January 21st
“Please come inside. Here, let me take your cloak,” Frodo brought the tightly-bundled hobbitess inside Bag End. The steady North wind was whipping up last night’s light dusting of snow. “Please come into the study, Mrs. Waddle.”
Frodo gestured for the Hobbiton resident to follow him. Normally, Rose liked to answer the door, but she and Sam were over at the Gaffer’s residence this morning, packing a few things to bring with them to Bag End.
Hamfast Gamgee now had a bedroom of his own at Bag End, and infrequently spent one or two days at a time at the great smial. Hamfast insisted on using one of the smallest interior bed rooms in the back portion of Bag End.
“Servants quarters is right and proper fer the likes of a Gamgee,” he said, pointedly arching his eyebrows in disapproval at Sam and Rose’s own luxurious living quarters in the front of the smial. The elderly Gaffer clearly did not relish living under the same roof as his former employer, but there was no helping it.
It was an arrangement they could all live with, although Hamfast sometimes bothered Frodo by coming into his study and talking about potatoes and cabbages while Frodo was trying to work on the Red Book. Of course, Frodo also bothered Hamfast by occasionally reciting poetry aloud in Sindarian, which annoyed the elder gardener no end. Hamfast didn’t see the need for ‘fancy book learning’ such as reading and writing and knowing another language. He had objected when Bilbo taught his youngest son, Samwise, his letters oh so many years ago.
“Thank you, Mister Baggins,” Hope Waddle smiled, her soft brown eyes lightly watering in the sudden warmth of the study. She sat in the proffered chair, and stared open-mouthed at the bookshelves lining the study’s wall. “My goodness! I had no idea there were this many books in the whole Shire, much less here in Bag End!”
“Yes, well, my Uncle Bilbo and I share a passion for collecting books. May I get you some tea and scones?” Frodo politely offered. It was unusual for him to receive visitors out at Bag End, especially in the cold winter when traveling could be difficult.
“Oh, that would be very nice, thank you,” Hope Waddle replied. She waited by the fire as Frodo disappeared into the kitchen, then shortly returned with the service.
After he had seen to his guest’s comfort, Frodo asked, “What can I do for you? Your letter indicated something about needing a special book …”
“That’s right, Mister Baggins,” Hope replied. “You see, it’s like this. It’s for my eldest – Toby. He’s a real bookworm, that lad is. His dad taught him his letters early on and Toby has simply fallen in love with ‘em. Can’t get enough of ‘em. He’s already been through the five family books we own, and now he’s borrowed the two my sister Claire owns, even though they are naught but family trees and boring histories.”
“It is a wonderful thing that your son shows such interest in books, Mrs. Waddle,” Frodo smiled. “I imagine you have come to borrow some from my collection?”
“Oh, no sir,” she replied. “I would never presume. Though that might not be so bad a thing later on when the lad gets older.” She placed her teacup down on the side table and folded her hands together in her lap. “You see, my 50th birthday is coming up in a couple of months, and I wanted to give Toby something extra special. I would like to give him a book for him to own. His very own book just for himself and no one else.”
“Oh, so you would like to purchase one from my library?” Frodo asked. He was not following her line of reasoning.
“No,” Hope shook her head. “Something even more special. I heard tell that you can actually write books. Is that true?”
“Well, yes,” Frodo gestured towards his desk. “I am working on a rather large book right now.”
“Mister Baggins, I was wondering if you would create a book just for my Toby,” she blurted out. “Something that would keep a thirteen-year-old lad’s interest, yet stretch his imagination and his vocabulary a bit. Something he would know was written specifically for him. Something he would never tire of reading, no matter how old he gets. Maybe something like one of those adventure stories the elder Master Bilbo Baggins used to tell us when we were small. Could you write that sort of book for Toby, Mister Baggins? I would pay you well for it. Sancho and I have been saving up for awhile for something like this for our boy.”
“Why, Mistress Waddle, what a wonderful idea,” Frodo smiled. “I would be honored to do so. And yes, I do believe I could write down selected stories from my Uncle’s adventures, plus a few from the ancient Elvish tales. They would heighten the imagination of any child.”
“I am having my birthday party on March 30th. Could it be ready by then?” she asked.
Frodo thought for a moment. He and Iris were planning on leaving for their trip to Rivendell on February 7th. If everything worked out as he planned, they would not be returning until early April. He would have to create this book within the next two weeks, or she would have to wait until late April. That meant stopping work on the Red Book. “I shall endeavor to have it completed by February 5th, if that is suitable with you. It will prove to be a delightful break for me from the other, larger work.”
They settled on the price, exchanged a few more pleasantries, then Mrs. Waddle took her leave. Frodo helped her into her cloak and showed her out the front door just as the mail was arriving.
“Morning Mrs. Waddle,” the Shire Messenger stepped aside to let the hobbitess pass. “Special delivery for you, Mister Baggins. I wanted to be sure someone was ta home before bringin’ it up the walk. Had ta use the pony cart cause of this, but my feet are not complainin’ none. I’ll be right back.”
Frodo stood in the doorway, watching the Messenger return to his cart to pick up a medium-sized wooden chest bound with leather straps and a large red wax seal across the latch. The Messenger carried it into Frodo’s study and placed it on his desk. Frodo was about to close the front door when the Messenger stopped him.
“Oh, I’ve another smaller package for you too, Mister Baggins.” He reached into his pack and produced a little box wrapped in almost-translucent brown paper. “That’s the lot. Good day to ye, Mister Baggins.”
Frodo took the second package, closed the front door and hurried back to the study. The smaller package was from Rivendell and was addressed to him in a familiar ancient spidery script. Frodo smiled. Bilbo had come through for him. He opened the intricately-carved wooden box, examined its contents, then placed the treasure in a cubbyhole in his desk. He next turned his attention to the larger package.
Judging from the intricate design of a tree crowned with stars, Frodo could tell the chest was from Aragorn. Thankfully, the seal was intact. And thankfully, Frodo was alone in the smial when the chest arrived. Frodo was extremely curious, as he was only expecting a letter in reply from the King of Gondor; not a heavy treasure chest. He broke the seal and cut through the leather bindings, opening the chest.
On top was an envelop with the same red wax seal guaranteeing its contents had not been tampered with. Frodo removed the letter and set it aside on the desk. Next out was a deep green silken drawstring sack. The smell coming from the bag was refreshing and familiar, but Frodo couldn’t quite place it until he read the attached written instructions.
“Athelas – Please give to your physician friend, with our complements.
Much love, beloved Ringbearer,
Arwen and Aragorn”
Under the athelas bag were several hand-blown light green glass bottles carefully wrapped in soft cotton padding. Frodo unstopped one and took a cautious sniff. The scent reminded him of the salty sea breezes and ocean mists which sometimes came rolling up the Great River to reach Minas Tirith. He had smelled the sea only twice during his stay in the White City, but its scent was unmistakable. Somehow it had been captured in an aromatic oil. What a treasure! A little note written in a flowing feminine script read:
“When heated slightly, these oils release relaxing and pleasant memories. When rubbed into the skin, they promote healing and help the fingers massage away cares and worries. When added to bathing water, they clean the body and refresh the soul. Remember your friends in the White City. You are always in our thoughts, most Blessed and Beloved Elf-Friend.
Namarie, Arwen”
There was another package under the cotton padding. This one was a leather pouch with another written message attached to its drawstring. It smelled strongly of smoked meat. The handwriting was quite different. Frodo didn’t recognize it, but laughed aloud once he read the message.
“Thought you could use a little reminder of your time in Ithilen. It’s better than boiled wild rabbit without any dressing, in any case. Please come visit the new settlements. Legolas has brought down a contingent of Grey Elves and they live not far away. Eowyn also sends her regards.
Much love, Faramir”
The Prince of Ithilen had sent some smoked and dried game. The spices used in the preservation procedure were quite unlike anything used in the Shire. Frodo made the mistake of inhaling its aromas deeply at first, and was rewarded with a sudden uncontrollable sneezing fit. It felt like he had sniffed a pile of black pepper, only this spice was completely unknown to his poor nose. He wiped his running eyes and nose with his handkerchief, and placed the jerked meat off to one side. ‘It will drive Sam nuts trying to figure out what spices were used,’ he chucked. ‘That is, if the spices do not kill him first.’
In the bottom of the chest resided a true treasure. Aragorn had sent a book of the Kings of Numenor and a second book of Elvish poetry, as well as a detailed map of Gondor, Rohan and Arnor. Frodo was stunned. Each book was fully illuminated in gold, blue, green, red and even rare purple inks. He thumbed though the red leather bindings, marveling at the workmanship and exquisite detail. The Numenorian History even had a small map of the lost island kingdom attached to the book’s spine. Frodo had never seen anything like it. Again, another small note was attached to the parcel.
“Frodo – I thought I would take advantage of one of your quaint Shire customs. Please accept these as my gift to you on my birthday. Do not worry. I had copies of them made prior to sending these to you. They are yours now to add to your collection. May they bring you joy.
Love, Strider”
Frodo was at a loss for words. He sat down in his chair at the desk and wiped away a tear which had suddenly appeared. His hands shook slightly with suppressed emotion as he reached for the original sealed envelop. He broke the seal and began to read.
Your letter reached my eyes intact. If this envelop reached you with its red wax seal of the Gondorian royal design in place, then we may be certain of the secrecy of our correspondence. I did as you asked, and have kept the real reason for your letter a secret, even from Arwen, though she gave me quite a hard time of it for the two weeks following the arrival of your letter. She suspects something, as I burned your letter after reading it, but I have remained true. I would only do this for you, my friend, as Arwen can be quite strong-willed at times, and living with an unhappy royal Elf is a hardship I would rather not have to endure a second time.
It would be an honor to have the Ringbearer relocate to Minas Tirith, should you desire it. A position as King’s Councilor would be most appropriate and welcome, as I hold your wisdom, intellect, judgment, compassion and bravery above all others, save Gandalf’s. But if you seek solitude and contemplation more than the intrigues of the King’s Court, then a position as official Court Historian, with working quarters in the Gondorian Court Library, is yours for the asking. Private living accommodations either in the city itself, or outside the walls in the little hills leading up to the city (which are somewhat similar to the gentle rolling hills of the Hobbiton area, and could be used to build a nice smial) could be arranged.
If you wished to bring one friend or ten thousand, they would be most welcome. But another physician added to the Minas Tirith Houses of Healing would be a great boon to the city. Her skills would be particularly welcome if the physician could teach hobbit healing techniques to our own Healers.
You would not be coming to a city of strangers. Gimli has brought some of his dwarvish relations down from the Blue Mountains and is living in Minas Tirith while overseeing reconstruction of the walls and streets. And Legolas is in the midst of bringing some of the Grey Elves down from Mirkwood to settle in the forests of Ithilien. Of course, Faramir and Eowyn reside in Ithilien but often come to Minas Tirith for visits and business. And all of Gondor and Rohan know of the existence of hobbits, after having met and witnessed you four hobbits from our Fellowship. To have the Ringbearer actually live in Minas Tirith would be a great honor not only for the city, but for all of Gondor and the race of Men as well. You would be honored and treated with the utmost respect for as long as you wished to remain.
I have kept your plans secret, as you asked. However, hiding the fact that a hobbit or two would be living in Minas Tirith might be difficult. Since I have issued a decree which has basically stopped human intrusion into the Shire, it might prove impossible to delay discovery, should you come here to live. Living in the city itself on the fifth level (same as the Houses of Healing and the Library) would make for minimal exposure between the hobbit and human population, if that is what you wish. But in any case, the White City and its citizens would welcome you and the physician with open arms and much honor.
Please give our love to Samwise, Meriodoc and Peregrin, when you see them next. You are constantly in our thoughts. The wisdom of Elbereth guide you in your decision.
Aragorn of the house Strider
King of Gondor and Arnor
Frodo smiled. Gondor might work. It was a possibility, even if a remote one. He had to convince Iris to leave the Shire permanently and that would take some persuasion. However, the most difficult part of this whole scheme might not be Iris. It might be Sam. Eventually he would have to tell Sam. Sam would feel guilty about not being able to go with him. And Frodo had no illusions about the move to Gondor. It was a one-way decision. He would never see Sam or the Shire again. Damn that promise Sam made to Gandalf. It was like a noose around both their necks now.
This would require careful timing in order to pull it off without causing Sam too much grief. If Frodo waited until after Sam’s child was born, it would make Sam’s choice to remain in the Shire easier. And if a miracle happened and Rose became pregnant again soon, that would effectively prevent Sam from ever following.
‘Too many ifs,’ Frodo frowned. ‘Too many problems. Gondor might not be the answer’ His musings were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.
“We’re home, Mister Frodo,” Sam called out. “Beastly cold out there too. Wish we could just walk under the hill rather than all that way around it. Come on, Da. Let’s get you warmed up by the fire.”
Frodo placed the King’s letter back into its envelop and quickly tucked it away in a hidden drawer inside his desk. Frodo hurried into the hallway. “Come on into the study everyone! You will never believe what the Messenger service brought with today’s mail. We received a care package from Gondor!”