Work Text:
With pain in his heart, he awoke once more to the loneliness of his bedroom. His soul ached for his lost love, but there was naught to be done.
Bilbo sat up quickly, his breath slowly returning to his lungs. His cheeks had stains of fat tears, and his brow was wet with sweat. His hands tightly gripped the soft blanket.
No words could tell how he felt.
The hobbit felt so lost in his home, without his heart there was nothing else for him. The flowers bloomed and the seasons changed slowly, yet he felt so disconnected. He cried silently, his mouth still agape, desperately trying to catch a breath.
He cried for his love. His love was lost in battle, fighting for his home and treasure.
“Thorin…” he whispered into the air. He could not believe it, how life in the Shire was so cruel. It felt like a punishment to dwell in his home without the company of his dwarf.
Bilbo covered his face with his hands, wiping away the tears and sweat.
No longer would he be the hobbit he once was. His memories would haunt him until the day he died. Bilbo could remember the day of the battle clearly, how he held the dying king in his arms, hearing his last words uttered softly. Every night, the same nightmare came to him.
He cried and cried, never noticing how the sun was rising, calling for a new day.
Yet a new day it was not for the hobbit, only a fading time, punishing him.