You Had Me at "Handkerchief" {Bilbo Baggins/LOTR}

Chapter X: The Letter-Opener Strikes Again

Chapter X:

The Letter-Opener Strikes Again

The morning after the Council of Elrond hosts the leaving of the Fellowship and preparations for their journey. And thus, when I find myself awake at the break of dawn, I am unsurprised in my inability to sleep, a deep fear clinging to my every bone. I fear for my siblings, my extended family, and the strangers to depart as part of this Fellowship, even Boromir. It is not that I see them incapable of such miraculous feats as this will be, but I derive my terror from the unknown and strong force of Sauron. Who knows what is to come?

With these thoughts, I quickly go about changing into appropriate clothing for the day: a casual blue dress and barefeet. And though I am not as extreme as my mother in her dislike of such apparel, I hold a great disdain for the feminine clothing that hugs my curves. I would much rather wear a tunic and leggings.

Pacing from the room I inhabit, my intended destination is altered by the whispered and familiar voices, bound within another bedroom to my left. Given the door being open, I peek into the bright room of airy tapestries to lay my eyes upon the two hobbits and my mother. This must be Frodo's room, as it is neither Bilbo's nor my parents'.

I pass into the room with silent footsteps, though they are enough to alert the attention of my mother and Bilbo, the latter of which sends me a smile and I return. In my hobbit's hands, a small sword of elvish make slides from its ancient sheath to shine brightly upon the new day. It is of magnificent beauty, causing both Frodo and myself to gape in awe. Bilbo and my mother, on the other hand, just look upon it with nostalgia.

"My old sword 'Sting'...here, take it!" Bilbo offers Frodo, sliding its unworn hilt into Frodo's hands. The hobbit looks upon the weapon with a glee much like my own, clearly illuminating the notion that Frodo is not like most hobbits.

"More of a letter opener, really," my mother quips with an amused smile. And unlike Bilbo's typical mannerisms, the hobbit playfully whacks my mother on the arm, all the while, wearing a nostalgic grin. I am confused at her words, but say nothing at this given time.

"It's so light," Frodo praises the weapon, moving its hilt between his two hands. This may be a small weapon for the elves, but it fits perfectly well as a sword for small people, such as hobbits and myself. If I were to guess its intended purpose, I would claim Sting to be one part of a set of double swords or a long dagger. Then again, I never was a master of weaponry.

"Yes, yes. Made by the elves, you know. The blade glows blue when orcs are close, and it's times like that, my lad, when you have to be extra careful," Bilbo informs his nephew, turning to another piece of warrior garb, and one I know well from stories. The hobbit's hands pick up the woven Mithril material, a small size to fit snug against a hobbit's chest. "Here's a pretty thing. Mithril, as light as a feather, and as hard as dragon scales. Let me see you put it on. Come on."

"That's from father!" I exclaim happily, looking to the armor for the first time ever. My mother silently laughs at this, nodding along as if in memory of that time. But all this happiness falls away as Frodo picks off his shirt and gives us a full view of the Ring about his neck. And though I am no seer, I know what is to come.

"Oh! My Ring," Bilbo remarks, moving slightly closer to Frodo with each word. "I should very much like to hold it again, one last time." His hand rises to touch the Ring, and though we are all in a state of slight surprise and overwhelming fear, I find the power to question Bilbo's actions.