The Master of Bag End

by: FrodoII (FrodoBaggins87 at fanfiction.net)

Rated PG for medical details and angst.

Foreward note: This used to be a continuation from ‘The Night of a Thousand Stars,’ but I deleted that story and revised a few chapters of this one, so ‘The Master of Bag End’ stands on it’s own now. And since this is fanfiction, I am starting the story assuming you, the reader, already know the characters (aka Frodo Baggins, Bilbo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee and family, Gandalf, the Sackville-Baggins, etc.) so if you don’t, read LotR, don’t watch the movies because this fic is book-based (the movies butcher Frodo’s inner strength and nobility), or ask me or something. Enjoy! FB

Disclaimer: I don’t own Lord of the Rings.

Chapter 1: Over Blueberries and Oatmeal

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Bilbo hummed quietly to himself as he stirred steaming oatmeal and washed fresh blueberries for an early breakfast. Outside the summer was drawing to a quiet close; the birds still sang and twittered freely about, but with an atmosphere of peaceful reserve, as though saving themselves for the coming winter. The summer fruits were gathered and stored away, leaving barren bushes and trees waiting for another day to slowly pass. Even the sun shone duller today, Bilbo noted, odd for this time of year.

He turned from staring regretfully out the window as a shadow and hesitant footfall behind him announced his nephew’s presence in the kitchen.

“Good morning, Frodo-lad,” Bilbo sang out cheerfully as he piled the blueberries into a white china dish, “sleep well?”

“Yes, uncle,” Frodo said softly, and went to take an iron pot from the fire, moving as always with the same methodical grace as the settling birds outside.

“Good then!” Bilbo set the blueberries on the table and began dining with such vigor as is only attributed to hobbits. Stirring in sugar and pouring thick cream onto his porridge seemed to remind him of something.

“Frodo, I’ve been invited for tea at the Sackville-Bagginses today,” he said, sighing. “Obviously, they want to see if I’m getting any older.” His eyes danced playfully and he watched the corner of Frodo’s mouth twitch slightly. “But I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, especially when I announce to them the new heir of Bag End.”

Frodo nodded politely and sipped his milk. He hadn’t taken the clue.

“And do you know who that heir will be?” Bilbo asked. He had sheepishly decided on the matter only this morning, wondering why he had delayed for so long.

“I am not one to pry into your private affairs, sir,” said Frodo, “But if you wish to inform me I will not object.”

“Why, haven’t you guessed?” Bilbo asked in surprise, and Frodo stopped chewing to stare at his uncle in disbelief.

“Surely you can’t mean…” he began.

“Yes, Frodo, you are my heir.”

Bilbo sat back contentedly, waiting eagerly for his reaction. Frodo thought for a while, then spoke, choosing his words carefully.

“Have you considered this long?”

Me? The heir of Bag End? He thought, Inconceivable! What was Bilbo thinking?

“Yes, I have thought over the matter thoroughly and have decided you would be best suited to be master of the smial when I have gone.”

“Master?”

Bilbo sighed and rolled his eyes. “Of course, it means occasional mountains of paper work, keeping up the hole, stocking the pantry, being courteous to the neighbors and upholding the Baggins name, ” his eyes glinted mischievously, then softened. “And then there’s the old Gaffer, who I suppose will ‘replace himself’ with Sam. You’ve met Sam, haven’t you?”

“He’s a pleasant lad,” Frodo nodded.

“Yes, he is. He will be a wonderful companion, and his sense of propriety isn’t as elevated as his father’s, bless his soul. I say, the old Gaf…Mr. Gamgee, means well, but sometimes can be a bit overwhelming with his ‘master! That ain’t proper!’ nonsense. And then, of course there’s…”

“Uncle?”

“Yes Frodo?”

“Won’t your…decision cause upheaval in Hobbiton society?”

“Of course it will,” Bilbo laughed, but Frodo inwardly cringed. “However since my name hasn’t much reputation to loose, it won’t affect me much.”

‘Ah, there it is,’ Frodo thought. ‘It won’t affect him much, but it will hurt.’

As he stood to clear the table he could feel Bilbo’s eyes burrowing into his back, his uncle’s disappointment painfully evident in the silent atmosphere.

“Why, Frodo, I thought you’d be happy about my decision!” he exclaimed softly. His displeasure tore to Frodo’s heart. Here he was again, causing pain when all he wanted was to make his uncle happy.

“Of course, I suppose I should let you think on the matter before I make it official,” Bilbo suggested.

“I would like that very much,” Frodo replied, and Bilbo nodded, rising from the table.
He glanced at the small pile of dishes.

“Would you mind if I worked on my book for a while, lad?” he asked. “I want to write something down before I forget it and have to go to ‘tea.'”

“No, I don’t mind, uncle,” Frodo said honestly, and his uncle left the kitchen.

Frodo stepped outside to the well and carted in a large bucket of cold water for the washing. As he poured it into a basin to heat, his thoughts swirled around.

‘Me, the master of Bag End? A gentlehobbit?’ He glanced at his hands, slightly calloused from chores, yet healing from the scars of past years. ‘I’m not fit to be gentry. For one thing I…well, I suppose…perhaps…ah, never mind.’

He piled the dishes in the wooden wash tub and reached for the soap.

“Frodo Baggins, Master of Bag End,” he laughed softly to himself, shaking his head.

‘I can’t lead a pony to water, let alone manage an entire hole, especially one as large as this!’

He gazed around him at the spacious kitchen, nearly three times the size of his bedroom, furnished with elaborate oak cupboards, behind the carved doors of which stood hundreds of gold coins worth of expensive kitchen ware. And this was only one room! There were passageways he hadn’t explored and doors through which he hadn’t peeked, not to mention Bilbo’s legendary treasure still stored somewhere in the winding halls behind a secret panel of some kind.

Him, in charge of all this wealth? His own two insufficient hands guarding two lifetimes worth of priceless valuables?

Frodo shook his head again in wonder that Bilbo should think to leave all of this to him. He poured the boiling water into the tub and carefully dropped the dishes in. As he reached for the rag, he happened to glance up through the window above the sink to find two pairs of round brown eyes watching him intently. They immediately disappeared from sight, and Frodo craned his neck to see who had been staring in at him. The eyes had seemed familiar, but it took him a while before he finally remembered whose they belonged to.

They were little Sam’s eyes.

‘I wonder what he’s been up to,’ Frodo found himself musing. How had he known it was Sam, just from seeing his eyes? He turned back to the dirty dishes, sighing audibly as the sunlight traced a round, criss-crossed pattern on the red brick floor.

~To be continued!~