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“Bilboooo!” A loud shrill voice called through the market. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, walking like a woman possessed, barreled through the crowd toward Bilbo. Her gaudiest hat perched atop her head bouncing with every gentlehobbit she careened into.
“Hide!” Bilbo hissed loudly ducking around the corner, Thorin’s sleeve clutched tightly in his fist. Just moments before, Bilbo and Thorin had been walking side by side, each with a large tawny wicker basket filled with food hanging from the crooks of their arms.
“What I wouldn’t gi-“ a thick dwarven hand gently but sternly covered Bilbo’s mouth; rough calloused fingertips tickled this cheek. Bilbo stared at Thorin, his face turned to the side and keeping an eagle-like unblinking view of the woman in his line of sight.
Lobelia rushed clear past the couple pressed into the canvas of a market stall tent, partially obscured by a well-maintained shrub and another stall’s banner.
The dwarf, dark wavy hair pulled back into a low loose ponytail, allowed himself to breathe once the risk had abated. He turned to look at his husband. The two gazed mesmerized at the closeness of their bodies and the love in their eyes.
Thorin’s hand lowered from Bilbo, “I’m sorry my love, I didn’t want to alert her to our presence,” he gave his hobbit’s rounded cheek a loving peck, “now, what were you saying Bilbo?”
“Never mind that, I’d much rather feel your hands again” the hobbit spoke slyly from beneath fluttering eyelashes and a teasing expression.
A splotchy red blush spread over Thorin’s face, “Bilbo! We’re in public!”
The unbothered hobbit scrunched his nose and rolled his eyes smiling, “Oh alright, you handsome prude. I suppose we do still have things to do before tomorrow evening.” He flipped the lids of both their baskets open, his finger flicking through the air counting off what they had already purchased.
“Alright my love, all we are missing is sugar. Am I forgetting anything?”
“The blueberry jam for the Supper we promised Frodo he could stay up for tonight?”
“Oh! You’re absolutely right, I almost forgot. Can’t forget the jam.”
“And Bilbo, on the way back I must stop by my forge to pick up the last of our gifts for the lad.”
“So sugar, jam, and your forge. Right. Almost done darling.” He took Thorin’s hand in his and gently pulled them back into the hustle and bustle of pedestrian hobbits out to peruse the market.
The bakery stall was well-stocked and busy when the lovers made their stop. A heavy sack of sugar tightly tied with thick twine, and a pristine jar of blueberry jam were added to their baskets. Several coins and a friendly nod we’re exchanged between Thorin and the baker’s wife, Hyacinth Bolger, while Bilbo chatted with the Baker herself.
“Stocking up the pantry, Bilbo?”
“Not today Freesia. We’re preparing a party for Frodo.”
“Didn’t the lad just have his 14th birthday party a few months ago? Am I remembering that wrong?” She rubbed her chin.
“No no, you’re right but we’re actually celebrating his Name Day. It’s a dwarven tradition so we’ll be having a few visitors over. If you see any confused dwarves wandering about please direct them to our smial.”
Freesia chuckled in agreement, “Best of luck to you both and congratulate Frodo for me, will you?”
With heavier baskets and hands intertwined, they walked down Bagshot Row toward their home. Bungo Baggins had built a sturdy home, which made it difficult for his son to add on to its construction, thus the forge had been built \ into the same hill as Bag End, right beside the smial’s spare room but without direct access to the main home.
As soon as he spotted the sensible, dark door with square windows that protected his workshop and small business, Thorin handed his items to his waiting husband and quickly slipped inside.
The sun sank lower in the sky while Bilbo waited. The rustling and clanging of fabrics and tools being rearranged burst from the little building nestled in the hillside. A repeated metal banging followed by some colourful Khuzdul swearing.
“Darling?” Bilbo’s arms sagged further and further from the combined weight of their purchases.
“Almost done, Amrâlimê.”
“Thorin, I’m going to head inside and check on the rising dough so we can get started on the meal before my arms fall off.”
“Arms?” Thorin stuck his head out alarmed and concerned, saw his hobbit practically collapsed under their small mountain of items, and chuckled a deep sound. He emerged from the forge to lift the pile effortlessly and lead them inside, “My apologies, lanselê. Let’s get everything set first, I can come back once we’re done.”
Once in Bag End, the couple wiped their feet and boots on the entry rug and washed their hands of outdoor dirt. The hill of purchases was safely deposited on the bench in the entrance hall. After a sweet thankful kiss between the two, they began their tasks.
Bilbo headed to the kitchen where he pulled out the pots, pans, and utensils he would need to craft his masterful celebratory meal.
Thorin carefully brought the ingredients to the pantry to store them in their respective jars and bowls before heading back to his search in the forge. He returned when the sun was resting on the treetops, flushed pink with embarrassment.
“I am a fool. I brought the gifts in last night and hid them in our room to save time. Whatever will you do with me, Ghivashel?” he rested his head on Bilbo’s shoulder, wrapping his muscular arms around the apron-clad torso of his love.
“What indeed, my beloved.” Bilbo cradled Thorin’s cheek with his free hand as he kept his half-lidded eyes on the sweating onions in the pan.
The front door swung open not long after and young Frodo hopped over the threshold in a cloud of dust and smiles. He shimmied on the entrance rug to dislodge any dirt before looking past the parlour and seeing his guardians embracing tenderly in the kitchen beyond it.
His desire to announce himself was overrun by his shyness. He calmed himself using the deep breathing trick that Uncle Thorin had taught him when he first came to Bag End and tried his best.
“U-Uncles, I’m home!”
His guardians turned to look at him with wide smiles, “Frodo, my lad! Just in time. Before the guests arrive we wanted to give you our gifts.”
Finished in the kitchen, the two approached and sat on the bench in front of Frodo. Thorin held out a long rectangular box and a fabric bundle. The young fauntling unwrapped the fabric gift first.
“This, my lad, is a vest for you to wear and grow into. Its stitching is made up of thread your mother gifted me years ago. So you have a bit of both your homes whenever you wear it.”
Speechless, Frodo looked to Thorin who opened the box for his nephew. Inside there were three beautiful little beads sitting on a plush pillow: a bright silver metal bead with black engraved Khuzdul letters, a deep blue gem highlighted by an opalescent base, and an intricately carved walnut wood bead.
“These are clasps I have made for you. This one is made of a precious stone in Erebor and means you are a child of my royal house and of Thorin Oakenshield. This one I carved with a branch from here in Hobbiton. It means you are a child of Bilbo Baggins and a hobbit child of the Shire. And this. This one I made to remind you that your life’s journey is your own, regardless of where you are now or where you were with your parents.”
“Thank you! Thank you so much, Uncles! May I wear them all tonight?” Frodo wiped his face clear of all tears as he jumped into a tight hug from his family.
“Certainly, my dear pebble.”
“Now,” Bilbo clapped his hands together and rose again.
“Go get freshened up and change for your Dinner. No need to bring half the soil of the Shire to the table with us. And as the host and guest of honour, you will be handing out your thank you gifts tonight, alright?”
The now nervous teenager nodded frantically and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants before rushing off to his room past the West Hall.
Bilbo leaned into Thorin’s chest, “I’m so glad he finally thinks of Bag End as his home”.
Thorin hummed in agreement, pressing against Bilbo, “Still such a nervous child but he’s doing well. More or less happy, mostly healthy, a few friends, and he trusts us enough to spend time with us”.
Bilbo made a sound of approval and sympathy.
The sound of loud water running in the bathroom from Frodo’s direction let the two know the young teenager was following his instructions.
“Ghivashel,” Thorin spoke softly, “you were so worried when Frodo came to live with us but you have become an amazing father”.
“My love, you flatter me. Whatever caretaker I have become has been thanks to you. I love you”.
“Me? Now who is the flatterer? Amralizu, my One”. Before they could share their passionate kiss, there was a knock at the door.
A shrill prepubescent voice shouted from the back of the smial, “But I’m not ready yet!”
“Not to worry, lad, I’ll get this one” Thorin hollered back as he opened the round door to reveal a familiar white-haired dwarf stamping his boots to the side as politely as possible.
“Balin, we’re so glad you could make it!” Bilbo called from behind his husband at their old friend who walked in with arms opened wide for a quick embrace.
“Bilbo! Thorin! How good it is to see you both!”
Just as Bilbo closed the door, another knock, this time more forceful.
“Good evening! Would this happen to be the home of Prince Thorin and Masters Bilbo and Frodo Baggins?” a coy voice from further outside called.
“Oh my goodness, look Thorin!” The three stuck their heads outside.
“Frodo! Look out your window. You have a special surprise!” Thorin called back into their home.
On the walkway leading from the gate straight to their front door stood most of Thorin’s company one in front of the other carrying sacks and boxes decorated colourfully. All but King Fili, the King’s Guard Kili, perpetual new father Bombur, and the ever-absent Gandalf had made the journey. A little excited sound could be heard from Frodo’s room as they all filed in and made themselves comfortable.
Bilbo laughed heartily with tears in his eyes, “Alright alright everyone, a certain young hobbit is very excited for this evening to begin. Dori, Nori, Ori, Dwalin, Bifur, and Bofur,” he counted off as they entered the warm smial, “dinner is ready in the dining room, have a seat and serve yourselves!”
***
They were all ushered into the dining room. The rectangular table was set with crisp eggshell linens featuring hand-embroidered red berries above Bilbo, Thorin, and Frodo’s names in each of the corners. Family heirloom dishware and cutlery marked each place setting, more than there were people present, just in case, and in the center of the table sat large platters of fruits, cheeses, and crackers, baskets of bread rolls, and several steaming covered crockery pots.
Each guest had taken a seat and served themselves respectfully from the foods available. Just as they began to dig in, a freshly changed little hobbit walked in with the biggest smile and wildest unkempt curly dark hair.
“Oh my,” chuckled Balin at the sight, coughing on his mouthful of bread.
Dwalin smacked his brother on the back solidly, “Thorin, I believe someone is in need of your help”.
Thorin sat heavily in his usual chair, pulling Frodo to stand between his knees with his back facing him so Thorin could comb out his short messy curls, “come, my lad, let’s sort your hair out”.
Frodo fidgeted with his shirt’s buttons, staring at their new visitors, clearly a bit overwhelmed.
“Remember what we spoke about Frodo? Deep breath and one at a time.” Bilbo cautioned sagely as he filled his husband’s plate with a wide assortment of foods.
Frodo nodded and took a shallow breath turning to Balin, “Hello Mister Balin!”
“Hello Frodo, are you excited about your party?”
“Oh yes. Uncle Bilbo says we’re celebrating my Name Day. We’ll be having Dinner with guests and then I’m allowed to stay up late enough for Supper with all the adults!”
“Oh really?!” Bofur replied with an exaggerated tone, feeding the young Hobbit’s excitement.
“Hello, Mister Bofur!” Frodo bounced on his tiptoes in anticipation.
“Hello lad, and what is it you’ll be having when it’s Supper time with all the adults?” Bofur’s joviality had become brighter somehow since the last time he had visited, but all that had changed were his boots and rucksack.
“Uncle Bilbo and Uncle Thorin promised I could have a scone with blueberry jam tonight!” The dwarves chuckled.
“There. Done.” Thorin turned Frodo around, straightened out his new vest, and reverently lay a hand on the new braids and their clasps. “We are so proud of you Frodo,” he planted a loving kiss on his child’s forehead before pulling a chair back for the young one to sit in.
“Ah, now there’s the hobbit of the day! Cleaned and ready to celebrate.” Dwalin, whose beard featured a new clumsily carved clasp, practically boomed in the small room.
A small “hello Mister Dwalin, sir” came from Frodo. Dwalin patted the boy on the head kindly in response.
Hours went by as the group shared their lives thus far with one another over plates of cooked meat, fish, potatoes, and vegetables. Gossip and scandals were whispered, jokes and embarrassments received guffaws, and all the while little Frodo sat eating his Dinner sandwiched between his uncles, absorbing the love and camaraderie shared among the adults. From what he gathered not all of his uncle’s friends lived under the same mountains but they were all close enough to visit.
By the time Bilbo brought dessert out, everyone was up to date. The energy of the room had lulled comfortably and all their guests were tenderly looking between Frodo’s new beads and clothing to the loving couple who adopted him.
“Frodo, would you like to go get your thank you gifts for our guests so you can open your gifts?” Bilbo asked.
Frodo rushed off to get a small lidded box before practically throwing himself back into his seat as each of his gifts was laid out on the tablecloth before him in a neat line each with their corresponding notecard.
Ori brushed his fingers over his new ornate fishtail braid, “would you like us to give them to him, Bilbo?”
“No need, Ori. Frodo has been practicing his speaking for tonight. Go on lad, you can do it. Just read the notecard aloud and give them their thank you gift.”
The little voice lifted the first item, a blank embossed leather notebook, “ To Frodo. From Ori. May you never go without knowledge or curiosity. Thank you, Mister Ori. Here, I’ve been working on my fibre crafting with Uncle Bilbo and Uncle Thorin so I made each of you a little miniature of yourselves for your homes.”
Ori’s eyes glistened at the small fabric Ori was handed.
A small blue plant, well-watered and bright was next, “Dear Frodo Baggins, These flowers come from the mountain pass of Ered Luin, where many of your dwarven friends reside. When you care for them may you remember how much you are loved. Mahal bless you, Balin, son of Fundin.”
He handed Balin his fabric copy, marvelling at the colour and softness of the bell-shaped petals.
Frodo next lifted a scarf with stone beads knitted into each row, “To young Master Baggins. From Dori and Nori. May all your travels be simple and your fashion exquisite.”
Nori star charms swung from the two new braids wrapped around his hair points as he leaned forward to take his miniature. Dori, who sat beside him, more wrinkled around the eyes but dressed in stylish yet practical wares took his gift gently with a sparkle in his eyes.
The next gift raised was a sheathed dagger with a ruby-encrusted pommel.
“To little Frodo. From Dwalin. Be you both prepared and safe forevermore.”
Dwalin tucked his miniature into his inner coat pocket, “now you be careful with that. Your family will teach you how to handle it when you’re ready.”
Bilbo eyed the weapon nervously but held himself steady, knowing the value of metalwork and the symbolism of protection to Thorin’s lineage.
Bifur and Bofur leaned in seeing the cherry-stained long pine box with a sliding lid that held their gift.
“To Frodo. May you stay young at heart, kind in soul, and never want for anything, be it riches or love. Love the Urs.” Frodo gasped when he looked into the bag and pulled out a hand-carved set of Thorin’s Company, their allies, and foes. “Uncle! Look at the toys I got!”
“Oh my word. Bifur, Bofur, this is too much, how long have you been working on this?” Bilbo examined the small wooden Thorin impressed.
“Never you mind, I was always going to make them but when Frodo came along I thought he’d appreciate it best. Bifur had a mold made of each piece so metal copies of your set can be made for other children. But yours is the original, little lad!”
Frodo’s eyes were blown in awe, his hand attempting to give the Urs their miniatures without looking away.
Bifur no longer had an axe in his skull but that had not changed his reservedness. His grunt caught the teen’s attention, who looked him deeply in the eyes, handed him his fabric figure, and signed “thank you” with his now free hand.
“A toast to Frodo and our hosts!” Called Ori with his demure voice. Everyone lifted a mug, except for Bilbo, Thorin, and Frodo, who instead lifted cups of milk.
“Frodo, congratulations on your Name Day. We hope you enjoy your gifts and thank you for your thoughtful and well-crafted gifts in return. Bilbo, Thorin, we have missed you so. Thank you for inviting us even if not all of us could make it.”
“Cheers!” All ten members seated at the table then drank heartily.
Thorin looked to the young teen, “Frodo, please go bring your gifts to your room and change into your sleep clothes so we can have space for Supper soon”.
Bilbo laid out the fruit platter and pie for dessert, while Thorin swapped the dirty dishes for clean ones. Frodo did as he was told, piling his gifts high and slowly hobbling back to his room to change clothes. Their guests chatted among themselves, picking at the occasional fruit and shelled nut with their dainty cutlery.
“I saw Missus Lobelia on my way home from Sam’s home Uncle” Frodo rejoined the group, dressed in his floral sleep gown.
“Did you have a good time at Sam’s?” Bilbo brushed the curls from his short nephew’s forehead, his young eyes drooping as he nodded.
“We played leapfrog with his younger siblings and then some of his neighbours played Xs and Os in the dirt with us.”
“Who’s Lobelia?” Nori piped up.
Thorin, arms crossed, responded, “One of Bilbo’s relatives. You remember the one he wrote to you about taking his home and auctioning his possessions while he was travelling with us?”
“Ohhhh yes, I remember. The greedy magpie.”
“Mm, yes. She tests my patience”.
“Well, she wished me a happy Name Day. It felt nice so I told her to have a lovely afternoon.” Frodo struggled with his walnut, handing it to Dwalin who crushed the shell in his fist and handed the walnut meat back.
“Good lad. Taking the high road is usually best” Balin added.
“Did she now? Hm, maybe she’s changing. Happens to the best of us I suppose, why not her?”
Frodo’s attention had clearly wandered from the conversation when he looked over, “Uncle Thorin?” A mighty yawn shook his small shoulders. “if I don’t have a dwarf name, how did you know today was my Name Day?”
“Well, pebble,” he effortlessly hoisted the young tired teen onto his lap, “we chose it for you. Today was my younger brother Frerin’s birthday. You would have liked him, Kili reminds me of him at times. He would have loved you. Anyway, we thought it fitting that he be part of your celebration because of your names”. His deep voice rumbled through his chest.
“My love, look. He’s fallen asleep. Perhaps you can continue another day.”
The light snoring of the young teen, absolutely exhausted from the day peppered the atmosphere. The group chuckled and snorted, remembering their own childhoods and pasts caring for excited yet tired pebbles.
Bilbo leaned over and gave his beloved a soft kiss, carding his fingers through their son’s dark curls.
Thorin cradled the boy closer as his friends chatted over fruits and tea, knowing that tomorrow the fauntling would lament having fallen asleep before he could enjoy his promised scones and blueberry jam.