The map was completed at just after midnight. Frodo received hours of songs and tales, the likes of which he had never heard. Tales of whole underground nations complete with cities, factories and mines. Of the lust of powerful rings, sparkling jewels and precious metals in the earth. The danger and thrill of mining close to a river of molten rock. Of wonderful craftsmanship and cunning puzzles carved into the secret places of mountains. Toys and dolls made in the images of people, which came to life for their maker and proved his undoing. How the most famous harper of the Kingdom of Norgost learned his craft from one of the water spirits, and chose blindness so he could focus all his harping skills on the gift of music without visual distractions. Of dragons whose breath was death and silken voice a web of deceit worse than any weapon made by hands. Of battles over ancient realms and kings descended from the very earth itself.

Bilbo’s book of adventures lay forgotten on the hallway side table. Frodo dreamed that night of strange music echoing in the deep, dark caverns filled with rubies, sapphires and gold.

By the time Frodo awoke the next morning, the sun was high in the sky and the dwarves had already left. There was some leftover breakfast awaiting him on the kitchen table, and a pot of lukewarm tea under the cozy. But Bilbo was not inside Bag End either. Frodo poured himself some of the tepid tea and headed out into the front gardens to find his Uncle.

“Morning young Master Baggins,” Hamfast Gamgee called out as Frodo closed the front door.

“Good morning, Mister Gamgee,” Frodo replied. “Have you seen Uncle Bilbo this morning?”

The gardener paused in his task of transplanting day lilies. “Well now, I passed him early on this morning. He was leaving with your guests. They was headed off towards Bywater, from the look of it.”

Frodo shoved his mug of tea into the startled gardener’s hands and took off running down Bag End Row towards the main road. He was almost to the Bywater cut off when he saw his uncle plodding towards him. Frodo pulled up short to catch his ragged breath.

Bilbo carried his walking stick and was wearing his ancient slightly-too-large blue dwarvish cloak. He was fingering something in his waistcoat pocket and seemed distracted as he hiked up the hill back towards his home. He barely acknowledged his nephew as he passed by.

“Come along, Frodo,” was all he said. He was frowning.

Frodo fell in step slightly behind his guardian as they climbed the hill. There was nothing to say, but he wanted to ask so many questions. They walked through the old familiar front gate, up the worn stone steps and past the busy gardener. Mr. Gamgee pointedly tipped his cap to the elder Baggins, then silently handed Frodo his tea mug.

The two went into the cool smial. Bilbo put away his walking stick and cloak and motioned Frodo to join him in the parlor. Bilbo sat down in his favorite easy chair and pulled out a plain gold ring from his waistcoat pocket.

“Sit down, Frodo,” he commanded.

For a long time the two sat in silence; Frodo watching his uncle absentmindedly toying with his gold ring. Frodo has seen it a few times before and knew first-hand of its magical power to make one disappear. Bilbo had shown him once when he was in a playful mood, but soon became very distracted and jealously put it away. Now he sat in his old comfortable chair and rolled it around in the palm of his hand.

“Uncle Bilbo?” Frodo broke the silence.

Bilbo shook his head, sighed, and slipped the ring back into his pocket. “Yes, Frodo?”

“Why didn’t you go with them?” Frodo asked. “I can tell you wanted to.”

Bilbo sighed again and rubbed his eyes. “I will not lie to you, Frodo. I was tempted to go with them. There are many reasons why I chose to remain here. The most important reason is you, my boy.”

“I could have gone with you,” Frodo protested. “I’m twenty-two; almost twenty-three! That’s old enough for some lads to start their apprenticeships away from home. Look at Samwise Gamgee. He’s only ten and his dad already has him gardening with him some afternoons. The Tooks let their children travel by themselves when they are eighteen!”

“Neither you nor I are fools like the Tooks, even if we are related to them,” Bilbo replied. “I was fifty when I had my adventure. Fifty is a far cry from twenty-two. You are far too young for this sort of danger. And dangerous this trip certainly is. Make no mistake about that. More dangerous than you can imagine. Those dwarves will probably not survive to reach the Lonely Mountain.”

“Well then, if you didn’t want to take me along, why didn’t you go and leave me here?” Frodo asked.

“Is that what you thought I did?” Bilbo questioned.

Frodo nodded his head. “When I woke up this morning and found you were gone … well …” Frodo blushed and looked at his feet. “I can see how restless you are. How you don’t want to be here with me. Like I’m trapping you. Why didn’t you go with them.”

Bilbo got out of his chair and made Frodo stand up and look him in the eye. “Frodo, you are not trapping me here in Bag End. I don’t know if you can understand this or not, but something in my heart tells me the time is not right. I wish Gandalf was here. Then we could ask his advice. But he’s not, so I must rely on my own judgment for good or ill in this matter. I managed to stay alive through my adventure by listening to what my heart tells me is good and true. And for some reason, I believe this trip would end in disaster should either you or I go.” Bilbo placed his hands upon Frodo’s shoulders. “It is far more important that I remain here at Bag End and concentrate on raising the most promising young hobbit the Baggins family has ever produced. Probably the finest hobbit in the Shire.”

“Well, certainly the most over-protected one,” Frodo sank back into his chair and started kicking his feet in frustration. “I’m never going to have my own adventure. And you’re going to end up resenting me for tying you down to this sleepy old smial where nothing exciting ever happens.” Frodo’s face went red with embarrassment.

Bilbo smiled at his impatient nephew. “Oh, I wouldn’t say nothing exciting ever happens at Bag End.”

Frodo looked up sideways at his uncle.

“Didn’t we just host three fierce dwarves here last night?” Bilbo said as he sat back in his chair. “Now, I ask you, name one other hobbit family who welcomes guests from outside the Shire.”

Frodo thought for a moment. “The Thain hosts Gandalf sometimes. So does Uncle Rory at Brandy Hall. And some of the Big Folk from Bree used to stay with us at the Hall before Mom and Dad died. See? There are lots and lots of hobbits who have adventures.”

Bilbo cocked an eyebrow. “Lots and lots?”

Frodo looked at the rug at his feet. “Well, maybe not lots and lots. But there are some.” Frodo looked directly at Bilbo. “Why can’t we have an adventure? Just the two of us? Do some exploring?”

“Where in the Shire would you like to go?” Bilbo smiled.

“Not IN the Shire.” Frodo got to his feet and looked out the window. He could see the familiar landmarks. The Water glinting silver in the distance. The Hill, all grass and wildflower covered and lush in the summertime heat. The Party Field with its magnificent Party Tree in full dark green leaf. The neat little houses and farms of the area. “Not in the Shire. Somewhere outside the Shire. Somewhere where there aren’t any hobbits! Somewhere from stories or history. Maybe go see the Elves or the Kings of Men!”

Bilbo chucked at Frodo’s enthusiasm. Frodo had evidently inherited the Tookish wanderlust which also ran in Bilbo’s veins. “Lofty ideas, but Elves and Kings are a bit out of our reach. There are Big Folk in Bree. I would not be adverse to taking you to Bree if you want to learn about Men.”

Frodo turned around, disappointment clearly written in his blue eyes. “Not Bree, Uncle Bilbo. I’ve met those Men at Brandy Hall when they come in to do some trading or to sell things. Those Men aren’t like the ones in your histories. I want to meet the noble Men from the West. The Numenorians.”

Bilbo shook his head. “Frodo, I hate to disappoint you, but that line of Men no longer exists up here in the Northern reaches of Middle Earth. I think the last King of Arnor died well over a thousand years ago. There might be a few scattered groups of their descendants left, but we will not meet them.”

“Then could we go see where the old Kings used to live?” Frodo asked. “Norbury?”

Bilbo got out of his chair and motioned for Frodo to follow him into his study. They went over to the map still lying atop Bilbo’s writing desk. Bilbo found the Great East/West Road and followed a faint line Northwards from Bree. At the terminus of the road, a small circle with the word ‘Fornost’ indicated what once was a city.

“What we know as Norbury was titled Fornost in the ancient tongues of Men,” Bilbo pointed to the spot on the map. “Frodo, that place is many days walk away. It is far north of Bree. See? Even farther north than Chetwood. It’s all the way to the end of Deadman’s Dike. It’s all ruins anyway. That’s why it’s called Deadman’s Dike and not the King’s Highway. Why would you want to go see a bunch of fallen-down stones?”

“It’s history,” Frodo said. “The Shire’s history, too. Everybody’s always saying ‘When the King returns,’ but they don’t really believe a King will actually show up one day. And I just want to go exploring a little. Like … well, like your adventure with the dwarves and the dragon. Except not as dangerous! Not me. But I would like to see some of the lands outside the Shire. You’ve taken me on overnight trips before. Couldn’t we go somewhere just outside the Shire? Please? There is nothing much to do around here right now. Not until harvest, anyway. And we haven’t been on any trips for a long time. Please, Uncle Bilbo?”

Bilbo smiled. “Well, I am not adverse to taking a little walking trip right now. But going all the way to Norbury is quite out of the question. You heard what the dwarves said about goblins and orcs roaming the wilds again. However, we might take a look at something a bit closer and probably safer. And far older than even Norbury, if one believes the ancient tales.” Bilbo grinned slightly and winked.

“Elvish tales? Are we going to Rivendell?” Frodo could hardly contain himself.

“Mercy, lad. No,” Bilbo straightened up. “Rivendell is even farther than Norbury. And I wasn’t thinking about Elvish tales, either. There are ancient tales from the dawning of Mankind which are quite as interesting as Elvish tales.”

“Mankind?” Frodo blinked. “As in Numenorians from the First Age? Near the Shire? Where could that be? I thought the Numenorians landed in the south near Gondor.”

Bilbo retrieved one of the storage tubes leaning against the corner bookcase and pulled out a velour scroll tied up with a red ribbon. He carefully unrolled it on top of the map already on the desk, placing small books on the four corners to keep the scroll in place. He pointed to the center of the map. “Here’s Hobbiton. Here’s Bag End. Look east and follow the Great Road and you find the Brandywine River.”

“Yes, yes,” Frodo interrupted. “We’ve been to Buckland plenty of times. I can go to Buckland anytime, day or night, either following the road or cutting across country. I know that path well enough. There’s nothing ancient or exciting about Buckland.”

“Ah, yes, my impatient boy,” Bilbo continued. “But follow along with me. See the Brandywine Bridge here? Well, instead of crossing it and going east to visit our cousins, follow the line of the river north. See how it comes close to the White Downs and then takes a switchback to the west?”

Frodo followed along as Bilbo traced the path with his finger. “Yes. It goes into these hills. Emyn Uial.”

“Which is Elvish for …” Bilbo prompted.

Frodo thought for a second. “Hills of Dusk?”

“Close enough,” Bilbo said. “Twilight or, more poetically, Evendim. The source of the Brandywine is Lake Evendim, nestled between the two branches of the Emyn Uial.”

“We’re going to a lake?” Frodo made a face. “I thought you said we were going to visit some ancient ruins built by Men.”

“Ah, my young lad. You should have paid more attention to my history lessons from a few years back,” Bilbo said as he sat down.

“I did!” Frodo protested. “But give me a clue, Uncle Bilbo. I know it’s not Norbury, otherwise known as Fornost. And it certainly is not Angmar.”

“Very good,” Bilbo grunted. “I see you were paying some attention after all. But go further back in time, my boy. Beyond Angmar. Fornost was the last capital of the Kings of Arnor. But they had another city of some magnificence before the fall of Sauron and the disaster of Gladden fields.”

“Bilbo, isn’t that’s way back in the First Age?” Frodo questioned.

“No, not quite that far back in time,” Bilbo said. “Before the King of Arnor held court in Norbury he ruled from a city called Annuminas on the shores of Lake Evendim. It’s barely indicated on my map. See there? That little mark. Not much to go by, and I am afraid this map is not terribly accurate about places north of the Shire. But we could go try to find the ruins of Annuminas, if any are still left standing. Instead of following the Brandywine though, we can cut cross Shire back country and reach it much faster. It’s almost due north of Hobbiton. I traveled up to the foothills of the Emyn Uial in my youth with my father. They are past Scary. Past the North Farthing. We shall have to cross into the highlands and go across the hills where the Emyn Uial’s southern hills meet its western hills, and hope to find a pass down into the lake area.” Bilbo became lost in memories. He absentmindedly began fingering the ring in his pocket.

Frodo could hardly contain himself. A real adventure! And with Bilbo! “Wonderful! Let’s go tomorrow!”

Bilbo laughed and tucked the ring safely away. “Extended trips are not to be taken lightly. We need to do a bit of planning and preparation if we are going to be gone that long.”

“You took off on your adventure without even taking your handkerchief or staff or a cloak, if what you wrote in the book is true,” Frodo smiled.

“True enough,” Bilbo chuckled. “Just like you did this morning. We are most alike in some ways; you and I.” He suddenly became serious. “But I was young and foolish and had the help of twelve stout and sturdy dwarves and one extremely intelligent Wizard to make up for my lack of experience. The two of us will need to carefully plan this little adventure if we are to not only succeed in finding the lost city of Annuminas, but get back in one piece. I’ve never been farther north than the start of the foothills. And my map is sketchy about those lands, at best. But we could do a bit of exploring, if you have your heart set on it.”