ESCAPE THE DARKNESS - Part Six

ESCAPE THE DARKNESS

By JULES

Authors Quick Note – This story explores the idea about what might have happened if Strider had come to the Shire to forewarn Bilbo Baggins about the Ring Wraiths that would soon come hunting for the One Ring. Commences a few days before Bilbo’s Birthday party and before Gandalf returns to the shire as well.

Strider had vows to protect Bilbo when the Ring Wraiths are sent by the Dark Lord but he is unaware that the legacy of who is to carry the Ring to be destroyed falls upon a totally different Baggins hobbit.

Disclaimer - I do not own any of these characters but enjoy writing them and their adventures together.

Once again this chapter is a long one – but hopefully will keep you entertained. Please let me know if you are enjoying this story. Some of the historical points of the story are my own interpretation and might waver slightly from the book.

Merry and Pippin have minor roles in this chapter and they will soon be disappearing all together for a time, until the cornfields.

I always thought that there was not enough emphasis on what Frodo would feel after Bilbo left. Although he is suppose to be a grown hobbit now, you cannot live with someone that long and not feel a sense of loss when they leave you unexpectedly.

The next chapter will see Gandalf’s explanation about the ring’s past and future. All will be preparing to leave the Shire very soon. The darkness will soon descend on the Shire.

CHAPTER SIX - CELEBRATIONS AND GOODBYE

By the time everyone arrived at the party field, many of the guests had already begun enjoying themselves.

It truly was a grand turn out, better than Frodo or Bilbo could have ever hoped for. And to the credit of the organizers, every hobbit within sight, seemed to be enjoying the party and, having a marvellous time.

As the group entered the party field, it was difficult to gauge which direction to go off in first. There were tables and tables of fine food. Some dishes foreign to hobbits of the Shire, but, being savoured and devoured with no less vigour, than any of the more common dishes.

Merry and Pippin threw caution to the wind and, were the first to desert the group, seeking out the food and filling a plate as full as they dared. They got a laugh from Strider and Bilbo at their seemingly endless ravenous appetites and their amusing antics.

Gandalf and Strider paired together, feeling the curious and criticizing eyes of the other party guests on the big folk. They thought it better to keep a more subdued profile for a while and sat contently on the outer edge of the crowd. Strider slowly sipping at a mug of ale, the wizard was more satisfied with a cup of tea for a beverage.

Bilbo, had been ambushed by a large group of children and, was happily sitting in front of the little hobbits, sharing his adventurous tales and stories of bravery from many years ago.

Sam and Frodo had seated themselves together at a table much closer to the festivities and the dancing going on. Sam had gotten up briefly to get a mug of ale for both his master and himself. Upon returning, he was a little surprised to see the bench seat now vacant. Frodo’s jacket lying idly nearby, indicating that he intended to return.

Much to Sam’s delight, there was a cheer from the boisterous crowd and as he looked around at those present, he saw the reason for the gaiety. Frodo was now up on the dance floor, amidst a large number of other hobbits, merrily dancing with a few of the lasses and thoroughly enjoying himself.

Just when the music would stop and Frodo paused to take in a breath of fresh air, the band behind them would whirl into a tune that would set his feet off again. Another lass would take him by the hand and start the dancing off all over again.

The smile on Frodo’s face was a genuine one. It was his birthday after all, and his becoming of age. There he was, without a care in the world at the moment, or none that others could see anyway.

Just as the next dance was halfway through, Sam found himself staring at one of the lasses, as if struck. He knew who she was of course: Rose Cotton. No fairer lass of the Shire he had come to know. She was pretty, polite and sent Sam’s mind into a spin with just a simple glance.

Sam could feel the tips of his ears beginning to redden at seeing her standing there. Tonight she was dressed as finely as every other hobbit at the party, but somehow in his eyes, she stood out amongst the crowd like no other. Her dress seemed to compliment her blond hair and shimmer beneath the lanterns that adorned the tree.

Frodo came back to the table and breathlessly sat down beside Sam after another round of vigorous dancing and enjoyment. Whilst he picked up his mug of ale and looked over at Sam, he couldn’t help but noticed the stunned expression on his friend’s face. He looked towards where Sam was staring and instantly recognized the signs of nervousness and rapture.

“Go on Sam, ask Rosie for a dance,” Frodo suggested, knowing that Sam would never voluntarily make such a decision. He had to be gently coaxed, although it was plain to see just how much he adored her.

“Um, I think I will just have another ale,” Sam replied, attempting to rise to his feet and turn to head towards the ale casks. He wanted to talk to her more than ever, and even Mr Frodo saw this. But Sam didn’t want to put himself into an awkward position where he embarrassed both himself and Rose by stumbling over his own feet or words much fancier that he was used to uttering.

Sam rising to his feet, was all of the encouragement that Frodo needed. “Oh no you don’t” he said and nudged his stout friend towards the dance floor. His aim had been perfectly timed, and no sooner as Sam had taken the first tumbled step forward, Rosie Cotton had passed by and gently took his hand. The two were now dancing around in a circle with the other hobbits, Rosie leading the way but not minding in the least.

Sam wasn’t quite sure how to react at first. After the first circle of dancing, his nerves seemed to calm down a lot and as he looked back at his smiling Rosie, started to give a grin of satisfaction in return. He now wrapped his arms around her waist and joined in the joy of the moment.

Frodo watched on with great happiness for Rosie and his best friend. There was just something about watching them two together that made it seem like they were meant to be. He didn’t know else to describe it. He had watched Sam’s nervous face on a number of times even just passing Rosie in the street.

It was at that time, watching his best friend dance around the field with someone he cared about that Frodo realised there was no-one that special in his own life. Not that he had sought the company of lasses in the past. Frodo wondered if there was supposed to be someone special for him like Rosie.

There were certain qualities he assumed that would be immediately noticeable, both on the outside and the ones that were not so easily seen by others. There needed to be an air of mystery surrounding her that would compel him to what to know her from the very beginning, until the very end. To share everything in their lives, the joy, the sadness, the pain and the happiness.

If there was, what would she look like? What would her hair smell like? What would her kiss taste like upon his lips. If they were to meet somewhere for the first time, would it be memorable, or would it be a moment in time that could just pass him by because he didn’t recognize the one whose soul mirrored his own.

What if love was meant to pass him by like a stranger in the street? What if he was destined to live alone and never know what it felt like to be loved and needed?

With Sam and Rose dancing, Frodo decided it was as good an opportunity as any to escape the ever-watchful gaze of his friend and talk to some of the other guests. He hadn’t seen any sign of Merry or Pippin since they arrived, but wasn’t disappointed, knowing that those two cousins of his would surface sooner or later.

“Are you enjoying your party Frodo?” Gandalf asked as the hobbit passed by the table occupied by himself and Strider. He noted the happy expression on the young hobbit’s face and couldn’t be more pleased to see him associating with family and friends and hobbits of his own age.

“Doesn’t Sam and Rosie look great out on the dance floor,” Frodo declared with excitement in his voice.

“They certainly do Frodo, but are you sure you shouldn’t be joining them for a little while longer?” Gandalf asked, somehow picking up on his friend’s secret in-depth thoughts as he watched Sam and Rosie.

“Oh no thanks, I am still trying to get my breath back Gandalf. I was just going to wander around and say hello to some of the other guests at the party. It would be rude of me not to try and at least spend some time with them,” Frodo replied.

“Well, you do what you think necessary Frodo, but remember, this is your birthday. Enjoy yourself and the company of others, but do not worry if they are not having such a splendid time,” Gandalf said, using a little wisdom in his words.

“Thanks Gandalf, I will go and see if I can drag Uncle Bilbo away from his stories long enough to enjoy the party as well,” Frodo informed the two. “No doubt Sam will be looking around in a few minutes, asking where I have gone to.”

“Oh don’t worry about Samwise; he looks fairly occupied at the moment, Frodo,” Gandalf commented. “If he asks, I will tell him to get some dinner ready for you and that you will be back here shortly.”

Frodo rolled his eyes exaggeratedly at the mention of food. He knew Gandalf was trying to politely remind him that he hadn’t partaken in any of the party food since they had arrived. He had had very little to drink as well, from what the wizard had seen. He didn’t want to disappoint anyone by telling them food and drink was not exactly a high priority on his list tonight.

Frodo now went to walk towards his Uncle Bilbo, giving the older hobbit a quick wave to try and attract his attention. Bilbo almost succeeded in separating himself from his avid, young audience, but was thwarted at the last moment and gave his nephew a smirk of satisfaction.

Both he and Frodo knew that Bilbo got an extreme amount of pleasure out of telling stories to younger generations and reminiscing of adventures of distant places. What was the point in writing all of his stories down in the Red Book if they weren’t shared with others?

Frodo was patient enough to wait until Bilbo had pried himself away. He was about to take a muffin from a tray on a nearby table, when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

“Well, if it isn’t young Frodo Brandybuck,” Lobelia Sackville-Bagginses said in her grating voice. She never tired of reminding the tween that he was descended more correctly from family branches she would rather not associate. That and the fact that he didn’t belong in Hobbiton.

“Good evening to you, Aunt Lobelia,” Frodo greeted her, his polite manners rolling of his tongue naturally. He smiled inwardly a little, knowing that it irked her to pieces to have him ignore her harsh comments as much as possible.

“Where is that old Uncle of yours?” Lobelia asked, scouting around to try and locate the old hobbit. “This party scene must be quite tiring for somebody his age,” she jibed.

“Uncle Bilbo is over there, telling stories to the children, Aunt Lobelia,” Frodo replied courteously. “I think it must be the children that keep him looking so refreshed and young. The more stories he tells them, the more animated he becomes. He truly has some stamina in him you know.”

Just as Frodo felt like he wanted to escape the conversation entirely, the situation became even more awkward as Lotho and Otho now joined Lobelia.

“Hello there cousin, Frodo,” Lotho greeted. “I hope you are not too bruised by that nasty tumble you took earlier this afternoon,” he added.

“You were lucky to have someone there like my Lotho, or you might have been hurt worse,” Lobelia said, trying to hide the smile she had worn when her son first told her about Frodo’s mishap with the tent. She scowled that it hadn’t been nasty enough to keep either Frodo or Bilbo Baggins away from the party celebration altogether.

Lucky! Frodo though to himself. There were probably a plethora of descriptive words he could have used to describe what had happened, but lucky wasn’t one of them.

“Thank you for your concern, but I assure you that no harm came to me and I am quite alright,” Frodo informed them. In the back of his mind he couldn’t help but see the distained faces of Uncle Bilbo and Sam at Lotho’s cowardly conduct.

Just as Frodo was trying to think of a way to escape the conversation, Sam spotted his master standing in front of the Sackville-Bagginses. He couldn’t hear what was being said from where he was, and Frodo seemed to have a smile on his face rather than a frown.

Something though wasn’t quite right for Sam and he didn’t want there to be unkind or harsh words spoken to Frodo on his birthday. He excused himself from Rosie and after rolling up the sleeves on his shirt, strode towards the group.

Sam had passed by the table where Gandalf and Strider were seated, both of them taking in the distained and disapproving look on the stout hobbit’s face. Neither of them wanted any trouble to be ensuing this early in the evening, so the Ranger got up and trailed Sam towards Frodo.

Bilbo had by now, also spotted Frodo being surrounded by the Sackville-Bagginses. The gentle natured hobbit, felt a small ball of anger start to rise within him when he thought back to when Frodo had first come through the door that afternoon. He remembered the winces of pain from the lad as he tried to hide the fact that he had been the victim of a callous prank.

By the time he came to stand behind Frodo, Bilbo squeezed his way underneath Strider’s arm to stand slightly in front of Sam and directly behind his nephew.

“Bilbo, I was just saying to Frodo how concerned I was for someone of your age to be out on such a chilly night,” Lobelia said, changing what she had actually said to Frodo.

“Don’t worry yourself about me Lobelia, I assure you that I am as fit as a fiddle and plenty prepared to have a grand time tonight,” Bilbo said, giving Frodo a wry smile and wink.

“Umph, and I see you have spared no expense nonetheless either Bilbo,” Lobelia said with disgust in her voice as she took a closer inspection of Frodo’s fine blue brocaded vest. “Sheer waste of money I would say.”

“I know that’s what you would say Lobelia, but it’s none of your business what money I spend on Frodo, nor anything else in my home for that matter. Frodo never asks for anything and I will buy whatever I please with my money,” Bilbo said, his voice getting a little more animated as he spoke.

Frodo was suddenly very uncomfortable being the topic of conversation and wished to be away from the situation all together as soon as possible. Sam saw the expression on his master’s face and was trying to make a clear path for him to escape.

“Don’t pretend either, Lotho, that I don’t know what truly happened down here this afternoon between you and that tent,” Bilbo said warningly, turning his attention to the younger Sackville-Bagginses.

“Bilbo Baggins, don’t you dare start accusing my son of such a hideous crime when you know fully well that you have no such proof,” Lobelia said in defence of her son.

“He tripped over his own two big feet,” Lotho said, deliberately taking a step towards Frodo, acting out a threatening stance, daring his cousin to say anything to the contrary.

Frodo felt the tips of his ears reddening with a slow boiling anger as he faced Lotho. His cousin was about 4 years older than him and a great deal bigger, but that didn’t deter Frodo’s challenging and piercing blue gaze.

A small voice in the back of his head was reminding him that he supposed to be acting like a gentle-hobbit tonight in front of his party guests. To cause a scene now would be most improper and disrespectful. He had no intention of ruining Bilbo’s birthday by getting into a fight with Lotho Sackville-Baggins for the sake of his pride.

Frodo came up with the perfect response. Hobbits like Lotho thrived on being the centre of attention in moments such as this. The trick to catching them out was to make the wind out of their sails without drawing the focus back to himself.

“If you will all please excuse me,” Frodo said, deliberately waiting until a pathway was made between the group for him to leave, directly alongside of Lotho. “Uncle, I have better things to do with my time tonight than to waste such a good evening on those who cannot see the truth for the lies that they allows themselves to tell.”

With that, Frodo turned abruptly, but deliberately from Lotho and his mother Lobelia, pausing for a split second so they were left with only gaping mouths at his apparent rudeness. Lotho knew he could not say too much for fear of incriminating himself in front of those who knew what had really happened.

This, however, did not stop Lotho’s own anger quickly rise to the surface as he realised that he had been brushed off so easily in front of a moderate crowd. Frodo was only two or three steps in front, with his back turned. Plenty of time to narrow the gap and be in receipt of the blow that Lotho wished to deliver to his unsuspecting cousin.

Lotho clenched his right fist into a tight ball, and then gritted his teeth, ready to make the short distance towards Frodo. Sam however had gasped in alarm as he saw what Lotho intended to do and was thankful that Strider was a little faster than all of them expected.

Lotho had brought his arm back, wanting to have some power behind his impending punch. His arm and clenched fist were engulfed in the meaty palm of the towering Ranger.

Lobelia and Bilbo seemed to be taking part in their own heated discussion and did not notice what was unfolding between the Ranger and other hobbits. Frodo was now out of ear shot, heading towards one of the marquees.

No words were spoken between them. Strider used his intense grey eyes to show the displeasure he would get from seeing his friend Frodo attacked at his own birthday party in front of his friends and family. Lotho looked into those smouldering eyes and swallowed nervously, the lump of fear that was suddenly lodged in his throat.

“Lotho don’t you raise your fist to my master,” Sam said, too incensed to be concerned that he was talking to somebody higher in social class in such a condescending tone.

Merry and Pippin were just passing by when they saw the cross look on Strider’s face and heard the accusing words from Sam. Neither of them knew what had transpired, but they knew with Lotho involved, that it couldn’t be good. They were well aware that it was Lotho that had caused the accident earlier that afternoon.

Strider briefly glanced towards Frodo’s two younger cousins, and quickly got an idea of how to diffused the situation without having to cause a scene in front of the other party guests. He could see that Merry and Pippin would only be too willing to participate where they could.

“Sam, you wait here for Frodo, with the help of Merry and Pippin here, I hope to discover the location of that large muddy puddle that was spoken of earlier today,” the Ranger said, pleased that it didn’t take much nous to work out what it would be used for.

Apart from waiting for Frodo, Sam had used his stout body to intercede between himself and Lobelia, should she assess the situation and realise what was about to be done to her son. For the moment, she seemed to preoccupied in shouting at Bilbo.

The struggling Lotho, protesting the entire way, but at a respectable level so as not to have an audience witness what was about to befall him. “You can’t do this,” he said trying to pry his arm from Strider’s firm grasp.

“I warned you what would happen next time you attempted to bring harm to Frodo,” Strider reminded him. Surrounding the party field, was a crude timber fence. At the furthest gateway, due to recent heavy rains, a large muddy puddle had formed. So much so that many of the guests had been forced to use an alternative entrance for fear of sinking into the murky water in their fine clothes.

Lotho had no time to worry about his fine clothes before he felt himself hoisted by Strider’s two arms and tossed only a short distance into the middle of the puddle. The hobbit landed on his backside, much to the delight of Merry and Pippin who were weak with laughter.

Lotho brought his hands out of the muddy water, the silt from the bottom of the puddle, dripping from his hands and soaking through every inch of his clothes.

Lobelia had shrieked out loud, half way through a sentence when she saw her son being man-handled by the Ranger and tossed into the muddy puddle. She quickly shoved Bilbo roughly aside to get to him.

“Mark my words, Bilbo Baggins, that nephew of yours is going to get what’s coming to him, mark my words,” Lobelia screamed. She then turned her attention to the sodden and muddy Lotho.

Bilbo had a thoughtful look on his face at her words. “Yes, Lobelia, I will see to it tonight that Frodo gets everything that is coming to him.” He had whispered the words to himself, but was unaware that Sam now had a slight frown marring his normally cheerful face, wondering what Bilbo had meant by such a statement.

As Lobelia approached Lotho, at first she had nothing but sympathy and pity in her voice as she hauled her son out of the puddle. As soon as she could see that he was fairing alright and was without any permanent injury, her words soon turned into scathing ones as she asked why Lotho had let those like Frodo and his cousins get the better of him.

Lobelia had no intention of missing any part of the party herself, but quickly sent Lotho on his way back to their house to get changed out of his clothes. She soon spotted her husband Otho and soon joined him, make sure that she informed others at the party of the despicable acts that had been allowed to occur to her son.

“Now, that was a little bit awkward wasn’t it Samwise,” Bilbo commented, trying to get everyone back into a more cheerful mood. “I can’t see where Frodo has gotten to now,” he added, peering in the direction he had last seen his nephew walking in.

“I can go and find him for you Sir,” Sam said, getting a little concerned himself that maybe Lotho had upset his master more than Frodo had let on.

“Oh no need Sam, tell you what; you go and get three mugs of ale and a table and I will find Frodo and steer him over to it to join us,” Bilbo suggested. What he really wanted to do was find Frodo and have a very important talk with him. He needed to have Sam away long enough for that to occur.

“If you say so Master Bilbo,” Sam said, not wanting to do as the old hobbit wanted, but rather wanting to go and look for Frodo himself, just to make sure in his own mind that everything was fine.

Strider had accompanied Sam back to the ale casks, happy that the situation was now calmer and everything seemed to be returning to normal. He was not sure where Frodo had walked of to, but knew that Bilbo wouldn’t let any more trouble ensue.


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“Ah, there you are Frodo, my lad,” Bilbo said as he entered one of the marquees after his nephew.

“I sincerely hope that you didn’t take any of Lobelia’s words to heart lad,” Bilbo added, knowing that Frodo was a gentle person by nature and such nasty comments might unsettle him some.

“Oh no Uncle,” Frodo said, a little too enthusiastically. In truth, he had felt a trifle unnerved by the whole confrontation by Lotho and Lobelia, but would rather just walk away from such situations.

Frodo was expecting Bilbo to try and cheer him up a little, but saw that his Uncle was struggling with his own emotions at the moment. The old hobbit was holding the bottom of his coat jacket in both hands and twisting them out of nervousness.

Frodo’s brow frowned at his Uncle’s demeanour and for a moment the younger hobbit that it must have been Bilbo that had taken the words of the Sackville-Bagginses too much to heart.

Bilbo went to open his mouth again, but stopped, lost for the right words to say. This had been the moment he had been dreading for so long. Trying to tell Frodo gently about his plans to leave. He knew it would be difficult but he never dreamed as he looked at his nephew’s innocent face that it would this hard or painful.

“Are you alright Uncle?” Frodo asked quickly, walking closer to Bilbo to gauge if he was ill or something and hadn’t voiced it to anybody at the party yet. “Should I get you something to drink or eat?” he added quickly.

“Oh nothing like Frodo, my lad, I am fine I assure you,” Bilbo said, seeing the concern in his nephew’s eyes. “It’s just I have something to tell you before any more of the evening is lost. I should have done it a long time ago. Heaven only knows there has been plenty of time leading up to now. But, in typical fashion for me as you know, I leave everything until the last minute and rush it.”

“What have you to tell me?” Frodo asked, noting the distinct smell of ale on Bilbo’s breath, indicating that he had at least enjoyed some of the refreshments from the party.

For a moment Bilbo just looked at his nephew. Looking into those soulful blue eyes and wondering what emotion or reaction he was about to see within those limpid pools. Bilbo knew that he would be able to see the entire spectral of emotions from Frodo in those wide blue eyes.

“I am sorry my lad, for all my learning of foreign languages and poetry; when it becomes necessary to find the right words, I feel so tongue-tied,” Bilbo said, forcing his gaze towards the ground beneath their feet.

“You’re beginning to worry me a little, Bilbo” Frodo said honestly, not being able to guess at the solemn tone in his Uncle’s voice.

With his gaze still fixated on the ground, Bilbo tried to begin his explanation. “Frodo, when you came to Bag End all those years ago, I never made my intentions…………..” Stickle-bats he said silently, still finding the task increasingly difficult.

Frodo was beginning to think that maybe Bilbo had over indulged in the Gaffer’s cask of home made brew, but didn’t want to voice his opinion out loud.

Bilbo started again, this time using an alternative topic. “When your parents died twelve years ago………….,” when he said these words, he looked up and almost physically kicked himself for bringing up the lad’s parents on what was supposed to be a joyous occasion. He knew deep down that the one subject that would upset Frodo more than any others was talk of his parents.

“Oh, dear Frodo, I am sorry lad, I didn’t think when I brought that up just now,” his voice soft and gentle, as he saw Frodo’s blue eyes begin to mist over with tears. “They would have been very proud of the way you have grown into such a kind and gentle hobbit,” he said, trying to smooth over the painful subject with positive sentiments.

“It’s alright Uncle, but why do you suddenly want to talk to me about my parents?” Frodo said, only then did a dark thought beginning to emerge.

“Well, tonight is your coming of age celebration and I just thought I would tell you how proud of you I have become and I am sure that your parents, if they were alive here to share the night with you would agree,” Bilbo replied, trying to keep his composure.

Frodo’s frown eased a little and he seemed almost willing to accept the explanation given, but something about the way Bilbo was still wringing his hands nervously and trying to talk in riddles made him think something was amiss.


Before any more awkwardness could unfold between Frodo and Bilbo, two scurrying figures came running through one end of the marquee, in an attempt to flee out the other side. Something or somebody bumped into Frodo’s shoulder and it was only when he heard a surprised gasp that he recognized the voice of Pippin.

“Pippin?” Frodo said out loud, wondering what the two hobbits were doing running about at such a late hour. “Where is Merry?” he immediately asked, knowing that where there was one, the other wouldn’t be too far behind.

“Here I am Frodo,” Merry said cheerfully. It was only then that Merry sensed the unease surrounding Frodo and Bilbo and knew that he and Pippin had interrupted something important.

“You go with your cousins, Frodo lad,” Bilbo said, knowing that the words he wanted to say would never leave his lips.

“Come on, Frodo, you are missing your own birthday party,” Pippin exclaimed enthusiastically, dragging his older, reluctant relative by the cuff of his shirt sleeve. Frodo allowed himself to be directed out of the marquee, but before he headed out into the moon light, he turned to his Uncle, giving his best and most affectionate smile.

As Bilbo watched the brief and fleeting glances afforded to him from Frodo’s azure coloured eyes, he couldn’t help but feel like he was letting something get away from him. He knew that Frodo could look after himself; he had been doing so for quite a long time now.

The elderly hobbit couldn’t escape the realisation that a part of him would leave with Frodo as he exited the tent. He was losing something that should be cherished and treasured and someone who had brought so much joy and fulfilment to his life. Perhaps not forever, but the void that would be left behind in his heart was wider than any chasm in Middle Earth.

As he watched the exuberance and energy of Merry and Pippin, Bilbo knew that his nephew would be in good hands, come what may. Then of course, there was the ever loyal Samwise, for whom he was very thankful in befriending Frodo. Sam would be there whenever Frodo needed him, he could be certain of that.

It was at that moment that Bilbo came to realise that he would never be able to tell Frodo goodbye face to face. He didn’t know how his nephew would react. No doubt there would be a whole assortment of emotions, sadness at first and then as the initial shock wore off, maybe anger.

He couldn’t blame Frodo for any anger if that was to happen. Whatever the outcome, his heart was heavy for the guilt in knowing that he was the cause. He would be taking away any sense of security that had been built up during the time he had been living at Bag End. All these years he had promised to love, protect and shelter the lad from harm; now he would be the one to cause the lad shock, hurt and sadness.

“You’ll be alright, Frodo,” Bilbo whispered.

The elderly hobbit was then seen to be leaving the tent to find that mug of ale that he had asked Sam for a little while ago.

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“Merry, Pippin!” Frodo said out loud in an exasperated voice. “Where are we going?” but almost before he could get the completed question out of his mouth, Frodo found himself standing outside the marquee on this own and the scurrying figures of his two wayward cousins running off towards something else that had caught their attention at the party.

By this time, Sam was becoming a little bit concerned as to where his master might have gotten to. He was just in time to run into Merry and Pippin and politely asked if they had seen their darker-haired cousin within the last few minutes.

“Beggin your pardons Mr Merry and Mr Pippin, but I was get a might worried about where Mr Frodo had taken himself too. Not that he has to tell me where he wants to go or such, not that at all, seeing as he is a grown hobbit now and can do what he pleases,” Sam said.

Merry and Pippin couldn’t help laugh at the way Sam always took the longest route to say the simplest things or ask a brief question. They knew he meant well though and was only concerned in Frodo’s best interests.

“We just left him over by that marquee over there a few minutes ago, Sam,” Merry informed the stocky hobbit. “He seemed a little sad about something, though.”

“Sad?” Sam said with concern in the tone of his voice and a slight frown on his face. “Now you two young hobbits wouldn’t have said anything to go upsetting him by accident now would you?” he added.

“No, he was talking to Bilbo about something secret like and had a strange look on his face and was thinking hard about something.” Pippin replied. “Maybe he is worried about something,” he suggested.

At about that time, Merry and Pippin decided that Frodo would be in good hands with Sam and now headed off in great haste towards the food tables and the band playing.

Sam decided not to waste any more time on pursuing Merry and Pippin to ask them what they meant by their comments. His sole purpose now was to find Frodo and try and fix whatever was upsetting his master.

Sam found Frodo standing outside the marquee, just like his cousin’s had said he was. He was looking a little confused and saddened. His blue eyes seemed to be a little misty, like he was on the verge of crying. This distressed the gardener even more. There was nothing that tore at his heart strings more than seeing tears fall from those cornflower blue eyes.

“Mr Frodo,” Sam said, approaching his master with a little caution and concern.

Frodo, obviously hadn’t heard his friend’s footsteps though and almost jumped back as if startled when he saw Sam’s warm brown eyes looking back at him.

“Sam, sorry I was just thinking,” Frodo offered in apology, taking in the concerned look on his friend’s face.

“What were you thinking about Mr Frodo, if you don’t mind me asking?” Sam queried. This question was exactly the one that Frodo had wanted to avoid.

“I was talking to Bilbo and he trying to tell me something, but stopped half way through a sentence. Almost as if it was difficult for him to say,” Frodo explained. “At first I thought he must have had some of your old Gaffer’s home brew.”

Sam smiled at this reference, knowing that there weren’t too many hobbits in the Shire that could out do too many tankards of the Gaffer’s secret recipe.

“He’s got me worried Sam,” Frodo admitted openly. “He was talking about things that he wouldn’t normally talk about so easily. Like my parents. He mentioned them tonight. Do you know how long it has been since he brought up that subject?” Frodo asked, his eyes becoming a little clouded at the mention of their memory again.

Sam nodded in agreement, knowing just how painful a subject that was for Frodo even now so many years since that fateful day. He wondered why Master Bilbo has chosen this of all days to bring up such a topic of conversation for Mr Frodo.

“Come on Mr Frodo, lets go and sit down at the table I have prepared for us and get something to eat and drink,” Sam now suggested. To tell the truth he had gotten the table ready for Bilbo and Frodo as he had been asked to, but now that seemed irrelevant.

“I didn’t mean to sound so down-hearted tonight, Sam,” Frodo said to his friend in apology.

“Naught to worry about Mr Frodo, it’s your birthday, you can celebrate it anyway you like,” Sam said in return.

Frodo smiled back, but deep in his heart he didn’t feel much like celebrating anymore tonight. His trail of thought was interrupted along with everyone else’s when there was a huge explosion over their heads.

Every hobbit at the party looked skyward to see a dazzling firework exploding right before their eyes and spreading out over the night like a million stars.

Some of the older folk were a little afraid of such loud explosions of light and colour. But the hobbit lads and lasses were most impressed with the display in the sky and clapped and cheered when each rocket broke apart and spread across the sky in sparkling chains and ribbons of light.

Frodo looked over at Sam’s face and saw the same look of surprise, admiration and excitement that was written across many of the children at the party. This made Frodo’s mood lighten even more, knowing that it was simple joys in life that Sam enjoyed. Just like his garden and the things he made grow within it.

Nothing was more simpler than the fertile soils around the Shire. Sam was able to grow vegetables much bigger than any other hobbit in the shire, except maybe Farmer Maggot. His flower beds bloomed almost nine months of the year and even in winter when the land was void of most living things, there was always some form of life present, just under the surface.

“I bet there is nobody else who could light up the night sky like Gandalf does,” Sam commented. More rockets exploded in the night sky and Sam’s smile grew wider and wider at the wondrous sights.

“No I don’t suppose there is,” Frodo agreed. He now turned to his friend, knowing that there was something that needed to be said. “Sam, I just want to say thank you for helping me celebrate my birthday tonight.”

Sam turned to his master and forgot all about the fireworks for a few seconds. “You don’t need to thank me, Mr Frodo. Nothing could have kept me away tonight.” So much more was said between the two friends without words, both using their eyes and smiles to share their feelings and thoughts.

While the crowd of hobbits were content enough to gaze skywards, Merry and Pippin were up to trying to make a display of their own. Merry had been the brains behind the stunt, but Pippin had shown no hesitation in being dragged along into trouble.

“Is the coast clear yet, Pippin?” Merry asked, trying to peer out from behind a marquee flap where they were currently hiding.

Pippin looked about, making sure that everyone at the party was momentarily distracted by Gandalf’s fireworks to see what they were up to. Nothing too sinister, they were just a little too curious for their own good. They wanted to know what other pyrotechnics were being concealed under the canvas cover of the wizard’s wagon.

“I think so, Merry,” Pippin said, not too convincingly. “Gandalf is over there lighting up fireflies for the children. Let’s hurry before he turns around and catches us.”

Merry crept out from underneath the canvas marquee and slinked his way long towards the wagon that was only a few feet away. All he needed to do was get Pippin to keep watch and then grab one of the rockets. Easy enough he told himself.

When he finally reached the rear of the wagon, it became all too clear that he would need Pippin’s help to get a foot hold and successfully be able to climb into where the rockets lay.

“Pippin,” Merry tried to call out just above a whisper. He looked around and sighed in relief when it seemed that nobody else was taking any notice of what was happening apart from the display in the sky. From where he stood near the wagon, Merry could clearly pick out the curly dark head of Frodo and was thankful that he too seemed to be distracted by the noise of the crowd and the acrid smoky smell of the fireworks.

Pippin heard his cousin’s call and scurried his way to the wagon. “Are you sure we should be doing this Merry?” he asked, knowing that Gandalf would be most upset if they were caught out. He didn’t like to think too long about what the wizard’s wrath would be. They had already been on the receiving end of his anger one too many times today.

“Here, give me a boost up,” Merry said, grabbing hold on the side of the wagon and lifting up his foot, ready to climb into the wagon. Pippin did as he was asked, but with a little more vigour than Merry was looking for. He gave his younger cousin a scowl when he landed heavily amongst the many different firework rockets and crackers.

“Hurry up, Merry,” Pippin said almost immediately, giving Merry little chance to take a good look at which rocket would be best. Pippin just wanted to get out of there before they were seen.

“All right, give me a second,” Merry said, showing his displeasure at being rushed.

“Oh, here is one,” Merry exclaimed, a little too loudly for Pippin’s liking. Of course, being Merry, his eyes fell onto one of the larger rockets, different in shape from the others.

Merry started passing the rocket out and escape with their find. Pippin was a little alarmed at the size of the firework that his cousin had chosen. After all, neither of them had any experience in lighting fireworks and letting them go into the air.

Pippin quickly grabbed the rocket and then dashed back into the marquee where they had come from. Merry was only a few feet behind, jumping down off the wagon and then trying to back away as if nothing was going on, making himself stand out even more if he were to be spotted.

“Well then, Mr Frodo, time to get something to drink I would say,” Sam began to say as the firework display started to pieta out. All had been very entertained by the rockets and some were still smiling and clapping to applaud Gandalf’s efforts.

Frodo had only taken a step or two in front of Sam when there was an enormous explosion from the rear of the party field. Being unskilled as they were, Merry and Pippin had ignited the firing cord inside one of the marquees, unaware that the rocket needed to travel upwards before letting go in a dazzling performance.

All at the party flinched upon hearing the noise and some had even let go a squeal of fright. The ground had shook from the vibration and Sam had instinctively reached out a hand in case Frodo was to loose his footing. He could see Frodo flinch at the sound, and wonder like everyone else what has happened.

Gandalf had stopped halfway through his demonstration to the children, knowing that he had not lit any further firework rockets. Aragorn had jumped up from a table nearby and had a combat ready expression on his face, in case the hobbits were under threat from some unseen foe.

Suddenly all could hear the sound of a rocket spiralling out of control into the air, higher and higher. Some relaxed when they thought that it was the finale that Gandalf had planned all along. Others were not so sure, watched, still slightly on edge.

The rocket burst apart into lights of red and orange, and seemed to come together to form some sort of pattern. All gasped in shock as they now could see what appeared to be the fiery image of a dragon, swooping down upon the party field, ready to sweep away all in its path.

Some of the hobbits had already begun running on mass, knocking over tables and chairs. The chaos escalated and hobbits were falling over each other to try and escape the terror they thought was coming down at them from the sky.

Strider and Gandalf had tried to calm the terrified crowd, but were overwhelmed by the hundred or so hobbits present at the party. Thankfully Sam and Frodo were towards the pack and they were not in any real danger of being trampled by the crowd.

This didn’t stop Sam’s protectiveness towards his master shine through though. Frodo had seen the fiery dragon and had started to walk quickly to try and escape it’s path.

“Look out Mr Frodo!” Sam shouted. Sam had been a little more forthright in his efforts when the beast made it’s final swoop, he had roughly pushed Frodo to the ground. Sam then joined his master and the rest of the hobbits, belly first on the ground, watching as the large fiery ball flew overhead and then over the Bywater River.

The ball flipped over and over until it was almost out of sight, and then without warning, exploded into a million stars of light. Brighter and bigger than all of the rockets they had seen tonight. Knowing that they were now of out danger, the hobbits sat up on the grass and clapped and cheered.

Frodo and Sam too were laughing with each other as they struggled to right themselves. “Oh I am sorry Mr Frodo,” Sam now apologized, forgetting all about his master’s new birthday gift, the blue vest.

“No harm done Sam,” Frodo assured his friend as he got to his feet and brushed away some of the blades of grass that had clung to the fabric. He was rather grateful that there was no staining to be seen. The brocade still looked it’s finest. Sam helped out, brushing away any stubborn pieces of grass from the back. The satin still shone out its brilliant blue azure colour.

“You alright Sam?” Frodo asked, knowing that Sam had dived rather hard towards the ground at the last second.

“Just fine Mr Frodo,” Sam said with a smile.

Frodo’s smile faded when he saw a very displeased figure of Gandalf striding quickly over to where his wagon was situated, towards one of the marquees that had been flattened by the explosion. Some of the canvas fabric was now charred around the edges and singed from the sudden heat.

A sinking feeling already began in the pit of Frodo’s stomach at whom might be responsible for such a prank. He knew as the responsible cousin that it was his place to see that blame be accurately placed and punishment given that fitted the crime.

Sam followed his master, the two of them arriving about the same time as Aragorn to hear a most angry wizard addressing the two culprits.

“Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took!” Gandalf said, naming the accused parties. “I might have known.” he added, grabbing a good grasp of each of their ears for good measure.

Merry and Pippin were not feeling particularly impressed with the efforts right now and it wasn’t enough that Gandalf was standing over the top of them, baring down on their poor defenceless ears with no mercy.

Both cousins swallowed harshly as they spotted a most unimpressed Frodo standing in front of them with his arms folded in front of them in a demanding pose. They were ready to accept any punishment that Gandalf might impose, but the disappointment and shame that was evident on Frodo’s face hurt more.

“Don’t worry Frodo, I have something in mind that will keep these two utterly busy for the rest of the evening, rather than cause any more disturbance to your birthday celebration,” Gandalf said to dark-haired hobbit.

Frodo had worn a discontented look as long as he could, but not for long as he took in the state that Merry and Pippin had gotten themselves into. It was almost as bad as earlier that day. Both were covered from head to foot in soot from the explosion. Tufts of hair sticking out at all sorts of odd angles, their faces were covered in black.

As soon as Gandalf has led the two protesting hobbits away to meet their fair, Frodo, Sam and Aragorn burst out laughing between themselves at what they had seen.

“Oh, that was a sight to behold, that’s for sure,” Sam said through his tears of laughter.

“I think it will take a week worth of scrubbing just to be able to see their faces again,” Frodo said with mirth.

Strider now decided to part company with Gandalf for a time and join Frodo and Sam for a tankard of ale at one of the tables seated near the dance floor. Frodo had barely drunk half of his, only sipping at the brew occasionally.

Someone behind them had started yelling speech. Causing Frodo and Sam to turn in their seats and watch as Bilbo made his way to a makeshift podium that had been set up just in front of the band. From where they were seated, Frodo and Sam’s table was now the closest, enabling Bilbo to get a clear, unobstructed view of his nephew.

Frodo put his tankard of ale down and happily joined in the chant to get his uncle to the temporary podium. “Speech, speech,” he said, clapping his hands rhythmically in time with all of the other hobbits calling out for Bilbo.

Bilbo now held out his hands for the crowd to quieten down to let him speak. Being a gentle hobbit, his voice was rather soft in volume and could easily be drowned out by the over zealous crowd.

“Thank you, thank you,” Bilbo said, a bright smile on his face as he scanned the crowd and was pleased that everyone was enjoying himself. His smile faltered for a brief second when he spotted Frodo in front of him, smiling along with the others and enjoying the atmosphere. This was going to be very difficult indeed.

“I am up here speaking to you tonight, because my young nephew Frodo has left me do the honours for both of us tonight,” he began. Frodo smiled back appreciatively, knowing that giving a speech was not his favourite thing to do. He was more than happy to let Uncle Bilbo give one for both of them.

“Tonight is very special as you all know because it is not only my birthday, but it is the year that Frodo celebrates his coming of age,” Bilbo continued and then paused, to applaud the achievement of his nephew. Frodo blushed at the compliments and crowd cheers, but humbly accepted the praise.

“When I first brought Frodo to Bag End, he was shy to say the least. Some of that still remains, however, I am proud to say that over the years, I have seen him grow into a sensible tweenager and then into adulthood, conducting himself in a manner far above his years. That’s what makes my next announcement indeed satisfying for me,” Bilbo said with a twinkle in his eye. He knew that the next statement would shock everyone at the party, hopefully none more so than the Sackville-Bagginses.

Frodo felt a slight shiver run up his spine at this point in time, a little nervous about what announcement his uncle was about to make to such a loud group of hobbits. Sam could see his master’s curious look, and placed a hand on his shoulder, just to let Frodo know that he was there.

“What is that old goat up to now?” came the voice from Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, a few tables behind Frodo.

“Today is my 111th Birthday,” Bilbo said, to which he received a rousing cheer from the party crowd.

“Happy Birthday,” came an anonymous shout.

“Alas, 111 years is such a short time to spend in the company of such excellent and admirable hobbits,” Bilbo said, receiving another loud cheer. “I don’t know how many more birthdays I will be sharing with you all, and I want to ensure that the name Baggins is celebrated within the Shire for many more years to come.”

Frodo’s brow began to frown slightly at the downcast mood that had crept into the last two sentences from Bilbo. Some of the other hobbits in the crowd had gone quiet when Bilbo had mentioned not being around forever. Although many thought the old hobbit had outlived many of his own kind, they were not ready to begin speculating on just how many more years Bilbo had left.

“That is why I have taken certain steps in a legal form, via my Last Will and Testament that will ensure that a Baggins will always be living in Bag End,” Bilbo said. Frodo still looked a little confused about exactly where these lines of conversation where heading.

Lobelia and Otho Sackville-Baggins however, had a smug look on their faces, thinking that Bilbo was already hinting at them being able to take over Bag End when Bilbo was no longer around. They were about to be grievously disappointed by the old hobbit’s intentions.

“From this day forth, I have bequeathed that Frodo will be my heir and successor,” he said, pausing to see what reaction would play out on the lad’s face.

“Oh Mr Frodo, did you hear that?” Sam asked, looking at this master with jubilation on his chubby face. He couldn’t be more pleased with the announcement for his friend and master.

Frodo had heard the statement, the look on his face, clearly evident of that. His mouth had dropped open slightly at the shock of such an honour and gift from his uncle. He had no idea that Bilbo had made any such changes to his Will and about the future ownership of Bag End.

Once the initial shock had worn off the crowd, they began clapping and cheering once more, for both Bilbo and Frodo. Most accepting that there was no better heir for the old hobbit. Frodo was the son that Bilbo had never had and had been raised as one of Bilbo’s own.

“Dottery old fool,” spat Lobelia disdainfully. “He can’t just go giving away what rightly belongs to us, just like that. We will see our own solicitor about this in the morning.”

Frodo and Bilbo locked eyes on each other, and couldn’t help but smile. Frodo was so overwhelmed with emotion of what Bilbo had done for him, he could scarcely find the words to say.

Strider couldn’t have been more pleased either, already knowing within the short time be had been a guest in Bag End at how deeply the relationship between Bilbo and Frodo ran.

Gandalf was also smiling, having already guessed a long time ago perhaps that Bilbo had planned for Frodo to inherit all of his possessions. He looked over at Merry and Pippin who had been clearing away dishes for their punishment. At hearing Bilbo’s announcement, both of them had cheered and clapped in happiness for their cousin and embraced each other, taking in the joyousness of the occasion.

Just as the crowd and Frodo thought Bilbo was going to continue with his over active speech, the mood changed dramatically again. Bilbo’s smile not only faltered, but faded away altogether as he looked at his nephew once more and tried to figure out how to play out the next announcement.

Frodo could see the change in his uncle’s face and saw the old hobbit playing and tugging nervously at the hem of his coat. The look he wore was one similar to the one he had when he had spoken to Frodo privately in the marquee only a short time ago.

Frodo’s smile faded along with his uncle’s and he couldn’t help but note a feeling of unease beginning to take hold of him again. This time is was getting stronger and stronger, until he squirmed in his seat.

The feeling was like a two edged sword, on one side anticipation for what he knew what something important Bilbo was trying to say. Then on the other hand, hesitation because his heart was telling him that something was about to happen that would change them forever.

“I have put this off for far too long,” Bilbo whispered to himself, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and concealing a small object in the palm of his hand. He now put both hands behind his back and began caressing it. Relying on it to give him the strength to say what he was about to.

“I regret to inform you all that this is the end,” Bilbo said out loud. “I am going now and I bid you all a very fond farewell,” Bilbo said and then turned his gaze directly to Frodo. “Goodbye………” left his lips and then he disappeared.

A surprised gasp went up from the crowd, but in stark contrast, Frodo remained silent, not uttering a sound. Too silent perhaps, Sam thought to himself. His master’s state of mind was hard to read at this point in time.

Some of the hobbits thought it was one of Bilbo’s cleverly constructed pranks, being played out on all of them. Others weren’t so sure what to do. Was the party over? Was the party over? A number of questions where not asked out loud.

Confusion reigned for the next twenty minutes or so as the party guests tried to fathom out what Bilbo’s words meant. Had the old hobbit gone off adventuring again? And if he had, it seemed a rather obscure, some would say, foolish time of the night or year to be thinking about travelling past the safety of the Shire’s borders.

The cake that had been carefully decorated over a few days for the special event was still sitting on the table, untouched. Destined not to be devoured as was originally intended. The crowd was now quickly dispersing and heading home, thinking that Bilbo’s sudden departure did indeed signal the end of festivities.

A few people had started to approach Frodo, both to bid him a Happy Birthday and thank he and Bilbo for what was sure to be a unconventional party to say the least. At seeing the forlorn figure seated beside Sam, they were not sure if it was words of congratulations that Frodo was seeking.

Frodo had still not said a word and the people closest to him were beginning to grow concerned. Strider had sought out Gandalf to see if the wizard might have a quiet talk with him, but alas it seemed that Gandalf had disappeared shortly after Bilbo. Perhaps to see if, like everyone else at the party, the act was merely a stunt and ease Frodo’s fears.

“Are you alright Mr Frodo?” Sam asked, finally plucking up the courage to speak to his master. The older hobbit’s face was growing pale and there was a mixture of emotions being played out over his handsome features.

“I didn’t think he would really do it,” came the reply, barely audible above a whisper. Sam didn’t know if Frodo was speaking to him personally, but he was almost giddy with relief that his master had uttered the words at all.

“He’s probably just pulling everyone’s leg, Mr Frodo, including yours,” Sam offered, not wanting to have to believe that Bilbo would leave his nephew so suddenly and barely without a word of goodbye.

“Frodo Baggins!” a shrill voice said as Lobelia Sackville-Baggins strode purposefully towards the vulnerable hobbit. “I want an explanation for these shenanigans and I mean now.”

Strider and Sam both moved to shield Frodo to a certain degree, knowing that Frodo was not in any state of mind to be on the receiving end of Lobelia’s scolding tongue.

“Sam, quickly, take Frodo over to one of the marquees for a moment,” the ranger instructed. “I will be there in a minute, when things are a little calmer.” The ranger didn’t like the look of Frodo at all, knowing that the full shock of what had happened was yet to be realised.

“Right you are Mr Strider,” Sam said, only too happy to give his master some sort of comfort and protection from others who cared not for how distressed Frodo might be feeling about now.

“Come on Mr Frodo,” Sam said in a soft voice, gently pulling his master to his feet and leading him to one of the larger, and now empty marquees. Frodo had not said anything in response, lost in his own thoughts, allowing himself to be led wherever they were wanted to take him.

No sooner had Sam and Frodo entered the sanctuary of the marquee, an escalating argument could be heard ensuing between the ranger and a irate Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. She had demanded that Strider step aside out of her way so that she could ask Frodo about Bilbo’s outlandish display of rudeness and tactless games.

Strider had responded as politely as he could, at first, but then found himself being screamed at by the shorter, but much more forceful hobbit. Not wanting to upset any of the Shire residents, he had said in no uncertain terms that she could talk to Frodo the next day.

The ranger had not given Lobelia the opportunity to continue her tirade, and instead, left her standing, mouth agape and red faced that this scruffy looking Big Person dared to talk back to her.

“How is he?” Strider asked, directing his question to Sam as he entered the marquee. He knelt before the slightly trembling hobbit, trying to help where he could to ease the sense of loss.

“Maybe we need Mr Merry and Mr Pippin here to help, seeing as how they are family and all,” Sam suggested. He had already spoken a whole book full of soothing words and comforting thoughts, but none of them seemed to having any dramatic effect on his stricken master.

“I’ll go see if I can find them,” Strider offered, knowing that hobbits had a enormous affinity for family and being surrounded by their own kind. Maybe Merry and Pippin could help Frodo understand where he was unable to offer any alternative answers.

As soon as Strider left the marquee, Sam had noted how much his master was trembling. Frodo was still dealing with shock and his legs might go beneath him at any time. For the moment, Frodo was leaning against the main marquee pole, but his hands were beginning to become clammy and sweaty.

“Samwise you ninnyhammer!” he berated himself. “Bring him into a place where there is naught a chair or anything such thing to sit on. I will be right back Mr Frodo,” he promised as he dashed to get the closest chair available, not wanting to leave his friend alone for any great length of time.

Halfway back from getting the chair, Sam realised that he should have a drink of water or some other sort of beverage as well. Reluctantly, he placed the chair down for a brief second and went to fill an empty ale tankard with water.

With Samwise and Strider both out of the tent, this left Frodo alone with his thoughts. More questions than anything else. Why? Why didn’t he stop his Uncle from leaving? Why didn’t he listen to the warning signals that he had recognized months ago?

Then the idea struck him from out of nowhere that he didn’t really know where his uncle had gone to. Sure he had disappeared before all of the party guests, but that didn’t necessarily mean that his worst fears had come true and he had left permanently. Maybe he was just playing a prank like Sam had said and was now sitting back at Bag End looking down at what remained and laughing at the looks he had witnessed on everyone’s faces.

If he was still at Bag End, maybe he could stop his Uncle from leaving or make him change his mind and stay. Maybe he could convince his uncle to take him with him. After all, they had always promised to travel together to the places that Bilbo talked about in his tales and songs.

Frodo reminded himself that he would have to be quick though. If Bilbo was leaving, no doubt he would be doing it very soon. A glimmer of hope at stopping his Uncle from making a grave mistake was all it took for Frodo to make up his mind and dash out of the back of the tent towards Bag End.

By the time Frodo was halfway back to Bag End, shrouded in darkness, preventing anyone from seeing him take off, Sam was walking back in to the marquee. He was fully expecting to still see the sad figure he had left but a minute ago.

Sam was baffled as he set the chair down first and then the tankard of water on the seat. Maybe Frodo had moved to another part of the tent, preferring to be as far away from others as possible in his time of sadness.

Strider was just approaching the entrance to the tent when Sam came out with a worried expression on his face. Sam got to speak first.

“Where did you take him to?” Sam asked, a little hurriedly, but thinking that the Ranger must have taken Frodo to another marquee, further away from any noise. It was the only rational explanation he could come up with in a hurry.

“Take him?” Strider questioned in return, at first thinking that Sam was somehow mistaking him for somebody else. As soon as he saw the stout hobbit’s face though, he knew that something was very wrong.

“Oh Mr Strider, please tell me it was you that took him somewhere else, because otherwise Mr Frodo is missing and I dare not think of what might have happened,” Sam said in a pleading voice.

“What’s this about Frodo missing?” Pippin said, he and Merry only coming into the conversation halfway. He had said it with mirth, but now realised with the concern written over the ranger’s face and Sam’s strangulated features, the laughter on his lips got caught in his throat.

“Where could he have gone, I was only gone but a minute. To get a chair for him to sit on and some water. He was looking a might pale,” Sam said in his defence.

“Sam, don’t get too far ahead of us on this, nobody is doubting that you thought you were doing the right thing for Frodo,” the Ranger said. He could tell that Sam was already carrying enough guilt for all of them, but the most important thing now was to find Frodo, and quickly.

“Then Frodo really is missing then,” Merry said, he refrained from saying anything further when Sam and Strider both gave him a hard-case look. Aragorn rolling his eyes in frustration at Merry having just repeated what was blatantly obvious.

“Where was he when you left to get the chair Sam?” Strider asked, believing it best to start at the beginning when they had both last seen Frodo in the marquee.

“I took him to this tent here behind us, just like you asked me. Then I could feel him trembling slightly, might have been the cold, but more so probably being so sad over Master Bilbo I suspect,” Sam explained, Strider only nodding in acknowledgement rather than interrupting the flow of information that might aid them in finding Frodo faster.

When there wasn’t much more detail to be heard, Strider went into the tent and began looking around to find which exit point Frodo used to evade being seen. Notably, he soon found himself at the rear of the marquee, lifting up the large canvas sheet and peering at a vacant field that ran in an upward direction towards the roadway.

“Sam, where does that roadway lead to?” Strider asked, thinking he already knew the answer to the path that Frodo had chosen almost before he uttered a word.

Sam answered anyway, “To Bag End………….” in a quiet voice.

“Come on then, what are we waiting for?” Merry and Pippin said, wanting to scramble up the hill as quickly as their legs would carry them.

“Alright, but just be careful now when we get there, we don’t know how Mr Frodo is going to be when we get there, if that is indeed where he went,” Sam said, really preferring that he and Strider make the trip without the over enthusiastic cousins.

Merry and Pippin gave an exaggerated hurt look, signalling that they were aware that Frodo might be a little distraught when they found him. Nonetheless, they were not going to have him wallow in sadness all alone.

“Let’s go,” Strider said to the two cousins, but by that time, Sam had already started to travel up the steep grassy slope. His primary concern was for Frodo and nothing else at the moment mattered.


*******************************************

At about the same time that Sam and Strider discovered which path he had chosen, Frodo was at the bottom of the roadway leading towards Bag End. Had he not paused at the gateway to the smial itself, and kept going until he reached the top of the hill, he might have been in time to see his beloved Uncle’s small form walking under the shadows a little distance away.

Alas, as fate would have it, Frodo did choose to pause at the gateway to Bag End. He was unaware of the conversation that had taken place between Bilbo and Gandalf. He did not know that the very moment his Uncle walked out of Bag End, that his world would be changed forever.

“Bilbo! Bilbo!” Gandalf heard Frodo calling from the front doorway. He sounded as if he had been running, as if he knew that haste was needed to prevent his Uncle leaving.

The wizard closed his eyes in sadness, knowing that he had known this was going to happen for quite sometime, just as Frodo had suspected it would. Knowledge of the fact though didn’t lessen the blow any or did it stop the pain of guilt that wracked the wizard over what effect he had over current and future events.

Gandalf had been sitting by the fire on a chair when Frodo had called out at the front door. A few moments before the dark-haired hobbit arrived, he had been lost in thought about the conversation that had just taken place and what the ramifications would be for Frodo.

Precious Bilbo had said as he caressed the one possession that took all of his will to give up. The wizard could hear his own words echoing, It’s been called that before but not by you he had said to the old hobbit.

When Gandalf had first approached Bilbo about the method he had chosen to leave the residents of the Shire and others whom he loved so dearly, like Frodo, the old hobbit had simply laughed as though the whole charade had been a rehearsed performance.

The wizard could tell though that Bilbo’s heart was breaking as much as he knew Frodo’s would be when the young hobbit returned to find his uncle gone. He couldn’t find the words to chastise his old friend, for he knew that there was no way for Bilbo to say goodbye to Frodo.

In the blink of an eye though, as he watched Bilbo gather the few meagre possessions he chose to take with him on his journey, Gandalf watched his friend’s face turn from old and haggard to one of pure lust when he eyed the ring.

Bilbo had told Gandalf that everything remaining in Bag End would be for Frodo, as well as many other assets that he had taken care of legally. Frodo would never want for anything so long as he dwelled in the Shire, and would have enough resources to travel far and beyond it’s borders if his heart so desired.

What about this ring, is it staying too? Gandalf recalled himself asking. Such a simple question really, but as he soon discovered, a many faceted answer.

At first Bilbo had said yes, until he realised what he was trying to give up. It was almost as if he felt he couldn’t give it up, like he wouldn’t be whole again without it. The old hobbit had even accused Gandalf of wanting it for himself. An absurd theory really if thought out properly, but in the mind of one who had such a lengthy possession and seduction by the ring, the wizard posed a threat.

It was at this point in this thinking, that Gandalf had heard Frodo, frantically calling out to Bilbo from the front door. He had called out twice, receiving no reply. Pausing at the entrance, he spied a shiny object on the floor.

“What’s this?” he asked himself, picking it up. He saw it was a gold ring, a plain band that appeared to hold no importance or significance. If only he knew then how wrong his first assumption was.

Frodo rested the ring on the palm of his hand as he approached the brooding wizard by the fireplace. He waited for Gandalf to turn and face him and give him some sort of explanation.

“Bilbo’s ring,” Gandalf had said, laughing a little, but a false laugh. “Bilbo has gone to stay with the elves. He has left you Bag End and all of his possessions.”

Gandalf watched Frodo’s face for a reaction to that which he had just said. He rarely found himself having to give such heart-wrenching news and dreaded being awarded the task by a now absent Bilbo.

Frodo watched as Gandalf now placed the ill-gotten ring in a small, plain envelope and sealed the slap, preventing any accidental escape. Somehow Frodo thought over what he had been told and was trying to find a way to accept that Bilbo was gone.

“Keep it out of sight,” Gandalf had said with a smile, but how he wished he could have emphasised that more.

Frodo had walked over to a large chest in the corner of the room and proceeded to hide the envelope under a pile of Bilbo’s old papers and maps. Somewhere out of sight Gandalf had recommended, there would be nobody looking in this place for sometime to come Frodo wagered. The dark-haired hobbit had just gotten to his feet again when he heard his name being called.

“Frodo?” came another call from the front door, this time, Sam who was more breathless and seemed to be in greater haste than Frodo had been a few minutes earlier. Sam was soon followed by Strider and Frodo’s two cousins, Merry and Pippin.

It was upon seeing all of these people and having to explain to them what had happened, that Frodo’s emotions seemed to swell up inside him and show more openly on his face and in his body language.

“Merry and Pippin, how about you go and organize a nice hot cup of tea for us all in the living room,” Gandalf suggested, knowing that keeping the two younger hobbits occupied was the best thing for the moment. He knew that they were probably concerned about Frodo as well, but at times like this, a little caution was called for.

“I’ll help the lads,” Strider suggested, for two reasons, one thinking along the same lines as the wizard that Frodo needed to have as few people invading his sense of space as possible, and secondly, because he had something in mind to mix in with the tea to aid Frodo at such a difficult time.

Sam had taken matters in his own hands and led a unprotesting Frodo into the living room, and ushered him into the most comfortable arm chair in the room.

Merry and Pippin had been sensible enough to bring Frodo his cup of tea and then gently bid him goodnight before retiring for the night. Both suspected that Sam and Gandalf would be more than capable of taking care of Frodo until the morning.

The two hobbits had already spoken to Strider about helping clear the party tables and marquees away in the morning, giving Frodo as much space as he needed to grief and come to an understanding that Bilbo had gone away. The Ranger was more than pleased to assist and thought the two cousins had shown much more maturity in offering such help.

Frodo had responded autonomously to the quick embrace from both Merry and Pippin, giving them a weak smile for their thoughtfulness, but as soon as they left the room, his mood darkened even further and the weight of grief and loss were beginning to fall in around him.

“Here you are Mr Frodo, a nice hot cup of tea. That will set you right for sure,” Sam said cheerfully, but betraying his own emotions by having tears for his master’s sadness.

Sam was just about to hand the cup and saucer to Frodo when he spoke. “Tell me it’s not true Sam, please…….. please tell me that it’s not………..” and with those few words came the tide of emotion that had been threatening to spill since the party field.

Gandalf had been quick enough to rescue the steaming cup from Sam’s grasp as the stout hobbit now wrapped his arms around the sagging and sobbing form of Frodo, crying along with him at the pain and abandonment he was feeling.

“Promise me that you will not leave me too Sam,” Frodo said amidst his tears, afraid that somebody else in his life whom he deeply cared for would be gone too.

“Not even if you asked me to Mr Frodo…… not even if you asked me to,” Sam swore.

The wizard and the ranger were content enough to let the two friends pour out their emotions with just each other, not wanting to intrude and not being able to find the right words of comfort to say to Frodo.

Half an hour later, an exhausted Frodo still had his dark head resting against Sam’s shoulder, his tears no longer running down his pale cheeks, but his eyes rimmed red and tired. Sam was seated on the arm of the chair and was finding prolonged sitting in such a position to be most unpleasant, but he wouldn’t disturb Frodo for any amount of discomfort that he might be enduring.

“Sam, try and get Frodo to sip a little of that tea,” Strider said in a whisper, not sure if Frodo was asleep or not. The hobbit’s eyes were closed and his faced a little more relaxed, but showing signs of fatigue from a dreadfully long and emotionally demanding day.

“What is in it?” Sam enquired, guessing that the Ranger had placed some sort of herb in the hot water to allow his master a more restful form of sleep.

“Just something to help him relax,” Strider assured Sam.

“Maybe he doesn’t need it,” Sam said on his master’s behalf, feeling the deep and even breaths from Frodo, signalling that he had fallen asleep. “Let’s not disturb him now,” Sam implored with them, hoping that his master would be treated with the utmost care.

Gandalf smiled and had to admire the determination of Samwise. He had never seen anyone care for Frodo the way Sam did, not even Bilbo and that’s saying a lot he bemused to himself. “I think your right Samwise,” the wizard agreed.

“Oh my dear boy, how I wish I could have prevented you feeling such pain and anguish this night,” Gandalf whispered as he ran a gentle hand down Frodo’s cheek.

“I’ll not be leaving him tonight Mr Gandalf, Sir,” Sam said, hoping that the wizard would understand his need to be there for Frodo in case he woke during the night. Gandalf smiled though as he looked at the face of the hobbit and realised that Sam’s own face was a little pinched with tiredness and emotion. He shouldn’t wonder that Sam would soon be joining his master in peaceful slumber.

“I knew you wouldn’t do anything other than your best for him Samwise,” Gandalf said in compliment. Twenty minutes later, Frodo was safely tucked away in his bed, Samwise seated in a large chair in same room, but also sound asleep. The room was warm and there was not a breath of wind blowing outside. All at Bag End was quiet.

Frodo’s peaceful sleep wasn’t to last very long though. Gandalf and Strider had retired to their own rooms only two hours earlier, when the dark-haired hobbit found himself awake and staring at the ceiling.

When he had first opened his eyes, his heart had swelled a little at the sight of Sam, sound asleep on the chair in his room. He didn’t want to wake his friend, and knew that with the few ales that Sam had consumed earlier that evening and everything else that he had been involved in helping out with that day, his sleep would be a deep one.

Frodo crept out of his room and into the study, knowing there was little chance of being discovered there this time of night. If he chose the kitchen, there was a small chance that somebody else would be up and about, looking for a drink or something, and find him there sitting all alone.

He sat in a chair in the room and looked about at the memories that seemed to scream out at him from all four walls. It’s funny he thought to himself, when his parents had passed away when he was twelve, he found himself wanting to hold onto every single memory of them for fear of not being able to recall them as the days faded into months and then years.

Sitting here now, only a few hours after Bilbo had left Bag End, for the first time in his life he didn’t want to be reminded of what he had lost. When he had first walked into the room, he was bombarded with the scent of Old Toby and his uncle’s ink on the writing desk.

Now, he found himself an orphan all over again and the pain was almost too hard to bear. When his parents died, he had forced himself after a time to come to terms with the reality that they weren’t coming back. But with Bilbo disappearing tonight it was different. He wasn’t dead. He was just gone, with no forwarding address and no real reason of why.

There was no way of knowing which direction he had taken, although Gandalf had given which road he had taken out of the Shire. There would be no way to know if he was hurt further down the trail or if he was in need of anything or where he was. The not knowing was harder to understand and come to terms with.

Frodo always knew that his uncle longed for travelling again, to see the places that he spoke of in his stories. Everyone joked about him being too old to take part in such adventures again. Bilbo might have been old in years, but his heart was still young in spirit.

The early morning sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon when Frodo emerged from the study after a sleepless night and began to make himself a cup of tea in the kitchen.

Gandalf was the first to greet him, though upon scrutinizing the young hobbit, could tell what events had taken place after everyone else in the smial had gone to bed. “Oh Frodo, why didn’t you wake somebody?” he asked, more in concern than meant as a criticism.

Frodo didn’t give an explanation, just smiled a tired smile and sipped slowly at his hot cup of tea. Leaning his back against the wall as he tried to drown out the sorrow and loneliness that seemed to be consuming him all to quickly.

Gandalf was understanding enough of Frodo’s personality to note that the hobbit preferred to keep his feelings and emotions locked up inside. Apart from the night before and that was in a moment of utter despair and grief. He didn’t know how Frodo was going to handle Bilbo’s departure over a long period of time.

Samwise had jerked awake in the chair a few moments earlier to find Frodo’s bed empty and the sheets and blankets cold, signalling that his master had been up for some length of time. He didn’t want to think about the thought that gnawed at him that Frodo might have been awake for a number of hours.

His fears were realised though as he walked into the kitchen and spied his master, leaning against the wall and his eyes still as tired looking as the night before and still rimmed red. Gandalf made a quick hand gesture to keep quiet, both leaving Frodo to himself. Maybe if they said nothing, he might be willing to talk, given time. It was a small hope worth holding onto.

To Gandalf’s and Sam’s dismay, Frodo was jerked awake from his half-drowse when Merry and Pippin launched into the kitchen, ready to greet the day with renewed vigour and energy. Both of them paused at the cross looks they were getting from the wizard and Sam. Strider soon appeared at the table and he too noted the signs of fatigue still etched on Frodo’s face.

Sam had gone about cooking a delicious breakfast for all, a little concerned to see Frodo’s plate mostly untouched. Merry and Pippin had consumed all they were given and were even eyeing off their cousin’s plate, ready to confiscate it when Gandalf intervened.

It had been originally intended that Aragorn help Merry and Pippin clean up the party field, but by the light of day, it was agreed that Gandalf would prove a better supervisor for the two young hobbits. He reminded them that they still had to finish their punishments from their activities the previous night.

Sam and Strider had been grateful to the wizard, hoping that with a quiet household for the majority of the morning, that Frodo might be able to gain some further rest. Aragorn had gone to his room to change into some clean clothes and Sam had seen Gandalf and the two cousins to the door, leaving Frodo in the kitchen to his own devices for a few moments.

Sam and Strider had both arrived back at the kitchen, ready to enjoy a much quieter breakfast and cup of tea with Frodo. When they walked into the room, neither could help but feel a lump rise in their throats as they looked at their friend.

During Sam’s absence, Frodo had gently pushed his plate of uneaten breakfast aside and now using his outstretched arm as a crude pillow, lay sound asleep. A few stray curls of his dark hair had fallen over his face and hid his features as he slept.



TO BE CONTINUED…………………..



JULES6