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Then Bilbo turned away, and he went by himself, and sat alone wrapped in a blanket, and, whether you believe it or not, he wept until his eyes were red and his voice was hoarse.
It was long minutes — that felt like hours — before he stopped his tears. He was cold, not only because of the frigid winter, but also because of the icicle that seemed to have stabbed his heart unseen.
He was so lost in thought that he did not realize Bofur had sat down right beside him, his pipe lit up in his hand, until the dwarf had gently placed one hand on his shoulder.
The Hobbit jumped a bit before smiling at his fellow companion. “Hello, laddie.” The dwarf smiled gently, turning his gaze back to the mountain.
Bilbo didn’t answer, and he didn’t have to. As much of a reserved and collected gentleman he was, anyone could see how devastated the poor Halfling was, and nobody quite knew what to do.
The Hobbit did not have the most open personality, but the dwarrows could see, after so long together in the road, that he was a kindly little soul — although he never showed it in words, and rarely in actions. Bilbo felt deeply, and that wasn’t a secret to anyone in the Company.
That was why Bofur, the most cheerful of the dwarves, was now silently smoking beside the Halfling. Even Bofur was torn. After so much loss, his voice didn’t seem to find any music to sing, and his mouth couldn’t smile.
However, he did make an effort to check on the Hobbit. Balin had advised against it, claiming the Halfling would certainly need some time alone to sort out his feelings, but Bofur could not leave his friend alone in the cold night. If Bilbo were to weep, then he would join in and they would weep together — that’s what a real friend should do. And so he went, slowly marching across the plain to where Bilbo sat, lonely on a flattened rock.
After minutes, the dwarf found his voice again, “it’s fine, you know,” he looked up at the starless sky, “to allow yourself a little. You don’t have to be strong all the time, not in front of me at least, aye?” He looked at Bilbo, and the Hobbit stayed silent. “I know how you feel.”
Those words seemed to have switched a knob inside of Bilbo, for the Halfling suddenly turned to the dwarf, his red eyes look despaired. “No, you don’t!” He suddenly raised his voice, and it came out raspy with sorrow. “You don’t...” he turned away again, whispering painfully.
Bofur closed his eyes and let out rings of smoke dancing in the stale air. “You’re right, I don’t.” He agreed with a nod, earning back Bilbo’s attention. “But I did feel something quite like that in my youth, aye.” He smiled sadly.
Bilbo gulped, swallowing the ever-growing knot on his throat. Bofur was a dwarf he held dear to his heart, and he knew he could trust him, yet it was still so incredibly hard to just open up. He was ready to make an effort, though, so he started.
“He was...” he urged himself to speak, but he couldn’t quite put it into words, “to me... he, he was...” he couldn’t. He scrunched his face up in pain and turned away from Bofur, hiding his teary eyes into his shoulder.
The dwarf smiled sadly, his own eyes watering. Nonetheless, he put an arm around the Hobbit’s shoulders and squeezed him. “I know, lad. He was way more than just a king to you... way more than just a companion, or a friend.”
Bilbo snapped his head back at that, his breath halting for a moment as he processed what the dwarf had just said.
Bofur on his part just nodded gently. “We all knew it.”
The Halfling opened his mouth, but said nothing before closing it again.
“It’s all right. You know you’re not alone, don’t you?” Bofur let out some smoke again as Bilbo nodded. “I’m certain he knew as well. Thorin.” They both stiffened at the mention of his name.
The Hobbit’s breath hitched, and Bofur realized he was holding a cry back. “Oh, lad, you don’t need to be strong near me. We don’t need to be strong all the time.” The dwarf allowed his own voice to crack, eliciting a sob from his throat.
When the Halfling looked at him, they both embraced, allowing their tears to fall. “I’m afraid he didn’t know. I’m afraid he...” Bilbo choked before finishing his sentence, but Bofur understood. Bilbo was afraid Thorin had died without knowing what he meant to him.
Bofur shushed him. “No, Bilbo, don’t think like that. I’m certain he knew.” He hugged the smaller man tighter.
Bilbo shook his head into the hug and they parted. “I’m not, Bofur, I’m not sure at all. He never gave himself the credit he deserved.” He cried out, placing his hand over his mouth to muffle his sobs. “He should be here, damnit! He should be here, contemplating his kingdom! He should see it rebuilt!” He shouted, his voice running out just as he whispered, “why isn’t he here?”
He didn’t expect an answer, not at all. He knew the answer to that, and it was painful, he didn’t need any more pain. He certainly did not expect the answer he got whatsoever.
“Except he is here. He will always be here, aye.” Bofur took his hat off and held it to his chest, looking at the pitch black sky, before placing it on his lap. “Us dwarves believe that when we pass on to the other side, Mahal himself greets us and frees our souls, so we wander free.” Bofur explained, and when he saw a glint of hope shine in Bilbo’s eyes for just a split second, he continued. “Whenever you see an oak tree, you’ll remember him. Whenever you feel the wind in your face, or the very earth on your feet, you’ll remember him. He’ll always be here, in your heart and in your memory, and on the stone from where he came.”
Just as he spoke those words, a cold wind flew across the field, and the Hobbit felt his tears go dry as he looked up to the moon that was emerging from behind dense clouds.
Everything hurt, and he could not laugh. Indeed, it was long before he had the heart to make a joke again. But deep within himself, he knew he would be okay.
“Thank you, Bofur.” He whispered weakly, and the dwarf simply smiled, putting his hat back on and silently passing his pipe to the Hobbit.
He would forever treasure the memories he had made, each peril, each adventure, the good and the bad. He would never forget a single moment, nor anyone he had shared the adventure of his life with.
He would go back to his books, and his armchair. He would plant his trees, and watch them grow.
He would forever love Thorin Oakenshield, and he would be just fine. With time, he would.
Yes, as lonely as he may feel, he was not alone, and he would be okay.