That's What Bilbo Baggins Hates

It's a soft spring afternoon and there is a breeze chasing the leaves in The Shire. It's a calm day and a hobbit is making his way home after a walk in the woods. He sighs contently and opens his vivid green doors.

"Bag-End." he whispers and looks at the empty hall. He still feels that empty space where a part of his heart used to be and the familiar ache of missing.

He remembered it as if it was yesterday. Dwarfs in his hall, weather worn coats on the peg, muddied boot traces on the wooden floor and just sharpened weapons. The songs that echoed through the hobbit hole as the dwarfs sung merrily. He shook his head. No need to dwell on the past.

He makes his way to the living room and goes to the mantelpiece. There rests Sting, his loyal sword. Or 'letter opener' as the company used to call it. Used to.

He hums quietly to himself as he prepares dinner and listens to the birds chirping. The kitchen soon smells heartily and homely as Bilbo is cooking. He's boiled eggs, got some 'taters and cooked bacon.

The sun shines through the window and lights the room in a soft warm glow of the afternoon sun. He inhales deeply and smiles to himself. It's quiet and warm and he's content. He tells himself.

He eats his dinner in a quiet peace and lets his mind wander. He remembers the cold evenings and lack of food. The fire burning happily and the company laughing about the inappropriate jokes that Bilbo Baggins hates. The company sharpening their weapons, the company re-braiding their hair, the company spreading their bedrolls, the company arguing about night watches until Thorin -rudely- intervened.

He snaps out of his reverie and eats the remainder of his plate and then gathers the rests that can be kept to bring them to the pantry. He gathers the filthy plates and lets warm water stream in the sink. He looks outside and closes his eyes.

He sees Fíli and Kíli chasing each other -much to the annoyance of Thorin- and throw leaves around. He stops the tap and lets the plates slide into the water and adds soap. He washes the cutlery first, then the cups, then the plates.

He dries of a plate when a memory strikes him. He looks at the plate, while stopping in his tracks. He tentatively throws it softly and catches it again. To his surprise he giggles and throws it higher, let it roll over his arm into his hand and throws it behind his back. He mis catches and -luckily- saves it.

A single tears slips from his eye and he stares at the plate, basking in the soft afternoon sun. Lost in his thoughts he whispers,

"That's what Bilbo Baggins hates" and continues to dry off the plates.