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fandomweekly2019-02-11 07:25 pm
samuraiter) wrote in fandomweekly2019-02-11 07:25 pm
Entry tags:
[#006] Empty House (The Hobbit)
Theme Prompt: # 006 – Unexpected Company
Title: Empty House
Fandom: The Hobbit – J.R.R. Tolkien
Rating / Warnings: PG
Bonus: "Were you there when it happened?" – Yes
Word Count: 400
Summary: Bilbo Baggins misses his guests.
* * * *
"Uncle Bilbo, were you there when it happened?"
Young Frodo asked him that question at least once during every one of his stories, and he always smiled back at his nephew and said, small wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes, "Yes, my boy, I was there for all of it, and I will tell you exactly what I saw." Bilbo had come to love those visits.
He did not love the silence in his house after Frodo returned home.
Bilbo found himself sitting at the head of his table, looking down at the hard wood, his fingertips feeling all the nicks and scratches that the Dwarves made as they banged their utensils on the table in anticipation of dinner. At the time, it had horrified him to no end, as had the stains their mud-caked boots left on his floor, the greasy marks their fingers left on his walls.
But he caught himself wishing he could have the lot of them – and Gandalf, too – around his table one more time, no matter how they destroyed his house.
At that first meeting, that unexpected party, the lot of them had all been strangers to him, and everything they had done had been infuriating for him.
But, if they came back, they would come back as old friends, friends with whom he had shared enough adventures in the world to tell a lifetime of stories.
And he would welcome them all back with a smile, a laugh, and the promise of food. For Dwarves did, after all, love their food almost as much as their gold.
He tried not to think of those who could not come back – those who had died at the end of that long journey. Those, he missed most of all.
Sometimes, as the sun set and night took the colors from the sky outside his windows, he caught himself talking to Thorin – small things, things he wished he had said. Nothing of consequence, perhaps, but it all mattered to him.
Sometimes, too, he sobbed quietly into his handkerchief, dabbing at his eyes with its frayed corners, but he never told Frodo about that.
Bilbo preferred to share tales of the good times, the exciting times, the times when he and the others had escaped death by the narrowest of margins.
The sad times when his friends were gone, he kept to himself.
END.
Title: Empty House
Fandom: The Hobbit – J.R.R. Tolkien
Rating / Warnings: PG
Bonus: "Were you there when it happened?" – Yes
Word Count: 400
Summary: Bilbo Baggins misses his guests.
* * * *
"Uncle Bilbo, were you there when it happened?"
Young Frodo asked him that question at least once during every one of his stories, and he always smiled back at his nephew and said, small wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes, "Yes, my boy, I was there for all of it, and I will tell you exactly what I saw." Bilbo had come to love those visits.
He did not love the silence in his house after Frodo returned home.
Bilbo found himself sitting at the head of his table, looking down at the hard wood, his fingertips feeling all the nicks and scratches that the Dwarves made as they banged their utensils on the table in anticipation of dinner. At the time, it had horrified him to no end, as had the stains their mud-caked boots left on his floor, the greasy marks their fingers left on his walls.
But he caught himself wishing he could have the lot of them – and Gandalf, too – around his table one more time, no matter how they destroyed his house.
At that first meeting, that unexpected party, the lot of them had all been strangers to him, and everything they had done had been infuriating for him.
But, if they came back, they would come back as old friends, friends with whom he had shared enough adventures in the world to tell a lifetime of stories.
And he would welcome them all back with a smile, a laugh, and the promise of food. For Dwarves did, after all, love their food almost as much as their gold.
He tried not to think of those who could not come back – those who had died at the end of that long journey. Those, he missed most of all.
Sometimes, as the sun set and night took the colors from the sky outside his windows, he caught himself talking to Thorin – small things, things he wished he had said. Nothing of consequence, perhaps, but it all mattered to him.
Sometimes, too, he sobbed quietly into his handkerchief, dabbing at his eyes with its frayed corners, but he never told Frodo about that.
Bilbo preferred to share tales of the good times, the exciting times, the times when he and the others had escaped death by the narrowest of margins.
The sad times when his friends were gone, he kept to himself.
END.
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