Mr Underhill. by hennethgalad

Chapter 1

   Bilbo smiled as Frodo entered the room "Ah ! There you are ! Thankyou for coming."
   Frodo frowned at him "Whatever is the matter ? Why are you being so formal ?"
   Bilbo shifted in his seat and looked away "Sit down, please, make yourself at home. Would you care for some cordial ? It is elderflower, and most refreshing."
Frodo sat down, then stood again and picked up the book from the seat and laid it aside, then sat down again. Bilbo was almost wringing his hands, and Frodo looked curiously at him. Finally Bilbo sighed, and sat up as straight as his ancient bones permitted.
"Why did you call yourself Underhill ?" Bilbo asked him sharply. Frodo gaped at the frown and the seriousness of the tone.
"Gandalf told me to !" he blurted " 'Take the name Underhill', he said. I told you this in the Council last night."
   Bilbo waved his hand dismissively "There was far too much to consider without worrying about details like that ! So much news ! Elrond told me after that there has never been so much news in one day in Rivendell, all thanks to that old ring !"
   "But why do you mind who chose the name Underhill ?" asked Frodo, who found himself keen to change the subject.
   Bilbo looked away and sighed again. Frodo sat back in his chair; he had never seen Bilbo so put out, he seemed positively self-conscious. Bilbo slowly ran a wrinkled hand through his silvery hair "Have you not wondered why I never married ?"
   Frodo gaped at him again, then looked away himself "Well... I... Of course, people usually do, and of course I wondered, but I did not like to ask..."
   Bilbo sighed again and nodded "Gandalf wants me to tell you. He doesn’t say so, of course, but calling you Mr Underhill... It is a jibe at me. I once..."

   Bilbo Baggins shifted nervously in his seat in the Shire Smials in Michel Delving. Most of the hobbits who could read (a very small number, alas) gathered every year at the Book Fair, to hear papers, and to discuss books. There were Dwarves present, rare scholars of the outside world, and even an elf, sitting at the back with Gandalf. But Bilbo was in the front row, for he himself was reading a paper, on contrasts between hobbit-lore and elf-lore of the earliest periods. He had never spoken in front of so many people, so many strangers, at that, and his stomach was gurgling in a most distracting way. He gritted his teeth and rebuked his own inattention, but nothing of the speaker's words was reaching his fluttering brain. He sighed, and wondered if it was too late to withdraw... He turned to look at the doorway and found Gandalf’s eyes beetling at him across the room. Bilbo hurriedly turned back to the stage, just as the speaker was saying thankyou, and people began to applaud. Bilbo clapped hard, to make up for not having listened, and felt guilty when the speaker smiled at him. But Will Whitfoot was leading forwards the next speaker and introducing him "My dear hobbits, and esteemed guests, our next speaker is Mr Underhill, Mr Farro Underhill, who will be speaking to us on..." he looked down at his notes, and then peered closely at them, but the speaker stepped forwards and in a low, mellow voice said clearly "Changes in soil fertility post-inundation, and farming challenges in waterlogged terrain."
   The many farmers in the room sat up eagerly, but Bilbo felt his interest wane. Yet despite himself he was held, by the voice, and by the beauty of Mr Farro Underhill. While his eyes drank in the shining eager face, lit from within by enthusiasm for his subject, his thought was fascinated by the spell woven by the voice. Words slid by him, but the meaning wrapped its tendrils through his understanding like ivy in a wood. He felt himself to be there, at Hightarn Hall, the Underhill farm, in the Far Downs. He was looking down at the changed landscape; where once the tarn had been cupped in the floor of the wide valley, surrounded by farmland, was now a wild waste of pool, and marsh and rushes. For the side of a hill had slid away, damming the stream, and bringing ruin upon the farm. But this had happened in the time of old Carew Underhill, who had turned the family house in Michel Delving into an inn, The Hawthorn, now under the care of his son Carro. Farro must be the grandson, still mourning the family's lost past. Bilbo felt such pity, imagining how he himself would feel if Bag End were lost, that he forgot his own nerves, and when the time came for him to speak, which seemed only moments later, he looked coolly at the crowded room, and even managed a smile for Gandalf.

   Of course they all went to The Hawthorn afterwards, when the real business of drinking and arguing could begin. Bilbo had many friends and acquaintances to greet, and was on his third goblet of ale when Gandalf himself led Farro Underhill through the noisy crowd. Bilbo frowned, finding his heart beating faster, and knew that he had been secretly hoping for that very thing.
   "Mr Baggins ! What an honour ! And what a pleasure to hear your speech ! Really, I feel so... uncultivated, thinking only of farming, and ignorant of the wider world, and of our history."
   "Uncultivated ! That is very funny, the uncultivated farmer !" Bilbo laughed with the enthusiasm of the third ale, and Gandalf rolled his eyes and turned away. But Farro was laughing with Bilbo, and Bilbo felt his heart stir again "I like you, Farro Underhill. You made me interested in farming, and the troubles of farmers, for the first time in my life !"
   "How strange ! For when I heard you speak, I thought only of Elves and adventure, and farming seemed dismal and dull by contrast."
   Bilbo laughed "Come, let us fill our glasses and find a quiet nook where we can have a nice talk ! What do you say ?"

   Farro led him into a small private room off the hallway, with a bit of a fire, for the weather was unseasonably cold. There was a jug of bright flowers on the table, and a picture of Will Whitfoot above the fire. Bilbo grinned up at the round face of the mayor, and sat by the fire in a most satisfactory armchair, as good as any at home. Farro sat opposite, still grinning, but Bilbo found himself, for perhaps the first time in his life, completely tongue-tied, and could think of nothing whatever to say. After a moment the embarrassment made him hot, and he rose to his feet and stepped over to the window and looked out at the busy street of Michel Delving, bustling with life as the Book Fair drew in all the local hobbits. There were jugglers and acrobats, dancers and clowns, and the youngsters had fireworks to show their enthusiasm for literature. Bilbo grinned, but behind him Farro had thought of something to say.
   "I am sorry about your father. We heard that it was sudden."
Bilbo took in a sharp breath, it had been over a year, but still the grief was sharp and raw within him. But he had spoken the polite words so many times that they came easily to him "He did not suffer, thankyou for asking. It was his heart, you know, he was gardening, and he clutched at his chest and fell, and was gone before we could reach him. Poor mother..."
   "I lost my sister, six years ago, to a fever. I understand your pain."
    Bilbo turned and seemed to see Farro as though a veil had been drawn back. Behind the shining face was a hurt young hobbit, and Bilbo sat down again, and leaned forwards in his chair "What was she like ?"

   This time Farro sighed and rose to his feet, but not aimlessly, as Bilbo had done. He walked over to the wall and pressed a panel, which slid aside and revealed a hidden cupboard. He took out a dusty old bottle and pressed the panel shut. Bilbo laughed    "What a marvellous idea ! I must have a secret cupboard put into Bag End !"
   "We do not use it often, we have no treasure to hide ! But these bottles are Old Winyards, the 1172. There are few left now, but we have earned a reward tonight, you and I, with our first speeches !"
   Bilbo clapped his hands together "Indeed we have ! The 1172 ! We drank that at my father’s funeral, well, a few of us did, and only one glass each ! But are you sure ?"
Farro grinned "Mr Baggins, of Bag End, I have wanted to meet you for years, Gandalf speaks so highly of you, and so does everyone else ! It is rare for anyone to be respected in the Shire and still be friends with one so strange as that wizard."
   "Oh, Gandalf isn’t strange ! He likes his pipe and his mug, and his vittles !" he laughed loudly "Just as everyone else does. Why, I've seen him eat so much that... Well, never mind that. But, I say Mr Underhill, does he really speak highly of me ?"
   "Oh, please call me Farro, let us be friends !"
   Bilbo found his throat tight, and rose to his feet. Farro was twisting the corkscrew, but paused and looked at Bilbo, who held out his hand. They shook hands, grinning at each other, and Bilbo found himself reluctant to let go. He quickly turned away and sat down, feeling his face redden, and turned to the fire to hide his confusion.

   The sound of singing came from the common room of The Hawthorn, almost louder than the fireworks outside, but in the quiet room there was only the crackle of the fire, and the heavy gurgle of fine wine flowing from bottle to glass. It was deep red, thick and fruity, rich and mellow with the years. Bilbo sipped the smooth wine, and the taste took him back in an instant to the funeral of his father, and his pale shocked mother, her eyes red all around, unheeded tears running down her worn face as she dealt with the mourners. Tears came to his own eyes and Farro looked kindly at him "Does the wine remind you of your grief ? Perhaps that is good ? For next time you taste the 1172 you will now remember tonight, and your first speech, and that will ease your grief, and if I may say so, please your father, who would, I am sure, be glad that you were living life to the full."
   "Thankyou my friend. He would indeed. He would be very proud of me, for speaking at all, though I am less confident that he would have been proud of what I actually said !"
   "Ah no, there you may be mistaken. Gandalf said it was thought-provoking, and as I have told you, you made me feel like someone looking under stones while fireworks go off in the sky above my lowered head !"
   Bilbo laughed "Your speech made me feel like I had fallen over a stone while looking at the stars !"
   Farro lifted his glass and they toasted each other in silence, their eyes shining like the glass in the firelight. The Hawthorn seemed a warm and snug haven from the world, far away from Bag End, from his grieving mother, and the endless stream of relatives with words of sympathy and, worse, advice. But Farro was quiet and still, part of the land, part of the Shire, and Bilbo remembered that The Hawthorn had been his family home.     "Do you ever grudge having your home full of strangers all the time ?"
   Farro frowned, then smiled "This ? This is not my home ! This is The Hawthorn ! My home is Hightarn Hall. I was a small child when grandfather opened this house as an Inn, so I scarcely recall the time before. And when first he began, and for most of my childhood, I lived at Hightarn with my mother and father, and we only visited grandfather on special occasions like birthdays. My home... Hightarn is never full of strangers, for they all come here, and my father is well paid for his hospitality !"
   Bilbo thought of the cost of a bottle of the 1172 and started guiltily. "I say, would you like me to give you something for the wine ?"
   Farro blinked then looked earnestly at Bilbo "Only a smile," he said, then blushed. Bilbo found himself blushing, and swallowing nervously, but he smiled as best he could, while shyness turned his stomach into writhing worms. Farro looked down at his wine then up at Bilbo again "Do not be afraid, I would never hurt you. Nor do I think that you would hurt me. There is nothing to fear here."
   Bilbo shook his head, then said, in a slightly strangled voice "No, no, of course not. We... we are friends."

   The fire popped and spat out a glowing spark. They both turned to look at it, relieved by the distraction, and stared at the fire as they spoke. Bilbo pulled himself together and cleared his throat "How is it that we have not met ?"
   "I cannot say. We live quietly at Hightarn, more so since my sister died. But when anyone wants company they come here."
   "I suppose that when I travel, I go more often to Buckland or Tuckborough than here."
   "They are your family, it is natural that you do."
   "I wish we had met before, I feel that we have wasted years when we could have been friends."
   "Do you ? I am glad, for I feel..." his voice faltered and there was silence. The singing was quieter, a lovesong, and Farro spoke again "Can I... Dare I presume to invite you to Hightarn Hall, to meet my mother, and father, and to see our wasteland ? I say that, but you know, it is very lovely when the mist rises in the morning, or when the still waters reflect the evening sky. It has become wild again..."
   The spell of his voice gripped Bilbo once more, the cultivated heart of the Shire held within itself a window into the vast outside world, a little of the wild had burst forth at Hightarn, not three leagues from Michel Delving itself, and the ripples of that disturbance still echoed in the hearts of the hobbits.
   "Did you see the hillside fall ?"
   "No, it was late in the evening, I was asleep, though I was awakened by the noise, and the shaking. My jug rattled and shook on my dresser. I thought of giants ! But my mother came in for me, and wrapped the blanket around me and carried me outside to see the tremendous cloud of dust and dirt and bits of grass and twigs and..." his voice changed as he spoke, as the memories took him back. The lines seemed smoothed from his face, Bilbo could almost see the young hobbit, eyes and mouth round, gaping at the ruin. He frowned, he could not imagine such a shock, he could not imagine the loss, the grief... "Was it very hard, the change of fortune ?"
   Farro blinked again and looked at him curiously for a moment, then sighed "Not for me, for me there was no change; we ate well, bedtime was bedtime, nothing changed, I was a child. Yet everything changed, for the land was flooded, the farm... well, it was only a house, after that. But grandfather was gone, the next day, and he never came back. I think that is why Hightarn is so quiet, he will not go back, he cannot bear to look upon the ruin. But I..." he stopped, and looked seriously at Bilbo "May I confide in you ? You must promise to say nothing of this, but nothing !"
   "You need not fear, I am very discreet."
Farro nodded "He said so. Gandalf, I mean. He said 'Bilbo is a solid fellow, you may trust him with your life.' And I think that I believe him. I think that I believe in you."
Bilbo blushed 'a solid fellow' ! He tried not to smile and looked at Farro, who nodded     "The fact is Bilbo, farmland is farmland. Potatoes are a dull crop, though a delicious meal, and I personally do not pine for the days of dull fields. For we have a marvel in our high valley, and I long to share it with you."
   "What ?" said Bilbo impatiently "What is it ?"
   Farro shrank back and frowned, and Bilbo frowned in return, then cursed his own stupidity "You mean the marshes ? The new wasteland ? It is the marvel ?"
   Farro looked down "Forgive me. I had hoped that you would understand. He said, Gandalf said that you loved the Shire so much, including the tiny things that live under stones, so I thought you would like our... wasteland" his voice tailed away and he leaned forwards, elbows on knees, both hands holding the glass. Bilbo looked down at the long brown fingers, and swallowed again, but part of his mind knew that he must heed the words of Farro, for this was the moment in which friendship could flourish or wither. But he wanted to hold Farro's hand, as he had never wanted to hold anyone's hand since he had been a small child. While others had chased hobbit maidens and stolen kisses, Bilbo Baggins had been memorising his Sindar verbs, and dreaming of jewels. He knew nothing, nothing... Gandalf’s eyes came to his thought, those wise eyes, seeing... He laughed aloud "By the stars, Farro, in one breath you invite me to see this thing, this wasteland, and in the next you rebuke me for not having seen it yet ! Well, I must tell you that it is dark outside, and even if I persuaded my pony to gallop there at once, still it would be dark ! You must be patient !"
   But Farro was looking at him in incredulous delight "You really will come ?"
   "Of course ! We can leave first thing in the morning. Well. After breakfast..."

   There were swans, and lilies, and many pools, the rushes swayed in the gentle wind, with a sound like rainfall. The sun was high in the bright blue above them, and sparkled on the water, and all around them the birds sang and, it seemed to Bilbo, danced in the air, as they feasted on the countless flying insects, bright butterflies and jewelled beetles, while out across the water otters sported and fished. Farro leaned his head close to Bilbo’s and whispered "See, by the alder, where the mossy stone is, the mighty heron !"
   Bilbo frowned, he could see the alder, and there was the mossy stone but no... Suddenly he saw it, as tall as the hobbits, and heavily armed. The great sharp beak, that could kill you if it chose, was pointed at the water, but he knew that the heron could see him, and he felt his chest tighten with fear. Unthinking, his hand reached out and took that of Farro, who squeezed quickly then held his hand in warm, steady fingers. Bilbo sighed, more deeply than he had for a long time, as the heron, it's mind made up, flashed forwards and snatched a fish from the pool at it's feet. It tossed the helpless fish into the air and swallowed it neatly, and lowered it's long head to return to it's fixed contemplation of the subsiding ripples.
   Bilbo laughed "What a place ! What a wild place ! In the middle of the Shire ! It’s as if... as if there were a fire on a table in the middle of The Hawthorn, it’s so shocking." He looked around at the hills, like stout arms wrapped comfortingly around the wide valley; but there was no sign of the great fall. "Where did the... where was the landslide ?" he looked anxiously at Farro, but Farro smiled reassuringly and pointed with his left hand to the right of the valley "That slope there, on Sunny Hill, it was much higher, and wider, but it all slid down..." his lips quivered and he fell silent. Bilbo felt the shock anew, and understood that Farro, in bringing him here, had risked reliving the distress for the purpose of sharing with him. He was moved beyond speech, and turned to face Farro, and took his other hand. "My dear friend, it is unimaginable, it is so shocking that I can clearly recall where I was when I heard the news. Indeed, there were some, especially the older ones, who said that they felt the ground tremble beneath their hairy feet. But I always misdoubted them, until now, seeing this place through your eyes."

   They gazed at each other in silence for a moment, then Farro threw both arms around Bilbo, hugged him tightly and whispered "Thankyou" then quickly let go and turned back to the water. Bilbo stood beside him, staring unseeingly at the floating lilies, their white curving petals flickering in his mind between images of soft feathers and sharp claws. He grinned and glanced at the heron, stone-still among the rushes, as though grown there like a crystal out of the raw rock.
   "Would you, can I, what about a bit to eat, and a glass of something ?" said Farro. Bilbo started and turned to his newest friend, but the mask of politeness was back on the shining face, and Bilbo swallowed and nodded "That would be fine. Thankyou very much."

   Hightarn Hall was an old smial, with a great round door so large that it was in two halves like a peapod. It was more grand than Great Smials, though less sprawling, for the Underhills were scattered, but the Tooks stayed close to home. In the vast hallway an elderly lady in a richly embroidered robe sat by a log fire. She looked up as they were shown in, and Farro leaned forwards and kissed her cheek "Mother dear, may I present Mr Bilbo Baggins, of Bag End. Mr Baggins, this is my mother, Lavender Underhill, who was born Lavender Banks."
   "Mr Baggins ! We have met before, though you will not recall it. Indeed, you have both met each other before, at the birthday of Gerontious Took one year, when you were very young indeed. My word, how time rushes by ! But neither of you paid the least heed to the other, for you were at table, and the fare was particularly splendid. Indeed there were many tummy aches after that feast ! But how are you, Mr Baggins ? Are you hungry ? We shall be taking luncheon soon, I would be honoured to have you as a guest."
   "Mother, you must call him Bilbo, we are become good friends, and he has come to stay awhile."
   Lavender looked sharply at Bilbo, who blushed. He was thirty seven years old, he had been of age for four years, and Farro was the same age, more or less. But he felt like a child, a naughty child, under the measuring eyes of Lavender Underhill. "I would be honoured to accept the hospitality of so gracious a lady, and such a dignified family."
Lavender inclined her head as Bilbo bowed, then rose slowly to her feet. Farro offered her his arm and led her across the wide, sunlit hall into a darkly-panelled dining room, far more splendid than Bag End. Bilbo looked at all the silver, there was a great deal more than he had himself, and he tried to imagine how the Underhills had lived when they had been wealthy. But then he remembered The Hawthorn, on the Road, in Michel Delving, and knew that they were still wealthy, and that farming was no more respectable than any other occupation, such as keeping an Inn. He felt very small, and knew that he had been a fool to stand before Gandalf talking about the history of the Elves when he knew almost nothing about the daily lives of his fellow hobbits.

   But Lavender waved him to a seat, and a stout hobbit with a faded version of Farro's shining face came hurrying in, it was Carro Underhill, his father. Carro bowed to Bilbo    "Mr Baggins ! Welcome to Hightarn ! It is an honour to have you here !" he kissed his wife on the cheek "The old rogue is in a rage, I do not know why. I had to come away before I lost my patience. Young Lily will keep things going, though really they all know what to do without him shouting at them ! Or at me ! By the stars, sometimes I could... Well. Well." He smiled conspiratorially at Bilbo, who warmed to the old hobbit. His own father had been far too patient to ever have shouted at him, but he had spent enough time with the Tooks to know what an angry parent could do to a child, and to a household. But Carro looked thoughtfully at Bilbo "I was sorry to miss your speech, and, I must confess, even sorrier to miss my son. But I have heard him practice that speech so often that I joked to Lavender that if he was taken ill, I could have spoken it in his stead ! Besides, I was needed in The Hawthorn, it is one of our busiest times, and even with the extra helpers... Well. But you didn’t come here to listen to my troubles !" he frowned "Why did you come ?"
   Bilbo sucked in air, but Lavender tapped her husband's arm reprovingly "They are friends, my dear ! They heard each other speak, and each moved the other."
   Farro exclaimed wordlessly, looked at Bilbo with glowing eyes, then turned to his mother "Why mother, that is exactly how it was, but how did you know ? I have said nothing !" he turned to his father who smiled strangely, a knowing smile, but reminiscing. Lavender laughed "Can you not guess ? It was at the book fair that your father and I first met. He was speaking on the great Dwarven silversmiths and I was speaking on Elven weaving techniques. Old Gandalf the wizard introduced us, saying that we both had a taste for beautiful things. And we do !"
   Farro gaped at Bilbo, who stared back in astonishment, as the older hobbits reminisced about their first meeting. The words washed over Bilbo, who had to stop himself from laughing as he reminded himself not to clap when they finished. But the food had begun to arrive, fresh hot rolls and clear asparagus broth, and Bilbo decided that it was worth listening to any amount of nostalgia for a taste of such marvellous soup.

   Frodo lost patience and cried out in exasperation "By the stars Bilbo! If you tell me every single thing you ate, this tale will never end ! Come, tell me the gist of what happened, and write down all the details in the Red Book !"
   Bilbo frowned for a moment, then sagged back in his seat "Oh Frodo... Sometimes when I speak, or even just think of the old days, well, I forget, you know, that I am so old, and then I come jolting back to the present and to all the aches and pains, and to grief..."
   Frodo sighed and lowered his voice "I am sorry. Are you in much pain ?"
   Bilbo waved a hand dismissively "No no, well, yes, but Elrond gives me a cordial, a tonic, that helps, you know. No no, do not trouble yourself, wait until you are as old as I am ! Ha !"
   "Bilbo !" Frodo said in mock severity "What of Farro ? Why have I never met him ?"
   "Oh, well, as to that, you have met him. But he was already old, and you were very young, running wild with the Brandybucks. You pretended to know him the second time you met, but we were not fooled !"
   "So you stayed friends ? How marvellous !"
   Bilbo blushed and looked down, his voice grew hoarse "We were more than friends. He was the love of my life. But we..." He stopped and ran his hand over his face, then looked at Frodo with an almost pleading expression "We could not move. He wanted me to come to Hightarn, but I could not bear to part with Bag End. I begged him to come to Hobbiton, but he would not leave his treasured wasteland, nor his home." he sighed "Besides, we wished to be discreet. We were both the only child, our mothers, quite naturally, wanted to see us wed, and grandchildren... And because they were in mourning, we could not take that hope from them." He paused and rubbed his forehead "You cannot know. In this one thing, perhaps, you have been fortunate, for no expectation is laid upon you, you are free of that ! Of course, I know you would take up the burden willingly to have your dear mother and father back ! But still... That is why we... that is why it was not a matter for gossip. I suppose a few people might have guessed, but we were not troubled.
   The only grief that came between us was Gandalf ! Dragging me away to Erebor without poor Farro... He never forgave me." He stopped then, and looked earnestly at Frodo, as though Frodo could absolve him. And, strangely enough, he did.
   "But Bilbo, I have relived your travels a thousand times, imagining myself at your side, slaying wargs and orcs ! But it cannot be done, for you used the Ring, so many times, and there is only one Ring. You could not have succeeded if Farro had been with you."

   Bilbo let out a low groan "It is worse than that."
   They were silent for a moment, the Ringbearers, seeing the dark of Moria, and the shining Ring. They thought of the first finding of the Ring, and the murder of kin that ensued. Bilbo’s face drained of all colour and with haunted eyes he stared at Frodo. In a small, terrible voice he said "I might have slain him. I might have slain him on purpose. For the Ring."
   Frodo gripped the arms of his chair and forced himself to stay seated. But Bilbo had sagged back again, his eyelids drooping, his jaw slackening. He looked as though he might sleep. But a frown gathered the wrinkles above his white eyebrows "It was more than a year after my return that he came to see me at last. Well, we talked long, and I told him of the Ring, but he did not understand for a long time. Not, I think now, until old Gandalf had had a word with him.
   But things were never quite the same. He felt that I must look down on him, after all my 'glorious adventures', when I was only delighted to be home !" He sighed again "No, that is not fair. Of course I was changed ! Look at me now, living in Imladris among the elves ! And of course, you know yourself how I go on and on about my adventures. My poor Farro... But we... slowly he forgave me, especially since I had no further adventures !"
   "He is dead, isn’t he ?"
   Bilbo snorted "Well of course he is ! I wouldn’t have left him again ! I am sorry, Frodo, it’s all... Curse that meddling old wizard, poking his long nose into everything" his voice tailed off into muttering, but Frodo laughed
   "Oh Bilbo, a moment ago you were complaining about being dragged from the past to the present, now you are annoyed at being reminded of the past !" he sniffed and sighed "I am sorry. Your friend died. What happened ?"
   Bilbo sniffed himself "You don’t want to be bothered with old tales of people you didn’t know."
   Frodo laughed merrily "Bilbo Baggins ! The whole of elvendom is 'old tales of people I didn’t know' ! Nor did you know them, but you can’t get enough of those tales !"
   Bilbo snorted, but his eyes were twinkling "Well well, after all..." he sighed again "My poor Farro. He became thin, and frail; at ninety he seemed almost faded..." he fell silent, his eyes unfocused, as the lovely mellow voice, faded to a harsh croak, bade him farewell once more. He had not believed it could be the last time, he had been cheerful, and waved airily. But Farro had gazed back at him from his blankets, a look of kindly yearning, like a mother bidding a child farewell. The look had haunted him, still haunted him. He rose unsteadily to his feet, and Frodo rose anxiously beside him. But Bilbo sighed and poured two glasses of miruvor "He died in his sleep, as peaceful as ever, his whole life was serene and tranquil, but for the vast shock of the landslide, and the burden of being the beloved of a Ringbearer."