Disclaimer: Characters Tolkien’s. Lyrics Ebb’s (with slight alterations by yours truly). Money non-existent.

A/N: As always thanx to J-Chan

~

It was always a blast to attend any of Bilbo’s parties, because Bilbo, unlike other hobbits, knew how to throw a party. He also had an eccentric heir named Frodo with a fetish for song and dance. Anyone who wasn’t frightened off by Frodo’s behavior saw him as a source of twisted entertainment. Some, usually those who had been around Frodo enough to know, bet on what songs he was going to sing. Frodo, as usual, kept to himself and tried stay out of view. Unfortunately Samwise Gamgee, his gardener, was continuing a long-standing tradition of “feeling bashful at the sight of Miss Rosie Cotton” whenever Mr. Frodo was around. Sam liked to hide from Rosie by hanging out with Frodo, which made Frodo’s quest for solitude all the more desperate.

Frodo wasn’t feeling too sociable right now in a party where hobbits skirted corners at the mere sight of him, sneered at him, or watched him as if he were going to explode. Sam’s refusal to leave his side foiled his many attempts to escape such an atmosphere. What he needed was a diversion to Sam’s attention, and that diversion was dancing all by herself. Rosie needed a partner, and Sam was the perfect candidate. He shoved his bashful friend playfully in the direction of Rosie and laughed heartily when the weight of his dear friend outdid the weight of his friend’s beloved and both hobbits stumbled towards the keg. The keg could not withstand the weight of two hobbits, much less Sam, and gave out, spilling ale all over the dancing hobbits. Hadn’t the keg exploded amongst hobbits, such an incident would be a party pooper. Like moths to flame the hobbits gravitated towards the ale rain with their mouths open wide and their mugs in the air. Frodo made a motion to hide before he heard something rather odd.

We… want... Billy…

Frodo blinked. He had heard, or he thought he heard, a choir of females singing about someone named Billy. But there was no one in the Shire named “Billy.”

Where… is… Billy?

He heard it again, and shook his head. Yet the lights of Bilbo’s party were growing dim, save for one spotlight on a group of girls much taller than hobbits. Scantily clad they were, with sequined fabric strips covering their unmentionables, creeping closer and closer to Gandalf’s cart.

Give… us… Billy…

The girls sang on, mesmerizing Frodo. He’d never seen anything like them, and wanted to know where they came from, who they were, and why they were singing about Billy. The girls crept on, sang on…

We want Billy…
B-I-Double-L-Y
We’re all his…
He’s our kind of a guy…
And ooh what luck!
Cuz here he is!

Suddenly the cart turned into a stage where the girls ran fanatically up. At the top of the stage was a curtain where two hobbits can be seen. Someone to the side announced, “Presenting the sharp-tongued Prince of the Halfings, the one, the only Peregrin Took (and his horde of fangirls)!” The curtain opened, and behold! there stood Merry and Pippin, but not Merry for long, because Pippin knocked him down and ran down the stairs to meet the squealing girls. Several of them passed out when Pippin joined their ranks. The others flocked him, making it impossible for the wee hobbit to move. Pippin eventually wrangled himself free to belt out:

I don’t care for Bilbo’s things
Mithril coats, magic rings
Don’t mean a thing
All I care about is food!

“That’s what he’s here for,” sang the fangirls.

Give me two pints of brown
Gently saying “Wash us down.”
Let me see ‘em sitting there and
Honest, mister, I’m a millionaire!

I don’t care for any fine attire,
Elven cloaks, might admire.
No, no not me.
All I care about is food!

“All he cares about is food!” sang the fangirls.

Frodo could see Merry pushing himself up in the background, looking particularly sour-faced at him. “What’s the matter, Merry?”

Merry pouted. “How come he gets a musical number with half-naked fangirls swarming him?”

“I don’t know, Merry…”

“What do you mean ‘I don’t know’? Shouldn’t I be the more obvious choice for the one who gets flanked by half-naked fangirls? I’m cuter than him, don’t you agree?”

“…” said Frodo.

“Now that wasn’t very nice, Mr. Frodo!” said Sam at his right. Like a flash of lightning Frodo was back into reality. The cart was not a stage. There were no fangirls. There was no one standing next to the cart. And everyone was staring at him as if he’d gone mad. Maybe he was crazy; he couldn’t help it. He tugged on his pigtails and bit his lip, and ignored completely the fake dragon firework set off by his dear cousins in an act of mischief. The only thing that seemed to pull Frodo out of his depressed stupor was his uncle’s mysterious vanishing in front of nearly every hobbit in the Shire. Frodo wasn’t sure if it was yet another one of his illusions until he caught bits of frantic dialogue shot back and forth by the hobbits around him. His uncle Bilbo had indeed disappeared.

Taking no heed to the hobbits who dared go to him for answers, Frodo ran like the dickens before running square into the stomach of Samwise Gamgee.

“What happened, Mr. Frodo? Where’d your Bilbo go?”

“The hell if I know!” screamed Frodo. Sam looked hurt.

“You didn’t have to say it that way, Mr. Frodo.”

Frodo sighed. He hated when Sam went soft on him. Sam was his friend, but sometimes he could be a bit too daft for his tastes. Still, looking into those hurt eyes of his, Frodo had to admit he didn’t have to be so harsh with Sam. “I am sorry,” he said regretfully. “I meant to say that I was, er, I was looking for him just then! Why don’t you help me look for him, Sam?” Sam’s face lit up brighter than the lights that lit Bilbo’s now defunct party.

“CanIreallycanIreally?” he gulped. Sam squeezed his arms together and started stamping his feet on the ground energetically.

“Sure,” said Frodo.

“SQUEE!” cried Sam. Frodo tipped his head. What was this “squee”? He shrugged.

“If I’m not mistaken, I think I just saw Mr. Bilbo go that way,” Frodo said, pointing towards the forest. “Maybe he went on a treasure hunt! Bilbo’s always coming back with treasures every day, you know?” He elbowed Sam on the side. Sam exploded into a cauldron of glee. To Frodo’s surprise, Sam fled into the forest, forsaking his partner in search to run back to Bag End in solitude. When he returned home, Bilbo had gone, and Gandalf was enjoying a nice smoke by the fireplace.

“Where is Bilbo?” inquired Frodo.

“He has gone,” replied Gandalf, still smoking. Frodo sulked. So this was his uncle’s solution to sending Frodo somewhere: Running for the hills without a goodbye, leaving Frodo to deal with his neighbors. “He’s left you Bag End!” said Gandalf energetically. “Along with everything else…” Gandalf finally abandoned his perch next to the fire and picked up an envelope that was sitting on the table, then headed towards Frodo, bent down, and picked up something from the floor. Bilbo’s ring. Never in a million years did Frodo think that Bilbo would leave his precious ring behind, alone with some psycho hobbit that sang and danced for recreation. “Keep it safe,” said Gandalf, patting Frodo on the shoulder and putting the envelope in Frodo’s hands before making a move to the door.

“And where are you going,” said Frodo.

“Somewhere.”

”Where?”

“I’m going to… A whoopee spot… Where the gin is cold… and the piano’s hot…”

Frodo blinked. “Huh? Whoopee spot? Gin? Piano?” Gandalf looked as confused as he did.

“What are you talking about dear boy?”

“You said you were going to ‘a whoopee spot where the gin is cold and the piano’s hot.’”

Gandalf shook his head. “You’re hearing things, Frodo. I must make haste.” He eyed the envelope and looked back at Frodo. “Keep it secret. Keep it safe.” He headed out the door and Frodo pouted again.

To Be Continued
On to Chapter 3 - Tango of the Past
Back to the We Both Reached For The Ring index page
Back to Chapter 1 - Kicking the Hobbit