Frodo stumbled across the small box full of papers on one of his bad days.

It wasn't one of the days that he had to spend in bed, with no chance of concealing his illness. It was merely one of the days where the day-to-day aspects of life in Bag End were a struggle, where he carefully hid in his study so as to not worry Sam and Rosie. She was heavy with child, the babe due to arrive at any time, and it would do neither of them good to spend their time worrying about him.

So instead he went through his notes and worked on his writing and tried his best to stay in the present rather than getting lost in what would never be again. When his concentration lapsed, he wandered in circles around the small room, studying the shelves and looking at things that he had forgotten were even there.

Looking back, Frodo did not know what had drawn him to one of the small shelves in the corner of the room. It was full of books that Bilbo had not taken with him when he had left for Rivendell years earlier, ones that Frodo had never found the time to pay any attention to other than the occasional dusting. They had been restored with the rest of Bag End, put back into their proper place and promptly ignored.

It was pure chance that Frodo noticed the small box sitting on one of the shelves, acting as a bookend for what looked like a shelf full of recipe books. It was ornately carved, yet it didn't look like the handiwork of any hobbit. He tilted his head, studying it carefully. The carvings had a distinctly dwarven look to them, if he wasn't mistaken.

Letting his curiosity get the better of him, Frodo reached out and picked up the small box. He leaned the last book on the shelf so that it was holding up the others, as they wanted to fall with the removal of the box. Then he walked over to his desk and sat down, still feeling somewhat drawn and worn but not as much as he had just a few moments earlier.

"What do we have here?" he asked himself softly, carefully opening the box.

Then his breath caught in his throat.

The box was full of sheets of paper, each of them covered in writing. He would recognize the handwriting on the papers anywhere. Bilbo's hand was as recognizable to him as his own, and the thin wandering hand could have belonged to no other. Yet they didn't look like notes, half-finished scribbles that wandered off mid-sentence to go off on an unrelated tangent. The words on the page were clear and precise, written with a purpose.

Frodo carefully reached out and picked up the top sheet of paper, holding it gently in his hand. The paper was old, and if he had to guess it had to have been written not long after Bilbo had returned from his adventure all those long years ago.

"Part of his book?" Frodo muttered. "But why would it be hidden away and not included with the rest?"

There was a small part of him, most likely the prudent Baggins part, which pointed out that if Bilbo had meant for the papers to be read then he would not have hidden them away in a box. A larger part of him, most likely coming from the Brandybucks and the Tooks, proposed that if Bilbo truly had not wanted the papers to be read then he would have taken them with him when he left Bag End.

No matter what he had been through, Frodo was still a hobbit. Curiosity won out in the end.

Frodo placed the sheet of paper down on his desk and started to read. Halfway through the page, he had to stop as something that felt suspiciously like guilt rushed through him. Oh. Oh.

Biting his bottom lip, Frodo slid the box of papers closer to him and glanced at the paper that was now on top. A quick reading of the first few sentences told him that it covered the same subject matter as what he had just read. He cautiously flipped through the papers, skimming, and it revealed more of the same.

"Oh, Bilbo," he whispered. "You never said."

Carefully, he put the sheet of paper he had pulled out back into the box and then closed it. He then put the small box to the side of his desk, where it would stay in his sight and his mind. Curiosity be damned, he wouldn't read the rest. Some things weren't meant for his eyes, and the story written on those papers was such a thing.

When it was time for him to leave for Rivendell, Frodo would take it with him. Bilbo would want to hold those papers again, he was certain of it. The memories they brought back might be bittersweet, but they would not be unwelcome.

Still, he couldn't help but think, it explained quite a bit. Bilbo's stories of his adventure had always felt rushed, as if he was skipping over important events to tell the story in as impersonal manner as possible. Frodo had always wondered why, had even asked Bilbo for an explanation once, yet Bilbo had never given him a clear answer.

Now Frodo thought that he understood why Bilbo had done so. A love story that had no happy ending, that was not something that someone would want to share even with those who were loved and trusted. Not when it was so personal, so private.

Frodo glanced at the box one more time. The dwarven carvings on the wood made more sense considering what was inside, stories about a few short months shared by a hobbit and a dwarven king in exile who had fallen in battle over eighty years earlier.

Yes, he would take the box with him to Rivendell.