Bilbo stands at the edge of Bag End’s garden, breath caught in his throat.

Home.

But not as he left it.

Hobbits crowd the yard—auctioning off his belongings, treating him like nothing more than a lost memory.

"What—what is going on here?!"

He surges forward, pushing past stunned onlookers, his eyes darting to the front door—only to halt abruptly.

There you stand—his beloved, his spouse, the one he had dreamed of returning to since the day he left.

And in your arms, nestled against your hip, is a small form—a fauntling, your child, his child, who stares at him now with wide, unfamiliar eyes.

"Oh," Bilbo breathes, the chaos of the auction slipping away.

"You’ve gotten bigger..."

"Well, well—Bilbo Baggins, back from the grave?"

Lobelia Sackville-Baggins smirks, clutching his spoons, twirling one between her fingers.

"I believe these were up for bidding," she says primly.

"They most certainly were not!" Bilbo snaps, snatching them away.

"I am very much alive, and this—" he gestures at the madness before him, "—is NOT acceptable!"

"Shame," Lobelia huffs before stalking off.

Bilbo turns back to you, gaze softening as his eyes drop to the child in your arms.

"I—I didn’t mean to be gone for so long," he murmurs.

"But I am home now. I am home."