."
"Har, that's what ya think. Wait till I'm bigger and stronger – then I will challenge ya again. Just wait. Besides, you should take a break. Your neck must be getting tired from holdin' that their head of yours!" Halfred shoved off and went to sit down next to his dad.
"So, Da, have you heard much about Frodo lately?" Asked Daisy as she leaned against her father's sitting chair.
"Not much, Darlin', I reckon he's continuing much same as usual."
Halfred gave his sister a punch in the shoulder. "Why would a girl like you wanna know that? Are you sweet on him?"
Daisy swatted at him. "Shut up, Halfred."
"As long you ain't ever gonna like boys like Lotho. If I ever saw you kissin' one like him, I'd rope you to a tree and leave you there." Her brothers laughed at her as she wrinkled her face in annoyance and embarrassment.
"I yikes, Fwodo." May chimed in. "I think I wants to marry him some day." Mr. Gamgee chuckled at his children. "Will talk about that later, May, when you are long out of your tweens."
At the Sackvilles, the rain was ever unwelcome, especially with the newly discovered leak in the roof. For the last hour, Lobelia had been hurriedly nagging Otho to fix the predicament. His answer consisted of putting a bucket on a table beneath the drip and emptying it whenever it got dangerously close to brimming over.
"Why don't you just go up their and fix it!" Lobelia nervously watched the water sloshing in the bucket while Otho stood shakily on the table holding the bucket up to the hole.
"Lobelia! It's too wet to go out there right now. This will just have to do." Disagreeing with his wife was a dangerous predicament to be in, Otho understood this well; however, he was not about to go up on that roof in weather like this. He plopped the bucket on the floor and grabbed an emptier one. This he placed on top of one of the other buckets that had been over-turned on top of the table. He then jumped down from the table, proceeding to empty the sloshing, full bucket.
Lobelia steadied her precious table, which was still rocking slightly from Otho's clumsy movements. It had been crafted by her great-gaffer as a wedding present to her gammer. The last thing she wanted was to see it in pieces.
Lotho entered the room with his hands in his pockets. Why his parents didn't just fix the roof when they noticed structural issues during yule was beyond him. How pathetic his parents looked clambering about the silly old table. He straightened his back into a stretch, "How poetic, rain in the living quarters. We could probably write a few lines about this:
There is rain on my roof,
and in my living room.
As parents stand on wretched ol' tables,
with buckets so aloof.
The dreary droplets loom,
I will forever be running from social labels.
It's not my best work; but, I doubt I have to worry about literary criticism until I am least in my mid-tweens." He shrugged and then continued to the kitchen.
"Uncle Bilbo, did it rain a lot when you were on your adventures?" Frodo was rocking back and forth next to the counter as Bilbo baked.
"My goodness, yes!" Exclaimed a floury Bilbo in response. "There is rain in this world unlike any the Shire has ever seen."
"What do trolls think about rain?"
"Well, I don't think they quite enjoy it. Did I tell you about the time that I got captured by trolls? They are such great, large creatures, my boy!" Bilbo kneaded the flour in his hands into a misshapen ball. This he prodded into the likeness of a troll. When he was satisfied, he pinched off a piece of its head and molded it into a much smaller figure. "And that is me. See how big they are in comparison?"
Frodo giggled in response, taking his own ball of flour out of the bowel. He began shaping it into a figure to rival the size of Bilbo's 'troll' and then placed it down next to the other figures. "Hey, you, there! Keep yer dirty 'ands offa that 'obbit or I'll poun' ya in the face!" He wiggled its little arm as he spoke.
"Who do you think you are?" Asked Bilbo's troll in response, hopping towards the newcomer. "I will eat that ther' 'obbit!" And with that, Bilbo's ball of flour extended into a pancake and gobbled up the other figures. Both hobbits laughed. "Ah, Frodo," Bilbo sighed, "I would never let a troll gobble you up. You are far too special, my lad." He ruffled Frodo's curls as he said this.
"I wouldn't let any troll gobble you up either!" Said Frodo as he wrapped his floury arms around his uncle in a sweet embrace. "I hope that I can be a great hobbit like you someday, Uncle Bilbo."
"I'm sure you will, my lad. I'm sure you will."