Letters, words and letters

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“The lad’s not in his tweens anymore,” Bilbo reminded himself for the eleventieth time. It’d been some time since he’d taught Frodo his letters, since those letters became words, strung in sentences, woven into books.

Which brought Bilbo back to the bundle on his desk. He fingered the faded ribbon. It was time Frodo had these; not everyone got the chance to meet their parents young, in love, in their own words. Yes: high time.

“Here you are;” then Frodo himself appeared, holding a letter. “I’ve got mail for you.”

“Oh? Well … so’ve I. These, my dear, are for you.”



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