Bilbo gazed out from the balcony of the room given him by the Lord of Imladris, pointedly ignoring the empty state of the pack upon the bed.  Though he had continued to insist he wished to travel more, its contents had slowly found homes upon shelves and within drawers.  Every evening he set his mind to packing up at dawn, to take the road that beckoned ever more faintly.  Every day he found another page that called to him to edit, another set of notes to translate, a new book stumbled upon in the library. 

  ‘Perhaps, tomorrow…’ he mused, unconvinced.