Bilbo tightened his cloak around his shoulders, urging his pony to continue down the steep path.

"Come on, old girl," he murmured, stroking her neck. "We're almost there. Then we can both get some food and rest." She let out a soft nicker, chucking her head to the side.

The forest was misty, the cloudy sky a deep blue as the sun started to near the horizon. A few early morning birds twittered in the trees, and animals rustled around in the undergrowth, searching for food. No one else was on the path, leaving Bilbo to his solitude.

Bilbo carefully rubbed the wound on his shoulder, trying to soothe the pain that was radiating from it. The recent damp weather hadn't been kind to his wounds, even with the solutions Lord Elrond and his healers had kindly given him. Elvish medicine could only go so far when it came to a stab wound going straight through his shoulder, he supposed.

Bilbo had been on the road for a few days since he'd stopped in Rivendell, and was finally nearing the Shire's borders. He'd stayed with the elves for a week, healing from the Orc ambush that had left him half dead with numerous infected stab wounds.

The elven healers had tended to him until he had decided he was healed enough to get back on the road. Bilbo had ignored Lord Elrond's urgings to stay longer and declining any offers to have a guard escort him to the Shire. He knew that their forces were already stretched thin as it was, trying to protect their borders and nearby villages from the Orc raids, like the one Bilbo had been subjected to.

Lord Elrond had given him a sad frown, obviously seeing through Bilbo's flimsy lie about wanting to get home as soon as possible. He didn't call him out on it, much to Bilbo's relief. And so, Bilbo had left Rivendell with a full pack of supplies and a new pony, feeling more rested than he had been in ages.

Now, the risen sun had dissipated the mist and most of the clouds from the sky. The stony path had curved into a softer dirt one as Bilbo passed through the forest, seeing golden fields between the trees. Hobbits were already working diligently in them, harvesting the crops. A few others in caravans passed Bilbo on the road, but he kept his hood up so they didn't recognize him—he was hoping to at least be able to reach Bag End before he was bombarded by nosy busybodies who wanted to know where he'd been.

People eyed Bilbo warily as he rode his pony through Hobbiton, a few realizing who it was after a few moments. No one approached him (which was perfectly fine with him), opting to whisper and gossip amongst each other as he went passed them.

There it was. Bag End. If Bilbo were still the same as he had been when he first left with Thorin Oakenshield and his Company, he would have probably been choked up with tears and joy at the sight of his home. But now, he could barely feel any happiness at the sight of the home he thought he'd never see again.

Jumping off of his pony, Bilbo frowned as he took in the sight of Bag End. It was looking a little…rough. The garden looked like it hadn't been tended to since he'd left, the flowers hiding under tall weeds and vines crawling over the gates. Had the Gaffer not been tending to it while he was away? Odd. Hamfast had always been obsessed with keeping Bilbo's garden in pristine condition.

He tied up his pony on the fence, petting her side comfortingly as he opened the fence and entered his home.

Bilbo nearly jumped out of his skin at the shriek that greeted him when he opened the green door. He peered into his kitchen, seeing a stunned and spluttering Lobelia and Otho Sackville-Baggins, both of them wearing robes and eating breakfast.

His eyes narrowed. Ignoring their indignant shouts and orders for him to leave, he stormed over to them and yanked them out of their seats by the backs of their robes. He dragged them bodily to the front door, refusing to acknowledge the throbbing pain it caused his shoulder, and threw them out onto the road.

Bilbo turned on his heel and marched back into the house, going into his bedroom and gathering together various items they had left around it. When he was sure that he had everything, he went back to the entrance, where Lobelia and Otho were standing up brushing the dirt off of themselves.

He threw their things at them, and then slammed the door shut, locking it as his relatives pounded at it and roared for Bilbo to let them back in that instant, that Bag End was their house now and Bilbo had no claim on it.

Bilbo calmly sat at the breakfast table, waiting for them to get off his property so he could properly tend to his pony and get her to the stables. He absently rested his chin in his hand, picking up a fruit scone and nibbling on it.

After a few minutes, the banging at the door stopped, and Bilbo looked out the window to see Lobelia and Otho walking down the road with their possessions wrapped up in their arms, neighbors staring at them as if they were crazy.

When Bilbo deemed that they were far enough away that he didn't have to worry about them, he put down the scone and grabbed a handful of oats. He went back to his pony, who was waiting patiently for him with big, brown eyes.

"Let's get that off of you, old girl," Bilbo whispered to her as he fed her the oats. He pulled off the small bag that was strapped to her side and he large chest, carefully unsaddling her afterwards.

Bilbo went back inside to set the bag and saddle in their proper places, scowling at how unorganized Lobelia and her no-good cousin had left his house. "The nerve of those idiots…"

"Master Baggins? Sir, is that ye?"

Bilbo heard Hamfast's voice, muffled through the walls of Bag End calling for him. He hurriedly set his things down and went to greet him.

Hamfast was standing next to the pony, his hat clutched in his hand. As soon as he saw Bilbo, he burst into sobs.

"Oh, it is you!" he wailed, pulling an uncertain Bilbo into a tight hug. "I w-w-was afraid y-yeh had d-died!"

"It's alright, Hamfast," Bilbo said awkwardly, patting him on the back. "I'm, uh, fine, see? I'm home now, all same and…" He was about to add 'mostly unharmed,' but left it off with a grimace. There was no need to worry the poor gardener.

"Sir, look at yuh face!" Hamfast blubbered, reaching out to touch the jagged cut that went across his cheek. Bilbo winced and moved his head away before his friend's hand could reach him. "Wh-wha' happened?"

"Nothing of importance," Bilbo managed to smile. "Would you like to come in for breakfast? I just need to take her down to the stables at the inn," he motioned to the pony.

"No, no, I'll do that for ye, sir," Hamfast rushed to say, tugging out a large handkerchief and mopping away the tears. "It's the least I can do after I let them wretched Sackville-Bagginses get into yer house. You just go an' get some relax, sir, I'll be back in a few."

Hamfast stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket before taking the pony's reigns and leading her down the path towards the inn.

Bilbo went back into his house, pulling out two clean plates and beakers of juice. He put Lobelia and Otho's dishes in the sink, distastefully eying the dishes that they had left there. He should probably do those soon, before they started molding and stinking up the kitchen, but doing his cousins' dishes was the last thing he wanted to do on his first day back home.

Hamfast returned, and the two of them shared second breakfast, since the first had ended a good while earlier. Bilbo was vague on the details of his trip for the sake of his friend's sanity, and focused mostly on filling his stomach and listening to the newest happenings of the Shire. Hamfast kept looking Bilbo up and down the whole time, confusion evident in his eyes at the sight of the dark armor that his old friend wore, but also relief that he was back, safe and sound.

He was shocked when he heard that Primula and Drogo Baggins had died only a few months earlier, leaving their three-year-old son, Frodo, in the care Lobelia and her husband. Bilbo was supposed to be the one he went to, but since he was off helping the dwarves, he had gone to live with that no-good couple whose soul purpose of taking in the orphan was to take his inheritance.

"Where is Frodo?" Bilbo demanded. "I'll deal with this right now."

Hamfast looked at Bilbo in pure relief. "Oh, thank you, sir. He's off in town, running some errands for those ruddy arseholes, pardon my language, sir. He should be back any minute."

Bilbo nodded tightly. "Are there any papers I need to sign to take him in?"

"Yessir, you'll have to go down to Brandy Hall to sign 'em, but there shouldn't be much of a fuss. No one in their right mind would let poor Frodo stay with those two any longer than 'e has."

Bilbo sighed, removing the sword from his belt and standing up from the table. "I'll just run over there now before I get too relaxed," he decided. "Will you stay here for when Frodo comes back?"

"'Course, sir!"

Bilbo strode purposefully down the road toward Brandy Hall, refusing to meet anyone's gazes along the way. He just wanted to get there as soon as possible, so he could finish breakfast with Hamfast and hopefully Frodo and then figure out how much damage his cousins managed to do in the time he was gone.

The ordeal with gaining guardianship was much easier than Bilbo had thought it would be. As soon he had entered the main hall, all conversation had stopped. Everyone gaped at him as he went straight for the head of the house, smoothly asking—well, it was asking in his opinion; to most people it would probably sound like demanding—for the custody of Frodo Baggins.

"Are—are Lobelia and Otho aware that you—want to do this?" the document keeper, a meek hobbit, stuttered out.

"I'm sure they have an idea," Bilbo responded calmly. "Besides, I'm the one who was named his guardian in Primula's will, wasn't I? So it doesn't really matter what those two buffoons know about yet. I can provide a much better home for Frodo than they can, and I have all the legal rights that they don't to take him in."

The hobbit agreed with him hastily, rifling through the documents around him before pulling out a form. He explained that it would give the guardianship over to him, and that all he needed to do was sign it.

Bilbo signed his name with a flourish before handing the paper back to him.

"Welcome home, Mister Baggins," the hobbit gave him a nervous smile. "And congratulations to your new son."

There was a chorus of well wishes and greetings from the others, and Bilbo gave them all polite smiles, slipping out of Brandy Hall and hurrying home, hoping to get there before Frodo reached it. His gut twisted at the thought of how just a few months of living with those Sackville-Bagginses could have ruined that poor boy.

The trek back to Bag End was uneventfully, but it seemed as if people were now friendlier towards him, yelling out greetings and waving at him. He returned them with forced politeness, feeling uneasy under the attention. When people tried to get him to stop or come in for afternoon tea, but he declined them all, saying he just needed a few days to relax and spend time with Frodo.

Hesitating at the front door, Bilbo rested his hand on the doorknob. Inside, he could dimly hear the cooing, lighthearted voice the Gaffer reserved for his children. He easily deduced that Frodo must already be there, even if he couldn't hear the small boy's replies.

Taking a deep breath, Bilbo twisted the doorknob open and entered Bag End.

The Gaffer was sitting next to a tiny hobbitling, his hand looking ridiculously large on Frodo's shoulder. Frodo himself was small and frail, with delicate white skin and downcast, blue eyes. His unruly curls looked as if they hadn't been washed in awhile, and his clothes looked a good three sizes too big. He was clutching a mug of tea, staying silent as the Gaffer chatted to him.

Gaffer stopped talking and they both turned their gazes on Bilbo, who froze in the entryway. They stared at each other, Bilbo having to fight back the instinct to go run and beat up Lobelia at the sight of Frodo's emotionless expression. It was so…so different from the happy, carefree little boy Bilbo had known before he left. The hobbitling observing him now was an altogether new person.

"Er, hello there," Bilbo said, closing the door and hanging his cloak.

"Master Baggins, this is Frodo," Hamfast said, his hand still resting on his shoulder. "D'ye remember yer Uncle Bilbo, young'un?" Frodo lowered his gaze and shook his head negative.

Bilbo snorted, sitting across the table from them. "Of course he doesn't," he said in what he hoped was a teasing tone. "The last time he saw me was when he was just a babe." He took the mug of tea Hamfast offered him.

"I was just telling little Frodo here that you came back from an adventure with dwarves," Hamfast said with more enthusiasm than necessary, attempting to coax Frodo out of his silence. "I'm sure Master Baggins'd tell yeh all about it if yeh asked him."

Bilbo winced at the mentions of the dwarves, his memories drifting to the look of betrayal and hatred on Thorin's face when he exiled the hobbit out of his kingdom, the others of the company staying in the shadows and grimly watching the banishment. The betrayal still weighed heavy on his heart, with only Gandalf ignoring the royal command to stay away from the hobbit as he escorted him with the elves to Thranduil's woods, where he healed from the Battle of the Five Armies.

"Maybe later," Bilbo smiled thinly at them. "We have the matters of your new guardianship to discuss right now."

For the first time since seeing him, a spark of interest flickered behind Frodo's eyes. Taking it as a good sign, Bilbo continued talking.

"Your…" Bilbo stopped before he mentioned Drogo and Primula. That would no doubt be a sore spot with the hobbitling still. "Did you know that I was the one who was supposed to be your guardian? To look after you?"

Frodo shook his head minutely.

"Well, I was. But I had to go help some acquaintances get their home back, because some mean people had taken it from them."

"Orcs?" Frodo whispered, surprising both Hamfast and Bilbo.

"A dragon," Bilbo corrected, grasping for words that wouldn't set the child off or at least that he could understand. I'm terrible with children… "Dragons are, are attracted to gold, and the home of these dwarves most certainly had a lot of gold. So the dragon took it from them, and I had to…help them get it back." Frodo didn't answer, going back to being silent.

"That's why you went to-to stay with those orc-humping—Lobelia!" he yelled before the insult finished coming out of his mouth, Hamfast guffawing and slapping the table. "Lobelia and Otho," Bilbo lowered his voice back to the soothing tone. "I'm back now, though, so their…help is no longer needed. Is that okay with you? To leave them, and come stay with me?"

The humor had passed, and now Bilbo and Hamfast waited anxiously for the hobbitling to answer, watching Frodo as he tightened his grip on his mug of tea. With hesitance, the little boy nodded his consent, averting his gaze from Bilbo's nervously.

Bilbo managed a small smile, reaching out to lightly ruffle Frodo's curly hair. "Are your things still here, from when those two were squatting on my property?" Frodo gave another tiny nod, lips twitching in amusement at Bilbo insulting Lobelia and Otho.

"Good," Bilbo breathed. "Good, good that's…brilliant."

"Ah, I hate to have ta run off," Hamfast said fretfully, peering outside. "But I better go an' get to work. I'm gonna try ta get Miss Took's garden in order right fast so I can fix yours up, sir. The Sackville-Bagginses wouldn't let me anywhere near it while you was gone, sir, and it's quite a mess." He scowled at one of the vines crawling up the outside of the window. "I'll be back 'round at tha end of the day ter start, an' then tomorrow I'll come by in the morn to finish it."

"It's quite fine, Hamfast," Bilbo said softly. "Whenever you can come by is alright."

"Tonight and tomorrow it is, then," the Gaffer confirmed, donning his hat. "You be nice to Master Baggins, yeah?" he directed at Frodo, patting him on the back. "Don't give 'em too much trouble." Frodo nodded, taking a small sip from of his tea.

The Gaffer excused himself, walking with a bounce in his step. Frodo and Bilbo stayed at the table, Bilbo watching Frodo as the hobbitling took some careful nibbles of a cake before putting it back on the plate.

"Not hungry?" he asked in disbelief. He'd never seen a child who turned down sweets, even if they were supposedly full.

"No, Mister Baggins, sir," Frodo said, pushing the plate aside.

"None of this 'Mister Baggins' and 'sir' nonsense," Bilbo snorted.

"Then…what should I call you, sir?" Frodo questioned, confused.

"Just…Bilbo is fine," he said, pushing himself out of the seat and turning to dishes. He pulled off his gloves, starting to clean the mess his cousins left. "Or Uncle. Something."

Figuring that was the end of that, Bilbo focused on changing the disgusting state his kitchen was in. He hated to brush the child off in such a way, but he was absolutely terrible with children. You would think that growing up with a minimum of a dozen little devils running around would have given him at least some paternal instinct—

"…But you're my cousin."

"Minor detail, Frodo. Eat you food."