30th September, 1389 SR
HOME! It was nice to see the amazement in Frodo's eyes when I took him on a tour around Bag End. He couldn't believe such a large smial was occupied by me…excuse me…us alone. It was nice to see the way he treated everyone with equal politeness, praising Mistress Bell's cooking and getting along quite nicely with the rest of the Gamgees. It was nice to have tea with someone, talking and laughing endlessly. It wasn't so cold and silent anymore in this old smial.
Only one thing ruined this perfect day. Uninvited, Otho and Lobelia dropped in just before supper. They strode in without waiting for my permission and saw Frodo standing near the table.
"So this is your heir, Bilbo," hissed Otho.
"Well done, Otho! For once you understand something without my having to explain it to you," I said. "Frodo, meet Otho and Lobelia Sackville-Bagginses. Otho, Lobelia, this is Frodo, my nephew and heir to Bag End."
"Frodo Baggins at your service and your family's," said Frodo, bowing a little.
"Well at least those queer Brandybucks taught you some manners," snorted Lobelia. I could see a slight color rise to Frodo's cheeks.
"I bet you're happy, lad, eh?" said Otho, approaching Frodo, looking him up and down. "Out of that rabbit burrow and into this place. What did you do to ensnare the old hobbit, eh? How long did the Brandybucks put you into this?"
"Put me into what?" said Frodo, there was an edge in his voice.
"Trapping Bilbo," Otho glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes. "Perfect catch, eh? Rich, old, heirless and mad. The Brandybucks are going to roll in gold when he's dead and you become the master of Bag End. Has he told you about the loot, yet, lad?"
Frodo took a deep breath, but his face remained calm. He looked at Otho straight in the eyes. "Yes. Yes, he has," he said firmly. "It's at your house. Silver spoons if I'm not mistaken."
Otho was taken aback and Lobelia looked scandalized, turning first red, then violet, then a very ugly shade of purple. I couldn't stop myself and started howling with laughter.
"Now if you can behave like decent hobbits," Frodo continued in an even voice, "we would love to ask you to join us for supper. If you can't, I'd be happy to see you to the door."
"You…you..." Lobelia's eyes bulged abominably. "You Brandybuck, you!"
"Thank you," Frodo bowed a little. "The door's over there."
I took his cue and started to steer Lobelia out, while Frodo tackled Otho with surprising skill.
"Thank you for coming," he said to a very angry Lobelia before closing the door. We ran to the kitchen and laughed merrily all through supper. I was so proud of him.
Or I thought I was proud of him then. But then I learned that I knew little about what being proud is all about. It was much later that I found out its true meaning. I was nearly asleep, humming my favorite lullaby to myself, when my bedroom door creaked open and Frodo was there.
"What happened, lad?" I asked. "Trouble sleeping in a new place?"
"No," he said. He looked very thoughtful. He came over to my bed and sat at the edge. "You don't believe what they said, do you, Bilbo?"
"They who?" I said.
"The Sackville-Bagginses," he replied.
"Which part was it I am not supposed to believe?" I asked.
"The part about the Brandybucks using me to trap you and get your gold. None of it is true."
"Well, I believe you," I said. "I never listened to any of the S.B.'s chatters anyway. You did the best thing too, ignoring them."
"Still…" he hesitated for a moment. "I want you to know this. I don't care if you're poor, Bilbo. I don't care about Bag End and its treasures if there were indeed any. I only care about you. We can always live some place else, it won't matter."
There was something stirring in my heart like new leaves whispering in the spring wind. I smiled. "I like your spirit, lad. But do you want to make Lobelia happy by leaving?"
He shook his head and grinned mischievously.
I got up and leapt out of the bed. "I'm not that sleepy either," I lied. "Grab your cloak. We'll go for a walk."
We traipsed up the hills, talking and singing all the way. Then suddenly we heard it, almost at the same time, the gentle, beautiful sound of Elves singing. Frodo looked at me with eyes wide with astonishment.
"Bilbo…" he whispered. "Are they…?"
"Yes, dear boy," I laughed. "They're Elves."
We crept up to where the Elves were gathered around a fire. The closer we came, the more beautiful the song was. I didn't understand all the words, but the music created images inside my mind: cool, crystalline rivers; tall trees with leaves so close together; sunshine glittering like jewels between the branches. It was a song of longing, of letting go. The Elves were moving westward, forsaking Middle-Earth.
I crept nearer and began to take up the song. The Elves looked at me, and laughed.
"Master Perian," they greeted. "What brought you to our midst this late at night?"
I signaled to Frodo to follow me. He stood awkwardly outside the ring of dancing firelight.
"I am Bilbo Baggins of The Shire," I bowed low. "And this is my nephew Frodo."
The Elves turned their bright eyes to Frodo. The lad was pitifully pale now. But he cleared his throat, and said quite clearly, "Elen sila lúmenn' omentielvo." And he bowed low. The Elves clapped, laughed and praised him.
It was then that I truly learned what it meant to be proud.
The End