Chapter One
AN: So, here it is. I'm so sorry if it's too short/long or if it reads awful, which it probably will: this is my first time writing so try and be a little gentle. Reviews are welcome, hell, even if it's just a few words it really does make my day better and inspire me to write another chapter. Also, if you have any ideas for the story, or ways to improve it (and thereby my writing), that would also be appreciated. I may write a few little smutty one shots every now and again to keep you guys from tearing me apart, as this is definitely going to be slow build.
P.S: Beta wanted, inbox me if you're up for it!
It was on a warm May morning that Bilbo awoke: his mind so free and clear of troubles that only age could gift. This day would mark their fifth into the journey beyond Middle Earth, towards the shores of Valinor, and yet, he felt the whole thing rather queer. His bones did not ache and groan under his weight as he was once used to, and his bed felt foreign, yet comfortably familiar: rather queer indeed. Only when he ran a small hand through his suspiciously soft locks did he finally open his well-slept eyes, and in doing so release a cry so loud it would shake the very depths of Moria. No longer was he residing in the last ship to leave Middle Earth, nor was he within Valinorian walls, nay, he was back home, in a hole in the ground. With returning vigour he threw the covers from his body, heart racing, and tore away to the bathroom, where he promptly bolted the door and stared, aghast, at the reflection before him. No more did pale, time-worn eyes stare back at him accusingly, or did thin, white hair stand atop his head. Instead, a young, boyish face stared back at him, with eyes and hair that held all the warmth of a blissful summers' eve.
He was fifty again.
How? Surely this was a trick: some spell or illusion blinding his sight and mind. It was too surreal to believe, and yet here he was, back in Bag End, with all his secrets and silverware locked away where no one would ever find them. It was simply not possible. He couldn't do this again. He couldn't. Slowly, Bilbo's small form slid down the wall, his heartbeat quickening by the second. Had he not suffered enough? Had he not made enough mistakes the first time around? Shaking uncontrollably, the first of many wretched tears fell, unbidden, from his eyes. Still, the tortured screams of Kili haunted his ears, still, the hatred in Thorins' eyes burned deep into his mind. It was too much. He couldn't do this again. A strangled sob broke free from his throat, followed by another and another, until his voice was little more than a whisper in the wind. Rocking back and forth, Bilbo clamped his eyes shut, removing the dizzying world around him from view. His breath now came in short gasps, and the memories came almost to a halt, only appearing once every so often to remind him of just how much he had failed to protect them, failed to do the only job he had be given. How could he face them again, knowing what their fate was to be? How could he look them in the eye and act as if he didn't know they would soon be marching towards their own destruction? He couldn't.
Hours passed by like seconds, each an irrelevant blur in the back of his mind, until finally, with a particularly defeated sigh, he pulled himself to his feet, wiping away any evidence of his meltdown. Leaning heavily on the polished sink countertop, Bilbo glared heavily at his reflection, his now red eyes a tell-tale sign for all to see. Viperously, he spat, "Pull yourself together you old fool! You are a Baggins, of Bag End, and you will run scared of neither adventure, nor death." Naturally, his words passed straight through one ear and out the other, but it was enough to get him out of the bathroom, and into the living room, where he soon found himself coming up blank. What was a hobbit to do? Should he simply sit, and wait for Gandalf to arrive on his doorstep? And what then, would he tell the old wizard everything and beg for comfort and advice? Nay. That was far too risky. Too many things could be changed and altered, too many things that Bilbo could not foresee and therefore not forestall. He would have to keep this most disturbing event to himself, and with it, any hope of relieving the foreboding headache that the situation was giving him.
By chance, his eye landed on the small clock carefully placed on his mantle, and a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding in was released thankfully. There were still another three and a half hours until he expected company: plenty of time to arrange his affairs and calm his mind before anyone could witness his odd behaviour. Fleetingly, he wished that his lad Frodo was on this journey with him, to offer his uniquely comforting presence, but that wish was soon overpowered by a greater, more pressing realisation that had Bilbo running to his study. Finding his supplies with ease, he perched himself on the little wooden stool in front of his desk and begun to write a short, to-the-point letter with fervour;
My dearest Drogo and Primula,
It is with deep regret that I inform you of my upcoming absence from the Shire. Though I cannot yet give reason for my departure, I will indeed say that I will be gone for a good many years: and thus my two, most beloved cousins came to mind. I will, most certainly, need someone to tend to my house and garden whilst I am away, and I am most certain that once the Sackville-Bagginses come to learn of my disappearance, they will be all too happy to take things as they please. So, I ask you with a heavy heart and (very) large puppy eyes, if the two of you would be so kind as to move in, and take care of Bag End for your dearest cousin. If I do not return within three years, please consider the place, and all that is within it, yours, and you may do with it as you please. All that I ask, is that you never step foot near the Brandywine River again, I dare not tell you why I ask this, I can only promise that it will be for the good of everyone.
Yours Sincerely,
Bilbo Baggins.
With barely an afterthought, Bilbo sealed the letter sloppily, and set off at a sprint through the half of Bag End, harshly pulling open the front door and finding the Gaffer pulling a weed from under his windowsill.
"Oh my, Master Baggins! Whatever has you in such a fuss?" the stout hobbit asked with a warm smile.
Bilbo opened his mouth to reply, but abruptly came up short: if he did this, he would never have the relationship with Frodo as he once had. But of course, he had no right to deny the lad his parents either, not after seeing how badly losing them both had affected him. And of course, the smaller the connection between the two, the less chance there was of Frodo ever being cursed with that bloody ring. He had to do this, even if it meant losing the closest thing he had to a son.
With a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of his lips, Bilbo held the hand holding the letter towards his gardener, sighing, "I don't suppose you could give this to Drogo when you next see him? I'm afraid that while it is a matter of urgency I quite simply don't have the time to pop down to Brandy Hall myself. Truly, I hate to ask you on such short notice, but as always, I appear to have found myself coming up short."
A flash of befuddlement (which Bilbo pointedly ignored) passed across the taller hobbits' face for the briefest of seconds, before returning to its usual warmth as he look the letter, standing himself up as he did so. "Well, I can hardly say no if it's a matter of urgency now, can I Master Baggins? Excuse the prying and all, but a hobbit has to ask: what exactly is the matter?"
Bilbo had to hold in the chuckle that was rising up his throat, for never had a day passed where a hobbit remained in his own business. "If you must know," he began good-naturedly, "I am to leave the Shire tomorrow. I'll probably not be back for the good part of three years, if at all. I was going to tell Primula when the time came, ask her to look over the place whilst I was gone, but it seems I've quite run out of time." The look on the hobbits face was quite the spectacle, and this time Bilbo allowed his laughter to bubble forth from his lips in a mighty guffaw.
"O-Off to Bree then, I take it?" he mumbled hesitantly, almost not quite wanting to know the answer at all.
"Nay, Master Gaffer. Further than that it seems, all the way to the Misty Mountains and past."
And with those few words, Bilbo practically saw the sane, respectable demeanour he had once had vanish into the very air around him. The light that had once filled the other hobbits' eyes had all but drained out and the poor fellow was clearly struggling for words. But, never one to lack a polite word, he managed to force out,
"Adventure? At your age I could hardly stand to leave my own doorstep, never mind the Shire! Let it be known that you, my young boy are either incredibly brave or utterly insane!" and with a cheeky wink the hobbit added on, "And I think both you and I know exactly which one you are." Before promptly picking up the few tools he had brought and sauntering off down the path, shouting a quick, "I'll be sure to tell the poor fellow not to have too many heart attacks!"
Bilbo was left speechless, and far too slowly did it begin to dawn on him that he was still stood in the middle of his front garden in naught but his bath robe and slippers with his mouth hung wide open. With a quiet squeak, Bilbo ran for the safety of his home, only relaxing once he was safely inside and away from any…unseemly situations. Once his mind had begun to work again, he sent his body in the direction of his bedroom, cringing every time he thought back to the situation. Only he, Bilbo bloody Baggins, could possibly forget the simplest task of putting actual clothes on, even if he had woken up sixty years younger. Well, he was done for now. Not only had he gone out and told one of the greatest (though kindest) gossipers in the entirety of the Shire that he was going for a little vacation around the whole of bloody Middle Earth, on which he may or may not come back at all, but he'd also gone and done it half-naked. He may as well have simply danced out of Bag End as bare as the day he was born and gone for a quick skip around Bagshot Row, singing tales of how he was going for a quick trip to Mordor to hug Sauron and cover all the lands in a bed of flowers. Never let it be known that he was, in fact, stark-raving bloody mad. Sighing dismally, Bilbo begun to look through his closet with distaste, realising for the first time just how bad his wardrobe had been. Perhaps it was over-exposure to elves that had got him this way, but now Bilbo couldn't help but miss the file silks and delicate laces he had been presented with almost immediately after arriving at Rivendell.
Eventually, after much fussing about, Bilbo chose to simply stick with the outfit he had chosen to wear last time, with the red blazer and green waistcoat that definitely didn't clash. Wandering out through his bedroom door, he refused to believe that it was age that had made him so bitter, and instead was merely a very, very small, miniscule even, character flaw of his. Picking up his pipe and a box of matches from a nearby cabinet on the way past, Bilbo trudged out of his front door again, cringing despite himself, and sat down on the bench overseeing his garden.
It was actually a rather good morning, now that he thought about it.
AN: I'm a massive review hungry hoe, so please, please review this whilst I'm writing the next chapter. Just to remind me that you're all still here. Also I'm really sorry that this is late guys! I had a massive freak out about how to start this, and then didn't touch it for a good while. I still don't really like it now to be honest, and I may work on it in the future, but I had to give you lot something:3
Ta ta for now c: