*Well, one thing's for certain,* Frodo though as he gazed about the kitchen, *I'm not going to go hungry here.*
Aloud, he said, "Uncle Bilbo? Are we expecting company? Say, the last alliance, perhaps?"
Bilbo jumped, then winced as his thumb brushed against the pot of stew he'd been stirring. "Lad, you move like an elf!" he marveled, turning to face his ward while placing the offended digit in his mouth. "How long've you been standing there?"
Frodo smiled. "Only a few minutes."
Bilbo shook his head, then pointed at the various dishes he'd prepared with the ladle he held. "It's about time," he said in response to Frodo's earlier comment, "someone made sure you were eating properly, my boy. I won't have you wasting away like a wraith right before my eyes, not if my cooking and Hamfast's gardening have anything to say about it. Didn't they feed you in Brandy Hall?"
Frodo sighed. "I eat, Uncle," he said quietly.
Bilbo caught the melancholy of Frodo's tone and his expression softened. "Well, lad, we'll just see what living in Bag End does for that slim figure o' yours, then," he said lightly, then, brightening, said, "And speaking of the Gamgees, did you and Samwise enjoy yourselves today?"
Frodo brightened, equally eager to talk of Samwise as he was to turn talk away from his build. "Oh, yes, Bilbo," he said, smiling fondly as he thought of the lad. "He reminds me a lot of Merry, though he's not quite as rambunctious as Merry is."
Bilbo laughed. "Yes, you two were certainly a pair, as I remember," he said, turning and stirring the simmering stew again. He raised the ladle and took an experimental sip, then made a face and reached for a canister of spice. "Perhaps a lad like Sam'll be good to bring you back down to earth again."
"Hardly," Frodo said, chuckling in turn, "all he wanted to hear tell about this afternoon were Elves."
Bilbo threw a fond glance over his shoulder at his nephew. "And this bothered you?" he said, raising a knowing eyebrow.
Frodo rolled his eyes. If there was one thing that bothered him about Brandy Hall, it was the utter lack of imagination some of the folk there displayed. He'd always delighted in Bilbo's visits, begging to be allowed to stay up late and listen as Bilbo told tales of his adventures to far away places and the strange and wonderful people he'd met along the way. Certainly finding another lad who enjoyed the tales as much as he did wasn't going to *bother* him. He shook his head as Bilbo began to laugh again.
Frodo walked over and perched on a stool next to the counter, eyeing the various dishes that sat cooling before him.
"What's the occasion, then?" he said after a moment. "Certainly you don't usually eat this much alone, and I'll be buggered if you expect *me* to be able to." He winced as he realized he'd once again brought up his sadly lacking hobbit appetite, but Bilbo mercifully let it slide.
"To celebrate your first real night at Bag End, my lad," he said, turning down the flames and carrying the steaming pot to the counter. "We were certainly to tired last night to have a proper breaking-in—watch yourself, lad, there you go"—Frodo leaned back to make room as Bilbo set the steaming pot atop the wicker potholder before him—"so we must do so tonight. Ah! Now, have I forgotten anything?" Bilbo scratched his head for a moment, looking around, but then seemed satisfied. He clapped his hands together. "Good! Now, then, let's feast, shall we?" He winked, and Frodo blushed again.
After a brief sorting of plates, forks, knives and spoons, the victuals were served, and even Frodo found himself returning for second and third helpings. Bilbo laughed as he watched. "There, lad, I thought a bit o' my cooking would do you some good," he said, leaning back with a satisfied look on his face as Frodo dished out more of the spinach, mushroom and artichoke casserole.
Frodo grinned as he returned to his seat, making a show of digging enthusiastically into his food. Bilbo laughed again, leaning back and patting his belly. "Well, lad, all I can say is if you ate like that at Brandy Hall, it's amazing you aren't too large to fit into the hole."
Frodo laughed. "Now, Uncle, what cook of Brandy Hall could ever hope to match your skill in the kitchen?"
Bilbo smiled. "Well, lad, thank you at that, but as I say half the credit must go to our good Master Gamgee. He's the one responsible for bringing in the vegetable crop, and a delightful crop it's been this year, too!" He smiled and shook his head fondly. "He's a dear chap, but he is starting to feel the weight of the years. I'm not surprised as he's begun to bring young Sam into the garden as well. The lad has much to learn before he'll be able to take over for his father.
Frodo frowned. "But Bilbo," he said after a moment's consideration, "why Sam? I mean, he's so young…why not one of the older lads? You said Hamfast had sons my age…?"
Bilbo nodded. "Aye, lad, he does at that, but nary a one of them has the same amount of passion for the work as little Sam, even at his age. Hamfast has that same passion, and granted he'll want to pass along his position here to his most talented of children. That would be our dear Samwise." He stretched for a moment, then clapped his hand over his curly head. "Well, bless me!" he cried. "I'd nearly forgotten! Frodo lad, I've got a bit o' news for you." Frodo straightened, waiting as his uncle fished around for his pipe and tobacco pouch. As he lit up, he said, "When I was in the market today, I ran into old Griffo Boffin. During the course of conversation you were brought up, and he said he was sure lads would like to meet you. They're about your age, I believe." Bilbo smiled. "I told him you'd be delighted. They're coming by tomorrow morning."
He sat back, looking pleased. Frodo could only sit stunned for a moment. He finally realized Bilbo seemed to be waiting for a response, so he said, "M…my age, did you say?" He tried, but couldn't quite hide the slight tremble in his voice.
Bilbo's smile faltered a little, but he nodded, reaching for more Old Toby. "Aye, 'round seven, I believe," he said. "Why, lad? You look troubled. I thought you'd like to be meeting hobbits your age…?"
"Oh, no, Bilbo, it's not that…" Frodo bit his lip. Though he was loath to admit it, he was distinctly uncomfortable about being the new hobbit in a group of lads his age. Big lads, most likely. And strong. And what was Frodo? Pale, thin as a willow wand…it would be nothing like spending time with dear little Sam, he was sure, he would have to be on his guard…
Sam. Suddenly Frodo sat bolt upright, nearly spilling his drink and startling Bilbo into dropping his pipe.
"Lad!" he said, picking it up and wiping the ashes from his trousers. "Whatever is the matter?"
"Bilbo…Sam!" Frodo said. "I promised him I'd come see his garden in the morning!"
Bilbo frowned, looking troubled. "Well, lad, certainly that can wait…? After all, old Griffo's bringing the lads down himself, and I can't really tell him you're not here when he arrives…"
"But I promised him, Uncle!" Frodo grabbed a handful of curls and swept them from his forehead, looking distraught. "I can't go breaking my promises like that! What will he think of me?"
Bilbo had opened his mouth to speak, but at that last he closed it and gave Frodo a sideways glance. "I'm certain he'll understand, Frodo my lad," he said. "After all, he can't expect you not to be curious about some of the other children, perhaps ones more suited for your company…"
At his words Frodo felt sudden anger well within him. "And just what do you mean by that?" he snapped, earning him another startled glance.
"Nay, lad, nothing!" Bilbo said, his frown deepening. "Only that Sam's so much younger than you are…I thought you might feel more comfortable around hobbits your own age, is all."
Frodo's anger subsided as abruptly as it had arisen. "Oh," he said, his voice small. "I thought you meant…"
Bilbo tilted his head. "What, lad?"
Frodo shrugged one shoulder and waved his hand in a vague manner. "You know…that he's the gardener's son, and all…"
Bilbo's eyes lit up in sudden comprehension. "Ah," he said. "Your anger is excusable then. Nay, lad, there's no concern for class in Bag End, and you'll do well to remember that," he said. Frodo nodded emphatically, glad his uncle shared his view on the matter. Bilbo smiled, then turned serious again. "But listen, lad," he said, "I can't very well cancel now, t'would be most impolite, you see? So perhaps it'd be best if you run along with the Boffin lads tomorrow and see Sam later? He does live right down the row, after all."
Frodo nodded slowly, but bit his lip, still troubled. "Aye…but…Bilbo, what if he's angry, or thinks I'm ignoring him, or something?"
Bilbo considered that for a moment, then said slowly, recalling, "Well…I told the Gaffer about the meetin'—I'm certain he'll be able to pass that along to Sam. And you can go see him yourself tomorrow afternoon, how's that?"
Frodo sighed. There would be no other option, not with his uncle so set on this. "Yes, Uncle," he said, absently pushing his food about his plate. The thought of eating no longer appealed to him. He remembered the joy in the young gardener's eyes when Frodo'd promised to visit in the morning, and felt his heart clench with guilt.
*Oh, I hope he understands…* Frodo thought. *But Bilbo's right—surely if the Gaffer spoke with him he will.*
But even later, after the dinner dishes were cleared and they'd long since retired to bed, Frodo was troubled. He stayed awake a long time, gazing at the darkened ceiling, his thoughts drifting between his fear of the Boffins and his dread about Sam. He rolled over and stared out the window, at the pane where he'd first met Sam's curious brown gaze only this morning.
"Please let him understand," he whispered to the night before drifting into a light, troubled sleep.
* * *