A passion for Mushrooms

A Long Expected Departure

When it came right down to it, Bilbo just didn’t want to leave Erebor. At first it had been easy to find plenty of excuses to stay. After all, he’d been injured in the battle, and he couldn’t possibly travel all the way to the Shire with a broken arm. Then it had been deep winter, and no one would expect a lone hobbit to cross the Misty Mountains in all that snow. Besides, more dwarves arrived every day, and it was helpful to have a few people around that had been there since the beginning and could tell a traveller where to put their luggage. Unfortunately, it was spring now, and the steady trickle of new arrivals tended to have family or friends already in the mountain to help them get settled. The only useful occupation Bilbo had was helping Ori putter around the remains of the royal library, sorting and repairing the books that had survived decades of neglect. Even that was only available because most dwarves preferred not to bother with something as impermanent as paper.

Worst of all, Gandalf was back from wherever he’d popped off to. The wizard had made it clear that he’d willingly see Bilbo home, so the hobbit couldn’t even dither over the safety of the road. It was quite clear to everyone that the time to go had come.

Immediately after the battle, Bilbo had been welcomed warmly back into the mountain and given guest chambers in the royal wing; however, it now seemed that welcome had expired. Thorin was starting to hint.

Well, Thorin had been hinting for months really, but Bilbo had managed to avoid him at first by cleverly being elsewhere while Thorin had a whole mountain to repopulate and make safe. Certainly the king had spoken up a few times over the winter about wanting to see Bilbo’s bravery suitably rewarded, despite the fact that the hobbit had given his share of the treasure over to Mirkwood and Dale as a ransom for peace. The implication that once Bilbo had a sufficient reward he would scamper off home had been kindly left unspoken. Regrettably, unspoken or not, the idea that Bilbo should take a bag or two of gold and go was clearly at the forefront of Thorin’s mind no matter how much Bilbo tried to stay out of the king’s sight. Bilbo felt like a second cousin who’d been invited for tea, managed to talk his way into supper, and was now making hints about dinner. Unwanted, and unpardonably rude to insist on imposing.

So he would have to go back to the Shire. Which was lovely. And his home. Only, Bilbo dreaded the eventuality more than he’d once dreaded the dragon. Home didn’t offer the opportunity to dance with Bofur’s friends until long after anyone respectable would be well asleep. Home didn’t have Fili and Kili dashing about enthusiastically, sharing all the wonder of their newly recovered heritage with Bilbo in stories that always seemed to start, “Oh, oh, you have to see, it’s just how Mum said it would be.” Home didn’t have Balin’s wisdom, Dwalin’s stoic humor, or Oin’s rough care. Home had dozens of pegs for visitors' coats in the entryway, and large, empty rooms. At home, Bilbo would never see Thorin Oakenshield again.

Still, he couldn’t put it off forever. Bilbo was unhappily aware that he’d be lucky to put it off another day. His attendance on the throne had been specifically requested — Balin had fetched him out of bed first thing, before there was any chance to hide — and Bilbo shifted uneasily on his feet, waiting.

While Thorin dealt with pressing concerns like mine shafts that needed shoring up, trade agreements that needed royal approval, and living arrangements that needed to be made for returning citizens, Bilbo silently wished for something particularly distracting to come up. Just one more diversion, one more day to stay his exile, that was all he wanted at this point. The business of the court was so important, surely no one would notice if Bilbo just slipped quietly away. As soon as he resolved to sidle to the back of the crowd a bit, just to put a little distance between himself and Balin—who was very busy and did not need to waste time with a simple hobbit—Thorin looked directly at him, pinning him with a glare.