(With everyone on lockdown and stressed out of our skulls, I have decided to post this fic a little faster, so please forgive any grammar mistakes. I think everyone needs a little hobbit gentleness nowadays.)

"Evenin' Mr Frodo. Half of best is it?"

"Good evening Mr Brewer. Yes, please. It's very busy in here. Is somebody celebrating a birthday?"

Borden Brewer slid a pot under the tap. "Nay, Sir. Have you forgot the elections?"

"Good gracious. I had. I thought it was next week." Frodo accepted the pot and handed over his coin. "Who is standing this year?"

"Well, Tom Cotton says he'll stand for another seven years, but Mr Bilbo's leavin' has left an openin' for the other." Frodo could see several sets of eyes glancing his way. No doubt they were discussing Bilbo's departure...yet again. Bilbo had been one of the village voters at the Free Fair since his father died, and since his own arrival in Hobbiton Frodo had enjoyed travelling with him.

The White Downs, west of Michel Delving, were too close for safety to the borders of the Shire most of the time and, consequently, were left to the grazing of sheep. Every seven years, however, The Shire elected a Mayor and Shirrifs at the Free Fair, and the White Downs were transformed by rows of colourful tents and awnings from all over the Shire, and beyond. Several groups of dwarves made a point of arranging their travels to arrive in time for the Free Fair ,and some said that upon a time even big folk came, although that had not been within living memory.

Frodo took a sip of his beer. "Who is standing for the new place, then?"

Borden turned aside to fill a couple more pots. "That's just it. Nobody's come forward yet." He grinned. "It's got the worthies in a bit of a lather, I can tell you."

At that moment there was the unmistakable tap of a wooden gavel and Olin Baker stood. "Alright. Everybody quiet down so we can get this meetin' started."

He was met with a chorus of, "You tell 'em, Olin," from the younger folk and, "Speak up, lad," from some of the older members of the assembly.

Olin cleared his throat and started again. "I hereby call this here meeting to order."

This time silence descended. "We all know why we're here but just to keep it all legal I'll spell it out. The Free Fair is coming up in a couple of months, and we're here to pick the two folk who will represent Hobbiton in the voting for Mayer."

"And shirrifs," Daddy Twofoot pointed out.

"And shirrifs," Olin concurred. "Not that we've much need for them away from the borders as we are."

"Aye. Most come from the border villages, where they're needed," Adelard Took observed, somewhat redundantly.

Olin drew himself up. "Can anyone with somethin' to say please raise their hand before speaking, or we'll all be talkin' at once and never get through the business."

There were chuckles all around and one of Frodo's neighbours at the bar softly observed, "Aye. Some of us have homes we'd like to get to afore midnight."

Olin frowned at the mutterer and continued. "First we've got to elect the voters. I've got a nomination from Delbin Chub for Tom Cotton, of South Pasture farm. Do I have a seconder?"

Mistress Chub raised a hand and Olin made a note on his paper. "Duly noted. Thank you, Rose." He looked up. "Has anyone any objection to having Tom voting for us again this year?" He glanced about the room but nobody raised a hand. "Right, then. Lets have a show of hands. Who agrees Tom Cotton as one of Hobbiton's voters at the Free Fair?"

Frodo raised his hand, along with almost everyone else in the packed pub. There were one or two who were a little late, but that was mainly because they had nodded off at some point and had to be nudged by their neighbours. Olin made a show of writing down Tom's name on a fresh sheet of paper. "Thank you all. Tom will do for us again, then." Everyone cheered and Tom stood to sketch a bow before being tugged back into his seat by his wife.

Olin tapped his gavel on the table once more. "Now we come to the hard bit. Hobbiton, being such a big village, we get two votes but we've had no more offers. Does anyone want to stand up now? T'would be a shame if we weren't represented proper." He let his gaze roam the room but everybody just fidgeted and looked away.

Finally, Hamfast Gamgee raised his hand. The surprise was very clear in Olin's voice. "Are you volunteering, Mister Gamgee?"

"Bless you, no. I'm too old now to be galavantin' off to Michel Delvin'. But it seems to me that the answer is simple enough. Mister Bilbo Baggins used to vote for us and here's his heir, Mister Frodo. Why not send him? He's mighty book learned is our Mister Frodo, and he's got a good sensible head on his shoulders."

All eyes now turned to Frodo, who could feel himself colouring. "I'm flattered, Mister Gamgee, but I think I'm still a bit young for such a responsibility. What about Doctor Brockleby?"

Bill Brockleby almost choked on his cider. "No, indeed. I'm with Hamfast. I hope to retire within the next couple of years and have no yearnings to travel so far."

Charlie Proudfoot spoke up from a corner. "A sensible head ye say? Tis to be hoped he's more sense than his uncle had." Ted Sandyman had no vote in Hobbiton affairs, but he had a few friends in the village, and Charlie was known to be one of them.

If he were honest with himself, this was one of the rare occasions on which Frodo was almost glad that Charlie had spoken up, for he truly did not think he was ready for such responsibility. He was very quick to reply, therefore. "Thank you for the compliment, Hamfast, but I'm sure there will be somebody better qualified."

Olin glared at Charlie, as people began to whisper, rapping the gavel more forcibly this time. "I'll not say this again. Hands up if you got somethin' to say. As Mister Baggins has declined the nomination, does anyone else want to offer themselves or suggest another for the post?" A hand went up. "The chair recognises Oakley Brockbank," Olin intoned, with such formality that it engendered several hoots of laughter.

The elderly Oakley pushed himself up, with some help from his son, Nedes, his gaze going straight to Frodo. "Charlie asks if Mister Frodo here has more sense than his uncle, and I say that he has." When Frodo made to interrupt Oakley spoke over him. "No sir. Tis all to the good that ye don't have too high an opinion of yerself. I reckon somebody too full of himself won't be thinkin' about what's best for others, which is what this job is all about, when all's said and done. And since his uncle Bilbo left I've heard nothin' but good about him. He'll not blow his own horn, 'cause that's not his way, but I know for a fact that there's lots of folks here that's been on the receivin' end of his good nature." Here several heads nodded agreement, and Frodo suddenly found the room too warm for his liking. "If that ain't a sign of a good heart and a sensible head I don't know what is. I'd like to see ye have a go at the job, Mister Baggins," he glowered at Charlie, "And I see none better here to do it."

Having said his piece, Oakley was helped back into his chair by Nedes and Bartimus. Now a good deal of approving mutters were added to the nods, and Frodo set down his pot so that he could wipe damp palms on his breeches. He scanned the room, hoping that another hand would be raised and, instead, found a sea of expectant faces.

Olin cleared his throat. "Anyone else got somethin' to say?"

From his place at his father's side, Bartimus murmured up at Frodo's elbow. "Come on, Frodo. If you really decide it's not for you, you don't have to stand next time."

"I don't want to let anyone down, Barti."

"I don't think you'd know how."

Frodo sighed. "Alright, Mister Baker. You have my name, but you may not get enough votes. Then what will we do?"

Barti grinned and punched him in the arm. "We'll take that risk. I formally nominate Frodo Baggins."

Hamfast Gamgee shouted, "I second!" and Olin licked his pencil before duly noting him.

Olin scanned the room again. "For the last time of askin'. Does anyone else want to stand for the position?"

"Oh, get on with it!" Rose Chub called, to a laughing chorus of, "Here, here!"

Olin banged his gavel so hard that several pots on the table trembled. "Order! All those in favour of Frodo Baggins as Hobbiton's second voter at the Free Fair, please raise a hand." Whilst there were less hands raised than had been for Tom, the numbers were clear enough that Olin did not ask for a count of the dissenters. "I hereby declare that Mister Frodo Baggins has the nomination. Thank you, young sir."

Frodo took a deep swallow of his beer, as Olin moved on to the business of nominations for shirrifs, and the rest of the evening passed in a blur.

So it was, that a few weeks later Sam and Frodo stood in Bag End's kitchen. "Goodness, Sam! What have you got in there? It's a long walk to Michel Delving, you know, and that pack will get heavier with every step."

Sam studied the enormous bundle at his feet and shrugged. "I hear there's not many places to buy food on the East Road, so I've brought enough for the journey."

"You certainly have. There's only the two of us, you know. You do realise that we'll be passing through Waymoot? I sent a message ahead, booking a room for the night at the Frog and Bucket. They don't serve food, but for the Lithe Fair they usually allow food sellers to set up booths in their yard and all along the main street." Frodo clapped his companion on the back. "We won't starve. Don't worry. Why don't you go through that pack and take out anything we won't need? It really does look awfully heavy."

Sam was none too happy but returned to Number Three. He was gone for so long that Frodo was about to go after him. Even then, despite Sam's protestations to the contrary, it did not look as though much of anything had been removed.

Making their way down the hill and over the river, they greeted one or two others of Hobbiton's more adventurous folk, who had decided to come along. Whether for the fair itself or to see how young Mr Baggins acquitted himself, Frodo did not wish to consider too closely. Tom and Lilly Cotton joined them at the market square.

"Morning, Mister Baggins, Sam," Tom nodded as they met then grinned at Frodo. "You ready for the off then, young Mister Baggins?"

"Good morning Farmer Cotton, Mistress Cotton," Frodo replied with a grimace. "I suppose I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

Lilly patted his back. "Don't you go worritin', Mister Baggins. The votin's easy enough and if ye've any questions my Tom will help out. We've been doin' this for years now. I keep tellin' Tom he's done his share but he keeps puttin' his name forward."

Tom shrugged. "We'd be goin' to the Fair anyhow. Tis a good chance to see new stock. White Downs ewes are some of the best in the Shire, you know."

"I didn't know that." Sam replied, hitching the pack higher on his back. "It looks good weather for walkin' at least."

Both Cottons carried packs but Frodo noted that neither were as bulky as Sam's. "Are you not bringing family with you this time? I remember young Rose enjoying herself at the last fair."

"She's stayin' home this year," Lilly replied, her eyes twinkling as she added, "She's a tween and she's cast her eye on Delbin Chub of late. Our Rose thinks she'll get more canoodlin' time while we're away."

Tom chuckled. "Only I've told her brother, Young Tom, to find her plenty to do."

Lilly joined his laughter. "She's probably wishin' already that she'd come with us."

The four strolled through Hobbiton and on toward Bywater, talking of crops and neighbours, past fairs, and weather. This was Sam's first Lithe Fair so he listened avidly to all. By midday they had reached Bywater, stopping in at the Green Dragon for a bite to eat, and by the time they left their small group was swollen by a few more. Unfortunately, Frodo's mood dampened a little when he spotted Ted Sandyman, along with his son, Orton. He supposed Ted's poor, long-suffering wife, would be staying home to look after Ted's ailing father, Ryle.

When Ted saw Frodo he scowled and, while everyone else exchanged greetings, he and Orton spoke only with others from Bywater. Frodo was rather touched when, after a couple of hours walking, he noted that Sam made a point of always placing himself between his master and Ted. He leaned in to whisper, "It's alright, Sam. I doubt Ted Sandyman is going to leap upon me in front of all these people."

Sam looked unconvinced and maintained his place to Frodo's right. "It don't do no harm to be careful, Mister Frodo. My fryin' pan is close to hand and I'll fetch him one if he tries anythin'."

Frodo disliked violence as a means to settle arguments, but the image of Sam setting about himself with a frying pan had him chuckling.

They reached the junction with the Great East Road by mid-afternoon. Whilst it could not be called crowded, there were certainly more people and carts than usual, and all were travelling west. They had been walking for only half an hour when Frodo heard his name being called, and he clambered to the higher vantage point of a grass verge to survey the growing numbers of people. A hand waved and Frodo ran forward to throw himself into the ample embrace of a rather rotund hobbit of about his own age. "Freddy! I didn't know you were coming!"

The larger lad released him and grinned widely. "I was the only one who wanted to come from Budgeford, so here I am. I'm not old enough to vote myself so I'm carrying Da's marker and a witnessed note. Da had to stay home to look after the cows. I was hoping you and I would meet up, but wasn't sure when you would be setting out." His grin grew even wider. "I heard you'd been pressed into voting."

Frodo led him back to the verge and a curious Sam Gamgee. "Sam Gamgee, let me introduce Fredegar Bolger, Freddy to his friends. Freddy, this is Samwise Gamgee, but everyone calls him Sam."

Sam nodded, surprised when Freddy offered his hand. "I've come to do for Mister Frodo, sir."

Freddy continued to hold out his hand, until Sam was obliged to shake it or appear rude. Frodo clapped Sam on the shoulder. "Sam here is my friend, but I can't get him to drop the, 'Mister'. In truth, I've given up trying." He winked. "For the moment."

"It's good to meet you, Sam. You can call me Freddy."

"Thank you, Mister Freddy."

Freddy laughed. "So that's the way of it. Alright. Come along Mister Frodo. If we don't get a move on we won't get a bed at the Frog and Bucket in Waymoot." Frodo led them back into the growing crowd and it did not take long to catch up with the Cottons, where more introductions were made.

At Waymoot the Cottons parted company, for they had agreed to stay with relatives further down the road. They offered hospitality but Frodo had already booked a room for himself and Sam, and the landlord declared it little trouble to bring in a truckle bed for Freddy, if they were willing to share the room. After washing off the dust of the road, the three set out to sample the food and drink on offer. There were accents from all across the Shire and Frodo enjoyed informing the fascinated Sam which villages they came from. There were even folk from Buckland, although they had no vote in the Mayoral election and appointed their own shirrifs.

Indeed, many of those attending were not there to vote, but rather for the fun of it. There were even several groups of dwarves. Sam noted that whilst dwarves were not uncommon in the Shire, they were still given a wide berth by some. They had obviously come to trade, with large covered wagons, and Sam was eager to discover what they sold, for none were of the same group that regularly attended Hobbiton market.

There were booths set up all along Waymeet's main street, and an hour later three very replete hobbits ambled into the Frog and Bucket's tap-room. They found all the tables taken and there was barely room to even stand, but Freddy declared himself in need of a good beer to wash down his supper and, being the burliest of the group, nominated himself to fight through to the bar to fetch drinks.

Frodo spotted Orton and his father, holding forth at length to an eager audience in one corner of the room, and it disturbed him to see Ted gesture in his direction once or twice, curious faces turning to stare. Frodo looked away, suspecting that whatever the Bywater miller was saying, it was probably not complementary. Still, he mused, there was nothing he could do about it. There was no law against talking, after all, and as most hobbits enjoyed a good gossip, that was just as well. Still, the event troubled Frodo well into the night, while his two friends lay snoring softly.

The next day arrived, bright and clear again. More folk must have arrived during the night, for it was a much bigger party that turned off the East Road, north along the road to Michel Delving. Frodo lost all hope of rediscovering the Cottons in such a crowd. Some of the food sellers stayed behind to cater for stragglers, while others packed their wares on wagons and carts, and trundled ahead to set up at the Fairground. They kicked up a great deal of dust in their passage, so by the time Frodo, Sam and Freddy arrived in Michel Delving, late in the afternoon, Freddy declared himself more than ready for a pint and a bath, not necessarily in that order.

As at Waymoot, Frodo had reserved a room, this time at an inn that he and Bilbo had frequented before, the Pony and Pickle. The landlord, Ralf Greenbank, and his wife, Peony, greeted him warmly, and it was only a matter of minutes before a truckle bed was wheeled in once more, to accommodate Freddy. Ralf would hear nothing of receiving extra money for the bed, from such a good customer as Mister Baggins.

The trio had just settled down to eat when Sam nudged his master, nodding toward the bar, where voices were rising. The other patrons withdrew, leaving a thunderous Ted Sandyman and an implacable Ralf Greenbank at the centre of a large clearing. Ted was stabbing his finger in the centre of Ralf's barrel chest, to emphasise each word. "I'm one of the voters. You should be keepin' your rooms clear for us."

Ralf grabbed Ted's wrist and Frodo noted the miller wince. "I have, but I aint got rooms for all. That's why some folk wrote ahead. Last I heard, you could write, Ted Sandyman."

Ted's colour deepened. "Aye. And we know who else can write." This was not from Ted, but Frodo recognised the belligerent looking hobbit at Ted's side as one of those who had been in close conference with Ted and Orton in Waymoot. All eyes followed the newcomer's gaze to Frodo Baggins. "Seems to me that Mister Frodo Baggins has made sure he has a bed. Even his friends and servants have beds, and they don't have a vote."

The tension in the room became palpable and Frodo climbed slowly to his feet. "I have a room with a bed. That is true. My friends are sharing the room, however. They are not depriving you in any way, Ted Sandyman."

"Ye've still got a room when we aint," another voice shouted. "I got a vote too. If he gets a bed I should have one."

Frodo sighed. "You want a room, Ted? You can have my room. My friends and I will sleep under the stars. Just give us time to collect our belongings and the room and beds are yours."

"Help 'em with their stuff, lads," was Ted's gleeful exhortation as he waved his two cohorts forward.

It was Ralf who stepped in front of them, with Peony, wielding a broom beside him. "Oh, no you wont, Ted Sandyman. Mister Baggins, if ye want that room it's still yours. If not, I'll watch these while ye get yer things."

Freddy and Sam looked to their companion for a lead and Frodo motioned them to the back of the inn. "Go and collect our things. I don't want to be responsible for any damage done to Ralf and Peony's home."

From the bar Ted Sandyman jeered. "Mr high-and-mighty-Baggins'. Yer all as mad as a box of frogs. Yer not even fit to vote, and just you watch, I'll make sure all knows it."

When Sam and Freddy would have turned about to give the jeerer's what for, Frodo held them back, pushing them gently toward their room instead. When they returned, carrying their baggage, Frodo joined them. "We're leaving now Ted. Ralf, Peony, I'm sorry that you've been dragged into this silliness and I hope that when we leave things will return to normal."

"Tis not your fault, sir, and yer welcome in the Pony and Pickle any time yer passin'," Peony called as they left. "With a free supper thrown in," Ralf added. Frodo was quite touched when he later discovered that Ralf never did let Ted have the room, declaring that it must be cleaned again before it could be let out to any customers, and he and Peony were too busy dealing with food and drink to get around to it.

Back on the road, Frodo looked about them. "Wait here," he instructed as he threaded the still growing crowds. He approached a large covered wagon, surrounded by four burly dwarves. "Frodo, son of Drogo Baggins, at your service, masters." He bowed low.

After a wary exchange of glances the leader bowed in return. "Galby, o' the line of Farin, at yer service, young sir. Would ye, by any chance, be connected with the Mister Bilbo Baggins, who got himself caught up in that wee bit o' bother over the Arkenstone?"

Frodo grinned. "Bilbo is my uncle."

"Well now, tis a wee world after all. What service can I be to ye?"

"My two companions and I are here for the fair. Unfortunately, there was some unpleasantness at the inn where we had arranged accommodation, and we find ourselves without a roof or even bedrolls. I was wondering if you could oblige us with a seat at your fire and a safe place to sleep, with, perhaps, a blanket to share. We can pay for any inconvenience."

There was another exchange of glances between the dwarves and then Galby bowed again. "As kin o' Bilbo Baggins yer counted as dwarf friend and verra welcome. We've food enough fer a dozen hobbits and blankets to spare fer all." He held up a hand when Frodo began to rummage in his purse. "Nay, laddie, yer coin's nay good here. We'll not take payment from kin o' Bilbo. T'will be an honour to break bread wi ye."

"Thank you very much." Frodo waved over his wide-eyed companions. "Galby here says we can join them tonight."

"I hope ya dinna mind a wee bit o' snorin', lads. Mabin, here, sounds like a sty full o' pigs," Galby declared through a much plaited and decorated white beard.

The dwarf who fell into uproarious laughter turned out to be said Mabin. The remaining two introduced themselves as Toldi and Setic. Frodo, Sam and Fredegar were helped into the wagon, with their baggage and, despite Frodo advising the dwarves that they had already eaten, they were invited to share a second supper. Of course, as hobbits, he and his friends did not refuse.

They actually spent a rather comfortable night, kept dry from the morning dew by thick ground-sheets, a beautiful canvas awning and lots of blankets and cushions. It seemed Galby and his companions liked to travel in comfort.

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