Author: Sam

Story: Leather-bound: 4 of ?

Series: n/a

Setting: The Party Field as related in The Red Book of Westmarch.

Song Note: Colorful by Verve Pipe. This comes from the movie Rock Star.

Feedback: Yes, please? Especially constructive. samwise_baggins@yahoo.co.uk

Webpage: http://www.oocities.org/samwise_baggins/index.html

Laughing, smiling, Bilbo Baggins greeted his guests, and there were quite a few guests. He'd invited hundreds of Hobbits, a good deal of them distant relations, to this particular birthday party. Even those who hadn't been invited had shown up, at least for the food, if not the dancing and speech. Of course, everyone also had shown up for the presents the notoriously rich celebrant would be passing out. A great many entertainments had been planned and the Shire was looking forward to this most delightful of occasions. It had even been noted that Gandalf the Gray had arrived with a wagon full of what could only be his famous fireworks.

With another smile, the hundred-eleven-year-old Hobbit shook the hand of Estella Bolger. "Welcome, a fine night, isn't it? I see you've come with your parents... good to see you all." He didn't question the absence of young Fredigar Bolger, as the boy would most likely be found with Merry and Pippin, two cousins of his ward, Frodo. Nodding, he accepted the well wishes extended to him and moved on.

"Ah, good evening, Mrs. Bracegirdle..." Almost shocked, Bilbo watched as what seemed an entire troop of children passed by, laughing and talking. As he watched, head swinging back and forth as if at a team played game, his smile slipped further and further. It was replaced by a look of consternation. "Are all these children yours?"

"Ah, yes..." the woman, holding yet another child, sounded like she couldn't decide whether to be proud or flabbergasted herself. She smiled absently at her cousin, not aware of just how much she had disturbed him... after all, she was one of the invited guests.

Bilbo nodded, patting his pockets and watching the children move off. "My, my... you certainly have been productive." He was trying to add up moving bodies. Just how many relatives did he have after all? He would have sworn that there had only been a handful of children in that particular branch.

Mrs. Bracegirdle gave an uncertain laugh, smile still in place, and moved hurriedly after her horde of children. It would have been foolish to leave that lot unattended for long. Bilbo wasn't sorry to see her go, beginning to realize again just why he disliked most of his relatives: foolish bunch of dimwits without any real intelligence, the lot of them.

Suddenly, he froze, an ear twitching slightly. Horror swept over him in a sweeping cold. He glanced quickly behind him then took off at a shuffling run, intent on getting to his ward before this latest pair of guests could. He fought the panic lest it take him over.

There, yes! Bilbo grabbed the fine tunic of his adopted-nephew, really just another distant cousin, Frodo Baggins. Tugging harshly, he rasped "The Sackville-Bagginses!" With another tug, he managed to get the boy moving towards a gap between two pavilion-style tents. There, they waited with heads turned away, listening in dread for their two most hated relatives.

They didn't have long to wait.

A sour-faced Hobbit woman and her equally not-so-attractive son thrust through the laughing crowd. They hesitated, right next to the constructed alley, and glanced around. It almost seemed as if the woman sniffed, but that must have been imagination. Finally, after long, intense seconds, the pair moved off, looking further afield for their quarry.

Bilbo's ear stopped twitching and he slowly relaxed. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes to stare intently at his ward. It appeared Frodo didn't notice as he was smiling, eyes dancing in triumph at their narrow escape. Bilbo frowned softly, studying the lad carefully. Slowly, Frodo became aware of the scrutiny and turned to his cousin.

"I don't know why I took you in after your parents died, Frodo, but it certainly wasn't out of pity."

Frodo frowned, looking confused. He studied his uncle carefully, wondering what had brought on this melancholy mood. Or had he displeased Bilbo in some way? The older Hobbit had been acting oddly enough of late.

Sadly, almost as if puzzled himself, Bilbo continued talking. "I think it was that out of all of my many relatives..." He paused, noting Frodo's frown, his concern, and finished softly, "you showed the most spirit." He wanted to say so much more... so very much, but he couldn't find the words somehow. He wanted to tell the boy that he'd be leaving, that he'd wish for Frodo to go too but it wasn't needed, that Frodo would get everything that Bilbo owned, just because he was the only Hobbit Bilbo ever cared about enough to worry for. He wanted to say 'I love you, lad'.

Understanding seemed to come over Frodo and he frowned harder, backing up just a hair or two. "Bilbo..." his tone was admonishing, "have you been in the Gaffer's old stout again?" His uncle tended to get this way when drunk.

The question took the older Hobbit by surprise. Hazel eyes widening, sounding more puzzled than indignant, Bilbo protested, "No... well, yes... but that's not the point!" The younger Hobbit was more confused, and just a bit doubtful. He continued to watch his guardian with a slight frown, large blue eyes worried. Wanting to say so much, to reassure the boy, the elderly Hobbit tried again. "It's just... that... ooh..." he sighed and glanced over his shoulder. Looking back he softly finished, "You'll be all right." He nodded and looked away, not seeing the increased worry and doubt in his young cousin's eyes.

Mere hours later, everyone was gathered at the long tables, sitting and enjoying their ale. They waited for their dinner, as the birthday speech was supposed to come first. True, Frodo, whose thirty-third birthday it was, coincidentally enough, should give a speech. However, Bilbo had made it clear that Frodo wasn't needed to; he'd do the honors for both of them. Thus, the young Hobbit sat at a table in the center of the group, awaiting his uncle's speech so they might share this festive meal together.

Bilbo was a bit drunk as he stepped up onto a barrel to be seen by all. Applause met his emergence, Frodo's clapping lasting just a bit longer than those of the other relatives present, though actual unrelated guests continued to applaud just as long as the Baggins ward.

As he started his speech, Bilbo let his mind wander, knowing just what he was going to say. The opening would be long, anyway, as he had to greet all of his relatives. He'd pause for subsequent cheers from the identified Hobbits, as well. This was fortunate, as it gave him time to try to decide just how he'd say goodbye to his beloved cousin Frodo.

While giving his introductory greetings, Bilbo found his mind wandering back over the initial speech he had written. It had been for Frodo alone, and had been meant to show his favoritism of the one boy over all of the other Hobbits there. It had been a final slap in the face for everyone else, but a terribly loving hug for the one person who meant so much to him.

With a shake of his head, almost imperceptible, the Hobbit was draw forcefully back to reality as old Odo Proudfoot argued with him about semantics of a name. It was a brief argument; Bilbo didn't have the time or energy to waste on such stupidity. He continued with a veiled insult to the assembled masses, then fell into a stuttering near-silence, finding his gaze stopping on Frodo. Meeting those huge blue eyes, he stammered, finding his courage faltering. Bilbo couldn't help thinking just how everyone acted for him, but just how natural and honest Frodo was.

Frodo wasn't laughing anymore. He tilted his head, frowning a bit, confused by Bilbo's odd behavior. The youth didn't look away from his elder, trying to ask what was going on, using his eyes, his concern.

Slowly, Bilbo slid his fingers into his pocket. Feeling the cold metal of the gold ring, sudden courage infused him. He kept his eyes on Frodo, willing him to understand, hoping he could read his heart in his eyes.

"I have put this off for far too long..." With a final gulp, he did it, he said it. "Goodbye." His glance lingered once more on Frodo, a second which seemed to last a lifetime; then Bilbo was gone.

Hurrying up, invisible due to the power of his golden ring, he didn't dare look back, afraid he'd lose his nerve if he saw the hurt confusion in Frodo's beautiful, expressive eyes. He was going to leave Hobbiton and this was the easiest way to do so. Loneliness seemed to follow him as he hurried through the gates and into his home, thinking back at Frodo, though the boy wouldn't possibly hear him.