Written for a contest on deviantart. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Like always, I own nothing.
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I muttered under my breath as I shifted onto another position on the chair I was sitting it. I had been sitting down for a long time, as was evident by my lack of ability to be able to sit still much longer. I clutched the pen within my fingers harder and kept writing down letters on the paper of the bound book. I refused to stop because of a mild discomfort. I had gone through much tougher things.
It was mildly warm within the room where I was sitting, and a gentle breeze could be heard flowing on the outside. Everything was peaceful, like it was most of the time in the Shire. The warm sun fell through the window onto my skin, warming it with its rays, and the gentle songs of birds faintly reached my ears. I was aware of all of these things, however my attention was solely and exclusively focused on the paper before me.
I jotted down word after word, knowing fully well what I was writing. However, at the forced revival and memory of many scenes of my adventure so many years ago my mind couldn't help but wander off. Wander off to what could have been and what was, to what had really happened and why, as well as what could have been done better. Wander off to what had been left now, of what had become of my life as well as what had become of my thirteen companions.
What was left of us after everything is gone, after all? After all that we fought for and strove to get dissapears and dies away? What can we do, once we have lost everything. Once we have reached the end of the line, the end of the story, the final page of the book. The page after which there is nothing more. What can we do once we reach this point?
Perhaps this was always one of the things that shocked me the most when reading adventure books as a young hobbit, when I was seeking adventure. The heroes would always start the journey, many not even knowing what awaited ahead of them or what destiny had planned. However the story would go on, they would confront this and accept the challenge. Most importantly, they would succeed in face of all of the things that told them that they wouldn't manage to do so. They would master the challenge that had been laid before them, defeat their enemies… however they all would reach that one point. Every single one. They would all reach the point when the adventure had finished, when nothing else was left to do. Or well, technically they did have things to do. Life goes on after all, it wasn't like they just cease to exist. A normal life after the adventure has been completed never really compares to how life was during the adventure, or before it even.
A couple of knocks sounded on the door, but I ignored it and just shouted something aloud. Telling Frodo to open the door. I wasn't in the mood for more visits of relatives. At all. I kept writing. I had better things to do after all, and I wanted to finish my book at peace. Something which had proved to be tougher than expected.
A normal life after a thousand dangers, after all hope was lost and then recovered is one of the worst things I could possibly imagine as a child. It haunted me, being a hobbit dreaming about an adventure. I didn't want my adventure to end, I wanted it to last forever! I wanted the hope and the wonder that came from seeing new lands and strange new creatures to always be there. I always wanted the childish innocence with which a hero would start a quest to always be there, to never end. I wanted it to be neverending.
Of course when I had told Gandalf he had laughed, or chuckled, I can't really remember, at my words. I had just been but a hobbit child, of about nine years of age. Always dreaming about seeing elves and exploring new lands, about being Bilbo the Brave, the great explorer who ran away from nothing and confronted all danger and evil…
It was ironic, in a way. I didn't think the end of the adventure I had lived through was that great in the end. Yes, the dragon had been defeated. Yes, the orcs had been defeated. However, so many had died. So many had suffered, and so many erroneous decisions had been made. If I closed my eyes I knew I'd be able to picture the mighty halls of Erebor once again, the faces of wonder, longing and happiness that my thirteen companions had made upon entering the stolen dwarven kingdom… I knew I'd be able to recall the dragon itself and the fight against it, the courage that we all showed despite the grave possibility of death. That, and the shine of the jewel that had brought down more tragedy than perhaps Smaug himself.
I groaned, shaking my head, and abruptly placed the pen on the table Those knocks! Who was knocking so insistently on the door? Couldn't they see what was written on that sign?
I got up and started walking towards the front door of the house. If Frodo wasn't in the house I'd have to open the door myself, even if I'd rather continue writing. I shouted something about not wanting to receive visits as I clutched the doorknob, and proceeded to open the door, and smiled as I was greeted with the face of my old friend.
"Gandalf!"
The wizard smiled at me, and I couldn't help but laugh with joy at seeing him once again. What could be left after everything had ended? I wasn't sure, and I didn't know if I'd ever be. I could still recall, hear and practically see Thorin's last moments. Those moments when he had forgiven me before his death… I could dream of it, and I had had more than enough time to ponder on what had been lost and what could have been, on what had really happened in the end… however at least my friend would always be a constant that was there.
I gestured and told him to come in. A smile covered my whole face as I did this, and then asked him if he wanted something to eat. I was glad to see him.