Chapter 5

Bilbo tapped the end of his quill against the paper, resting his chin on one palm. He'd gotten all the way up to his retelling of their mishap in the Trollshaws when his inspiration had ground to a halt. He found himself questioning each detail of the event and how exactly to go about telling it, or whether to include certain parts (such as him getting sneezed on by a troll).

And this, he realized, was the easy part. He wasn't sure at all how he would go about writing down such events as his confrontation with Thorin on the wall, or the battle, or anything that had happened afterwards. He wasn't certain he could bring himself to relive that part of the journey.

Then there were the extraordinary events that had occurred upon his return to the Shire. Even though he was done traveling, and there was no more danger to be found, wasn't that still part of his adventure? Where, exactly, did he find the point where the story ended?

Bilbo was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't notice Thorin had entered his study until a strand of dark hair tickled his cheek as the dwarf leaned forward to peer over his shoulder.

"What is this?"

"Nothing." Bilbo closed the book, heat flaring up onto his cheeks. "I was just...writing."

"About trolls?" Thorin moved around him and braced one hand on the desk, one eyebrow arching in amusement. "An interesting subject."

"Indeed," Bilbo said, his lips twitching in response. It really wasn't fair, he contemplated, that Thorin was so attractive—it was making any form of obstinance on his part rather difficult. "All right, fine. I was writing my account of the quest." He settled one hand protectively over the book. "But you can't read it yet."

"And why is that?" His brows lowered, though it did nothing to diminish the amusement in his eyes. "I was there too, remember? I doubt you have written anything that would surprise me."

"But it's not done yet," Bilbo said. "I will let you see once I have finished, and not before." Though at what point he would be done was up for debate.

"Very well." Thorin smiled and leaned closer. "I look forward to reading it."

Bilbo tilted his head up and accepted the kiss, warmth flooding his body. It had been over a month since he had reunited with Thorin, and there had been many more kisses in between then and now, yet he still couldn't quite get used to the sensation of his lips against Thorin's.

When they broke apart, Bilbo stood up and stretched. His writing could wait for now. "I think I fancy a smoke outside. Would you like to join me?"

"Of course." Thorin linked arms with him, and they left the study together.

Bag End really had been built for two people, Bilbo realized as they walked through the halls together. His father had built it as a wedding gift for his mother, with the intention of spending the rest of his life with her there. After their passing, Bilbo had attributed the echoing emptiness in its rooms to grief. But now, living here with Thorin, he noticed the house didn't feel as vacant as it once had.

Though that could possibly be attributed to the return of the majority of his furniture. After a month of knocking on doors, assuring people that he was, in fact, not dead, and handing over more coin than he would have liked, Bilbo had finally returned Bag End to its former furnished state.

Bilbo was quite literally knocked out of his thoughts as he turned the corner into the entrance hall and bumped into a small table. That was a piece he had retrieved only a few days ago, and it still surprised him every now and then.

"Ouch." He winced and rubbed his hip. "I'm still trying to get used to everything being where it's supposed to be."

"Careful, Master Burglar." Thorin grinned and used his grip on Bilbo's arm to pull him closer. "It seems you're losing your touch."

"Well, it's a bit difficult to be stealthier than a ghost," Bilbo said, prodding him with his elbow.

With his return, Thorin had shown a new side of himself. With no kingdom to run, no people to lead, and no dragons or orcs to worry about, this Thorin smiled more easily and was quicker to humor. The lines of tension on his shoulders and between his brows had faded somewhat.

Though Bilbo was overjoyed with this change, he still caught Thorin sometimes with a strange, almost melancholy look in his eyes. At times it seemed he didn't know what to do with himself, and Bilbo was unsure whether to attribute it to his lack of responsibility or his inability to truly interact with the world of the living.

The frosty guilt that began to creep over his gut at the thought quickly thawed as they stepped out into the sunlight. Summer was in full swing, and the smell of fresh grass and fresh fruit soon lifted his spirits.

They took a seat under the oak tree and lit their pipes, sending smoke rings up into the green-leaved boughs and conversing idly.

"So this is how you all live your lives in the Shire," Thorin said, his gaze wandering over the hobbits shopping at the market, strolling along the paths, tending to their gardens.

"How do you mean?"

"You've no worries about famine or war."

"Well, yes, those are rather drastic things to worry about," Bilbo said, then remembered who he was talking to. "I mean...well. I suppose we're all rather removed from any risk of danger. And when we are not eating food, many hobbits are either growing or making it."

"The food I can understand," Thorin said. "But you've no defenses. In all my time I've spent passing through the Shire or living here now, I've never seen a single guard."

"Some of the folk near the Brandywine know how to use weapons—small bows and such. And the rangers in the north lend a hand in protecting the Shire from time to time." Bilbo reached over and squeezed Thorin's arm. "You needn't worry. The Shire hasn't been attacked since the Fell Winter, and that was decades ago."

"I remember that winter," Thorin said, the lines on his face hardening as his gaze was lost to memory. "But I had no idea the Shire had been attacked."

"The river froze over, and orcs and wolves crossed it and attacked. And we actually did run short on food that year, because the cold killed most of the crops." Bilbo tapped the stem of his pipe against his knee, his own memories swirling to the forefront of his mind. "I wasn't even of age then, but I still remember it."

He remembered the cold, and the hunger, and the numb shock of finding out how many hobbits had died years before their time, whether from illness or between the jaws of a wolf.

"Even after all of that, I don't think I ever truly appreciated how lucky I am to live here until I met you and the rest of the Company. How lucky I am to...to not have to worry about those things."

A moment after he'd said this, Bilbo thought his words might have come off as insensitive, but when Thorin spoke, it was without resentment. "You are indeed fortunate. And you chose to come with me and my Company anyway."

"Well." Bilbo smiled, a bit of red coloring his cheeks. "I had no idea what I was getting into, then. And I did try to leave at one point."

"You came back."

"Yes, I suppose that's true." Bilbo sighed and closed his eyes, leaning his head against Thorin's shoulder. Despite himself, he had come to care for the dwarves by the time they had reached the Misty Mountains, and it was that caring that had spurred him on into danger to help them reclaim their home.

At times, Bilbo wondered what would he would do if he could go back and make that choice again. Had he turned away that night and made his way back to Rivendell, he would never have made lifelong friends of Bofur, Balin, and the rest. He would have never seen the wonders that lay east of the Misty Mountains, or fallen in love with Thorin.

Then again, if he had turned back, he would have been spared the pain of having to leave it all behind.

All things considered, Bilbo was a creature of comfort, and he much preferred sitting here in the shade with a pipe in hand to battling orcs. There was no power in the world that would allow him to change what had already happened, so he would have to be content with what he had.

They lingered under the tree for another hour or so, until the summer heat (and Bilbo's stomach) prompted them to return indoors.

On his way back inside, Bilbo spotted Hamfast leaving his garden and waved to him.

"Garden's comin' along quite nicely, Mister Bilbo!" Hamfast walked up to the fence, taking off his hat so he could scratch at the top of his head. "Rather fortunate, all things considered…"

Bilbo tilted his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm not sure what to make of it." Hamfast replaced his hat, a small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Never seen something like this happen before."

He felt his brow furrow. Hamfast rarely frowned, and if he was doing it now, it meant something was wrong. Though, he reminded himself, whatever was the matter could hardly be more dangerous than a fallen tree or a loose herd of goats. "What happened?"

"Eh…" Hamfast rocked back and forth on his heels for a moment. "Well, it's really better if you come see for yourself."

Now Bilbo was more intrigued than anything, though he couldn't ignore the small seed of worry that went along with it. "Lead the way, then."

He followed Hamfast down the path, with Thorin close behind.

"Do you have any idea what the problem could be?" Thorin asked.

Bilbo opened his mouth to respond, then caught himself at the last second and simply shook his head. They would find out soon enough.

Hamfast led them the short distance to his own home, then round back. As soon as the garden came into view, Bilbo realized what was wrong, and let out a small, "Oh."

His first thought was that some naughty group of tweens had procured a ridiculous amount of ink and dumped it all over the garden. A large portion of it had been stained a deep black. But as he looked closer, he realized it wasn't only the color that had changed. Only the vaguest shapes of vegetables and leaves remained, and it had all wilted against the pitch-colored soil in a miserable heap.

"My best guess is that it's some sort of rot, but…" Hamfast trailed off and cleared his throat. "I've never seen anything like this."

The plants around the affected area were brown and drooping, and seemed to be on their way to ending up like their neighbors. Bilbo stepped into the garden and crouched down, gingerly touching a blackened lump that could have been a tomato once. The surface yielded slightly to the pressure of his finger, though it seemed much more dry than even a rotten fruit should be.

The soil, too, was almost ash-like in consistency. It reminded him immediately of the earth around the Lonely Mountain, and how the whole land had been scorched by dragon fire. He knew in that moment that nothing would be growing here for many years.

Thorin knelt down next to him, and Bilbo turned to shoot him a questioning glance.

"I've never seen anything like this before," Thorin said. "Even when Smaug set fire to the area around the mountain, it was clear that the plants had been burned. These just look...dead."

Bilbo frowned and stood up, turning back to Hamfast. "I'm so sorry, Hamfast. This is terrible."

"Aye," the hobbit nodded, then cleared his throat again. "Strangest thing, too, is there was no warnin' sign of it. Yesterday the whole lot was healthy. It's as if it all happened overnight."

"Overnight?" Bilbo lifted his gaze to the silhouette of the tree upon Bag End. A streak of uneasiness churned in his gut. "Are you sure you didn't see anything strange yesterday? Plant anything new?"

"No." Hamfast planted his hands on his hips and surveyed his garden for what must have been the twentieth time that day, though Bilbo could see in his eyes that he was still at a loss. "Highly irregular, all of it."

"Very irregular, indeed." Bilbo turned back to the garden and copied his pose. The whole thing would have to be dug up, and hopefully it wouldn't spread anywhere else. If such a rot ended up in their crops, the whole community would have a serious problem on their hands.

"Well…" Hamfast straightened up and rolled his shoulders. "I don't mean to be layin' any of my problems on you, Mister Bilbo. Thanks for comin' down and takin' a look, though."

"We could dump this all by the gully once we dig it up."

"What's that, Mister Bilbo?"

"The gully," he repeated. "Northwest of here. That's the least likely location for it to spread to somewhere else."

The gully was an unusual feature of Hobbiton, and quite visibly so—nothing grew there. It was all worn gray rock, and had once been the site of a creek that had long since dried up. It wasn't very close by, but it would have to do.

"Oh." Hamfast blinked a couple times, then seemed to recover. "Right, then. Old Will down the street borrowed my wheelbarrow, so I'll get it back from him and see if he'll lend a hand." Hamfast set off towards the road.

Bilbo turned back to Thorin, who was staring at the blackened mess with a distant gaze. "Do you think…" He was almost afraid to ask, but then again it was only an idea. "Do you think this could have something to do with the tree?"

Thorin met his eyes, his expression indecipherable. "You think this was caused by magic?"

"Well, something this sudden…" Bilbo gestured at the blackened mess with one hand as though the movement would convey what his words could not.

"That, or it could have been deliberately done. Does Hamfast have any enemies? Someone who would want to cause him harm?" Thorin stepped back and surveyed the area once more, as if looking for a trace of this unknown perpetrator.

"Enemies?" Bilbo almost laughed at the idea before remembering that Thorin had lived in a world quite different from his own. "Well, no. I mean, he's never quite gotten along with Sandyman the miller, but…" He shook his head. "Even the most hostile of rivalries would never result in something like this."

If someone had done this intentionally, they would have to be quite cruel—and have access to whatever magic or substance had caused this level of rot. Now that he thought about it, if it was magic, Bilbo had a hard time believing that it could be the same kind that had caused the tree to flourish above his home. How could a power capable of causing life and happiness bring about death and misery as well?

The comforting weight of Thorin's hand on his shoulder lifted Bilbo from his thoughts.

"We'll find the cause of this," he said. "And make sure it does not happen to anyone else."

A slight smile lifted Bilbo's lips. Even without a kingdom to rule, it appeared Thorin had not yet lost his sense of responsibility for the wellbeing of others.

Shortly afterwards, Hamfast returned with Will and his wheelbarrow, and they set to the arduous task of cleaning up the garden. The rotten vegetables were not particularly difficult to remove, though once disturbed they gave off an unsettling sickly odor. It took them about five trips to the gully to clear up the whole mess, and the sun was well on its way to the western horizon by the time they finished.

"Thanks to the both of you," Hamfast said, wiping his forehead and smearing some of the blackened soil onto his skin. "Truly appreciate it."

"Always glad to help," Will said, going to tuck his hands into his suspenders before realizing how filthy they were, and choosing instead to let them hang at his sides.

"It was no trouble, really," Bilbo said, glancing at his own stained palms. They had used shovels to load the wheelbarrow, but with its fine consistency, the soil had had a tendency to get absolutely everywhere, so none of them were close to what would be considered clean.

"How would you both like to stay for dinner? I'm sure you both must be starvin' after workin' for so long," Hamfast said.

Will grinned. "I could never turn down Bell Gamgee's cooking."

"Well…" Bilbo faltered as Hamfast turned to him expectantly. Hungry as he was, all he really wanted at the moment was to climb into a hot bath, get himself clean, and relax for a while. "I should really get washed up," he said, forcing a smile. "I'm in no state to sit at a dinner table."

"You could use our bath," Hamfast said.

"Really, I wouldn't want to trouble you." Bilbo resisted the urge to shove his hands into his pockets. Thorin had returned to Bag End once they had started to work, and Bilbo suspected it was because he resented not being able to help. That was something they needed to talk about, and he would hardly feel comfortable leaving him alone because he had been invited to dinner.

"It wouldn't be any trouble," Hamfast said, the slightest of furrows in his brow. "I thought you'd might like some company since—well." He stopped himself in the middle of his sentence, but the implication still hung in the air. Will shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

"Since I live alone?" Bilbo finished for him, his voice a tad rougher than he'd intended. That was hardly the case anymore, but he couldn't tell them that. "I assure you, I am quite content with that arrangement. It was never a problem before I went...away, and it is most certainly not an issue now. I'll thank you to let me handle my own business."

And before he could scold himself for his harsh words, or apologize for them, or even begin to ponder why he had said them in the first place, Bilbo had already turned on his heel and marched out of the yard and back towards his house.

Poor Hamfast :( You guys have any ideas as to what might have ruined his garden?

From here the plot is going to pick up a bit (because yes, this is more than just a fix-it fic) and we'll see some darker themes later on. Nothing too dark, but there is a reason angst is the second genre for this story ;)

That bit about Bilbo wondering what he would do if he could go back and change things was a little nod to all the time travel fix-it fics that exist in this fandom. This particular one won't have any of that but it's one of my favorite tropes.

Anyway, thanks so much for reading this chapter, and I hope you enjoyed it! Huge thanks to Anno1701 and Yana5 for the nice comments. They really make my day. Feel free to leave a comment for this chapter if you have any theories about what's going on, or if you liked/disliked anything.

Until next time!