Work Text:
Bilbo knew at once when it happened, although he did not learn what had happened until some time later. He woke in the night gasping and clutching his chest. For a moment, the room was searing hot and dry, dry like bones, and the thirst, thirst! And hunger the pain and the fire- the fire-
Then it passed. Bilbo was in his rather comfortable room and not suffering from any noticeable deprivation. The fire wasn’t even lit. He decided that for the sake of his sanity, he would believe it had all been a dream. He had grave misgivings about Frodo, of course, but he had ever since the lad had gone off on his Quest, so what did that matter?
He got up and poured a drink for himself from the water jug, sipped it a little, and went back to bed.
A few mornings later he threw open his window to greet the Sun and in the courtyard below a great Eagle was preening.
“Oh my goodness gracious,” said Bilbo, and he ran out without pausing to change out of his nightshirt.
The Eagle raised its head and fixed him with its golden eyes. “Ah. You have come. This is the end of a great favor I perform for- what is it you call him? Gandalf? I am to take you to him.”
“To Gandalf!” said Bilbo. “Oh my. I’ll go, of course. I’m sorry, this is rather a lot to take in so early in the morning.”
“You have slept late,” said the Eagle. The sky was only just beginning to show a tinge of dawn.
“Shall I go now? At once?” Bilbo asked, stepping a little closer. Out of the Eagle’s shadow a tall figure rose. Elrond had been sitting in the grass visiting with the uncommon visitor. Bilbo had been so distracted that he had not noticed. “Good morning, Elrond.”
“I appreciate your punctiliousness, Bilbo, as ever,” said Elrond, “but I recommend you change into your day-clothes before leaving. I have told Landroval that you must be given time to pack some belongings and have breakfast. Don’t fear.”
“That’s good of you. Whatever will I pack?”
“I’ll help.” Elrond walked to him and steered him back into the house. “Gandalf has invited you to come ahead of my traveling party and see Frodo. You will be there within the week if you leave with Landroval.”
“It seems hard on Arwen not to let her do the same.”
“You are lighter and easier to carry,” said Elrond. “It is not given to the Eagles to interfere with much. Gandalf convinced their master that there is no harm in letting you visit your nephew. I confess I wonder at it a little, given the events you and that nephew have set into motion before! But I am not going to be the one to remind him of that fact. I shall miss you, but Frodo is missing you more, and I think it well for you to go. Gondor is warm this time of year- I suggest you take light clothing, but a cloak for rain…”
Bilbo was shortly packed up and bundled off, with Elrond’s help. The Master of Rivendell embraced him, and looked at him with the inscrutable gaze of the Elves. It was tempered by a very human sadness. “I wish you well, Bilbo, and gladness in your reunions. All may not be as you would expect to find it.”
“I’m sure it’s already not what I expected,” said Bilbo, “I expected that Frodo would die.” He shuddered and covered his face with his hand. He disliked to hear those words aloud.
“He has been spared death,” said Elrond gently. “He has not been spared all.”
Bilbo shook himself and cleared his throat. “Yes. I’m glad, though, for the chance to see him again. Off I go. I shall look forward to seeing you again, too!”
Bilbo slid onto the ground with a thump loud enough to alert several dragons. He would never under-rate the gift of the Great Eagle’s flight, but he might confess he did not like to be windblown and it might take as much as half a day to get his appetite back. He must look a fright.
“My deepest thanks,” he told the Eagle, with a deep bow. It nodded graciously in return. Bilbo turned and found Gandalf waiting. Bilbo squinted. “Goodness! You’ve been bleached.”
“It is really you, then,” said Gandalf. There was an emotion in his voice that Bilbo hadn’t expected and couldn’t quite identify. “You have journeyed. Mr. Baggins. You are looking well.”
“Am I? That is a bit of a surprise, I admit, but I’m glad to hear it.”
“I was expecting-“ He paused. “Come into this shadow a moment, my friend. Indulge me. Look into my eyes.”
Bilbo sensed that Gandalf was really in some distress and not joking, so he did as asked without comment. Gandalf studied his eyes at length before deciding he was satisfied. “I merely wanted to make sure you took no harm from- events. Pay it no mind. You are here to see Frodo, and you shall.”
Gandalf kindly allowed Bilbo to go into the room by himself. But when he knocked, the door was opened by someone Bilbo did not recognize but certainly ought to know. How many hobbits could be in Ithilien? It must be someone who had left Rivendell with Frodo, and someone Bilbo had watched grow up in the Shire. But this self-possessed young lad did not particularly look like he belonged in the Shire. He was so grim and thin, and had too much muscle. But then he was the one to recognize Bilbo, and his face grew soft and delighted. Why- it was Sam! Of course Sam would not be parted from Frodo. Little gentle bumbling Samwise- bumbling no longer. He had had an adventure.
“Mr. Bilbo,” he said, and turning: “Mr. Frodo! Mr. Frodo, look who’s come to see you!”
Bilbo ran into the room, and there was Frodo, lying in bed, thin and pale. “Bilbo!” he said. “My dear Bilbo!”
Bilbo went to him and clasped his cold hand. The joy that Frodo was alive to greet him at all turned to the realization of what had happened to him. His heart broke within him. He assumed the poet-burglar’s calm aspect, and smiled. “My dear boy, you’ve had enough of adventures for the moment, I suspect. But you’ve done it, my lad, you’re a hero. You’ve finished it.”
Frodo gave him a smile with a touch of irony in it. “Not alone.”
“Certainly not! Hamfast is going to get a surprise when he finds how well his lad’s grown up. I expect he won’t give me the proper credit for teaching him his letters and giving him strange ideas.”
Sam looked shy. His adventure had not completely remade him, it seemed.
“Oh, it is good to see you,” Frodo whispered. “I had thought- I had thought it was all over, and I would never see another kindly face again.” He paused. “Aside from Sam. Dear Sam; he never left me.”
“I’d have died, first, sir, begging your pardon,” Sam mumbled.
“I only thought- I thought everything else had been lost. But never Sam.”
“I’ll see that they write him an ode,” said Bilbo. “I’ll write it myself.” Now what? He could not very well distract with tales of his own adventures, which seemed paltry and fumbling at the moment, and it would be a cruelty to ask how Frodo’s adventure had gone. It had gone badly. “Is there anything I might do for you at the moment?” he asked instead.
“Oh no sir!” Sam looked horrified. “You needn’t wait on us. You’ve come all this way!”
No rescue from that quarter, then. It was rather novel to feel so out of his depth. Bilbo had gotten complacent, used to playing everything off. In this room everything was quite real, and mattered greatly. There would be no clever poems about mariners.
Frodo stirred in pain in the corner of his vision.
“I am so pleased to see you,” said Bilbo, “but perhaps I am being selfish, and you need to sleep. There will be plenty of time to-“
“No, please, don’t leave just yet.” Frodo sounded like a young child for a moment.
“I wouldn’t dream of it! But I can be quiet and let you sleep. You shan’t know- well, you shall know I’m here, because you asked me to stay, but not on account of me making any noise. Here, I will sit here where you can see me.”
He sat, and after a time, Frodo slept.
It was some while later when Bilbo left the room. Frodo needed his wounds dressed, and it seemed Bilbo was considered in the way; even Sam thought so and was rather firm about it.
Bilbo wandered aimlessly outside for a minute and finally sat down to have a private weep where it would not distress anyone.
Just as he was finishing, a short, hoarse cry came from the other side of the wall he was sitting near. Bilbo got to his feet. Perhaps he had been distressing someone after all.
“Mister Baggins!” That was a different voice, it was Gandalf, coming towards him, and he sounded alarmed.
Bilbo turned to him. “Ah! I am sorry, I did not intend to disappear on you in such a way, only- you understand- Frodo-“
“Get away from there at once! That is the one place you must not go.”
Bilbo walked towards him. “Misery me, whatever is the matter?”
“It is a strange tale,” said Gandalf, “and one perhaps you do not care to hear at the moment. It will be a long one and your mind is elsewhere. Suffice it to say that you most certainly would regret entering that room.”
Just then another hobbit that Bilbo certainly ought to recognize and did not came around the corner. “Oh! Bilbo!” he said. “You shouldn’t go in there! Gollum’s in there!” It was Pippin’s voice.
“What?” He drew a little farther from the door. “I did wonder what might happen to him- I recall he was at large. You’ve caught him, then! I suppose he was chasing- It.”
“He was.”
“I wouldn’t have expected him to be here.”
“He came with Sam and Frodo,” said Gandalf.
“With Frodo?”
“He has saved them, Bilbo, if you can credit it. I scarcely can, but I heard the tale from Samwise, who, aside from being very honest by nature, despises Gollum and would never lie to his benefit.” Gandalf paused. “His true name is Sméagol. We ought to use it. His tale is strange, as I said. He is being moved somewhere else and this is his last night here; so naturally in his final hours in Ithilien you managed to find him.”
“Ah,” said Bilbo. “I shall have to hear the full tale later, I suppose, but he- er- I’m a little surprised to see that Gollum- Sméagol, if you like- is in an ordinary room?”
“Sméagol is very weak and cannot so much as sit up in bed. He came nearer death even than Frodo did, if you can credit it.” Gandalf gave Bilbo a long, studying look, and again seemed to be checking his eyes. Bilbo found he didn’t care much for it. It was a trifle too ominous for his liking.
“So you see there’s no need for him to be in a dungeon,” Pippin supplied.
“Indeed no,” said Gandalf. “Not at present. He will remain in his cot until he is taken away to Minas Tirith in the morning.”
“Right,” said Bilbo. “Well, er, that’s that, then. Good afternoon, Pippin. I’m terribly glad to see you. I apologize for having been very distracted just now.”
Pippin grinned. “You don’t need to apologize to me, I am always distracted!”
“I admit, I can hardly believe I am seeing you. I don’t recall you towering head and shoulders over me.” Or being dressed like a Man, or holding his head up like that. “Dear me, I didn’t even notice your sling. Whatever is the matter?”
“Oh it’s not as interesting of a story as you’ll hear from the others. A troll fell on me.”
“A troll!”
“I didn’t even kill it,” Pippin laughed.
Bilbo blinked. “Were you supposed to?”
“You will hear many strange tales, Bilbo Baggins,” said Gandalf. “Come, Bilbo. Frodo is being well cared for, and you need a cup of tea.”
“So do I,” said Pippin, following alongside as they walked away, “and I’ve got some more strange tales to tell.”
“I’d be delighted to hear them,” said Bilbo, privately wondering if perhaps he had a limit for strangeness. He was beginning to understand Elrond’s concerns.
Pippin was tall, and quite grown up, and Merry was tall as well, and grown up, and battle-scarred. Aragorn was about to be a King with a crown and a throne. Even Gandalf was different. Aside from his new, white clothing, he often seemed to not be wholly present. Bilbo made a few polite inquiries-
“He died?”
“Well, sir,” said Sam, “we saw him fall, and we were sure he would never be back, oh! We missed him sore, Mr. Bilbo. Now he’s back, and I’m glad of it, and I don’t know the reason he’s back- I’m just glad he is.”
He had never been so forthcoming before, shy little Sam. Bilbo was surprised by how much he found he liked Sam. He had always liked Sam, of course. He had spent hours with Sam teaching him letters, and enjoyed it. But in those days he had liked Sam in the way that an adult likes a shy child who needs help his parents are not giving him. Now Sam was an adult, and he had surprisingly deep thoughts at times.
After all of these changes it was such a surprise to see Gimli, waving in greeting, looking quite like Gimli! And beside him was Legolas, looking quite like Legolas. Bilbo nearly ran to meet them.
Gimli bowed deeply. “At your service and your family’s forever, Bilbo Baggins! It has taken me days to lay eyes upon you. I am remiss!”
“Not at all, I was hiding,” said Bilbo. “Not from you of course. It’s a pleasure, always! But I have been either closeted with Frodo or with Gandalf. They’re both done with me for now, it seems.” Gandalf was off on business, and Frodo was sleeping long hours.
Gimli’s eyes crinkled with a smile that was mostly hidden under his beard. “We must celebrate together, you and I. Our quest is ended. Our Enemy is slain! I have a tale for the King under the Mountain to rejoice at!”
“And there is victory in the Greenwood,” Legolas added. “It is the Greenwood once more! I shall take you there one day, Mr. Baggins, and show you my home in its fresh green coat with the Shadow no longer upon it.”
“I should wander happily with you, but first I think we have wandering to do closer at hand. I’d like to know where the best places for food and drink are, and I trust the two of you to tell me,” said Bilbo, placing a friendly hand on each of their elbows. He had to reach a little farther for Legolas’ arm. “And I wouldn’t mind knowing about it if anyone around is interested in storytelling or poetry readings, or sight-seeing, or anything at all. A hobbit doesn’t make it all the way to Gondor every day and I’d like to make the most of it. I may keep a travel-journal.”
“And yet you have not seen Minas Tirith. It has wonders,” said Gimli, launching from there into a description of these wonders, and leading Bilbo along as he spoke. He spoke as dwarves do, of the beauty of stone, and Bilbo glanced up to find that Legolas was listening intently.
Then Bilbo realized Legolas and Gimli had changed after all. They had become friends. What a relief! That was an ordinary sort of change, and it made it so much easier to talk to both of them at once.
It was a change, though.
“Say,” said Bilbo, realizing that he had a rare chance at witnessing the reactions of a mixed audience, “have I ever told you the tale of Thorin Oakenshield at the court of Thranduil…”
He half expected the tale to spawn a debate about the faults of elves and dwarves, but both Legolas and Gimli laughed. They laughed! Of course, it was a funny story, but to think they could both laugh!
Bilbo amused himself by imagining what the look on Thorin’s face would have been, to see the son of Gloin laughing with the son of Thranduil.
There was a Man staggering about just ahead, thumping a stout walking-stick.
He didn’t look as if he knew his way any better than Bilbo did, in fact he looked as if he was only half waking, half in some sort of nightmare- but he was there. “Beg pardon,” Bilbo panted. “Excuse me!”
The Man paused his rambling to stare at Bilbo in bewilderment.
“Ah! Bilbo Baggins, at your service. I am looking for a Frodo Baggins. He is about my size, a trifle taller.”
Bilbo could shed the ritual of politeness and at-your-services if needed for expediency, but politeness was often more expedient in the end even if it meant extra words up front. It would have been more expedient still to keep up with the group instead of getting distracted by historical markers and losing his party, but it was too late to change that.
From the baffled look on the Man’s face, Bilbo was not certain he spoke Westron. He began to mentally re-compose his request in Sindarin, just in case- the Gondorian dialect was a trifle strange, but he’d been able to make himself understood so far- but then he received an answer, perfectly articulate, and with only a hint of an accent that was not quite Elvish.
“For Frodo! You are Bilbo Baggins!” The Man dragged his hand over his face as if trying to scrub something away. His eyes were wild. “I do not know where the Ringbearer is. Why would they tell me? Me, of all people! Yet I know where I may lead you to someone who does know. Follow me, Bilbo Baggins, Ring-finder!”
He began to lurch away. It looked as if the poor fellow was badly wounded in his leg, and perhaps other places under his clothing, judging by the twisted way he carried himself- but he was motivated enough and had a long stride. Bilbo was no longer young and had to huff and puff behind him.
The Man noticed his struggles and slowed to match his speed. “My apologies,” he said. “I have been inconsiderate.”
“Not at all, I don’t believe you chose to have legs as long as I’m tall. If anything I’ve been rude by barging in on whatever you happened to be doing and demanding you play guide.”
“I was doing nothing of import. Your troubles are far more urgent.”
There were two tall figures ahead, women in long dresses having a conference with their heads close together. They looked up at the approach of Bilbo’s guide and bobbed startled curtsies. “My Lord Boromir,” one said.
What! Boromir? Bilbo had only met him once, but he was usually a touch better with faces and voices, for all he was so old. He did see, upon squinting, the resemblance to Boromir. But his proud bearing was gone, his face wracked and haunted and bearing a thick bandage along the underside of his jaw (and from the angle Bilbo saw him, the underside of the jaw was rather prominent). He was much changed, and Men were harder to tell apart than the hobbitish faces Bilbo had grown up with, anyway; he suspected Boromir felt the same about hobbits. It was a forgivable mistake.
“This is Bilbo of Baggins, the Ring-finder, kinsman to the Ring-bearer, and he wishes to be taken to him at once,” said Boromir.
“Yes, my lord,” one of the women said, and she whisked Bilbo away.
Once he had been returned to his group, he quietly asked Merry what had happened, and regretted it at once at the look on the younger hobbit’s face.
“I’m afraid Pippin and I made a lot of trouble for old Boromir,” he said. “We ran off on him in orc-infested forest, and he had to clean that up all by himself. Poor fellow nearly died.”
Bilbo would later find out there was quite a bit more to that story, and he was never sure what to think of Boromir afterwards.
Bilbo stretched up onto his tiptoes and hammered on the door with all his might.
Gandalf opened it so quickly he nearly fell inside. “Whatever is it?”
“Gollum!” Bilbo squeaked. “He’s out! And he’s with Frodo!”
Gandalf strode forth at once.
“We were having a meeting for tea,” Bilbo explained, “and he came in through the window! And Sam let him in!”
“Sam?”
“Yes, he was afraid of him falling, or something of the sort- which I suppose was reasonable- he was quite high up- but I would not have thought it of Sam- and then they all sent me off, of all the foolish things!”
“And why is it foolish to send you away from someone who seeks your death?”
“I should have thought he ought to be the one to leave!”
“What, exactly, was Gollum doing when you left?”
“He was- well-“ Bilbo shuddered. He had never seen Gollum clearly before tonight, he had always been in the dark- but he had appeared through the window in the lit room, blinking and flinching- a white gaunt thing, skeletal and bent-limbed. He had been blind in the torchlight and old and nearly dead and he’d smelled of rotting meat. And then he had crawled under the table to throw himself at Frodo’s feet. “When I left he was weeping. Look, he’s not strangling the lot of them, at least he wasn’t- when I left- and Merry and Pippin- have swords, even if- they think I don’t know- but- please slow down!”
“Is it an emergency or not?” Gandalf asked.
Bilbo saved his breath for running until they reached the door. Gandalf paused a moment. Bilbo doubled over, clutching a stitch in his side. “I don’t like it,” he wheezed. “He scrabbles at my Frodo’s knees. He’s- ugh- he’s filthy. I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I,” said Gandalf. “I find it revolting when he fawns at Frodo’s feet. However, the difficulty is that Sméagol is not required to only do things I like. Frodo has chosen not to forbid his touch. I am afraid Sméagol has no better way to show his affections. Did you lock the door behind you?”
Bilbo realized he was struggling with the doorknob. “It opens inward.”
“Ah. I have had my mind far too occupied with lofty things, Bilbo. It gives me an unfortunate tendency to appear imbecilic when confronted with the ordinary. Come. Which room is it?”
As they approached, Gandalf turned to him and said: “You will go no further.”
“All right.” He still hadn’t quite gotten his breath back. Bilbo sat down against the wall and waited. He heard muffled voices from the room ahead, but no words.
Gandalf returned shaking his head. “I have some very bad news for you, Bilbo. Sméagol has done nothing to merit being evicted from that room. What’s more, Pippin appears to find him interesting.”
“I suppose, for all of his faults,” said Bilbo, “I would never have said he was not interesting.” And Pippin had quite a capacity for being interested. “So he’s just sort of sitting there ruining everyone’s evening, I suppose. I confess I- well I thought he would be locked up.”
“He has done nothing that suggests he means to cause anyone harm.”
“So he’s changed a great deal, then,” Bilbo remarked.
“I dearly hope so.” Gandalf gave him an intense look. “He guessed that it was you who fetched me. Stay well away from him, Bilbo. I do not think he means to hurt you- not any longer. If I suspected anything of the sort, he would be locked up, indeed.”
“Would it be very impertinent to ask why you are so certain? I would like to be certain of my safety as well, you know.”
“I am afraid some of it is… wizard’s insight, and rather difficult to explain; but perhaps it will reassure you that he knew very well you were in the room when he entered, and was happy to ignore you and let you leave.”
“Ah. I don’t think he had much choice. Why is it so important to avoid him if he is quite safe? Not that I mind avoiding him, I assure you, I simply like to have all of my information.”
“To put it simply, you may not find him at all pleasant.”
“I see. I can imagine so. Well, it is quite an adjustment- I prefer Gollum not to be dangerous, of course. But he did vow he would hate me forever. Is he- er- he’s not angry about the Ring?”
“I am certain he is, but he has more important matters to worry him. He is no longer bound to his vows in the way that he was. And his name is Sméagol,” Gandalf added, “I am careful to correct you on that point chiefly because I forget it myself and it would be a minor disaster if I were to address him as Gollum, so you must help me with my memory.”
“That’s all quite fair I suppose. I never would have supposed his real name was Gollum,” said Bilbo. “I just needed something to call him, and the idea suggested itself, you know.”
“I know.”
Bilbo had seen the scars on Sméagol’s hands, the torture marks. He would have to concede that whether or not Sméagol deserved a pleasant fate- which he well may not- he had been through a great deal of trouble to earn it.
“You don’t need to worry, I’ll stay away from him,” Bilbo promised, and it was a promise he really meant to keep.
Bilbo’s top speed was not terribly fast anymore but he still managed to intercept Elrond and take double handfuls of his robes before propriety occurred to him. “Oh, my dear friend,” he said, “I am so glad to see you.”
Elrond drew him close. “It has been hard, then. I feared it would be.”
“It was good of you to warn me.”
“It is one of those things that cannot truly be guarded against, I’m afraid.”
“Perhaps you’ll laugh at me, short-lived creature that I am, after all, but I imagined I was feeling a little of what the Elves struggle so much with. You’re the same, and everything’s shifting and turning all about you.”
“Yes, it is difficult, at times,” said Elrond. “I know not whether the things that do not change may be worse.”
“Yes… but, Elrond,” said Bilbo, “I think some of the things that don’t change are good ones- Frodo is still my dear nephew, wise beyond his years, and Sam is still a gardener who loves growing things, and good food- and Merry and Pippin are still cheerful, and Aragorn is still noble, and Gandalf is still wise, and Boromir, er… he’s still… I never knew him well. For that matter, Sméagol is still an unpleasant mystery. So all of that is the same, it’s just that everything else is different, of course. And- it’s not all bad, either. Merry and Pippin and Sam have excellent heads on their shoulders, and they’re stronger and braver than anyone I’ve known. Aragorn is a King, a real one- he’s done it!”
“Yes, he has,” Elrond said softly.
“Gimli and Legolas have put an end to a feud I thought would last forever, no matter how silly I thought it was. That’s nice, isn’t it? Er… you’ve never seemed to have any trouble with the dwarves, yourself.”
“No, to take you into confidence, Bilbo, I, too, thought the matter was silly.”
“So that’s to the good. And Boromir,” Bilbo hedged. “Well, he seemed to be getting much better, when I left. I suppose he had to change, didn’t he? He lived for the War, I take it. The War’s over, and Boromir’s survived, so he must find something else to do. And any change to Sméagol must be a good one, I should think. He asked me to write to him, you know.”
“Did he?”
“He apologized to me.” Bilbo paused, thinking over the conversation, which had been a little unsettling overall. “He also thought the feud between elves and dwarves was rather silly, by the way, but I didn’t explain it to him very well.”
“It’s a difficult matter to explain.”
“Yes, and he wasn’t terribly interested. He was more interested in, er, my burglary, but never mind that. As for Frodo…” He trailed away. Frodo was kinder, and wiser, but… oh, he was so pale! He was so thin. He was so worn and tired. Was it worthwhile? Was any of it worthwhile in the end? But it must have been. What was the alternative?
Bilbo said finally: “It’s a bit of a relief that you haven’t changed, Elrond.”
“Haven’t I?”
“Have you?”
But of course he had! His only daughter had been married- she would be parted for him forever, maybe even longer, given the nature of the Elves, and that changed a person! Bilbo was about to feel horrified at having been insensitive when Elrond replied: “I have put on a new set of robes.”
“You do! You are nearly unrecognizable.” Bilbo smiled and put a hand on his arm, and they walked away together.