Baggins was known all through the Shire for his eccentricities, so it
came as no surprise to the inhabitants of the town of Hobbiton when he
commissioned two portraits, one of himself and one of his nephew to be
painted on glass panes for the windows of his fine hole. The artist
worked long and hard, and the likenesses were quite astounding. It was
a shame that the artist insisted on putting in the glass, for it could
be seen it wasn't installed properly: it was soon to be observed that
Bilbo was cracked, and Frodo was crackin.'
Tricksy Hobbits (A Drabble)
A dapper Hobbit in an elaborate waistcoat whistled as he walked through
a summer woods carpeted with bluebells. It had been so long since he
put it on and he could feel it take on weight in his pocket. It felt as
if it was humming some ancient lullaby to him. He didn’t see a small
lad with inquisitive hazel eyes tailing him. He put the ring on and
vanished. Bilbo never knew that Pippin had discovered his secret. The
fry stifled his squeak and all that was left of Bilbo was the whistling
notes drifting away down the lane.
- Orangeblossom Took
The birthday party had been a roaring success, Bilbo observed blearily.
Looking at the condition of his home, it must have been. Empty ale mugs
littered the hall, dirty plates and cake crumbs were scattered on every
flat surface and the drone of Dwarven snoring came from all the rooms,
even the pantry. He tripped over the handle of a small hatchet on his
way to the kitchen, but when he passed the wardrobe mirror he had
blink, and back up then take a good look again. Yes, that was his hair,
completely done up in short dwarven beard braids!
It was the eve of the first anniversary of The Birthday Party, and
Frodo was alone, gazing into the flames flickering on the hearth,
“Bilbo,” he said softly. “Wherever you are, many happy returns.”
knock came at the door, and Frodo thought he heard stifled giggles. He
peered through the curtain to see twelve-year-old Pippin, bearing a
frosted white cake, the rest of his family behind him, dressed in their
best. The Brandybuck family carriage was coming up the hill.
Frodo smiled and put a hand on the knob. They had not forgotten. They
had come for him.
Had it really been another year? Bilbo leaned upon the hobbit-height
balustrade, gazing over peaceful Rivendell. How many years, since
he had gone down that familiar path, jumping the gap in the
hedge? How old would Frodo be this September? He shook his head
at his own thoughts; he couldn't even keep track of his own age
sometimes much less someone else's. He had no birthday
presents for the Elves but had promised a new song to hear, a
translation he'd set to rhyme. A hobbit birthday song... Maybe
someday they could sing a birthday song together, one last time...