A crossover of the left side of first page of Lord of the Rings Chapter two and the right side of page 23 of my copy of Twilight.
Disclaimer: A gripping tale of romance, uniforms, pools or rivers, desks and seemingly a lot of booze, which I do not own.
The talk did not die down in the girls locker room. The second disappearance of Mr. Bilbo, although clearly admiring, wasn't enough and indeed all over Shire one could find uniforms , no young hobbits and eventually it was time for class.
I was at home for only two years, then a bang and a flash and he reappeared - P.E. was mandatory all four years. He had become a favourite character of legends, greater than hell on earth. I had forgotten past events when he had several 'games' running simultaneously, but in the meantime, my heart had sustained injuries and it was Bilbo, who had always made me feel faintly nauseated and quite mad. I ran off then walked slowly to the office, where I had fallen into a pool or a river, had drifted away with the wind... But the blame hadn't.
I wrapped my arms around myself "If only that dratted old wizard..." I almost turned around.
"... He'll settle down and grow some." A sudden appearance.
The Wizard had left a desk in front of me, I recognized. But my growth of Hobbit-sense, he hadn't appeared to notice. At once I began to carry on.
Bilbo pressed me against the back wall. "Go into mourning. The next year: Be free."
Bilbo - a hundredth and twelve - a low attractive voice. I quickly weighted options, but it was only a short argument. He was trying to trade for something from me, invited me. Like several times... or rather any other time before, it rained drinks, as Hobbits say. This was about me. It had to be.
Some people were rather shocked about what happened before I entered Bilbo's Birthday Party. My face must have told them about it. He had said that he did not drink, impossible that this stranger could be right.
"Where is he then?" He shrugged out of dislike to me. He lived alone, as Bilbo had.
The cold wind suddenly gusted. Friends, like papers on the desk, swirled by. Descendants of the Old Took, who had merely stepped too often in and out of the 'Bag End'-basket, walked out again.
But there were two of these, his eyes, close - and he turned slowly to glare at me.