Dear Mr. Frodo,

     This is the fifth letter I’ve written to you, and I still don’t know how to get them to you.  No one goes across the seas these days, and if they do, we don’t hear about it in the Shire.  I don’t know why I’m writing them, honestly.  I just feel that if I write to you, you’re still somehow here.  I miss you every day, Mr. Frodo.  And if I ever get the chance to send my letters to you, I will.

     Elanor is getting bigger all the time.  She looks like her mother, thank goodness.  Rose says that she has my eyes, though.  They’re always looking for something new to play with.  She loves gardening, too, and once every week she and I go around Hobbiton, making sure the mallorn trees are doing well.  They always are.  Elves are wonderful, Mr. Frodo.  Tell Lady Galadriel I think of her every day.

     Merry and Pippin still won’t stop wearing their gear from Gondor and Rohan.  I told them it makes them seem scarier than they are, but they just laugh and say, “Scary can be fun.”  All the little hobbits are fascinated by them, and occasionally Merry and Pippin will teach them how to swordfight.  Their parents don’t like that too much. 

     Merry has taken to writing down everything that’s happened, and he’s now trying to trace the history of pipes and smoking and such.  Pippin thinks he’s boring for it, but of course they still don’t not do everything together.  It’s strange, Mr. Frodo, how all the hobbits in the Shire look up to them.  Of course, they are taller now than practically any ordinary hobbit, but I heard my old gaffer talking to a friend a while back, and he said, “Those two – always playing with the little ones.  Now there are true heroes, if you don’t mind me saying.  Saved all of us, and they never even mention it.  It’s the ones that don’t mention themselves that should be mentioned, as I always say.”  And he’s right, Mr. Frodo.  But people seem to have forgotten you.  You are the one, after all, to save all of Middle-Earth, and no one seems to remember you.  But I’ve heard some hobbits by the side of a fire murmur tales about Ents and elves, and nine-fingered Frodo, and the Ring that almost destroyed Middle-Earth.  And I smile and try not to correct them on any mistakes they made, and I know you’ll live longer in stories than you ever could in the Shire.

     I wish you could hurry back home, to Bag End.  The place seems empty without a Baggins living in it.  But I know you wouldn’t, even if you could.  I don’t know, Mr. Frodo, maybe it’s selfish of me to wish that.  I know you’re happier where you are.  But I want to see you again.  And Gandalf, too.  I celebrate yours and Mr. Bilbo’s birthday still, and I half expect Gandalf to show up on the day of the party, with fireworks, and Mr. Bilbo to disappear half way through the celebration, like he did so many years ago.  Tell them I say hello. 

     I’ve been trying to write poems and songs like old Mr. Bilbo did, but they don’t sound right.  Maybe, if you ever get this, you can have him send me some tips.  Better to borrow talent than to fake it, as my old gaffer used to say. 

     Mr. Frodo, I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.  I bet you’ll be reading this and thinking, “Poor old Sam, he’s not happy.”  But I am happy, Mr. Frodo.  In fact, I don’t know if I’ve ever been happier.  I do miss you, but I’ve got Pippin and Merry, and Rose and Elanor.  And have I told you?  Rose is pregnant again.  Merry and Pippin are having a war with each other, trying to convince me to name him after one of them.  But Rose and I have already decided that if he is a boy, we’ll name him Hamfast, after my old gaffer.  It seemed only fitting, since we discovered she’s pregnant the same day my gaffer died.  We don’t know what we’ll do if he’s a girl, though.  Maybe you could give us some ideas.  You did after all suggest we name Elanor Elanor. 

     Mr. Frodo, I do wish you all the happiness I can give you.  And more, if that’s possible.  Perhaps one day I’ll join you.  It won’t be until a long while from now, though.  I’ve still got so much I want to do, and I couldn’t leave Elanor or Rose.  But a small something inside me is constantly calling me over the seas.  I can’t hear it most of the time, when I’m busy with life, but when things quiet down, and I sit and think of everything, I hear it softly.  I won’t be able to ignore it forever, Mr. Frodo.  I don’t even know if I should ignore it.  But it’s there, and I think it comes from everything the tales tell us – everything we’ve been through.  But I wouldn’t change it for the world, Mr. Frodo.  Because if we didn’t do it, who would? 

     I’ll most likely write another letter to you soon, because I’m sure I’ve forgotten a whole bushel of important things you should know.  I’m always messing something up.

     Your Samwise

Dear Frodo,

     Sam has gotten into the habit of writing unsent letters to you.  Merry and I always make fun of him for it, but of course he doesn’t stop.  And now I’ve started!  Hopefully Merry never finds out, or else I’ll never hear the end of it.

     But why have I started writing unsent letters to you, you’re wondering?  Well, if I’m completely honest with myself, I don’t rightly know.  It just sort of happened.  Just now, actually.  I just got in from visiting Sam, where he showed me the bundle of letters he had written.  And I sat down at my desk, and I just started writing.  And anyway, now that I’ve started, I don’t think I’ll stop.

     But what shall I tell you about first?  There is so much that has happened, and I don’t know how much Sam has already told you.  For one thing, Sam was elected mayor of the Shire.  I doubt he told you that, he’s too humble.  And he barely talks about it, even to Merry and me.  I wonder if he even talks to Rose about it.  I doubt it, knowing Sam.

     I do believe I’m in love, Frodo.  Remember Diamond of Long Cleeve?   I certainly didn’t, not until I had come home.  But she’s beautiful, and lovely, and sweet and honest.  And I do believe I love her.  I love to make her laugh, because I love her laugh.  And she makes me laugh.  And I do believe I love her.

     Oh, dear, listen to me!  I’m turning into a Samwise Gamgee, all a flutter with my very own Rose Cotton!  I never would have thought it possible.  Merry finds it even harder to believe than I do.  “Pippin,” he says, “you’re spending more and more time with Miss Diamond of Long Cleeve.  Have you taken a fancy to her?”  And he laughs at me.  But I’ve seen him take longer than necessary glances at Estella, and I just smile and wink and he’s left wondering if I’m trying to suggest something to him, or else just have something in my eye! 

     There’s a certain kind of sad excitement about the Shire, now that you’ve gone.  I’m sure you’ve witnessed some of it before you left, with the mallorn trees beginning to grow, and the great oak tree gone from when “Sharkie” was here.  But there’s this feeling I get from walking along, and sometimes it’s happy, and other times it’s quite melancholy.  And it comes, I think, from the hobbits, and their knowing that things will not always be quite as they used to be.  But strangely, I don’t mind.  I don’t think you would, either.  In fact, sometimes there’s such a depressing feeling in the air, I think even you in all your pensive thinking, would feel as if you had life good!  But don’t worry, Frodo.  It’s still the same old Shire, and Merry and I are still your same old cousins, and of course Sam couldn’t change even he tried to.

     Which reminds me – he’s now the father of two daughters!  Elanor is a happy big sister to little Goldilocks, a name which suits her well with her golden hair.  I don’t know where it comes from, Frodo!  Everyone’s beginning to call both Elanor and Goldilocks Elf Children, their hair is so unnaturally gold!  But it’s a pleasant unnatural, and you would laugh to see those happy curls. 

     Elanor knows all about you, you know.  Merry, Sam and I have made sure of that.  Although usually it’s Merry and I who are telling the stories, and Sam who is making sure Elanor doesn’t hear the especially frightening parts.  But the result is that she only knows half the story!  And she’s already telling Goldilocks all about you, even though I don’t think she remembers you very well.  Perhaps I shouldn’t have written that.  It might sadden you.  My apologies, Frodo. 

     You are something of a legend in the Shire.  Folk remember you still, of course, but the younger ones don’t.  They’re told of the Ring, and our journey, and their eyes widen.  I must admit, Frodo, that I rather like being the center of attention.  Merry and I often walk down the street, and notice little hobbits murmuring about us behind their hands.  I think that’s due in large part to the fact that he and I rarely are seen without our swords.  We’re too proud of the countries we served to hide them.

     Anyway, I believe my writing has gone beyond entertaining and into unnecessary.  My ramblings will stop for now.  I hope that you are in good health, but with the company you have I can’t imagine you are not.  Be well, Frodo.

     -Pippin

Dear Frodo,

     You would appreciate what I’ve decided to do.  I don’t think Pippin cares for it much, and Sam is too busy with his family.  But you’ll listen, and if I ever send this, I know you will respond as soon as possible to share your enthusiasm.

     Don’t think I’m writing to you only to get a positive response to my project.  I have been meaning to write to you for a long time.  Ever since Sam has confided to us his practice of writing to you, in fact.  I think it an admirable idea, and it has certainly helped him to feel you are closer.  I don’t know if I want you to be, though.  I wish you were still available to socialize with, of course, and we miss you, sometimes even painfully.  But I don’t think you miss us quite so much, and so it is a little selfish, I believe, to wish you were closer.  And anyway, once we realize you will most likely never read these letters at all, your absence seems greater.

     And yet I continue to write to you.  I tried writing a letter yesterday, but I threw it away because it didn’t come out right.  I felt almost like Bilbo, trying to write poetry, although I doubt he ever thought any of his poems didn’t turn out right; I’ve heard some that definitely should’ve been thrown away.  Don’t tell him that.  I don’t want a bad poem showing up as a gift one day.

     Anyway, Frodo, I have quite gotten away from the subject I started with.  I think I shall return to it now.  I have decided to become an historian.  Especially one of smoking.  It is all quite fascinating, and I thought you might like to know about it.  I have not gotten far in my research yet.  I have only asked Pippin for the Tooks’ tale on pipes, but he only laughed and blew a smoke ring in my face for answer.  I’m determined, however, to figure out everything I can. 

     I have also begun to write down everything we have been through, beginning with Bilbo’s long expected party, since I believe that is where it all began.  That has made me feel even more like Bilbo!  I can’t help but think of his journey There and Back Again whenever I sit down to write, and it somehow makes me reluctant to.  So, as you can imagine, that project has not been off to a good start, either.  Typical hobbit behavior, although I think most folk in the Shire view Pippin, Sam, and me as atypical.

     One of these reasons, though I am sure Pippin has told you already, since he is immensely proud of it, and Sam has probably alluded to it, since he is immensely irritated by it, is that Pippin and I never go anywhere without our swords, and sometimes we still wear our full gear from Rohan and Gondor.  I can’t say exactly why we do this.  Somehow, we can’t live without it.  I think, however, that we are doing a fine job living like we did before, except that a few things are missing and a few things are added.  I need hardly remind you what those things are, for I can trust that you will know what I allude to.

     That reminds me, Frodo.  Sam has had another little girl, although I’m sure he and Pippin have already told you.  She’s as beautiful as Elanor, and they had rather a difficult time when she was born, for they were bent on naming her Hamfast.  I told Sam not to name a child until after he or she is born, but this is the second time he has decided the gender of his child before he knew it.  “Gamgees will be Gamgees,” as his gaffer always said.  And I suppose he’s right; you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.

     Pippin has seemingly been playing a new trick on me.  Every once and I while, I’ll catch him winking at me, and I haven’t the slightest idea why.  When I ask him about it, he just says it has to do with his Lady of Long Cleeve, but I can’t figure what that means.  I know Pippin has been growing more and more infatuated with the girl, but I don’t know what that has to do with me.  I shall tell him to stop speaking in riddles, and will ask for an answer straight.

     Anyway, Frodo, this was kind of a long-winded and haphazard letter.  My apologies, cousin.  Perhaps I will throw this one away as well, though somehow I don’t think I’ll be able to.  If you read until the end of this letter, congratulations.  I don’t know if I would.  And I think my final words to you will be these: “I wouldn’t change anything for the world.”

     -Merry