Bilbo loved parties, as did any hobbit, but being as rich as he was he cold host the best in the Shire. He walked around Bag End checking various things that had already been checked and thinking to himself. This year's was going to be even more spectacular than usual: the fireworks, the food, the drink... and his departure. He looked around; realising what he was doing was pointless and smiled to himself. He couldn't wait to see his guests' faces. Hobbiton wouldn't forget this party for many years.
Nor would they forget the presents he had left them all. They lay labelled and unwrapped around Bag End. Everyone in Hobbiton would receive something, big or small, dedicated especially to them. He had chosen them all personally from his possessions and hand-written their labels, hoping to leave his mark on Hobbiton's memory.
He pushed the window open, lit his pipe and leant on the widow sill. He could see all the helpers he had enlisted working on various tasks: laying out tables, setting up tents and preparing the food. Beyond them and around them he could see the idyllic landscape of the Shire. A sight of such beauty; but it was tamed beauty, not the wild and unrestrained beauty of the homes of the dwarves and the elves that Bilbo yearned to see. He knew he would miss these perfect rolling hills and green fields, but with every passing year he knew he would regret staying more than leaving.
Turning he placed his pipe on the windowsill and walked to his room to change.
Nor would they forget the presents he had left them all. They lay labelled and unwrapped around Bag End. Everyone in Hobbiton would receive something, big or small, dedicated especially to them. He had chosen them all personally from his possessions and hand-written their labels, hoping to leave his mark on Hobbiton's memory.
He pushed the window open, lit his pipe and leant on the widow sill. He could see all the helpers he had enlisted working on various tasks: laying out tables, setting up tents and preparing the food. Beyond them and around them he could see the idyllic landscape of the Shire. A sight of such beauty; but it was tamed beauty, not the wild and unrestrained beauty of the homes of the dwarves and the elves that Bilbo yearned to see. He knew he would miss these perfect rolling hills and green fields, but with every passing year he knew he would regret staying more than leaving.
Turning he placed his pipe on the windowsill and walked to his room to change.