Chapter Text
Epilogue
Very little in Bilbo’s aging life was unexpected, though he never let a moment go by where he might behave in a manner that was expected of him by other hobbits. Such was the case on his 111th birthday, where the largest party that had ever been seen ended with one of the strangest farewells that would ever be had. Bilbo was quite pleased with himself, in fact, in his ability to use the ring he’d found to play one last little trick on the hobbits of the shire. He was quite ready for another adventure, and leaving everything he had to his nephew Frodo, he set off for Rivendell to see the elves again, and to finish his memoirs. It was not something that he might have done before the company of dwarves stumbled through his front door all those years ago, but it was long overdue, and leaving his nephew safely in Gandalf’s care, the hobbit was content to see the world again and expect the unexpected.
And the unexpected found him.
Whether Gandalf had sent a message or word had reached further than Bilbo anticipated, it was when he stopped for the night between Bywater and Bree in a tavern along the road that adventure was rekindled within him.
Upon entering the tavern, the inn-keeper pulled him aside and asked if he was the hobbit Bilbo Baggins. Answering agreeably though with some confusion, he was then taken with the few belongings he carried through the inn to a smaller room in the back, reserved for private parties and the like.
Inside were two figures that it took the hobbit a moment to recognize, for they, like himself, had been changed by the passing years. It was only when the one closest to him rose to his feet and he was able to make out the details of his form that it finally clicked in Bilbo’s head just who was waiting for him.
His brain was only just processing that it was Bofur and Bifur when the former pulled him into an embrace. “Happy Birthday, Bilbo.”
The hobbit happily embraced his friend, being held in much the same way he had when they had last parted those years ago after his great adventure, and he laughed lightly in his chest. “What are you two doing here?” They pulled back and Bilbo hardly had time to prepare before Bifur too had pulled him into a firm, forceful embrace complete with a brisk clap on the back.
“Vemu ai-menu,” the elder spoke in his gruff voice, though to Bilbo it sounded more like inane garble than distinct words. Bilbo smiled, assuming it was some dwarvish greeting, and gave him a tentative clap on the shoulder.
Both of them looked older than when he last saw them. Bifur, whose beard and hair had been a mixture of salt-and-pepper was now fully white with a few stray strands of black mixed within, and Bofur’s braids, which were much longer than Bilbo remembered them being when they last met, too were coloured with grey.
“We got word from Gandalf that y’ migh’ be here,” Bofur explained when Bilbo finally recovered from the shock of seeing the pair of them there.
“But…what brought you this far west?”
Bofur’s smile and the mischievous twinkle in his eyes told Bilbo that there was really only one thing that brought them west – the desire to meet with him and see him again. The hobbit couldn’t contain himself and his smile spread from ear to ear. “I can’t even begin to tell you how pleased I am to see you!”
“C’mon, sit down,” Bofur instructed, and he directed Bilbo to a chair at the table, next to where he himself had only moments before been sitting. Bifur disappeared into the tavern and returned a few moments later with a flagon of ale for the hobbit and set it before him before taking a seat on the opposite side of the table. There were still plates of food in the middle of the table, and Bofur pushed them towards the hobbit. Bilbo, indeed, as to be expected of a hobbit, was more than happy to have more to eat, even after the lavish birthday party, and the dwarves joined him. It was a meagre feast by comparison, but it was the company that mattered most, and it didn’t take the old friends very long to grow comfortable with each other and talk as if very little time had passed. Bofur translated for Bifur when necessary, and the pair of them filled Bilbo in on what had been happening in Erebor. They apologized for Bombur’s absence, as the dwarf had wanted very much to join them, but in his brother’s words, “He needs 3 dwarves just t’ help ‘im t’ th’ table.” The thought made Bilbo laugh, and he spoke of his meeting with Balin years back. The mention of Balin’s name brought an odd hush over the pair, and Bilbo felt his heart sink instinctively.
“Is something wrong?” Bilbo asked, though he didn’t need to ask to know the answer.
Bifur spoke first, but of course Bilbo couldn’t understand him, so he turned his gaze to Bofur for some explanation. What he said was, “No one has heard from him…or Ori.” There was a moment’s silence where the only sound was the crackling of the fire and their own soft breathing. Then, Bofur added, “There’s been rumours tha’ Moria was retaken.”
The hobbit understood; the pair was likely dead, if the orcish hoard had indeed retaken the dwarf kingdom. Instantly Bilbo felt a twinge of regret at having not appreciated his time with Balin when he last saw the other. And Ori…he’d last seen him nigh 60 years prior when he left Erebor. It made his heart heavy. Knowing that the years had gotten beyond them, he anticipated a counting up of losses. He didn’t want to spend this time with his old friends counting up the dead. He wanted to enjoy the presence of those whom he deeply loved, and had missed. He wanted to make this time together count.
So to redirect the conversation, Bilbo regaled them with a retelling of his party and the brilliant trick he’d played on his fellow hobbits, which seemed to brighten the darkness that had previously been cast over the room, and was pleased to see both of his companions smiling again. He was especially moved by Bofur’s smile, for it had been so long since he’d seen the other, and any real smile was welcome on his face. The hobbit was surprised, but pleasantly, that he could still distinguish between the other’s forced smile and true happiness. Bofur looked happy. Happier than he remembered the other being when he left.
Perhaps time had healed some of the wounds. Bilbo knew his own wounds still pained him, but he’d grown strong. And there were little things in his life that brought him happiness and joy. Frodo was the main reason for that. The opportunity to return to Rivendell and spend time with the elves also made his heart lighter. And now, being here with his old friends lightened his heart.
Bifur turned in before the other two; the years had taken their toll on him and he was already falling asleep in his chair before his cousin nudged him and suggest he go to sleep. It was after he left that the conversation slipped into a level of comfort that Bilbo remembered from their time together in the past. Bofur had always been a good friend to him during their journey, and despite the many years separating the last time they had truly talked, it seemed as if no time at all had passed. Even the changed in them physically seemed to make no difference to them. And it wasn’t going to end.
“So…what exactly was it that Gandalf told you? That brought you here, I mean,” Bilbo pressed when their moods had settled.
It took Bofur a moment to respond as he took the moment to dig out his pipe. Just watching him do so made the hobbit smile, and in turn Bilbo’s smile seemed to pull a brighter one out of the dwarf. He leaned forward to offer Bilbo some of his pipe tobacco, which the hobbit took happily to join him in a smoke. Then, sitting back, the pair of them grew more serious again.
“I’s no’ so much wha’ he said,” Bofur explained quietly and he let out a lungful of smoke. He thought for a moment, and Bilbo game him the space to think, letting a few smoke rings escape his own lips. “Jus’ didn’t think I’d have another chance.”
Bilbo didn’t need him to explain further to know what he meant. There wasn’t much time left, for either of them. It was best to take advantage of what time they had left. For a moment, Bilbo felt the shame of not having gone to see the dwarves in his life. But it was what it was, and at least for now he had this time to share with two of them.
“Can I ask you something?” Bilbo pressed, and Bofur met his gaze, nodding but saying nothing. “And…if you…if you don’t want…”
“Wha’ is it, Bilbo?” Bofur replied softly, a gentle smile crossing his face in encouragement.
The hobbit had to get control of himself before he forced out “Come with me?”
“With you?”
“To Rivendell,” Bilbo explained, and then he added with hardly any pause, “And…I know you probably need to get back…to your family…and…that you’ll want…to be able to see…” His voice trailed off and he glanced up at his friend’s aging, shaded eyes. The way he pulled at words made the dwarf smile in bemusement, and Bofur reached over to clap the hobbit on the shoulder in encouragement.
“Y’ sure you’d want us?”
“Of course!” Bilbo replied with a youthful exuberance that was hidden in the form that was now aged and grey. The body may have grown old, but his spirit of adventure was as daring as it ever was. “We can go on another adventure together.” Then his face softened as he spoke, “it might be the last time we see each other.”
“In this world, perhaps,” was Bofur’s ever comfortable response. The fear of death did not seem to be within him. In fact, there was something about the way he said those words that told Bilbo his friend already welcomed the death that was waiting for him on the horizon. He was younger than Bifur, but he seemed wearied. Bilbo couldn’t know, and as always would not ask, but something told him that Bofur was ready. And after all, why not?
“That’s an adventure I’m not quite ready for,” Bilbo admitted with some degree of embarrassment. He knew that age would take him eventually, but there were still so many things he wanted to do, wanted to see, wanted to try. He still wanted to finish his memoires. He wanted to do all the things his own fear had kept him from doing.
His statement, however, simply brought a smile to the other’s face, and he offered, “It’ll come.”
After much conversation and ale, the two friends agreed to turn in for the evening and, not surprisingly, the dwarves had already made accommodation for Bilbo to share their room with them. The bed was quite large enough for two dwarves and a hobbit, as it easily could have fit 2 humans, though it took some manoeuvring as Bifur had taken his portion out of the middle when he went to sleep before them. Still, they rested together peacefully, and set off for Rivendell the next day as a group.
The road was cheerful thus assembled, and it seemed to go much quicker for them together. It was fortunate indeed that Bilbo was accompanied by his two friends, as twice they were ambushed along the road and the safety to be found in their numbers gave them advantage. They were not the fighters they had once been, but even age could not kill the fire in their weary bones.
Even the time in Rivendell felt natural and dreamlike. Bilbo convinced the two dwarves to remain with him for as long as he felt he could muster, but after a few days Bofur admitted that he needed to return to Erebor. When Bilbo pressed him on it, his explanation was one that the hobbit could not share, though he did his best to understand.
Bofur wanted to end his days in Erebor. He wanted his body to be laid to rest near his laddie-love. He wanted to know that, if nothing else, what remained of the both of them could turn to dust together. And whether or not his health appeared to be frail, he did not want to risk it. It saddened Bilbo to part from his friend, but he could not begrudge him his wish. It was something he would never fully comprehend – how Bofur felt the need to be so close to his fallen beloved’s dead corpse, while Bilbo could hardly be in the same country as his – but their final embrace was one of true friendship.
It was only a month after the toymaker returned to his home that his health began to decline rapidly, and it was night that finally took him. But he welcomed the darkness with willingness and joy. He knew that his lover would be waiting for him on the other side.
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The sound of seagulls, the fresh sea breeze, the salty mist that hung on the air and filled eager lungs seemed to have a feel of home about it, and it was at the waterside that Bilbo prepared for the last great adventure of his life. The honour of being able to take one of the last elven ships to the undying lands had been bestowed upon him and his nephew, as bearers of the ring of power. Bilbo himself knew very little about the true nature of the ring, though its effects were not entirely lost on him, nor on his nephew. He felt renewed. Refreshed. Like he had been given a new life to live and that he was stepping out of the life and world that he knew into a reality that none of his kin had ever experienced. This rare gift was something none but the elves were able to experience before now, and the reality of this generous offer was not lost on the hobbit, who was thankful for every little breath, the tang of the salt water and the chill making him feel truly alive.
He did not and could not know what to expect, as the boat rode on gentle waves. It was like riding a melody through an ocean of song, so smooth was the vessel’s voyage. A few times, voices called to Bilbo, but he did not hear them. He was hardly listening. His eyes were fixed on the hazy horizon before them, and the destination on the other end. The undying lands. An ever-green land where beauty abounded.
In the distance, shapes began to take form from the mist. Shadows. Uncertain and unclear, but gaining their solidity.
The song did not end when the boat stopped its forward motion, and one by one its occupants made their way to the shore. The sand under the hobbit’s feet did not feel like sand but mysterious. Like walking on thread. Not thick, spidery thread, but soft, thin thread, so thin that it might be lost on the eye and yet could still be perceived with the other senses. Once more voices spoke to him – the boats other occupants – but the old hobbit did not hear them. Instead he followed his feet through the mist, stumbling without seeing but sensing his way along. Something told him that he would follow his feet to exactly where he needed to go, and this was an adventure that had no need of maps, nor of tall, stately, ageless companions.
His feet lead him to a clearing in the fog, and it was there that he saw them.
In the front stood Thorin, young and strong, his face beautiful in the fog and unmarred by battle. His long hair framed his stately features and the smile that crossed his face then brought a warmth to the hobbit’s chest that hadn’t been there in many a year. The sound that left his lips was a mixture of a cry and a sigh, both in relief. He did not think his old limbs could carry him fast enough, but Thorin approached him, and it wasn’t long before the hobbit was safely embraced in the thick, dense furs that had for a very brief period indeed felt like home to him. He buried himself in that chest, losing his face in the warmth of the other body that couldn’t possibly have been real.
“You look the same!”
The deep baritone laugh shook in the chest he was clutching and he held to it tighter. “Nor have you, my thief.”
“I am old, Thorin,” the hobbit replied as he finally allowed himself to release the dwarf, and as he pulled back he was able to make out other forms behind him. Kíli and Bofur were close, and Fíli just beyond them. Balin, Ori, and several others that Bilbo did not recognize also were there. As he looked upon each face, he smiled at them brightly and the smiles were each fondly returned.
“You’re still the same as I remember you,” Thorin replied with honesty in his tone. “Many years I have waited for you. Though it does not seem quite so long.”
“Don’t flatter me,” Bilbo answered, though in that moment he glanced down at his hands and was surprised to see that the veins that had shown through due to his age, the heaviness of his skin, the wrinkles, the snowy pallor, all had vanished. What met his gaze was lustrous flesh, young, healthy, unblemished. Reaching up to touch his face, he felt his once-sagging cheeks now firm and soft, and the pain that filled his joints was simply a memory. Realization set in and he glanced into those piercing blue eyes. “Have I died?”
Thorin did not answer him but smiled as he offered the hobbit his large hand. “Come,” he simply said, and as the hobbit took it, he set foot into the greatest of adventures he would ever face. Eternity.