When spring passed and autumn came, as September arrived, Garrett rode westward on horseback, under the wistful gaze of Wormi, once again heading for the Shire.

It was that time of year again, Bilbo’s birthday.

It had been many years since his last visit. Garrett wondered how the old Hobbit was doing these days.

Carrying a few small gifts, he rode leisurely along, passing Bree and the Old Forest, glancing toward the Barrow-downs, and without any trouble entered Hobbiton.

Knock, knock, knock…

At Bag End, someone rapped on the door.

“I’ll get it!”

A young, childish voice called from inside, rather unexpected.

Click.

When the door opened, Garrett looked down and saw a young Hobbit, perhaps in his teens.

What on earth? Bilbo had a child? When did that happen?

Garrett stood there, baffled.

The young Hobbit at the door was just as confused. The two of them stared wide-eyed at each other.

But after looking Garrett up and down, the boy suddenly let out a loud scream.

The noise immediately brought Bilbo running from inside.

“What’s the matter, Frodo? What happened?”

He rushed out holding a frying pan, then froze, eyes widening.

“Oh, Garrett! Welcome, welcome!”

“It’s really you!” Frodo cried, just as excited as Bilbo.

“Uh… yes, it’s me, of course it’s me,” Garrett said, somewhat awkwardly. Then he asked Bilbo, “And this child is…?”

“Frodo. You met him thirteen years ago,” Bilbo replied.

“Oh, I remember now.”

Garrett patted Frodo’s head. “How come he’s here? Where are his parents?”

Something about this situation felt… off.

“They’re over at Daddy Twofoot’s house chatting. And old Hamfast, the gardener, is there too.”

A voice called from the bushes, “I’m not! I’m right here tending your garden.”

“Oh, very well,” Bilbo said, not paying much mind to the detail.

“Good day to you, Master Garrett!” Hamfast called out, still trimming the flowers and plants but glancing up to greet the visitor.

“And to you as well,” Garrett replied. “I heard you had a fine baby boy last year. Congratulations.”

“I’m honored,” the gardener said, standing to give a small bow before going back to work, though he kept sneaking glances their way.

Strange visitors often came to Bilbo’s house: wizards, Dwarves… and now the famed Lord of the North himself. No one really knew how the old Hobbit came to know such people.

Still, the folk of Hobbiton were long used to it. Odd as Bilbo was, he was generous and kind, and the neighbors didn’t dislike him at all. They were always happy to chat when they met him on the lane.

After sending Frodo off to watch the soup in the kitchen, Bilbo leaned in close to Garrett, smiling as he whispered, “You know, Frodo and I share the same birthday. He’s got quite the adventurous spirit. I must tell you what happened last year at Bamfurlong.”

“And he loves stories, mine and yours. You’ve no idea. One day he ran all the way from across the Brandywine Bridge to Hobbiton by himself. His parents were frantic, had the whole family searching all day, only to find him here with me.”

“All because he wanted to hear a story.”

“Oh, and I’ve been teaching him a few words of Elvish too. He’s very interested in that.”

“Seems you’ve been keeping busy these past few years,” Garrett teased.

“Of course! Ever since this little lad started coming around, Bag End’s been much livelier.”

“Look, this year he didn’t even want to celebrate his birthday at Brandy Hall. He begged his parents to bring him here, so we could have our birthdays together.”

Garrett thought for a moment and said, “Well, that’s a bit unexpected. I only brought a gift for you.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Bilbo waved a hand cheerfully. “Your visit is the best gift I could ask for. And I’m sure Frodo feels the same.”

“Yes!” came a voice from the kitchen. Apparently, Frodo had overheard.

“I’m so happy to meet you!”

The person from the stories he’d always heard about had stepped out of the tales and stood right before him.

Now his childhood felt complete.

“Well then,” Garrett laughed, “let me join you in the kitchen and make a real feast for the two of you!”

He bent down and entered the house, walked into the kitchen, took over Frodo’s work, and began preparing all sorts of dishes.

When night fell, a rich and splendid dinner began. Foods from many regions and all kinds of exotic dishes were spread across the table. At its center stood two large cakes made by Garrett himself, one for Bilbo, one for Frodo.

Just then, Drogo and his wife returned. After chatting with Daddy Twofoot, they’d gone straight to the market and brought back a pile of fine ingredients, along with two rare bottles of excellent wine, a gesture of thanks to Bilbo for taking such good care of Frodo lately.

But when they set everything down, they were utterly stunned, by Garrett himself, and by the table filled with delicious food he had prepared.

Drogo exclaimed, “It’s you! I must properly thank you and the Rangers of your lands. If it weren’t for those two Rangers, I can’t imagine how Frodo would have managed on his own.”

“You two had better reflect on that,” Bilbo said with a sidelong glance.

“Of course, we have, my dear cousin,” Drogo replied quickly, eager to please. He pulled out a chair for Bilbo and guided him to the table.

To the couple’s words of gratitude, Garrett simply said, “Parting is always painful. Since you still have your loved ones beside you, cherish this time while it lasts.”

Everyone agreed with that sentiment.

When the birthday feast finally ended, it was already quite late. Outside, the night was pitch-dark.

Walking home through the dark was clearly unwise, but luckily, Bag End was large enough to accommodate Garrett and the Drogo family comfortably, with plenty of space to spare.

After all, thirteen Dwarves had once lived there, and not one of them had complained about running out of room, though, truth be told, several of them had just slept wherever they dropped.

That night, the food had been too good. Drogo and his wife ate heartily and drank a fair bit as well, until they both fell sound asleep as soon as the lamps went out.

But Frodo wasn’t sleepy.

He begged Bilbo to keep telling him stories, tales of things that had happened long ago.

This time, though, Bilbo shook his head and pointed toward the figure sitting in the garden, gazing up at the bright, star-filled sky.

“Garrett has far more stories than I do,” he said. “Why not go ask him yourself?”

So Frodo crept over carefully and began to speak with Garrett, using the clumsy yet innocent words of a child.

It made Garrett laugh.

“All right then,” he said, patting the seat beside him. “Come here, sit down. Whatever you want to hear, I’ll tell it to you properly.”

That, as it turned out, was a mistake.

Because Frodo immediately replied, “I want to hear everything!”

And so Garrett talked for a long, long time, until even Bilbo nearby began to yawn.

“And then what happened?” Frodo asked, fighting to keep his eyes open. “What happened to the archer? And that Ranger captain everyone thought was a commander? And the steward who gave you the mithril dagger, are they all right?”

Garrett fell silent for a moment, his thoughts drifting.

In this world, the race of Men was free. When they died, their souls were released, no longer bound to the world, free to journey to other realms and begin new lives.

“Perhaps,” he said softly, smiling as he patted Frodo’s head, “they’ve gone on to new adventures somewhere else.”

By now the Hobbit could barely stay awake. His eyelids drooped, and soon he was nodding off.

Storytime was over.

“Frodo,” Garrett said gently.

The boy lifted his head, bleary-eyed.

“Forgive me for coming so suddenly, and for not knowing you’d be here. I didn’t prepare a gift for you.”

Frodo opened his mouth to speak, but Garrett went on, “So, instead… let me give you something special as a birthday present. A journey. How about that?”

“Frodo, I’ll give you an adventure. I’ll choose the scenery, and you’ll choose the time. What do you say?”

“Okay,” Frodo murmured, and before the word was even done, he drifted off to sleep.

Bilbo stepped forward just in time, scooping the boy up onto his back.

He couldn’t help but say, “What a precious gift, Garrett, dearer than anything in this world. If someone had said those words to me, I think I would’ve packed my bags without hesitation, even if it meant returning to the dragon’s lair, facing the flames and the foul breath again, or standing once more before tens of thousands of orcs and trolls. I’d have gone. But I’m afraid… that chance has passed for me.”

He sighed softly.

“I’ve never once regretted any of the things I experienced with you, not for a single moment.”

When he finished speaking, he paused, then turned back.

Looking into Garrett’s eyes, he said earnestly, “Bless you.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep