Chapter One: The Adventure Begins
Bilbo's Journal
As I sit here in my chamber on this gray ship, I ponder what will happen once I reach my destination. What does the world know of Hobbits now? What do they know of me? So my writing starts, slow and cramped as I am slightly sick from the tossing of the ship. It reminds me of those days of my adventure, when I gained the title Barrel-Rider'. Ah, yes. It seems a funny tale now, looking back, though at the time I was miserable and wet.
I wonder how my nephew is getting on without his old uncle Bilbo. I'm sure Sam will stay with him, he is a steadfast friend. My thoughts are wandering now, it is this fog which shields Valinor. It confuses the most able-minded among us Hobbits, Men and Dwarves, the rare few who come, at least. The Elves seem unaffected, yet just smile when I ask their secret. Ah well. Though this journal entry does not make logical sense, I feel compelled to place it in my story. It is, after all, the first I have written of my new adventure.
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The Story
Several days after I wrote the above journal entry, I neared New Zealand, to see a strange, flying metal bird hovering over the coastline! It glints in the sun, and I feel a poem coming to me... but I will not tire out my readers as yet. I know Pippin always complained about my poetry.
Well, as the bird was fashioned of metal, I concluded it was a Dwarvish creation rather than a magical one. I later found that what this was indeed the case, though the humans of the world did not give credit to them. In fact, most Men are now not even aware of the existence of the other races! Well, naturally many never knew of the Hobbits, but Dwarves were a notorious race. Yes, much has changed... I did not know it at the time, of course. I was merely intrigued by the sight of the glittering creature in the air.
My silver ship landed at the coast, and I was surprised to hear the racket coming from the lovely machine in the air. I quickly leapt from the ship- the Elves must keep reminding me never to call their cairath** - and, bearing what belongings I believed I would need, stepped ashore. The ship, when I turned my head to take a last look at it, had disappeared back to the mists. I most sincerely hoped it would return by the end of the quest. As it turned out... ah, I am getting ahead of the story.
I walked through the sand on the shore, which was damp and stuck to the hair on my feet. I was glad I had remembered my brush. I walked up the bank and into the lush green grass. The landscape much reminded me of Middle Earth. Could it truly be gone? But then, there was the metal bird, and Gandalf would not speak an untruth.
Fairly soon the verity of his words was confirmed. A group of Men walked up to me, similar to those I had known in Arda*, but their garb was strange! One was short and almost Hobbit-like, though he had a beard. He wore very short pants and what seemed to be a nightshirt with lettering on it. I later learned it was called a , apparently named after the letter of the English alphabet which it resembled in shape. Of course, you know this. I keep forgetting. Forgive an old Hobbit his blunders.
Well, the others with the Man held strange contraptions, which I soon learned were called At the time they seemed quite strange to me: dark boxes mounted on sticks, with a glass window which showed only black on the other side. They were all dressed in a similar fashion. At first they did not notice me; many do not give us credit for it, but Hobbits can be quite light-footed and inscrutable.
When they did, the Man in front gave a start, peering through the mist which lingered over the area (it was at this point quite early in the day; the sun had just pushed its way over the lip of the horizon).
Who's there? he called, and to my intense astonishment, I found I could understand his words!
I cleared my throat, finding it strange to speak in a language I did not know. To this day I cannot fathom how I understood him or was able to communicate. It's Bilbo Baggins, if you please. And you are?
Oh come on, Ian, what are you doing out here in costume? he asked, laughing. You know the shoot doesn't start for a week.
I paused, confused. I am not this Ian' that you speak of, good sir. My name is Bilbo Baggins and I come from a long way away. Originally I was from the Shire, but I hear that is no more. And, I continued, trying to be polite, You still have not given me your name.
I heard muttering among the Men, and a burst of muffled laughter. I waited patiently. Undoubtedly they found my appearance here unbelievable; I understood, as I did too, but this was the only way I could think of to go about making introductions.
Finally the Man in short pants stepped forward, and a blinding light was trained on me. I found it quite disconcerting at the time, though I quickly got used to the beam of the camera during my stay in that land. I fought to keep from blinking at this light, the brightest I had ever seen save, perhaps, the fireworks of my good friend Gandalf.
The Man stared at me for a moment, then turned back to the others, who were all gaping at me as though I were a particularly vicious Orc rather than a harmless old Hobbit.
Well, he isn't Ian, the Man said, turning to the others. None of them moved, and I was struck by the humor of the situation: perhaps fifteen men shrinking in fear and astonishment before me, Bilbo Baggins. I managed to stifle my laughter (years of keeping a straight face through the antics of young Merry and Pippin stood me in good stead), and the Man continued after a pause, now talking directly to me. He seemed puzzled, but still purposeful.
Listen, sir. I'm not sure who you think you are-
I am Bilbo Baggins. I interjected.
Bilbo Baggins is a fictional character, he explained, seemingly attempting to be patient but looking rather nervous.
Well, here I stand. I was running out of patience by now. Those bright lights were rather getting to my head. At that point one of the other Men pushed his way forward, staring down at my admittedly rather unkempt feet.
he said, pushing past the Man who was talking to me, I don't think those are fake. He reached for my feet, bending down cautiously before me. Upon touching them, he jumped back in fright.
Excuse me, sir, that was quite impolite! I was a bit upset. Youngsters have no conception of manners, especially those among Men.
He ignored me and looked shakily at the man I now knew as
They're real, all right, he said. I don't know who this person is, but the Hobbit feet are real.
The Men all stared at me for a moment, and I explained Gandalf's theory of time in Valinor and here. One young Man kept snorting in apparent disbelief, so after a time of listening to what sounded like a sick pony neighing, I politely asked Peter if we could retire to a more private setting and discuss my Quest at length, perhaps over second breakfast. It had been over two hours since my last meal on the ship, and I was eager to see what manner of food they had in this place- New Zealand, as Gandalf had named it.
He agreed, and soon we were seated in an odd house, seemingly made of a single huge stone, and I was tucking into a plate of toast and an odd, flat pastry. All in all, it made a rather meager second breakfast, but I didn't complain. Instead I spoke to the Man Peter between bites, and he listened first skeptically, then eagerly, as I told him my tale and my current Quest.....
*Arda means Middle Earth
**cairath is a Sindarin (common Elvish) word, meaning ships in general; all ships
Disclaimer: I have yet to win the rights to myself back from Tolkien, and it now seems unlikely as he has passed from this world. In an alarming new development, I have learned that the moviemaking company has also gotten the to me, Bilbo Baggins. Again, to repeat: I do not own any of the other characters in this story, and it seems that through all these complex legal issues I will never entirely own myself again. I may even have to follow my nephew Frodo's example and sell pieces of myself; he made a sizable profit off his finger, in the sense that Sauron was defeated.
Alas, I fear my silver spoons are also lost forever, as Lobelia and indeed all of Middle Earth are gone now. Good-bye, spoons.
