ᴍᴀʀᴀʟᴍɪᴢɪ | KILI DURIN¹ ❦

➺ A Trip Down Bag End ➵

Green, as far as the eye could see.
Gorgeous meadows of yellow and pink flowers spread from hill to hill, all the way to where the earth met the sky. I could smell the flora in the gentle gusts of wind that swept past me as I went by. The wide pathway I was skipping along was littered with golden leaves, they swirled and danced as I kicked them into the air. It felt so freeing.

Birds sang in the treetops above me, while fat fuzzy bees buzzed busily in the hollows of old trunks. Everything was so alive and at peace, so much different to what I was used too. Such an innocent place, untouched by the evils of the world, though I could hardly remember the name...

Clopping and whinnying could be heard close by, along with the low creaking of a wooden cart being drawn behind it. I glanced over my shoulder to see a thin old man with an enormous hat, steering a brown horse and cart. He had a long briar pipe held loosely in his mouth, blowing waterfalls of smoke down into his incredibly extensive silver beard. He smiled from under his whiskers.

"Enjoying yourself over there, Seyda?"

"It's gorgeous Gandalf; I've been to all sorts of places but none like this.." I replied, trotting alongside the cart as it quickly caught up with me.

"Ah yes, the Shire is truly remarkable... I have been here more times then I can count, yet I still cannot help but be utterly amazed by it," the old man gazed onwards, a glassy sheen washed over his eyes briefly, as if revisiting a memory. His breathing turned slow and heavy, "Though you have barely seen the half of it..."

Just as his voice drizzled off, we reached the end of the dirt road. The overarching trees that stretched alongside came to a halt, opening up to a bright sunny day. The meadows that peaked through the gaps of the tree trunks seemed even vaster, going on and on and on forever; for a moment I forgot that the whole of Middle Earth didn't consist of these grassy hills. To an extent, it did, but not like Shire hills, those were always the most beautiful.
Coming into the clearing, the width of the road slowly became thinner, leaving only enough room for a single cart to travel linearly. With no interest of being left behind or even shoved off the path down a steep hill, I hastily hopped back onto the cart.

Gandalf peered down at me with amused eyes and heaved a fat drag from his pipe. He exhaled a cloud of butterflies that fluttered away in the wind; I always loved his magic tricks. Gandalf was a serious fellow, but a merry one at heart. He hummed a little tune as we continued down the path, occasionally pausing to sink the Old Toby. There was contentment beaming off his face. I couldn't say I wasn't the same.

The road began to wind and hug the sides of various mounds, some of which had neatly built homes dug into them, with arched brick exteriors and enormous circular doors hinged exactly in the centre. Often either side of them were round windows, almost completely overgrown by vines and overhanging grass clumps from the unkept lawn above. They were like fox or rabbit holes, but entirely less wet and muddy, in fact quite the opposite.

"The hobbit holes of Hobbiton, the most comfortable homes you could ever step foot in," Gandalf had said moments ago.

Ah, Hobbiton, that's what it was called.

Gradually the number of inhabited hills became plentiful, quickly establishing the heart of the town. Below the path we were trotting along, was a capacious patch of flat grassland, of which stood many little market stalls and picnic tables. Behind those market stalls were humble hobbit-sellers; taking coin for the fresh produce they were displaying. Of course what sellers would their be without the hundreds of Shire-folk surrounding the wooden stalls, vigorously inspecting the vegetables. Some were scattered elsewhere, perhaps talking and laughing with one another or sharing a barrel of the South Farthing's finest smokables—often both at the same time. There were also young hobbit-boys and hobbit-girls, playing hide-and-seek with each other around the area; Gandalf often told me of the many times he'd let off surprise fireworks for them to dance around when he visited. It always made his day.