Disclaimer: I do not own the magnificent creations of J.R.R. Tolkien and get no profit from my story other than the pleasure I get from writing about his world.
"'You had better come and live here, Frodo my lad,' said Bilbo one day; 'and then we can celebrate our birthday-parties comfortably together.' At that time Frodo Baggins was still in his tweens, as the hobbits called the irresponsible twenties between childhood and coming of age at thirty- three." –Chapter One, "A Long Expected Party"
It was nearing the midnight hour, and still Frodo Baggins could not sleep. He rolled over in his bed, fighting with the sheets to find a comfortable position. It had been this way for most of the night, with him tossing and turning and only getting more frustrated and more exhausted.
He sighed. It had been this way most nights since he had come to Bag End. Not that he didn't love Bag End, and not that he didn't love his cousin Bilbo either, but there was just something in him that refused to get used to a bed other than his own, his bed in Buckland, far from Hobbiton and seemingly calling to him every night, even though it must have, by now, been occupied by another hobbit.
He missed Buckland. He missed his cousins and Brandy Hall and even his grandfather, old Master Gorbadoc. More than all of them combined though he missed-
No. He wouldn't think of them tonight. Not when he was so tired and worn out. He'd only end up weeping again for his parents if he thought of how he missed them.
Frodo finally curled up on his side and laid perfectly still, listening to his own breathing and taking in the sight of his new bedroom.
I have Bilbo, who is always rather cheerful and makes a wonderful breakfast. I have my cousins, and I have a home. I have a lovely bed to sleep in and I should be using it for that very function, he thought to himself. Comfort for him, as it did for many a hobbit, came by reassuring himself of the plain facts, the good and simple possessions of his life that balanced out the unpleasant things he had lost or gone through. And he did choose to come here. He had wanted to come here.
Even so, the reasons behind both were becoming increasingly hard to remember and he couldn't help but think of the silly tween-ish fears he had running through his mind. Bilbo had gone easy on him at the start, keeping the many inquisitive visitors from bothering Frodo too much. Frodo had accompanied him to the market a few days ago, taking in the sights and shying away from his new neighbors while still trying to be polite. Hobbiton and Buckland both had the same familiar hobbit-holes, men, women, children, a market and fields of vegetables, but the mood and people were different as night and day. Brandy Hall had been full of adventure, either through the tales of old or the little scrapes his cousins were always getting into. It was louder and rowdier, a trait Frodo wasn't sure he liked but missed all the same. Hobbiton was a land of rooted hobbits who wanted to keep it that way, another thing he wasn't sure he liked or disliked yet. There had been whispers and rumors of course, regarding his parents, regarding their death, regarding Brandy Hall, Bilbo taking him in. They ranged from the vague to the ridiculous. Frodo tried not to listen. He felt afraid of these quiet hobbits, though the idea was silly. The most threatening thing around these parts was maybe a farmer or two should you break into their crop.
The land was much prettier than Buckland though, he had to admit. There was little time in Buckland to admire the countryside when you had so many other things to see, hear and do.
He felt his eyelids quivering and yawned.
Maybe he'd go for a walk in the morning, by himself for a while. See Hobbiton and maybe even talk to some of them. It couldn't hurt, he reasoned. Bilbo's gardener Sam Gamgee was friendly enough. He had greeted Frodo the very first day with a bright "Good morning, Mr. Frodo!" He'd never really been a 'Mr. Frodo' before, and he smiled sleepily to himself.
Maybe Hobbiton wouldn't be so bad. Especially after a good night's rest.
"Frodo, my lad, I thought you would miss breakfast!" At first Frodo couldn't figure out why he was having a dream about Bilbo waking him up. Waking up seemed a rather pointless and ironic thing to dream of.
Once the aroma of eggs and bacon hit his nose, he realized he really was awake. Frodo sat up, rubbing his neck and watching his cousin Bilbo walk about the bedroom, tossing items about and opening the shutters on the windows.
"It's a fine day, a fine day." He murmured, casting a kind smile over his shoulder at Frodo. "It might be a good day to do some working. Or walking, whichever grabs you first."
Somehow, Bilbo could always tell where the minds of people were headed. It was one of the things Frodo loved about his cousin. Whenever he visited in Buckland, Bilbo always knew, even before Paladin and Saradoc, even before old Gorbadoc, if any of the young hobbits had gotten themselves into trouble. Usually it was Merry and Pippin, but on a few occasions it had been others, once even Frodo himself. He'd look at them with that gleam in his eyes and they all knew it was no use trying to slip past cousin Bilbo.
"That sounds a wonderful idea, Bilbo. After I've had some of your excellent cooking, that is." Frodo forced his numb limbs, still comfortable in their sleep, to push himself out of bed. He followed Bilbo to the kitchen, stretching and yawning.
"What do you intend to do today, Bilbo?" Frodo asked his cousin as he sat down at the table. Bilbo poured the tea, setting the plate of food in front of Frodo with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"I fully intend to sit in my study for the duration doing absolutely nothing productive. That is, not productive to anyone but you and myself, perhaps." Frodo smiled into his cup of tea.
Bilbo was a veritable font of knowledge, a rare find in the Shire. Oh, there were plenty who knew how to tell a tale of the old Took roaring drunk one night, or how their crops were ruined by an unexpected frost. Bilbo, however, could tell you tales of dragons. Tales of knights and their lady loves, lost treasure and the adventures to recover it, legends of murder, revenge, and redemption. There's another reason to have come to Bag End, Frodo thought to himself: His cousin's extensive library and renowned abilities for telling tales. Although Frodo himself rather suspected half his cousin's own adventures had been altered or amended to shed the best light on himself, he never tired of hearing them.
"And decided upon a walk, have you?" Bilbo said between ravenous bites of his breakfast.
"Yes, I think it high time I stop hiding around here or skittering about in the marketplace. Have you any suggestions as to which direction I should go?" Bilbo winked at him.
"Ah, now Frodo you know what I always say: you step into the road, and if you don't keep your feet-"
"-there is no knowing where you might be swept off to." Frodo finished for him, laughing. Bilbo smirked ruefully.
"I see my sayings have become all too common. Now if only they'd become adages for half the folk round here." He chuckled into his eggs.
"I am glad I've come to live with you, Bilbo." Frodo said, pausing from his meal to look at his cousin. He felt like reminding Bilbo- not to mention himself- of the fact. Bilbo smiled.
"I know lad. And I'm glad I've asked you." There was a moment of silence, but silence with Bilbo was never uncomfortable. Finally Frodo rose from the table, putting his plate near the other piles of dishes.
"I think I'll get an early start, but I think I'll be back for elevenses."
"Enjoy Hobbiton, Frodo. It's got a charm all its own, despite all the trappings and tales of other lands." Bilbo's face was wistful for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. Frodo smiled and left his cousin with that company, eager to go. He stepped out the door of Bag End, feeling the sun upon his face. He smiled and started down the road.