♢ :; a good ending

She shook her head at his question, trying not to laugh. “Oh, no, it’s not uncomfortable at all – so long as you’re wearing shoes that fit, that is. When they’re too small then yes, it does pinch your toes quite uncomfortably.” Sigrid had grown up with her share of pinched toes and shoes she’d outgrown months ago but said still fit, curling up her toes inside them to try and make them last a little longer. (She had been oh, so glad when she’d realized that her feet had finally stopped growing any bigger, and she wouldn’t need new boots until she’d completely worn through hers.) “But well fitting shoes don’t.”

Thinking for a moment, Sigrid continued by way of further explanation for the Hobbit, “Just like any clothes, really – they shouldn’t be uncomfortable if they fit right, or feel as though  you’re being crammed into tight spaces.” Then there’s a little sigh, and an added little, “Well, actually, some of my gowns do feel like that, I suppose, but I’ve heard that’s how they’re meant to be. Boots aren’t.”

If the look on her face was anything to go by then pinched toes were just as awful as they sounded, even without the comparisons. It made him wonder if the prices of shoes for Men were the same was what the dwarves often sold their for. If so then he could imagine it being difficult for a poor bargeman like Bard to keep a pair of boots for himself, let alone his three children. It made the burglar all the more thankful that things were much better for them now and Bard didn’t have to worry about such things any longer.

“That would be so nice,” Sigrid sighed wistfully, positively and visibly delighted at the prospect of being able to pour over the Hobbit’s gardening books. He sounded so certain in his suggestions that it gave her a great deal more confidence than she’d had before, when she’d been struggling on her own or with the advice of a few others from Lake-town to figure out gardening. (She could have asked the Elves, she supposed, but it had seemed such a trivial and almost embarrassing thing to bother the Elves about, when they were so kind as to help with the more important things in Dale.)

“Oh!” He then offered to take a look at the books from the old library, and Sigrid realized that she hadn’t even thought about asking him for his help with that, as well. “Oh, yes, I’ll certainly show you. Some are still in the library – no one has quite had the time to dig through all the rooms to find them all – but we’ve also put piles into one of the rooms in the Great Hall to try and keep them safe from any more weather… And here’s the garden,” she added as they reached the gap in the stone wall surrounding that part of the courtyard outside of the Great Hall. 

The wall had yet to be rebuilt, for it wasn’t one of the most necessary repairs, though the rubble had been cleared away from the hole in the wall. “Just right through here. I think it’s where there used to be gardens, at least, that’s what it looks like.”

Bilbo nodded his head as he listened to her explain about the books. Even as scattered about as they were it shouldn’t be too difficult for him to at least get some semblance of organization started in the library. Although he wouldn’t be able to reach much higher than the lowest shelves on his own, he could stack up everything else and instruct a much taller person on what goes where later.

That was all talk for later though, as they had finally arrived at this garden Sigrid was trying so hard to nurture. All thoughts of books and libraries are shoved to the back of his mind for now as he passed through the gap in the broken wall. His bag was set down immediately by the inner wall, his old cloak and travel coat were taken off and placed on top of it. His sleeves quickly rolled up to his elbows as he moved further into the ‘garden.’

He doesn’t stop until he’s in the center of it all. His eyes taking in what they can while bare toes instinctively curl into the dirt. It was already loose in some places where someone- most likely Sigrid- had already tried to churn the soil. It still looked bad, as he would expect given the city’s history, but it wasn’t completely dead. All it needed a little more work and a bit of a hobbit’s touch to really get it back into shape.

give me an au where bilbo is the only member of the company that dies during the battle of five armies. it devastates his friends and thorin has sting buried in a place of honor among the tombs of erebor because they know no one back in the shire would want the sword. this causes bilbo’s ghost to haunt the mountain, and at first the only thing anyone can hear is bilbo’s voice trying to talk to them. but the more it happens and the more the dwarves start to believe its real the the better they can hear him and even start to see him until bilbo’s a full blown spirit hanging around erebor and can interact with certain objects and such.

Your health and happiness is all the celebration this ranger needs, Master Burglar. <3

Things like socks and boots were such a part of life to Sigrid that she could not imagine Hobbits not even knowing how to knit socks. She shook her head in amazement at him, trying to wrap her mind around the facts he was giving her.

“Yes, socks are to keep your feet warm in the winter,” she told him, “Warmer than just boots, I mean,” she added after a second’s pause, remembering that she’d already told him that boots were meant to keep one’s feet warm. “Like…” She tried to think of an analogy, perhaps something that he could relate to. Then it came to her. “Like wearing a sweater or a waistcoat, and also an outer coat. Those both keep you warm in the winter, too. And I suppose socks are also a bit like mittens for your feet.”

Now that was something he could understand, having worn both a waistcoat and an outer coat during most of his adventure. Never mind the fact he had still been the one to complain the cold more often than not. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t warm himself up with his own body heat like the dwarves did.

She nodded as she listened, committing these things to memory as he said them. Moist soil was good, and it was heavy and darker. Over watered was too much like a mud puddle. Moisture near the roots, but not a puddle. And not enough water would be entirely dry. He was speaking very quickly by this point, but Sigrid didn’t want to ask him to slow down, lest an interruption from her broke his line of thought and he skipped over telling her something that would be of vital importance to her poor, dear little plants.

“Oh! Would you?” She gasped in excitement when he offered to lend her some of his gardening books. “I don’t think we ever had any gardening books in Lake-town,” she told him, visibly brightening at this new source of assistance and information that he offered, “And we did unearth what’s left of Dale’s old libraries – the parts that weren’t burnt by the dragon or ruined by the weather since then – but I don’t know if there are any gardening books there, no one’s yet had time to go through them to see which books are still readable.”

“Of course, of course! You are always welcomed in my library.” A privilege that Bilbo doesn’t extend to just anyone. Several of the books he owned belonged to either his mother or his father and are far older than him. It was the way that Sigrid’s face visibly brightened with excitement at the offer that confirmed his beliefs that she could be trusted to keep his collection in excellent condition. “It might take me a couple of days to get them her to you but I will send whatever I have.”

          The flinch — small though it was — made him realize how he sounded, and he gave a small grimace himself, and it was something that both had some CONTRITION and ACQUIESCENCE at once. He was frustrated with himself, perhaps, but that did not mean the Hobbit had to bear his frustrations. ❝ We passed some wild berries and mushrooms some time back; they are bitter, but will get us through. Mind your feet; you may find pheasant nests underfoot. Gather eggs if you find them. ❞ He sighed, heavily.  ❝ I shall tend the fire. ❞

“Stay out of the seed cakes!” Bilbo called from the hallway, knowing exactly where Pippin had disappeared to without ever needing to look for him. “There should some lemon tarts left that you can have, if you can find them.”

         She lifted fingers to her hair, but the strands were still cold from the flight home, and she couldn’t feel the ice in them. She was certainly worse for wear– it was cold in the mountains. The sort of cold that blew right through your soul and made you think you might never thaw. Andriel waved his concern away; a snowflake would not harm her. Nothing would harm here here in Imladris. Passing over the bridge was like crossing the threshold into another world, a world where it was always temperate and beautiful and at peace. “I am glad to be back, although it seems you are less so. What ails you, Bilbo? Is everything alright?”

The burglar’s first impulse was to tell her he would be okay if it would keep her from worrying about him, especially after such a hard journey back to her own home. But his thoughts were weighing too heavily on him to keep them to himself this time. “As much as I love Imladris I miss my own home and my friends.”