[Author's Note: I have altered some of the bits in chapters one and two to better suit the story. "Rob Driz" has now been changed to Bill Ferny, and I think you'll find that if you see it in this context, a messily ended love affair with Bilbo might have sparked the distaste for the four hobbits (especially Frodo) as they left Bree. This would also rewrite Sam's bit of throwing the apple. Anyway, read on!]
The party was actually quite tame, for one of Bilbo's soirees, although they did catch one of the curious Proudfoot girls with one of the younger dwarves attending. This caused quite a scandal for some minutes, until another cake was brought out, then the hobbits' attention was strictly directed towards who got which cream rose off the corners. Frodo however was extremely upset. He had been watching some Rosie Cotton girl try to whore about his Sam all night; and from the looks of things, Sam wasn't exactly ignoring her. She'd flounce up to him, grab his hand and drag him out for another dance and a pint (and maybe a cookie if there was time), and poor Sam would get so flustered and blush, and by the end of the night, Mr. Frodo had more than drowned his sorrows: a pile of beer glasses nearly covering a whole banquet table started to pile up. It was at that moment that Sam sat down.
"Some party, eh, Lovely?" He grinned and helped himself to a pint that Frodo hadn't yet finished. The angry hoppit snatched it back and downed it. "Why, what's the matter? You look like you've just lost your best friend if you get my meaning. That's what it is if I'm right which, granted, I'm usually not, but I really don't see how it could be anything else. Has that Meriadoc been at your stash again? I told you he's a troublemaker. You really should learn to hide that foreign stuff more carefully, Lovely. I mean, what if old Bilbo got at it?" He shuddered as Bilbo himself walked past, tucked snuggly under Gandalf's arm in a special birthday embrace. Sam ducked behind the many mugs. He started to get up; that cake looked mighty good with all those colourful cream roses, and anyway, dancing with Rosie all night had worn him out. But Frodo suddenly grabbed him; so Sam plopped himself back down on the bench. There were tears in young Frodo's eyes.
"Why Sam? Why have you been ignoring me all night, going off with that Rosie girl? They're good for maybe two things; one's throwing kitchen parties. Do I even need to tell you the other?! Really Sam, what have I done? Was it the letters? They were a bit much. I kept telling myself, 'Frodo you idiot, if you keep on whoring yourself out to this Gamgee fellow, he'll get scared off, you know how his folks are.'" At this point Sam looked rather confused. Frodo burst out into tears and buried his face in Sam's shirt.
"Frodo, we can't do this now, people are staring!" Sam awkwardly patted Frodo's back and said something to a few passing Sackville-Bagginses about "a little too much off the barrel, if you hear me", as Frodo blubbered incomprehensively into Sam's dirt-stained shirt. "My but you look rather pretty all mussed up," Sam added with a smile. Frodo immediately sat up and tousled his curls around.
"Thank you," he said with a sly grin on his face. "I like it too."
A bright light shot up in the air, before exploding into a thousand specks of orange light. Sam was dazzled and actually jumped up, knocking his still-recovering Frodo to the ground.
"Look, Lovely! Fireworks!"
"Are Merry and Pippin going at it again?" Asked Frodo rubbing his head where it had hit the grass.
"No, I mean real fireworks!" Sam pointed up to the sky and clapped his hands like a child. Frodo got up and put his arm around the boy, laughing. Those Gamgees were so easily amused.
A silhouette became outlined against more bright lights. It was Bilbo, having drunk one too many shots and with a nice big pink bow on his head, presumably off one of the presents he had given. He was now trying to give a speech, somewhat inebriated.
"My mosht exshellent hoppitsh," he stammered. "I… am old fart! And ash shuch, I will not only give you a shpeech, but a lovely all-shinging, all-danshing rendithion of 'Túrin Turambar: The Musical'!" The audience groaned. It was going to be a long night.
Frodo and Sam left early, along with most of their friends for the tavern, just before midnight.
"The mug calls!" Exclaimed Frodo, dancing – and nearly falling flat on his face – in the road.
"Yes, yes," mumbled Pippin, who had to hold him up when about halfway there, Frodo decided he had no legs. "It's been yelling in your ear all night, by the looks of things."
Much fun was had in the tavern that night, and the two hoppits almost forgot about the time, as there was also a bachelor party for one of the Bolgers going on when they arrived. Merry and Pippin amused themselves as they usually did every Friday night: singing and table dancing, except now they had many dolled-up hoppitses to dance with. Frodo and Sam somehow managed to sneak away to a private little corner to celebrate dear Frodo's coming "of age", under the cover of a large platter of leftovers carted in from the party field. When Sam wasn't otherwise occupied, he was enjoying the sights, sounds and of course tastes of many tarts, pastries and cakes.
Finally, after uncountable hours, the barman announced (for the first time in many, many years) that he must close, as the sun was liable to rise at any moment. Then, when nobody responded, he grabbed his big broom – the one saved for special rejections – and proceeded to bat the remaining stupefied hoppits out of his tavern and hopefully back to their warm holes.
So, as the sun's light spread over Hobbiton, the four friends, groaning with severe headaches, stumbled back to their respective holes, beds and mugs of black coffee. Samwise and Frodo, being quite certain that the wizard would not have stayed this late (or early), swaggered up the path to Bag End and Frodo's comfy feather bed.
Sam, remembering the bit of lunch he had left in the bushes that morning, pulled out the basket that sat there and began eating his first breakfast as the two young hobbits walked through the round door into the hall. The smell of pipeweed wafted down the hall, and Frodo rolled his eyes at the thought that Gandalf was indeed still there. Sam smelt it too and for once, came up with a rather smart idea:
"You'd best let old Bilbo know you're back, Mr. Frodo, else you're likely to have sore eyes when you turn that corner!"
Frodo nodded in agreement and covered his eyes to prevent seeing anything unpleasant. In an obvious tone he called out to his dear uncle.
"Bilbo? It's me, Frodo: your nephew! I'm home, with Sam Gamgee, who's joined us for a bit of breakfast! We're coming into the living room now… Here we come, nice and slow…"
Luckily, to their, well, luck, they saw only Gandalf when they entered the room. He sat in front of the fireplace, eyebrows bristling and slightly singed from the fire. As the two hoppits stepped closer, the old wizard barely even acknowledged their presence.
"Maybe he's asleep, Lovely." Sam offered. "You know how these old ones get: hopping about on one foot one minute, and the next thing you know out like a candle!"
With that remark, Gandalf the Grey snapped out of his trance and, though quite amused by the fire, turned to face the hoppit who had just spoken.
"You forget, Samwise Gamgee, that a wizard may be many things; among them old, but never hopping." The two hobbits smiled at each other, albeit quite sheepishly.
"And," he suddenly added with a wink, "they always know precisely when you enter the room, not to mention your intentions."
The hoppits blushed as Gandalf rose from his seat and crossed the room to Bilbo's desk. It stood open with many maps, letters, notes and hand-drawn pictures strewn about it. He poured through it for a few moments before extracting a large sealed envelope, with 'Frodo' written in large fancy script on the front.
"Your uncle, dear Frodo, is no longer here. He has up and decided that a life with the Elves is just what he needs, away from the nosy neighbours and their eyes peering through the windows at all hours." He paused, as if remembering some incident of this happening, but continued quickly. "Bilbo will be in Rivendell, retired from a lifetime of adventure and content with Master Elrond in a few weeks. He has given me great instruction as to what goes to whom, and it appears you are to get Bag End and its pantries as well as his a considerable fortune and reputation, along with whatever is sitting underneath this house."
Gandalf, having finished his spiel, broke the seal off the envelope and pulled out several smaller ones, all with names, contents and directions on the front. Some of them read:
For: Hamfast GamgeePayback for disrupting my thirtieth birthday as a child.
Not to be opened until next birthday celebration.
For: The Sackville-Bagginses
Pictures of me at Bag End and surrounding area.
To be delivered with a smirk of grim satisfaction.
As Frodo looked over each envelope carefully, the wizard was reaching the bottom of the larger one. Puzzled, he pulled out what seemed to be a rather heavy package, read the script on the front and quickly gave it to the young hoppit.
"'20 karat gold ring,'" Frodo read off. "'For my nephew, to be kept especially well hidden and not used, as is extremely precious and difficult to clean.' Odd. I knew Bilbo had his partying days, but I never suspected he'd kept anything from them…"
He turned the envelope over in his hands, which seemed oddly heavy. The heavy smell of Bilbo's favourite rose and lavender bath oil seeped through its folds, and Frodo was ready to open it and have a look, when Gandalf stepped in front of him, hand outstretched.
"He always was fond of that smell," he said, smiling. "It was quite special to him. It's best we put it away for now. Keep it secret, Frodo; keep it safe!" He haphazardly threw the scented envelope into the nearest trunk along with some rolled up maps and books, before turning to Sam.
"Now, what's all this about a bit of breakfast?"