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Diary of Rose Gamgee
March SR 1421 —
March 15th SR 1421
Mister Frodo has fallen terribly ill. My Sam is besides himself with worry. He and Mister Frodo don't speak much about the evil things that happened to them when they were away, and I don't think prying where my nose don't belong will do either of them any good. I prefer not to chatter on about all the nonsense that went on with that Sharkey character so it works out even. My Samwise, Mister Frodo, and I have an understanding like that. Its a trial to keep all my questions to myself though, and gossip being in the nature of hobbits as my mother says, its a trial to keep the business where it belongs in the home as well, so I've started a little diary.
I got the idea from my friend Prim down the road, who says her hobbit has gone all nervous and odd after the Battle of Bywater, and that she bought him a little book to write down all his worries in, since he wouldn't tell her, and now she gets woken up less from the poor dear screaming in the middle of the night.
Anyways, Mister Frodo's illness. I do know this much about it, its an illness from the anniversary of an old injury, and my dear Sam feels guilty something fierce about it. Mister Frodo sleeps a lot on his best days, often wherever my Sam is lingering Mister Frodo is sleeping someplace nearby. Sometimes he ends up in our bed, though none of us have ever said a word about it. Its not a polite habit, but being near Sam seems to set them both at ease.
I suppose they always slept close during their year away, and Sam must have kept Mister Frodo safe more than the other way around, because he's an awful nanny goat to Mister Frodo. Which is what led to such a fuss around the house when two days ago, Mister Frodo didn't wake up at all, and was clammy and sweaty and paler than those white roses the Harfoots bred for the horticulture competition three years ago. Since then, he's improved a little, but Sam is worried sick.
He's puttering all around the house, making sure Mister Frodo has everything he needs, and when Mister Frodo asks for anything he's up and away. I'll admit, with me being so near giving birth to our first, having Mister Frodo so ill and underfoot makes me jittery. Not that I'm jealous, mind. I come from a hardy stock, other than needing to sit more often than I'd like I have no problem being pregnant.
Will he get sick every year? The faunts will worry, though I suppose they must learn the sadness's of the world sometime.
April 1st SR 1421
I gave birth to a little girl seven days ago. Elanor we named her. Or rather, Mister Frodo named her. My Sam just about lit up when he suggested it. Its a good name, a flower name apparently. A yellow, star shaped flower that grew in one of the elvish lands they visited. She's healthy and fair haired, fairer than Sam or I. She's taking to feeding well too. I think mostly of nothing but sleeping and her. Luckily Mister Frodo is feeling a bit better. Sam has turned all the energy of his nanny-goating on me and our fauntling. I caught Mister Frodo singing to her yesterday. A quiet elvish song. He's still very pale. When the song ended, he was crying. Twas a blessing Sam was out doing some shopping, he can't stand to see Mister Frodo cry.
Elanor is hungry again.
April 11th SR 1421
Mister Frodo and Sam are out with Elanor. Mister Frodo is very fond of her, and Sam has discovered that he can be convinced to do most things if he's told it's on Elanor's behalf. So they're out with Elanor and the pram, showing her Hobbiton and the market. Not that the sun ain't good for her, or that I object to showing her off, but the walk in the sun is really for Mister Frodo and all three of us know it deep down. I'm meant to be resting, but I needed to write some things down.
It seems the melancholy my boys have gained from their year away is here to stay. It's a hard adjustment. I love my Sam, but I fell in love with him before this evil weight laid on his heart. He's such a beauty, and I love him still, but I hate to see him suffer. I hate more to see Mister Frodo suffer so when it hurts my Sam so badly. Mister Frodo's condition is much worse than Sam's. Sam has spoken a little more to me about it, and we've had some letters and things come for the "ring-bearer". It seems he was forced to carry a dark object who's shadow will never fully leave him. Sam expects I am right and he will become sick like he was in March every year, and maybe in October too, for however many years he's still with us in Middle Earth.
The hope he and I have is that we can provide him as much comfort and company in Bag End as possible until he one day passes on. With his illnesses neither of us like to think how long that will be.
April 18th SR 1421
Lembas is a new word to me. I was maybe griping a wee bit to Samwise about how difficult it is to keep myself fed enough to feed our little lass, and Mister Frodo, who rarely comments idly in conversation anymore, piped up, saying the elves have some travel food called Lembas, one piece of which is meant to feed a grown man for a whole day. Which is to say, that three whole pieces of the stuff might just be enough to keep a breastfeeding hobbit lass from being hungry. Apparently, it was all my boys were eating on their walk to Mordor. It must be quite the miracle for them to still think fondly of it.
May 30th SR 1421
So much has happened, I've let this diary fall my the wayside.
Elanor is growing so fast. She'll be running around in no time at all I'm sure. I'm trying to treasure the moments with her as she's my first. Sam takes her out to the garden strapped to his chest, or walks her all around the nearby saplings he planted after the Scouring with Lady Galadriel's special soil. He chatters to her more than he does to me, and she calms now when she hears his voice. I knew he'd be a good father — its one of the things that made me sweet on him when we were faunts, seeing him with the younger ones.
No use beating around the bush. Frodo is leaving us, as soon as September. Lady Arwen, the wife of the king, heard of his illness and did some praying to the gods or some such and they agreed to let him take a boat into the lands in the west. The hope is that he'll be more comfortable there. I can't see how, amongst all those elves, with no hobbit food and only the company of creatures who've lived a sight longer than him, but its likely some magic thing I don't understand and I'm keeping my nose out, or trying to. Sam says normally only elves are allowed to go there. I can tell a part of him wants to go with Frodo, but he'll stay here with me and little Ela. I've reassured him I'll be alright while he at least travels to see Mister Frodo off on the ship in September. They spend most of their time together now, and I tell myself my husband is off with his second love (me being his first of course) and he'll be back once he's seen Frodo off.
Frodo took me aside, he wants to leave us Bag End. I suppose I didn't want to assume, but its not unexpected. All the same, its unaccountably generous of him, and there's plenty of space for us to have a big family here.
The family would have been better off with him in it, but it can't be helped is what I tell myself. Elanor likes his singing the best.
July 22nd SR 1421
I've gotten myself a bit of a mission of my own. With Frodo leaving soon, I want to be able to do something for my Sam. I'm thinking if I can make some of that Elvish bread, it might cheer everyone up a bit. Sam and Frodo said it was a little sweet, brown on the outside and cream on the inside, and of course that you only needed to eat a little of it to be filled up. I'm not sure about filling up a hobbit — Sam and Frodo were still frightfully skinny by the time they returned to the Shire.
All the same, my first batch was a disaster. Cram is the closest thing we have to anything like it, so I made a batch of that to try and it was vile and nearly broke my teeth. I tried adding a bit of sugar and salt, and it was just as revolting. I hope Sam and Frodo haven't got flowery eyes about this Lembas stuff and its actually as good as they say, otherwise I may as well be trying to from-scratch bake a baby dragon.
I'll need to do some thinking on how to crack this egg.
July 30th SR 1421
Batches two, three, and four were just as disappointing. I've always thought of myself as a well-enough cook, better than most Men as all hobbits should be, but the elves might have something more than just height on the hobbits.
Keeping my mission a secret from the boys is a trial. Samwise, bless his heart, asked me if something was wrong when he noticed us buying more flour than usual. Told me he'll eat things even if they don't turn out quite right, and that he can take on more of the cooking too, if needs must. I have my own flour for this purpose now, and its hidden behind some of Mister Bilbo's very old liquor in the pantry.
Elanor is a little bit boring now that we're in the swing of things. I told Sam I am going stir-crazy and need a day out, which is true, but mostly I want to go looking for elves. This problem of bread that is sweet and nice, but can be kept for travel is driving me batty and I must have an answer.
August 10th SR 1421
Well, I found the closest elves, and they were the most uncommonly rude and unhelpful creatures. I have no idea what makes Sam so fond of them. All I asked is for one of them to take a minute to write down a Lembas recipe, any recipe, even if it wasn't Mistress Galadriel's I can tweak it, and they laughed at me as if I told the funniest joke in the world. It took them quite a long time to stop laughing, and after that they sang a few songs in their inscrutable language.
I waited patiently the whole time, mind you. It gave me a good chance to practice crossing my arms and looking disapproving for when Elanor gets older. When they'd finished their performance, they saw I was still there and one of them took pity on me I suppose and told me they couldn't help me, and that I should be on my way.
I mean really, the fellow could have given me a reason at least. Or a hint. In Hobbiton, if one has a secret family recipe that another family asks about the polite thing to do is at least give a hint.
I've resolved that elves are an unhelpful avenue.
Subsequent batches have also been failures, though I am getting closer now that I have given up on making them safe for long journeys. They are at least palatable. Sam and Frodo ate one of the batches for afternoon tea and thought them a mild shortbread.
Since the elves will not help and my own attempts are resulting in nothing more than biscuits, I've decided to change tact. Or as my mother says 'tackle the weed from a different side of the garden'. Unfortunately, the only living creature that is not an elf that I can think might have the recipe is the King, who is married to one.
August 11th SR 1421
Dear King Elessar,
Though we have never had the pleasure of making each other's acquaintance, I find I have exhausted all of my other options. I fear the only way to even slightly soothe my beloved husband's melancholy regarding his dearest companion's imminent departure from Middle Earth is for you to provide me, posthaste, with the recipe for what Sam refers to as 'Lembas'. To engage in a hobbitish bluntness, your elvish kindred have been most unhelpful in this pursuit, and I find my patience growing thin.
Regards,
Rose Gamgee (Gardner? Cotton? Whichever suits you I suppose, though I do most prefer just 'Rosie'.)
September 15th SR 1421
Elanor has started that fauntling phase where she puts anything and everything in her mouth. I long for the days when I thought her boring, she gives me a heart attack nearly once a mealtime. She makes sounds now too, more than a coo and a cry, and will babble back when Sam speaks to her.
Frodo is leaving very soon, Sam is seeing him off and I'll be alone for a bit. I've still had no response to my letter to the king though I didn't really expect one. He's too busy for a hobbit-wife's private concerns, but one has to try or one will never get anything. Frodo has been reading to Elanor all the time now. Sam is out the in garden a lot. I think they are avoiding each other a little bit. Maybe trying to prep for the separation, in some way. Breaks my poor heart to see it.
September 22nd SR 1421
Sam and Frodo left yesterday. A letter did come from the king. Today, of all days. I have included his response in its entirety here.
Rosie (as you have said it is what you most prefer),
It was a delight to receive your letter. I am always pleased to see news from the ring-bearers and their kindred, even if the news this time is not altogether joyful. I would also like to congratulate you on the birth of you and Sam's first child. It seems you are in good health and spirits, and Frodo wrote to me of Elanor, which is a fine name indeed. It grieves me and my wife that Frodo and Sam must be separated. Of course, they would feel the weight of it, and its admirable your wish to improve your husband's condition.
I am not the authority on the topic of which you speak, though I rather think your aim in writing to me, if I may be a little cheeky with you, was to get through to me and to my wife. She has given her response below.
Miss Rosie,
Depending on whether or not this letter reaches you before or after Frodo and his party of my kindred depart from Middle-Earth, I may be the only creature left on this continent who could give you what you request. Myself and the Lady Galadriel are the only ones with the knowledge of growing the required crop and of the preparation, which is why you did not find success with others of my kind.
It is not easy to give you ill-news, but this knowledge cannot be shared by me. Even if it could, you would not be able to act on the knowledge to produce Lembas, which is an ancestral food of my people and the creation of which requires the use of many elvish tricks.
The only comfort and advice I can leave you with is this — your attempts to recreate something important to Sam mean far more than the real recipe ever could. I give you my blessing to create your own recipe for elf-bread, as the knowledge will pass out of this land with me and should be replaced with something different and new.
Best regards,
Lady Arwen and King Elessar
October 3rd SR 1421
I have spent the last few days doing nothing but baking biscuits. I think — just maybe, I have something worth sharing with my husband.
October 6th SR 1421
Sam returned in the afternoon. He has barely said a word to me, Misters Merry and Pippin said he was the same the whole way back to the Shire. I'm making a fresh batch of the elf-bread recipe tonight. I'll have to tell him what its meant to be. I'm hoping Lady Arwen is right, and he can appreciate the effort if nothing else.
October 7th SR 1421
Last night, I told my Sam everything. About the flour, and all the failed batches, and the Lembas, and my letter to the king. The whole sorry affair. I showed him Lady Arwen's response too.
Him and Elanor ate some of my elf-bread biscuits. She's starting solids, though I dipped them in milk for her. When he ate them, Sam, my Sam, who rarely cries, at least to me, cried and hugged me so tight I thought for all the world I'd pop open.
He told me that Frodo told him to live a good life, and to think of him as being happy in the elvish lands across the sea. And that, after seeing how much I worked to make him happy, he was ready to do that, and that he was sorry for moping about so much.
I don't know about all that, but the biscuits are quite good, and this morning he's out on a walk with Elanor, chatting her ear off about plants again, and I think, at least for now, all will be right in Bag End.