Quilted Together - The Hobbit Fanfiction

Chapter 1: Alone

Author's Note: The Hobbit does no belong to me. This is only fanfiction.

If you enjoy this story, I hope you'll check out my original novel on this site, The Paper Treasure. All reviews and comments are very appreciated.

On the night of Bungo Baggins' funeral, his son, Bilbo Baggins, sat in his quiet home and stared at the fire as he thought of his dead father.

Bilbo's grandfather had walked him home after the funeral and all the necessary social obligations pertaining to it had concluded and, once he'd made sure Bilbo was settled by the fire, had busied himself making tea.

The fire on the hearth was lively and added a warm light to the room. On any other day, the fire would have been quite merry, but Bilbo felt numb all over and couldn't bring himself to enjoy it. His whole body felt heavy. So he sat, still in his best suit, and listened to the fire crackle and the soft sounds his grandfather made in the kitchen. He hadn't eaten that day, but the thought of food made his stomach churned uneasily. He glanced down at his hands and found they were shaking.

'Can't let grandfather see me like this.' Bilbo clasped his hands together, squeezing them so tightly together that the trembling was stopped. 'Always be in control of yourself,' Bilbo repeated the words his father had so often berated him with. 'There's nothing quite so unseemly as a person who can't control their emotions.'

Bungo Baggins definitely wouldn't have approved of Bilbo letting grief take hold of him, especially not when anyone was around to see it. So Bilbo had forced himself to be calm at the funeral and when relations had approached to give their condolences. He kept his back straight and his head held high, just as his father would have demanded. Even when he reached his home, he couldn't bring himself to let go of the rigid control he held on himself as his grandfather was in the house and surely wouldn't have approved of any kind of unpleasant emotion anymore than Bungo would have.

Bilbo found the sound of his grandfather's footstep to be a welcome distraction from his thoughts.

"Here you are," Bilbo's grandfather walked back into the parlor. "Just what you need to settle yourself for the night." He handed Bilbo a cup of tea before taking a seat opposite of him.

They sat there for a time, saying nothing. Bilbo kept his hands wrapped around his cup until it cooled and kept watching the fire. Steam rose steadily from the tea.

"You're going to be alright, you know," Bilbo's grandfather said. "I know it's hard, now, but you will be alright. The trick is to keep busy. That won't be difficult; you have responsibilities as head of your household, now."

'Only member of the household, you mean,' Bilbo thought. 'I'm alone, now.'

Aloud, Bilbo said, "I know." Bilbo's voice was nothing but a whisper. "I have to go through father's papers. He never liked me in his study... but it has to be done." He thought, with a sudden sting of panic that broke though the numbness, 'I don't know what I'm doing! Father never taught me. I don't know what to do. He hated me hanging about when he was working.'

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Bilbo's grandfather said, "You'll get the hang of it soon enough. You're smart. You give yourself a few days to rest and you'll be just fine." He gave Bilbo a firm look. "I expect you to be sensible, Bilbo. I know you're upset, but it won't do to start wallowing in self-pity or sulking around the place. It won't do any good. It won't change a thing. You've been thirty-three years old for almost six months; you're an adult and you need to behave like one. Understand?"

Bilbo felt his throat close up, but he took a deep breath. "Yes, grandfather. Of course." He didn't dare speak and say what he really wanted. If he'd had any courage at all to speak his thoughts, it had shriveled up and died at his grandfather's words. But he couldn't stop desperately thinking, 'Stay the night. Just stay tonight. Don't leave me.' But he didn't say anything out loud. His grandfather was right; Bilbo was a grow-up and had been for half-a-year. He needed to be sensible... respectable. It was what everyone expected. It was what his father demanded. Really, it was the only way to be in the Shire. But, still, he thought, 'Please, stay with me. I don't want to be alone.'