Work Text:
2941, The Third Age, Winterfilth, Erebor
Dear diary, ere long now I will return home. I yearn for the comfort of my Hobbit-hole, my books, and my own arm-chair! It has been many Moons since I last laid my eyes upon the Shire. I have grown weary from my adventure, and my goodness, another one awaits!
The return journey will be less perilous, for I will be accompanied by not only Gandalf, but by Beorn and Thranduil. For a small part of the road at least. Thranduil will depart from us when we reach Mirkwood. Understandable, of course. One cannot expect a king to travel alongside a hobbit, for no other reason than enjoying one’s company! Beorn will probably leave us when we have reached his house. I am sure that Beorns gardens will be no less marvellous when I see them again. I quite enjoyed my previous time at Beorn’s. He might be tall, and have much strength, but his heart is no less greater.
Oh my, I wonder how the hobbits will handle my returning. I have a growing feeling most will not be pleased with my departing and arrival. Having wild adventures is very unrespectable after all.
I feel different. Gandalf mentioned it himself, “You are not the hobbit that you were’’. What can one expect, after such harsh times. I have lost my friends, my innocence, and even my brass buttons on my waist-coat! Oh bother. Much have I lost, but much have I found also. My courage, my wit, even an odd golden ring. Harmless it is, the ring.
Was it worth it? Would I take the offer again if someone knocked on my door? My Took-side would be jumping with joy, but my Baggins-side needs rest. I wish to eat 6 meals a day again, I wish to tend my little garden, I wish to sleep in my own bed, I wish to see the rolling green hills of the Shire, I wish to buy fish at the market-square in Hobbiton. I want to have teatime in the afternoon.
Thorin, oh Thorin. If only you were living and breathing to see Erebor restored in it’s full magnificence. If only you could scold at me for wanting to go home one more time. Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, heir of Durin, your memory will never fade. The Arkenstone is resting with you in your tomb. The Dwarven armies are united again. Peace has come upon your lands once more. Lake-town will be rebuilt, Dale will return to its full glory, trading will take place between Men and Dwarves. All is well. The barren landscape from the desolation of Smaug is starting to bloom. Oh Thorin! How I wish you could see this yourself. Curse the stubbornness of Dwarves! Why did you have to leave us? Why did Fili and Kili have to follow you where I can’t go? Why did these cursed orcs have to drive their spears in you and your heirs?
Thorin, my king, my friend, my companion, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for failing when you needed me the most. Fool of a Baggins and a Took I am! Deep in my heart I know it’s not my fault, but knowing this does nothing to ease the pain.
Your part in this tale ends, my dear Thorin, and so does mine. How do you pick up the thread of your old life? How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand you’ll never be the same? I doubt I’ll ever see Erebor again. My path leads elsewhere. Roads go ever on.