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Bilbo sat on a bench by the bubbling river than ran through the heart of Rivendell, feeling the warm sun on his skin and the way the wind whispered through the little nook he'd found. He'd been free of bed rest for a day and was enjoying a rare moment of quiet beside a river he did and did not know like the back of his hand.
So many times he had ended up in Rivendell. Sometimes as an old hobbit. Sometimes as a prisoner. One time as a lord and ruler, but that time 'round the Ring had gotten its hooks deep into him and well. The less said about that nonsense the better.
Rivendell was always a constant in each of his lives. Bilbo did not know if it was because there was such a large amount of magic pooled here, where elves lived the whole year round, where Elrond wore his own Ring and used it to heal the hurts of the travelers and visitors that came to his door. Any way Bilbo looked at it Rivendell was always a part of his life and this time round he'd ended up here yet again.
Bilbo leaned back against the bench and closed his eyes, turning the world crimson as he tilted his face to the sun. It reminded him of the time during the Battle of Five Armies when he'd fought his way through the ranks of orcs and wargs and all manner of evil creatures just to get to Thorin's side. But his – but Thorin had snarled at him, had taken Bilbo and run him through and all Bilbo had been able to see as he stared up at his – at Thorin was the way an orc had come up behind the dwarf and slit his throat, bathing Bilbo's face in blood and turning the whole world crimson.
Bilbo blinked open his eyes, pushing that memory away. It had been one of the first times back, when he had not yet realized just what was going on, when he thought...well. He was a silly hobbit. A fool of a Took, for sure. Thorin was a king, was the the king, the one who would hold Erebor strong against the rise of Sauron and all the nonsense that went with finding the One Ring. Things always went better for that part of the world when Thorin survived, even if they banished him from Erebor again and again and again and...
“Bilbo?”
He looked up to see Thorin staring down at him. “I can never get the smell of metal out of my nose,” he told the dwarf. “Sometimes I think I smell it in my sleep.”
Thorin blinked at him and moved around the bench to sit at his side. Bilbo watched him, feeling...strange, not quite there but not quite like this was a dream. Was this a dream? He'd had such terrible dreams.
“This is not a dream, Bilbo,” Thorin said, taking his hand. All Bilbo could do was stare at him.
“Sometimes I wish it was,” Bilbo told him. “Then I would be able to wake up and all the terrible things I see will just be dreams and nothing more.”
Some emotion flitted across Thorin's face too fast for him to read. “But this is not terrible dream. There is still joy and...other things in the world, things to look forward to. Things to hope for.”
“Hope,” Bilbo echoed, tilting his head to one side. “I had hope once. It died about the time I did, the fifth time. Or was it the sixth?” He looked up at the sky. “Was that the time when I was eaten by the Goblin King or the time when Gollum opened my belly and –”
“Bilbo.” Warm hands on his shoulders made him looked down and into Thorin's worried eyes. “You are not there. Those dreams will not come true.”
“Oh they're not dreams,” Bilbo told him. “They happened.”
“Bilbo...”
Bilbo did not know why the dwarves did not seem to believe him when he claimed that the lives he'd lived were real. Ever since Thorin and Dwalin had fell through his door when he'd been talking to Gandalf and Erestor the dwarves had been...close. Far closer than they'd ever been before. Well, not counting all those times he'd found himself worming his way between the two of them on the road. Terrible habit, that. He really needed to nip that in the bud. What if his dwarves – what if Thorin and Dwalin realized he was doing it on purpose? He really was a silly fellow.
Anyway.
If Thorin and Dwalin were not sitting with him these last few days then Balin was, or Bofur, or Bifur, or Glóin, or any one of the others. Gandalf and Erestor had withdrawn that first day, talking softly with each other as Bilbo was dosed with some sort of herb yet again and put back to bed. He'd woken several times to see Thorin and Dwalin at his bedside, often asleep themselves, contorted into strange shapes in the too-big chairs in his room. It had been...nice, to see them there. It reminded Bilbo of that one time in Laketown when his dwarves had been so kind to him.
Then the gold sickness happened and. Well. That had been that time 'round.
“Bilbo.”
“We need to make sure you and the rest get cured...or something,” Bilbo frowned at the bubbling river, bits and pieces of different times 'round bouncing through his head. “That gold sickness is the worst.”
There was a ragged sound from Thorin. Bilbo turned to see his – to see Thorin looking as pale as Bilbo had ever seen him outside of dying in a sick tent. “You know of it.”
Bilbo blinked at him and then squinted. “Well. Yes.” He leaned forward. Was Thorin trembling. That was never a good sign. “Rather hard to miss. But we'll have Erestor with us this time,” he sat back with a small, relieved sigh. “He always nips that right in the bud.”
Thorin swallowed, some color returning to what Bilbo could see of his cheeks. “Does he now.”
“Oh, yes,” Bilbo couldn't help how his gaze wandered. He'd had his eyes put out once by a very irate Balin when Bilbo had stared too long at the King Under the Mountain. “Erestor from the East is a good thing to have.”
“I am so glad to hear you say so, my friend,” the very same Erestor said from above their heads. So that's where he'd been hiding. Bilbo looked up to see Erestor smiling down at him. He held one finger to his lips. “I'm hiding from Lord Glorfindel,” Erestor made a face. “Do not let him find me, please and thank you.”
Bilbo mimed locking his lips and Erestor's grin was just a touch feral as he vanished into the canopy of the tree. Just in time for one Lord Glorfindel of the Golden Flower to stalk into their little nook, almost shining with Power.
“Oh no,” Bilbo said as he eyed the elf. “That's a tempest in a teacup right there.”
That caught the elf's attention. Glorfindel gave them a stilted bow, his eyes still scanning the little terrace they were sitting on. “Have you seen him?”
Bilbo just blinked at him. “Him, who? There are quite a lot of hims all over this place. You'll need to narrow it down for me.”
That earned him a narrow-eyed stare but Bilbo didn't mind one bit. This was a far cry from that one time when Glorfindel had been taken by the Ring and somehow all of Beleriand had risen up from the sea. That had been...peculiar but it had been the walking dead that came with it that had sealed the end of the world that time 'round. “Erestor,” Glorfindel said through gritted teeth. “Have you seen him?”
“Well of course, he was at my bedside when I awoke.” Bilbo squinted one eye closed. “And possibly when I woke up after but I'm a bit fuzzy on that part.” He patted Thorin's hand when it looked like his dwarf – hah – was about to speak and to his surprise Thorin shut his mouth with a snap.
How odd.
Glorfindel took a deep breath. “I meant have you seen him today?”
“I did see him at breakfast, but not second breakfast, and he did mean to make it to elevenses but...” Which, wait a moment. He looked at Thorin. “Is it time for elevenses yet?”
Thorin's face had recovered all of its color and he was even smiling when he answered. How grand. “It is,” he said.
“Well, we can't miss elevenses,” Bilbo told him. “It wouldn't be Proper, now would it.”
“Good sirs,” Glorfindel started.
“I shall escort you there myself,” Thorin said as he stood and offered Bilbo his arm. Bilbo took it with a smile, feeling like he was being walked to a Proper Meal with an interested beau. How novel! That hadn't happened for too many cycles for him to count. And with that bit of chaos spread – and a suspiciously shaking tree behind them – Bilbo let Thorin lead him out of the nook and into the hall for elevenses just in time to see his entire Company coming together for a meal.
Deep in Bilbo's chest his hearth-kin song was starting to build. This time 'round was so wonderful. He had no hope of it lasting but he made up his mind to enjoy every second of it for as long as it lasted. Perhaps then he would learn to hope again and the next time 'round...
No. No, better to focus on there here and now, on how Dwalin pulled out his seat and how Balin seemed to be chiding his brother for something Bilbo didn't understand and how Bifur passed the salad greens to him and – and – and –
Well. Bilbo would enjoy this for as long as it lasted. Perhaps it would last longer than he thought.