Letter Three--Frodo

It was a crisp, clear morning in early October when Frodo received Bilbo's latest letter. He found it on his breakfast table when he awoke, and smiled broadly.

"Sam must have brought it in," he thought. As if one cue, Sam called to Frodo from the garden outside. Frodo leaned out the window, smiling.

"Good mornin' Mr. Frodo. Just thought I'd get an early start on the weedin' today. I'll be in soon to make your breakfast." Frodo laughed.

"Oh, Sam, thank you so much, but I really think I can manage it myself." Sam looked at Frodo curiously and shook his head.

"Mr. Frodo, I insist. It's the least I can do, what with you not havin' Mr. Bilbo here any more to look after things, an' all. Begging your pardon, sir."

"Well, if you insist. I do love your apple hotcakes," Frodo smiled.

Soon Sam was finished, and breakfast was prepared. Frodo insisted that he stay to enjoy his spoils, and the gardener complied happily.

"Oh, Sam, one of these letters is from Bilbo, did you see?" Sam grinned broadly. "Here, I'll read it." Sam nodded eagerly, and began to listen as Frodo opened the envelope and gently unfolded the parchment.

My Frodo,

It is truly wonderful to hear from you again. You can be *sure* I would never forget about you, or lose contact. You mean too much to me, dear boy. It is good to know things are going well at Bag End, but please do not spend so much time worrying over affairs and the like. Just ignore Lobelia, she's bound to go away sooner or later. At least, that's what I've been telling myself for years...

Do "ramble on"! Your doings are of as much interest to me as a thousand elvish stories. And tell Merry I quite agree with him. I know how you are, Frodo, and I don't want you becoming an old shut in like me! Enjoy yourself, and have some fun. Just because you have come of age doesn't mean you're an adult yet. You've always acted much too mature, and it does makes me worry a bit, but I think it will serve you well in the future.

As for Elrond's telescope, how clever of you to remember! I'll have to ask him if I can have a peek in it. He's been very busy of late, with some seemingly rather serious business I won't even pretend to understand, and I do not want to distract him with a whim. He can be quite severe, you know. There's elves for you; merry as children and one moment and grave as death the next. And I thought our own kind could be difficult to understand!

I must tell you of a wonderful event that occurred a few weeks ago: I have been blessed with the friendship of Arwen Undomiel, Lord Elrond's daughter. She is a sweet, lovely girl, and the supposed vision of Luthien rekindled. I would hope you should someday meet her, my boy, she reminds me much of you in her demeanor and ways.

Arwen plans to leave with her father in a few weeks time to visit her kin in Lothlorien, the Golden Wood. I have heard almost nothing about it, surprisingly, and I doubt that many elves here besides Elrond and his children have been there. Arwen's brothers (twins, would you believe?) spend most of their time out hunting and are very quiet, not much interested in an old hobbit like me. But I shall miss Arwen when she leaves, I admit. It *is* far too silent here, even with how many elves surround me constantly, and a bit disconcerting. I plan to attempt to make conversation with Glorfindel, Elrond's stalwart attendant. He is the only one here besides Arwen who shows any real spirit, even though he rarely speaks. I have been working on my Elvish, as although I considered myself fluent, what I know does not pass for muster here. I encourage you to keep studying it as well; you never know when you may need it, Frodo.

Anyhow, if there is one who rambles on, I suppose it would be me. I have not much more to tell, now, so I send you all of my love,

Your Own Uncle Bilbo

Sam grinned with delight when the letter was finished, as did Frodo, although he seemed strangely distant.

"Just think, Mr. Frodo! All those elves, and Mr. Bilbo meetin' Lord Elrond's daughter! How exciting. I wish I could go see it for myself, right now..." Sam rambled on delightedly and Frodo nodded happily, but his mind was somewhere else.

"Arwen," he thought. "That name seems so familiar..." He shook his head. "Another one of my silly fancies, no doubt."

But the nagging though wouldn't leave him as the two hobbits cleaned up, and even through the rest of the day. After breakfast, Frodo and Sam went outside to the brisk, windy fall day. The trees had changed into their fiery autumn hues, and the crisp smell of burning leaves floated towards them. The two friends were planning on making a dent in the mess that was Bag End's inside and outside, and the prospects did not look good.

"Honestly," Frodo shook his head, absentmindedly tossing his knit scarf over one shoulder. "Shouldn't we wait until *spring* to clean all of this up?" He was helping Sam gather logs to put on the fire, so they would be nice and cozy inside the rather drafty smial.

"Well, Mr. Frodo," Sam began, grunting as he picked up some heavy logs and kindling and put them in their barrow, "as my mum always said, there's no use in putting off 'till tomorrow what you can do today." Frodo smiled sadly when he noticed Sam's expression darken. His mother had passed away after a bad pneumonia that many in the Shire had been struck with, the previous year. Frodo himself had been badly ill, and didn't learn of Bell's death until much later.

"Bell was amazing, Sam. I loved her like she was my own mum. I know how sad you must be, still. If you ever need to talk...I'll be here." Sam smiled, and Frodo squeezed his shoulder, before picking up some logs and following his friend inside.

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"Is this an important box, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked, as he pulled a large brown trunk out from a dusty corner, pushing it to the side when Frodo shook his head. It was mid-afternoon and Frodo and Sam had not even finished clearing out half of the smial.

"If I had known Bilbo was leaving me so many things I would have added a new wing to Bag End," Frodo grumbled, but his eyes were smiling. Sam laughed. The two hobbits were now working on Bag End's master bedroom and boxes and papers were everywhere. So far, nothing of real interest had been found, or at least nothing Frodo hadn't seen before.

"What's this?" Sam asked, from where he was sorting through the large closet. Frodo came over to take a look, and waved his arms to blow the thick dust out of his eyes. He sneezed loudly, and Sam laughed.

"Hmm," Frodo murmured, "I don't recall seeing *this* box before..." Sam wiped off some more dust with a rag, and Frodo examined the lid. It was intricately carved rosewood, with swirls and curves surrounding a delicate silver star. Both lads gasped in awe. Sam looked down, and sighed.

"It's locked, Mr. Frodo." Frodo frowned.

"None of Bilbo's other boxes were..." he said quietly, curiosity reaching a fever pitch.

"I think we might be able to get this open with the large silver key. You know, the one Bilbo always kept in such a safe place on the mantle, and no one could touch? I suppose I can touch it, now. I'll go get it."

Frodo wandered out of the room to fetch the key, all the while myriads of thought spinning in his mind. He felt a strange sense of excitement and foreboding her couldn't explain, but tried to shake it off. Once he reached the master bedroom again, he handed Sam the key with a smile.

"You do the honors, my dear Sam." Sam grinned broadly, and inserted the key into the lock. Both hobbits held their breath, wondering what they would find.

When the lid finally opened the smell of old paper and years gone by flew out strongly, and Frodo fanned the air in front of his face. Peering down, he could see there was a smaller box inside the large chest, just as beautifully carved.

Frodo opened the small box, a gleaming but dulling golden color, with the Baggins family seal on top. Inside there were stacks and stacks of letters, carefully folded and tied with string and ribbon. Frodo gingerly untied the top stack and began to read the first letter out loud.

My Dearest Dodi,

So much has happened this year that I scarcely know where to begin. I suppose I should start with the most important thing: Primula gave birth to a beautiful little boy (on my own birthday, if you would believe it), who she named Frodo. He's a dreadfully thin little thing, all big blue eyes and the whitest skin, with a mop of little dark curls already. He is a spitting image of another tiny babe I remember from so long ago...Primmie and Drogo have had their hands full, as I'm afraid Frodo is a frail little thing, and they fear of losing him before he grows. I already love the boy as if he were my own, and I can tell he will be a special one. He has real spirit, even for only one year. You would be so proud of Primmie, I always knew she would make a wonderful mother.

Missing you each year never gets easier. You would think it would really, and for a time it became monotony and a dreadful numbness...I felt cut off from the world. Why would I ever bother to go adventuring, to do any of the things we planned to do, places we planned to see when we were but tweens? Until my adventure I thought I would live a quiet life, a meaningless life. But I saw then, and I see now, that you would want me to go on. This is what little Frodo has finally made so blindingly clear. That piece of me that you left so raw will never be filled, but it can be soothed. At least, I hope it can, for the sake of myself and your memory, my dearest lass.

Frodo put down the letter abruptly, tears clouding his eyes. Sam looked over at him, and gently put his arm around Frodo as his master dropped his head in his now dusty hands and let out muffled sobs.