One autumn evening, Bilbo sat in his study, quill in hand and a half written page before him. He had been writing previously, writing about his grand tale with Thorin and Company - he thought of calling it "There and Back Again, a Hobbit's Holiday." Very few of the hobbits he told believed his tale; they all thought he'd gone quite mad. When he walked by, he could hear them muttering "Poor old Baggins!" even though they thought he couldn't. The only hobbits who seemed to believe him were all the littlest of Tooks, who ate up his tale of trolls and elves and dragons and great eagles like it was sweeter than strawberries, and more nourishing than the elven bread Bilbo ate in Rivendell.
One autumn evening Bilbo sat in his study some years after that very tale changed him so. He had been writing previously, but at this moment he was staring out his round, open window. The air that came in filled the room with a crisp expectation, reminding everyone that the warm summer days were coming to an end. Looking out the window, out over the Shire and its humble inhabitants, one would get the idea that nothing could ever be wrong with the world. It filled Bilbo with a sense of great serenity, but it also made him think of all the darkness he had seen on his journey. There were some days where all the bright sunlight in Hobbiton couldn't chase away the darkness. He would glance at his sword above his mantle and remember the goblins and spiders and the great dragon. He would pass the mithril shirt and think of how it protected him in the Battle. The battle that took the lives of so many…
One autumn evening Bilbo sat in his study some years after bringing home that small seed, and he gazed out his window at the oak. It had grown quite large since he planted it, and the majority of Hobbiton enjoyed its shady company. The leaves were just beginning to yellow, yet the whole tree seemed as if on fire as the evening sun hung behind it. Bilbo always thought of Thorin when he looked at the grand oak. It made Bilbo feel like he had his friend with him in the Shire. It made him smile sadly.
One autumn evening some years afterwards Bilbo was sitting in his study writing his memoirs when there was a ring at the door. It was Gandalf and a dwarf; and the dwarf was actually Thorin.
Bilbo spent an astonished moment standing there, just smiling widely at his old friends. While Gandalf was more or less a frequent visitor of Bilbo's, the hobbit had not seen the dwarf on his doorstep since they had first met. And he was a changed dwarf standing there that autumn evening. His expression was bright; the setting sun framed him in light. He seemed as if nothing in the world could make him as pleased as he was to see the hobbit. Gandalf had to stoop low to peek his head into view, but his face was full of mirth.
"Thorin!" Bilbo exclaimed, loud enough that a few nearby hobbit perked their heads up at the strange sight. Did you hear that? they muttered amongst themselves. What Bilbo called that strange dwarf fellow? It couldn't be the same dwarf as the one in those crazed stories of his? All these disturbances with strange folk – Gandalf is bad enough, but now he's bringing guests! Poor old Baggins! He used to be so respectable; now look at him! Hugging a dwarf!
"Come in! Come in!" said Bilbo, and soon they were settled in chairs by the fire. Thorin noticed the burglar's waistcoat was filled comfortably (and had real gold buttons) and Bilbo also noticed that Thorin's beard was several inches longer, weaved into a single, thick braid laced with grey, and his jeweled belt was of great magnificence.
They fell to talking of their times together, of course, and Bilbo asked how things were going in the lands of the Mountain. It seemed they were going very well. With an heir of Durin once again King under the Mountain, Dale rebuilt and flourishing, and Lake-town made prosperous by the new Master, much wealth went up and down the Running River; and there was friendship in those parts between elves and dwarves and men.
"The new Master is a reasonable man," said Thorin, "and very popular I hear. There are songs of how the rivers these days run with gold."
"Then the prophecies of the old songs have turned out to be true, after a fashion!" said Bilbo.
"Of course!" said Gandalf. "And why should not they prove true? Surely you don't disbelieve the prophecies, because you had a hand in bringing them about yourself? You don't really suppose, do you, that all your adventures and escapes were managed by mere luck, just for your sole benefit? You are a very fine person, Mr. Baggins, and I am very fond of you; but you are only quite a little fellow in a wide world after all!"
"Thank goodness!" said Bilbo laughing, and handed him the tobacco-jar.
Thorin smiled at that, and glanced out the window at the oak tree.