I read Tolkien's unpublished Epilogue to Return of the King about a year ago, and Elanor's conversation with Sam instantly burned itself into my brain. Her thoughts on magic leaving the world and wanting to live in the old days of stories were relatable, but it was this line that really got me: "I am glad Frodo of the Ring saw me, but I wish I could remember seeing him." And thus, this fic was born.

Dear Elanor,

I am leaving the Shire. I am both glad and sorry to go, and among my sorrows is the fact that I will not see you grow up. By the time you are reading this, I expect Sam will have told you some of our story, or perhaps you will have read it yourself. We saved the Shire, but it was not for me. It was for you—and for your siblings who are to come and for the whole bumbling beautiful bunch of us hobbits—but ever since you were born, I have felt that it was especially for you.

I wish that I need not have endured all the pains of my quest. If I had not, I might be able to stay and watch you grow up. But then again, perhaps there is no way to have attempted that quest without pain. If I were offered my choice, I would always choose to face the cost and the pain if it guaranteed a world where you were born and get to grow up in a free world. From the first moment you reached out your little hand to grab my finger, I've known it was all worth it to see you here on the other side.

I don't know how to say goodbye, especially since I know I will have been gone for years by the time my goodbye reaches you. I suppose all I can say, Elanor, is that I love you, and I wanted you to know your part in the story.

Much love,

Uncle Frodo

Dear Uncle Frodo,

Dad gave me your letter today. I'm glad you wrote it. I've always been glad you saw me before you left, but somehow it's different to read something you wrote just for me than to hear Dad tell the stories. For a long time, a story is all you were. Part of my bedtime stories and family history—Dad's best friend who saved Middle Earth and went over the seas when I was a baby. It wasn't until a few years ago that I really realized that for you and Sam-dad, it wasn't always history. I mean, you didn't know that the end of your story would be crossing the sea, and neither did Dad. It makes me wonder what life would have been like if you could have stayed.

I wish I could remember seeing you, even if you had to leave in the end. You said in your letter that you didn't know how to say goodbye. I don't either. How do I say goodbye when I never remember saying hello? Sometimes it feels like I've been cheated—I did meet you, but I don't remember, and I'm mourning a parting without knowing what togetherness was like.

It helps, I think, to know that I mattered—that you loved me and that you have memories of me, even if I can't remember you. So instead of goodbye, I'll say thank you. Thank you for loving me and leaving a record. Thank you for saving the Shire and bringing Sam-dad home again. Thank you for staying long enough to meet me.

Love,

Your Elanor