Author's Note: This story takes place a year before the BIG BIRTHDAY. I will be using a mixture of the book and movie verse. If you're familiar with both you'll see what I mean as you read on.
Chapter Two: Disturbing News
Bilbo and Frodo's birthday finally arrived, and with it came a flurry of activity that Frodo hoped would all be done in time for the party. It was going to be a small affair (small in the terms of a normal hobbit feast.) Fifty of Bilbo's closest friends and relatives had been invited, and several more were expected to attend, invitation or not. This was all customary, for hobbits enjoyed a good party, even if it was to honour one of the strange Bagginses.
Frodo's uncle had sent him out of the house with a list for last minute items, and now Bilbo was baking a cake, while Samwise decorated the pavilion outside. When Frodo came home, he was fairly pleased at how much effort his uncle and friend had put into making this birthday special.
He was especially astounded at the decorations. There were streamers in every possible colour, numerous lanterns hung to make certain the celebration continued into the wee hours of the morning, and a tent that looked new. Some of the streamers were hung a bit lopsidedly, but Frodo knew that Sam had really put his heart and soul into the project.
Frodo entered Bag End, and the heavenly aroma of fresh vegetables, mushrooms, meat, and cake permeated the entire house. There were pies yet to come from some of the women-folk who weren't against Bilbo and Frodo. Some of the women-folk were young maidens, hoping to win Frodo for their own with their enticing food. Even this early, Frodo knew it would be a satisfying feast.
The birthday party was complete, except for two reasons. One namely, he still hadn't found the perfect gift for Samwise. A hobbit always gave presents, not received them, on his special day. Secondly, he hadn't thought of any singular ways to make this party the most unforgettable.
"Childish of me, but it would have made the perfect Birthday," he murmured despondently to himself as he entered his room to get the present he'd created for Bilbo.
He had just snatched the wrapped gift when his uncle called to him, "Frodo my lad, I have a surprise for you!"
Frodo hesitated for a moment, for he knew he should appear cheerful so he did not upset his uncle. After composing himself he trudged into the parlour, gripping his small parcel tightly.
Bilbo confronted him with a nicely wrapped package. Sam was standing next to the elderly hobbit, grinning broadly.
"What is it, Bilbo?" inquired Frodo curiously, as he accepted the present.
"You'll see soon enough." He stared expectantly at his nephew and said, "Well, don't just gape at it; open it!"
"Oh!" Frodo automatically ripped off the wrapping paper, tore open the box, and gazed at the contents. Inside was a vest, vibrant and intricately sewn. The colours were neutral tones of slate blue and grey. A pattern of green leaves and vines weaved through the vest. The buttons were glistening as if made from some rare gems, and silver chains attached them to the button holes. "Uncle, it's the most exquisite piece of clothing I've ever seen! Is it elvish?"
"I think I should keep the origins of the vest a secret." Bilbo winked slyly, taking pleasure in the rapturous expression on Frodo's face.
"May I put it on now?"
"Of course, dear lad, that's what it's for!" Bilbo laughed. He helped his nephew slip into the attire and button it.
Frodo hugged him and began to thank him when Bilbo added, "Do I get my present now?"
Frodo stepped out of his uncle's embrace, bemused. "What-oh yes, your gift. I forgot."
"That's evident, Mr. Frodo," remarked Sam Gamgee.
Frodo realised that during the commotion of the last several minutes, he had mislaid the parcel. After finding the gift balanced precariously on the arm of a chair, he handed it very solemnly to his uncle.
The present was a piece of parchment, framed in glossy oak wood. On the paper was a poem, neatly written. Bilbo started reading the poem but the tears welled in his eyes and he had to give it back to Frodo.
Frodo recited the verse in his clear voice:
Some days desperation consumed me,
Because I was so all alone.
Out of duty my family roomed me,
But Brandy Hall was not my home.
I wish I could describe the pure joy,
I felt when I first saw Bag End.
No more would I be a lonely boy.
Now I had an uncle and friend.
And so it brings me pleasure to say,
I'm glad that I belong to you.
May your Eleventieth Birthday,
Be filled with joy and warmth, too.
Bilbo smiled tearily, Sam clapped wholeheartedly, and Frodo bowed ceremoniously.
"I was going to write it in Elvish, but I didn't have enough time," Frodo apologised.
"I'm glad you didn't, or I wouldn't be able to understand it," cried Sam.
"No matter what language it's written in, I promise I will hang it on a wall in my study," Bilbo said. "Now, I must see to the final food preparations." He hobbled into the kitchen, humming a breezy tune.
Sam and Frodo stared at each other for lack of words. After moments of an interminable silence, Samwise spoke. "The vest is very fine, Mr. Frodo, but isn't it also-um," he frantically grappled for the right word, "a bit garish?"
Frodo scrutinised the apparel as best as he could before replying, "I admit the leaves and vines are quite ostentatious, but if I can't help liking it. It's as if some magic is clouding my vision, making this the most lovely gift I've ever received."
Sam made one more comment on the vest before Frodo quitted the room. "If it is truly made my elves, then it's no wonder you feel it's magical."
Frodo entered the kitchen and noticed that Bilbo was looking grave. "What's the matter, Bilbo?"
Bilbo placed a hand on Frodo's shoulder, "My lad, a thought has occurred to me, a thought that is very important. Gandalf was supposed to arrive yesterday. I thought there might have been a delay, so I gave him most of today to come. If you recall, Gandalf said nothing but the worst would prevent him from attending our party. Therefore I must assume the worst, and as I vowed, I'm going out to find him."
Frodo felt ill and tried to comprehend this information, but he could not, would not believe it. He spoke slowly, "You don't know where he is! If you leave now you can't possibly be back in time for the party!"
"I'm not intending to be back in time for the party. Our gathering must be postponed until I can find Gandalf, make sure he is safe, and return home." He raised a hand to silence his protesting nephew. "Would you rather have this party, assume nothing is wrong with Gandalf and then discover he was critically ill or injured. Or would you rather we postponed the party so I can find our friend and save him before he dies?"
"He's a wizard; why doesn't he just heal himself?" muttered Frodo.
"Frodo," Bilbo began warningly, "if he's extremely ill he might not have the strength to do anything. I am going, and that is final. He's too dear a friend to give up just because of a silly party."
"It isn't silly; it's your eleventieth birthday!" Frodo objected. In his heart, he knew Bilbo's leaving was the only thing to do, but surely not on their birthday!
Bilbo was down in the cellar by now, selecting a few drinks for "medicinal purposes." He returned with a bottle labelled, "grape juice."
Frodo cleared his throat and said tentatively, "If Gandalf is really injured, wouldn't he want something stronger to drink?"
Bilbo seemed in a rather jolly mood considering the sombre predicament the two hobbits were in. Frodo soon found the reason for his uncle's joviality was his question. "This is not mere grape juice-no, not indeed! It's a bit stronger; in fact, half a glass will send your head spinning and your eyes watering! I didn't know what to call it, so I just labelled it 'grape juice.' If you want anything to go with your supper tonight, be sure to have a bit of ale or brandy. And if you do have some ale, remember to save some for the party I do have several bottles of 'grape juice' left, but I don't want you even sampling it!"
Bilbo's warning seemed to intensify Frodo's desire to taste the strong brew, but he managed to say, "I probably will just lock up the cellar while you're gone."
After he had securely wrapped the bottle of liquor in a piece of cloth, Bilbo crammed a sack with several days worth of provisions. Then he placed the "grape juice" in the sack and tied it shut. He grabbed a walking stick, swung the bag over his shoulder, and walked out the door.
"As I travel, I'll pass the word along that the party has been postponed!" Bilbo called.
"As you say!" Frodo waved to Bilbo until his lone figure melted into the green hills, which were bright with the late morning sun. Then he shut the door very soundly, his melancholy thoughts returning with a vengeance. "Now there's no party, no Bilbo, and no Gandalf! The only thing that could make this situation worst would be if Lobelia Sacksville-Baggins decided to pay me a 'friendly' call to wish me a Happy Birthday." Frodo half-expected to Lobelia to miraculously appear in the parlour, her shrill voice demanding to know why Bag End was not bequeathed to her and her husband Otho.
He was relieved when all he heard was the sound of Sam singing in his garden again. However, Frodo's apprehension returned when Samwise's voice was joined by two more, each talking animatedly of he knew not what. Frodo ventured into the garden to see who his visitors' were.
"I don't care if you want to see Mr. Frodo," Sam was saying. "He's feelin poorly; seems Bilbo was called away urgently and the party's been postponed . . ."
"Sam, you were listening to our private conversation!" Frodo exclaimed in astonishment. He had never suspected Samwise Gamgee of being the type of hobbit who eavesdropped whenever his curiosity provoked him.
Sam flushed at having been caught. "I was just tellin Mr. Brandybuck and Mr. Took why they shouldn't visit you right now."
Frodo noticed his two cousins for the first time. They stood side by side, and if someone didn't know them that well, he might think they were twins. The only difference in their stature at the moment was that Meriadoc Brandybuck had his arms cross over his yellow vest. His face was all seriousness, except for the impish gleam that was perpetually in his eyes. His dark eyebrows were knitted together in thought. "So no party today, eh?" he spoke with a heavy accent.
Despite having just been twice informed that the party had been postponed, Peregrin Took was grinning broadly. He bounded over to Frodo, tripping over several late summer flowers, a most unforgivable offence in Master Gamgee's eyes. "No matter! We can still have a bit of fun, especially now that old Bilbo has gone and left us!" Pippin's brogue was lilting, and he spoke quickly.
"No, I'm not having fun while Bilbo's away," Frodo answered firmly. "I know what mischief you two will cause, and all the blame shall be placed on me because I am the master of Bag End in Bilbo's absence."
"What sort of trouble could we possibly cause?" Pippin asked innocently.
"Well, maybe you two will drink all the ale and beer in the cellar," suggested Sam.
"You have beer and ale?" Merry managed to step on several undamaged flowerbeds.
"Say now, watch where you put your big feet!" cried Sam. He rushed over to his plants, righting them as best as he could.
"No, you're not getting anything to drink!" Frodo announced, his voice filled with conviction. "We're saving it for the party."
"Whenever that will occur!" scoffed Merry.
Frodo's temper rose, and he sputtered, "We'll have that party soon-sooner than you think!"
"That's the way to talk!" Merry placed a friendly arm around his cousin Frodo's shoulder. "Of course you'll have that party, maybe even this very evening!"
"You mean Bilbo will be home tonight in time?" Pip asked naively. He bounced up and down, trampling the flowers Sam had righted.
Samwise made a noise that was a mixture of frustration and despair. The hobbit seemed very close to tears.
Suspicion grew in Frodo as he listened to his cousin's speech. "What foul scheme are you devising, Meriadoc?"
"Tisn't foul; what's wrong in celebrating tonight and whenever Bilbo returns?" Merry had removed his arm from Frodo's shoulder and was now making grand gesticulations. "We'll only invite a few close friends to the gathering, and will make them swear not to mention the party if you're so afraid Bilbo might object to my idea."
"Making a hobbit keep a secret is like telling a rooster he can't crow," Frodo protested.
"Have faith in us hobbits!" cried Pip. "If I can keep a secret than so can our friends."
"Good, the whole shire will know of the event in an hour," muttered Sam.
Ignoring Sam and Pip, Merry continued, "You can't waste all this food, and who knows how long it will take for Bilbo to come back? It could be days-weeks! If you wait, all this delicious food will spoil!"
For the first time, Sam looked vaguely interested. "He has a point there, Mr. Frodo."
Frodo scanned the eager faces of his friends and family. He sighed and asked, "How many guests were you thinking of?"
"Oh, just two close friends for each of us," Merry rejoined.
"So with the four of us that would make a total of-" Peregrine paused to puzzle it out-"twelve hobbits!"
A dozen hobbits could quickly eat a third of the birthday feast, but didn't he want to finish the food before Bilbo returned? Of course, Bilbo could return the very next day, and then there would be no time to prepare more food for the real party. Frodo wasn't certain what he should do. Resignedly, he came to a decision..
When Frodo opened his mouth to speak, Merry was just finishing his devious plans. "We will leave the outside pavilion alone. It would arouse too much suspicion among the folks not invited to this small party if they saw any sort of activity that even remotely resembled a celebration."
"All my decorations will be for nothing?" Sam hung his head; plucked a drooping flower; and smelled the sweet fragrance, hoping the scent would pacify him.
"We'll still use the tent when Bilbo comes home!" snapped Merry. "Why don't you lads ever listen to me?"
"Maybe it's because you're always talking," Pippin replied. "It can get tiresome."
Before a fight could ensue, Frodo declared, "I have decided that you can go ahead with you scheme, Merry, but in order for it to work, we all have to do our part. However, before anything gets done, I would like to have a cup of tea. If you would follow me inside gentlemen."
The two cousins eagerly scampered after Frodo. They were almost inside when Frodo whirled around to address his gardener. "Are you coming, Sam?"
"I think I'll try to fix these poor flowers," answered Samwise. "They've been stepped on so many times, I don't know what good my hands will do. Probably cause more harm than good, but I'm determined to try to mend this garden if at all possible. I'll come in on my own accord when I'm done."
Frodo smiled at the resolve of his gardener before entering Bag End.
Sam was whistling forlornly as he surveyed the trampled flowers. Slowly, he got to his knees and began righting a bent aster. He was moving on to the next flower when he spotted a pair of feet he didn't recognise, small and relatively clean as far as a hobbit is concerned. Looking up, whom did he discover but the maiden Rose Cotton!
To Be Continued . . .
Chapter Two: Disturbing News
Bilbo and Frodo's birthday finally arrived, and with it came a flurry of activity that Frodo hoped would all be done in time for the party. It was going to be a small affair (small in the terms of a normal hobbit feast.) Fifty of Bilbo's closest friends and relatives had been invited, and several more were expected to attend, invitation or not. This was all customary, for hobbits enjoyed a good party, even if it was to honour one of the strange Bagginses.
Frodo's uncle had sent him out of the house with a list for last minute items, and now Bilbo was baking a cake, while Samwise decorated the pavilion outside. When Frodo came home, he was fairly pleased at how much effort his uncle and friend had put into making this birthday special.
He was especially astounded at the decorations. There were streamers in every possible colour, numerous lanterns hung to make certain the celebration continued into the wee hours of the morning, and a tent that looked new. Some of the streamers were hung a bit lopsidedly, but Frodo knew that Sam had really put his heart and soul into the project.
Frodo entered Bag End, and the heavenly aroma of fresh vegetables, mushrooms, meat, and cake permeated the entire house. There were pies yet to come from some of the women-folk who weren't against Bilbo and Frodo. Some of the women-folk were young maidens, hoping to win Frodo for their own with their enticing food. Even this early, Frodo knew it would be a satisfying feast.
The birthday party was complete, except for two reasons. One namely, he still hadn't found the perfect gift for Samwise. A hobbit always gave presents, not received them, on his special day. Secondly, he hadn't thought of any singular ways to make this party the most unforgettable.
"Childish of me, but it would have made the perfect Birthday," he murmured despondently to himself as he entered his room to get the present he'd created for Bilbo.
He had just snatched the wrapped gift when his uncle called to him, "Frodo my lad, I have a surprise for you!"
Frodo hesitated for a moment, for he knew he should appear cheerful so he did not upset his uncle. After composing himself he trudged into the parlour, gripping his small parcel tightly.
Bilbo confronted him with a nicely wrapped package. Sam was standing next to the elderly hobbit, grinning broadly.
"What is it, Bilbo?" inquired Frodo curiously, as he accepted the present.
"You'll see soon enough." He stared expectantly at his nephew and said, "Well, don't just gape at it; open it!"
"Oh!" Frodo automatically ripped off the wrapping paper, tore open the box, and gazed at the contents. Inside was a vest, vibrant and intricately sewn. The colours were neutral tones of slate blue and grey. A pattern of green leaves and vines weaved through the vest. The buttons were glistening as if made from some rare gems, and silver chains attached them to the button holes. "Uncle, it's the most exquisite piece of clothing I've ever seen! Is it elvish?"
"I think I should keep the origins of the vest a secret." Bilbo winked slyly, taking pleasure in the rapturous expression on Frodo's face.
"May I put it on now?"
"Of course, dear lad, that's what it's for!" Bilbo laughed. He helped his nephew slip into the attire and button it.
Frodo hugged him and began to thank him when Bilbo added, "Do I get my present now?"
Frodo stepped out of his uncle's embrace, bemused. "What-oh yes, your gift. I forgot."
"That's evident, Mr. Frodo," remarked Sam Gamgee.
Frodo realised that during the commotion of the last several minutes, he had mislaid the parcel. After finding the gift balanced precariously on the arm of a chair, he handed it very solemnly to his uncle.
The present was a piece of parchment, framed in glossy oak wood. On the paper was a poem, neatly written. Bilbo started reading the poem but the tears welled in his eyes and he had to give it back to Frodo.
Frodo recited the verse in his clear voice:
Some days desperation consumed me,
Because I was so all alone.
Out of duty my family roomed me,
But Brandy Hall was not my home.
I wish I could describe the pure joy,
I felt when I first saw Bag End.
No more would I be a lonely boy.
Now I had an uncle and friend.
And so it brings me pleasure to say,
I'm glad that I belong to you.
May your Eleventieth Birthday,
Be filled with joy and warmth, too.
Bilbo smiled tearily, Sam clapped wholeheartedly, and Frodo bowed ceremoniously.
"I was going to write it in Elvish, but I didn't have enough time," Frodo apologised.
"I'm glad you didn't, or I wouldn't be able to understand it," cried Sam.
"No matter what language it's written in, I promise I will hang it on a wall in my study," Bilbo said. "Now, I must see to the final food preparations." He hobbled into the kitchen, humming a breezy tune.
Sam and Frodo stared at each other for lack of words. After moments of an interminable silence, Samwise spoke. "The vest is very fine, Mr. Frodo, but isn't it also-um," he frantically grappled for the right word, "a bit garish?"
Frodo scrutinised the apparel as best as he could before replying, "I admit the leaves and vines are quite ostentatious, but if I can't help liking it. It's as if some magic is clouding my vision, making this the most lovely gift I've ever received."
Sam made one more comment on the vest before Frodo quitted the room. "If it is truly made my elves, then it's no wonder you feel it's magical."
Frodo entered the kitchen and noticed that Bilbo was looking grave. "What's the matter, Bilbo?"
Bilbo placed a hand on Frodo's shoulder, "My lad, a thought has occurred to me, a thought that is very important. Gandalf was supposed to arrive yesterday. I thought there might have been a delay, so I gave him most of today to come. If you recall, Gandalf said nothing but the worst would prevent him from attending our party. Therefore I must assume the worst, and as I vowed, I'm going out to find him."
Frodo felt ill and tried to comprehend this information, but he could not, would not believe it. He spoke slowly, "You don't know where he is! If you leave now you can't possibly be back in time for the party!"
"I'm not intending to be back in time for the party. Our gathering must be postponed until I can find Gandalf, make sure he is safe, and return home." He raised a hand to silence his protesting nephew. "Would you rather have this party, assume nothing is wrong with Gandalf and then discover he was critically ill or injured. Or would you rather we postponed the party so I can find our friend and save him before he dies?"
"He's a wizard; why doesn't he just heal himself?" muttered Frodo.
"Frodo," Bilbo began warningly, "if he's extremely ill he might not have the strength to do anything. I am going, and that is final. He's too dear a friend to give up just because of a silly party."
"It isn't silly; it's your eleventieth birthday!" Frodo objected. In his heart, he knew Bilbo's leaving was the only thing to do, but surely not on their birthday!
Bilbo was down in the cellar by now, selecting a few drinks for "medicinal purposes." He returned with a bottle labelled, "grape juice."
Frodo cleared his throat and said tentatively, "If Gandalf is really injured, wouldn't he want something stronger to drink?"
Bilbo seemed in a rather jolly mood considering the sombre predicament the two hobbits were in. Frodo soon found the reason for his uncle's joviality was his question. "This is not mere grape juice-no, not indeed! It's a bit stronger; in fact, half a glass will send your head spinning and your eyes watering! I didn't know what to call it, so I just labelled it 'grape juice.' If you want anything to go with your supper tonight, be sure to have a bit of ale or brandy. And if you do have some ale, remember to save some for the party I do have several bottles of 'grape juice' left, but I don't want you even sampling it!"
Bilbo's warning seemed to intensify Frodo's desire to taste the strong brew, but he managed to say, "I probably will just lock up the cellar while you're gone."
After he had securely wrapped the bottle of liquor in a piece of cloth, Bilbo crammed a sack with several days worth of provisions. Then he placed the "grape juice" in the sack and tied it shut. He grabbed a walking stick, swung the bag over his shoulder, and walked out the door.
"As I travel, I'll pass the word along that the party has been postponed!" Bilbo called.
"As you say!" Frodo waved to Bilbo until his lone figure melted into the green hills, which were bright with the late morning sun. Then he shut the door very soundly, his melancholy thoughts returning with a vengeance. "Now there's no party, no Bilbo, and no Gandalf! The only thing that could make this situation worst would be if Lobelia Sacksville-Baggins decided to pay me a 'friendly' call to wish me a Happy Birthday." Frodo half-expected to Lobelia to miraculously appear in the parlour, her shrill voice demanding to know why Bag End was not bequeathed to her and her husband Otho.
He was relieved when all he heard was the sound of Sam singing in his garden again. However, Frodo's apprehension returned when Samwise's voice was joined by two more, each talking animatedly of he knew not what. Frodo ventured into the garden to see who his visitors' were.
"I don't care if you want to see Mr. Frodo," Sam was saying. "He's feelin poorly; seems Bilbo was called away urgently and the party's been postponed . . ."
"Sam, you were listening to our private conversation!" Frodo exclaimed in astonishment. He had never suspected Samwise Gamgee of being the type of hobbit who eavesdropped whenever his curiosity provoked him.
Sam flushed at having been caught. "I was just tellin Mr. Brandybuck and Mr. Took why they shouldn't visit you right now."
Frodo noticed his two cousins for the first time. They stood side by side, and if someone didn't know them that well, he might think they were twins. The only difference in their stature at the moment was that Meriadoc Brandybuck had his arms cross over his yellow vest. His face was all seriousness, except for the impish gleam that was perpetually in his eyes. His dark eyebrows were knitted together in thought. "So no party today, eh?" he spoke with a heavy accent.
Despite having just been twice informed that the party had been postponed, Peregrin Took was grinning broadly. He bounded over to Frodo, tripping over several late summer flowers, a most unforgivable offence in Master Gamgee's eyes. "No matter! We can still have a bit of fun, especially now that old Bilbo has gone and left us!" Pippin's brogue was lilting, and he spoke quickly.
"No, I'm not having fun while Bilbo's away," Frodo answered firmly. "I know what mischief you two will cause, and all the blame shall be placed on me because I am the master of Bag End in Bilbo's absence."
"What sort of trouble could we possibly cause?" Pippin asked innocently.
"Well, maybe you two will drink all the ale and beer in the cellar," suggested Sam.
"You have beer and ale?" Merry managed to step on several undamaged flowerbeds.
"Say now, watch where you put your big feet!" cried Sam. He rushed over to his plants, righting them as best as he could.
"No, you're not getting anything to drink!" Frodo announced, his voice filled with conviction. "We're saving it for the party."
"Whenever that will occur!" scoffed Merry.
Frodo's temper rose, and he sputtered, "We'll have that party soon-sooner than you think!"
"That's the way to talk!" Merry placed a friendly arm around his cousin Frodo's shoulder. "Of course you'll have that party, maybe even this very evening!"
"You mean Bilbo will be home tonight in time?" Pip asked naively. He bounced up and down, trampling the flowers Sam had righted.
Samwise made a noise that was a mixture of frustration and despair. The hobbit seemed very close to tears.
Suspicion grew in Frodo as he listened to his cousin's speech. "What foul scheme are you devising, Meriadoc?"
"Tisn't foul; what's wrong in celebrating tonight and whenever Bilbo returns?" Merry had removed his arm from Frodo's shoulder and was now making grand gesticulations. "We'll only invite a few close friends to the gathering, and will make them swear not to mention the party if you're so afraid Bilbo might object to my idea."
"Making a hobbit keep a secret is like telling a rooster he can't crow," Frodo protested.
"Have faith in us hobbits!" cried Pip. "If I can keep a secret than so can our friends."
"Good, the whole shire will know of the event in an hour," muttered Sam.
Ignoring Sam and Pip, Merry continued, "You can't waste all this food, and who knows how long it will take for Bilbo to come back? It could be days-weeks! If you wait, all this delicious food will spoil!"
For the first time, Sam looked vaguely interested. "He has a point there, Mr. Frodo."
Frodo scanned the eager faces of his friends and family. He sighed and asked, "How many guests were you thinking of?"
"Oh, just two close friends for each of us," Merry rejoined.
"So with the four of us that would make a total of-" Peregrine paused to puzzle it out-"twelve hobbits!"
A dozen hobbits could quickly eat a third of the birthday feast, but didn't he want to finish the food before Bilbo returned? Of course, Bilbo could return the very next day, and then there would be no time to prepare more food for the real party. Frodo wasn't certain what he should do. Resignedly, he came to a decision..
When Frodo opened his mouth to speak, Merry was just finishing his devious plans. "We will leave the outside pavilion alone. It would arouse too much suspicion among the folks not invited to this small party if they saw any sort of activity that even remotely resembled a celebration."
"All my decorations will be for nothing?" Sam hung his head; plucked a drooping flower; and smelled the sweet fragrance, hoping the scent would pacify him.
"We'll still use the tent when Bilbo comes home!" snapped Merry. "Why don't you lads ever listen to me?"
"Maybe it's because you're always talking," Pippin replied. "It can get tiresome."
Before a fight could ensue, Frodo declared, "I have decided that you can go ahead with you scheme, Merry, but in order for it to work, we all have to do our part. However, before anything gets done, I would like to have a cup of tea. If you would follow me inside gentlemen."
The two cousins eagerly scampered after Frodo. They were almost inside when Frodo whirled around to address his gardener. "Are you coming, Sam?"
"I think I'll try to fix these poor flowers," answered Samwise. "They've been stepped on so many times, I don't know what good my hands will do. Probably cause more harm than good, but I'm determined to try to mend this garden if at all possible. I'll come in on my own accord when I'm done."
Frodo smiled at the resolve of his gardener before entering Bag End.
Sam was whistling forlornly as he surveyed the trampled flowers. Slowly, he got to his knees and began righting a bent aster. He was moving on to the next flower when he spotted a pair of feet he didn't recognise, small and relatively clean as far as a hobbit is concerned. Looking up, whom did he discover but the maiden Rose Cotton!
To Be Continued . . .