Primula's Diary

Dear Sam,

I can't believe I'm naming you Sam, but I am. You see I've admired the Gaffer's youngest son for as long as I can remember. Fortunately very few people know because I have kept it a closely guarded secret since the time I admitted it to myself. I can't even explain what draws me to him, but it's there and it hasn't released me in the five years that I realized what an amazing person he was.

But, just my luck, he loves Rosie Cotton and is completely devoted to her. For some reason Ms. Cotton hates me, not just a passing glance at times, or a whisper at times, she absolutely can't stand me. I am so thankful that Sam is so devoted to my older brother, I once walked in on them by accident; he was scolding her for something she had said about me.

My brother is Frodo Baggins; he is the most wonderful older brother a young Hobbit could ask for growing up. Our parents died when I was young, only two years old, and he, in all the sense of the words, raised me. He was there for me when I was at my worst, and encouraged me when I was interested in things that other Hobbits lasses rarely considered.

My Uncle Bilbo allowed my brother and I to live with him, mainly because he was lonely but also because he needed an heir and Frodo was born on the same day as he was, September 22. He was in his late eighties when he adopted us, our parents having just died the year before.

Everyone in the Shire is convinced that my Uncle is crazy, but I've seen the maps, heard the stories from his mouth; there is no way that someone could have invented such an amazing story even if they had disappeared for a year or two. We have also met elves and the grey wizard, Gandalf, more proof that my Uncle's stories are valid beyond doubt. Sam and the Gaffer seem to be the only people in Hobbiton who believe the stories Bilbo tells at the Green Dragon, they stand up for my family whenever someone like Ted Sandyman says a smart remark against what Bilbo had said earlier.

Bilbo taught us everything he could from his travels; both my brother and I know a strong vocabulary of Elvish and could, with slight strain, carry on a conversation with any Silvian elf. We also know a few phrases of Dwarfish, although the dwarves guard their language closely and only after prodding Gloin did Bilbo learn the phrases he did.

My family and I live in Bags End; it's a beautiful house and is surrounded by an extravagant garden that is maintained by Sam and his Gaffer throughout the year. That's one of the many dangers of naming this diary Sam, for the real Hobbit Sam is in and out of Bag Ends year round and I'm always fretting that one day he will find it, even though I keep it hidden in my room at all times and Sam knows better then to go into my room.

My room is different then what most Hobbit lasses of my age have, there are no sewing needles or fabrics, the formal dresses that the other girls find every excuse to wear around Hobbiton collect dust in my closet. On my nightstand I keep a brush and a picture of my parents. My shelf has a collection of books that I gathered throughout the years since I came to live with Bilbo, among them many that were written completely in Elvish. My clothes didn't resemble the considerable amount of money that Bilbo had accumulated during his adventure to vanquish the dragon Smaug, they were workable and I felt comfortable wearing them wherever I was.

I never really considered myself to fit into the placement that most other girls seem to accustom themselves to so easily, I hated the idea of suffocating myself in a dress that was drawn so tightly I couldn't expand my chest outward enough to drawn in a full breath of air. I spent most of my time either walking through the woods with a companion or alone, having memorized the trails of the Shire at a young age.

I could probably consider myself to be close to an expert at swordsmanship, archery, survival skills, and how to track. I always wanted to learn everything I could from my brother and Bilbo; I would watch them spar when Bilbo was younger, and then Frodo spar with other Hobbits from around Hobbiton. Finally I worked up the courage to ask him to teach me, he always said I was a fast learner and soon I was leaving a considerable amount of bruises on Frodo.

I suppose if you had to describe me I would be pretty, I am a little under average height at 3'4'' and am relatively skinny because of all the sparring and practice I am involved in. I have curly, golden brown hair that falls between my neck and the bottom of my shoulder blades, and fair, pale skin that shows and seems to highlight the light scars along my arms I have collected from sparring. Everyone says I have a fair singing voice and that even my speaking voice is beautiful. My brother and I share the same blue eyes that set us apart in a crowd, the color of a cloudless summer day, and our noses are the same. Many people often mistake us for twins but he is nine years older then I am.

Today is the day before my brother's and Uncles birthday, September 21st. Gandalf arrived earlier in the day riding up to Bag Ends while I was cleaning the dishes and cleaning the house. He greeted me warmly but I knew he wanted to talk to Bilbo privately by the way he kept sharing glances with my Uncle. I excused myself from the house and preoccupied myself with wandering around the area where their party would be placed.

Frodo and I have both noticed something different with Bilbo throughout the past few weeks, he's taken to locking himself in his studies throughout the day, and I once caught a glance of his Ring in his hand while he was studying a map of Mirkwood. I don't want him to leave; he'll be one-hundred eleven tomorrow and is getting far too old to be traveling around Middle Earth. Frodo agrees with me and we've both decided to keep an eye on the two.

I also should add the most amazing thing about me; I have the gift of foresight. My Uncle Bilbo tells me he met an Elf names Elrond who also had such a gift, I'm not so sure whether he said it only so I didn't feel abnormal but it comforted me that there were others.

I have always had this gift, or I suppose you could name it a curse, since the day I was born, although it didn't present itself for a few months. I was a baby when suddenly I began to scream, no one could understand what seemed to be putting me in such pain, and only after a few years did we discover it had truly been a vision. My parents had been gone for a few hours, taking a ride on down the Brandywine.

I had been sleeping peacefully; the next few moments still imprinted in my memories after all these years. I began to scream and cry as, in my mind, I saw my parents floating down a river. I was too young to realize what was happening and the unexpected vision scared me. My cries became louder until almost everyone in Brandybuck was running into my room, worried that something was happening to me. I saw in my mind my father showing my mother a school of fish whose scales sparkled in the afternoon sunlight.

The next part I won't even tell my family, suddenly I saw my mother slip against something and wildly grab for something to steady her fall. My father had already been unbalanced and leaning over the edge, and the extra weight caught him off balance. I watched them both topple over the edge of the boat and begin floundering in the water. Eventually the water stilled and the boat's wild shaking calmed. Even at a few months old, my mind realized something terrible had happened.

Over the years I have had nearly two-hundred visions about various things. Sometimes they are unimportant things, something I saw that started my gift, or something I would touch that would spark a vision.

Other times, like when I was a child, the vision just comes from no where, not brought up by anything although sometimes stress has aggravated one. These are the visions I see in my mind and also are spoken out loud usually in the form of a riddle. I can't control myself during those times and I usually end up lying on the ground, my nails having cut the palms of my hands and my muscles cramped form clenching them.

These are the ones that scare everyone around me, fortunately I have enough control, or luck as it may be, to never have one of these visions in public, they only happen when I am alone or with people like Bilbo or Frodo.

Once I had a vision during a visit by my cousins, Meriadoc Brandybuck, and Peregrin Took. Unfortunately Sam had also been there. I can't explain what the vision was, for personal reasons, but when my vision had returned to me and I could see my surroundings again, I saw Sam's face inches from mine, his eyebrows into his hairline in surprise. He had backed away when he had seen I was alright and had then been replaced by Frodo who had dragged me out of my curled up position against the back of a chair, and helped me to my feet again.

But yes, I am different then the other Hobbits for reasons beyond the common sense, I am special as Gandalf explained it to me one day when my curiosity had gotten the best of me and I had asked him about it.

He had said that usually only elves were born with special gifts and then only a handful every few centuries. Gandalf had never heard of a Hobbit being gifted by the Valar.

I have to go to sleep, it's late and Bilbo says I must be up early to be ready for the party even though it won't start until after luncheon.

Good night…