Frodo Baggins had always been considered strange for a hobbit. It wasn’t that his parents were homicidal loony bins that killed each other off long ago, or that the person who took him in not too long after he was orphaned was his infamously eccentric cousin/uncle Bilbo Baggins of Hobbiton. There were more obvious ways of knowing that Frodo was different. Running around with pigtails in one’s hair, tied up with pink bowties, was most uncommon for any male hobbit in the whole of the Shire. In fact, the only male hobbit that did it in the Shire was named Frodo Baggins.

The young hobbit also had a love for spontaneously busting out into song and dance. Frequently his fellow hobbits would be conversing with him before he burst into a few rounds of “The Good Ship Lollipop,” and if he wasn’t in the middle of belting out a tune, he was in the middle of daydreaming that his other hobbits were singing and dancing. The concerned residents of Hobbiton seriously considered suggesting to Bilbo that his heir be Put Somewhere; but since Bilbo loved his Frodo so, the suggestion was never vocalized to his face. Not that many people wanted to converse with Frodo, then, since nothing could be done about him, and anyone who did talk to him either wanted to suck up to Bilbo, were relatives who could stand his presence, or named Samwise Gamgee.

Due to his mass alienation from Hobbiton, Frodo found that solitude was better for his sanity than being social. He’d taken to reading in the woods on an almost daily basis, disappearing without a word to Bilbo. Frodo had desperately hoped that, being alone, he could somehow suppress his musical urges to the point where he no longer conversed to his fellow hobbits in song and never imagined them bursting into song. His project seemed to be going fine. He never had any singing fantasies about his books and never heard any improvised verses while walking around town. He almost considered taking his pigtails out the other day. They made him look far too girly.

Frodo looked back to the book he was reading. A self-help book on how to avoid flying into daydreams, Frodo had found it most helpful and had read it often. The book was falling apart at the seams. It seemed to be working, though Bilbo complained he was taking more interest in the book than he was in real life. Frodo shrugged and looked back at his book, reading the words:

The key to getting back to reality is to externalize this attempt by vocalization. By vocalization, the meaning does not pertain to mere talking. One must go to the extremes if the extremes must be beaten. So when “vocalization” is referenced, it is should be interpreted as singing. By singing, one has gone to the extreme of vocalization, because singing is the most vulnerable form of vocalization. Not everyone is a good singer, and most everyone knows this. The average person takes on singing with much caution. Singing boosts courage because the person allows their most vulnerable vocalization to be heard by others. By singing, one is easily read to approach others in conversation.

So, to boost morale, start by singing this:

Everybody loves a winner…
So nobody loved me…
'Lady peaceful,' 'Lady happy'…
That's what I long to be…
All the odds are in my favor…
Something's bound to begin…
It's got to happen, happen sometime…
Maybe this time I'll…

“Young Master Baggins, I say, what has gotten into you?” said a familiar voice behind Frodo, whose heart leaped ten miles in the air before landing hard in his stomach. He was just singing then! He’d tricked himself into singing! In front of Gandalf the Grey, no less. Where was a good hobbit hole when you needed it? Frodo tried to brush it off, as if nothing had happened, and flashed Gandalf one of his adorably charming smiles.

“Gandalf!” he said cheerfully, “how… wonderful to see you here!”

“And how wonderful to hear your marvelous singing voice once again, dear boy. Not much has changed since I last saw you.”

Frodo felt his face go red. Why couldn’t he kick the habit? “Yep, still the same old singing doll with pigtails, I’m afraid,” he said with a forced smile. “Where are you headed to?”

“Your uncle’s house. You may ride with me if you wish.”

Frodo shrugged. What else had he to do since the book obviously wasn’t helping? He climbed solemnly into Gandalf’s cart. Gandalf did not say anything to him for a while as the cart made its way through Hobbiton, but Frodo, who was staring intently on some spot on the horizon, could feel Gandalf’s worried eyes fall on him from time to time.

“So how is your uncle doing, Frodo?” Gandalf said finally. Frodo shrugged. His reading excursions in the forest had made him unable to give an accurate report on Bilbo’s well being. The most he could say was that Bilbo, when he saw him, seemed frazzled and tended to act shady around Frodo. Frodo had always assumed that was from the party preparations, but he also feared that Bilbo might have been considering his neighbors’ suggestions after all. Gandalf looked at Frodo quizzically as he wandered into a sea of thoughts. “I hear it’s going to be a party of special magnificence.”

“Yeah,” said Frodo, still staring off on the side at nothing. “Yeah, I’m sure it will be…”

“How many people do you expect will come?”

“Plenty.”

“How many did Bilbo invite?”

“Plenty.”

Gandalf sighed. “And how are you Frodo?”

“Plenty.”

“Ah-ha,” said Gandalf. He elbowed Frodo on the side to grab his attention. Frodo in response slumped deep into his seat and gave Gandalf a look of woe. “Anxious about the party, are you?”

“Sure.”

“…Or maybe something else?” Frodo looked back to the side and didn’t answer. Gandalf wasn’t an idiot; he had his suspicions as to what Frodo was so bothered about. All the half-wits in the Shire knew what was eating Frodo except that stupid Took kid who didn’t know much of anything to begin with. It would have been better, though, if Frodo had it in him to talk about it then mope about in his cart looking at the grass.

The cart was now rolling down a narrow street that passed by the ragged looking house of a hobbit family and was soon trailed by a back of hobbit children. Gandalf smiled, thinking that all the children wanted were to see his fireworks. Mischievously he let the cart go on, as if to leave the children without a treat, before letting the fireworks go.

There was no response. Gandalf looked puzzled and turned back to the children, who were still looking at the cart expectantly. “Did you not like the fireworks?”

“We want that strange hobbit to sing songs!” cried one kid.

”AARRRRGGHHH!” screamed Frodo. Gandalf was positive if, had he not restrained Frodo, Frodo would have torn those kids limb from limb. Gandalf kicked the cart into full gear before Frodo could leap out of the cart and kill the children, anyway.

“Let me off here!” said Frodo forcefully. His face was livid red.

“No.”

“YES!”

“NO!” said Gandalf, and from what seemed to be the enraged wizard then came a gust of wind that hit Frodo in the face. Frodo did not flinch. “I will not let you tear those children from limb to limb.”

“I don’t give a crap about the children,” said Frodo. “I just want to go… Somewhere.”

Gandalf stopped the cart. “Go where?”

“Somewhere. I’m not going to go throw myself in the river if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“And you’ll return for Bilbo’s party?”

“Sure!” said Frodo in a huff. “Whatever. I’ll be there. Just let me go,” he added pleadingly. He gave Gandalf his puppy dog eyes, which no one could resist.

“Fine. Go, then,” said Gandalf, resigned. Frodo grinned feebly and hopped off the cart to a destination unknown. For now, all he wanted to do was wander and walk off his frustration before Bilbo’s party.

To Be Continued
On to Chapter 2 - A Hunting We Will Go
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