You Had Me at "Handkerchief" {Bilbo Baggins/LOTR}

Chapter I: "Sacksville-Baggins" for a reason

Chapter I:

"Sacksville-Baggins" for a reason

~~~~~~~~~~~~Erudian Houdart's Point of View~~~~~~~~~~~

It is a strange image to suppose a hobbit to be capable of saving the Middle Earth that I know so well. Not an elf, man, or dwarf...a mere hobbit. The Shirefolk are of a gentle kind: living their lives so peacefully within the hidden gem of these lands. Hobbiton, they call it, with its rolling hills of green grass and agriculture. Nothing is to want for these small people: food just a market away, friends down at the Green Dragon, and festivals by week's end. Yes, the Shire is a place of heavenly sorts and a lack of wanting...at least for normal hobbits.

Bilbo and Frodo Baggins are in no way "normal hobbits." The former would certainly blame it on their Tookish bloodline, and yet I do believe these two are unique to their own kin. Inborn in each, a sense of adventure stirs within their hearts, crawls beneath their skin, and passes from toe to earth. After all, Bilbo did take on a dragon in a battle of wits. And Frodo will soon come into his role as savior of the free races.

On a journey, I am. The old wizard and friend, Gandalf, has taken his purposeful role as conductor of the wagon on which I sit, beside Gandalf and reminiscing over old memories. Frerin, my one and only son, sits in the rear of our wagon, the only sort of baggage we carry. It is not our first visit to the Shire, nor our second. No, we have traveled here for a long time, sixty years to be exact. And though it is usually just a flight away, we do not need hobbits dropping dead in surprise. Tonight is Bilbo's eleventy-first birthday after all: a long life for a hobbit, not so much a Phoenician.

So by wagon, we uniquely travel in pursuit, not of adventure, but of tranquility and home. It is certain that the Bag End of the Baggins family is a second home to my dwarves of Erebor, a home that we visit on a yearly basis. And with each year comes an increased danger across these lands, orcs wandering in greater numbers and tactility. Another reason for the wagon, I assure you.

"The world is changed. I feel it in the water. I feel it in the earth. I smell it is the air... Much that once was, is lost, for none now live who remember it," Frerin remarks as we gaze upon the peaceful countryside bordering the Shire. It is indeed true that only Gandalf knows of the previous times, my 210th year dwarfed to his thousands. For as long as I've existed, orcs have threatened these lands, on more than one account, slaughtering my family. Even Thorin's childhood within the secure walls of Erebor were tense with the mystery of evil. Smaug's arrival was just one example of this.

"It began with the forging of the Great Rings," I recall from my deep mind, a story in which Frerin ought to know in the coming days. Indeed, the time has come for Sauron's exclamation upon the world. The time has come for men, elves, and dwarves to unite, once again. "Three were given to the Elves: immortal, wisest...fairest of all beings. Seven to the Dwarf Lords, great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls. And Nine...nine rings were gifted to the race of Men who, above all else, desire power. For within these rings was bound the strength and will to govern each race. But they were all of them deceived...for another ring was made."

My eyes glaze over the hill tops with a melancholy strain of thought. These hills of previous years are yet untouched by evil, by the will of Sauron. They were as they once were, just sixty years ago. The hobbits continue life in their potent innocence, the lost children of distant races and people. Their lives are the ones worth dying for, as their jewel of naivete is lost to all but them.