You Had Me at "Handkerchief" {Bilbo Baggins/LOTR}

Chapter IV: Stolen Vegetables? I Don't Carrot All

Chapter IV:

Stolen Vegetables? I Don't Carrot All

It's times like these, dark and hopeless, that I am glad to have Phoenician blood to flow within my veins. Sure, the fact that I am a walking glowstick is often irritating and hard to hide; however, the blood does more harm than good in the long run. In today's case, our Phoenician identity gives Bilbo and me the ability to walk a night on end, taking no breaks and not tiring in the slightest. No wonder my mother is a ball of excitable energy.

We walk for the entirety of Bilbo's birthday night, little words exchanged other than "watch out for that root" and "who put that spider there." Indeed, it is a long night that surpasses the Shire's borders none too quickly. And before we know it, dawn is peeking upon the day, forestry above our head, a scattered mural of morning colors. It is a beautiful morning, to say the least, and very unbefitting of the terrifying age we travel through.

"So we mustn't fly?" Bilbo questions from behind me, as I lead him under low hanging branches and along a not-so well worn path. This ought to be the first conversation between us following my arrival last night, and I am very grateful for it, given that it hinders Bilbo from humming.

"It is far too dangerous at this time...Orcs just recently shot Nori out of the sky with a volley of arrows. He's okay, of course, but it was quite a scare," I reminisce from two weeks ago. Galadriel has prophesied this event just days prior to its happening, but no messages were exchanged as orcs are no match to our fiery inhibitions. And indeed, Nori was uninjured, unlike the burned corpses of orc rogues.

"Oh yes, I don't think I'll be flying anytime soon," Bilbo remarks in a slightly scared tone. Even though he took on a dragon sixty years ago, the hobbit is not an inborn warrior. Neither am I. "...even if you are just a little too annoying to handle."

Is this Bilbo's attempt at flirting? A witty banter? Either way, I find myself enjoying this hobbit's intentions, and smiling all the same. So, of course, I just have to play along: "Oh, that hurts deeply, my friend."

"You aren't nearly as annoying as your mother," Bilbo responds with a knowing smile, though I don't believe this is a compliment, "so take little fear in my threat to flee your company."

"Such a compliment," I respond with a smirk before increasing our pace of travel. Bilbo takes little pain in the acceleration, having stable ground to walk upon and feet to easily traverse it. Hobbits are a very strange race, one that is oftentimes underappreciated and underestimated. Some of these people, like Bilbo Baggins, have a remarkable bravery that is often absent from other races. Their innocence is surely a force to be reckoned with.

"Get back here, you chipmunk-loving rascals!" a voice exclaims from behind me. My eyes meet those of Bilbo's, a look of surprise and fear exchanged between our faces. It does not take a genius to assume this person is in search of me and Bilbo, seeing as no other travelers traverse this path. Surely neither of us have done anything shout-worthy, and thus, we are confused to no end.

"Those are my carrots, not yours, you filthy rodents! Get back here!" the hobbit exclaims as he rounds a corner in the path and spots our halted state. I have little chance to take the person's appearance in as he runs at us and Bilbo pulls me into a sprint. Though from the look I get, I assume this hobbit to be a Farmer Maggot of the Shire, and a deep-despiser of thieves.

"Oh my Durin, Bilbo! He's after us!" I exclaim as I gracefully run and jump over obstacles in the path. The hobbit is remarkably light on his feet, as my mother once claimed, keeping an easy running pace at my side. At the same time, the farmer is still on our tales, though falling away at some feet per second.