Title: At a Window

Author: BellaMonte

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I own not the characters, storyline, etc.

Summary: A story written, half as a deal with Claudia that she write a new chapter of the brilliant "Shire Slave," also because BellaMonte hasn't completely drained herself of her obsession with ruffian characters from Oliver Twist.

Chapter 1: Restless

There was a market just outside the Prancing Pony, which assembled every morning at the crack of dawn and only began to disperse in late evening. The Big People flocked before the various stands to buy and trade everything one would need in a home – pots, quilts, one stand sold wooden furniture, another cloaks and offered free repairs on torn clothing. And of course there was food. Big, rosy apples, luscious strawberries, fresh vegetables and wheat, no doubt grown in the fields just outside the village and picked that morning! The smell of sausages and freshly baked bread wafted up from just below the young hobbit's window, tantalizing him all the more to lean his head out the window and savor the delicious scents as they drifted past.

Oh, it was a marvelous scene!

And it was not merely the items being exchanged (though food had excusably significant value to a hobbit observer) but the activity amongst the people themselves that he found so fascinating! At this very moment, a few hearty fellows erupted in peals of laughter after a joke was declared, too far away for him to hear. There were a few scruffy, cloaked men strutting through the street, seemingly oblivious to the bustle around them. Amidst the cheerful chatter, or sometimes less than amiable trades of some of the more persuasive traders, he could spot a few young children darting through the crowd, giggling happily as they fought to disguise themselves from the one that was it.

Perhaps it was crowded, noisy, and difficult to weave through, as his uncle claimed. Yet from here, it looked exciting and a throng of people gathered in one place could be quite useful if you're playing catch with your friends. He smiled fondly at remembering the times when he and his cousins would use their aunt's billowing skirts as hiding places, or their cousins as detours for dodging the one that was catching everyone else.

Perched over the windowsill of the Prancing Pony, Frodo Baggins couldn't help but expel a long, weary sigh. He sat with his chin cupped in one hand, his fingers drumming the sill with the other, his habitually bright eyes wandering morosely over the great assembly below.

His feet had been itching him all day to scramble out the window and down the drain pipe that hung just a foot away. Then he would hear his uncle's firm command ringing in his ears.

"It's the same bustle as everyday, my lad. You'd grow tired of it."

"But Uncle Bilbo, it looks so interesting! It's so much different in the way I keep seeing different people every day. It's so unlike Hobbiton and certainly Brandy Hall, where everyone can practically declare lineage practically by your passing shadow – "

"My lad, don't. Don't try to change my mind. Truly, Frodo. It pains me enough that I gave in to your pleas to come along in the first place. I cannot have you falling into some mischief or getting hurt in this foul village."

They had traveled to Bree three days ago, after Bilbo had received word from his great wizard friend, Gandalf, that some important matters needed to be discussed and he would be unable to make it as far as the Shire himself.

Even when Frodo dismissed the mysteriousness (and therefore intrigue) of the letter itself, and the chance to meet Gandalf again, this news – a trip outside the Shire, to a place he'd never been to before! – was enough to ignite the youthful hobbit's curiosity ablaze.

For days he begged Bilbo if he could come, promising not to get into trouble or cause him any trouble. Yet every time his uncle answered back with an adamant "no," fearing some dire misfortune would happen upon him in Bree. Bilbo had traveled through the village before and knew it to be foul and unfriendly. He could not surmise himself why Gandalf insisted they meet in such a place, unless it was under the most serious circumstances. All the more reason why he felt extremely reluctant to bring his nephew along, unknowing the purpose of the trip or how long they would be there.

In the end, Frodo managed to cajole his uncle, partly by his own cleverness, partly by luck. The Gamgees lost one of their aunts to the fever, and were unexpectedly called to Michael Delving, leaving Bilbo with no close neighbor who he trusted enough to leave his nephew with on short notice. So that meant he was bringing Frodo with him. But, despite the lad's continuing protests, he kept him safe and tucked away in their room at the Prancing Pony and refused to allow him to come with on his daily excursions to the place where Gandalf had agreed to meet him.

Frodo had been sure he would have been able to convince his uncle by now to bring him along. But no, three days had passed, and he was still stuck in their cramped room at the Prancing Pony.

Frodo expelled another sigh, his tired gaze still wandering the marketplace below. At least Bilbo would be home soon. He could tell from the way the market was coated in a bright, golden glow of late afternoon sun that the day was coming to his close, and his uncle would be returning. Hopefully Gandalf would have arrived today! Then he would be coming to visit as well. At this point, Frodo couldn't wait to return home since his uncle wouldn't allow him to go any farther past this Inn.

Finally resigning his attention to the new book Bilbo had bought him, his eyes just began to wander the opening page when the familiar jingle of keys and the clinking of the door handle reached his ears. He sprang up from his seat just as the door opened, revealing a very weary and sunburned Bilbo Baggins.

"Bilbo!" Frodo cried, his own melancholy vanquished at the return of his uncle.

"Hullo, Frodo-lad," Bilbo greeted, returning his nephew's hug. "Have a good day?"

"Yes," the tweenager answered, automatically. As he stepped back to allow his uncle to remove his coat, he inwardly sighed to recognize the weariness and mounting frustration in his uncle's face to mean that the old wizard had not arrived.

"No sign of Gandalf again?" he asked, biting his lip in effort to hide his disappointment.

Bilbo shook his head, his lips pressed together in a tired frown. "It's seems some matter of business had detained him for a few more days."

"You make it sound as though he's selling apples in the market," Frodo said, dryly.

"Oh, let's hope it's more serious than that. I was thinking myself what breed of monster or dragon it must be that has got him in its talons."

The thought struck the younger hobbit far more acutely than was intended and he raised his eyes, sapphire eyes bright with worry. "You don't think he might be in trouble with a dragon, do you?" he breathed.

Bilbo lifted his gaze from the great bag he'd hefted onto the table, and the first real spark of humor came into his eyes. He chuckled.

"I seriously doubt it. But nonetheless we'll have to just wait a few more days. A wizard often comes not when he's expected, but when he means to. Anyway, I did manage to buy us some food that we can store for our journey home. I hadn't known there were so many foods available in Bree. . . not as good as the markets in Hobbiton, but we can endure for a few days longer. ."

Lifting out various vegetables from the bag, the older hobbit paused to see an unguarded look of sadness in his nephew's sapphire eyes as they wandered to the floor, his small shoulders drawing into himself.

For the thousandth time that week, Bilbo felt a crushing guilt for bringing the lad along. He hadn't wanted to leave him with Dora, knowing her patience for little ones only withstood a single day at a time, but perhaps it would have been better.

"Frodo, I'm really sorry about this," Bilbo sighed, moving to sit beside him and put an arm about his shoulder. "I know this must be terribly boring for you, my lad. But you must stay here. Gandalf shouldn't make us wait for much longer, a day or two more if anything. And when he does come, I'll make sure he takes us all on a great hike about Bree before we journey back to Hobbiton. How does that sound?"

Despite the mounting downcast look in his face, Frodo managed to muster a big smile in anticipation. His uncle grinned back. "Now," he said, squeezing his shoulder before rising and resuming to put on his coat. "Let's run downstairs and see what dinner Butterbeer's prepared for us tonight."

TBC

Did I make it evident enough that Frodo's not going to wait that long before taking a little trip outside? :)