Halimath (September)

Sterday 2nd: I woke today feeling very weak. I struggled to breathe; I felt as if my body was no longer solid, as if I were starting to fade at the edges. I lay there, trying to catch my breath, and then the feeling vanished, leaving me as quickly as it had arrived. I called for Frodo, and he came quickly, dear lad that he is. I asked for tea and when he returned he looked at me quizzically. I assume the experience had left me looking as haggard as I felt.

I smiled to reassure him, but he didn't look convinced that I was alright. If truth be told, neither did I. This feeling has been coming upon me a lot as of late. I dismissed his fears, blaming it on the planning for our joint birthday this month. He laughed, and complained that this year isn't even important; what will it be like next year? In truth I do not know, and his words affected me more than I care to admit.

I feel it has something to do with the Ring. I find myself checking constantly that it is here, that I have it. I tried leaving it safely locked here in my room, but I could not focus. Now I wear it on a chain in my pocket, so it cannot fall out. But I have felt it – it is false, and would leave me, if it could.

But onto other matters. My mind is morbid as of late. I spent the rest of the day in the study with my pipe and a book. Nothing of interest happened, except some hobbit-lads outside trying to get at my plum tree. Ah, the plums – Sam says he shall make us a plum pudding soon, once the plums are fully ripe. Perhaps I shall take Frodo blackberry picking sometime. We have not done that in a while. The garden is glorious at this time of year. The apples and plums, the quinces and the pears… Sam and his gaffer should be proud.

But now I am tiring once again. I do seem to get tired so very easily, these days. Everyone says I don't look a day over fifty, but my bones are tired. I shall be 110 this year, and the body does not easily forget… but I'm rambling, as my mind is so wont to do now. I shall leave off here, as my bed is calling and I could do with a cup of tea before I retire.

Trewsday 5th: Gandalf has come! He arrived this morning, completely out of the blue - as usual. I sat in the kitchen with my tea, when suddenly I heard a great commotion on the main road. I looked out of the window, and saw a crowd of hobbit children gathering aroud a great wagon. Of course I saw his pointy hat, then, and knew then who it was. I couldn't help but smile. I went to the door to greet him.

Ah, Gandalf is indeed a dear friend. Who would have thought that a simple greeting, 'good morning,' as I greeted him 60 years ago, could have had such consequences? A party of dwarves eating me out of house and home, and going on an adventure… I remember the aversion I felt to that word! But now, I feel so stifled here. As a tween growing up, when I came of age, even as a nicely settled-down hobbit, Hobbiton was a dream, a paradise. Nowhere in existence was better. But after that dear confounded wizard and the troublesome, grumbling, wonderful dwarves turned up on my doorstep, the Shire has felt like a cage. I want to feel free again; to see mountains, and hear once again the sound of mighty rivers which put the Brandywine to shame, and rather ridicule the fear these hobbits have of water. For there are many other things to be afraid of and I worry that it is here, not abroad, that we should be looking for it.

Gandalf arrived on my doorstep, just like all those years ago, and I blew a smoke ring at him. I have practiced, and now I can get them to circle around my head. He laughed when he saw, and he remembered too, the smoke rings I blew that morning which I could just about get to float away around The Hill.

'It has been too long, dear Bilbo,' he said, his smile crinkling up his eyes.

'Indeed, Gandalf; your beard is looking greyer and I believe that is a new patch upon your hat!' I cried, for Gandalf always looks the same. He does not age, or is immortal, or something like that; I believe he told me once but I probably didn't listen.

We took tea together, and I told him of the weak feeling that has been plaguing me, of the need I feel to leave the Shire. He did not seem concerned and said it was probably just age catching up with me. He asked what I plan to do, if I do leave. I thought perhaps to visit the dwarves in Erebor again, or perhaps just wander and make up songs, but in this state I do not feel up to simply wandering!

He then suggested I go and stay in Rivendell again, renew my acquaintance with Elrond. In fact it had never occurred to me, but I see now that perhaps it would be good. A beautiful place in which to live out the rest of my days, or even just a few of them, where the air is different and sharper, where one can see mountains and rivers, and feel free.

However what neither of us had noticed was Frodo. He'd come in as we were talking, and when Gandalf mentioned going to Rivendell, he rushed in through the door, grass in his hair and a book under his arm, demanding to know where I was going and why. The dear boy, he even offered to come with me. But he doesn't really want to leave; I can see that. The gentle hills, the flowers and the orchards: they are his world. I wouldn't ask him to leave all that behind just because I fancy some company. He would miss it it too much; and perhaps eventually it would break him, unless he learned to shutter his heart. Although if I know Frodo, I know he will be able to withstand much – he's stronger than his rather dainty appearance suggests.

Satisfied that I was not going anywhere soon, he left us after grabbing some bread and cheese. Off to continue reading, I suspect. He's always got his nose in a book; I taught him well.

I write this now in bed after sitting outside with Gandalf a while, sharing a barrel of Old Toby pipeweed. There really is none finer in all of Middle-Earth.

Sunday 11th: Gandalf has had to leave, much to the disappointment of the entire village. A flying visit, without so much as a sparkler, let alone a firework! That is the rather indignant view of most of the locals. I had rather hoped he might be able to stay until the party, but he must return to his Council.

I took the opportunity to take Frodo blackberry picking, like I'd said I would. We gathered up the baskets and set off, when we met Sam on the road. I invited him along, of course, and while at first he was reluctant – wary of the Gaffer's reaction, I suppose – but after I told him not to worry about that he swiftly joined us, and very soon was updating us on all the local gossip. He is such a sweet boy. Sometimes I fear that his gentle nature is sometimes a disappointment to Hamfast Gamgee, who I feel sometimes despairs. But one thing I know about Hamfast is that family comes first, so I've no doubt that he does love his children absolutely without question. But still remains the feeling that Sam's nature is somewhat crushed at home, and he never really opens up.

The blackberries were abundant and ripe, absolutely perfect. Sam says he shall make us plum pudding tomorrow, using the blackberries too. I shall invite him and Hamfast for dinner too, so they can enjoy it. Of course we enjoyed many of the blackberries there, and we all managed to get juice around our mouths! Frodo looked particularly funny as he got some on his nose too. I've no idea how!

It has been a lovely day. I haven't really left the smial for pleasure in a while, and it felt good to be out and enjoying the sun and pleasant company. I feel tired, but in a good way. I shall sleep well tonight.

Monday 19th: The plans for the party are complete. To celebrate Frodo and my birthdays, I have arranged it with Sam to do the cooking – he is a particularly fine cook, as well as gardener – and there shall be only a few of us. Perhaps a couple of Frodo's friends and cousins, and mine. I know he wanted to invite Meriadoc from Brandy Hall, and from what I hear he has got himself a shadow in the form of Peregrin Took. I know Frodo has met him and they all get along like a smial on fire, so I suppose it will be fine. I shall send out the invites today.

Nothing of any import has happened today. I got up and had breakfast, and when Frodo returned we had second breakfast. I did not have elevenses as I had to visit a tenant about the coming harvest, but Frodo and I shared a lovely big luncheon. We shall be having tea soon. But I shall end here, as there is nothing much else to write.

Mersday 22nd: The party was a success, and the guests are now sleeping off the indulgent food and possibly too much wine they consumed this evening. I feel comfortably stretched – around the waistband! Hamfast and Sam came, and Merry and Pippin. It was a very enjoyable little gathering – I don't think those two boys ever stopped talking – and Frodo seemed happy as well.

However I noticed that Frodo didn't eat anywhere near as much as the rest of us. It can't have been because he didn't like it, as Sam cooked bacon and some early mushrooms, which are his favourite. But he sat there, nibbling, and playing with his fork. Of course he was laughing and joining in the conversation, but he did appear distracted.

He's been doing that a lot recently, I've noticed; fiddling with his fork and staring off into the distance. I worry about him, but every time I ask him what's wrong he laughs and starts talking about something else. Ever since he came to live here I've always told him he can tell me anything, but I won't pry; I hope he trusts me enough to tell me, eventually.

Until then, I shall have to wait and just remind him I am here for him. But now my hand is unsteady – too much wine! – and I am tired.

Mersday 29th: The days are becoming slightly less sunny and the wind has a chill to it that means autumn is truly come. The villagers are harvesting many of the crops now, and it looks to have been a good one. Next month we will celebrate it properly.

Frodo has still not opened up, but I am sure he will. He has never really been very good at keeping secrets – his own in particular. In fact Frodo is possibly the best person to go to if you have a secret, as he would never share it. But he can never keep his own secrets private for long.

Today I took him out with me to visit the tenants. He seemed glad to come with me. I wonder if perhaps he has been spending too much time alone, with only written word for company. Not that books are bad companions, but you can't really have a conversation with one. Perhaps that is why he is so clammed up about the problem, whatever it is. But either way we spent a pleasant afternoon walking and talking. He has grown up so much… He will make a fine Gentlehobbit of the Hill one day, I am sure.

As we walked, I noticed all the young ladies trying to catch his attention. I never realised it before, but our young Frodo seems to be quite popular! He smiled politely at each of them but that is all; if he favoured any one of them with anything more, I did not see it. I teased him about it when we got home and he blushed, but did not say anything more on the matter. I assume he's got some lass he's taken a fancy to, but is too embarrassed to admit it. I don't think he has anything to worry about - judging by the lasses' reactions today, I reckon he could have any girl he wanted. As we returned, Sam and Hamfast were in the garden. I went to talk to them about the arrangements for the colder weather, and Frodo hurried off fairly quickly.

I'm satisfied with what Sam and Hamfast plan to do – of course, I trust their judgment more than anyone else's - Hamfast's potatoes in particular have a reputation second to none in all four Farthings of the Shire for quality.

I'm having a last cup of tea before I retire. Frodo hasn't returned yet since he left this afternoon, but I'm not worried. He'll be back when he's ready, and there is no place safer than the Shire. There's a cup of tea for him too, but it's gone cold. That'll teach him for staying out late! It has tuned rather chilly – it's no longer summer, more's the pity, so I shan't tarry much longer.

As I write, Frodo has returned, a book under one arm as usual. It's one he's already read; I shall have to get some new ones in, I reckon. He laughed when I told him of the cold tea and told me not to worry, he's quite capable of heating it. I smiled and left him pottering around in the kitchen.