Chapter Text
Bilbo was humming an elvish tune at his writing desk, handing a filled envelope to little Frodo every time he finished sealing them. Frodo carried them all in his arms in a pile, excited to be helping.
“All right Frodo, that seems to be the last of them,” Bilbo said, laying the last envelope on the top of Frodo’s pile. The little hobbit stared at the envelopes, stars in his eyes. Bilbo couldn’t help but smile, his nephew was getting so old so fast.
“How about you go get your Papa to help you deliver them, hmm?” Bilbo said, beginning to get teary eyed.
“Do you mean it, Uncle? Thank you!” Frodo leaned on his uncle as if to give him a hug, which Bilbo accepted immediately. Giving his little nephew a kiss on the forehead, Bilbo watched the boy carefully walk to the door, leaving Bilbo to reminisce.
“Papa!” Frodo yelled while shutting the door. The boy looked around the front outside of Bag-End but couldn’t find the dwarf. Suddenly Frodo heard the hum of a familiar dwarvish tune and followed carefully into the woods. The little hobbit looked around the huge trees, hoping to find his papa soon. Sure enough, Thorin was sitting against a tall tree, whittling a figure out of wood.
“Hello my Gulmalûm,” Thorin said without looking up. He put down his carving knife and the wood block and saw the pile of letters in the little hobbit’s hands, “It looks like you’ve got your hands full.” Frodo giggled and put all the envelopes on the grass before falling into Thorin’s arms.
“Papa, what are you making this time?” Frodo asks, cuddling into the chest of Thorin, looking up at his uncle. Thorin patted the little hobbits arm, “I’m not sure yet, I just started,” he replied. Soon Thorin began to close his eyes while Frodo did the same until he remembered why he was looking for his Papa.
“Oh, I needed to ask you something!” Frodo stood his feet up on Thorin’s thigh and grabbed Thorin’s long, braided beard, “Would you help me deliver all these invitations?”
“Why, what are these invitations for?” Thorin chuckled, trying to look confused. Frodo pouted at his uncle, even though he knew he was teasing him.
“They’re for my birthday party, Papa, remember?”
Thorin gave a hearty chuckle, “Oh yes, of course! How could I forget?” Thorin held Frodo’s little hands so that he could stop pulling on Thorin’s beard and also to help little Frodo off of his thigh. Thorin slowly got up, making sure to crack his back as he got up, and reached down to pick up his whittling knife and wood. “Alright then, who are we delivering them to?”
“All the kids in Hobbiton, it’s a tea party after all, and grown ups are not allowed,” Frodo stated as he began to pick up the letters one by one. Thorin took the letters out of Frodo’s little arms and began to put them in a neat row.
“Here you are, Gulmalûm,” Thorin leaned down to give Frodo the envelopes, which he took happily.
“Thank you, Papa!” Frodo looked up at Thorin, instinctively reaching up to hold Thorin’s pointer finger. Frodo held Thorin’s finger as if it were a hand and began leading Thorin to town. Thorin’s eyes began to water as he cherished this moment with his adopted-nephew and only thought of when Frodo was just a baby.
Thorin and Frodo walked around Hobbiton, passing out invitations with every kid they saw. Frodo would give the invitation with a big smile while Thorin tried his best to not look intimidating. Although Thorin thought he would be scary to all the hobbits in the shire, the children were fascinated. The children wouldn’t stop staring at the towering dwarf king in front of them. The adult hobbits, however, felt very different. The parents would gasp and act in disbelief anytime the Oakenshield-Baggins were not in Bag-End. Frodo didn’t understand why they were so rude, but Thorin and Bilbo knew exactly why. Even though Bilbo would act proud and wouldn’t pay attention to it, Thorin couldn’t help but feel shame.
“This is my Papa!” Frodo introduced, as the kids would be surprised and adults scowled. Thorin felt the shameful heat in his face, but broadened his chest and shoulders. He’s a Durin after all, a dwarves king who shouldn’t let the thoughts of some hobbits hurt him. But that didn’t stop Thorin’s face from getting red.
There were only two invitations that had names on them, but Frodo was scared to give them out. One of those invitations was his little cousin, Merry. This would be the first time he’s ever met his cousin and was nervous. The other one was his friend, Sam, but there was something about Sam that made his stomach twist. Maybe he was worried about embarrassing himself in front of his new best friend. Maybe he was worried Sam didn’t think Frodo was his best friend. Maybe it had to do with his smile. Frodo tried to figure out what caused this unusual feeling until they finally walked all the way to the Brandybuck’s house in Buckland.
Frodo shook as he stared at the closed door as Thorin watched him confused. He sighed and knocked on the door, then reached his hand to Frodo so the boy could hold his pointer finger for reassurance; however, due to the fact that they were in public, Frodo declined. Before Thorin’s feelings could get too hurt, a fair woman with curly blonde hair that went to her shoulders opened the door. She was dressed in a green top dress, the bottom of the dress being brown, with white lace in the middle. At first the woman was startled when she opened the door to see the dwarf at her doorstep, but caught herself and bowed lightly.
“Master Oakenshield, Master Frodo,” the woman greeted. The woman smiled at the little hobbit, “You might not remember me, Frodo, you were too little. I’m your Aunt Esmerelda.” Frodo finally realized who the woman was, she was over at Bag-End the other day. She left right as the hobbit woke up for the morning, but he remembers her voice.
“Would you like to come inside and have afternoon tea?” Aunt Esmerelda asked the dwarf, trying not to seem intimidated. Thorin looked down at Frodo, as if to read his mind.
“Not today, I’m afraid, we’re very busy, uh, preparing for the party,” Thorin said, trying his hardest to smile without making it obvious. Frodo mentally thanked him. “Which is why we’re here in the first place,” Thorin cleared his throat, “ We just need to give young Meriadoc this invitation for Frodo’s birthday.”
“Merry!” Aunt Esmerelda called from inside, “He will be very excited to see you, Frodo!” There were clatters and stomping feet from inside the house, coming closer until a tiny hobbit grabbed onto Aunt Esmerelda’s dress. Frodo was startled by the sudden child, only to realize how little Merry was. Merry height was about Frodo's chest, which said a lot since Frodo himself was what Bilbo called a “late bloomer”.
“Merry here is only ten,” Esmerelda picked up Merry and held him in her arms, “Frodo, how old will you be now?”
“Seventeen, ma’am,” Frodo mumbled politely, looking up at his aunt. Frodo fidgeted with the envelope before remembering that it existed. “This is for you… Merry.” Frodo brought it up to the ten year old, who aggressively grabbed the invitation out of his hand and started biting it. At this point Frodo thought his party would be ruined with having such a little kid there. Frodo looked up at Thorin cautiously, giving him the heads up Frodo was ready to leave.
“We hope Merry will be able to come to the party, but we must be off now,” Thorin mumbled, giving Frodo a nod. The Brandybucks gave their goodbyes and Thorin and Frodo went on their way back to Bag-End. Thorin picked his little nephew up and put him on his shoulders, noticing he began to get tired, so he wouldn’t have to walk all the way back home. Frodo thanked him and held onto Thorin’s graying hair. Frodo fiddled with the beaded strand that matched his own small one, and then staring at the invitation in his hand.
“There’s only one more invitation left,” Frodo thought, almost dreading the encounter. He didn’t know why he was acting like this. Ever since they moved to Bag-End, Sam had been his best friend. Maybe it was just because he was really nervous to see his best friend, out of excitement? Frodo oils to figure it out, but decided it was best not to delve into it. He was turning seventeen after all, perhaps this was just a normal feeling to feel once you get closer to your tweens. Frodo shook off the thoughts and realized he had been folding and crumbling Sam’s invitation. He tried straightening it out before Thorin interrupted his nervousness.
“What is wrong, Gulmalûm?” Thorin asked, hearing his mumbled mental debate go on the entire time. Frodo’s cheeks heated in embarrassment and questioned if he should tell his Papa. Frodo opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it. He was too scared to know the answer.
“Nothing Papa, I’m just nervous about the party,” Frodo responded. His response wasn’t really a lie, he truly was nervous about the party. The idea of all the new kids he’s never met scared him, but also excited him. He supposed that was from a mixture of both of his uncles, Bilbo being outgoing while Thorin is…not. The young hobbit somewhat wished that he didn’t have to deal with the feeling in general. He thought about how much easier it would be if he could celebrate his birthday in Erebor instead of this new place, but they only moved in a month ago after all, they couldn’t make the trip back to Erebor in time. Uncle Bilbo and Papa said that Frodo could alternate every year to Erebor and the Shire, which Frodo felt fine with, he just wished they could start with Erebor instead of here.
Thorin could notice the tension in the air and tried to change the subject, “a letter from Fili came last night.” Thorin’s information caused Frodo to perk up.
“What did he say, Papa?” Frodo asked excitedly. This had been the first time they had gotten a letter from the Kingdom under the Mountain and was excited to hear from his family.
“Not much, just about being the new king… he also spoke of you a little,” Thorin added lightly, knowing Frodo would be excited. Just as Thorin expected, he felt his little nephew begin to jump on his shoulders. It made Thorin think of when Fili and Kili were little and they would do the same when he carried them.
“What did he say? What did he say?” Frodo grabbed Thorin’s hair lightly and leaned his chin on the top of his head, waiting for Thorin’s response. Thorin couldn’t help but chuckle and the adorable hobbit.
“He just said to wish you a happy birthday and that he missed you, they all miss you,” Thorin replied, patting Frodo’s leg. The whole way back to Bag-End, Frodo asked questions about Fili and being king and Kili and Dwalin and… they were back to the hobbit hole.
Outside of the hobbit hole, the Gamgees were still hard at work in the garden. Bilbo specifically asked the Gaffer for the best garden in the shire for Frodo’s birthday, so they were beginning the flower arrangements for the next week. Next to the Gaffer, Frodo saw Sam holding bloomed flowers in his hand, ready to be put in the soil while the Gaffer carefully took out the old ones. Sam made eye contact with Frodo, making Sam quickly look the other way and hide his face. Frodo didn’t know why Sam was always so shy to him, but he assumed it had to do with him being a servant to his family. Servants in Erebor didn’t act that way, but it must be different in the Shire. Frodo began to realize how new this must be for Sam, to have his masters home. Of course Frodo knew that Thorin was technically Sam’s only master, but as the older one out of the two Frodo still deserved the respect from a servant. Not only must it be difficult to have masters for the first time, it must also be difficult to be friends with one of them. Perhaps that is why Frodo was having these confusing thoughts, just like Sam was. It was almost taboo to have a friendship between masters and servants, after all.
“Focus, boy, y’ won’t learn nothin’ if y’ don’t pay attention,” the Gaffer grumbled, noticing his son’s attention being distracted by who knows what. The Gaffer couldn’t help but scowl behind the blue asters he was currently potting. Sam knew exactly what the scowl was for, the whole Gamgee house had heard the rants the Gaffer would go on, and anyone who would listen at the Green Dragon, any chance the Gaffer had; however, the Gaffer did have his manners, and a hungry family to feed, so he continued to treat his masters with respect, no matter his views. Sam honestly felt bad for the Oakenshield-Baggins, he didn’t see what was so wrong with it- ‘Oh silly Sam, best not t’ question Gaffer…’ Sam thought as he tried to gain focus on the task at hand.
Thorin picked Frodo up and off of his shoulders, signaling him to give the last invitation to Sam. Frodo silently shuffled up to Sam, who pretended not to pay attention, and bent the corners of the invitation. Finally, Sam looked at the other hobbit and Frodo froze. Why was it so hard for him to give his friend the invitation? Frodo took a deep breath and remembered who he was talking to. He was talking to sweet Sam, his friend, there was nothing to be scared about. Frodo gave him a warm smile and held up the invitation.
“This is for you, Sam. I would like you to come to my birthday party next week,” Frodo said lightly, “It would mean a lot to me if you come.” Sam face got red and looked at the invitation, then at Frodo, and the at the Gaffer, and then back at Frodo.
“Oh, well, I’m not too sure I can go, Mister Frodo, y’see, my Gaffer-“ Sam began to ramble before Frodo took his hand, which made him silent. Sam watched as Frodo put the invitation in Sam’s hand manually.
“You can tell me later if you can’t come, but until then, you will be coming, yes?” Frodo asked Sam, his hand lingering on Sam’s. Sam paused and nodded. Frodo took him into a big hug, having to reach up on his tippy toes, “Thank you, Sam! It’s very good to see you!” Sam slowly patted Frodo’s back. Frodo let go of Sam after a second and waved bye as he skipped into Bag-End with Thorin. Sam watched him leave and stared at the door as it closed.
It was only until the Gaffer cleared his throat that Sam realized his father was watching the whole time. Sam turned back to his Gaffer and saw his face full of concern and disappointment, making Sam’s cheeks turn red and look down. He knew what he did was wrong and that he was going to get it when they get home, but the shame now hurt worse than the future spankings.
The Gaffer shook his head in disappointment, “They’re turnin’ you into one o’ them.” Sam felt hot tears form and continued to look down in shame.
“No sir.”
“Y’ can’t go, Samwise, I won’t allow it.”
“Yes sir.”
Sam wiped his eyes and nose, sucking it up for his Gaffer, before the two went back to work quietly. Every once in a while, Sam would glance back at the front door.