Author's note: Now, THIS is the chapter y'all have all been waiting for! It
will be a delight to write. However, though it is happy, it is FAR from the
end of this long strange tale. This chapter is also unique because it is
told from Bilbo's perspective. Ooh, I can't wait to write this! LOL. Please
review, I really need feedback on this crucial chapter. You know what?
Sometimes I think I should just give up and right a big fat whopping Mary-
Sue Legomance, because at least they get some attention! No, no, no, don't
worry, I'd never do that to you, or myself, or Tolkien... or mankind. But
it's true, quite a hubbub arises around them, even if half the reviews are
flames! But never mind, I'll get off this rabbit trail and start writing!
Disclaimer: Same as before, and I don't own the opening quote to this
chapter, either.
Chapter Seven: Full Circle
The truth is written all along the page.
How old will I be before I come of age for you?
~Yes, "Close To The Edge"~ Bilbo had never been a sentimental hobbit. He liked to think of himself as rather sensible, in fact. Creative and eloquent, too, of course. But not sentimental. Not a romantic chap. He liked the ease of a bachelor's life, and had never really chased after girls as his friends had, not even in his tweens. But now, in one fell swoop, all that had changed. He'd fallen madly in love, planned to be married, and... lost it all. And he just didn't know how to proceed.
At first, everyone around him acted cautious and overly concerned, careful not to mention Amaryllis, but clearly thinking of the situation the whole time. "Poor old Bilbo! He's been jilted. I'd best not bring it up," he could imagine them saying to themselves, as they chatted in falsely cheery voices with him. To think, the whole town pitying him! It was almost too much to bear. But worse than the gossip was Amaryllis' absence. He was angry at her, with an abiding anger that popped up at unnatural times and gnawed the back of his mind incessantly, but still he ached for her presence. He'd grown accustomed to her company- to looking over and seeing her beautiful face, to listening to her talk, to holding his hand out and having hers slip in. And, though he didn't want to admit it, he missed the admiration. The flattering words, the adoring smiles, the pride he felt having such a lovely lass on his arm. He felt almost as though he missed those things more than Amaryllis herself- which made him feel silly and selfish and insincere- even more miserable than before.
His feelings dulled over time, and the gossip grew stale and died out, and he went back to his life just as it had been before any of this happened (only with a little aching splinter if dissatisfaction mixed in, but he ignored it most of the time).
His days were lazy and predictable; as soon as he woke, he knew how his day would end, and as soon as he saw someone on the street, he knew how their conversation would go. A tranquilizing life that reclaimed him as soon as his chance for a new beginning was gone.
Somehow, in this foggy life, Glory was a bright spot. She certainly didn't know this, and Bilbo never really quite realized it himself, but when he passed her on the street, he didn't have her greeting, discussion, and farewell memorized like a script. She was young, younger than most of his friends, and seemed untouched by the disappointments and pretensions that even the most rustic hobbit soon became acquainted with. Besides that, she never gave off the appearance of... well, humoring him, or just talking to him to pass the time. She made him feel like he mattered. A comforting feeling, one he enjoyed- until he realized that it was much the same feeling he'd had around Amaryllis, which plunged him back into despair. Such nonsense, he thought in the midst of the letdown he felt whenever Glory walked away, leaving him suddenly without admiration and stung by painful memories. She's just a silly child, it's nothing like Amaryllis at all. But his heart leapt a little when he saw her, anyway.
Though the days seemed long, they blended together, and the years passed quickly and without Bilbo's notice, until he was suddenly reminded of time, as though startled awake.
He was walking to the Green Dragon for an ale, and on the way he saw Glory. She was sitting on a low stone wall, knitting and enjoying the early fall weather, and didn't seem to have seen him. (She had, in fact, but was trying to act calm.)
"Good morning, Glory!" he called, then immediately felt silly when he realized he sounded as though he was trying to be clever.
But Glory just smiled and called back, "Hullo, Bilbo!"
He walked over and settled himself on the wall beside her. "What's that you're knitting?"
"A cap for Chrys's boy, Ell. They're coming in just a few weeks, and so is Amy and her family," she said, tilting her face toward her work, but sliding a glance sideways.
"All of them at once? What's the occasion?" Bilbo asked, studying the little green cap forming in Glory's hands.
A secretive smile crossed Glory's face. "Oh, just my birthday," she said serenely, but the needles' pace increased a little.
"Your birthday? Goodness, that's right, it's nigh on November now. How old will you be?" Bilbo asked, not looking forward to the answer, which was sure to make him feel ancient.
"Thirty-three," she answered offhandedly, then gasped as one of the flashing needles pricked her thumb.
"Thirty-three!" Bilbo exclaimed. "Your coming-of-age?"
Glory nodded without comment, and Bilbo recovered from his surprise and pulled out his handkerchief. "Here, let me see." He took her hand to examine the needle-mark and began wrapping the handkerchief around the afflicted thumb.
He felt a sort of vibration go through Glory's fingers and she seemed to stiffen; he was suddenly aware of her hand, of its slightly rough skin and soft plumpness. He took a deep breath and finished the makeshift bandage hurriedly. "There you go," he breathed, folding his hands in his lap and trying not to lean too close to her.
"Thank you," she answered softly, and he heard the needles' clicking resume.
They sat in silence for a few moments more, then hastily began talking of everyday things- the weather, who was ill, which families weren't speaking. Bilbo excused himself rather awkwardly when the silence threatened to resume, but as he was walking off, Glory called out, "You'll come to the party?"
For a moment he was confused, then he remembered- her birthday. "Yes, of course," he replied, looking over his shoulder with an experimental smile that she returned with interest.
"All right. Goodbye!" She looked hastily down at her knitting again.
As he scuttled off down the path, his mind was swirling. The airy feeling, the sense of discovery at the slightest touch, and most of all the confusion- he'd felt this before, and he didn't want to repeat it. He was afraid. Yet somehow so hopeful.
Bilbo dressed with unusual care for Glory's party, a fortnight later. His best green waistcoat, a maroon vest, velvety brown trousers, and his father's pocket-watch, polished so bright it sent spangles spinning across the wall when the sun hit it. He examined himself in the mirror. Quite distinguished! But he sighed when he found a few gray hairs scattered through his mop of brown curls. Glory turning thirty-three had reminded him of his own age- forty-five that past spring. Nearly middle-age! Both his parents were gone now; his mother had passed just last year. He had friends, of course, and was well thought of... but sometimes he felt so lonely. He sighed and stepped away from the mirror, trying to gather up some courage.
And it was courage he needed, for he'd been unnaturally uncomfortable whenever he saw Glory since that day on the wall. He wasn't quite sure why, which made him even more ill at ease. He wasn't used to feeling things beyond his own considerable (so he liked to think) comprehension. The party was a good one, and many of the guests commented sadly on how this was the last of the Bywater daughters' coming-of-age, their tones mournful with nostalgia for old friends, youth, and delicious meals. Many also commented that Bilbo seemed a bit distracted; but, they whispered, he had been odd these past few years. Still, no one could deny that the starry, dazed look in his eye and the way let his sentences trail off was most unusual.
Finally, his feet carried him of their own accord to the great table that the birthday girl herself was standing behind, an enormous stack of presents hiding her from view as he approached. A great crowd surrounded the table, consisting of many young hobbits and a few old ones, all clamoring for their presents. Bilbo cautiously joined the edge of the crowd, standing on his tip-toes to seek a glimpse of Glory. He was uncommonly anxious to see her; he didn't want to think about why. And when he finally caught sight of her, what he saw took his breath away.
She was wearing a new dress- pale pink with lace-trimmed sleeves and a full, flounced skirt. Her bronze-red curls were resplendent in the sun (though a bit tangled). Her blue eyes were shining and crinkled at the corners by the enormous smile that resided on her round, rosy face. As she scuttled back and forth behind the table, snatching up packages wrapped in glossy paper, she reminded him of a big ripe peach, or perhaps a blooming rose. Her name suited her; she looked glorious- and quite grown-up.
Bilbo suddenly felt as though he was running out of air; his heart began to pound and his stomach contracted. With a start, he turned and quickly walked away from the crowd and toward his most comforting option- the luncheon table. Two plates of food and three beers later, he had calmed down a bit.
"Oh, lawks," he muttered to himself. "Oh, my, this is very strange." He must be going mad. Or maybe he was about to take ill. Or maybe... no! It wasn't possible. Surely he didn't care for Glory as anything more than an old friend. A plump, sweet, adorable old friend...no, no, no! He stuffed another bite of bread into his mouth.
Two hours later, he was still avoiding the gift table. He just couldn't imagine speaking to Glory, what with all this nonsense going through his head. He was afraid of what he might say, or of what he might not say that he really should say, or of... well, everything. You're a silly fool, Bilbo Baggins! he told himself. It will look odd not to go get a present. But his legs seemed to have joined his heart's rebellion, and his self-insults did no good.
"Bilbo!" a voice suddenly called, making him start and knock his knee on the table, which in turn made all the dishes on the table rattle loudly. He looked over to see who it was, and, to his dismay, it was Glory, making her way toward his seat with a parcel tucked under her arm.
"Hullo! I haven't seen you all day. I thought you didn't come," she said, the first two sentences in her usual bright tone, and the last tinged with a little uncertainty.
"Oh, no, no. Here I am! Just fine!" Bilbo stammered out, an unnatural smile taking possession of his face.
"That's... good." She seemed a little puzzled, but continued. "I have a present for you!" She held the parcel out.
"Thank you. Very much!" he blurted out jerkily, taking it with a shaking hand. He wished she would leave so he would have time to recover himself, but he was simultaneously devouring her presence and the way she looked, as though he could store it up for later.
"Won't you open it?"
"Oh. Yes! Of course!" He chuckled, but it came out forced. He tugged on the ribbon tied around the package, but it held fast. He tugged again, then gave up and ripped the paper off. It made a wretched tearing sound, and he saw Glory wince. Oh, he couldn't do anything right.
Inside the paper was a leather-covered book. He opened it, and the pages were blank.
"I thought you could write things in it. Journals and such, or poems. You told me you wrote them sometimes. Do you like it?"
"Yes! Yes. It's perfect." His whole body seemed to relax, and his smile softened. She must have chosen it especially for him. His irrational feelings settled into a unified whole, and he was swallowed by warm emotions as he looked up at Glory's hopeful face.
Just then, she leaned down and placed a tiny kiss on his cheek. His mouth fell open, and she quickly jumped back, stared at him for a moment, then turned and ran back to the gift table as though goblins were after her. Bilbo sat there in silence, finally calm. He loved her. Unmistakably.
A/N: WHOOOOOOHOOOOOO! YAY! LOL, I'm sorry, I'm just glad that he has finally come to his senses! The tables have turned! The shoe is on the other foot! Haha.
Ahem, yes! But anyway, don't worry, there are many, many obstacles to be overcome and tons of chapters to write! But please review this one, y'all. I'm so excited! Thank you to everyone that has reviewed, especially faithful reviewers such as Lahiere of the Northern Shores, NobleWynne, Lady Baggins of the Shire, and my awesome sister, Tom Bombadil Groupie!
Chapter Seven: Full Circle
The truth is written all along the page.
How old will I be before I come of age for you?
~Yes, "Close To The Edge"~ Bilbo had never been a sentimental hobbit. He liked to think of himself as rather sensible, in fact. Creative and eloquent, too, of course. But not sentimental. Not a romantic chap. He liked the ease of a bachelor's life, and had never really chased after girls as his friends had, not even in his tweens. But now, in one fell swoop, all that had changed. He'd fallen madly in love, planned to be married, and... lost it all. And he just didn't know how to proceed.
At first, everyone around him acted cautious and overly concerned, careful not to mention Amaryllis, but clearly thinking of the situation the whole time. "Poor old Bilbo! He's been jilted. I'd best not bring it up," he could imagine them saying to themselves, as they chatted in falsely cheery voices with him. To think, the whole town pitying him! It was almost too much to bear. But worse than the gossip was Amaryllis' absence. He was angry at her, with an abiding anger that popped up at unnatural times and gnawed the back of his mind incessantly, but still he ached for her presence. He'd grown accustomed to her company- to looking over and seeing her beautiful face, to listening to her talk, to holding his hand out and having hers slip in. And, though he didn't want to admit it, he missed the admiration. The flattering words, the adoring smiles, the pride he felt having such a lovely lass on his arm. He felt almost as though he missed those things more than Amaryllis herself- which made him feel silly and selfish and insincere- even more miserable than before.
His feelings dulled over time, and the gossip grew stale and died out, and he went back to his life just as it had been before any of this happened (only with a little aching splinter if dissatisfaction mixed in, but he ignored it most of the time).
His days were lazy and predictable; as soon as he woke, he knew how his day would end, and as soon as he saw someone on the street, he knew how their conversation would go. A tranquilizing life that reclaimed him as soon as his chance for a new beginning was gone.
Somehow, in this foggy life, Glory was a bright spot. She certainly didn't know this, and Bilbo never really quite realized it himself, but when he passed her on the street, he didn't have her greeting, discussion, and farewell memorized like a script. She was young, younger than most of his friends, and seemed untouched by the disappointments and pretensions that even the most rustic hobbit soon became acquainted with. Besides that, she never gave off the appearance of... well, humoring him, or just talking to him to pass the time. She made him feel like he mattered. A comforting feeling, one he enjoyed- until he realized that it was much the same feeling he'd had around Amaryllis, which plunged him back into despair. Such nonsense, he thought in the midst of the letdown he felt whenever Glory walked away, leaving him suddenly without admiration and stung by painful memories. She's just a silly child, it's nothing like Amaryllis at all. But his heart leapt a little when he saw her, anyway.
Though the days seemed long, they blended together, and the years passed quickly and without Bilbo's notice, until he was suddenly reminded of time, as though startled awake.
He was walking to the Green Dragon for an ale, and on the way he saw Glory. She was sitting on a low stone wall, knitting and enjoying the early fall weather, and didn't seem to have seen him. (She had, in fact, but was trying to act calm.)
"Good morning, Glory!" he called, then immediately felt silly when he realized he sounded as though he was trying to be clever.
But Glory just smiled and called back, "Hullo, Bilbo!"
He walked over and settled himself on the wall beside her. "What's that you're knitting?"
"A cap for Chrys's boy, Ell. They're coming in just a few weeks, and so is Amy and her family," she said, tilting her face toward her work, but sliding a glance sideways.
"All of them at once? What's the occasion?" Bilbo asked, studying the little green cap forming in Glory's hands.
A secretive smile crossed Glory's face. "Oh, just my birthday," she said serenely, but the needles' pace increased a little.
"Your birthday? Goodness, that's right, it's nigh on November now. How old will you be?" Bilbo asked, not looking forward to the answer, which was sure to make him feel ancient.
"Thirty-three," she answered offhandedly, then gasped as one of the flashing needles pricked her thumb.
"Thirty-three!" Bilbo exclaimed. "Your coming-of-age?"
Glory nodded without comment, and Bilbo recovered from his surprise and pulled out his handkerchief. "Here, let me see." He took her hand to examine the needle-mark and began wrapping the handkerchief around the afflicted thumb.
He felt a sort of vibration go through Glory's fingers and she seemed to stiffen; he was suddenly aware of her hand, of its slightly rough skin and soft plumpness. He took a deep breath and finished the makeshift bandage hurriedly. "There you go," he breathed, folding his hands in his lap and trying not to lean too close to her.
"Thank you," she answered softly, and he heard the needles' clicking resume.
They sat in silence for a few moments more, then hastily began talking of everyday things- the weather, who was ill, which families weren't speaking. Bilbo excused himself rather awkwardly when the silence threatened to resume, but as he was walking off, Glory called out, "You'll come to the party?"
For a moment he was confused, then he remembered- her birthday. "Yes, of course," he replied, looking over his shoulder with an experimental smile that she returned with interest.
"All right. Goodbye!" She looked hastily down at her knitting again.
As he scuttled off down the path, his mind was swirling. The airy feeling, the sense of discovery at the slightest touch, and most of all the confusion- he'd felt this before, and he didn't want to repeat it. He was afraid. Yet somehow so hopeful.
Bilbo dressed with unusual care for Glory's party, a fortnight later. His best green waistcoat, a maroon vest, velvety brown trousers, and his father's pocket-watch, polished so bright it sent spangles spinning across the wall when the sun hit it. He examined himself in the mirror. Quite distinguished! But he sighed when he found a few gray hairs scattered through his mop of brown curls. Glory turning thirty-three had reminded him of his own age- forty-five that past spring. Nearly middle-age! Both his parents were gone now; his mother had passed just last year. He had friends, of course, and was well thought of... but sometimes he felt so lonely. He sighed and stepped away from the mirror, trying to gather up some courage.
And it was courage he needed, for he'd been unnaturally uncomfortable whenever he saw Glory since that day on the wall. He wasn't quite sure why, which made him even more ill at ease. He wasn't used to feeling things beyond his own considerable (so he liked to think) comprehension. The party was a good one, and many of the guests commented sadly on how this was the last of the Bywater daughters' coming-of-age, their tones mournful with nostalgia for old friends, youth, and delicious meals. Many also commented that Bilbo seemed a bit distracted; but, they whispered, he had been odd these past few years. Still, no one could deny that the starry, dazed look in his eye and the way let his sentences trail off was most unusual.
Finally, his feet carried him of their own accord to the great table that the birthday girl herself was standing behind, an enormous stack of presents hiding her from view as he approached. A great crowd surrounded the table, consisting of many young hobbits and a few old ones, all clamoring for their presents. Bilbo cautiously joined the edge of the crowd, standing on his tip-toes to seek a glimpse of Glory. He was uncommonly anxious to see her; he didn't want to think about why. And when he finally caught sight of her, what he saw took his breath away.
She was wearing a new dress- pale pink with lace-trimmed sleeves and a full, flounced skirt. Her bronze-red curls were resplendent in the sun (though a bit tangled). Her blue eyes were shining and crinkled at the corners by the enormous smile that resided on her round, rosy face. As she scuttled back and forth behind the table, snatching up packages wrapped in glossy paper, she reminded him of a big ripe peach, or perhaps a blooming rose. Her name suited her; she looked glorious- and quite grown-up.
Bilbo suddenly felt as though he was running out of air; his heart began to pound and his stomach contracted. With a start, he turned and quickly walked away from the crowd and toward his most comforting option- the luncheon table. Two plates of food and three beers later, he had calmed down a bit.
"Oh, lawks," he muttered to himself. "Oh, my, this is very strange." He must be going mad. Or maybe he was about to take ill. Or maybe... no! It wasn't possible. Surely he didn't care for Glory as anything more than an old friend. A plump, sweet, adorable old friend...no, no, no! He stuffed another bite of bread into his mouth.
Two hours later, he was still avoiding the gift table. He just couldn't imagine speaking to Glory, what with all this nonsense going through his head. He was afraid of what he might say, or of what he might not say that he really should say, or of... well, everything. You're a silly fool, Bilbo Baggins! he told himself. It will look odd not to go get a present. But his legs seemed to have joined his heart's rebellion, and his self-insults did no good.
"Bilbo!" a voice suddenly called, making him start and knock his knee on the table, which in turn made all the dishes on the table rattle loudly. He looked over to see who it was, and, to his dismay, it was Glory, making her way toward his seat with a parcel tucked under her arm.
"Hullo! I haven't seen you all day. I thought you didn't come," she said, the first two sentences in her usual bright tone, and the last tinged with a little uncertainty.
"Oh, no, no. Here I am! Just fine!" Bilbo stammered out, an unnatural smile taking possession of his face.
"That's... good." She seemed a little puzzled, but continued. "I have a present for you!" She held the parcel out.
"Thank you. Very much!" he blurted out jerkily, taking it with a shaking hand. He wished she would leave so he would have time to recover himself, but he was simultaneously devouring her presence and the way she looked, as though he could store it up for later.
"Won't you open it?"
"Oh. Yes! Of course!" He chuckled, but it came out forced. He tugged on the ribbon tied around the package, but it held fast. He tugged again, then gave up and ripped the paper off. It made a wretched tearing sound, and he saw Glory wince. Oh, he couldn't do anything right.
Inside the paper was a leather-covered book. He opened it, and the pages were blank.
"I thought you could write things in it. Journals and such, or poems. You told me you wrote them sometimes. Do you like it?"
"Yes! Yes. It's perfect." His whole body seemed to relax, and his smile softened. She must have chosen it especially for him. His irrational feelings settled into a unified whole, and he was swallowed by warm emotions as he looked up at Glory's hopeful face.
Just then, she leaned down and placed a tiny kiss on his cheek. His mouth fell open, and she quickly jumped back, stared at him for a moment, then turned and ran back to the gift table as though goblins were after her. Bilbo sat there in silence, finally calm. He loved her. Unmistakably.
A/N: WHOOOOOOHOOOOOO! YAY! LOL, I'm sorry, I'm just glad that he has finally come to his senses! The tables have turned! The shoe is on the other foot! Haha.
Ahem, yes! But anyway, don't worry, there are many, many obstacles to be overcome and tons of chapters to write! But please review this one, y'all. I'm so excited! Thank you to everyone that has reviewed, especially faithful reviewers such as Lahiere of the Northern Shores, NobleWynne, Lady Baggins of the Shire, and my awesome sister, Tom Bombadil Groupie!