Author's Note: As I mentioned in the previous chapter, back when I was first outlining this story in my head, it actually spanned past the Hobbit into a sequel that was meant as an alternate LOTR. Given the years (decade) it took me to finish this fic, I don't think it will ever happen. But hopefully, this epilogue gives you an idea of what it would've looked like. I left a few things ambiguous, mostly so that you, my dear readers, can fill in the blanks as you see fit. But please know, even though this ending is rather open, my intention was for, ultimately, a happy ending.

Also, despite his absence (or perhaps, only his haunting) in this fic, I want you to know I love Bilbo Baggins. I hope I did that love justice here.

Thank you all for reading, for your kind comments, your constructive comments, your favorites, and your follows. I thought of you every time I opened my docs to write and it's because of you that I had the conviction to finish this fic.

It had started as an exceptionally ordinary day for one Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, up until he had decided to go to the market. It was a place that Bilbo usually avoided, the market, instead often opting to pay his gardener's apprentice, Hamfast Gamgee, to take up the errand for him. This was unusual by hobbit standards, Bilbo could admit, but despite his best efforts Bilbo was considered an unusual hobbit. He was well-known from Stock to Michel Delving, and even those who had not ever formally met him could identify him on sight if they were paying attention.

So, Bilbo avoided the market, not that anyone could blame him. In fact, it was one of the few things his neighbors did approve of, when it came to him. But it had been an exceptionally lovely spring day: the sky blue, the grass a vibrant green, and the Party Tree's leaves had unfurled.

It had been just after second breakfast when the idea occurred to him. It was a beautiful day, a shame to waste in his study and it hadn't been quite enough to sit smoking his pipe at his front gate. So, once his pipe had finished, Bilbo returned inside to fetch his basket, shrugged on his favorite green jacket with golden embroidery, and pulled his great round door shut behind him.

His head was full of thoughts, as it usually was, but this time not of his books, or of where some of the unusual items in his home had come from, or managing the affairs of the Baggins family as its head. Instead, a plan for elevensies was pulling together and as Bilbo continued down Bagshot Row, he admitted to himself that he had not looked this forward to anything in a very long time.

When Bilbo had reached the market, it was exactly as he had hoped. At midmorning, the lawn in front of the Green Dragon Inn was overflowing with stalls, farmers with their wheelbarrows or wrangling their livestock, little ones laughing as they chased one another. Customers and merchants alike were haggling, every so often shouting to be heard over the crowd.

It was perfect, Bilbo decided as he slipped into the crowd. He hadn't realized how much he had missed the sounds of others no matter how loud and boisterous. Even the suspicious eyes that were already on him wouldn't make him turn back, not for anything.

Bilbo knew better though than to linger. The longer he stayed the greater the odds that others would recognize him. No one would turn him away, hobbit propriety wouldn't allow anyone to, but Bilbo was such an oddity that any cheer around him would turn to whispers. And it was so lovely to be among others, Bilbo didn't want to sour such a special morning.

So, Bilbo busied himself, stopping first at the cheesemaker and was pleased to find a wheel of soft cheese wrapped in rind and cloth and a wedge of cheddar. The lass running the stand was clearly not from Hobbiton because she smiled sunnily at Bilbo and wished him a good day. Master Worrywort was next, who gave Bilbo an almost-smile while Bilbo selected turnips and fingerlings, his feet shifting nervously. Next was the fishmonger who had fresh trout that caught Bilbo's eye.

It wasn't until Bilbo had decided on his last stop at the baker's stand when his impromptu outing finally took a turn. Two hobbits, a Boffin and a Chubb by the looks of them, were standing close together heads bent, a telltale sign of gossip about to be shared. However, as many hobbits did when they had gossip, neither bothered to keep their voices down. Bilbo wasn't nearly so far behind on the comings and goings of other hobbits as others might think. Holman and Hamfast were never ones to withhold any rumors or news from Bilbo whenever they came to tend to his garden, adding to the long list of reasons he was so fond of them both.

When the little lad manning the baker's stand had finished with his customer and turned his attention to Bilbo, Bilbo stepped forward and absently gave his own request, ears straining and eyes widening once he picked up on the word 'outsiders.'

"Yes, yes," the Boffin was saying, "my cousin has a very reputable source who says they were in Woodhall just yesterday. Two of them on ponies and armed to the teeth, can you believe that?"

No- no it couldn't be.

"What could they want so far south," the Chubb wondered, "You don't think they'd be after the Mathom-house do you?"

Bilbo froze, breath coming in short and mind spinning frantically, as the lad wrapped his bread for him. No, it couldn't possibly be.

"What would dwarves want with mathoms?" the Boffin scoffed, "They've got plenty of their own, don't they? Anyway, he said that they were heading here – asked for directions and all!"

"Ah," said the Chubb in understanding. Bilbo reached up to rub the scar that ran through his eyebrow – a terrible habit he had taken on, it always drew people's attention - and found his hand was shaking. "They're here for Mad Baggins again? I saw him leave with them last time, did you know? With that wizard no less! It isn't right running off with dwarves of all creatures and now inviting them back-"

Bilbo's stomach dropped. Hurriedly, he passed over a handful of coins to the lad, not bothering to confirm that they had been ready or received and scooped up his bread, before bolting.

Not at a run, of course not, Bilbo's reputation may have already been trodden into the dirt but he still had some dignity. Bilbo did not pay any mind to the stares, there were so many and now Bilbo knew why. No Bilbo, wouldn't stop, couldn't stop, until he reached the top of Bagshot Row and his front gate came into sight.

But it was his front gate that gave him pause. It was open. And, once Bilbo's eyes trailed up the garden path, he found the reason why. A figure stood before his door. Bilbo's heart sped up for a painful moment before he let out a long exhale as he realized what he was looking at or rather who. It was a single person, thankfully, and reasonably sized. Hobbit gossip could almost always be trusted about outsiders and Bilbo knew this was no dwarf.

But who could possibly be visiting? Even his relations had stopped sniffing around once the mayor had conceded almost nine years ago that Bilbo was indeed alive and the sole owner of Bag End.

Emboldened by the relief that it is was only a hobbit and his own curiosity in equal measure, Bilbo pulled the gate closed behind him. His visitor turned at the sound and as Bilbo made his way up the path and Bilbo gave them a full onceover. Bilbo's first thought was they were a lad with their too-large shirt and trousers, their suspenders twisted. But he quickly discarded it almost before it was fully formed, her heart shaped face and long curly hair that was piled haphazardly on her head and tied with a yellow ribbon giving her away.

"Good morning," Bilbo said once he was reasonably close, and instantly regretted it as he recognized who exactly it was in front of his door.

Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.

Whatever small joy Bilbo still had from being at the market before stumbling across gossip about dwarves, washed away entirely.

Bilbo couldn't quite say what exactly about Lobelia set him so on edge, seeing her before his door, besides the obvious. Perhaps it was her strange manner of dress, so different from the frills and layers of fine cloth the she usually wore and her infamous parasol was also missing. Perhaps it was the look on her face, unsettlingly smooth and a picture of polite expectedness that Bilbo had never seen on Lobelia, not before or after her and her husband's frankly audacious claim on Bag End while Bilbo had been- well, away.

"Good morning," Lobelia returned. There was no undercurrent of prickliness in her voice either, even if her vowels were flat, her consonants short, Bilbo noticed, feeling uneasy. And she still hadn't moved from her spot directly before his door which was much more expected from Lobelia.

It was clever, Bilbo hated to admit, though Lobelia had a crafty underhandedness to her that outstripped her husband by leagues. Bilbo had not a doubt that Lobelia's timing was no accident. With Bilbo out of the house, and clearly returning from somewhere, Bilbo was unable to hide within his burrow out of sight of his windows until she left, nor was he able to claim that he had important errands to run.

"I must say this is unexpected," Bilbo finally said, schooling his expression into one of pleasant surprise. Lobelia may have caught him wrong-footed but he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing just how bothersome this really was. "I wasn't aware we had business, cousin."

Lobelia's expression, to Bilbo's surprise, shifted to what Bilbo would call amusement on any other hobbit, before her expression returned back to placidness. "I'm afraid we do, Bilbo," Lobelia told him, her words still forming so strangely, "and it can't wait."

Of course it couldn't. Bilbo was by now old friends with Lobelia's lack of patience and overabundance of self-importance. There would be no getting rid of her now until she said her piece, no matter how little Bilbo wished to hear it.

"Well then, come in, come in," Bilbo said blandly, pleased that he hadn't lost his tight reign on his own politeness as he had suspected. Holman and Hamfast were both patient and unflappable, which made it difficult for Bilbo to determine how badly his manners had slipped over the years with so few guests and even fewer invitations for visits from others. "You are a bit early for tea but I have yet to sit down for elevensies."

Finally, Lobelia stepped aside and to Bilbo's shock even took his basket from him to allow him to open his door. Bilbo's mind raced through all the possibilities for this unexpected visit and Lobelia's odd behavior and could only settle on the one reason that had ever brought Lobelia or Otho to his door for years.

Bracing himself for what would come next Bilbo moved into the kitchen and began the process of stoking the embers in his fireplace and filling the kettle. When Bilbo turned back to his guest he was surprised again, this time to see Lobelia's eyes not wandering over the contents of his hobbit hole, the way they always did the handful of times she and Otho came to call over the years, but instead fixed directly on Bilbo.

Wrong-footed once more so quickly after the first, Bilbo was annoyed to find that he was staring back before catching himself. Clearing his throat, Bilbo busied himself with choosing tea leaves and preparing the teapot, unpacking his basket, and laying out an extra table setting.

Finally, unable to resist, Bilbo rested both hands flat atop his table and said plainly, "I must say, Lobelia, if this is about Bag End, you will need to speak to the mayor as was agreed if you have any more concerns you'd like to claim."

It was Lobelia's turned to look surprised, though if Bilbo hadn't been looking for it, he would have missed the change in her expression.

"Bag End?" Lobelia repeated, and Bilbo was vindicated to hear surprise color her voice now, too, "No, no, I'm not here for Bag End. This is your home."

Bilbo's eyebrows shot up before he could stop them. To hear Lobelia admit such even just between the two of them was unexpected to say the least. Then what was the point of the years of legalities if she agreed? Bilbo resisted the urge to sigh – he knew the point. Lobelia was not one to go down without a fight, even if it was one that she knew she would lose.

Bilbo was given a few moments to collect himself as the kettle whistled and he turned his attention to pouring the hot water and waiting for the tea to steep. Bilbo turned over a few more ideas as to why Lobelia could possibly be here before settling on, "If this is regarding compensation for Bag End's deed, then I must insist that you pursue the same course."

Now Lobelia was truly frowning, so much closer to what Bilbo was used to that it actually helped to soothe his jittery nerves.

"I don't want compensation," Lobelia said, eyes watching as Bilbo moved to pour them tea. She thanked him quietly, which was disconcerting, before continuing, "I need your help."

"Help?" Bilbo repeated with a laugh before he could stop himself, cursing his lack of self-control even in such uncharted territory. He took a breath to blow away the steam from his teacup, and if he was being truthful to steady himself, and then asked, "What could you possibly need my help with?"

Lobelia's face was again smooth, her hands clasped in her lap, and teacup untouched. Lobelia's eyes moved to glance out the window, unfocused, before returning to meet Bilbo's. "I'm not sure yet," she admitted, "But I'm afraid, given the circumstances I've found us in, we're meant to go together."

Bilbo stared, displeasure mounting. "While I have always been fond of riddles, cousin," Bilbo shot back, horrifically impulsive, but he was at his wits end with this visit, "I must say you are trying my patience."

"I'm sorry, I know this must be," Lobelia paused briefly before settling on, "strange. But this is important."

Bilbo could feel his temper fraying, on its last tendrils as he snapped, "I don't know how much more clear I can be, Lobelia, Bag End-"

"I'm not here for Bag End," Lobelia insisted again, looking exasperated which only ignited Bilbo's ire further. Lobelia was the one acting peculiar, not the other way around. "Where is the ring?"

Bilbo froze, wrong-footed thrice now. He resisted the urge to do what he couldn't decide. Jump out of his chair? Look toward his parlor's mantle for reassurance? Insist Lobelia get out?

Finally, Bilbo settled on a weak, "Pardon?"

"The ring," Lobelia said, eyes solemn in a way that Bilbo had never seen from her, "Small, plain, and gold."

How, Bilbo wondered in horror, tea long forgotten, how could Lobelia have known – it was impossible, he had never left Lobelia or Otho unattended in Bag End, not ever, even when his mind was still foggy after his return, he still some sense left. But that would mean that they had – that they had –

This time Bilbo did decide, bursting out of his chair with a speed that surprised him, and Lobelia too, who had flinched back at his sudden movement.

"While your visit has been a delight," Bilbo declared already halfway into the great hall, voice shaking with what he couldn't say. Perhaps anger, perhaps fear. "I believe we are finished as I have much to do."

Bilbo turned, his hand on his door handle and halfway through pulling it open, and was relieved to see that Lobelia had the good sense to get up from her chair to stand, facing him. He was even more relieved when she began to follow his directions.

She moved slowly, eyes unfocused, absurdly tripping over her own feet in the archway between to great hall and his parlor. Finally, she reached him, and Bilbo could hear her take her own deep breath.

"I'm sorry," she said again, and Bilbo had lost count already of the number of times she had said such. He had heard that phrase more today than the entirety of his acquaintance with her or even from the rest of the Sackville-Baggins branch. "I didn't mean to scare you. But this is important."

Meeting her eyes, Bilbo shivered again. There was something not quite right about the hobbit in front of him at that moment, or even this entire visit. Lobelia's eyes were near-black even with the late morning light streaming in from the windows. Lobelia's eyes had always been hazel, Bilbo recalled suddenly as realization settled low and heavy in his stomach and feeling much more like dread, along with all her Bracegirdle kin.

Bilbos hair stood on end, from the crown of his head to top of his feet. Suddenly it felt too cold in Bag End. "You are not Lobelia."

Bilbo bit his tongue as soon as those words left his lips. What had happened to propriety? To his propriety? To even rationality itself?

But he couldn't take it back because for all of his indelicacy in declaring such, he knew as his own words settled over him that for certain this was not Lobelia. This was something else entirely. All the pieces from the time he found her on his doorstep to now were falling into place: Her odd dress, the way she spoke, her disregard for Bag End, her request for his help. But what could such a creature be doing in the Shire? What kind of creature?

Not-Lobelia watched Bilbo carefully, eyes considering, which only solidified Bilbo's suspicion. Bilbo tried very hard not to think of all the things that could be standing in his home.

"No, I'm not," Not-Lobelia said slowly, calmly, as if they were speaking of the weather or afternoon plans, "My name is Laura."

Laura. A common enough name for a hobbit. His grandmother's name in fact, which any hobbit of Hobbiton would know, including Lobelia. But why choose it?

"What are you?" Bilbo wanted to know, a bolt of boldness running through him, which he would later marvel at. This creature was nothing he had ever heard of, not through tales or books.

To her credit, Not-Lobelia looked, in that moment, just as lost as Bilbo felt. It was hardly the boon that Bilbo wished it was. "I," Not-Lobelia started, before haltingly admitting, "I'm not sure."

"Why are you here?" Bilbo asked instead, after a beat during which Not-Lobelia offered nothing else.

This brought more confidence as Not-Lobelia's shoulders straightened, her hands uncurling from where her fingers had wound themselves through the excess fabric of her trousers.

"I started something for you," Not-Lobelia said, voice faint but eyes sharp, "I'm so sorry, I never thought – they said I had finished. But then they offered and so I." Not-Lobelia took a deep breath, "Here I am again and this time you are, too."

Bilbo and Not-Lobelia stared at each other for a long stretch. Bilbo's mind turned over her words slowly, examining each of them carefully, all the while his heart hammered away at his ribs, his hands growing slick with sweat. His mind began to circle, round and round, so much so that Bilbo's thoughts were muddled, clouded, like the Brandywine River when as a fauntling he'd kick up too much silt. But there was one thought that shone through, bright and painful.

"You were the reason I left." Bilbo said quietly, horror digging its claws into his chest. He could hardly breathe. "And the reason I have no memory of it."

Not-Lobelia looked stricken, her face so open, expression so bare, it looked almost painful for her, too, when she said, "Yes."

Bilbo took one breath, and then two, and then recited the elven numbers from one to twenty. It wasn't working though. None of it was working. He couldn't breathe – he couldn't be here – he needed –

"Get out," Bilbo meant to shout, but could not catch enough breath to do so, and it came out hardly more than a whisper. "Get out," he said again, a little more loudly, already stumbling back down his hall. He needed to get away, he needed to think.

Bilbo barely heard Not-Lobelia call his name behind him as he slid, undignified, around the corner and he thought he could hear the echo of his front door closing which he realized shamefully even through his panic that he had left wide open. He did not stop until he had made his way hurriedly down the west hall and wrenching open the last door on the left.

A short gasping breath finally came to Bilbo as he fell back against the chest of drawers that had been his for most of his life, until his mother had passed and he had moved into the main bedroom. Bilbo slid to the floor, hand over his mouth and staring as the sheet that protected his childhood bed from dust fluttered in reply to his passing.

Bilbo took a large, albeit shaky, breath. Then another. He watched as the dust he had kicked up during his flight caught the sunlight streaming through the only window on the far side of the room. He scolded himself, even as his heart still beat erratically, for shirking his attention to his old room. It was now the guest room, and though he had not had a guest come to stay for over a decade, it was still an embarrassment. It was hardly as though he had a busy schedule keeping him from housekeeping.

Bilbo wasn't sure how long he stayed where he was, trying to pull his scattered thoughts together and get his heart to slow. It likely wasn't long, as the shadows of the furniture hardly moved at all, when a new shadow joined them. Bilbo glanced up and met the eyes of Not-Lobelia.

Oh.

They watched each other, gazes never wavering, as Not-Lobelia shifted from foot to foot before inching closer to where Bilbo had curled himself against the chest of drawers. He couldn't help but feel trapped, absurd given he was in his own home, but realized he had no way out other than through the window. It was only the possibility that one of the neighbors would spot him and shred what little remained of his reputation that stopped Bilbo from following through.

"Hello," Not-Lobelia finally said, voice soft as she came to a stop less than an arm's reach away.

After a long and frankly awkward pause, Not-Lobelia leaned down, arm outstretched, "Here."

Bilbo finally broke their stare, glancing down to what she was offering. It was a teacup. His teacup, he recognized the blue pattern. It was still steaming slightly. Bilbo glanced up to find Not-Lobelia watching him. Bilbo couldn't help but watch back. Not-Lobelia seemed to be a patient creature which was jarring, given what Lobelia's usual temperament was like, as she didn't seem to mind at all to wait for Bilbo to turn over his thoughts once more.

Finally, Bilbo reached out in turn, accepting the cup and saucer, not with a smile or thank you as he was not in a state to offer either, but he at least gave a nod of his head. Bilbo couldn't completely throw all his manners away.

Unfortunately, Not-Lobelia seemed to take it as an invitation, as she settled across from him on the floor, leaning against the bed. Her knees were pushed up into peaks, and she crossed her arms loosely over her stomach.

Thankfully, Not-Lobelia was kind enough not to meet his eyes. Instead, Bilbo watched her watch his teacup, even as he lifted it to his mouth for something to do with his hands. It wasn't until the dust settled completely before Not-Lobelia said so quietly that had she not been sitting so close Bilbo would have missed it, "I'm sorry for scaring you. And I'm sorry – I'm not explaining this well."

Bilbo didn't want her apologies or her guilt. He wanted answers.

"Why are you here?" Bilbo asked again, pleased to find his voice firm, his words steady.

Lobelia seemed unsure where to rest her eyes and Bilbo watched as they flitted between him, his teacup, the rocking chair pushed in the corner, before finally landing on Bilbo once more.

"This time," Not-Lobelia started slowly, carefully, clearly choosing her words delicately, "I wanted to be here. But the first time I, I didn't ask for it." Not-Lobelia's eyes finally moved away from his teacup to meet his gaze squarely, "I certainly didn't volunteer. I was brought here the first time. By the powers that are here."

Powers? Bilbo thought back to his library, to the elven texts he had taken to translating over the last decade. The stories they contained about the creation of the world. But that couldn't be possible. Could it?

Not-Lobelia didn't seem to notice, or maybe mind, as she continued, "But I - the ring. I think it's why I was brought here the first time. I found it. I carried it." Not-Lobelia cleared her throat as she broke their gaze for only a moment before her eyes returned to meet his, "And it came back with you."

And there it was again. The ring. It was something important, the way she spoke of it, something special. It was certainly a strange little thing, that had turned the world a frightening grey, noises too-sharp, the one and only time Bilbo had worn it. But Bilbo had chalked it up his mind still recovering. Bilbo resisted the urge to set down his teacup, to lean forward. If he did so, Not-Lobelia would surely see his shaking hands, "The ring?"

Not-Lobelia nodded, her face solemn, almost sad. "Yes. It's a magic ring. It protected me – us. It lets us disappear. But it leaves something behind. Nightmares. I never went a night without them after I found it. I think they're why I'm here too. I was meant to protect you from them."

Protect me? Bilbo wanted to laugh. You stole from me. But Bilbo could not find it within himself to be cruel to this creature. For all of its falseness there was nothing scheming he could find in its words, its actions. It was a truthful thing, whatever Not-Lobelia was. Though, perhaps, that was just as frightening.

There was another long stretch as they both breathed. Then Bilbo chose and asked his next question,

"What were they?" Not-Lobelia tilted her head, brows furrowed slightly, and Bilbo hastened to clarify, "The nightmares?"

For the first time since they had met, Not-Lobelia looked uncomfortable. Scared, even, if Bilbo were to put a finer point to it.

"They were always the same." Not-Lobelia offered, mind clearly elsewhere. Perhaps she was reliving them, "Darkness and fire."

Bilbo shivered. The elven texts he had read through were very pointed regarding those two particular features. They always lead back to one thing.

As if she had heard his thoughts, Not-Lobelia pushed on, "It's evil. The ring. I didn't believe it at first, not until. Well. I had thoughts when I had it that I don't think I would have ever had on my own," Not-Lobelia looked lost. "And I think it wanted to stay. I wanted it to stay. To keep."

Bilbo watched as Not-Lobelia eyes flitted to the ground, her hands curled into too-big trousers. There was nothing desperate in her demeanor, nothing to point to untruthfulness, and Bilbo knew that she was not. Not-Lobelia, whatever she was, was not trying to lie or trick.

"Let us agree," Bilbo said after another long moment, waiting for Not-Lobelia to look back at him before continuing, "Let us agree it is a magic ring." An evil ring. Bilbo resisted the urge to shiver. "What is it you ask of me, Lobelia?"

For the first time since their meeting at his door, Not-Lobelia truly smiled. It was a smile Bilbo recognized well, never on Lobelia but on his Took cousins when they were all small, right before they revealed their newest plot of mischief. "An adventure."

"To where," Bilbo asked before he could stop himself, his blasted curiosity overriding his good sense to run as far as he could from whatever this creature was.

"Rivendell," she offered, slowly again but this time sounding uncertain, as if unsure of the word, then paused before adding much more confidently, "To Elrond."

Bilbo shivered. Adventure indeed. Imladris was beyond the Shire, beyond Bree, where so few hobbits had ever ventured. He couldn't, couldn't possibly.

But Bilbo could feel his Tookish side rear its head, and he wished to learn whatever this creature could tell him about what he was missing. Of his- their- journey east that had taken him – them - away from home a decade ago that he still could not remember, and, given what he had now learned, never would. Of the little sword he had hidden beneath his mattress for so long. Of the silver shirt that was cool to the touch no matter the time of year.

Bilbo wanted. And any protests from his Baggins side were being drowned out.

Afterall, this was not the first time he had ached for it. With his standing in Hobbiton, the entirety of the Shire truly, as it had been for the past decade, he found it harder and harder to want to stay. The Shire would always be his home, there was no doubt. But there was such a world out there waiting for him outside his door.

And Rivendell – why, after all of his mother's stories, after reading his father's books again and again - to see elves, to see the magic of Imladris, for himself was almost too much of a dream come true to refuse. And this creature, whoever they were, spoke of Elrond - and without his title no less! - as if they knew him.

But – but –

Bilbo was honest enough with himself to admit that he was a pariah of his kin, even to his more wild Took cousins. To have disappeared with a wizard and a company of dwarves only to return with a second wizard who offered no explanation to anyone, whether it had truly been him or not, had caused irreparable damage to his standing in the Shire. It was only the memory of his own father's reputation that kept him as the head of the Baggins family.

And it was the Baggins side that reared its head, then.

"I could not possibly," Bilbo protested. "I have responsibility here and I am now sixty, Lobelia. My days as a reckless fauntling are long behind me. Adventures have no place with me."

Not-Lobelia nodded, looking wholly unsurprised, her face was awash with sympathy. Like being struck with lightning, Bilbo recalled her words: I did not ask for it. If it were true, and Bilbo knew he had no evidence to suspect otherwise, then Not-Lobelia knew very well, indeed.

"I understand," Not-Lobelia assured him, voice gentle as a summer's rain. "I don't think I can do this without you, Bilbo. And neither do they, otherwise," Not-Lobelia's voice trailed off, unsure once more.

But Bilbo picked up her meaning, hand trembling as he lifted the teacup to his lips. Otherwise she would not be here as she was. And neither would he. Again.

"I have nothing to offer you, really," Not-Lobelia said, laughter lurking beneath her words, and Bilbo couldn't help but let the corner of his mouth lift in reply, "But I'll tell you whatever you'd like," Not-Lobelia swore, expression determined, as she leaned forward to settle on her knees and outstretched her hand, "Whatever you ask, whatever happens on our journey, I promise honesty."

Bilbo eyed her outstretched hand. "I can only promise you Rivendell."

Not-Lobelia beamed, relief washing over every corner of her face. "That's all I need. Elrond," Not-Lobelia paused, frowning, thinking. Her hand went limp, arm resting on one knee. Bilbo tried not to lean much closer in eagerness. "I think he knew what I was, when we were there. The way he looked at me." Not-Lobelia's expression shifted again, this time to awe, "Rivendell, it's a place of magic. I know he'll be able to help."

Magic, Bilbo thought with another shiver. Magic indeed. And magic or powers or not, Bilbo wanted this. And wanted it, he did. Desperately.

And so, with much less hesitation than he knew he should have, Bilbo leaned forward, teacup abandoned on the floor, and let Not-Lobelia wrap her small fingers around Bilbo's own. They were warm. Bilbo's thoughts whirled as his heart beat loudly in his ears, shifting through everything he could remember reading about dark creatures. Cold. They were cold. Cold and fair. And foul.

Bilbo could admit that Not-Lobelia was not those things, whatever she was.

Well, Bilbo thought wryly, letting their hands fall away, there was nothing to be done for it now. Rivendell awaited them.

As they both pushed to their feet, Bilbo asked, "What should I call you?"

Not-Lobelia flinched, as though she had been struck. Bilbo could not help but feel a little sorry over her reaction. He hadn't meant his question to be kind but certainly not so very barbed either. But she seemed to shake it off quickly, her mouth quirked as if sharing a jest they were both meant to be in on.

"Lobelia," she replied simply, "That's who I am here."

"Lobelia Sackville-Baggins," Bilbo explained, even as his mind whispered to him, Laura. Her name is Laura, do not forget it. Names have power.

Once-More-Lobelia's head tilted, as if she was committing it to memory. Bilbo wonder how much the powers of Middle Earth had given her, if she hardly knew her name. Then she smiled, small and shy, "It'll be nice to have help this time. With being a hobbit. Gandalf hardly was."

Gandalf. Gandalf? Surely she did not mean - not the wander wizard who would pass through the Shire whenever it seemed to please him, toting behind him excellent fireworks.

His thoughts must have bled through onto his face, as Lobelia brightened, expression hopeful.

"Have you seen him?" Lobelia asked, stepping closer. Bilbo, on instinct, took a step back towards the door.

"Seen him?" Bilbo replied, confused, "But of course, he is quite difficult to miss."

"Why didn't you say so!" Lobelia exclaimed, clapping her hands together, "Where? Where is he?"

Bilbo's frowned deepened. "I should hardly be the one to know." It was now Lobelia's turn to frown even as Bilbo continued, "I haven't seen him since my coming of age."

Under any other circumstances it would have been almost comical, the way Lobelia's face fell. The nearest it had ever come was when the mayor had formally declared Bag End as Bilbo's rightfully. And even then, it was closely followed by shouting.

But Lobelia now looked devastated. As if she were a fauntling told that they would not be going to a friend's birthday party. "Oh."

"I'm sorry," Bilbo said, politeness taking over, "He was with you when you, you." Bilbo could not finish.

Lobelia nodded, understanding. "Yes. He had to leave us and I never saw him again after, but I had hoped that- that. Well."

Another long stretch of silence.

"When do we leave," Bilbo asked, hopeful in taking Lobelia's mind away from it.

Lobelia looked startled, then beamed, very much like when the sun broke through a cloud, and Bilbo tried not to stare overtly. If anything thus far confirmed that this was not in fact Lobelia, what was before him outstripped that by leagues. Lobelia smiling, genuine and bright. No hint of smugness, or meanness lurking below. Trickery nowhere to be found.

"Now," Lobelia told him.

Bilbo's stomach dropped. There was so much to do, to prepare, and he was just in the middle of translating an elven book of poetry that he couldn't possibly bring with him. His Baggins side pushed through again. This was madness.

Before his mind could take a terrible tumble into doubt again, Lobelia said, "I've already secured ponies for us."

Ponies. On the list of things to do that hardly made the cut. It was a footnote at best. Bilbo had to find his travelling gear, none of which had seen the light of day in decades or, at least, he realized, resignedly, not by him. He had to sort through the pantry for supplies which he knew would barely be enough to get them out of the Shire. He would have to leave instructions behind so that the disaster that had greeted him when he arrived home a decade ago wouldn't happen again. Though, Bilbo thought wryly, the lead culprit would be accompanying him this time.

Lobelia must have found his ponderings amusing, as she was smiling again as she asked, "Where would you like to start?"

Bilbo resisted the urge to narrow his eyes, a shiver of anticipation running up and down his spine. An excellent question. His pack was where it had been the last decade, untouched and buried deep beneath his winter coats in the chest at the foot of his bed. Bilbo moved into the hall, mind working. His raincoat was in the front hall still, having used it just three days past. His new and untouched bedroll, having never been able to find the one his mother had left him, was in his back room across the hall.

As part of his mind ticked off his necessities for their journey, he didn't notice at all that Lobelia was close behind him, not until she ran straight into him when he stopped suddenly in his bedroom doorway.

"Ah," Bilbo said, turning around to steady her. That wouldn't do. "Could I trouble you to begin in the kitchen?"

Lobelia didn't seem to mind the request, another difference from – her predecessor? Her host? Bilbo wasn't quite certain – Lobelia-of-before. "Of course," she replied, "What can I do?"

"We'll need supplies," Bilbo explained. "Food for our journey. We'll need it safely packed."

Lobelia looked unsure, which didn't bode well, but she visibly rallied and said, "I can do that."

True to her words, Lobelia seemed to not need any more than that. She turned on her heel and disappeared down the hall into the kitchen without a backwards glance.

Bilbo nodded, satisfied, and turned to his own tasks.

It was easier than he expected, to ready himself to leave Bag End – to leave the Shire. There was trepidation, certainly, squeezing his heart but there was also the faint buzz of excitement, the wonder of the unknown ahead of him, that made it quick work. His little sword, which he was almost certain was of elvish make and he resolved to ask Lobelia as soon as possible, was as sharp as ever and the scabbard fit around his waist perfectly. His pack was easy to fill: trousers, extra shirts, his handkerchiefs, his raincoat retrieved from the main hall, a tin of Old Toby, and his pipe. It was only after he had found his bedroll at the opposite end of the burrow and strapped it to his pack that Bilbo considered his last necessity. Dropping to his knees, Bilbo pushed his way through what was left in the chest, pausing only when he came across his mother's old coin purse, a B.T. still engraved in the leather, and letting his mind flit towards his smoking room briefly and the foul-smelling chest hidden away there. Bilbo pulled himself back when he reached the bottom of his chest of clothes and paused, his fingers brushing against cool metal before closing around it and bringing it into the light. The silver gleamed in the midday sun streaming through the window, the metalwork so fine it felt almost like water and weighing nothing in his hands.

Mithril. Bilbo was almost sure of it, it fit every description. And Bilbo had gone through dozens of books voraciously in his first few years after, in the hopes of findings something, anything, to help him understand.

Bilbo hesitated, unsure in a way he never liked but had found himself fast friends with that morning, before carefully removing his layers and pulling it on. It almost immediately felt like nothing, and if he hadn't put it on only a few seconds before, Bilbo would have certainly forgotten it beneath his shirt, vest, and jacket.

It fit perfectly. And wasn't that just unsettling?

In an effort to dispel his unease, Bilbo turned his attention back to his chest of drawers alongside one of the walls. A swath of blue caught his eye. One of his jackets: plain, dark blue, with a traditional cut. Bilbo's mind wandered to Lobelia and her ill-fitting clothes. They were clearly stolen from Otho, which was a story Bilbo wouldn't mind hearing, and while sensible in their simplicity they weren't particularly suited for their journey either. Not without more to them.

Pleased with his idea, Bilbo pulled the blue jacket from the drawer and folded it over his arm. He paused, eyes landing on his mother's jewelry box that he had kept between several volumes of his most-loved books. Belladonna Baggins had practical tastes even as a young girl and wore very little jewelry. Bilbo moved closer though, thinking of the ring on his mantle, and thought perhaps his mother would be able to offer him something. A quick scan of its contents revealed a prize: a gold chain, thin and simple, once holding his mother's childhood locket which lay next it. Bilbo retrieved it carefully before slipping it into the pocket of his waistcoat. Satisfied, Bilbo slung his pack over one shoulder and made his way down the hall and into the kitchen.

Lobelia turned at the sound of his arrival, abandoning a pack that Bilbo didn't recognize, pushing a wayward curl from her eyes. Mouth opening, likely to greet him, Lobelia's eyes fell from his, settling a little lower, and her face went impressively blank.

Puzzled, Bilbo reached up to his neck, his fingers instinctually finding the long scar that dragged clear down his neck from the right corner of his jaw to his collarbone. And then his fingers felt it – the cool metal of the mithril, peaking just over the collar of his shirt.

Oh, dear.

"I," Bilbo started, unsure of what the strange feeling deep in his belly was. Never in his dreams, as a child or of age, had he ever thought he'd be in a situation like this one. But, like any respectable hobbit, when in doubt Bilbo fell back onto his manners. "My apologies, Lobelia. This is yours, is it not? I did not think."

Envy, Bilbo realized. That was what was doing circles in his belly. Envy of the mithril, the sword, the treasure, the ring, all of which were only in his possession because of her. Because of what she had done when it was meant to be him.

"No, no," Lobelia insisted, throwing up her hands in protest, as if it hadn't been her spoil alone from her adventure in his stead a decade ago. She sounded nothing but genuine when she continued, "It's yours Bilbo. Please, it suits you."

I'm Lobelia now, she had said before. And wasn't it strange, the pang of sadness that shot through Bilbo's chest for her. But it made Bilbo feel much more at ease about the jacket in his hands, and he offered it to her in the mithril's stead. "Then, this is for you."

Lobelia looked surprised again, eying the deep blue jacket with interest. "Me?"

"Yes," Bilbo said, feeling exasperated, but couldn't stamp out his amusement entirely, "Do you have one? A chill still comes at night, even at this time of year."

"No," Lobelia admitted, slowly wrapping her fingers around the jacket and pulling it close. "It didn't occur to me. I was," It was here that Lobelia paused. "In a hurry."

"Is that so?" Bilbo asked, satisfied that she had accepted his offer, even if his envy still lingered. "And what did Otho think about that?"

"Otho?" Lobelia repeated slowly, brow furrowed. Bilbo raised an eyebrow in response, watching as Lobelia's expression quickly turned mortified before shifting again in a way that Bilbo was certain meant she was trying not to laugh.

"I don't know," Lobelia said, smiling, "I climbed out the window while he was asleep."

Oh, yes, Bilbo thought, he definitely wanted more details. But they would have plenty of time together.

"An interesting tale, I imagine," Bilbo said, his amusement at the thought keeping his smile wider than would normally be polite. "Do you have everything?"

Lobelia straightened, "Yes, I think so. I packed everything that would keep."

"Thank you, Lobelia," Bilbo replied absently, his mind going over what was left to do.

He would need to gather ink and paper for the journey. Should anything happen like before, at least a written record would be of some help. He would also need to leave instructions for Holman and Hamfast, to whom he would leave Bag End's care to while he was gone. And then there was the matter of coin. Bilbo paused, mind turning, recalling his previous thoughts of spoils that Lobelia had brought to him, advertently or no. Perhaps she would enjoy seeing the last of them. Perhaps she could explain the stench.

Satisfied with his idea, Bilbo said, "I have only a few more items to gather from my study. Would you be so kind to do me one last favor?" Lobelia nodded so Bilbo continued, "We'll need coin for our journey. I have a substantial savings that I've kept hidden in my smoking room."

It was here that Bilbo pulled out both his personal coin purse, which had only a few left from his morning visit to the market, and his mother's old empty one. He pressed them both into her hands. "There's a hiding place behind the sideboard. Could you see to it that we have enough for our journey? Fill them as much as you can, but I leave it to you what we bring."

Lobelia nodded again and they both exited the kitchen together, splitting off into the hallway: Bilbo to the left and Lobelia to the right.

Biblo first turned to his father's old writing chest where he kept a sizeable share of his coin and removed it all to start the sum that he would leave Holman and Hamfast. After that, it was easy enough to find blank papers and ink and pen. His father's pouch, in which he always kept important documents, was waiting and empty, and light and unobtrusive enough he could keep in his pack. With all secured, Bilbo bent over his desk, not bothering to sit, and began to write.

Holman and Hamfast were both good folk and Bilbo knew they would take good care of Bag End while Bilbo was away. It felt almost as if he was speaking to them, with the ease that his words were marked onto the page and Bilbo was halfway through when he heard Lobelia return.

Bilbo turned to find her in the doorway, the first thing he noticed was she had donned the blue jacket. Bilbo was pleased to see that while it was large in the shoulders, it fit well enough. The second thing he noticed were the bulging coin purses, balanced together in one small hand, gold coins peaking out from their openings. This, too, pleased Bilbo, Lobelia seemed to understand perfectly what he was after, he would be able to pay Holman and Hamfast well for their additional services. The third was a piece of parchment, folded, held tight between Lobelia's fingers.

Oh.

Like so many things, this was one more that he had forgotten. Though this time it was not due to Lobelia, not directly. Just over six months after his return, on the cusp of his birthday, Bilbo had received two surprising visitors.

What had followed had been an unmitigated disaster in hospitality. Mind still foggy, and completely wrong footed by such and unexpected visit, Bilbo was a wreck. They had barely made it through tea before the pair of dwarves allowed him to shepherd them out. In the end, his visitors left, looking just as lost and upset as he had felt, and in the years that followed they never returned.

But they had left something behind, two things in fact: a foul-smelling chest of treasure and a letter.

Even then, when he was as desperate for answers to the gaps in his memory as any hobbit who had gone a day without a proper meal would be for food, Bilbo could not bring himself to open it. The chest of gold and gems they had pushed upon him left him more questions than answers, and Bilbo, at the time, could not bear to think what the letter would bring. So it remained, unopened, and truthfully forgotten, locked inside the chest with the rest of the treasure.

"Ah, you found it, then." Bilbo said with false cheer as he joined Lobelia in the doorway and plucked the coin purses from her hand. "Good, good."

"Bilbo," Lobelia said quiet and soft, "that chest."

Bilbo moved to deposit the coin purses on his desk before turning back to face her. "Did you recognize it?" Bilbo asked politely, knowing he couldn't keep his curiosity away completely. "I thought it might be yours."

Just like the rest.

"No," Lobelia said faintly, eyes unfocused. "I mean yes. Trolls."

Well, that raised even more questions.

"They failed to mention that," Bilbo told her wryly. Or maybe they had. The finer details of that visit remained murky in his memory, even so many years later.

"They?" Lobelia asked slowly, painfully hopeful.

"I presume, well, now at least, that they were your dwarves." Bilbo replied, watching her closely.

Lobelia stared, a hungry curiosity crossed her face before it was replaced by a dampness to her eyes that Bilbo could not help but be alarmed by, "You've met them?"

"It has been a long time," Bilbo admitted, "Hardly six months I had been back when they showed up on my doorstep."

Lobelia took in a deep breath that Bilbo heard from across the room and then asked, "How were they?"

"Loud, big, bearded," Bilbo said simply, though that wasn't the whole truth.

They had been raucous when he had opened the door, one of them picking him up and spinning on his heel with Bilbo in his arms, shouting hellos. The other was just as loud, laughing and pushing past them into Bilbo's kitchen. But soon they grew quiet, after Bilbo demanded their names. They drank their tea and accepted a biscuit each when Bilbo begrudgingly offered them. There was no laughter after that, only a tense silence in which Bilbo was drowning. He knew they had asked him questions, and he knew he had demanded how they knew of him, but even with a blade to his neck Bilbo wouldn't be able to say what any had said. None of it had made any sense at the time.

But Bilbo suspected this would only bring Lobelia sadness, for Bilbo felt an echo of it himself in his own chest and so he said nothing.

Wistfulness now found its home in Lobelia's eyes. "They were dear to me. Are dear." Lobelia stumbled over her words, "They were wonderful friends to me. To us."

That certainly explained their grand offering at the end of their visit. As well as their stubborn unwillingness to accept Bilbo's stammering refusal.

"Mayhaps you will never want to make a claim on what is owed to you but we will not let your service go unthanked," one of the dwarves had said upon departing, gentle and kind in a way Bilbo would have never marked as dwarvish. It was perhaps the only thing that Bilbo remembered clearly of their visit.

But it hadn't been his service at all, had it? He knew it then but now he knew the reason why. And she was standing before him. It was satisfying in a way that Bilbo couldn't quite put a finger on, to know that she at least was able to see evidence of what Bilbo realized, looking back now on their visit, was blatant affection for her.

"I hope they were well behaved," Lobelia said, another jest behind her words that Bilbo didn't understand.

"Well enough." Bilbo replied, pushing down the envy that had come slithering back, "I'm afraid it was a rather short visit but they insisted I keep the treasure you've now seen."

Lobelia's eyes drifted down to the letter in her hand, the blue wax seal with golden flecks that gleamed in the midday light. In truth it matched her new jacket quite nicely.

"I presume now," Bilbo said, treading carefully, "that is mean for you."

"I," Lobelia stared down at it, looking lost. There was a long silence in which neither of them spoke.

Then, as gently as he could, Bilbo offered, "You're welcome to read it. Alone, if that is what you wish."

Lobelia finally raised her eyes to meet his. There was a maelstrom of emotion in her eyes, too quick in each's passing for Bilbo to identify, before Lobelia's expression slowly returned to calmness. To Bilbo's surprise, a lopsided smile appeared.

"I'm afraid I can't," Lobelia told him, nonsensically. Her smile widened into something that was much more genuine at whatever face he was making before adding, "Read, I mean. Here."

What in the name of all that was green and good were the Valar doing.

"I- I see," Bilbo answered, annoyed with himself to be stumbling over his words but he didn't think he could be blamed after such a revelation. "Well, I can read it to you, if you like. I expect we'll have plenty of time on the road."

And, perhaps, enough time to teach Lobelia her letters, if she wanted. It would hardly be a painful thing, giving up some of his paper and ink for it. And they could always collect more in Bree.

Lobelia's eyes were wide, her smile shaping into a shy fragile thing, as if Bilbo had offered her something precious.

"I'd love that," Lobelia confessed, holding the letter close for another moment before carefully tucking it away into her jacket. "Thank you."

Bilbo nodded, and for the first time since he had found Lobelia on his doorstep, a sense of peace settled between them.

"I still have need to leave instructions for my gardener," Bilbo said, gesturing to the half-filled papers he had strewn about his desk after a moment. He repressed a shudder at how disorganized it felt but given the day he'd had, he supposed it couldn't be helped. "It shouldn't take me much time at all."

Lobelia smiled, "Why don't I go prepare the ponies? I'll meet you at the bottom of the hill."

Bilbo thought it a fine plan, though it pained him to think of the gossip that would likely spread all over town at the sight of them, and agreed. Lobelia disappeared through the doorway, only to reappear a few minutes later and broke Bilbo out of his rhythm.

"What is it?" Bilbo asked her, turning away from his papers, trying and likely failing to contain his annoyance.

"Sorry," Lobelia said sheepishly, tilting slightly to the right as both of their packs had been slung over one shoulder. "I've left you lunch on the table, if you'd like before you come down."

Bilbo blinked, surprised at her thoughtfulness. Should she carry on the way she was it would be easy to settle into this new partnership they were forging. She seemed to be Lobelia's opposite in almost every manner.

"Thank you," he managed to offer, which made Lobelia smile before she disappeared back down the hall. Bilbo heard his door open and close before it was silent.

With the quiet that before that day he could hardly stand, Bilbo made quick work of finishing his letter and sealing it in an envelope with his spare key that he slid into his innermost jacket pocket, counted the coin for both Holman and Hamfast, and returned to his kitchen.

Bilbo was please to find the kitchen clear of any mess at all. His cutlery and porcelain had been washed and put away, and any food that had remained out was gone. If Bilbo was to hazard a guess it was likely split between his pantry and the ponies waiting for him.

A plate of cheese, bread, and jam was all that remained and Bilbo brought it with him into the parlor. He made quick work of it, though it went against his nature. Food was meant to be enjoyed not inhaled but Bilbo acknowledged needs must.

It was when he was on his last bite that his eyes fell upon the mantle. In an instant the soft bread and last dollop of jam tasted of ash. Bilbo found it was difficult to swallow.

The ring had certainly been the most strange of Lobelia's treasures. A plain thing that made Bilbo's vision blur and he himself grow very cold, as if he had stepped outside with no coat midwinter, the one and only time he had ever put it on. It had been disconcerting, frightening even, that the ring had fit perfectly on his finger. It had frightened him so that since then he had never removed it from the chest that he kept it in. Though Bilbo would be lying if he said he hadn't opened it occasionally to peer in and confirm it was where it was meant to be.

And he did so again, pulling the little chest down and opening it to find the ring exactly where he had left it: atop a pile of letters between Bilbo's mother and father during the early days in which his father was still constructing Bag End.

It was truly an innocuous thing, Bilbo thought as he fished it out and let it sit in his palm. Heavier than it should be but unextraordinary otherwise. But perhaps that was deliberate. If what Lobelia said was true, it was a dark thing. But for what purpose? A curse laid upon it perhaps?

Bilbo found his fingers curling towards it, as if to keep it safe, even as his index finger landed squarely in the middle of the ring, fingertip barely touching his palm. It would be an easy thing, to curl his fingers the rest of the way, pushing the ring down to his last knuckle. Safe and secure on his finger.

Bilbo couldn't say truly what had pulled him back out of it. Maybe it was the lump of bread that had caught in his throat, maybe it was the way the sun had suddenly disappeared behind a cloud, making him feel very cold.

Whatever it was, it was a relief when he came back to himself, like sinking into a warm bath after a long day of walking. Bilbo swallowed and reached with his other hand to pull his mother's chain free from his pocket. It took very little time at all to string the chain through the ring but then Bilbo paused again. If he left it in his pocket, it would be very easy to lose, perhaps he should-

Bilbo pulled the chain over his head, the length just right to let the ring rest against his sternum. Without a thought, Bilbo held it between two fingers and slid it beneath his silver shirt and let out a sigh. Yes, that would do.

Patting his pockets on his way towards the door, Bilbo made sure he had the letter for Holman, the coin purses, and his own key. Once satisfied, Bilbo pulled his great green door closed behind him for what he realized would be the last for a very long time. But to his own surprise, Bilbo felt no sadness. Trepidation, certainly, for what lay ahead, but no guilt. No impulse to run back in and hide away even as his feet took him further and further down the hill. He could see Lobelia at the bottom, just as she had said, standing between two ponies.

Odo Proudfoot and his wife Ellin were outside their front door. Both of them stopped their goings-on at once when Bilbo passed and made every effort to avoid eye contact with them – Odo's hammer went quiet from where he seemed to be fixing his front gate and Ellin's broom ceased all movement – and when Bilbo had reached Lobelia he turned back and saw both of their curly heads jerk back from where they had been leaning over their fence to gawk at him.

On any other day, Bilbo would have fallen into a foul mood because of it. But he heard Lobelia make a soft noise from next to the brown pony. Her expression was one of incredulity. Lobelia's eyes met his and Bilbo watched as she bit her lip in what was a clear effort to stifle a giggle. And suddenly, it did not seem to weigh on Bilbo so badly as it would have before. In fact, it felt almost like water rolling off a duck's back. Yes, it was far easier to handle any suspicion sent his way when he had someone to stand with.

"This is Buttercup," Lobelia introduced the brown pony she stood closest to. She gestured to the second pony who was dappled grey. "And Periwinkle."

Bilbo resisted the urge to sigh, his nose already prickling as he moved to Periwinkle. He'd be digging out his handkerchiefs before they even reached Holman's letterbox. But he couldn't find it in himself to feel annoyed.

Because he now had something that shielded him, it dawned on him as he settled onto Periwinkle's back and turned him down the road, Lobelia's pony falling into step beside them. Help. Lobelia had answers that were already freely given, with the promise of more. She would be by his side as a guide, a perhaps even as a friend in time, whatever she was.

An unseen world lay ahead, and home waiting behind.

Bilbo found he could hardly wait.