Briar

3.1 ~ Forgetting and Imagining

3.1 ~ Forgetting and Imagining

When Bilbo woke in the morning, it was softly. He could hear the sounds of birds chirping outside the window, and there was a warm and gentle breeze blowing in through his open bedroom window. Golden sunlight was spilling into the room, and he felt content.

He drearily opened his eyes, breathing in deeply, and closing his eyes once more. A peaceful silence and stillness from inside his house greeted his ears and while this was normal, something about it was off. He opened his eyes again and then he remembered, his brow furrowing as he did.

Dwarves.

There had been Dwarves in his house last night. Dwarves with preposterous ideas of him going on - and he scoffed at the mere thought - an adventure with them. While their cause had been justified, reclaiming their homeland, going on an adventure? Him? Bilbo Baggins? The idea was simply ludicrous.

But Bilbo knew that those Dwarves were never quiet. They made lots and lots of noise no matter what they were doing. And his home was silent. This, of course, made him very suspicious. What were those Dwarves up to?

Bilbo got out of bed and made it to the main hallway as quietly as he could, peeking around corners and in doorways before passing them. He didn't see the Dwarves anywhere, and he certainly couldn't hear them.

"He-hello?" he called out hesitantly.

There was no response.

He checked the dining room, the kitchen - and even up the chimney in the kitchen - and the living room, but everything was as it should be. Empty, and Dwarf-free.

"Yes, yes," Bilbo said triumphantly, as he came to the conclusion that his house was empty.

This was good, Bilbo thought, this was a good thing. He may have imagined it all, and there were no Dwarves in the first place.

But as he stood in the doorway to the living room, an odd feeling surged up inside and a question sprang to mind. What if he didn't want it to have been his imagination?

No, no, he didn't want Dwarves in his house. Bilbo quickly dismissed this question as he moved into the living room to look out the window. But as much as he tried, he just couldn't be happy that they were gone.

He turned his attention away from the window and to an ottoman by the fireplace. On it, sat the contract he had refused to sign last night. Two signatures already graced the paper. The signed slot - Thorin, son of Thrain - and the witnessed slot - Balin, son of Fundin - were both filled, but the slot left for the burglar was still empty.

Bilbo hadn't imagined them. And they hadn't forgotten about him.