Disclaimer: The characters and backstory of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings belongs to the Tolkien Estate and other interested parties. OC's are mine.

A/N: Welcome to my Hobbit sitcom. These events take place before and after those in "The Hobbit" and "Lord of the Rings," and mostly concern Bilbo Baggins and his cousins the Sackville-Bagginses. This story is bookverse and canon-based.

Thank you, Vanafindiel, for the beta work.

In the village of Harbottle there lived a large number of Hobbits. Many of these people were related to each other, and were also related to Hobbits in Hobbiton and Bree. Hobbits were short, sturdy creatures who were curly-haired, with feet that were hairy on top and had leathery soles, so they did not wear shoes. They lived in holes dug into the sides of hills, which were lined with pannelling and brickwork for comfort. You could tell a Hobbit-hole when you saw one because there would be a few chimneys sticking up out of the hilltop to let out smoke from the fires in the hearths below. You would also be able to see the brightly painted front doors, which were always round. Tunnels led off from the main entrances, in which the other rooms of these remarkable houses were situated. By far the most remarkable room was the living room or parlour, where the Hobbits would sit by the fire of an evening or entertain guests. This would be large and could accommodate quite a few people, with room to spare for tables, chairs and suchlike. These people worked hard and loved nothing more than a comfortable seat by the fire after a decent meal. The most important thing to a Hobbit besides this was respectability; you could not buy respectability, they would say, but you could lose it like that. And once a person had lost their reputation, getting it back was the hardest thing.

Lobelia and Otho Sackville-Baggins were painfully aware of this, because there was hardly a Hobbit-hole in all of the Shire, the land of Hobbits, where they were actually welcome. Not even in Harbottle, where they had lived all their lives. They considered themselves to be perfectly respectable. They had a double-barrelled surname after all. How many people could claim that? They owned a fair amount of property in the Southfarthing - Otho's speculations were paying off, and he had also been dabbling in the Pipeweed business. Pipeweed was a passion for Hobbit-men, who loved to smoke it in long-stemmed pipes. Folk of other kinds, including Men and Dwarves had taken up the art as well, and business was booming. They were rich and well-connected. Why were they unwelcome among their own folk?

This may have been a mystery to them, but it was obvious to everyone else. They absolutely hated them because they were a pair of selfish, greedy snobs. Lobelia thought it was clever to criticise and put people down, and all Otho ever talked about was how well he had done in acquiring the land and homes of those who had been unfortunate enough to end up in debt - usually to him. Lobelia was big-boned and mean-looking. Her face was pinched and already lined from years of sneering - it was already beginning to resemble the wrong end of Bingo her bulldog. Her lips were constantly pouting, her nose was long and her eyes were piggy blue and squinting. Otho was skinny and grasping, and reminded folk of a hungry spider. They had a son, Lotho, who was known as Pimple. He had terrible acne. He was always eating, there was always something in his pocket like a sandwich or a piece of cake. He would not eat his vegetables, though - it was hard enough to get him to eat fruit. They also had a bulldog called Bingo, who was overfed and utterly spoilt.

One day there was a funeral in Harbottle. The wheelwright had died, leaving behind him a large family and a good few unpaid bills. Hobbit funerals were usually held in the homes of the deceased, and the head of the household officiated. People were not invited to funerals, they just went, usually bringing food or gifts to the family to comfort them in their bereavement. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins entered the house, her husband Otho, her son Lotho and their bulldog Bingo trailing unwillingly behind her. This fellow had owed them nothing, so what was the point in going? In front of them a pine coffin lay on a simple catafalque (which was actually a hastily-borrowed old coffee table), surrounded by grieving relatives. Hildegrim Brown had lived a good, long life, and his family and friends had gathered to bid the old Hobbit a fond farewell.

"A pine coffin?" Lobelia sneered. "And I thought they actually liked him! Look, you can see all the knots. They've neither painted nor polished it. And look at what they've sat it on." She bent down and peered at it. "It's an old coffee table. Dear me, they could have done better than that." Although she was speaking quietly (for her), many people in the room heard what she said and were deeply offended by it. Lobelia did not notice this. While she sometimes defended the insensitive remarks she made as unfortunate misunderstandings, she never would admit that she was wrong about anything, and she never apologised.

Lobelia accepted a drink from a tray that was being passed around and wandered over to the coffin. She had brought a bottle of apple cider from one of Otho's farms (she had watered it down. Merriment at a funeral she considered inappropriate), and given it to Prisca Brown, daughter of the deceased, when she had come in. Hildegrim looked peaceful, as though he was asleep. He was dressed in his best clothes, and his hands were folded on his chest. Lobelia looked at him, her beady eyes missing nothing. She stepped away from it and spoke to her husband. "They didn't even polish the buttons on his waistcoat," she whispered loudly, "surely even they could have afforded some elbow-grease!" She chuckled at her own joke. A space was growing between herself and everybody else, apart from Otho. She pretended not to notice. "They certainly can't afford decent drinks," she added, "this apple cider has been watered down." Lobelia snatched a piece of cake from another tray that was being passed around.

Bilbo Baggins arrived just then. He gave his cloak and walking stick to his friend Polo Bolger, who was acting as an usher, and made his way over to the coffin. "Alas, Hildegrim," he said respectfully to the dearly departed, "you will be sadly missed. Still," he added, turning to the deceased Hobbit's wife Primrose, "he had a good long run, you must agree." He gently reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "If there's anything at all I can do for you, please let me know. I loved him when he was alive, and now that he's gone, let me show that love to you." Primrose smiled gratefully at him through her tears. Bilbo produced a box. "I kept meaning to give this to him, it's just a little keepsake box," he confided (knowng that Primrose was proud and would never accept charity), "it nearly ended up in a mathom house, to be honest. Anyway, it's got a few odds and ends in that I'm sure you'll find a use for."

Primrose later found out that "odds and ends" meant twenty gold coins and thirty five silver ones. (This was more than enough to clear all her family's debts. Since Bilbo had gone home by that time she had no opportunity to chide him for his charity). "Thank you," she said.

Lobelia saw Bilbo and strode over to him. If there was anyone in all the world she could not stand, it was Bilbo Baggins, her husband's cousin. She disliked him because he was everything she was not. He was kind, considerate, compassionate and sensitive. Consequently, he had many friends. He also lived in one of the most luxurious Hobbit-holes in the Shire, and she wanted it for herself. Bilbo was a batchelor, and lived in Bag End, his home, by himself. He had been the sole beneficiary of his parents' wills, and because they were rich, he had never had to do a day's work in his life. He occasionally speculated in business ventures, but he was not serious about it, and preferred to spend his time reading, writing poetry, socialising and helping his friends and neighbours where he could. He rarely visited his cousins because the things they valued most were not important to him at all. Bilbo had nothing in common with the Sackville-Bagginses, and there was no love lost between them. Currently, they were in dispute about Bag End. Lobelia had been trying to persuade Bilbo to sell her his home since he came into his inheritance, but to no avail. In fact, the harder she tried, the more he resisted, but she refused to accept defeat. It had got to the point where she considered that the effort she had expended in attempting to wear Bilbo down was his fault, and therefore he owed it to her to sell her the property.

"Ah, Bilbo," she said in a falsely friendly manner, "how wonderful to see you. Poor dear, you must get so lonely, rattling around in that hole by yourself. Your dear mother Belladonna would weep to see it. No signs of any romantic interest yet, I presume? That place needs a woman's touch, I've always thought. Doesn't it, Otho?" Otho nodded. Lotho had seized a passing tray of sausage rolls and was sat in a corner on his bottom devouring the lot as Bingo the bulldog looked on mournfully.

"It's not for sale, Lobelia," Bilbo told her firmly, "I've told you that a thousand times." He wished she'd rattle round in a hole. A very deep one that went all the way to Angband. Bilbo had always been a keen student of history. There was a mathom-house (museum) in Michel Delving where weapons were stored, among other things. Hobbits had occasionally gone to war - bowmen had been sent to the Battle of Fornost against the Witch-king of Angmar, though no tales of Men told of this. Bilbo sometimes wondered if Sauron had ever tried to make Orcs in imitation of his master Morgoth, and the Sackville-Bagginses had been the result.

"But Bilbo, dear," she leered, "you are all alone in there. Would you not prefer to take lodgings up here in Harbottle? Something more suitable for a batchelor, perhaps?" She disapproved of most things, the worst of which was people who had things she wanted.

"What, your coal shed?" Bilbo snapped. He had no doubt of what she considered suitable for him. "This is neither the time nor the place for such discussions. Let's talk about it at another time, eh?" He moved away from her, irritated. What was the problem with her? Lobelia pursued him, so he went outside. He led her a merry dance around the lanes and groves until he was certain he had lost her. He returned to the house.

Otho had remained in the house, watching with interest like a spider in its web. When he saw Bilbo come back in, he pounced. "About Bag End..." he began.

"Not now, Otho," Bilbo sighed. These people! If only he had the means to make himself invisible. The fun he would have! Alas, he was a respectable Hobbit, not one to go on silly adventures and such. Though there was, he conceded, a fair amount of Took blood in his veins, nothing, he was certain, would ever induce him to leave his cosy Hobbit-hole, Bag End. Oh no. He would leave the fighting with monsters and the making of history to the likes of Bullroarer Took. He was decidedly a Baggins, and that he would remain, to the very end of his days. He was drinking deeply from his flagon of beer when Lobelia reentered the atmosphere, which cooled right down as she did so. It was the way people suddenly went quiet that attracted his attention. He looked up slowly, deliberately, and faced her.

"I suppose you thought that was very clever," she snarled.

"I suppose I did," he smiled back, the most innocent expression gracing his face. The look on hers he would have swapped for Bag End without a second thought.

TBC...