Bilbo looked out from their terrace towards the beach below, watching Frodo and Adamanta walking arm-in-arm. There was a new ease in Frodo's manner he hadn't seen for a long time. To be truthful, it wasn't an ease he'd ever seen in his beloved cousin before. He smiled when Frodo looked down attentively at something Adamanta said, and then threw his head back and laughed. The sound carried on the breeze  to where Bilbo stood, and it lifted his heart and brought tears of joy to his eyes. His lad was healing, not only of the wounds that the Ring had inflicted on him, but of older and deeper wounds. Frodo's eyes now gleamed with joy, and though there was still wisdom in them and the memory of sorrow, there was no longer the pain that had always been hidden in their depths.

Bilbo credited Adamanta for much of the change; yes, the Blessed Isle, and the proximity of Aman made some difference. And he knew Gandalf's talks with Frodo had helped.

But it was clear that Frodo had found in Adamanta what she had wished to become to him: a mother, or a grandmother in truth. He should be jealous that she could draw Frodo out in a way he never had, but he couldn't. His relationship with Frodo was long-standing, and their old patterns of behaving with one another would never change. They'd spent too many years respecting one another's privacy to suddenly begin confessing to one another now. That was as it should be; he'd always been like a father to Frodo-- and a father's role was different.

Ah! They had turned on to the upward path. Time to put the kettle on for tea, and fetch out the seedcake he'd baked while they were walking.