Chapter Text
In a hole in the ground, there lived two hobbits. One was old and heavy, the other young and light, but both carried something inside of them which could not be put into words. So, instead, the young one would ask questions about the mundane things of the world and the old would answer and tell stories of bygone times. One such story started thus:
“In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit.” the old hobbit read, feeling out each word with familiarity. “Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat. It was a hobbit-hole and that means comfort. It had a perfectly round door, like a porthole, painted green-”
“Like ours!” the young hobbit exclaimed, proud of his discovery.
“Yes, young Frodo.” the old hobbit replied. “Exactly like ours. Now, where was I… Oh, yes. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall…”
It had been many years since Bilbo Baggins, gentlehobbit of the Shire, had written the book about his adventures and many more years since he had lived the tale within its pages so very vividly. Yet some words were still difficult to read. He had once hoped that putting his story to paper would help him come to terms with the events, and it had helped, but he still struggled some. Now he hoped the sharing of the story with another person might bring him a few steps closer to peace. Now, after reading about the first confusing moments, he found he mostly dreaded the ending. Maybe one day he would remember the happier times for a bit longer. Maybe one day soon. But the first evening he read the story to his younger cousin, he spent the rest of the evening, and some of the night, sinking deeper than he had been for many years…
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Crash! Cling! “Raaah!” “Nooo!”
“If only more people cared…”
Red. Red snow, all around. Wrong, so wrong. Red was the wrong colour for snow.
Grey stone, grey statues. A horizontal bust with an all-too familiar face.
“I am sorry…”
“You have betrayed me!”
“...elf-friend... ”
*~~*~~*~~*
“...and Bilbo Baggins was standing at his door, after breakfast, smoking an enormous, long, wooden pipe that reached nearly down to his wooly toes – neatly brushed!” the old hobbit read, pinching and tickling the younger hobbit’s toes as he went. “Gandalf came by.” Giggles slowly quieted and an attentive silence fell on the room. “Gandalf!” the old hobbit exclaimed dramatically, book flying through the air on an excited hand. “If you had heard only a quarter of what I have heard about him – and I have only heard very little of all there is to hear – you would be prepared for any sort of remarkable tale.”
*~~*~~*~~*
“Where is he going?”
“Away, where I can talk with someone wiser than rocks!”
“Fili, Kili, what’s wrong?”
“The ponies. We’re missing three.” Kili was pale with worry, Fili stiff with responsibility.
What if he failed? What if he made it worse? What if he convinced all of them to grill the 12 dwarves on a spit, instead of sowing the discord he intended? Debating with trolls was easily the worst thing he had ever done!
…what if those trolls were only the first step on his path to Smaug? What if they were Smaug?
*~~*~~*~~*
“Uncle?”
“I am your cousin, Frodo, not your uncle.”
“Uncle?”
“Alright, what is it, my boy?”
“Were the trolls really scary?”
“If the trolls were really scary?”
“Yes.”
“Well, they looked scary, but then I heard them talk and everything they said sounded so much like our cousins and in-laws right before grandfather would hit the table and tell them to stop their nonsense and grandmother would tell them they each got their own day, so make sure to choose something good. Once I realised they sounded like silly hobbits, they weren’t so scary anymore, really.”
“I see…”
“...”
“...is aunt Lobelia a troll, too?”
“What? No, of course not! She is a gentlehobbit and calling her a troll would be very unkind. Why do you ask?”
“Well… Because trolls sound scary, but they argue like silly hobbits and aunt Lobelia is scary, but also a silly hobbit, so I thought they were the same.”
“Oh… Is Lobelia very scary, Frodo, my boy?”
“No, not very. Since you won’t let her into the house, I can shut the door when she screams. Then she has to go away and leave me alone. I like that.”
“I… I’m glad to hear it, but the next time she screams loudly like that, you should probably find me and help me stop her, instead. She’s not supposed to yell at a young hobbit, after all…”
*~~*~~*~~*
“...and Bilbo started on his long road home. He had many hardships and adventures before he got back. The Wild was still the Wild, and there were many other things in it in those days beside goblins, but he was well-guided and well-guarded. The wizard was with him, and Beorn for much of the way, and he was never in great danger again. Anyway, by midwinter…”
“Uncle?”
“...yes, Frodo?”
“Are you still friends with the wissar?”
“With Gandalf? Why, I like to think so, and he does stop by every now and then for a cup of tea and a biscuit. Why do you ask?”
“Nothing special…”
“Alright… Now, where was I? Oh, yes. At last they came up the long road…”
*~~*~~*~~*
Elven music mixed with the sounds of the forest, flutes mixing with the tweets of birds and drums interlaced with the thumping of many rabbits’ feet. Cheer filled the air, as animal and elf joined in the festivities, sharing jokes and tumbles alike.
Bilbo sat quiet, tired. Stories had been told and songs had been sung, until he felt like yesterday’s wash cloth after a good rinse-and-wringe, and yet the party had barely started. He wondered at himself, already tired in the early stages. An uncertain kind of heaviness lay over him, keeping his bones very still. He wondered whether this heaviness had a name. Some days, he imagined its name was death. Other days, he imagined it was the curse of a creature he once met in a cave, not to be broken until his dying day. On the worst days, he imagined its name was three-fold, for the three he had lost…
Gandalf worried, he knew, and Beorn was miffed at his low spirits, so he tried. He fought to think of stories, he took note of all the best jokes, and he served them back on peaceful evenings like these, and yet…
Nothing was the same.
*~~*~~*~~*