How I Leave You

The Fifteenth Member

In a hole in the ground, there lives a hobbit. From what I have been told, he is not a large hobbit by any means, but rather a somewhat small one, except for his feet, of course, which are of a considerable size. Apparently, he resides in a place called Bag End, where the doors are round and the grass is green no matter what side of the bank you stand on. It's in Bag End that they have habitable holes. It's in Bag End that I'm ending my journey.

Or starting it, depending on how one looks at such things.

Gandalf did not tell me much. He has always been one to choose his words carefully, which is, somewhat paradoxically, both what I admire and detest about him. Pardon my Elvish, if I'm not allowed to think such things of a wizard, though I do believe that I, of all beings, have the right to.

I am late. The sun has long set when I finally step foot onto the path that leads to the Hobbit holes. It's close to midnight when I finally stand before the fence with the sign on which BAGGINS is painted in white.

The runes on the wood welcome me before anyone else does.

I raise my fist to knock on the round door, but pause halfway there. Inside, eager voices speak to each other. Deep voices. Male voices. Lovely. Once again, it seems I will be the only one present with some sense. Hopefully, hobbits are more sensible than dwarves. And at least Gandalf will be here, too.

"Well, since we're all here," one of the voices says, "why don't we get our Burglar to sign the contract?"

"Because, my dear Bombur, we're missing someone."

Gandalf's voice is unmistakable, even through the veil of the wooden door.

"Missing someone? But we're... one, two, five... all thirteen of us are here?"

"Yes, indeed, Bofur. But even counting our friend Bilbo, we're still missing the fifteenth member."

When my fist curls into a knock, the voices quiet. A chair gets pushed out. Bare feet against the floorboards.

The door creaks when it's tentatively pulled open.

"Hello, Bilbo Baggins," I say, greeting the hobbit in the doorway. "What a lovely hole you have."

Puzzled, Bilbo tilts his head. His ears, sticking out underneath his curls, seem to turn to pick up a clue as to who I might be, and what I am doing here on the footstep to his home.

"I'm sorry... do I know you?"

I smile, careful not to reveal my canine teeth.

"Not yet, no. My apologies, where are my manners? My name is—"

"Ilwien." Gandalf's figure appears enormous next to that of the tiny hobbit. "How wonderful to see you."

"Gandalf." My neck bends in respect. "It has been too long."

"Yes, yes. Decades, has it?"

"At the least. May I come in?"

Almost from underneath Gandalf's robes, a hobbit peaks his head out, looking from me to the festivities behind him in confusion.

"I don't— are you sure you want to come in?" he says. "I don't know that the company I keep is particularly... lady-like, at the moment."

Again, he conjures a smile from me.

"Well, in that case, it's lucky that I am no lady."

Bilbo looks up at Gandalf, certainly uncertain of what to say, but the wizard just winks at him before moving to the side to let me pass.