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.
"In the land of Mordor, my previous home, and in the fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged in secret a Master Ring to control all others. And into this Ring he poured cruelty, his malice and his will to dominate all life. One ring to rule them all..." I continue with hollowed words, emotion clenched within my heart. I have long awaited the day of Sauron's strength, a full sixty years of preparations within Erebor and at heart. And though the time has now come, it is all in vain without the recognition of others.
"One by one, the Free lands of Middle Earth fell to the power of the ring. But, there were some who resisted," my voice streams out in its low tone. "A last alliance of Men and Elves marched against the armies of Mordor. On the slope of Mount Doom they fought for the freedom of Middle Earth."
A look over to my son recognizes his troubled features: eyes a brilliant blue like his father, hair a neat dark brown, and a slight stumble under his downtrodden lips. Now, he knows what today will bring, as my other children learned earlier in their lives. Despite being the eldest, Frerin is by far the most childish, but a warrior nonetheless. His skills will be needed sooner rather than later.
"Victory was near, but the power of the Ring could not be undone. It was in this moment, when all hope had faded, that Isildur, son of the king, took up his father's sword," I remark with a slight smile as if watching the battle myself. This turn in the story reminds me of the Battle of Azanulbizar, in which Thorin fought against Azog, following his grandfather's beheading. But unlike the man, Thorin had but an oaken-branch as a shield. And thus, my name: Erudian Oakenshield.
"Sauron, the enemy of the Free People of Middle Earth, was defeated. The Ring passed to Isildur, who had this one chance to destroy evil forever," I remark in continuation of the tale. "But the hearts of Men are easily corrupted and the Ring of Power has a will of its own. It betrayed Isildur to his death.
"And some things that should not have been forgotten, were lost. History became legend, legend became myth...and for two-and-a-half thousand years, the Ring passed out of all knowledge. Until, when chance came, it ensnared a new bearer," I reminisce with a mental look to Gollum of sixty years prior, within the Goblin tunnels where Bilbo found a ring...the Ring. "The Ring came to the creature, Gollum, who took it deep into the tunnels of the Misty Mountains. And there, it consumed him. The Ring brought to Gollum unnatural long life; for five hundred years it poisoned his mind. And in the gloom of Gollum's cave, it waited."
Frerin's eyes widen with recognition of the Ring's bearer, as he now knows it to be the Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, and my best friend. He goes to cut in, but I continue before he can:
"Darkness crept back into the forests of the world. Rumor of a Shadow in the East, whispers of a nameless fear...and few of us knew it to exist. Azog the Defiler came first, with the whole intention of destroying Durin and taking the kingdom of Erebor. But in the end, good overcame evil, Azog fell, and Sauron was left behind. And the Ring of Power perceived its time to come. It abandoned Gollum--but something happened then that the Ring did not intend...
"It was picked up by the most unlikely creature imaginable: a hobbit...Bilbo Baggins of the Shire," I continue from a bout of anxious remembrance. "Gollum screamed and screamed for the Ring, chasing my hobbit into his own salvation, light. I was there to lead him away, to escape...I helped the Ring escape." Frerin looks up in surprise at these final words, though I know this happening to be of fate's intention. If I had not helped Bilbo, he would have died at the hand's of Gollum, only for another bearer of worse intention to capture the Ring. Surely, the world could be a much darker place if this was the case.
"For the time has come when hobbits will shape the fortunes of all," I finish the tale with a slight smile. It is indeed true that hobbits are the only creatures that can bear such an evil as is the Ring. Only one of potent innocence and good-intention can save this world from a greater destruction. Even I am weak to its power.
Our journey progresses onward from there, silence overtaking the lands in large part, nevermind the cart's clopping and Gandalf's humming. The end of summer has come again, and with it, the white flowers of autumn's morn. My acute hearing recognizes the padding of hobbit feet, near to our traveling cart. Frodo certainly knows we have arrived.
"You're late," the hobbit addresses the three of us from a bank on path's side. He is as the year prior, bright blue eyed and fluffy brown haired. A certain joy radiates from our surprise and his eyes sparkle like the Lake on a summer's day.
"A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to," Gandalf replies with a chuckle. I roll my eyes at the wizard, as he is notoriously late on most occasions.
"Must that always be your excuse for tardiness?" I question the wizard, who just scoffs with a grin. Looking at Frodo, our eyes meet in recognition before we both dissolve into chuckles and smiles. It is good to see the hobbit, once again, for this thirty-third year in a row. Leaping onto the cart, Frodo catapults himself between Gandalf and me, sitting on the front seat.
"It's wonderful to see you three, Gandalf, Erudian, and Frerin," the hobbit remarks from his smaller stature. Then again, I am not one to talk, seeing as I am barely taller than the hobbit. Gandalf dwarfs us all in his elvish height, whereas Frerin is an abnormally tall dwarf, taking after my Phoenician father.
"You didn't think we'd miss your Uncle Bilbo's birthday?" Frerin asks with his notorious smirk. Frodo and Bilbo are a large part of our extended family, spending half of each year in Erebor with the rest of us.
"What news of the outside world? Tell me everything!" Frodo commands in his adventurous spirit. It has been a long four months since their last visit to Erebor, plenty of time for evil to grow. Frodo has every right to be anxious.
"What, everything? Far too eager and curious for a Hobbit. Most unnatural..." Gandalf remarks. I scoff at this point, seeing as the Gray Wizard was far too proud about Bilbo's curious spirit, just years ago.
"He is the nephew of Bilbo," I remind the wizard who just nods in agreement. We pass over a slight bridge at the edge of the Shire. And as with every visit, the hobbits are gathered around in clusters to shop, eat, and talk. They live a carefree life, but today's activities prompt their panic at preparing the field for Bilbo's birthday.
"Well, what can I tell you? Life in the wide world goes on much as if it has past ages. Full of its own comings and goings, scarcely even aware of the existence of Hobbits...for which I am very thankful," Gandalf remarks with less than the truth. Both Bilbo and Frodo know of Sauron's rise in the cesspits of Mordor, though less than some of us, obviously. In other part, I am certainly surprised that few people know of the Shire, sitting in the heart of Middle Earth and taking up a large portion of land. Then again, dwarves are very oblvious, men are self-centered, and elves have no interest in hobbits' lives.
"Ah, the long expected party. So, how is the rascal? I hear it's going to be a Party of Special Magnificence," Gandalf asks, in reference to Bilbo. I have come to find that my hobbit dislikes praise that is directed at him, but takes much joy in attention. He is strange, after all.
"You know Bilbo...he's got the whole place in an uproar," Frodo remarks, causing me to fall into soft laughter. Upon Bilbo's return to the Shire, he evidently was not as before: shyness replaced with loudness and humility with carelessness.
"More than last year?" I ask Frodo with a raised eyebrow. The younger hobbit simply nods at me. I cannot help but think that it's ridiculous to celebrate such a strange birthday as is 111. Maybe 100, but not 111.
"Oh, well...that should please him," Gandalf remarks with a short laugh, referring to the "uproar" Bilbo is currently causing. Did I mention that Bilbo has become mischievous in the last few years?
"Half the Shire's been invited," Frodo informs us, prompting a groan to erupt from me and Frerin. As I have found, it takes much pain on my part to deal with any hobbit family besides the Baggins. If half the Shire is invited, then tonight will surely be painful.
"Good gracious, me," Gandalf remarks with greater manners than me and my son. Nonetheless, the wizard looks hesitant at spending his time with a ton of hobbit feet.
"He's up to something," Frodo remarks with furrowed eyebrows. Bilbo may be mischievous nowadays, but he's still horrible at keeping secrets. You can always tell when he is lying by the twitching of his hands and stuttering of his words.
"Oh, really?" Gandalf asks, obviously faking confusion. You would think, with his thousands of years of living, that Gandalf would be a better liar.
"He's always up to something, Frodo," I respond for Gandalf, knowing exactly what Bilbo has planned yet not divulging it. As it turns out, I am a better liar than the wizard.
Frodo sends a look at Gandalf, as we all know he is lying. The wizard, as usual, just looks away with the refusal to divulge information. Frerin, seeing all this, makes to reconciling our differences: "You know a wizard will never relinquish his true thoughts."
"Alright then, keep your secrets. Before you came along we Bagginses were very well thought of," Frodo relents with the sending of his gaze towards Gandalf and myself. He is obviously referring to our unexpected journey, though I had little word in its planning. If anyone should be blamed for making Bilbo our burglar, it is Gandalf.
"Indeed?" Gandalf questions the young hobbit in his faked idiocracy. Will this ever end?
"Never had any adventures or did anything unexpected," Frodo responds to the unspoken question. In a normal hobbit's mind, it is a sin to be curious and spontaneous in any fashion. Frodo, I guarantee, thinks highly of his uncle and his adventures. But, he must dislike the condemning looks he receives from the other hobbits.
"If you're referring to the incident with the Dragon, I was barely involved. All I did was give your Uncle a little nudge out the door," Gandalf reminds Frodo of this fact, which is honest for once. It is true that he only gave Bilbo a nudge, but it was in the form of making up a story of their Took ancestor.
"Not that we doubted he'd come," I remark with a smile. Indeed, both Gandalf and myself were certain that Bilbo would join us for the adventure. I won fifty gold off Thorin thanks to that hobbit.
"Whatever you did, you've been officially labelled as a Disturber of the Peace and the dwarves, your posse," Frodo tells us with a grin. To say I am outraged would be an understatement, as I fully deserve the title "Disturber of the Peace." I am the loud and childish one, after all.
"Oh, really?" Gandalf questions for a second time today. As if on cue, a hobbit raises his head to send us a suspicious glare. And as tempted as I am to flip him the bird, I just wave to him with fake joy. Can't be making enemies before the party even starts, now can I?
"Guys, I'm glad you're back," Frodo remarks with a look to all of us. I smile at him before returning my attention to the hobbit children following our cart. We are indeed a well known people in these lands, and Gandalf's fireworks are loved here. As if in conjunction with the wizard, I shift into my fiery Phoenix form and leap off the wagon, Gandalf setting off fireworks near me. The children scream in glee as I pass playfully above their heads. Even the old hobbit smiles at us.
"So are we, dear boy...so are we," Gandalf responds for the three of us, in response to Frodo's welcome. As the cart pulls up in front of Bag End, I return to my dwarf form near Frerin's side. We follow the wizard and hobbit up the path to Bilbo's circular door, one which I know so well. If you look close enough, you can see the glowing rune on the door's front. The wizard raps on the door with his staff, an instrument I know so well from the number of times I've been awoken to its poking of my back.
"No, thank you! We don't want any more visitors, well wishers, or distant relations," Bilbo yells through the door as he did sixty-two years ago. And just like before, we will not relent to his complaining.
"What about burglars?" I yell back in response, referring to his old (and still used) title in the company.
"And very old friends?" Gandalf furthers with a grin that Bilbo cannot see. With our words, the front door opens and Bilbo Baggins stands in front of us, as young as ever. He looks unchanged in these sixty years, still the young hobbit we unwillingly picked up from the Shire. His caramel hair, blue eyes and tan skin all glow in the afternoon sun, and a nice smile paints his face.
"Gandalf?" Bilbo asks, not being able to see me behind the large wizard. And though I cannot see his face, I expect Gandalf to smile down upon Bilbo.
"Bilbo Baggins!" he responds merrily before moving off to the side so I can tackle Bilbo into a hug. He laughs at the contact, embracing me back before I move away to talk to him further.
"My dear Gandalf! And Rue, Frerin too! It has yet been four months since I left," Bilbo addresses us with cheer and slight confusion. At this, the wizard leans down to give his old friend a hug, smiling all the way and in genuine happiness.
"It's good to see you. One hundred and eleven years old, who would believe it?!" Gandalf looks at him with a happy, yet hard gaze.
"A Phoenix, perhaps?" Frerin sarcastically replies to the rhetorical question. It is true, though: Bilbo will live a long life, given our eternal life spans as Phoenicians. Still, it is strange to look at a hobbit at such an old age.
"You haven't aged a day!" Gandalf remarks, though we know that will always be the case. None of us will ever age, given our identity.
"Come on, come in! Welcome, welcome!" Bilbo invites us, hand gesturing to join him inside. We do so happily, though Gandalf hits his head in the process. Putting the wizard's hat on a peg, Bilbo walks down a hall and into the kitchen. I gaze around at the well known souvenirs of the our travels.
"Tea or maybe something stronger. I've a few bottles of the Old Winyard left: 1296, a very good year and almost as old as I am. It was laid down by my father. What say we open one, eh?" Bilbo questions in his blabbering tendencies.
"Is it a fruity bouquet?" I ask with a small smirk. At this, Bilbo merely rolls his eyes as we have all heard that question before. A thud catches my ears, twice, as I turn around to see a swinging light and vibrating wood beam. Gandalf just can't win today.
"I was expecting you some time last week. Not that it matters, you come and go as you please, always have done, always will. The both of you," Bilbo remarks with a glare at Gandalf and myself. It is indeed true that I often stop in to spend the weekends with Bilbo. Usually, it's in response to a stubborn Thorin or irritating Frerin, but not always.
"You've caught me a bit unprepared, I'm afraid we've only got cold chicken, bit of pickle, some cheese here. Ooh, no, that might be a little risky..." Bilbo thinks out loud while wandering his pantry. I wonder if it's the cheese from my first visit to his house...
"That will not do if the rest are on their way. Frerin, will you go buy some food from the market?" I address Frerin who just runs out of the house in response. Hopefully he has his own money, though I am not too sure. But I pay little mind to that, as food is necessary for the arriving dwarves of Erebor.
I walk to where Gandalf is peering at what seems to be a map. Only on closer inspection do I realize that this is Thorin's map of the Lonely Mountain. A grin erupts across my face, as I remember when the dwarf king pushed the map into Bilbo's hands on the night of Durin's day.
"Er, we've got raspberry jam and apple tart...got some custard somewhere. Not much for Afters, I'm afraid. Oh no, we're alright. I've just found some sponge cake. Nice little snack. Hope it's enough," Bilbo remarks without a thought to the twenty-one dwarves on their way. This is why I came ahead of them: to ensure Bilbo is prepared... which he isn't. On a final thought, Bilbo asks, "I could do you some eggs if you like?"
"Just tea, thank you," Gandalf requests after suddenly appearing behind the typically jumpy hobbit. A look to me and a nod at him, the hobbit agrees to the beverage choice.
"Oh..right. You don't mind if...?' Bilbo asks, in reference to the old food he is eating. I shake my head, not minding if the hobbit eats without our company.
"No, not at all. Go ahead," Gandalf responds before a knock sounds on the door. Having lived with these people for many decades, I know this knock not to belong to our friends and family. Therefore, I pause in my motion to open the door.
"Bilbo Baggins, you open this door..I know you're in there," Mrs. Sacksville-Baggins screams through the door in all her fury. I growl at her, hating her more than all the creatures in Hobbiton.
"I'm not home!" Bilbo yells in response, being the cute little hobbit he is. I cannot hold back an eye roll as I open the door to an angry hobbit lady. She looks at me with hatred, as I am known to her family as the one who burnt their bench swing. They deserved it, though, after stealing Bilbo's silverware.
"Go away!" I yell at her though she stands just feet away. If even possible, her eyes fall into greater fury at my words.
"You little wench!" she screams at me in response, though I have no clue as to why I am said "wench." Seriously though, how can I be a wench when I am happily married with three children?
"Must I remind you who's the one here named 'Sacksville?'" I respond with a cheeky and victorious smile, knowing I won this battle of offenses. She stifles a scream of anger as I watch Thorin fly up behind her, company in tow, before shifting as his feet hit the ground. She recognizes none of this, even as I smile at my husband.
"And she is a married woman, so off you go, you little thief," Thorin addresses her with a shooing motion. She looks startled to say the least, but runs away all the same, seeing the twenty angry dwarves around her. I smile at him, gesturing for the company to come indoors where the other two members wait. As Thorin passes by, he leaves a short and sweet kiss on my lips, much to Bilbo's disgust.
"I've got to get away from these confounded relatives, hanging on the bell all day and never giving me a moment's peace. I want to go to my mountain again...mountains. And return to Erebor where I can finish my book...Oh, Tea!" Bilbo remarks in line with his plan. The dwarves scatter at the exclamation, moving towards the dining room where food will soon be placed. Only Thorin, Gandalf, Bilbo, and I remain in our grouping, following the hobbit as he goes to the kitchen.
"So, you mean to go through with your plan, then?" Gandalf asks, though we all expect him to follow said plan. It's been in the works for five years and a goal for sixty. Bilbo was always meant to return to his newly-found home, the Lonely Mountain.
"Yes, yes...it's all inhand. All the arrangements are made," Bilbo replies easily while rushing around the kitchen in search of tea cups.
"Frodo suspects something," Gandalf informs him, referring to our exchanged words in the wagon. Frodo knows his uncle better than anyone, besides me, and it's understandable that he has an idea of Bilbo's planning.
"He's an intuitive little bugger, even as a complete mortal," I add in, with the reminder that Frodo is not a Phoenician like the rest of us. We have yet to give him the tear of eternal life, seeing as his quest will soon come and he must partake in it as a full hobbit. He needs to remain wholeheartedly innocent for this quest to succeed.
"Course he does, he's a Baggins...not some block headed Bracegirdle from Hardbottle!" Bilbo reminds us, finger wagging as if for emphasis. It makes him look crazy, if anything.
"You will tell him, won't you?" Gandalf asks with a worried sigh, seeing as Bilbo is frazzled from today's excitement. Hopefully, he won't forget to tell Frodo of his plans.
"Yes, yes," Bilbo replies with certainty. I can only hope he does, as that would be a nasty surprise for his nephew. If my sister up and left one day without previously informing me, I would be very irritated and hurt.
"He's very fond of you," Gandalf remarks with a worried smile. It is blatantly obvious that the wizard enjoys Frodo's company. This is true for all of us.
"Bilbo is his uncle," Thorin reminds Gandalf in his deep voice. Frodo naturally cares for Bilbo, as he is his uncle and legal guardian. They've lived together for thirty-three years, so of course he's fond.
"I know. He'd probably come with me if I asked him. I think, in his heart, Frodo's still in love with the Shire, the woods and the fields... little rivers," Bilbo responds while looking dreamily out his window. I know that this hobbit will miss Bag End and the Shire, but we all intend to return to it on a yearly basis, just not as often as years prior. "I am exhausted with these meddlesome hobbits. I know I don't look it, but I'm ready to return home, to Erebor."
I smile at his words, though my expression falls as he clenches his pocket in which the Ring lives. It is a typical motion for him, seeing as he always carries the Ring. With this thought, I recognize how hard it will be on Bilbo to relinquish this evil object to Frodo tonight.
"I feel thin...sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread. I need a holiday...a very long holiday and I don't expect I shall return...in fact, I mean not to," Bilbo finishes his thought with a sigh. I understand this feeling, seeing as we have lived these repetitive lives for the past sixty years. Tonight, all of that will change and none of us know whether or not we'll survive this long awaited war.
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I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Pyrhhin will appear as the narrator in the next chapter...this one is just to set the scene and mindset of Erudian, Gandalf, etc.
Overall, I expect this story to be a mere fifteen chapters in length, nowhere near as long as Saving Durin, due to Bilbo's lack of participation in the Fellowship. In addition, the majority of chapters will be shorter than this one in length.
Thank you for reading this story! Please vote and comment!
xo
Patagonian