He just started running one day.
All the hobbits of Bagshot Row turned to stare as he darted past, dressed in the same cherry red coat from five years ago. They shook their heads and tisked and muttered their disapproval at the sight of the dagger strapped to his belt, and the strange carven branch slung across one shoulder.
"Crazy Baggins really lost it this time,"they said, and they let him go with a collective sense of relief.
No more poisoning the children's minds with fantastic tales of dragons and dwarves and giant spiders. No more strange, embarrassing, unsociable behavior. And- to the triumph of the Sackville-Bagginses- no more guarding the horde of silverware in his tunnels of wealth.
Perhaps he would never return. They could only hope. Not that they would ever wish ill upon the odd little duck. But maybe he would decide to stay with those dwarves of his in the mountains, or perhaps reclaim another dragon horde. Just as long as he did so far away from Hobbiton.
He ignored all of this on his way out of the Shire- the looks, the laughs, the mutterings. He ignored everything except the blood rushing in his ears, the heat of the sun on his face, the early spring breeze tickling through his hair.
And running. The feel of it, the sheer freedom of it… He could feel all the strings that jailed him to his life within the Shire snapping without any effort, without any resistance. He was unbound and unraveling and unable to care that this was tantamount to suicide.
He was alone this time, without any wizards or sword-slinging warriors to back him up. But he had his sword and his shield, and he had been practicing that move Dwalin had taught him, and he'd decided that it was time again to let the moment sweep him away. Sweeping moments didn't come around every day, after all.
He supposed he should have seen it coming. When the urge finally struck him with the sudden and shattering swiftness of lightning, his belongings were already packed. Two pairs of outfits, a cache of food, a whetstone for his dagger and a hand-fashioned slingshot- all were tucked neatly in a pack on his mother's glory box, waiting for him to realize that it was indeed time for another adventure.
(Of course there were also the ghosts to consider but he wasn't going to think about that because ghosts simply didn't exist, and even if they did he couldn't imagine them being so utterly exasperating.)
He didn't bother looking behind him, although he knew he would probably regret it later. Until that first unexpected journey, Bag End was everything he thought he would ever want. Ever need.
But that was before he saw the Mountain through the icy mists of Long Lake, before he ever held a king's heart in his hands and gave it up for ransom, before, before, before.
No sense looking back now, he told himself roughly as he neared the very edge of the Shire, heart fluttering in his throat. Home is behind…
He almost succeeded in ignoring the second voice that chimed in to finish:
…the world is ahead.
~v~
A/N: Alright, I know it's short but it will definitely pick up in the next chapter, I pinky promise. Review if it pleases you, and then go and listen to some awesome music, or watch a scary movie, or make some s'mores and dance around in your kitchen. Or all three. That's what I'mma be doing :) Lots of love.
