His Little Shadow

My Dear Frodo

It was night. All was silent, no one stirred within the cosy Hobbit holes of Hobbiton. All slept peacefully in their beds, with a few nightmares occurring within the dreamworlds of the Hibbits children that night. Otherwise, all slept on peacefully.

Except for one.

In a Hobbit hole beneath a hill at the far end of Hobbiton, overlooking the serene valley, Bilbo Baggins stirred. A sudden thought came to his mind... Not only the next morning would it be his 111th birthday, but there was something else as well. His nephew, Frodo, was asleep in the other room, and it occurred to Bilbo that he might not be around for much longer to recall to Frodo what had been the start of all adventures for him in his long life - what was considered unnaturally long for a Hibbit, anyway.

For Bilbo was an old Hobbit, well past the life expectancy of any other, so it seemed fitting to him that n this night he should prepare for the best story telling of his life - one which he has not told every detail of in a long time.

He got up, dressed himself in simple pants and a white shirt under a red waistcoat, not even bothering to run a comb through his curly white hair as he lit a candle and walked silently through the halls of his home to his study. He passed by Frodo's room, and he could hear quiet snores coming from beneath the closed door. The old Hobbit smiled fondly, and knew he was doing the right thing, being up at the most ungodly hour of the night.

In truth, he has quite a lot different from other Hobbits. That became clear enough when he returned from one of his greatest and most perilous adventures 60 years prior.

He went to a chest n the hall and opened it up, the candlelight illuminating the contents; some of there were a sword, a helmet, book, scrolls and letters along with many other things, but the one thing Bilbo was looking for was a red leather bound book. He found it tucked in the corner near the top, and clutched it to his chest as he walked over to his desk. He sat down and opened the book to the front page, where tucked inside was a sketched drawing.

Bilbo held it up to the light., the corner of his lips turning upwards in a small smile, and he felt tears gathering as he looked over the drawing, one he had not looked at for a very long time. The drawing was of two Hobbits, a boy and a girl. One of them was Bilbo himself, although over half a century younger than he was now. And the other Hobbit was someone a lot of people in Hobbiton had come to forget about, for she had not been around for quite some time, and there were probably few who remembered her. Bilbo felt he was the only one who still held her memory close, and it was fitting, for the female Hobbit in the drawing was his twin sister.

Rebecca Baggins.

He put the drawing aside, noticing how even in charcoal pencil his sister's eyes were slight with a certain sparkle, a wide and vibrant smile on her face. Those were always two of her most distinguishable features, something that was seen often with Rebecca.

Lighting a few more candles around the room to give himself more light, Bilbo then dipped his feather quill in an ink pot and began writing.

My dear Frodo:

You asked me once if I had told you everything there was to know about my adventures. And while I can honestly say I have told you the truth, I may not have told you all of it. I am old now, Frodo. I'm not the same Hobbit I once was.

Old Bilbo looked again at the drawing, and fought back tears once more as he continued writing.

Neither of us are. We've both changed.

Bilbo sighed quietly, then a thought of inspiration came and he weaved it into his tale.

I think it is time for you to know what really happened.