Return to Me (Kili)

Prologue

Priscilla carried her bag up the stone walkway, edged by carefully trimmed and groomed gardens, that led up to the round green door of her home in the Shire: Bag End. It was a beautiful home, with windows all along the left side, for the right was embedded into the hill in which the house was built into. This particular home sat on the Hill high above the rest of the north farthing, and overlooked Gaffer Gamgee's fields, the shop area of Hobbiton, and the great Party Tree which was currently being set up with streamers and lanterns in preparation for some party or other, as hobbits liked to have parties (if only for an excuse to eat more), and it seemed there was another one every other week. Priscilla shared Bag End with her elder brother, Bilbo, as the house had been handed down through the paternal side of the family and Priscilla had not yet found someone to marry or another place to live.

She hummed to herself as she opened the door, daydreaming of some place far, far away from the Hill in the Shire, and stepped inside. Almost immediately, her young nephew Frodo was at her feet, hugging her legs and wrapping his arms around her knees.

"Frodo! Goodness, boy, let me in to set my bag down and then I can hug you properly!" She laughed at his eagerness to comply, set her things down and knelt to hug him ever so tightly. She looked up to see Bilbo walking into the entryway.

"Uncle Bilbo was just going to tell me a story!" Frodo exclaimed. "You're just in time!"

Priscilla laughed again. Frodo had always loved stories. She looked up at Bilbo again and saw a look in his eyes that said he needed to talk to her.

"Hurry along and get settled by the hearth, then. Here," she pulled out a biscuit from her bag, "take this and we'll be in in just a moment."

Frodo ran off excitedly. Priscilla stood. Bilbo stepped over, and she noticed more than just the look in his eyes; he was tired, and concerned.

"What's wrong?" She asked, smoothing her skirts.

"Primula and Drogo.... passed away this morning." Bilbo began. Priscilla stood, shocked. Drogo was their younger brother, and father to Frodo. "There was a boating accident and they both drowned. I... decided to adopt Frodo, so that he would at least have a home. I intend to raise him. I, ah... I don't think he's realized what's happened just yet. I was going to tell him a story to get both of our minds off of it." Bilbo finished.

Priscilla nodded silently, sudden shock and grief for Drogo setting in. Bilbo gave her a hug, and they stood for a moment, mourning together the loss of their brother.

"Thanks for letting me know, then." Priscilla said finally. "Frodo will be happy. We'd best not keep him waiting, shall we? Better to focus on the good for now." She wiped her eyes, took a step for the sitting room, and stopped short, emotion overwhelming her. Losing Drogo ripped open a wound in her heart that she had patched and stuffed away long ago. Bilbo seemed to realize what she was thinking of, and she remembered that he, too, had been a victim of loss before.

"You know, there's a reason hobbits tend to stay in the Shire. There's too much danger out there, too much risk of losing something, or someone." Bilbo said, putting his arm around her. "We've both seen a lifetime of adventures that most everyone in the Shire wouldn't even dream of. With risk comes loss, but there also comes an opportunity to learn and grow from it. Let's take the good from this, shall we? Priscilla? Let's tell Frodo a story he'll remember and dream of forever. Maybe he'll still yet have those opportunities."

Priscilla smiled through the tears, not knowing whom exactly she was crying for: her dead brother, or a long lost love. She nodded to Bilbo, and wiped her face again. "I'll start the kettle and bring more biscuits out. We have a lot to tell young Frodo."

And so, with that, she and Bilbo made their way to the sitting room where Frodo was patiently waiting, examining a framed picture while dropping crumbs all over the floor and his trousers. Bilbo scooped him up into his lap, sitting down and glancing at the picture before picking it up. It was a drawing of sixteen people, donned in packs and gear and weapons: thirteen dwarves, a wizard, and two hobbits. He smiled to himself, then to Frodo.

"How would you like to hear this story, Frodo?" He asked, showing him the photo. "See there, there's your aunt Priscilla and I next to that dwarf in the corner. Yes, a dwarf!"

Priscilla walked in with a steaming teapot and a plate of biscuits, smiling at Frodo's expression of wonder.

"Did you really meet them, Uncle?" He asked. "Auntie?" He looked at Priscilla as she walked in.

"We did indeed!" She said, taking the photo and looking at it, remembering. "In fact, there were thirteen of them, and a wizard, too! And even more besides that. Elves and trolls and men and orcs-" she paused to look at Frodo, and the light of interest gleaming in his eyes. "And a dragon!" Frodo's mouth dropped wide open.

"Really? Auntie really? Did you really meet a dragon?" Frodo nearly fell off of Bilbo's lap in sheer eagerness to know.

"You'll have to hear the story to find out, then. Where should we start, Bilbo?" She smiled at Frodo, tousling his hair and sitting down.

"From the beginning of course," Bilbo chuckled. "Where else?"

"The exciting part!" Frodo interjected. Priscilla and Bilbo laughed.

"It's all exciting, dearie." Priscilla said. "Leastways, here in the Shire it is. Bilbo, how about you start?"

With that, Bilbo began to tell Frodo an exciting tale of dwarves and dragons, wizards and elves, swords, bows, axes, wargs and ponies, love, and loss.

"Almost twenty-five years ago, on the very bench outside our front door...." Bilbo started. Frodo's eyes gleamed alight as the story unfolded. Priscilla leaned back in her chair, fingering a stone in her pocket as she listened, and allowed herself to once more escape back into the world outside the Shire, if only for a few hours, back with people she had come to love and adventures she longed to return to.