It'd been a couple of months since my little reveal to Bilbo, and things had continued to go great.
I'd finally started exploring Wind and Water Qi—tentatively, of course. I still practiced my new Fire abilities, but only inside a purpose-built stone hall on the far side of my land. A containment building, essentially. I didn't want to risk setting half the Shire alight.
Business was booming, too. I'd officially started paying taxes now that my pipeweed had become rather famous—not the magical kind, mind you, just the regular, everyday pipeweed. Though even calling it "regular" felt like a lie. It didn't touch the soul, body, or mind, true—but it was exceptional. Like velvet for your lungs.
Outside of that, I'd been tinkering. Bilbo had his own pipe now, a gift from me—alchemically enhanced, naturally. He rather enjoyed showing off with it, shaping intricate smoke figures that impressed the neighbours and baffled the children. I'd also made us both new clothing: self-repairing, self-cleaning, incredibly durable, and—most important of all—comfortable. The envy of every Hobbit in three villages.
Then there were the communication plates. One for him, one for me. A result of my early experiments with Water Qi—allowing voice, image, and the occasional scolding look to pass through between them.
But the crown jewel was the amulet I made for him.
A compact thing, worn under his shirt. It deflected minor blows, calmed the mind, and—if something truly came close to striking him—it would turn the attacker to ash. Fire affinity came in handy there. He had incredible protection from flames, too. Of course, that protection could be overwhelmed, especially if someone like Smaug decided to start aiming directly at him. Dragon versus Alchemist wasn't a simple matter of who was stronger, but more of who had control of the narrative.
Still, barring a full-hour barrage from a Balrog, he'd be fine against fire.
The amulet also boosted stamina and speed. It was subtle, but useful. I'd upgrade it eventually, but not just yet. I had time.
I puffed lightly on my pipe, flipping through paperwork while Bilbo sat beside me, helping. Most of it was business-related—reading, signing, passing the real work onto my new hire: Paladin Took, Bilbo's cousin. He was the closest thing the Emberleaf Company had to a CEO now. He'd handle the hiring, sales, expansion, and all the daily nonsense. I just had to occasionally hand him something magical and count the silver when it returned. Probably wouldn't even need to do that, given the pipeweed sales alone.
Bilbo gave me a side glance as I smoked.
I rolled my eyes and absorbed the smoke before it drifted too far. He still didn't like it indoors.
Finally, as I signed the last parchment and set it aside, I looked over at him.
"Bilbo, I think it's time I explored outside the Shire."
His head snapped up.
"Leave? The Shire? Why would you do that?" His voice was tight, laced with something between worry and disbelief.
"Well, I've only ever seen the Shire since I arrived. I haven't visited any of the surrounding villages or towns. I'm curious. I can protect myself, you know."
"I know you can," he said, voice quieting. "It's just..."
He trailed off, head dipping slightly. I placed my pipe down.
"Bilbo, if you don't want to be alone… you can just come along."
His head shot up. "Come along? Me?"
"Yes, you. Aren't you curious about what's out there? What else the world looks like?"
"Well… yes. But there's no need to go now. You could always do it later."
"Bilbo. The outside world isn't going to hurt you. Not if I'm there."
"But… what about Bag End?"
"What about it?" I shrugged. "I'll leave some golems behind to maintain the place. No one would be able to steal from here—not with all the protections I've put up."
Bilbo rubbed his thumb over the amulet I'd given him. A comfort reflex, I'd noticed.
"We'd… leave together?"
"Yes, Bilbo. We would."
"I'd leave the Shire?" His voice was barely above a whisper, more wonder than fear.
"Yes, Bilbo. You would."
He paused for a long moment. "When would we leave?"
"In a week or two. I'm planning to hire a horse. I could buy you a pony if you'd like—"
"No, no," he interrupted quickly. "That'd be a waste of money. I can just ride with you. I think. Wait—how big is a horse? What would I need? A satchel? Do I need boots? Do hobbits wear boots when adventuring?" He began to mumble, wandering into a spiral of questions.
I stood, gathering the signed papers into a tidy stack.
I paused at the door, glancing back.
"So is that a yes, Bilbo?"
He looked up at me, wide-eyed. Swallowed.
"Yes. I suppose it is."
I smirked.
"Well then. Make sure you're ready. We'll be gone a while."
As I walked off, my thoughts drifted toward what we'd need, what we'd see, and just how long it would take before Bilbo admitted he was enjoying himself.
I woke to the smell of mushrooms and fresh bread.
And to the sound of someone clattering about in the kitchen.
There was a faint squeak of wood under hurried feet, the familiar rustle of parchment and canvas, and then a sharp clunk as something—probably the kettle—was set down a bit too hard.
I blinked my eyes open and turned toward the soft light bleeding through the curtains.
Then the door to my room creaked open.
Bilbo stood there, already dressed (if a little mismatched), his hair combed but fluffed from rushing. His pack was slung over both shoulders, looking full enough to survive a siege. A bedroll was tied under it, a saucepan dangled off the side, and he had no boots—of course—but had strapped thick soles onto his feet with bits of cloth and belt. His hands were holding two mugs of tea.
"I made breakfast," he said, a bit breathless but determined. "And I've packed my things. I think. Mostly. Might've brought too much. Or too little. I added rope. I read somewhere that adventurers always bring rope."
I sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
"Bilbo… it's not even light yet."
"Yes, well. I couldn't sleep."
I yawned and gestured at the stand beside my bed. My clothes were already laid out—dark, enchanted fabric, reinforced, self-cleaning, breathable. Beside them, my boots—alchemically enhanced for grip, comfort, and speed. Near the door hung my pack, looking modest but enchanted to hold ten times what it should and weigh less than a satchel of feathers.
Two small pouches hung from the belt on the bedpost, each containing my more delicate tools and alchemical weapons. Smoke pellets, flash dust, calming mist, some enhanced knives Nonlethal, mostly. Some less so.
I stretched, walked over to the small wall-mounted clock I'd crafted from silver and spring glass, and checked the time.
"We have two hours before the horse even arrives."
Bilbo paused. Froze, really.
"Oh," he said.
His shoulders sagged just a bit. Not dramatically. But enough.
I snorted, rubbing my face. "Bilbo, you look like you're about to lead a full expedition through Mirkwood. What did you pack?"
He looked vaguely defensive. "Just… necessities. Maybe a few books. A couple tins of preserves. An extra pipe. The kettle. And the good teapot, obviously."
"Obviously," I echoed dryly, walking past him to the kitchen. "Did you bring the front door too?"
He huffed behind me, following. "I'm sorry for trying to be prepared. Some of us don't carry a bottomless bag of wonders and boots that ignore mud."
I grinned. "Well, some of us made those boots."
He ignored that with all the dignity of someone trying not to smile.
Breakfast was good. He'd gone simple but hearty—scrambled eggs with herbs, fried mushrooms, fresh bread, and honey butter. We ate in the garden, the early sun just starting to crest over the hills, birds chirping lazily overhead. A morning with weight beneath it.
After we finished and tidied up, Bilbo stood for a long while in front of Bag End. He looked at the round green door, the little brass knob in the middle, the worn stone path leading out.
Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a wooden sign. He hung it carefully from the knob.
Gone Adventuring. Back… eventually.
He stepped back, looked at me. I raised an eyebrow.
"Bit dramatic, don't you think?"
"I wanted to be clear," he said. "Don't want folks thinking we've vanished. I even wrote it in nice lettering."
I chuckled and nodded toward the road.
"Ready?"
He took a breath. "As I'll ever be."
We walked off together down the hill, bags on our backs, boots (or feet) steady. Behind us, the sun warmed the door of Bag End.
As we walked down the path, the gentle crunch of gravel underfoot, I reached into my coat and pulled out a map. It was newly purchased from a local cartographer—well-made, if a bit too generous in its artistic liberties. Tiny sketches of trees, hills, and cottages adorned the parchment, as if it were a storybook. Still, accurate enough for my needs.
"Bilbo," I said, unfolding it, "we're heading to Bree first."
He peered at the parchment with interest, stepping closer. "Bree? That's near the border, isn't it?"
"Exactly. Four, maybe five days on horseback depending on the roads and how often we stop. I want to see the High Hay—they say it keeps the Huorns from pressing too close to farmland. I'm curious how it works. Might have some enchantments woven into the roots."
Bilbo blinked. "Huorns? That's not exactly comforting."
"Well, they're less trouble than dragons," I said lightly. "After Bree, we'll visit the three villages nearby. Staddle, Combe, and Archet. Staddle's mostly hobbits, Combe's known for herbalists, and Archet has a reputation for being a bit… tucked away. Quiet, rustic."
He hummed thoughtfully. "Herbalists don't sound so bad."
We continued along the path, the last stretches of Hobbiton opening before us. Early risers were stepping out onto porches, sweeping paths, tending to their gardens. A few hobbits walking by squinted in our direction, then slowed to stare.
"That Thomas fellow's dressed awful strange, ain't he?" someone muttered.
"Is that Bilbo Baggins with 'im?"
"Looks like it. What're they off to, dressed up and carrying packs like dwarves?"
Then they heard us talk—mentioning maps, routes, forest wards.
"Ohhh," came the collective murmur. "They're adventuring."
"Adventuring! Gracious."
"Very un-Hobbit-like."
"For Bilbo at least…"
"I always knew there was something off about that one. Too much reading, too much walking."
Bilbo glanced at me, looking both pleased and sheepish. I just smiled and kept going.
Near the outskirts, we found the man I'd arranged to meet—leaning on a fence post beside two horses. He gave a small nod as we approached. I passed him the coin without fuss, and he handed over the reins. One was a sturdy chestnut gelding. The other, a shorter and more even-tempered mare, clearly better suited for a hobbit.
I saddled my horse quickly—my gear already packed into my alchemically-lightened backpack. I adjusted the straps, checked my pouches, and tapped the enchantments on my boots for comfort.
Then I turned to Bilbo, who was eyeing the mare like it might kick him.
"It won't bite," I said. "Probably."
He shot me a look but stepped up. I steadied the stirrup and helped him mount. He gripped the horn of the saddle tightly once up, eyes slightly wide.
"This feels… higher than I expected."
"Bilbo," I said, glancing at my pocket watch, "we're two hours early. Not a bad thing—but let's be honest, it's entirely thanks to your boundless wisdom."
He deflated a little. "Oh. Well—I was just trying to be prepared."
I smirked. "You packed enough gear to survive a siege."
"Well, excuse me for not wanting to freeze, starve, or be eaten by wolves!" he snapped, though a smile tugged at his lips.
I laughed, adjusted my pack, and mounted up.
We rode slowly through the last lanes of Hobbiton. The cottages thinned. The tidy fences gave way to wild hedges. Finally, we passed over the bridge it was the official marker of the border for the Shire.
We paused just past it. The hills ahead were taller, untamed. The road rolled onward, open and waiting. I rolled up the map, slipped it back into my coat, and looked to Bilbo.
He looked back, adjusting the pack on his shoulders.
"Well," he said with a nervous grin, "no turning back now, is there?"
I grinned.
"No, Bilbo. Now it begins."
And with that, we nudged our horses forward into the golden light of morning.