July 3002 SR - Part One - Bag End Business Frodo was sitting on his doorstep smoking his favourite pipeweed, much the way his Uncle Bilbo used to many years ago when Frodo was a young lad. It was a warm morning in Hobbiton and there was a fresh smell of summer wafting from the fields below. Frodo watched as several young hobbits played hide and seek amoung the trees down by the Bywater bridge. He reflected back to his younger days in Bucklebury, playing with his cousins and his family, before his Uncle Bilbo adopted him and he came to live in the Shire. It had been just under a year since his coming of age party, 33 years being the age as such, but Frodo felt somewhat older than he actually was, for some reason he couldn't tell. And in his heart he felt a longing for Bilbo, a longing for him to come back and take the burdensome responsibility of being master of Bag End away from him. Not a day would go by that Frodo didn't receive a letter in the post or a visitor of some sort inquiring about the fate of Bag End now that Bilbo had gone, or on an errand from the Sackville-Bagginses checking to see that Frodo was still alive and well in Bag End, should death ever come his way and they could finally claim it for themselves. No, Frodo was still very much alive and well. And his many friends could prove that to any passer-by without them having to make the effort to trudge up Bag Shot Row to search for Frodo themselves; but they still did, and Frodo would send them merrily on their way when they discovered him still living and breathing under the hill. At times he would even offer to share his pipe with them!

That air seemed oddly quiet, and he hoped that the serenity of that July morning would bring the reward of peace and quiet. Only the day before he had been visited by the old woman-hobbit herself; Lobelia Sackville- Baggins. Lobelia had wanted Bag End for herself and was very much angered by the fact that Bilbo had lived for so long. She resented Frodo for being Bilbo's choice of heir of the magnificent abode atop the hill. That morning she'd marched up Bagshot Row, stomping her feet on the dirt road, kicking up enough dirt and dust to cover her entire lace petticoat. Hands on her hips she stood square infront of Frodo who was standing on the threshold of Bag End smoking his afternoon pipe, and gazing over towards the horizon thoughtfully. "So lovely to see you today Lobelia!" He said, realising the woman-hobbit had stopped walking and was wanting to speak with him, supposedly. "You must've come a long way to visit me in Hobbiton! Why don't you come inside and have a cup of tea?" But Lobelia didn't accept his offer, instead she stared him up and down, as if the sight of him wasn't real. The grim, hard expression on her face somewhat startled Frodo and he could see she had no intentions of staying for tea. He wondered what on earth she was calling for. Without saying a word, Lobelia turned on her heels and marched back down Bag Shot Row, dust flying out from under her. Frodo could no longer see the old woman for the amount of dust, so he turned back to his evening sky and proceeded to puff on his pipe once more, a puzzled frown on his face. What a strange thing to have happened!

Frodo was just admiring the squealing hobbit-children on the tussocks below his garden when a whistling sound echoed up the hill. It was his faithful gardener, Samwise Gamgee. With a spade tossed over his shoulder and a handful of sack in hand, he walked through the gate to Bag End like it was nobody's business to walk through a gate of such high locale. Frodo watched his dear friend set to work on pulling the newly sprung weeds out of the garden. Yet his work was soon interrupted by the slight twitching of the young Gamgee's nose. He looked up to see Frodo smiling over at him, pipe hanging casually from his mouth. "G'morning to yer, Mr. Frodo," he said, tipping his sun hat respectfully. "And a lovely one it is too," Frodo replied. "I didn't see you at the Green Dragon last night Sam. I half expected you'd turn up." Sam stopped pulling out the weeds from the garden and stood up to address Frodo. "Pardon me Mr. Frodo but, my young sister Marigold fell sick yesterday eve and I had to take care of her." "I'm sorry about that Sam. Perhaps this evening then?" Sam blushed for a moment. "Why of course, Mr Frodo! Frodo cocked his head to one side inquisitively, not sure of why the young Hobbit appeared so moved by the invitation. He was soon interrupted by old Gaffer Gamgee trudging up the path pushing a wheelbarrow of sacks and whistling heartily. "G'morning to yer Mr. Frodo," the old man-hobbit said. "Good Morning to you Gaffer."

Sure enough that evening at the Green Dragon Frodo was reminded of why Sam had blushed so that morning in the garden. The beautiful Rosie Cotton was attending the bar that evening. Frodo slammed down several half-pints of beer on the table infront of the patrons at the table; Gaffer and Sam Gamgee, and Ted Sandyman. Sam jumped when Frodo set the mugs before him, for he had been staring at the lovely barmaid for some time, unawares of the goings on around him. Frodo glanced down at his friend and caught his eye. Sam blushed again. Frodo chuckled lively at him. Just then Meriadoc Brandybuck came up beside Frodo's chair and tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up to see the mischievous young hobbit standing over him, grinning at him. "Pardon me Frodo, there's a young lass asking for you at the bar." Frodo looked startled at his friend. What young lass would be asking after him? Too many rumours had poured out all over the shire and even perhaps the lands beyond that Frodo was as cracked as his old Uncle Bilbo. He'd been satisfied somewhat that this news would mean no young lass would ever dare approach him with any sort of proposition of interest in any day soon, which at first disappointed him a little, but he soon realised it meant he could then take his pick from any of the lovely hobbit-maidens of the Shire whenever he pleased, if they were willing to accept should he ever make a decision. He looked over at the bar. Sure enough, there was Sam's sister May Gamgee, chatting animatedly to Rosie Cotton. May Gamgee was a pretty young thing, if Frodo would dare say so himself, but being a descendent of his gardener, though not out of choice but by simple bloodline, he would never have considered her as his type. Sam had realised the situation after a wink and a shove from Merry. "Anything the matter, Mr. Frodo?" Sam said, grinning at his master. "What's this about your sister Sam?" "Oh you mean May, Mr. Frodo? She's been chattering to me for some time about you, asking me questions and the like. But I told her that you weren't looking for such a thing, if you get my meaning, Mr. Frodo. Pardon my presumption if you please." Frodo was quite taken aback by the news, and Ted Sandyman chuckled at the Hobbits stunned expression. May Gamgee was only several years younger than Frodo but had made quite a name for herself, for she was a very bright young lass and seemed to know things beyond her age and her lineage, quite an unusual trait for a Gamgee of the Shire, though he'd always been certain that there was a mysterious inkling of wisdom in the Gamgee heritage from his associations with them. "So what does a man of your esteem do with such a proposition, might I ask?" Ted Sandyman said. "Well, nothing. Just because she's asking after me doesn't mean anything. Infact, I'm going to go and see what she wants." And with that Frodo got up from the table, nearly knocking his half-pint to the ground and staggered over to the bar.

But Miss May Gamgee was gone.