1st September, 1380 SR
Very early in the morning. I couldn't sleep after what happened last night so I decided to write this down. Frodo came to my bedroom last night. He woke me up and said:
"Is it true, Bilbo, that Elrond is a master of healing?"
"Yes," I said sleepily. "Why do you ask?"
"Can he heal death?" he whispered again.
I was so astounded that I sat up straight and looked at him. Under the candlelight his eyes were glittering fiercely but there were tear stains on his cheeks. I shook my head slowly. "No. Death can't be cured, Frodo."
He drew in a trembling breath and looked away. "They live…they live forever, the Elves, don't they? They don't die."
I didn't know what to say.
"Do you like to swim, Bilbo?" he asked after a while.
I nodded slowly. "Not that much. I like to plunge in once in a while though, when it's really hot."
He nodded and there was a very long and uncomfortable silence as he struggled to hold back tears, looking away and blinking fiercely. Finally he looked at me again.
"Be careful when you swim, Bilbo dear, will you?" he whispered. "Don't…don't get drowned or anything."
I couldn't say anything, I could only nod.
"Can I sleep with you tonight?" he said in a very small voice.
"Of course," I said, and realized my voice was hoarse and dry.
He climbed onto my bed and curled up next to me. I covered him with a blanket and soon he fell asleep.
He is still sleeping now, on my bed. Twice I heard him calling his mother in a dream. I am glad he can't see me crying over my paper.
30th September, 1380 SR
I will go back to Hobbiton early tomorrow morning. It is hard to leave Frodo, though. I know the Brandybucks are going to take good care of him. Still, I wish I didn't have to leave him here.
"He will be well taken-care of here, Bilbo," said Amaranth. "His mother's family is here. He will not be lonely."
Well, that hurt a lot. I hope she wasn't criticizing my preference to live alone in Bag End.
"I'm going now, but I'll write often," I said to Frodo after supper before he went to bed. He nodded, but said nothing. "Don't forget to practice your runes and letters."
I wanted to say something else. Something to cheer him up, to lift his broken spirit up, but I couldn't find any.
Making up a song about parting doesn't help. It only makes things harder.
1st October, 1380 SR (on the ferry crossing the Brandywine)
Frodo came into my room last night. He woke me up and simply said, "Thank you for everything, Bilbo" and kissed me and left. I went away when the day was still dark and Frodo was still asleep. I didn't trust myself not to cry if I had to say goodbye to him.
3rd October, 1380 SR
Can't a hobbit have peace in this world? I've only gone for a month but Lobelia had started a rumor that I was thinking of moving to Buckland, or something to that effect. Master Hamfast the gardener said that she came twice and inquired when I would be back.
Felt too angry to continue my book. Even thought of really leaving Bag End and moving to Buckland to get some peace. But that will make Lobelia happy and I will not have that.
1st November, 1384 SR
I stopped at Buckland on my way home from Rivendell. I was feeling most rested, full of tales and songs to share with the Bucklanders. I had also made sizable additions to my book and was eager to show it to Frodo. But when I arrived and asked for him, he was nowhere to be seen.
"He does that a lot these days," said Amaranth. "Disappearing. Running from chores, I suppose."
"Have you ever thought that maybe he has to run away sometimes because you give him too many chores?" I asked sharply.
"Bilbo Baggins!" exclaimed Amaranth. "Don't you tell us how to raise children, you who have none of your own! What do you know of it? Would you prefer him to grow up spoiled and lazy? Not everyone, Bilbo, happens to have a hoard of ill-gotten gold like you!"
"That's uncalled for, Amaranth!" I said, becoming angry in my turn. And I probably would have said more scathing things had it not been for Frodo, who suddenly burst into the room. He was out of breath, his face pale and his clothes dirty. I haven't seen him for almost two years now since my short visit a year after his parents' death, and it seems he has grown somewhat taller but thinner. Why, he was nothing but two huge eyes and a mop of dusty hair.
"Frodo Baggins!" said Amaranth in horror. "What have you been up to now? Look at you!"
Frodo's eyes met mine and I saw terror in his eyes.
"Go and wash yourself before sitting down for tea, unless you want to have yours in the barn," said Amaranth. "Cousin Bilbo is here to see you but look at you now, not even fit for a kitchen rag."
Frodo looked down at his dirty clothes and then glanced at me shamefacedly.
"It's all right, Amaranth," I said. "Let the lad catch his breath first."
Amaranth shot me another look that said, quite plainly, "you-know-nothing-about-raising-children-Bilbo-Baggins-so-keep-your-nose-out-of-this".
"I'm sorry," said Frodo as he turned around and went out of the dining room. There was an icy silence as we waited for him to return, Amaranth kept snorting and looking very red in the face.
When Frodo returned, looking much cleaner and less pale, he came and sat beside me. Amaranth poured him his tea and gave him a slice of pie (I don't know if I was mistaken about this, but I did think the slice was somewhat thinner than those she gave her other nieces and nephews).
"Here you are, Frodo," she said. "Chicken and mushroom, with a lot of cheese, just the way you like it."
Frodo muttered his thanks but looked at the pie with dismay. I supposed it was because of the size. But then he didn't touch the pie at all, and after finishing his cup of tea (A single cup! That was completely unheard of!) he excused himself and I didn't see him again until dinner. His appetite was better then, but he was still unusually quiet.
Then, late at night (I've probably seen it coming, so despite my weariness, I did not sleep too deeply, and a single whispered call from Frodo was enough to wake me up), he came to my room. He sat at the foot of my bed, facing me, looking sheepish.
"I heard you have just returned from Rivendell," he began. "What news of the Elves?"
"First of all," I said, "What news of you! You looked as though you had wolves pursuing you this afternoon."
He chuckled embarrassedly. "Well, that wasn't entirely off the mark, Bilbo," he said. "Though it wasn't wolves, but dogs, that went after me."
"Dogs?" I frowned.
"Three of them," he continued solemnly.
"Whose dogs?" I asked.
"Farmer Maggot's," he said sheepishly.
"What happened?" I said, dreading the answer.
"Well, I was trespassing again this afternoon," he explained shamefacedly. "After mushrooms, as usual. But this time he caught me, beat me and took me to his dogs."
He stopped, looking at his feet.
"And?" I prodded.
"He said, to the dogs that is, that the next time they saw me they could…" he gulped, "…eat me. Then he set the dogs loose and they chased me all the way to the ferry landing."
It was very hard not to laugh and look stern. "Is that why you did not touch your mushroom pie at tea?" I said, trying very hard to sound firm.
Frodo nodded and shivered. "It reminded me of the dogs," he said slowly. "I don't think I shall ever get over the terror."
By this time my self control gave way and I burst out laughing. Frodo stared at me, then laughed too. "You will make a poor adventurer, Frodo," I said, wiping my eyes, "if you lose your appetite over three mangy dogs."
He turned red in the face. "Well, they didn't seem mangy to me then," he said. "They looked positively hungry."
I couldn't help laughing again.
We talked long into the night. Frodo listened with wide-eyed wonder to everything I told him of my journey. He seemed to drink in my words in great, thirsty gulps, pressing for details and questioning every single one of them. It was great to have such an eager audience hanging on to every word I uttered. It was when I heard the cock crowing that I realized that night was nearly ending.
"Oh, dear," I said. "You'd better head for your bed now. I shouldn't have begun telling you my tales. What would Amaranth say if she knew you've been here for hours while you should be sleeping. Think what she'll say if you fall asleep on your breakfast porridge."
He laughed, "No need to worry, Bilbo. I never oversleep. I have a special knack of waking up just when meals are ready."
"Yes," I said. "But you're keeping me awake and I'm not as young nor strong as I used to."
His eyes widened. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Forgive me, dear Bilbo, I was being selfish," he got up and gave me a hug. "I'm glad you're here, Bilbo. Good night…or…good morning. Sleep well."
He yawned, smiled and went for the door. I watched his smallish figure disappear in the dark and sighed.
Despite what I told Frodo, I couldn't sleep. I sat up for hours writing this. I suppose it was halfway through it that I suddenly began to seriously think about adopting him.
2nd November, 1384 SR
I've been thinking. Adopting Frodo won't only mean that he'll live with me, but it'll also solve the problem of my heir, or my lack of one. Adopting Frodo will mean that Lobelia and Lotho will never have Bag End. What a perfect scheme!
Have made a song about three mushroom-guarding dogs!
3rd November, 1384 SR
I brought up the topic of adoption delicately to Old Rory and Mistress Amaranth. They flatly refused.
"I know you're fond of the child, Bilbo," said Old Rory. "And I know you have the where-with-all to give Frodo a good, secure life."
"But we also care about him, Bilbo," said Amaranth. "And to be honest, we both feel it will be unwise to let him live with you."
"Why?" I asked, thoroughly perplexed.
"You lead an unusual life, Bilbo," said Old Rory bluntly. "Visiting with the Elves. Having dwarves and that strange wizard, Gandalf, coming over for tea and all. And we still have not forgotten your sudden disappearance…"
"…and mysterious return." added Amaranth.
"What guarantee can you give us that you will not do it again and leave poor Frodo abandoned all alone in Hobbiton? At least he has us here in Brandy Hall," Old Rory went on.
I tried very hard not to be angry. "My roving days are over, Rory," I said as levelly as I could. "I am intent on settling down now. And I need a companion."
"You speak of your need. What about Frodo's need?" said Amaranth.
"If he lives with me, he doesn't have to worry about his future," I said. "His father left him little. Frodo will be better off with me."
"Have you thought that maybe he doesn't want to go to Hobbiton? He spent almost his entire childhood here," said Old Rory.
"He can always come and visit here," I said, trying to laugh. "It is not as if I am taking him across the Sea."
The two hobbits flinched. I knew I've made a mistake. Speaking of the outside world is considered an unacceptable oddity, and I knew that what I said reminded the Brandybucks of that name people call me behind my back, "Mad Baggins."
"Please think about it," I said, not wishing to make matters worse. "For Frodo's sake."
Words that rhyme with "Rory": fury, gory, bury. Nice combinations. It's going to be a very satisfying song.
4th November, 1384 SR
My desire to adopt Frodo took a sudden a turn in the opposite direction. I realized that I wasn't thinking straight. I don't have a clear idea of what having a child will demand of me. I am painfully aware that while I love Frodo perhaps as much as I would have loved my own son had I had one, I don't know anything about the proper way of handling a young hobbit.
This understanding came in a painful way. I was napping after a very big luncheon this afternoon (whatever opinion I have of Amaranth, she is without a doubt a very remarkable cook), when I heard the children screaming outside and they mentioned something about Frodo. I jumped out of my bed and rushed outside. I wasn't the first to be out, and already there was such a commotion, I couldn't see clearly what happened.
From one of the children I gathered that Frodo had been climbing a tree after a squirrel when a branch snapped from under him and he fell pell-mell to the ground. I made my way through the crowd and found him in Amaranth's arms, his eyes were closed, and there was blood on his white face. They carried him inside and Amaranth tended to his wound. It wasn't big, but it bled a lot, and all I could do was watch from afar as Amaranth soothed him and bandaged his head. He clung to her until he fell asleep and asked for her when he woke up. He was feverish toward midnight and she sat by him, holding his hand and wiping his face with a wet cloth. I slunk away to my bedroom and thought how foolish I was to think that I could take care of Frodo single-handedly.
I shall go back to Hobbiton tomorrow, perhaps never to return here.