by my oath [oakenshield] [spin-off]

twelve

reunited

8 YEARS LATER

Bilbo Baggins was sitting on his little desk in his little work room area, a quill in his hand and ink in a small bowl next to him. A red velvet book was staring him in the face, and he tapped his chin with the feather of his quill thoughtfully.

Who would've felt so different after eight years? When he arrived back to the Shire after leaving Erebor all those years ago, he was—unpleasantly—greeted by fellow Hobbits stealing his stuff! The Hobbits were all walking down the little trail with his rugs, his chairs, and lots of other things; it was mainly his mother's glory box and his dining chair and his silver spoons that Lobelia Sackville-Baggins had the nerve to steal that ticked him off the most. He found it almost unbelievable that he had to buy most of his stuff back from his fellow Hobbits.

But now as he thought back on it, it made him laugh a little bit. The thought was all too amusing now, almost, and thinking back on it made him smile. It made him realize how much he had gone through in the last eight years, those thirteen months still weighing heavily in his mind.

It suddenly occurred to him how much he missed his friends back in Erebor, and how long it had been since he last saw the Dwarves. He never really got any visitors (unless it was Sam or Merry or Pippin, or just a Hobbit visiting for tea time), but he did receive a whole lot of letters.

"Ah!" Bilbo chimed to himself when he finally had an idea. He opened up his book, writing thoughtfully. "There and Back Again, a Hobbit's tale by Bilbo Baggins," he mused. "I quite like that name."

He heard the soft pitter patter of feet in the hallway, and he just barely looked behind his shoulder to see his seven-year-old nephew skipping around, grinning when he saw his uncle.

"Hello, Uncle Bilbo!" a young Frodo Baggins chimed, hopping over.

Bilbo smiled. "Hello, dear boy," he greeted, ruffling his mop of curly brown hair and causing the younger one to giggle.

Frodo Baggins was Bilbo's nephew, his parents Drogo Baggins and Primula Brandybuck killed by drowning from a boating accident on the Brandywine River. Seeing as he was an only child and was his blood, Bilbo immediately took custody of the young one.

(okay okay before the hardcore fans come and kill me, i know frodo was adopted in T.A. 2989 when bilbo was 99 and frodo was 21. but its kinda sorta my fanfiction that's almost done so. . . yeah.)

"Whatcha doing?" Frodo asked him, his baby blue eyes wide with wonder.

"I'm writing my book," Bilbo answered, nodding towards the blank page. "Or, at least, I was."

"Ooooooohhhhh," Frodo murmured, humming and smiling. "Can Sam and Merry and Pippin and I go to the forest and play later today?"

Bilbo chuckled. He was so much like him when he was younger, and he found it funny. He was up to Bilbo's elbow, with curious blue eyes and floppy hair. He was a young and curious lad, always talking about Elves and the wonders of the world, he and his three buddies (though Pippin was more familly because he was Frodo's second cousin, and Merry was Pippin's third cousin and he was also Frodo's first cousin one time removed. Sam found the whole thing quite confusing) always pressed Bilbo to tell more stories about his time with the Dwarves. He would tell them, but always leave out the death of Anne.

He felt a painful pang in his chest at the thought of his best friend, and he sighed sadly. He still remembered his last words to her before he departed for the Shire:

"Um..." he started, trying to think. He sighed and slumped his shoulders, shaking his head. "Why? Wh— why would you do this?" he croaked. "You had so much to live for, Anne, and instead you gave up your life to save someone else." Bilbo sniffed and shrugged. "But it's who you are, and I find that amazing.