1st September, 1389 SR
Frodo sent me a letter.
"Dear Bilbo" he wrote. "Do you really mean it? Am I really to stay with you in Hobbiton? And Old Rory has consented? I can't believe it, Bilbo! It's almost like a dream! I can't wait until my birthday when you are going to take me to your place. I'm packed already! I don't care that I have to unpack almost daily to take out clean shirts and breeches. I hope you won't mind if I give all of the presents you gave on my birthdays to my cousins, nephews and nieces here. That way I won't have much to carry. All your letters I kept, Bilbo, they are so much more valuable. I've been dreaming of what we will do together once I move to Bag End. Will you take me to see the Elves? I've never been to Michel Delving, can we go there? And I can't wait to learn new songs from you, dear Bilbo, and learn more Elvish. I'm afraid you will have to teach me again, Bilbo, because I've forgotten most of what you taught me. We can go for walks together. We can even go and have adventures together! Can we go to the Dale? And the Lonely Mountain? And Rivendell? Dear Old Amaranth is always angry these days because I walk everywhere with my thoughts in the clouds and so lay havoc on a lot of innocent plates and cups and vases. I think I will miss her a lot though, despite her vast wealth of sarcasm. But never as much as I miss you Bilbo. I am counting the day to 22nd September!
Impatiently,
Frodo Baggins"
Planned to write a chapter on the eyries of the eagles, but sat outside, blowing smoke rings instead, re-reading Frodo's letter and dreaming about our time together. It is a lovely night tonight.
5th September, 1389 SR
Otho Sackville-Baggins came this morning, brushed Old Master Hamfast aside and came barging in, completely ruining my second breakfast. Without so much as a good morning, he said (shouted to be exact):
"What is this rumor going around, that you are taking a mongrel out of that rabbit warren in Buckland to be your heir!"
"Would you like to sit down, Otho?" I said. "You are spitting all over my eggs."
"How dare you, you old fool!" he said, waving a fat fist. "You can't have any heir, least of all someone as dubious as a Brandybuck! I'm the legal heir to Bag End!"
"He is not a Brandybuck, Otho," I said, looking sadly at the food now laid to waste. "He is Drogo's son, a Baggins. His name is Frodo. Frodo Baggins."
"Well, I never thought Drogo was much of a Baggins anyway, otherwise he would not have gone to the other side of Brandywine to marry that Brandybuck woman and gotten killed…"
"Otho, I must insist that you get out. You have ruined my appetite and now you're being rude about a dear lamented Baggins," I stood up. "Nothing you can say will change anything. It is perfectly within my rights to adopt anyone related to me to be my heir. Now, please, get out."
My hand was itching for Sting, I was that mad.
"Mark you my words, Bilbo," Otho hissed as I pushed him none too gently outside. "You are nearly a hundred and you will die before that brat comes of age, and Bag End will be mine!"
"We'll see, Otho, we'll see," I said. "Have a pleasant morning!"
And I closed the door with a bang behind him. Then I laughed, I laughed until my stomach hurt. It was worth a ruined breakfast to see Otho as purple as an overripe plum.
Thought up a song about chickens chasing Otho for wasting eggs, but then dropped the song altogether. The chickens don't deserve to be in the same song with Otho.