Chapter Text
Bilbo’s adventure being over for the time, he found himself in a sort of strange melancholy. He had bid farewell to Balin and Gandalf and came upon The Shire alone. He had always preferred his solitude, but it felt suddenly abrupt and sad to no longer have his traveling companions. He had become accustomed to the boisterous dwarves and the silence of his own leaving was profound. He spoke briefly to a few Hobbits as he traveled toward Hobbiton, but it wasn’t the same. They hadn’t shared in his last year nor had any sort of adventure of their own and he felt very alone. He’d always been a bit different, he supposed he got that from his mother’s side of the family, but he felt more than a bit different now. Surrounded by Hobbits, he felt rather lonely.
He frowned at this. Gandalf told him he wouldn’t be the same when he returned. Bilbo thought perhaps that might mean he would get this adventuring business out of his system and settle into being a proper and respectable Hobbit as was expected of him. The Hobbits he met along the way would quickly look away if they acknowledged his presence at all. Some of them avoided any sort of contact with him as he was wearing a cloak, carrying two chests, but probably most shocking of all, had a sword at his waist. Indeed, they looked at him as if he were a beardless dwarf or some other sort of ruffian. Some went so far as to shuffle their children indoors, closing the door sharply behind them.
I’m only more of what was different, he thought. The Hobbits of the Shire had likely never stepped one foot out of their own villages, never even seen the entirety of the Shire. Bilbo had seen cities of Man, Elf, Dwarf, and even Goblin. It was a sad thought at first, though not for him but them, he realized. He thought about the Hobbit he was when Gandalf appeared at his door. He hadn’t realized it then, but he had been descending into the comfortable mediocrity of “normal” Hobbit life. The adventure had brought him back to who he truly was. It could not bring The Shire with him and that’s what was sad. He felt a contentment within himself as he nodded confidently at those he passed only to watch them hurry along their way or pretend to not see him. He would always be different, but he knew who he was now with as much certainty as he had when he was a child. The difference being now no one could take that from him.
Still, surrounded by Hobbits, he would always be lonely.
He didn’t much feel like talking to anyone in Hobbiton right now and thought about putting the ring on. He might just stay in Bag End for a few weeks and wonder how long it took anyone to notice he was back. He considered for a brief moment telling them that he’d never gone anywhere and chuckled at how they would react to that. No, better for them to see him returning and get the questions over with. At some point he would be ready with his grand tale.
But it seemed as if the few people he met either looked at him like they didn’t recognize him, or hurried off to spread the gossip of his return. A few made perplexing remarks that he could only puzzle over briefly. He supposed all sorts of rumors had managed to spread about him while he was gone and he wasn’t exactly looking forward to all of that nonsense, but he was all too happy to be nearing home to let anything bother him. It was Spring again and Hobbiton was exactly as he left it.
That was both the best and worst thing about Hobbits; they were exactly the same from start to finish, which meant home was exactly the same. Perhaps not Bag End though; it was more beautiful than he had remembered. His gardener had not let him down in the care for it. He dared to think that it was by far the best Hobbit hole of any he had seen since he’d entered The Shire. No, he was sure of it. He would have to commend Hamfast and give him a bit of treasure as a bonus for seeing to it no Sackville-Bagginses had made off with the silver.