Chapter Text
There were few things Bilbo hated more than his evening commute. It seemed like every idiotic driver this side of the Mississippi decided that now was the best time to take their over priced cars out for a spin. And that was not including the people just trying to get home from work, like Bilbo.
He looked down at the time and groaned. 6:47. At this rate, he and Frodo may as well have take out for dinner, again. He had been trying to get Frodo on some kind of normal schedule since the death of his parents. The 11-year-old had started living with Bilbo just the past January, but hasn’t really settled into his new surroundings and it was now mid-June. Bilbo did not expect Frodo to like living in a large suburb. Heck, Bilbo did not really like living within a (non-traffic filled) hour of the large metropolis. But he had hoped Frodo would have at least started to make friends at his new school. No such luck. If anything, Frodo was now more reserved and shy than ever.
A car slid over into Bilbo’s lane without warning, causing Bilbo’s heart rate to spike and a slew of profanities to leave his lips. He slammed on the brakes, taking several deep breaths, knowing that no matter how irritated he was, getting angry behind the wheel would help no one. Frodo would be so disappointed if he lost his temper in the car. It had been a case of deadly road rage that had lost him his parents after all.
As the clock hit 7 and Bilbo was no closer to home than he was a half hour earlier, he took out his cellphone and turned on the speaker, keeping the device far away from his hands, but close enough to hear the ring of the other end of the line.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Frodo,” Bilbo spoke clearly but softly. “Don’t think I’m gonna make it home in time to cook dinner. What would you like me to bring home?”
There was no verbal answer but a soft static over the phone indicated a shrug of shoulders.
“It’s ok, my lad...What about that Chinese place? You liked their food right?”
“Can I have the fried rice?” Frodo mumbled.
“One large fried rice, coming up,” Bilbo grinned, trying to project his enthusiasm that Frodo asked for something.
Shortly after he hung up, traffic seemed to melt and the speedometer on Bilbo’s tiny car finally began to climb to 30, then 40 miles per hour. He stopped at a gas station to fill up and place his order.
Finally making it to his small apartment around 7:40 he dropped off his bag on the couch and began to open the take out containers. Frodo retrieved the plates from the cupboard.
“So how was your day with Aunt Lizzy?”
Another shrug. “She fell asleep shortly after you left. I just read my book and colored.”
Bilbo sighed but tried to put on a smile anyway. Their neighbor, “Aunt” Lizzy meant well, but when it came to actually looking after his young charge while he was at work, the woman tended to fall short. But she offered to look after Frodo for free during the summer.
“How’s your book coming?” Frodo asked around a mouthful of rice.
Bilbo’s smile faltered. “It’s coming... I try to work on it when I can but--”
A knock at the door interrupted him. Bilbo glanced at the clock, nearly a quarter after 8 in the evening. Who could be at the door at this hour?
Bilbo made his way to the door, motioning to Frodo to stay where he was. Standing on tiptoe, he tried to see who their visitor was through the peephole.
A single grey eye stared back. Bilbo jumped back in shock but opened the door anyway.
A tall man in a grey suit, grey scarf and, most bizarrely, a grey tricorn hat, was just leaning back from where he was trying to peer inside from the other side of the peephole. The man’s gray hair was long but well groomed, falling nearly to the man’s elbows.
They stared at each other for a moment or two before finally Bilbo broke the awkward silence. “Good evening.”
“What do you mean? Do you wish me a good evening?” The man asked. “Or mean that it is a good evening whether I want it or not? Or that you are feeling particularly good on this evening; or that is an evening to be good on?”
“...all of them at once I suppose,” Bilbo replied, his brow furrowed. “And a good one to spend with family at dinner, which I should be getting back to so.... good evening.”
Bilbo made to close the door, but a gruff laugh stopped him. “Is that how you now greet a friend of your mother’s?”
“Excuse me?” Bilbo asked. “Do I know you?” He kept his hand on the door, ready to slam it shut.
“Well I hope you’ve at least heard of me. I’m Gandalf Grane.”
Finally the man’s name and very unique style of dress awoke a far off memory of Bilbo’s mother telling her son the story involving an old man dressed in grey, the man’s beard, and some fireworks.
“Didn’t you steal some fireworks and then nearly burned your beard off trying to light them?” Bilbo asked, his voice becoming more confident as the man’s smile grew.
The man chuckled. “Of all the stories for her to tell, it had to be that one.”
Bilbo just shook his head. “I’m sorry, can I help you?”
“That remains to be seen.” Gandalf seemed to stare at him more intently. “I’m looking for someone prepared for an adventure.”
Bilbo blinked. And blinked again. But the man, Gandalf, was still there waiting for an answer. “An...An adventure.” Bilbo shook his head. “Look I’m sorry, but you’ve definitely got the wrong guy. No adventures here.”
Gandalf frowned slightly. “Hmm....It would be an excellent opportunity for you,” he paused for a moment, as if calculating his words carefully. “And the boy.”
“I-” Bilbo paused. “How did--”
“You’re relatives were very vocal about your situation when I spoke to them inquiring about your whereabouts.” Gandalf took a breath. “Perhaps I can join you for a cup of coffee inside and explain.”
Part of Bilbo wanted to say ‘No thanks. Now go away,’ another part of him, a part that sounded a lot like his mother, told him to hear the taller man’s proposal.
So he went back inside, where Gandalf took off his hat and scarf, revealing the impressive beard from his mother’s tale.
“Sugar or cream in your coffee?” Bilbo offered.
Frodo had finished his meal at this point and was now staring at the stranger, eyebrows furrowed, but his mouth slightly opened, as if waiting for an opportunity to ask a question. .
“Both, if you please,” Gandalf replied to Bilbo’s own question.
Bilbo nodded and turned towards his charge. “Frodo, why don’t you go play in your room?”
Frodo gave one last half suspicious, half awed look look at the tall man who was now making himself at home in Bilbo’s favorite armchair.
Bilbo sighed for the nth time that night, taking bites of his own meal as he prepared two cups of coffee, one with cream and sugar and one with neither.
As soon as the two cups were ready, he handed off Gandalf’s and took a seat in the less comfortable of the armchairs. “Now what’s this all about an adventure?”
“I find myself in need of a manager for a mid-sized bookshop I keep in a small town a few hours east of here,” Gandalf began. “Unforeseen circumstances have called me away from the shop, and I do not wish to close it while I go traversing the globe to fix other business related problems.”
“...And you thought of me.”
“Your mother spoke highly of you. The last time I spoke to her, she mentioned you were trying to write a book. The shop is kept open, although most days it is fairly unbusy. It would be a good time to put your mind to words.”
“And yet you have enough money to hire a manager?” Bilbo asked skeptically.
“The shop was more prosperous in bygone days, and other business endeavors have allowed me to keep it open despite low foot traffic. It’s mostly kept open now out of habit, but I’d hate to see it close even for the time I would be gone.”
“And how long would you be gone?”
“Undetermined as this time. These other business endeavors are quite tricky you know. Nothing illegal, but quite too complicated to explain over just one cup of coffee.”
Bilbo sighed. “I’m sorry but I can’t. Frodo will need to go back to school in a few months and-
“The town has excellent schools and a first rate after school program, though you could use the small two bedroom apartment right above the shop if you take the position. Frodo could do his homework right after school.”
“And my job here-”
“You’re telling me a son of Bella Took actually enjoys accounting of all things.”
“It’s just not feasible...” again Bilbo was interrupted.
“It’s decided then,” Gandalf spoke loudly. “It would be very good for both of you. And most amusing for me.” He nodded to himself coming to an agreement Bilbo was fairly sure he did not say yes to. “I’ll send the movers in a fortnight.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and placed it on the coffee table, along with his now empty cup. “Here’s the address, I’ll see you in two weeks time.”
Bilbo shot up out of his chair. “Wait. Wait, this is ridiculous! I didn’t say yes.”
“Consider it a bet that you’ll take it.” Gandalf smiled. “Bilbo Baggins, you can either tolerate the lot life’s given you with a job you hate and the guardian to a boy who is clearly very unhappy with suburban life, or you can prepare for an adventure, write the book you want, and perhaps save a community from the curses of small town life.” Gandalf’s smile faltered a bit, as if recalling a sad memory. “Yes. You’ll do well there.”
Bilbo was not sure what to say after that. He just nodded, muttered a line about ‘wanting to think on it’ and showed Gandalf the door.
Later that evening as he prepared the pull out couch for bed he picked up Gandalf’s coffee cup, the sheet of paper sticking slightly too it. Bilbo pulled it off, having every intention of throwing it away but instead put it on the counter by the trashcan.
‘I’ll just give him a call in the morning and tell him no.’ He thought as he drifted off to sleep. As sleep started to claim him, his mind drifted, picking up an echo of a tune, as if from a long ago half-forgotten memory, and indeed, Bilbo would not remember the incident in the coming morning. But at that moment, the song seemed so important, Bilbo thought. A single line, sung in a deep baritone, came to mind just as sleep fully claimed him.
For over the Misty Mountains cold....
===
His cell phone rang loudly before any alarm would have. Bilbo glanced at the number recognizing it as his place of temporary work. “Baggins speaking.”
“Hello, Bilbo,” His manager sounded tired, a sentiment Bilbo readily understood. “This months budget came in, and unfortunately it appears we have to lay off a few of the temp workers. And you know what they say: Last ones in, first ones out.”
Bilbo’s heart sank. He had been counting on this job to hold him over till he could get a book published. “Are you sure? Is my work not exemplary? I can try harder--”
“I’m sorry, Bilbo. Truly I am, but we have to retain those that are permanent staff first before we can allocate funds for temps. This month’s cutbacks meant there was no room for any funds. It’s not just you we’re laying off. I have to call Milly and Otis after we hang up.”
Bilbo nodded. “Right... I understand.”
“If anything opens up next month, you’ll be the first to know,” his now former manager stated. “You can come in today and pick up anything you left here.”
Bilbo quietly expressed an empty thanks and hung up. Then, deciding that sleep was not going to come back at all that morning, he got up and turned on the coffee maker.
Gandalf’s sheet with the address was still on the counter.
Bilbo picked it up, shaking his head even as he considered it. ‘It’s too risky,’ he thought, ‘Frodo’s just starting to feel at home here. I can’t just run off with him into the blue.’
And yet...
Soft footfalls interrupted his thinking and he looked up to see Frodo wiping sleep from his eyes.
“Who was that, Uncle?”
“Ahh...work...” Bilbo tried to grin. “Looks like you and me get a few free days together. Sounds fun, ehh?”
Frodo just sighed and went to look in the fridge, probably for the orange juice.
Bilbo looked again at the paper. “Frodo... I know it feels like you just got here....but, how would you feel if we moved to another part of the country?”
“Not near a city?”
“I don’t believe it is.”
“Does this have to do with the bookshop Mr. Gandalf was talking about?” Frodo looked interested.
“You’ve been eavesdropping.”
“No, you were just loud,” Frodo huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and staring Bilbo down, as if he were the adult in this situation. “Where are we going?”
Bilbo glanced down at the dark curly hair, surprised that Frodo just accepted that they would probably be leaving. Then he decided that if Frodo was okay with it, then maybe it would be a fresh start for the both of them.
“A place called Midland.”