Story Teller
Back in the Shire, Bilbo thinks on how things may have been differently, knowing that there was nothing to change the outcome. Post-Hobbit, Pre-LotR Thilbo
I sit outside my house smoking my pipe and watching the blue sky pass overhead. I used to wave half heartedly at my neighbors as they passed by. Now I don't even try to bother.
A part of me says it's a desire for adventure. A part of me says I'm bored.
But I know the truth.
I miss you. I miss your ferocity and determination. I miss the way you would stare at me, masking your affection with anger. I miss the way fire shone in your eyes.
I thought I was making things right. If I knew I was going to lose you I wouldn't have done anything. But I have the feeling it wouldn't have done a lick of good.
Ah, Thorin…why must you have been so stubborn?
"Mr. Baggins! Mr. Baggins!" the children shout, rushing to my door. "Tell us a story, Sir? Please?" They jumped up and down, eyes wide with delight.
I blow a ring of smoke in the air, contemplatively. I smile at them and open my gate. "How about we have a tea party, then?" I suggest. "You all settle down in the living room while I put on the kettle. And then I'll tell you all about King Thorin and the Pale Orc."
The children cheered, rushing into my house I leave the door open for their parents to come and collect them later.
This is who I've become in the end: a story teller who can only wish that things had been just a little bit different.
I want to leave the Shire.
But as I sit and tell your story to these little children, I remember why I have decided to stay.
I want to leave for myself.
I stay for them.
I stay for you.