Coming Home (Bagginsheild and Acorns)

Bilbo's Acorn: Lost

Everything is finished. The dark lord is defeated. Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin saved Middle Earth. But poor Bilbo knows none of this.

The frail old hobbit leans on his nephew’s arm, struggling to walk. Frodo is changed somehow, although he cannot put his finger on just what is different. But Bilbo does not spare much thought on this. He’s going on another adventure! His mind races excitedly as he hobbles to the wagon. The elves had left a few days before to prepare.

“Where is it that we are going, my child?” He asks.

“Across the sea uncle. It’s not far now.”

Ahh yes, the sea. Bilbo knew that. It must have slipped his mind.

“We are not coming back, are we Frodo.”

“Aye”

“May we stop back in the Shire before we go?"

Frodo’s hand tenses on his uncle’s arm.

“Why would we bother? The sea is beautiful uncle. Lord Elrond and Galadriel await your arrival.”

The old hobbit nods, but something is still bothering him. Some unfinished business nips at his mind.

“Just for a moment. I- I need to do something there.”

“Uncle it would be best if we didn’t…”

“I must visit him!” The outburst surprises even Bilbo.

Thorin! That’s what it was. Suddenly the old hobbit is filled with a dire need to visit the oak tree again. He needed it terribly, more than he had desired the ring, more than anything.

“Come now, uncle!”

The hobbit is suddenly filled with vigour and pushes Frodo from him.

“Take me!” He shouts. As much as his nephew doesn't want to pain him, Frodo complies.

  *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As Bilbo first set his gaze on the remains of Hobbiton he thought his heart stopped.

Ashes, ashes everywhere. Everything that meets his eyes in burned, charred, black. Hobbiton is nothing more than a smoking pile of ash. The crops are burned, the flowers are burned, the trees... In the last months before Sauron was defeated, orcs invaded Hobbiton and burned it to the ground. Sam had done his best to help in the cleanup, but he was far from done.

A shuddering scream, pierces the air and Bilbo leaps from the wagon.

“Thorin!” He shrieks. “Thorin, my love!”

Revitalised by the horrors surrounding him, the terrified Bilbo runs to the charred forest.

“My darling! My love!” Tears blur his vision.

The old hobbit singles out the blackened stump and sinks to his knees.

“Lost! I’ve lost you again!”

All the pain from the first months come flooding back. Thorin, in all his majesty, covered in his own blood and sputtering apologies.

Frodo sees a frail old hobbit, wailing and clutching a stump, but that is not the reality for his uncle.

A fire, dragon fire, it’s burned and ravaged laketown. He glances about for his king. “Thorin?!” He shouts above the din. “Thorin!” He tries again. Then he sees it. The charred body.

“Oh my darling! My love! Come back to me.” He whispers, dropping beside the blackened corpse. “It’s your burglar. I’m here. Wake up…” The hobbit’s fingers caress the burnt hair and brush gently over the lifeless cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.” He clutches the body to his chest, burying his face in Thorin’s hair. Pain screams through Bilbo’s chest but he won’t release what was the dwarf king. Blisters rise from his chest. The body isn’t cooled. His hands are red and raw, the flesh burned right off. “My darling come back.”

Someone tugs at his shoulder but Bilbo resists.

“You cannot have him! You cannot!”

“Uncle let go!” A voice shouts.

Uncle?

 “Leave me be.” Bilbo cries and squeezes his eyes tight. When he opens them again, Frodo’s worried face looms over him.

 “Uncle, please let me help you up.”

 “I’ve lost him, Frodo. All over again. Every bit of him is gone.” And suddenly, Bilbo’s age comes rushing back and he collapses against his nephew.

“Come uncle, the elves are waiting.” Frodo whispers and leads the burglar back to the wagon.