#bilbo baggins and the ring

[obsidiancreates]

As My Friend Has Stood By Me, So Shall I (Chapter 22)

Tauriel stays perfectly still, crouched among the leaves, the first hints of Autumn keeping hidden her bright hair and the lingering grasp of summer concealing her garb. She focuses far, far below her, where the ground is still ridding itself of unnatural rot, where her hunt is huddled in the hollow of a felled tree moaning as it holds itself and weeps.

“We’ll never finds our ways out, Precious!” it cries, Fell voice piercing Tauriel’s ears like a dagger. “Shut up! Always hunting us, Precious, we must stay quiet. Oh, leaves us alone! We are crushed, Precious!”

It growls at itself. “We wills be if you don’t shut up! Oh, it’s no use, no use! The thiefs is gone, Precious, gone away! No! We feels it. It is not far. But neither is He, Precious! And he wants it! Always wants it! Shut up!”

Tauriel can’t help the pity that clenches her heart. The creature is at war with itself every time she comes close to catching it, of two minds always. It wails and moans and cries, with a grief palpable enough to strike sorrow in most who see it. The men assigned to help her often cannot bear it– and she might not be able to either, if not for her promise to her love.

She slips down further through the branches, silent, the closest she’s ever been to this wretched and wounded creature. It hugs itself, digging blunted nails into it’s own flesh hard enough to draw thick, dark blood. She’s seen it catch smaller creatures, birds and rabbits and fish, and bite straight into them. She’s sure it would do the same to her without a moment’s hesitation.

It sniffles, and rubs at it’s eyes. Tear tracks cut through the thick layers of blood and dirt on it’s face. Tauriel carefully, quietly, removes the net weighted with stones on the edges from her pack. It’s the only solution that, hopefully, will keep her safe from the few deadly-sharp teeth in it’s mouth.

As she lifts it to drop, right above the creature, a strong breeze blows through the woods.

It buffets the net.

A stone hits the trunk beside her.

The creature’s eyes snap up to her, shining in the shadows! He moves to capture it, but it’s fast and almost slimy, slipping away with a screech! She gives chase, bounding easily through the trees, but the creature is clever, and willing, and the moment it comes upon an old burrow made by one of the Fell bug-creatures that once made her home into Mirkwood it dives into it! 

Tauriel lets out a quiet curse as it’s small form slips away, into the darkness and dirt. She can only hope her love and his kin are having better luck with their efforts back in The Mountain.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ori sets the journal he’s been filling with Bilbo’s recounting of The Shire onto the table. The entire Company is packed into the Royal Council Room– and this a royal council, of sorts. The royal family is involved, anyway.

Balin pats Ori on the back and nods approvingly. “Good work, lad. I can see it’s well-organized.”

“An’ thorough.” Nori thumbs through the pages, giving them quick glances just to determine how many are full– the answer is Almost All. He grins up at his little brother. “Shoulda guessed, really.”

“Aye. If our own Hobbit held as many surprises as he did, his kin cannot be far behind.” Balin takes the journal from Nori, reading the random page Nori had landed on. “Does this say that Hobbits do, in fact, have a militia?”

“And an enchanted forest on the borders,” Kili adds. “He told us so the day with Tauriel in the markets.”

“Uncle finally has an excuse for getting lost,” Fili says, earning a small chuckle from Kili and Bofur.

Thorin doesn’t respond to the jab, reading over the page himself. “Where is the chapter on celebrations?”

“I’ve been putting all of that in the back,” Ori says as Balin flips to it. “It’s most of what Bilbo ends up talking about.”

“Indeed,” Balin mutters, realizing just how extensive that section is, with more blank pages having headings already scribbled in, waiting to be filled. “A very merry folk.”

The silence that follows carries one unspoken but shared thought with it. Bilbo has not been very merry for a long time.

Thorin gently takes the book from Balin and reads in the thick silence for a few moments. His brow pinches. “He is to give gifts away to others on his birthday?”

Ori nods, and Nori brightens with a somewhat wicked gleam in his eye.

“Well, tha’s my in then!” Nori pats his little brother on the back. “Pick ‘is pocket an’ jus’ say I wanted mine early, or to snag someone else’s!”

“You could at least pretend these schemes don’t come to you this quickly,” Dori mutters.

“Why? Thorin knows. ‘E came to me about this whole thing.”

“The honor us all here will be tainted by this,” Thorin says, looking up. “If any of you wish not to be apart of this plan, I would not blame you. Leave now, if you wish, and be free of our deceptions.”

No-one moves a muscle. Loyal to a fault.

“Very well.” Thorin looks back down at the book. “If this is to work, we must forsake a few of these customs. Inviting anyone beyond our Company is out of the question.”

“How about we jus’ blend our traditions with his?” Bofur suggests. “I’d li’e to get ‘im a gift anyway.”

“And we can use the whole thing as a way to get him out to the markets in Dale again,” Fili says. “The sunlight and gossip did him well. And the food.”

“Look a’ us,” Gloin mutters. “The Company of Thorin Oakenshield, par’y planners. I miss the days our enemies coil’ be brought low by an axe!”

Dwalin rubs his face. “We all do.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As he does many days in this past year or so, Bilbo finds himself whiling away the afternoon sitting on an outcrop, some small distance from The Mountain, smoking and staring South while rolling his Luck in his fingers. His own thoughts are quiet, a gentle unawareness, the soft weight of hissed whispers and thums of a not-heartbeat building pressure in his skull. It’s uncomfortable and soothing, maddening and relaxing, painful and peaceful. 

And it nearly gets him killed.

For he doesn’t notice the three orcs creeping among the shade cast by The Mountain until they’re close enough he can smell the rotting stench of the months-old dwarf and man blood upon their flesh.

He covers his mouth and sinks lower, pressing himself against the rocks, eyes snapping away from the horizon to search for the enemies before they can catch his scent on the wind. His hand tightens around his Luck, other hand coming to rest on Sting, but alone against three starved and desperate orcs he doubts even his Mithril will keep him out of harm.

This is why we stay close to Erebor, he thinks bitterly. And keep our world so small, after learning it’s so large? Seeing as we are quite small ourselves, yes! But we’re clever, and capable. And more than a bit worn-out still from the adventure in the first place. Or perhaps in need of another adventure. We need another adventure as much as Greenwood needs the spiders back.

Bilbo blinks, finally spotting the orcs, as they search for… something. He feels his chest tighten, breath hitch, as they look towards where he hides. They move his way, running, sprinting and soon to be upon him–

The Ring slips onto his finger without him knowing his hand had moved at all. He quickly rolls off his little outcropping, crawling under the small space between the stone and dirt just as the orcs leap up to where he had been sitting moments ago. He hardly dares to breathe, bracing for the death-like sounds of Black Speech to hit his ears as they shuffle above him, sniffing.

But instead…

“Something was here.” The voice is foul and Fell, gurgling thickly as though drowned in mud and blood, a scratching quality that makes it sound as though it must be painful for the orc to speak. Bilbo’s eyes go wide, and he must cover his mouth with his hand, his Luck’s cool smooth surface pressing against his lip as he tries to stifle a building panicked whine.

He knows, knows, the orc above him did not speak in Westron. He understands, hears, as though it did, but just as with the spiders he knows their own speech has not changed. 

“I smell it,” another orc says, it’s voice carrying the same qualities as the one before but with a deeper sound. “I feel the call still.”

Bilbo has to lean his head back, a dizziness washing over him. His focus blurs, and when it clears he finds his eyes again on the South, on the horizon, on the terrible burning orange glow far, far past Esgaroth and even the fields beyond it. The whispers of this little world sharpen, grow, as something… pulls… almost draws Bilbo out from the rock… his free hand grips the dirt beneath him as his other slowly comes away from his mouth, lip tingling where the cool touch of The Ring had been, The Ring that gleams as his hand stretches out, further, just past the shelter of the stone…

The shuffling above him is muffled, so muffled he doesn’t notice it’s stopped. He doesn’t notice the quiet plop on either side of him… the wet, ragged breaths… all his mind taken by the whispers and the pull and the distance…

And then there’s a twang, an arrow-whistle, and the choked sounds of two orcs falling dead on either side of him. He glances at one for just a moment, the turn of his head slow and sick, locking eyes with the corpse–

A single eye of flame looks back and screams.

Bilbo chokes on a gasp and rips his Luck off just as another arrow flies and the third orc falls in front of him, corpse rolling a mere foot before it stops and stares at Bilbo in it’s death.

Bilbo is frozen, heart thundering in his chest, blinking rapidly as he begins to realize how close he was to becoming a meal for these creatures. 

“I swear they’re comin’ down from the North,” he hears a dwarf he doesn’t know grumble from just above. “Cannae be this many lef’ af’er the battle.”

“Aye,” another says, sounding tired. “I hope to Durin they ne’er find what they're lookin’ for. A focus li’e this can only be for foul plans.”

The two guardsmen ride away, the hooves of their goats quiet even in the crisping early-Autumn grass. Bilbo is still unable to move, eyes locked with the corpse before him, Luck held loosely in his hand. He swallows, and brings it into his vision. He feels sick, deep in his stomach, as he remembers the spiders, the woods, the creature from the ground, the rage–

Now, again, voices of creatures Fell reached his ears and he understood them. And something had called to them. Drawn them near, drawn them to him, to his Pre–

“But it still hid us,” his mouth mumbles. He sniffs, twitching his nose. “Yes, but-but they were looking for–”

“For what? We don’t know.”

“... No, no, we don’t.” He swallows, closing his eyes and bringing the ring to his chest. “Silly thing to think. Why would orcs ever want a ring? Just… just silly.”

“Yes, my Luck. Just silly.”

[shinraalpha]

i love how Gandalf invested in Hobbits in year one and has been pushing them ever since. Thorin, i hear you need help with a breaking and entering. Can I recommend one of these little cunts? Silent as fuck, trust me. Elrond my dude i know you're skeptical but these four chucklefucks just transported a weapon of mass destruction all the way here. Theoden, you've gotta get yourself a hobbit man, I've got a spare one here. Denathor you big prick, take a hobbit - literally this is the bottom of the range but listen to him sing. Beautiful little bastard.

[themoonstonechronicler]

"why did the ring mostly affect frodo and not bilbo who had it for a gazillion years" objectively has a textual answer but i think the best answer is that sauron just likes bilbo more than frodo

bilbo: *uses the ring to hide from his relatives*

sauron, remembering almaren: yknow. real.

[sapphoismymuse]

sam, reading bilbo’s book: “well now, i’m sure he had a very nice voice, but that’s hardly a reason to go on an adventure with someone you just met”

sam: turns page to an illustration of thorin, with his dark hair and blue eyes

sam: “understandable, good for you mister bilbo”

[cameron4818]

Gandalf: So I’ve developed an elaborate plan to save middle earth from darkness

Elrond: does it-

Gandalf: it involves hobbits again yeah

[idontknowhowtoplayguitar]

Lotr headcanon, having lots of patches on your clothes is fashionable in the Shire. The more patches, the cooler you are. Especially if it's a lot of different fabrics. It's common to trade patches with friends and family, and it's usually treated with high sentimental value. It's like carrying a piece of someone with you.

While the hobbits are on the quest, their clothes get holes and such. This leads Sam and Frodo to nab small things from the other members of the fellowship, like handkerchiefs or anything too worn for use, to use as patches. Merry and Pippin aren't so courteous, and cut pieces from the fellowship's clothes while they sleep.

Of course, the hobbits exchange patches amongst themselves while traveling, and they never go anywhere without a needle and some thread. Sam is the best at sewing. Pippin is not allowed around needles.

Boromir notices this, thinks it's adorable, and leaves things out purposely for the hobbits to use. Eventually, he asks about it, and they convince him to do the patches, too.

Aragorn also notices and thinks it's adorable, but doesn't bring it up to them. He's secretly flattered to find pieces of his rag on Frodo's pants. He asks Boromir about it instead.

Legolas doesn't notice. His clothes are elven-made, and the scissors refuse to cut it.

Gimli notices the random holes in his clothes, and the things going missing, but doesn't realize it's the hobbits. He brings it up to Legolas, who immediately convinces Gimli that he's crazy and it's all in his head.

Gandalf notices, obviously, and he doesn't mind until Pippin tries to cut his cloak while hes asleep. He proceeds to wake up and yell at him until dawn.

After Boromir dies, Aragorn takes his cloak, and sews pieces onto his clothes. These are the only patches he has.

Bilbo has a set of clothes with patches from the dwarves, from his own adventure. He told them about the tradition, and they all gave him pieces of fabric to use. He can still recount which patch belonged to who.

[lualuadraw]

courting braid!!!

[animusrox]

The Lord of the Rings The Fellowship of the Ring (2001) dir. Peter Jackson

[wizardarchives]

Gandalf and Bilbo by Tim Kirk (1974)

[starlighttfoxx]

Anytime you finish lotr or the hobbit it’s the loneliest most gut wrenching desolate feeling in the world lmao. 100% meant this to sound that dramatic because it’s true. Frodo sailing off or Bilbo letting Gandalf in the door and it showing the lonely mountain map. My heart sinks every time.

[shurikthereject]

Yeah so this guy absolutely invaded my iPad and I can’t stop drawing him 💀 Anyway! I really wanted to draw more shenanigans with Dwobbit Frodo and his fam, whom he has wrapped around his tiny finger since the day he was born lmfao. Big thank you to @belalubroski and @shujinkomononobe for keeping me inspired with different ideas!

[obsidiancreates]

As My Friend Has Stood By Me, So Shall I (Part 15)

The Treachery of the Trusted (And the Waning Trust of the Treacherous)

Rivendell is quiet and peaceful in a way Bilbo has never known. Even The Shire, with its rolling green hills and soft earth and weather-worn little trees, is not so peaceful as it is here. The Shire has more laughter, more shouting, more mischief- all good things, of course. A mischievous child is a happy and healthy child, and shouting can be of revelry just as much as frustration, and laughter- what worth would life be without laughter?

  The dwarves stay together, in as few areas as possible. Bilbo though, he wanders. He wanders into the libraries, the kitchens, every hall he finds. He’s never had so much to explore in such peace.

He wanders into one room- unlike any others. A statue sits, holding its arms out and around a stone slab as though presenting it. Shards of a sword sit on the slab, and across from it, a mural.

Bilbo stands in front of the mural, trying to piece together what it may be about. A battle, obviously- a great and terrible one. Three figures take up the focus of the mural. A dead man, a living man, and… something else. Perhaps a man. But Bilbo doesn’t think so. Something about the figure, the image… he feels, deep within, that it’s something he’s never even heard of before, or at least heard very little of.

His eyes are drawn up, to the raised hand of the dark figure as it grasps a terrible weapon. Among the gray and black and grim colors of its side of the painting, something… shines.

His lips part as he stares at it. A simple, golden ring, standing out starkly and luring in the most attention. Again, something stirs in him. He has a feeling, somehow, that that ring is important.

He intended to ask about the mural, he truly does. But then Elrond offers for him to stay in Rivendell if he so wishes, and then he (and by chance, Thorin) overhear Gandalf and Elrond arguing, and then The Company is taking their leave.

The moment with the mural fades from his memory before he ever leaves Rivendell, and by the time he’s in the mountains he hardly remembers it.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There’s a knock at the door, and Bilbo groans and covers his ears with his pillow. It’d taken him ages to fall asleep last night, and then he’d had a dream that frightened him- though he can’t recall why. He’d woken with his hand under his pillow, gripping His Luck tightly, and fallen back to sleep soon after.

“We’ve got eggs and bacon for breakfast today, Bilbo,” Bofur calls through the door.

“And Kili and I thought we might take you to the markets again!” Fili shouts. “We saw someone selling cakes like the ones you had at home!

Home. Where a Hobbit might get some much-needed quiet rest after prodding and poking by nosy dwarves. 

“They mean well,” he mumbles to himself with a yawn. “Let’s just go back to sleep.”

And then he abruptly sits straight up, releasing his hold on The Ring. Bacon and eggs! What’s he doing, thinking of turning that down?

“Alright, alright, I’m on my way out!” he shouts back. “Give me a moment, please!”

“We’ll wait for you in the private dining hall!” Fili’s voice fades as he shouts it, his pounding footsteps telling Bilbo that today is an ‘armored and ready for anything’ day. 

He quickly slips his own mithril under his shirt, and then looks at his bed, the pillow- The Ring.

“Can’t eat if we take it with us,” he mutters. “Right, ahem! I’ll be back soon enough.”

He’s not sure who he’s saying that for.

As he walks down the hall, his fingers twitch and tense around where his pockets should be. They wag and wave about his midsection, coming up and then jerking back down. It’s an awful habit. It makes him feel restless. Uneasy. On guard. Even when The Ring is there his hands flutter to and rip away, or delve down and clutch it, roll it, feel for any flaw and find nothing over and over and over again-

He doesn’t realize how quick his breathing has gotten until Oin steps out of the dining hall with Gloin behind him.

“Ya see, brother? Wheezing like those dogs we saw in Laketown!”

“Le’ me look at ya, laddie,” Oin says, moving closer. Bilbo almost jerks away, almost hisses that he’s had enough of Oin’s care, thank you!

But the venom dies as quickly as it rose. Bilbo just blinks, and nods quickly and stiffly.

Oin gives his chest a quick listen, and has Bilbo breathe in and out deeply, before nodding. “Alright, yer fine.”

“Yes, I just had a um- a bit of a panic, back there.” Bilbo gestures half-heartedly behind him. “Thought I saw something, but ah… it’s fine.”

“Seein’ things, lad?” Gloin eyes Bilbo with concern. “Not the first to see things that don’t be there after a war.”

“Or just a bad night’s sleep.” Bilbo nods at the dining room entrance, and they all go in. They take their seats, and the last one left is to Thorin’s right hand. Bilbo takes the seat with a quick twitch of a smile at Thorin, who returns it, and breakfast begins.

For a while, no-one speaks, which is… unusual. They just tuck in. Bilbo gets to a second helping of eggs before he breaks the silence.

“Something’s obviously not right here,” he says with a grunt and a clearing of his throat, “I have a feeling it’s me, so let’s just get it over with.”

There’s an outcry of protests around the table- which Bilbo rolls his eyes at and silences with a shout of “EXCUSE ME!��� that the version of himself who’s never left The Shire would’ve begged for.

“I like to think we’ve all been through enough together to not be awkward anymore,” he says pointedly, voice a little low and rough with impatience, “So out with it.”

It’s the ring, the luck, they want your luck-

“Well,” Bofur says, tapping his mittened hands together and drawing his mouth. “Well, out with it it is. You’re skinnier.”

“S-skinnier?” Bilbo is taken aback.

A look passes around the table, something… well, something Bilbo’s not quite sure of. Silent agreement, maybe.

“Aye, skinner,” Bofur continues. “That shirt ou’a be tight on you, Bilbo.”

“We’re worried about your diet,” Ori jumps in, standing up and sending his chair scraping backwards. “We know you’re supposed to be fatter than this.”

“How-how is that your business?” Bilbo huffs a laugh. “I’m eating just fine, thank you! It takes more than a few weeks of decent meals to regain the weight I lost!”

“Have you regained any?” Dwalin asks with a raised brow.

“Of course I have.” Though… not really. “And if that’s all that’s making you lot so terrified to talk to me, I’ll just have a few more plates today. Happy?”

“We’re only trying to look out for you,” Kili says, casting another strange glance around the table. “We don’t want to lose you after all we went through.”

Bilbo breathes out from his nose, long and deep, closing his eyes. When he opens them again they focus on his plate, not Kili, and for a moment his lips stay slightly parted without a single word passing.

And then he looks up. “You won’t lose me,” he assures, looking around to every dwarf he’s proud to call ‘friend’ and ‘family’. “You won’t, any of you. I’m just adjusting to something new.”

“All the same-” Thorin says, finally speaking up and finally looking at Bilbo with a readable expression, one of fondness and… firmness. Bilbo narrows his eyes at Thorin. That looks means something unpleasant is about to be said. “-I think we’d all feel more comfortable if we continued to eat as a Company. Together.”

“For every meal?” Bilbo scoffs. “Thorin, by the time we’ve got a steady supply of food coming in I’ll be having about seven meals a day plus snacks.”

“We’ll do our best to keep up, then,” Balin says with a quick smile.

“You don’t have to keep up! I’m a perfectly capable hobbit on my own! What next, I can’t do outside with a guard?”

Silence. Bilbo looks up at Thorin with fire in his eyes. “Don’t you dare.”

“You nearly drowned-”

“I can promise you, I won’t be doing it again. My time is my own! Now I don’t mind sharing it, especially not with all of you, but it’s still mine!”

“Only when you go to the ramparts… or near water.” 

Fili clears his throat and says something in Khuzdul.

“And the treasury,” Thorin adds with a thankful nod.

Dwalin clears his throat next.

“And the hidden door.”

“The hidden door?” Bilbo stares at Thorin, and then around the table, with his mouth hanging open in a bitter smirk. “So anywhere there aren’t hundreds of dwarves around?”

“More or less,” Bofur says, earning a sharp elbowing from Dori to his left. “Ow!”

“Unbelivable.” Bilbo pushes his own chair away from the table now. He grabs a bit of bread for the road- or rather hallway, and stalks out.

The Company sit a moment longer in silence, Thorin sighing and putting one hand to his forehead.

“Very tactful, Bofur,” Fili grumbles.

“At least I made that good excuse at the start,” Bofur tries to defend.

“Excuse?” Bombur cleans up Bilbo’s plate, a great pain in his eyes. “He barely touched his secon’ plate. I am worried about his ea’in’.”

“We all are.” Thorin still feels the shocking thiness of Bilbo in his arms, the vast amount of weight coming from the waterlogged clothing. “But Fili is right. You were tactless.”

“He wouldn’ ‘ave taken it well however we did it,” Dwalin growls. “I don’ feel right about restrictin’ his freedoms, Thorin.”

“It’s jus’ until we figure out wha’s wrong with ‘im,” Nori argues. “We can’ trust ‘im with his own safe’y right now!”

“This is a free mountain.” Dwalin rises from his chair. “Especially for us, especially for him.”

“Sit, Dwalin.”

At Thorin’s command he does sit, but with a huff and a look at Nori like he’d like to throw him a cell for a few days, like the old time in the Blue Mountains.

“I don’t like this lying, anymore than all of you,” Thorin says, his gaze purposefully avoiding Nori who’d suggested the very plan. “But it’s as we agreed. If it’s dragon sickness, we’ll act quickly. If it’s something else, we don’t know what might happen to him when we confront it. Balin, you’ve suggested it could be the warrior’s weariness?”

“Aye, it might be,” Balin nods. “He was thrust from a life of fifty years of peace into enough turmoil and war to scar any mind. But that trinket he has… I fear it may be making things worse.”

Thorin nods. “We continue with our plan. We make sure he eats, and wait for his pockets to rip.”

“It’ll be over in no time,” Nori says with complete confidence. “Even if it’s just a li’l stone, those pockets always tore open eventually.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bilbo stormed into his room huffing, setting the bread beside last night’s barely-picked meal. “Like I’m a child,” he scoffs to the empty room. “Even a child gets some privacy, don’t they? But we get confines and-and lockouts!”

He plops heavily onto his bed and pulls out the pip Gandalf gifted him, along with the Old Toby, and lights his pipe. He blows a few smoke rings, very fine smoke rings indeed.

His golden ring is in his hand yet again.

It had only been a few hours since he’d torn himself up trying to leave it behind, but now… now he feels nauseous just looking at, hearing the whispers, the not-heartbeat, feeling the weight in his hand…

And yet, a thought occurs to him.

“Can’t accompany us if they can’t see us.”

He rolls the ring between his pointer finger and thumb. “Could you hide my smoke ring?” he asks, quietly and with a wavering voice. The sick feeling in his stomach isn’t going away.

The Ring whispers… but doesn’t answer.

“Not that they’d ever see them, with those tall ceilings.” 

“They’d worry though, surely.”

“So what? They’re always worrying these days.”

He frowns a little and tilts his head in agreement to the point. “Fair enough.” He takes one more long drag from his pipe, puffing out the biggest smoke ring yet. “... Maybe just this once.”

His hand stills just before The Ring slips onto his finger.

Something is… something is not, right…

He swallows, staring down, staring at the light of the lanterns glinting off of The Ring as he holds it there, poised at the tip of his finger. He adjust his posture and coughs a little. He still doesn’t put it on.

And then there’s a knock at the door, and a “I think it’s unlocked,” and it begins to open-

And Bilbo is out of the regular world, into the world of wisps and shadows and living air.

Fili and Kili peek around the room. “Must’ve just missed him,” Fili says, pointing at the smoke lingering in the air. “Maybe he went to the markets without us?”

The markets… I forgot about the markets. Bilbo swallows a sigh.

They drove me off in the first place, though. It’s not as though we can’t go later. I just need a bit of privacy first. A bit of time to cool down.

The princes have opened the door a good bit more, whispering to each other in Khuzdul, and Bilbo takes the chance to slip out between them.

Right, now… door, treasury, or outside altogether? Bilbo peers around the halls, listening, trying to discern where the largest gatherings to avoid might be through the hissing words of the air.

They’ll panic if they go looking and I don’t turn up quickly, so not outside. The door is too far away as well, but the treasury makes noise as I move about.

So maybe somewhere a little deeper. A little farther in. Mmm, but it’s dangerous.

And away from prying eyes.

I’m just going to have a smoke, though. I’ll just stay withing hearing distance of the treasury entrance. It’ll be enough for today.

But every other day? When our patience runs out? When we need a moment along, just to us?I’ll just have to learn my around a bit better, I suppose.

[mxliv-oftheendless]

So if yall didn’t know, in The Hobbit book, Thranduil had the Dwarves locked up for approximately weeks, and Bilbo was just invisible and wandering in the palace the entire time, vibing miserably.

My headcanon, therefore, is that the Mirkwood Elves now have a local legend about a ghost haunting Thranduil’s palace, never seen but generally thought to be harmless. Thranduil scoffs at the idea, but has been seen glancing around at the dark corners of rooms. Legolas fully believes in it and is known to say hello out loud when he enters an empty room, in case the ghost is nearby.

It’s not until Legolas joins the Fellowship that he figures out that the supposed ghost was actually an invisible Bilbo the whole time. He never tells Thranduil, because he thinks it’s funny to see his regal father unnerved by the idea of a ghost.

[tarsaqus]

NO WAY

[velvet4510]

It took the Ring two seconds to make both Isildur and Gollum claim it as their own.

It didn’t take much longer for it to make Bilbo do the same, as he kept it as the key “trick up his sleeve” during the Quest for Erebor and never considered harming it.

But in 17 full years and 6 months, it couldn’t make Frodo claim it. It took being inside Mt. Doom, the place where its power was absolute and drowned out all othere, to get Frodo to claim it.

Inside Mt. Doom, no bearer can resist the Ring. They will inevitably claim it there. But literally ALL of the other Ring-bearers who ever claimed it did so outside of Mt. Doom.

The Ring never needed to apply its utmost, Cracks-of-Doom-level pressure to make any previous Ring-bearer claim it. Frodo was the only one who resisted it so long and so well that it had to force itself upon him and break him just to get him to regard it as his own.

Frodo Baggins is the strongest mortal in the Third Age of Middle-Earth and no, I am not accepting questions at this time.

(Remember our beloved Samwise Gamgee never claimed the Ring, and didn’t have it long enough for it to really sink its teeth into him as deeply as it did into everyone else. I’m talking about those who actually claimed the Ring at some point in their lives.)

[enbyofdionysos]

The Fellowship movie did Bilbo so dirty ☠️ I know they didn’t make the hobbit movies yet so they were trying to keep the focus on Frodo but:

Bilbo is friends with Aragorn and comes to his defense over Boromir rather than Legolas

Bilbo volunteers to take the ring to Mordor first so nonchalantly like an old queer professor on sabbatical volunteering to cover a 101 course and everyone at the council is honored by his offer

Literally not even scared or sad about it or anything — just straight up “yeah okay I see what you’re getting at, Lord Elrond, I’ll do it 💅 guess I’ll have to rewrite the ending of my book”

Bilbo doesn’t ask to see the ring again or make a go at Frodo but instead sings a sad little song out the window after giving him Sting and his mithril shirt

“it is my dwarf-mail that Thorin gave me” AAAH

Bilbo’s there when they leave Rivendell in the winter and tells them good luck like a worried little peepaw

Also the movie makes it sound like he never got to Erebor but HE DID and was traveling with some of the original company including Gloin who’s the only one who smiles when Bilbo volunteers to take the ring to Mordor