Beta-ed: TattoedLibrarian

Bilbo's adventures became more and more daring. He went further and further away from the Shire. Until one day they stopped.

He often thought about it, wandering why it had come to such sudden end, but he didn't have to think much further than his age. He was coming of age of becoming a grown Hobbit. There was something preposterous in a grown Hobbit being adventurous.

His mother's roaming was something different. She always had good cause for going off into the town, and was always careful. She wasn't engaging in endangering herself needlessly.

Besides she was a Took and he was a Baggins. There was talk around the Shire about him, of his place as Baggins heir. It was unacceptable that Sackvilles would speak ill of him, he wouldn't do that to his father. That's why he composed himself and started to act just like him. It was a ridiculous sight at first, he was, after all, a young Hobbit then, but soon it was normal to see him walking around with his pipe and letters, nodding in passing. Soon his reckless behavior was forgotten and there was nothing to say about him. That was the best thing Hobbit could hope for.

Except of long faces and prolonged condolences there were no way to reprimand him his lifestyle. The passing of his parents came too soon, just as he became of age, so sudden for the peace of the Shire, but he knew it was coming so he was ready. There were signs of them, mother knew, she had taught him how to spot the signs of oncoming death.

He was their only son and he came to his parents in a late age so they always were on the lookout for death. They expected that they would be leaving him soon. So they did as careful parents do, they prepared him for their demise. Always teaching him how to handle himself alone. They had hoped that his cousins would be enough company for him, but he was always an estranged boy. Even in midst of his mother's parties that she would perform regularly to keep him entwined in the web of their society, he would wiggle out and about to go into some strange part of the woods he wasn't in before.

Maybe he thought they would stay longer if he misbehaved, that they would feel the need to take care of him a little while longer. It was a foolish and childish plan that was formed before he could even understand it, but it seemed that it worked for some time.

"You silly boy" his mother laughed not really amused, but not quite mad. "I wish not to live as long as my father did, it's unbecoming to live as long as him, people were starting to wonder about our heritage, pure Hobbits or was there something elfish in us. I wish not to renew those kinds of rumours."

With that he started to behave better, slowly letting go of his searching. In the quite of the night he wondered if he wished to find elves, to find if they were anything like him, because in the Shire it seemed nobody was quite like him. But the knowledge that came to him through books his mother bestow upon him and through her teachings showed him that he was nothing like them. They seemed disappointingly cold, calm and composed. Even more than his old Baggins ancestors. They had nothing like playfulness of the Tooks.

That's how he decided that was best to compose all the dignity he could gather and give his parents some peace of mind so they could go easily, not worrying of him being alone or thrown out of Bag End that his father built in such care waiting for lots of children that were late in their descending towards them.

That's how Bilbo ended up with a big, comfortable home suited for a big family. The halls and the rooms were empty after he was left alone, but he was fine with it, he knew how to be alone, it suited him best. He wasn't sure he would ever invite someone in to ruin his perfect order and calmness of his home. He had his little rituals that helped him throughout the day. And soon those rituals became his life. He was fine. More so he was satisfied.

Most of all he was proud that he didn't, in the end, need any help from his cousins. Sure they came, aunts offering their helping hand, but he needed no help, he managed fine on his own. It was true he was the only child so they all assumed he was incapable of managing everything, to know how things were done. But his mother was ninth in the long line of children that Old Took had and she knew all about sharing responsibilities and she wasn't the one to leave her son helpless without knowledge how things were done.

So when his time to be the head of the house, maybe an empty house, but still his, he was up for the job. His pantry was always respectably full, floors clean, rooms tidy. He was a pleasant host and he did continue to throw parties, smaller than those his mother did, but he understood importance of being seen, being a part of the community.

That's how his days went, he went visiting, and got visited. He worked his garden, it was one of best around, prepared his food with care not making the difference between eating alone or in company. If he was alone there was no need for sloppiness. And he was happy with his life. There was some social pressure about being alone in such big and nice house, and some lady glances were thrown his way but he opted to act like he didn't see it. Being inept in such business was the best option for him. All were too polite to ask him directly, and no one was close enough to pressure him directly. That was fine by him. He had his books and maps and he was consumed by them letting the world that was shown in them to swirl around his head. That way he never was truly alone.