Frodo held Bilbo's hand, gently singing so as to lull the old Hobbit to sleep.
"…pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errand meet.
And whither then? I cannot say."
A weariness had suddenly come over him, too, and he attempted to suppress a yawn. His tired eyes glanced once more over the now sleeping Bilbo. He smiled faintly.
Although he had aged considerably since his departure to Rivendell so many years ago, since Bilbo's arrival in Valinor, he could easily have been mistaken for a much younger Hobbit.
Frodo released his hand, ready to depart to his own chambers for the night, yet with a start Bilbo sprang out of his bed, frightening Frodo beyond comprehension.
"What is it?" the startled Hobbit cried. Bilbo's face was morose.
"Oin, Gloin, Ori, Nori, Dori, Dwalin, Balin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Fili, Kili, and Thorin…" he muttered almost incomprehensibly.
"What about them?"
"I can't remember – that is, I don't know…" Bilbo sank back upon the bed where he had been peacefully thinking only moments before.
Frodo sighed. These fits of forgetfulness had become more and more frequent. Despite Bilbo's new exterior youthfulness, his mind continued to age.
"Oh Frodo, my lad," Bilbo said quietly, his face scrunching up as though he was on the verge of tears. "I can't remember the year when I found the…" his voice trailed off, remembering who he was seated with. Though Frodo knew well enough what he was going to say.
"The year you found the ring." He finished for him, wistfully. Bilbo nodded.
"If I still had my book -"
"Sam has the book now." Frodo interrupted. Bilbo nodded, understanding the importance that Sam had in Frodo's heart.
"If I could just remember the date…"
Frodo smiled. "Think hard, but not too hard, for you have not eaten enough today to think so deeply."
Bilbo laughed as Frodo kissed him goodnight, remembering the simple and contented life of a Hobbit in the Shire.
Frodo left Bilbo now, walking slowly towards his room. Their house replicated Bag End almost to the spiders-web in the corner. Since his arrival, he tried to make it as homely as possible, to remember his old life, and yet still know that when he stepped out his front door and looked upon a land a world away from the Shire, he could not go back. Life in Valinor….he halted his thoughts. There was no life in Valinor. That is, he was alive, and always would be in this magical land. And yet to him, life had meant the simple struggles of finding food to eat, needing to stock up when the Winter was coming, and running through Farmer Maggot's crop looking for mushrooms. In the Undying Lands, all things grew in abundance, so no hardship would ever have to be endured by the people so long as Manwë ruled the lands.
Frodo took a deep breath in, resolved to no longer think of such things.
Yet dreams troubled the young Hobbit's sleep, waking him many times from his slumber. The Eye of Sauron would flicker in and out of peaceful thoughts, and once again he would feel the icy burning of the scar on his shoulder. More than once he woke calling for aid, and yet his cries for Sam or Strider always came unanswered.
Frodo slumped back upon his sheets, rubbing his tired eyes.
"You may go and see Gandalf tomorrow to lift your spirits. But for now, you must sleep, Frodo Baggins!" He chastised himself, and yet his next thought made him grin. "What would Sam say if he knew his Master was not sleeping?"