Chapter Text
"Gil-galad...was...an Elven-king...of him...the...singers? No, the harpers...let's see...sorrowfully sing? No, that sounds wrong. Sadly sing, then. The...last whose...realm? Yes, realm...was...hm...fair...and...free...between the...oh, bother it, what is it now?"
Bilbo Baggins looked up from his comfortable seat in his study at Bag End. He had been immersed in translating an elvish lay into Westron, mumbling to himself as he wrote, until there had come a knocking at the door.
"Coming!" he called now, reluctantly leaving his chair to make his way to the door, grumbling all the way. "Well? What's all this knocking in aid of?" he demanded, opening the door.
"Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Bilbo." This latest intruder on Bilbo's day was his gardener, Hamfast. "I just came to tell you I'm done with your garden for today."
"Oh," said Bilbo. He felt a little guilty now, but really, people had been hammering on his door all day. How was a hobbit to get any rest? He had even been interrupted during teatime... "Well, that's alright then. Go along home, Ham, and give my regards to Bell and Hamson, there's a good chap."
"Very good, sir," Ham replied. "Sorry for interrupting you," he added. "Good day!" And he set off down the road, whistling cheerfully.
Bilbo, shaking his head, shut the door again, and returned to his work, pausing only to grab bread and cheese (and a mug of ale) from the kitchen.
"Now, let's see," he mumbled, mouth half-full of bread and cheese. He swallowed the food, took a drink, and reached for his quill again. "Between the...hm...Mountains, yes, and...the Sea. His sword..."
