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“Uncle, why did you never marry?”
Frodo had wondered at this very question for years, but had always been afraid of offending Bilbo horribly. But now, sailing to Valinor, he felt a stupendous calm. He did not quite see the point of secrets any longer.
Bilbo breathed a single laugh. He smiled, and it deepened the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes which would likely be gone within the next few minutes, if the pattern continued. Bilbo’s back was now straight, his vitality returned and his hair almost brown again. Frodo thought he remembered this Bilbo, but he was so young then the memories were faded and not to be trusted.
Gandalf sat across from them on deck, overlooking the seemingly endless seas. He smiled like he knew something Frodo didn’t, though Frodo supposed that could apply to most every situation.
“It would be good for him to know, Bilbo.”
Gandalf looked at Bilbo sympathetically, placed a hand on his knee. Bilbo patted it placatingly.
“Yes, yes. I suppose it does not matter if it slips to Lobelia now.”
The barest tension left Frodo’s shoulders as he recognized the joke. His uncle turned toward him, stood, and walked to the edge of the deck. He sat as the railing was too tall to look over. Frodo followed.
Bilbo took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and began to speak somewhat slowly.
“In my story, I trust you remember Thorin?”
“Thorin Oakensheild, The King Under The Mountain, yes.” Frodo knew Bilbo’s tale was not simply fantasy, but he had always loved the parts about Thorin. In his uncle’s words, Thorin had always seemed so powerful and regal, but still different from his fellow dwarf. Bilbo would always note that while the other dwarves were boisterous and sang, it would appear as Thorin could not join in, somehow. Frodo had told himself as a child that if Thorin did not fit in and was yet so respected he could certainly handle fauntling playtime and the inscrutable rituals it contained.
Bilbo fixed his gaze on the passing waters and continued.
“If he had survived that final battle, I would not have returned to the Shire for quite some time. I would have stayed with him in the halls of Erebor. I would have never left his side.”
Frodo’s brows knit. He did not know what this had to do with marriage. “As his advisor?” Bilbo laughed again, but Frodo did not miss the sadness in his eyes.
“As his consort, my boy. I would have bound myself to him, because I loved him terribly. Enough, even, that I could not find it in me to be ashamed. I do not know how to explain it.. Once one loves a Drarrow-king, a hero, more than oneself, marriage to a Proudfoot or a Brandybuck or a Boffin maiden is… impossible. I could not manage it. Perhaps it is selfish, but I could not.”
Bilbo drew in a shuddering breath, and through the unidentifiable churning in his chest and disconnected but connected foreign chant of “unnatural, unnatural, unnatural” in his head, Frodo noticed absently that Bilbo’s hair had reverted back to a soft chestnut brown he had never seen before.
“Truly?” was all he could manage.
Bilbo choked out something between a laugh and a sob and squoze Frodo’s folded knee.
“Yes, yes, truly. I have never stopped hating the oaf for it either.” He noticed Frodo’s silence, then, and looked over his face warily.
“You still find me worthy to call Uncle, I hope?”
How could Frodo not? His reservations melted away like most other fear and pain had on this vessel. He threw his arms around Bilbo’s neck and hugged him tightly.
“Of course, Uncle. Of course. Though this would have added quite a bit of drama to your party stories.” Bilbo laughed, a real one this time, and hugged him back.
“I thought so too, but Lobelia would never have let me hear the end of it.” She wouldn’t have, though Bilbo was sugarcoating the reality of the situation he would have faced. It would not have only been Lobelia.
Gandalf approached behind them and Frodo looked up his grey robes to his smiling face.
“Port nears. I cannot leave the boat, though I will remain on it until it leaves. You can remain on the vessel for as long as you must until you feel ready. It does not leave for a week and a half after it docks, and many enjoy this vessel until preparations begin to disembark.”
Frodo and Bilbo stood, and Frodo was momentarily surprised at his uncle standing a slight bit taller than he did before.
They returned to the bench with the perfect view they had been sharing , and Frodo was handed a hot cup of tea by someone who’s face he forgot. The taste was indistinguishable but delicious and it filled him with a heavy warmth.
“It is to heal you,” Gandalf explained gently. “Free you.” Frodo smiled, and placed a hand on Gandalf’s arm.
“He will come, one day?”
Frodo knew that Sam would, but he needed to hear it one more time. Gandalf covered his small hand with his own. “Yes, Frodo. I vow to you that he will.”
The three passed the rest of the trip in peaceful silence, watching the waters pass. The ship was a beautiful as Rivendell, but somehow even more pure. Frodo was wondering where the string music he was enjoying was coming from when Valinor finally began to appear on this horizon, blindingly white and glittering, flanked by lush mountains and trees.
No more pain was ahead of him. The reality sunk in fully, finally, and Frodo smiled. Mount Doom began to feel like a simple nightmare.
The ship docked smoothly and nearly silently. Bilbo walked alone to the railing, and froze.
He turned to Gandalf, his expression unreadable but Frodo knew enough that he was shocked, at least. “Did you know?”
Gandalf stepped toward him and spoke somewhat lowly. “I thought it best not to tell you.”
Bilbo scoffed at him and looked down to his but then he began to smile, wider than Frodo had ever seen. He disappeared down the deck in a blink, faster than anyone else. In fact no one seemed in the slightest hurry to leave the boat. Frodo hurried toward the railing where Gandalf looked over the side to see whatever was the matter. He stood next to this wizard and peered between the perfect white birch fence.
A dwarf stood anxiously on the pier, wearing white pants and a simple dark blue tunic. Frodo could almost see streaks of white in his long black hair and cropped beard.
Frodo understood. “Is that-“
“Thorin son of Thrain, yes.”
“I thought only Elves could come here?”
Gandalf continued to watch Thorin as he shrugged. “My dear Frodo, the mysteries of Valinor go far beyond this ship. You, Sam, and your uncle are special cases. Anyone who is not an Elf tends to arrive here when Ilúvatar deems it their time. He deemed it to be Thorin’s long ago. Come, it is best you meet him as well.”
Frodo almost tripped several times on the way to the gangplank as he studied Thorin, walking parallel to the pier. Gandalf kept him moving with a gentle hand on his back.
“He is handsomer than I imagined,” Frodo noted absently. Almost like an elf with a beard, he thought, and smiled to himself. Gimli would have balked. Gandalf laughed lightly.
Frodo tugged Gandalf to a stop as Bilbo made his way off the gangplank and approached Thorin. Frodo was fascinated.
They stood several paces away from each other, seemingly not moving before Bilbo stepped forward two paces. Thorin then rapidly closed the space between them, stopping the words forming on Bilbo’s lips by closing his face between his larger hands and drawing him into a kiss.
Gandalf must have noticed Frodo’s somewhat scandalized expression. He closed a hand over his shoulder and spoke softly. “You must forgive them. These things become more urgent over time.”
Gandalf bid goodbye to Frodo with a tight embrace and a wet-cheeked “I will miss you, my dear Frodo. I doubt I will meet a stronger soul again.” Frodo hugged him back twice as tightly and finally climbed down to the pier.
He could hear snippets of their conversation as he drew nearer to his uncle’s back.
“If I had known-“ He could not see his face, but he knew Bilbo wept.
“There is no point in worrying over it now,” was the first thing Frodo heard Thorin say. His voice rumbled. “There is no point in worrying about anything now. You are here.” Thorin did not notice Frodo’s approach. One hand had remained on the side of Bilbo’s hand, while the other had migrated to the junction between his neck and shoulder.
Bilbo held Thorin’s wrists and took a great, shaking breath.
Thorin smiled, a slight (and Frodo guessed rare) thing. “I must hear about your long life. Did you do as I hoped?”
Bilbo’s breath heaved and he drew Thorin into an embrace. “Yes, you great buffoon, I did-“ he stifled his tears threatening to return and swatted Thorin’s arm without any heat “It was awful. The most tedious thing.”
Thorin’s eyes left Bilbo’s back and flitted to Frodo, who had nearly forgotten he could be seen. He froze under the dwarf’s piercing gaze. “Another hobbit?” he asked, and Bilbo begrudgingly drew out of his embrace and faced Frodo, eyes red but a lack of tension in his shoulders like Frodo had never seen.
He held Thorin’s hand. “The only thing worth a damn I saw after you. Meet my nephew, Frodo.”
Thorin’s brow furrowed and he stepped toward Frodo, who resisted the urge to step back. “Nephew? Surely it is not your time yet- you came on the ship?” In awe of the fact the people of Valinor did not know of Sauron, Frodo forgot to properly participate in his own introduction.
Bilbo sighed. “It is-my nephew has achieved something more fearsome than anything you or I faced. More power than Smaug could dream of. He must rest.”
Thorin regarded him for a moment, finally released Bilbo and stepped forward, holding out his hand.
Frodo reciprocated, expecting a handshake but when Thorin clasped his forearm and shoulder his heart lurched. Thorin Oakenshield, his hero of childhood, greeting him like a brother in arms. Like an equal.
“Come,” Thorin said, “I am sure your stories are plentiful and my nephews will be anxious to see their friend again.”
He offered his arm to Bilbo, quickly taken, and they began to walk in comfortable silence.
“I hope you do not mind saving the Elves for later, my ancestors have built caves in these mountains rivaling Erebor. They are beautiful, and I wish to show you.”
Bilbo smiled- that full, bright one Frodo could barely remember seeing.
“I’d hoped you’d understand by now. You could be leading me to a spiders nest, and I’d happily follow.”