Coming Home (Bagginsheild and Acorns)

Bilbo's Acorn

 Even a month later Bilbo's mind still wandered back, try as he might to stop it. He remembered every inch of Thorin's face, the curve of his nose, the wrinkles under his eyes, the streaks of gray in his ink-black hair. The mithril that hung on Bilbo's shoulders was a poor replacement for Thorin's embrace.

He was near home now, his warm hobbit hole is only a day's ride away. But, even when he reached it, it seemed empty. Once the hubub of his return dies down, the emptiness of his hobbit hole becomes deafening. When he was awake he didn't eat, staring at Thorin's shield that he took home with him. He spent days polishing it until every drop of blood was washed away. He would carefully lay it beside him in his bed before he fell asleep. It was his last trace of the king under the mountain.

And when he dreamed, he dreamed that when he woke up he would hear the dwarves in his living room. He dreamed of Thorin, in the bloom of health, leaning on his mantle and singing. He dreamed of Thorin's deep, smooth voice filling every crevice of the house and resonating through his chest. But every day, he opened his eyes to find a silent house, and a cold shield.

After weeks of trembling mourning, Bilbo unpacked his things. He put away all of his clothes, and tucked the ring away. More than anything he wanted to disappear. But the ring wasn't enough for him. He could still see himself. No magic would hide him from his grief.

Just as he shook the dust from his last jacket, something clattered to the floor. There it was, the acorn. The one he had saved from Beorn's garden all those months ago. The same acorn that Thorin had pressed in his hands before the battle. The acorn that brought Thorin Oakenshield back to him, even if it was only a moment.

He dropped to his knees in front of it, tears streaming down his face. And when he touched the little nut, images of Thorin came flooding into his mind. Every moment of their time together was contained in that single acorn. He clutched it to his chest. Thorin Oakenshield was still alive in him, and in this tiny tree.

And so he got wobbly to his feet and went outside for the first time in weeks. He squinted in the sun and clutched the acorn to his chest. The longer he thought of planting the tree, the more his heart swelled. Faster and faster it beat, his sorrow was overshadowed by it. And when he got to the forest and found the perfect spot, he tucked the acorn in his vest pocket as he dug, feverishly with his bare hands into the soil. He clawed at the earth until there was a great hole, far to big for his little acorn.

So, he ran back to his house and grabbed Thorin's shield. He wrapped it in a silk tablecloth and hurried back. As if holding a child, he lowered the shield into the hole. He spread dirt over it and pulled the acorn from his pocket. It shone more beautifully, in the light of the setting sun, to the little hobbit than any gem.

And he pressed his lips to the acorn. With tears springing in his eyes, he looks at the sky.

“Thorin, my old friend, you remember when we were at Beorn's house. Yes. We had a grand adventure, you and I. And remember when I showed you this seed? And you came back to me for that moment. And you touched it. And you told me to go back to my garden and my books. And I have, Thorin, I have. And I've cherished this seed, and now, even though your old body is broken, you can grow big and strong again. And I will take care of you. I will take care of the oak tree that grown from this acorn. And you can be my protector and my king once more.” And with these words the hobbit places the acorn in the dirt and covers it gently.

He kept his promise. Going out to Thorin's oak tree every single day, rain or snow. He cared for it like a mother, and watered it. He would sit by the tree on sunny days and reminisce on his adventures.

When Bilbo's young nephew came to live with him, he remembered Thorin, and how good he was to Fili and Kili. And he did his very best to be as good a father as Thorin was. And as the boy grew and the tree grew and Bilbo aged, the young hobbit developed a love for the tree. And so even when Bilbo became to old to visit the tree every day, his nephew would go sit under the tree and read.

And this was exactly where the young hobbit was sitting, reading a book, when Gandalf arrived for Bilbo's 111th birthday.