Chapter Text
It was good to be back home, though he knew it wouldn't keep him there for long. He had inherited his mother’s adventurous spirit, which had been instilled in him since childhood. As a young faunt, he had listened to tales of his hobbit ancestors who had roamed all of Middle-earth before finally settling in Arnor. Bilbo often mused that it was a shame they had chosen to settle. Why would anyone want to remain in one place when the entire world awaited exploration? He remembered his mother recounting her own adventures as a young hobbit, journeys that had taken her as far as Rivendell, where she had even met Elves!
That was the kind of life Bilbo desired. He cherished the comfort of the home his parents had left him, but since their passing, he found it increasingly difficult to justify staying there. There was too much to see and too many people to meet.
As soon as the weather permitted, he would pack his belongings and set out once more. Many called him the Wandering Hobbit or the Storytelling Hobbit. It was true; he had countless stories to share, and it was common for faunts to gather around him, eagerly demanding a tale or a song. He knew many stories—some learned from his mother, but most acquired during his travels. Bilbo had also become fairly proficient at playing the lute, and having music to accompany his songs made a significant difference. He often received payments for his performances, though he didn’t need the money, as his property provided him with a steady income. Still, he accepted any offerings with grace and appreciation. Bilbo didn’t perform for profit; he did it for the joy of spreading happiness and meeting new people. Throughout his journeys, he had formed many friendships and visited them whenever he could.
During those visits, someone inevitably asked when he would travel East. Bilbo always sidestepped the question, too embarrassed to admit the truth—he was afraid. He had ventured to Forlindon, swum in the Gulf of Lune, and watched the sun set over the Ered Nimrais just west of Gondor. He had met men, dwarves, and a few elves—though not many, which suited him just fine.
Elves, he believed, were not to be trusted. Not anymore. They were not the same as his mother had described. Over the years, they had become increasingly protective of their own kind and less concerned about the safety of other races. Rumors circulated around campfires and tavern hearths about the Elves of the Greenwood causing trouble for their neighbors—both men and dwarves. Their leader, Lord Thranduil, apparently harbored a longstanding feud with King Thorin of the Lonely Mountain, concerning the riches hidden within that mountain.
Everyone knew how much dwarves cherished their gold, and Bilbo couldn’t understand why an elf felt entitled to claim any of it. Then again, he spent most of his time learning tales to share with children, faunts, and even pebbles. Politics had never been his focus, and this vendetta between elves and dwarves seemed political to him. He did his best to avoid such quarrels, which was why he never ventured East.
In fact, he had just spent a month in Ered Luin visiting the dwarves who lived there. Some of them claimed distant kinship to the King of Erebor, sharing stories of his proud and stern demeanor, how rigid and resistant to change he could be. Bilbo didn’t see these traits as serious faults; when the dwarves of the Blue Mountains spoke of the Lonely Mountain and its King, they did so with awe and wonder, as if nothing could match the grandeur of Erebor or the bravery and wisdom of Thorin Oakenshield.
Maybe one day he would venture that far; if only to get them to stop harassing him about it. His dwarven friends assured him he would be welcome for at least a short visit, though the King didn’t allow too many visitors to enter the mountain. Ironically, like the Elves, he didn’t trust anyone except his own kind.
The sun was shining brightly on the Water next to the Green Dragon as Bilbo entered. After two days on the road, he was in need of a pint. The barkeep today was Mister Milo Underfoot, who was a bit of a sour grape, though for once, he seemed pleased to see Bilbo. The reason for his good mood was soon revealed, as Milo had some news he was fit to burst about.
“Ah, Mister Bilbo, I’ve got a message for ya! The Thain told me to tell ya first thing when I saw ya comin’ through.”
Bilbo waited for the message, though Milo didn’t seem in much of a hurry to deliver it. He poured the pint and slid it across the counter before speaking again.
“As soon as you’re settled, you’re to head to the Great Smials for a meeting with him and the Council.”
“Oh?” Bilbo replied casually, though his stomach immediately clenched. What could the Thain want to discuss? He hadn’t spoken with the hobbit leader in years—not since he’d become Master of Bag End. At that time, the Thain had reminded him of his responsibilities as a landowner and landlord to several tenants. Bilbo understood his obligations; he had watched his father care for them for years.
Maybe it wasn’t anything too important. Perhaps he wasn’t in trouble—he just wanted to ask him questions. Maybe he wanted to know about his adventures, whom Bilbo had met, and so on. He would be pleased to share any tales, since not even his own neighbors, aside from his gardener, Mister Gamgee, cared to hear his stories. Mister Gamgee was a pleasant fellow who would sit and listen to Bilbo’s tales all evening. It was Mister Gamgee who had convinced Bilbo to keep a journal, so he wouldn’t forget his stories and could perhaps pass them on to his offspring.
Bilbo chuckled at that thought. He had no plans to get married or have faunts of his own. Getting married meant settling down, and he was very content being a bachelor, thank you very much.
The Great Smials were a good day’s walk away, and it was already late afternoon. So, Bilbo went home first, washed up, unpacked, and studied his maps to plan his next trip. He fell asleep at his desk with his newly purchased maps of Rhovanion spread out beneath his head.
A knock on his front door roused him the next morning. Bilbo hollered that he needed a minute to freshen up. After washing his face and visiting the bathroom, he opened the door to find none other than the Thain of the Shire standing on his porch.
“Master Baggins, may I come in?”
As far as Bilbo knew, Paladin Took had never darkened his door before.
“Of course, of course,” Bilbo said a little anxiously as he stepped aside. The older hobbit stomped his feet on the rug, and Bilbo motioned toward the kitchen.
“Would you care for some tea? I was just about to make some. I haven’t had time to bake anything yet, but if you’d be willing to wait just a bit…”
“That’s not necessary. I’d prefer to take a seat in a more comfortable chair, if you please.”
“Yes, this way.” Bilbo turned to lead the Thain to his parlor, where he offered his best settee, which had collected a bit of dust during his absence. In fact, everything had, and he hadn’t yet taken the time to clean. He felt oddly guilty about it.
“Now,” Thain Took said, placing his tall black hat on his lap, hands resting on the brim. “I have come to deliver news of a decision made by myself and the council during your recent absence. If you are not aware of the rules in the homeownership agreement—specifically section twelve, item twenty-seven, which states that a homeowner is required to spend at least sixty percent of the year in their home for upkeep and maintenance—allow me to remind you. Given that you have tenants depending on you and that you have been absent an alarming seventy-two percent of the past season, the council has declared Bag End abandoned and has no choice but to take legal action against you.
To avoid a time-consuming and costly process, which will include penalties, I am pleased to inform you that the council is willing to offer an alternative. You may sign over partial ownership to a married relative who is willing to take over the responsibilities you have neglected. Bag End will still be in your name, though you will become a co-owner rather than its sole proprietor. What say you, Master Baggins? Let me speak plainly: the decision has been made, and the council has spoken. Please do not make this more difficult than it needs to be; I beg of you.”