The sweet fragrance of Jasmine filled the warm air. The sun’s rays fell upon the green leaves of the unique trees that grew there. Beautiful voices surrounded the ancient realm and drifted slowly into a little room in the Last Homely house. A bundle of sheets on the little bed squirmed and tossed, groaning. Even though the singing of the Elves is the most beautiful sound you could hope to hear in Middle-Earth, this being, in particular, doesn’t like to be disturbed while sleeping.
Bilbo Baggins let out a giant moan and stretched his stiff body. His fifty years had started to slow his body down a bit. He paced around his room to get his joints loosened.
As his feet wandered the floor, his dark blue eyes searched the room. Sunlight poured through a balcony that was carved from marble. A chair just his height was set right next to the balcony, made out of a kind of cherry wood. A sudden vision flashed across his mind. A boy. A boy was sitting in that same chair he was staring at right at that moment. Tears were running down his face. The vision lingered in his mind until there came a knock on the door.
“Bilbo?” Gandalf’s kind voice drifted through the door. “Are you ready to go yet?” Bilbo paused for a moment ‘Go? Go where? What the sticklebats is he talking about?’ Then the journey he had been on came flooding back, making him groan loudly.
“I hope that’s a yes!” Gandalf cautioned. “Now come on you lazy hobbit! We must be going!” Hoping there was breakfast provided when he had left his room, Bilbo quickly put his jacket on and slipped on his cloak.
He opened the door slowly; making sure Gandalf wasn’t there to criticize him for sleeping in late. When he saw nothing, he slipped outside and started to look for his company.
He avoided the elves as much as he could as he searched the hallways and rooms. The elves were said to be very pleasant folk. But he didn’t see the pleasantness shinning through their faces that day. They had made fun of him the night before. Exclaiming to each other that he should keep away from the cakes, for he might eat them all. Bilbo snorted.
“Bah! What do they know about hobbits anyway? Absolutely…” He stopped short. For there, in the courtyard in front of him, was the boy. That same boy! Dark hair surrounded a tan face. And blue eyes that shone like sapphires. The Boy was reading a book. Bilbo could not catch the name of it because it sat on the boy’s lap, rather clumsily, sliding off from time to time.
Before Bilbo was even aware of what he was doing, he stepped into view and said rather loudly,
“Hullo!” The boy looked up from the book. He took one look at Bilbo and smiled, then continued reading.
This action flustered Bilbo. No respond! Maybe he couldn’t talk! Maybe elf children can’t talk! Bilbo rolled those thoughts in his mind a bit. ‘Don’t be stupid!’ One of his thoughts said. ‘Just go down there and start a conversation with the young man!’
He stepped off the platform and headed down the three steps that lead down into the courtyard. ‘Approaching this boy won’t be easy if you have nothing to say to him!’ His thought babbled, talking to him again. ‘Don’t say anything boring!’ Bilbo now stood in front of the boy and said what he didn’t mean to say,
“How are you?” ‘Oh! Now you’ve done it! He’ll be bored in no time now!’ Bilbo shook off his angry thought and waited for an answer.
“I’m alright and you?” The boy spoke in a laid back sort of tone. Bilbo smiled.
“Just fine! What kind of book are you reading there? Looks a little big for you.” The boy just shook his head.
“It’s an elven book, you wouldn’t understand it.” Bilbo peered down at the scripture. Elven words were written across the pages in a fine hand. Why would an elf child be reading instead of playing elsewhere?
“Oh! I forgot my manners! I’m Bilbo Baggins, and you are?” Bilbo stuck out his hand. The boy took it with a firm grip.
“I’m Aragorn.” The name ran through Bilbo’s mind for a time.
“Aragorn. That doesn’t sound like a elven name to me.” Aragorn laughed.
“That’s because it isn’t! I’m a Man!” Now this fact confused Bilbo even more.
“Then what are you doing in Rivendell?” he questioned, a queer look placed on his face. Aragorn just laughed harder in site of this stranger. Once he had settled down, he replied,
“My mother was an elf from Rivendell and my father was a warrior. When my father died, my mother took me here so I would be safe. Does that make more sense now, Mister Bilbo Baggins?” Bilbo nodded. Aragorn’s voice seem to quiet down. It even seemed to be sad. “Do you want to sit down? You can sit next to me.” Aragorn insisted. Bilbo took this invitation and sat next to him. They grinned at each other. Aragorn set his big book down so he could sit more comfortably.
“What kind of creature are you?” He asked, shifting his position.
“I’m a Hobbit.” Bilbo put plainly.
“I have never heard of a Hobbit until now. Are there many of your kind?”
“Oh yes, quite a few.”
“Where do you live?”
“Oh some leagues west. In a peaceful land called the Shire.” Bilbo paused for a moment. Remembering his home brought a pain to his heart. He missed the Shire dearly. Then stirring out of his hurt, Bilbo asked,
“Now I have a question for you. Were you sitting in that chair that is in my room?” Aragorn closed his eyes, trying to recollect if he had been or not. Then he opened his eyes.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought your company was my father’s, coming home to see me. But when I looked, it was only you and your companions.” A silenced washed over them. Bilbo glanced at him. Aragorn had his head bent; making sure Bilbo couldn’t see the tears rolling down his cheeks. Bilbo’s heart sank. ‘I made him cry.’ He put his hand on Aragorn’s back, trying to comfort him.
“How long ago did your father die?” He said, trying to make Aragorn to talk about this agony of his. Maybe it would make it easier if someone listened to him.
“Not to long ago. I still can’t forget the day I found out.” He paused, gathering breath into his small body. “I was playing on the floor. My mother was watching. There was a knock at our door. A soldier from my father’s company came in. My mother started crying as he gave her a piece of parchment. She ran into her room and left it on the table. I picked it up and it said:
We are sorry to inform you
But Arathorn was killed to day in battle

Aragorn finished his tale with a sob. Bilbo gazed at him with watery eyes. No boy should have to go through this. Ever. Aragorn whipped his own eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. He appeared more solemn now then before. His face was hard. His brow furrowed.
“I hate seeing my mother cry.” He said with pride. Bilbo half-smiled, admiring his brave statement. Then he heard someone calling his name.
“Bilbo! OY! HOBBIT! WHERE ARE YOU!” It was Gloin’s voice. He seemed mad. Aragorn’s face cracked into a grin.
“I guess I better get on my way! Or else Thorin will have my head for breakfast!” Bilbo smirked, and got up. Then he felt a firm grasp on his hand. Aragorn looked at him with his blue eyes.
“Thank you.” He whispered. Bilbo gave his hand a squeeze.
“We’ll see each other soon. I promise.”
“BILBO!” Bilbo winced and headed off in the direction of the voice, leaving Aragorn behind.

“Where were you, you dratted hobbit? We could’ve had a third breakfast! Now let’s go!” Thorin shouted at him when he came panting up to the company. Packing up the horses, they set out for Lonely Mountain.
Bilbo rode in the rear, smiling to himself as the pony trotted down the path. Dori, who was right in front of him, whispered behind his shoulder,
“So, what did take you so long anyhow?” Bilbo eyed him, still grinning.
“I just got caught up is all.”