-General-
Bilbo, the master of Bag End, maneuvered through the crowd with agile steps. He had already done so once in the Misty Mountains with the goblins, though the latter were more stupid than Hobbits. Now, shielded by the invisibility of the One Ring, he allowed himself a few seconds to spy on what the others were saying.
"I told you, that Bilbo is crazy," murmured Peling Lut, the stout baker of Hobbiton.
His wife, however, snorted and dismissed the complaint with a wave of her hand.
"Crazy or not, Bilbo and Helga are kind souls. I do not understand the venom that half the Shire spits behind their backs."
Shielded by his invisibility and letting himself be carried away by his more gossipy Took streak, Bilbo nodded fervently. Letnia, the baker's wife, had always been a breath of fresh air amidst so much pestilence. Although his previous speech had been a general slap in the face, the Hobbit knew how to recognize the rare exceptions.
'The porcelain tea set shall be for you, dear Letnia, for being my Helga's only decent friend,' he thought.
With his hands clasped behind his back, Bilbo continued his invisible stroll, humming an old Dwarven tune in his head. However, amidst the sea of offended complaints, a venomous hiss caught his attention.
"Frodo is a naive boy, nothing like that crazy old man. It will be easy to trick him and take that inheritance out of his hands."
It was Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, dripping venom like a cornered viper. Her insufferable family walked in a group, completely ignoring that they had just been shouted at and called "freeloaders"; their greed was already scheming how to devour Frodo's future.
But the master of Bag End was always one step ahead. With the mischievous smile of a harlequin, Bilbo calculated the distance and simply stuck out his foot.
The pride of the Sackville-Bagginses collapsed instantly. Those calculating Hobbits tripped in a chain reaction, falling flat on their faces into the dirt. And as if destiny itself had a twisted sense of humor, the grass they landed on hid a generous and fresh gift... the dung of a dwarf goat.
Bilbo had to bite the back of his hand to muffle the laughter that threatened to give away his position. Leaving behind the screams of disgust and Lobelia's curses, the invisible Hobbit turned around and began to climb the hill toward Bag End.
That scatological joke had been the perfect closure to an entire life of feigning manners before his worst relatives. Now, with his heart lighter than ever and his Took blood burning in his veins, all that was left was to pack his essentials, reunite with his beloved Helga, and leave the Shire behind forever.
...
"Is Bilbo not here yet?"
"If you do not see him, it is because he is not here yet."
In the warm and cozy burrow, Aldril and his family rested in the sitting room alongside Kíli, Fíli, Helga, and Frodo. Everyone awaited the arrival of Mr. Baggins, but it was Aldril who waited with the greatest impatience, his brow deeply furrowed.
Suddenly, the creak of invisible footsteps on the wood made all heads turn toward the hall. Almost everyone present was a hardened warrior; not even the slightest sound escaped their senses.
"Is that you, my love?" asked Helga, standing up with Frodo behind her.
As if by magic, Bilbo materialized before them. He was smiling from ear to ear, with the expression of a little boy who has just gotten away with something. He hung his waistcoat on the coat rack and opened his arms toward his wife.
"Of course it is me, my dear Helga. Who else could it be?"
However, the atmosphere in the room changed drastically. Only Aldril and Tauriel, thanks to their blessing, managed to perceive the anomaly. The Half-elf, his senses heightened to the maximum, narrowed his eyes: a dark, dense, and venomous mass writhed around Bilbo.
Taking a step forward, Aldril interposed his arm and stopped Helga. The Dwarf-woman looked at him with a frown, about to demand an explanation, but the seriousness on the Half-elf's face silenced her. His eyes, which normally shone with a warm amber tone, now gleamed with an unnatural and predatory yellow that chilled her blood.
"What is wrong?" she demanded to know, her voice rough.
Aldril ignored her completely. He took a step forward and bent one knee until he was face to face with the Hobbit. Intimidated, Bilbo took a step back by instinct. And although he tried to hide it, an involuntary grimace of aversion deformed his kind features; the pure and brilliant light of the gem hanging from the Half-elf's neck turned his stomach.
"Bilbo..." murmured Aldril, fixing his gaze on the Hobbit's eyes. "That Ring is harming you."
"Nonsense!" spat the Halfling, confronting the Half-elf with an unnatural hostility. "The truth is you are envious of me! You want my magic ring for yourself. You want my Ring..."
Bilbo paused. He brought the small gold band up to his eye level, and, with a sickly fanaticism that deformed his face, he whispered:
"My... precious."
"Bilbo!" roared Aldril.
The shout sent a jolt through the entire room. The pure and implacable presence of the warrior was released all at once, making the air heavy and hard to breathe. Without hesitation, the Half-elf closed the distance and grabbed Bilbo firmly by the shoulders, shaking him.
"Stop acting like a fool and open your eyes! That Ring has begun to devour your mind!"
Awakened abruptly by Aldril's shaking, the dark veil broke in Bilbo's mind. The Ring slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a metallic clink. His legs turned to jelly, making him fall heavily onto his back. Trembling from head to toe, the Hobbit looked up at his best friend; his eyes, now free of all malice, flooded with tears.
"I am sorry, Aldril... I am so sorry," he whispered with a broken voice.
He covered his face with both hands, an inconsolable weeping bursting from his throat. Instantly, Helga threw herself to the floor next to her husband. With the unbreakable strength and loyalty of a Dwarf-woman, she wrapped him in her arms, hiding him against her chest, protecting him.
"It is over, my love. There now, I am here," she whispered in his ear, rocking him tenderly.
Helga did not blame Aldril for the rough shake. After all, she had witnessed how her husband's natural innocence twisted until it became pure obsession. She wouldn't deny that terror invaded her for an instant, even preparing herself mentally to fight the imposing Half-elf if he dared to hurt her husband. But the nightmare had passed, and she let out a long, trembling sigh upon seeing that her Bilbo was back to his usual self.
Aldril, for his part, also exhaled with relief.
"It is alright, Bilbo, it wasn't you," he assured him with a soft voice.
Aldril knelt and reached out his hand to pick up the ring. Then, the unthinkable happened. The Silmaril resting upon his chest reacted to the pure malice; the Elven jewel erupted in a blinding glare, illuminating the cozy room with the fury of a newborn star. In response, the One Ring throbbed, releasing its own burning, dark light.
Aldril perceived the danger in a fraction of a second. He tried to back away, but it was useless. The sacred light of the Trees and the shadow forged in Mount Doom collided violently.
The shockwave detonated in the enclosed space of the burrow. With a deafening force, the Half-elf was thrown through the air, crashing through the wooden wall of Bag End as if it were paper, and tumbling outside with a grunt of pain.
"Aldril!" screamed Tauriel.
"Dad!" cried Elentárië and Elenion in unison.
**
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