Coming Home (Bagginsheild and Acorns)

Bilbo's Acorn: Goodbyes

Bilbo was old, quite old. He had just turned eleventy-one to be exact. His adventures were over, his nephew grown, his job done. The curly hair on his feet was streaked with white and grey and his hands shook ever so slightly when pouring tea. But his nephew and hobbit-hole are soon to be a distant memory, he is going to Rivendell. But first, he has a stop to make.

“Hello dear.” He whispers into the night, padding up to the tree.

The wind rushes through the leaves in reply.

“I just wanted to say goodbye,” the old hobbit says, placing a gentle hand on the oaktree. “I’m off to live with the elves.”

The wind stops and an owl call echos through the forest.

“Now don’t be cross with me,” Bilbo chuckles. “Lord Elrond was a good friend to us.”

The stillness continues. The aged hands quiver slightly. The clouds uncover the moon and a pale white light illuminates the scene.

“I don’t want to leave you, Thorin.”

A quivering sigh escapes his wrinkled lips and he sinks to the ground.

“But you will be well taken care of. Frodo will look after you.”

He leans against the giant oak, curling up among its strong roots.

“Oh, I hate goodbyes! You must care for Frodo as well. Promise me that. He’s as foolish as I was.”

The burglar giggles.

“But it was worth it. A single, foolish, wonderful year with you was worth it. I’m bringing the shirt with me though, to remember you by. I must say that it has become a bit tight around the middle. I’m not the young hobbit you knew. I am old, and tired.”

He pauses, considering.

“There is something I never told you. I don’t know why. But i found something in the goblin tunnels, and its been gnawing at me ever since. This is why I must leave you Thorin, I’m sorry.”

Bilbo shakily gets to his feet and, with a fleeting kiss planted on the bark, walks away.