Aerlinnuial: Thank you for reading and adding the story to your favorites list. Glad to hear it's canon. :) Hopefully it continues to be. Though a part of this chapter could be considered noncanon if one forgets what Tolkien says of a certain character's visiting terms.

Ruse: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it. Enjoy!


Relations

"Mum, what are you getting ready for?" asked five-year-old Frodo.

"Cousin Bilbo's coming over for tea."

"Oh, who's Bilbo?"

"Remember the hobbit in Hobbiton who went on all those adventures?" Frodo nodded. "Well, that is who he is."

"Oh. Can I help?" he asked

"That old guise does not work anymore, Frodo-dear," Primula chided softly. Frodo mocked innocence. "Don't use that face. You know of what I speak."

Frodo sighed. "Alright. Could I help if I promise not to lick the utensils 'til after you're done cooking?"

"Yes, Frodo, you may. But I'll keep you to it."

"Yes, ma'am," Frodo replied, pulling up a stool his father had made him so he could reach the counter. He reached for the mixing bowl and his mother handed him the spoon as she reached for the sugar, butter, flour, baking soda, milk, and eggs to make her cake. Frodo began to stir as his mother put in each ingredient.

Soon, the batter was ready and poured in a pan to bake over the hot fire. Frodo prepared to dip his finger into the tasty mixture, but his mother caught his hand. "Not so fast, young lad. This be my new recipe. I added a little something extra, dearest. I want you to wait until Bilbo gets here."

With a defeated sigh, Frodo got off his stool and began to put it away while saying, "Then, I guess if it tastes bad, we'll all find out together."

"Yes, we will. Are you saying I'm a bad cook, love?"

"Well, no, mum. Not usually."

"'Not usually'?" repeated Primula.

Frodo contemplated his words. "Yes, I think 'not usually' just about sums it up."

"Come here, you!" she replied playfully. Frodo came up to his mother and she hugged him. "I love you, Frodo my lad."

"I love you to, mum," Frodo answered truthfully, hugging his mother around the neck as she lifted him up.


"When's he going to get here, father?"

"Well, Frodo my dear lad, soon. You see, he lives over in Hobbiton in the house on the hill. It takes a wee bit longer for him to get here." At Frodo's bored look out the window, Drogo offered, "How about we go out in the yard and play catch until he gets here?"

"But I don't know how to," Frodo replied, looking down.

"And why's that?" Drogo asked, tilting his son's head up.

"You never taught me. You said I weren't –"

"Wasn't," Drogo corrected.

"Wasn't big enough," finished Frodo.

"How old are you now, lad? Five?" Frodo nodded his head. "Ah, well, I'd say five is plenty big enough. Now, what do you say?"

"I should like it very much."

Producing a ball out of his pocket, Drogo exclaimed, "Good! I'm glad to hear that." He opened the door. "Out you go."


Drogo threw the ball underhand for the fifteenth time, but it missed young Frodo completely, sailing over his head a ways off into the bushes. "Sorry, lad!" Drogo yelled as Frodo ran to get it.

"That's okay!" Frodo yelled back, bumping into an older lad and falling down. As he stood, he noticed the robust lad nearly twice his age and size had the ball. "May I please have my ball?" Frodo asked.

"Your ball? It's mine." "But I –"

"Finders keepers, loosers weepers," the lad sneered.

"Please, may I have my ball?"

The lad noticed his parents had caught up and his expression changed from tough to innocent and angelic in an instant. "Mother, father, this lad here is trying to take my ball."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, lad. That child's too small to be brave enough to do that," replied the mother. "Besides, he's your cousin."

"Not to mention," the father said, "that ball is not yours. Give it back to cousin Frodo."

"But it's mine!" he protested.

"No, it's not. He's lying," stated Frodo, near tears. It had been his father's when he was little, and Frodo could not let the likes of that boy take it.

Drogo walked up and stiffened as he saw his relatives. They were on speaking terms, of course, but Lobelia, Otho, and Lotho were not his favorite people. "What seems to be the matter?"

"Lotho, give back the ball, now!" Otho commanded, motioning to take off his belt. Lotho got the message and hurried to give the ball back. "Drogo, how are you?" he asked just for formality.

"Otho, I'm doing well. What are you doing out in these parts?"

"We were out on a walk, but the missus and young lad insisted on coming to visit you." Rolling his eyes, Otho whispered, "They caught wind that Bilbo was going to be here."

"Oh," mouthed Drogo.

"What did you say, dear?"

"Nothing, Lobelia," he said, but under his breath he added, "Nothing of importance to you."

"Well," Drogo said reluctantly, though he hoped his reluctance was not showing, "why don't you all come in and have tea since you're here."

"Oh, you're too kind," Lobelia answered.

Drogo ignored her and continued to lead the way to the smial. "Bilbo will be here soon."

"Oh, really? I never would have thought he visited these parts." Before Drogo could reply, Lotho pushed Frodo and he landed on his derriere. He quickly stood and angrily pushed him back. Lotho made himself fall. "Mother, Frodo pushed me."

Lobelia spun around and Frodo stood mouth open. "He pushed me first!" he protested.

"If you ever –!"

"Lobelia," Otho warned. "Stay out of this, Otho. If you ever –"

"LOBELIA!" Otho yelled. "The lad could not possibly have pushed him that hard," he added once she looked at him.

"Hmph!" she uttered as she gathered her skirt and marched off. "Come, Lotho, my poor son."

Drogo looked back at his son as soon as Lobelia and Lotho were out of earshot. "I know you didn't push him that hard, but you don't push people back. Yes, sir?"

"Yes, sir," Frodo said mechanically. He had decided he did not like Lotho Sackville-Baggins – at all.


Frodo trudged into the house to find an older hobbit sitting at the table with his parents and cousins, save Lotho who was sticking his nose where it did not belong. "Ah, Frodo-dear, there you are!" said Primula. "Frodo, I'd like to introduce your cousin Bilbo."

"Hullo, my boy!" greeted the hobbit.

"Hello, sir," replied Frodo. What was he supposed to call this older gentle hobbit who happened to be his cousin? Surely not 'Bilbo.' It would not be proper.

"Sit down, Frodo-dear. Have some tea and cake," Primula said, grabbing her son's shoulders and seating him in the chair she had pulled out for him.

Flabbergasted, Lobelia asked, "Surely you're not going to place a child at a table full of adults?"

"Why, Lobelia! Don't you seat Lotho at your table?"

Lobelia scowled and Otho looked away in contempt. That queer Brandybuck lass trying openly to humiliate her! The nerve of her! "Well, yes, but I was – um – thinking of the child. Perhaps he would like to go play with Lotho." Not that I would let my boy play with him anyway.

"No, I would much rather stay right here, ma'am."

"Oh," Lobelia replied with an heir of disgust.

Bilbo decided to pipe in right then. "Really, you thinking about Frodo's feelings is rather nice of you," he said sarcastically, thinking that – and knowing that – Lobelia was incapable of thinking of anyone but Lotho and herself. She even thought slightly poorly of Otho, her own husband for not showing open contempt of people, evening mingling with commoners at times.

Puffed up with pride, she replied, "Oh, really?" eager to hear more.

Bilbo shook his head as Frodo and Drogo watched with a smile and Primula pretended to have an obsession with watching water boil and Otho grimaced. "Well, sirs, ma'am, Frodo-lad," he said, "I'll be going to the sitting room now."

"Oh, and I'll come with you, sir," offered Frodo, wanting to stay as far away from Lotho as possible.

"Good; very glad to hear that, my lad," Bilbo said with a wink of understanding.


"I hope you don't mind if I smoke my pipeweed in here, Frodo," Bilbo told Frodo as they sat in the sitting room.

"Oh, I would not, not really, anyway, but my ma would, sir. She chases my pa out of the smial with a broomstick!" Frodo replied.

"Oh-ho! Well, then perhaps it is best if I go outside. Join me, lad?"

"Yes, sir." The two began to walk to the back entrance.

"You know, Frodo," Bilbo said upon reaching the door, "you needn't call me 'sir.' You may call me Bilbo like the others. We are cousins."

"That is true, but I were –"

"'Was,' Frodo-lad. It is best to use proper grammar. Other hobbits will take your opinion more seriously if you use proper grammar."

"Yes, sir," Frodo answered. "That's a good lad." Bilbo opened the door and let Frodo out.

Frodo proceeded to answer his comment from before. "I was thinking that, seeing you are older than I, it wouldn't be proper."

"Ah!" Bilbo said in realization and a smile lit up on his face. "That would pose a problem for a young mind. Don't change, Frodo my lad; don't change. Then, I suppose you could call me 'uncle' as it is the nearest relation."

"I like you, Uncle Bilbo," Frodo replied with a smile.

"Very good; very good," he said, an idea forming in his mind. "I like you, too, my boy." Bilbo lit his pipe.

"Now, do you think you can tell me of your adventures?"

Bilbo laughed. "I don't suppose I saw that coming from you, lad, but of course, I will. Now…"


TBC...


A/N: Please, leave a review. Thanks for reading. :)