Archive of Our Own

Bilbo coughed. When he lifted his handkerchief away from his mouth, red blood stained the silken fabric. 

“Ah. That’s not good.” He muttered, straining his sore throat and causing him to cough again. His chest stabbed at the coughs, violently protesting whatever his lungs were up to. His tail bristled, the tuft waving back and forth unhappily. He sighed, turning his head to look out of his bedroom window. Despite the warm afternoon, he shivered. The three thick blankets he had piled on him really weren’t cutting it. 

A small, black, curly head poked in the doorway. Two big, sky blue eyes peered nervously at him. Bilbo smiled. 

“Frodo-lad, come here.” Bilbo held out a hand as Frodo slunk through the door. Frodo took Bilbo’s hand, using it to hoist himself up into the bed. He snuggled down next to Bilbo, nestled against his side. His own glossy, lithe black tail curled around Bilbo’s wrist. 

“Uncle, are you… gonna die?” Frodo asked, his small voice trembling. Poor lad. Bilbo thought wistfully. Frodo’s parents had died in a boating accident barely one and a half years earlier. At the time, Frodo had been only ten, hardly out of toddler-hood. Now, he would soon turn twelve. 

And he would lose another family member.

“I’m afraid I will.” Bilbo said gently. The doctor hadn’t said so, but Bilbo could tell. The feeling in his lungs was not one gets when they are going to live. 

“I don’ want you tuh go.” Frodo sobbed, hugging Bilbo’s arm closer. Bilbo stroked his hair with his other hand, struggling to reach over his body. 

“I know. I know, lad. I don’t want to go either.” Bilbo freed his arm from Frodo’s clutches and wrapped it around the small, shaking shoulders. “You’ll be alright.”

“Wha’ will I do without you? Where will I live?” Frodo asked, teary eyes blinking up at his Uncle’s long face. 

“I don’t know yet, Frodo-lad. But I have an idea in mind. You’ll be taken care of, that I can assure you.” Bilbo tried to comfort the sad faunt. 

“I don’ want anyone but you to take care of me!” Frodod sobbed vehemently. 

“I can’t make that happen, lad. But I won’t leave you. I’ll stay with you.” Bilbo said. 

“How? You’ll be dead.” Frodo asked, slightly distracted from his grief. 

“Well, I’ll go to the Halls of Mandos. That is where the dead go after they die. From there, I can watch you. I’ll be with you all the time! You’ll never escape me!” Bilbo tickled Frodo’s side. Frodo giggled, swatting his Uncle’s hand away. He sobered, thinking about what Bilbo had said.

“That sounds creepy. But nice.” He decided. He met Bilbo’s eyes. “You’ll be with me always?” He questioned.

“Always.” Bilbo confirmed.

“You- you promise?” Frodo asked, a sob threatening to break out. Bilbo nodded seriously. 

“I promise.” Bilbo ruffled Frodo’s hair again, making the young hobbit huff. There was a moment of silence.

“‘M glad.” Frodo whispered. Bilbo didn’t say anything, just tugged him closer. 

My Dear Thorin 

I am dying. 

Now, don’t go do something drastic, you dramatic hedgehog. I am, and no amount of blustering will stop it. I have some kind of illness, and the doctor doesn’t know what it is or how to treat it. She hasn’t said if it is fatal, but I can tell. 

I would like to see you, and the company, one last time. At least in life. If you leave for the Shire as soon as you get this, I am sure you will make it here before I pass. 

I know you are busy with all your kingly pish-posh, but I have something of great importance I need to discuss with you. 

Don’t you go dilly-dallying on the way here, like we did on that adventure. It would be a precious waste of time. Do be punctual. If I could wish to see one thing, it would be for you to be on time! That would be some miracle. 

I wish you and the company well, and safe travels. 

• Your Burglar, Bilbo

P.S. I apologize this isn’t longer, I get tired quite quickly these days.

A raven fluttered into the dining room, interrupting Thorin’s dinner with the company, and his sister Dís. It landed next to his plate, placing the letter by his hand.

“A message from Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.” it croaked. “He told me it was urgent, and to fly as fast as I could.” It dipped its head to Thorin, before flying back the way it came. A flurry of whispers broke out around the table.

Thorin ignored the mutter and unfolded the paper. Bilbo’s curling, yet somehow blocky handwriting greeted him. He silently read the letter, his face draining of color the further he got. The whispers slowly died down as those seated noticed this change. Thorin’s hand dropped as he reached the end of the letter, the parchment falling from his fingers. His other hand lifted to his eyes, blocking out the world as he tried to process what he had read. 

Bilbo was dying. Bilbo- Oh, Bilbo. 

“Uncle? What is it?” Kíli asked, worry staining his voice. Thorin was unable to respond. Dís snatched the letter and read it, eyes darting across the paper. 

“Oh, Thorin. Nadad, I’m sorry.” Dís placed a hand on Thorin’s shoulder. 

“What is it?” Fíli asked. Dís sighed. She glanced at Thorin, then at the rest of the dwarves seated around the table.

“Master Baggins is ill. He says… he says he will die.” Dís said, voice solemn, tinged with sadness. Cries of shock and grief echoed around the table. “He wishes you to visit him.” 

“But- he can’t!” Kíli wailed. Fíli placed a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder, his own eyes misty at the news.

“Our burglar can’t be sick!” Nori said, eyes trained on Thorin. 

“Poor lad…” Dori murmured.

“Maybe we can help…” Balin mused. Óin shook his head.

“The lad’s probably right, you get a feelin’ when it’s your time.” He muttered. 

“What do we do? Do we go and see him?” Bombur asked. 

“We have too!” Bofur exclaimed, Ori, Bifur, Fíli and Kíli nodding in agreement. 

Thorin emerged from his hand, his eyes slightly red, and filled with sorrow. “We will leave on the morrow.” He said, his voice thick. He turned to Dís. “Namad, can you take over for me until we are back?” Dís nodded.

“I will handle it, brother. Go say goodbye to your friend.” Dís said softly.

Several months later, the company had almost reached the Shire. The journey had been uneventful, especially compared to their previous journey. The entire way had had a solemn, sad feel to it. The dwarves hadn’t gone in a great procession, rather, they had all dressed as they had before the reclaiming of Erebor, in common, travel clothes, that were easy to move in. They rode ponies, forgoing the litters and delegations. They were going to see their hobbit, and say goodbye, not some formal meeting. 

Thorin rode at the head of the company, his pony trotting along at a brisk pace. They were almost there, and he was getting impatient. They passed through Bree without stopping, getting to the Shire before sundown. As they were about to enter, Kíli rode up to walk beside Thorin. 

“Are you sure you should lead, Uncle? You got lost last time.” Kíli asked, his voice holding a little humor. His attempted joke was swallowed by the grief permeating everyone. Thorin gave him a small smile. 

“Prehaps you should lead, Irakdashat, you arrived third, after all.” He murmured. Kíli smiled at Thorin, but it was thin. He stayed next to Thorin for the rest of the ride. Fíli eventually rode up to Thorin’s other side. They continued in silence. 

When they were almost to Bag End, they stopped at a stable so the ponies could have adequate housing for the night. The rest of the way, they traveled on foot. 

After fifteen minutes of walking, they arrived at the familiar round, green door. They all stopped for a moment, staring at the door, remembering the last time they had seen it. After a moment longer, Thorin sucked in a breath and stepped forward, knocking on the door. 

The door opened, but no one stood in front of Thorin. He stared at the empty space for a moment, incredulous, wondering who had opened the door, when he heard a tiny squeak of fear. He looked down, and saw a small hobbit. He gasped in fright at so many eyes on him, turned, and ran into the hole, his tail twitching in fright.

“Wait…” Thorin’s hand reached after the fleeing pebble, but to no avail. He sighed. 

“Who do you think that was?” Fíli asked. 

“Does Bilbo have a baby? Why didn't he tell us?” Kíli's face was excited at the thought of a baby hobbit cousin. But then his face fell. “Oh…” He remembered why they were there. 

“Well might as well go see.” Dwalin growled. Thorin nodded, staring into the house. The company followed, trailing behind to all fit through the door. 

“Oh, Frodo-lad, who was at the door?” A weak voice floated out of one of the rooms. Thorin stiffened. He recognized that voice. But it was different. Worn. Tired. “What’s wrong, Frodo?” the voice continued. A smaller voice answered, but Thorin couldn’t hear what was said. He followed the sound of voices, heading towards what he thought he remembered to be Bilbo’s bedroom. He stood in the doorway, looking in. Bilbo was in his bed, covered in quilts, propped up by pillows. The small pebble was curled into Bilbo’s side, quivering in fear. 

“Who did you see at the door, lad?” Bilbo asked patiently. The pebble raised his head slightly, caught sight of Thorin, (and the twelve other dwarves now piled behind him, trying to see into the room), and pointed a tiny hand at him. Bilbo looked over, and upon seeing the dwarves, his face lit up with joy.

“Thorin! Fíli, Kíli, everyone, come in. If you can all fit, that is.” Bilbo amended. Thorin could see the end of Bilbo’s long, auburn tail peeking out from under the covers, swaying happily. The dwarves spilled in from the door, squeezing into all the space available. Thorin strode forward, falling to his knees beside the small, hobbit sized bed. Bilbo’s tail flicked against Thorin’s arm in greeting. Frodo drew back a little from the stranger in fright. Bilbo placed a comforting arm around the small boy. Thorn took Bilbo in. He was very thin, as if his muscles had shriveled, and his fingers were swollen, especially around the nails. 

“Frodo, this is my friend Thorin. Now, don’t be frightened, he’s a very nice dwarf. Go on now, say hello.” Bilbo said warmly. 

“Hi.” The pebble whispered. 

“There you go, that wasn’t so hard, was it la-” Bilbo’s sentence broke off as he coughed. He grabbed a handkerchief that was sitting next to him and covered his mouth with the embroidered fabric. The tuft at the end of his tail was spiky with agitation. The dwarves’ smiles at seeing their old friend dropped at the sound of his coughs. Their frowns deepened at the sight of blood staining the cloth when it was removed. Frodo, having also seen it, tucked his head into Bilbo with a muffled sob. 

“Bilbo…” Thorin murmured, unsure what to say next. Óin pushed his way past all the other dwarves to get to the side of the bed, then shoved Thorin none to gently out of the way to get to his patient. He pulled a strange device from his bag, placing a round metal bit on Bilbo’s chest, above his sternum, placing the opposite end against his ear. 

“Breathe deeply, lad.” Óin ordered, eyes closed in concentration. Bilbo breathed in and out, tummy bobbing with each breath. His breathing was ragged and strained, like those who had worked in the mines all their lives. After a minute of this, Óin leaned back, putting the device away. “What are your symptoms?” Óin asked Bilbo. Bilbo’s tail flicked irritably. 

“I cough up blood, my chest hurts awfully, especially when I breathe deeply,  cough or laugh, and I’m too weak to stand.” He gave a sharp look to the dwarves surrounding his bed. “Did any of you read my letter? I told you I’m dying. A diagnosis won’t do anything.” He reprimanded them sternly.

“But Uncle Bilbo-!” Kíli cried, darting past Óin, settling by Bilbo’s side. Frodo’s head popped up at the word ‘uncle’. Kíli dropped his head down next to the ill hobbit, crying. Fíli sat down next to his brother, wrapping his arm around Kíli.

“We don’t want you to die.” Fíli finished, his eyes wet. Thorin settled next to his nephews, sandwiching Kíli between his uncle and his brother. 

“Ah-, well. I don’t really want to die either.” Bilbo said quietly. He placed a hand on Kíli’s shoulder. “But there’s nothing we can really do about it. So we best enjoy the time I have left.” Bilbo finished. Kíli sniffed. Bilbo ruffled his hair. Kíli yelped and tried to swat the hobbit’s hand away, to no avail. Fíli snickered. Kíli elbowed him in the side. “Stop fooling around!” Bilbo ordered. “Now, I’m afraid I’m too weak to make food, so you will have to manage that. My pantry is well stocked, feel free to use whatever you need.” Bilbo looked out the window. “Ah! It’s almost time for elevensies.” Bilbo looked to Bombur. Would you mind making Frodo some food? I would but…” Bilbo gestured vaguely to himself. 

“Of course.” Bombur said, smiling at the small boy. Frodo hesitantly smiled back at him. When Bombur’s smile brightened, Frodo squeaked again and dove into Bilbo. Bilbo chuckled, then winced and touched his chest. 

“Better bring it in here, Frodo is quite clingy.” Bilbo said fondly, stroking the boy’s curly, black head. Bombur nodded, then bustled out of the door to start on the food. Bofur followed him to help, along with Óin. As he left, Thorin heard Óin mumbling “got to do something.” The rest of the dwarves settled on the floor. “So.” Bilbo looked at them all eagerly. “What has been going on?” 

They spent a cheerful forty-five minutes discussing the going on at Erebor. Bilbo wanted to hear it all. He was interested in everything, from the political to the personal. He seemed to enjoy stories of what they had been doing more, though, so they stuck to that. They told him about their jobs and schedules, the people they’d met, and the shenanigans that some of the company got up to. He, in return, told them about his own life. About the gossip about him and how he was now referred to as the ‘Mad Baggins’ behind his back (Thorin was outraged. Bilbo thought it was quite amusing.), and about what he was growing in his garden. 

After a while, Bombur, Bofur, and Óin returned. Bombur was carrying a massive pot of soup, still bubbling slightly from the lingering heat of the stove. Bofur had a massive loaf of fresh bread, along with a crock of soft, yellow butter. Óin came in behind them carrying dishes and utensils. He handed out bowls to each person. 

“Now, don’t any of you go getting crumbs on my floor. I will make you sweep!” Bilbo threatened, waving his newly acquired spoon at the group of dwarves. They all solemnly agreed, a few trying to stifle laughter, and Fíli and Kíli failing to do so.

“Here, Frodo, you're going to have to sit up more.” Bilbo tried to gently push Frodo into a sitting position. The lad begrudgingly accepted. Óin handed him a bowl and spoon. 

“Lad, I’ve got some herbs that can help with your chest, make it a bit easier to breathe.” Óin told Bilbo. “Don’t you try protesting.” Óin glared at the sickly hobbit. Bilbo closed his mouth and nodded. Óin took a small bag from his larger one and sprinkled some leaves into Bilbo’s soup. “Now, stir that, and it will start working within the hour.” Óin instructed. Bilbo stirred, then took a bite. 

“Bombur, this is delicious.” Bilbo complemented. “I like the mix of rosemary with the pepper. Very nice flavour.” The others murmured their agreement through mouthfuls of soup and bread. Bombur blushed at the praise, face alight with joy.

“What about me?” Bofur complained playfully. “I helped, to.” 

“Yes, and I have a feeling that your help was more a hindrance than anything.” Bilbo remarked teasingly, eyebrow cocked. Bofur grumbled something into his soup. The dwarves chuckled at the exchange. Once everyone had finished, a few dwarves started gathering the dishes and placing them in the sink. Bilbo shivered slightly. Dori pounced.

“Bilbo, do you need anything? More blankets? Less? More pillows? Is your hair bugging you? Would you like some tea?” Dori’s eyes were alight with a protective glint. Nori caught Bilbo’s eye, silently signaling not to resist. 

“Ah, some tea would be nice, thank you, Dori.” Bilbo said. Dori bustled towards the kitchen. 

“Ooo, Óin, I think the herb is working. I feel lovely.” Bilbo commented. Óin smiled at him.

“Aye, now is when it would start to take effect. It’ll work until past when you go to bed.” Óin told him. Bilbo smiled.

“That sounds quite nice.” 

Dwalin, Balin, and Bifur returned from cleaning the dishes, Dori entering the room a few moments later with a steaming mug of tea.

“There. That’ll do you good.” Dori said confidently. Bilbo sipped at his tea, smiling at the wonderful taste. Once he had finished his tea, clapped his hands, startling everybody. “Now! Frodo, would you go grab my bundle from the chest?” Bilbo asked the pebble huddled next to him. Frodo shook his head. “Oh, alright. Gloin!” He called to the dwarf that was standing closest to the aforementioned chest. “Would you open that chest and pull out the bundle at the top?” Bilbo asked. Glóin obliged, passing the bundle to the next dwarf, until it reached Bilbo. He nodded his thanks and opened the bundle. 

“Alrighty, Glóin! Come here.” Bilbo ordered. Glóin obediently shoved his way to Bilbo's bedside. Bilbo drew a long, sturdy steel chain from the pile of objects. “I noticed that your locket’s chain was lacking. So I found the best chain this side of the Misty Mountains!” Each link had delicate patterns etched into them. He handed Glóin the chain. The red-haired dwarf let the chain trail through his fingers, his eyes misty. 

Thank ye, lad. This is beautiful.” He choked out. He immediately retrieved his locket from the inner pocket he kept it in and removed the old chain from it. He slid the new chain in, clasping it, and then returning it to said pocket. He patted the hobbit on the shoulder in thanks, wiping his eyes as he retreated to his spot by the wall. 

“Óin! You next.” Bilbo declared. As Óin pushed his way to the front, Bilbo snatched a large pouch from the jumble. “Here you are! Best medicinal herbs in the Shire! I grew them myself.” He started extracting smaller bungles from the pouch. “This one will numb you up real nice, and lasts all day. And this, this will knock a person out right hard. Oh, this one is fun. This one makes you feel freezing cold, and burning hot at the same time. Helps with sore muscles.” He indicated a small bag with each explanation. He placed them all back in the large pouch, handing it to Óin, along with a notebook. “That has the details for each plant.” He explained. Óin took each item careful, thumbing through the notebook with excited eyes.

“These are wonderful, lad!” Óin exclaimed, startling Frodo. “This will be very helpful. Thank you!” Óin beamed at Bilbo, holding the pouch of herbs with careful hands. Bilbo smiled at him. 

“Oh, who’s next?” Bilbo mumbled. “Ah! Dwalin.” Dwalin strode forward, watching Bilbo’s hand curiously. Bilbo whipped up a hatchet. The dwarves jumped back, startled at the sudden appearance of a weapon. Bilbo turned it so he was holding it next to the head, and offered the end of the handle to Dwalin. Dwalin took it carefully, inspecting the detailed, twisting patterns of vines that had been carved into the wood of the handle. 

“I carved the handle myself!” Bilbo said happily. “It turned out quite well, I’m not usually so handy with a knife.”

“This is a quality axe.” Dwalin said appreciatively. 

“Yes! Best I could find, given we hobbits don’t make weapons, per say. It was intended for chopping wood, so it isn't very balanced…” Bilbo said regretfully. Dwalin cut him off. 

“It’s wonderful, lad. It is sturdy and well made, and the carvings are great.” Dwalin ruffled Bilbo’s head. Bilbo smiled at him in thanks, before turning back to the pile of items in his lap. 

“Ah, yes, Balin! You next.” The old dwarf came forward, standing next to Bilbo. “A history of the hobbits!” Bilbo gave him a well-worn book, bound in green leather. “This details as much of our history as anyone can remember!” Balin took the book, his eyes twinkling. “I remember you asked a lot of questions on our journey, most of which I could not answer. So! Everything to know.” Bilbo told him. Balin rubbed the cover with a gentle thumb.

“This is amazing, laddie.” Balin said thankfully, his eyes glistening. “Thank you, I am excited to read it.” Bilbo’s tail patted Balin’s leg as he moved away.

“Dori! Your turn!” Bilbo gave Dori his best tea set, painted with yellow and green butterflies, along with beautiful gray and pink silk napkins, embroidered with purple and white flowers flowers. Dori exclaimed in delight over them, then realizing they were Bilbo’s mother’s, tried to refuse them. Bilbo forced him to keep them.

To Nori, he gifted a pocket knife with many attachments. Bottle openers, tiny scissors, a screwdriver, and a measuring stick. But the crowning jewel was a lockpick attachment. It was designed to fit almost any lock. Nori crowed in exaltation when he found it, a dangerous glint in his eye. Dori growled at him to behave. Nori stuck his tongue out at his older brother. 

To Ori, Bilbo gave his best writing set, with an eagle feathered quill (a normal eagle feather, not a giant one), five different colours of ink, ten different nibs for the quill, twenty wax tablets to seal letters with, and a stamp for said wax. He also handed him a nice leather bound book, blank and ready to be written in. Ori squealed in delight at the sight, asking him how the ink had been coloured, and how they had gotten the feather. 

To Bifur, Bilbo handed a carving knife, designed for comfort and dexterity when carving wood. The handle swooped slightly to provide a more comfortable grip, and it stored multiple attachments for different kinds of detailing. He also gave Bifur walnut, maple, and cherry wood for carving, each kind shaving a different hue. Bifur thanked him in wobbly Western, then retreated to a corner to start carving. 

To Bombur, Bilbo gave his family cookbook. It had been started by his grandmother, handed down to and continued by his mother, and then been inherited by Bilbo himself. He had been adding recipes to it all his life. There was still a good hundred or so pages blank at the end, ready to be filled. Bombur cried out happily when it had been placed in his hands, riffling through the pages, admiring the neat penmanship. He closed it, wiping his eyes, then leaned down to hug Bilbo gently around the neck. Bilbo hugged him back, happy to see his friend so joyful. 

To Bofur, he gifted a new hat. “Your old one is so ratty.” He explained, gesturing at the said hat, more a sodden flop than a hat now. Bofur laughed, gratefully accepting the replacement. It was made from soft and supple leather, lined with the finest rabbit’s fur. The stitching was carefully done along the edges. Bilbo pointed out a stitched rune on the underside of one of the flaps. “For protection” he told Bofur. Bofur immediately placed the hat on his head, tucking the old one in his bag. 

“Fíli!” Bilbo said next. Fíli perked up. “When you got caught by the Greenwood Elves, they took all your weapons.” 

“I got them back.” Fíli told Bilbo.

“That may be, but they did find them. So…” Bilbo produced a… box. A box. He handed it to Fíli. Fíli turned it around in his hands.

“A… box.” He said. 

“Not just any box! Push in that side. No, the other one. That’s it!” Bilbo exclaimed as a blade shot out from the unassuming box. The box itself settled into the shape of a hilt. Fíli jumped, startled at suddenly having a weapon. “It’s a short knife! But no one would realize that, they’d think it was just a tinderbox.” Bilbo explained. Kíli oooed, trying to touch the edge, but Thorin pulled his arm away. Fíli tested the weight, then folded the blade back into box form. 

“This is amazing! Thank you, Uncle Bilbo.” Fíli pulled a knife out from his sleeve, sliding the box into its place. He squeezed Bilbo’s hand in thanks. Bilbo pulled him into a hug, his tail wrapping around Fíli’s leg.

“Kíli!” Bilbo said. The dwarf perked up, leaning forward to see what it was. Bilbo placed an arm guard in his outstretched hands. “An arm guard. Makes it so the string doesn’t sting your arm.” Bilbo told him. Kíli was turning the leather guard over and over in his hands, admiring the small buckles and straps to hold it in place, along with the patterns pressed into the leather. “I added the designs.” Bilbo said. Kíli strapped the arm guard onto his arm, with the main sheet of leather facing outwards.

“No, no, not that way!” Bilbo said, playfully tapping Kíli’s head. “Turn it around, does your sting ever hit that side of your arm?” Bilbo instructed him on how to properly wear the guard. Kíli brightened when it was done, stroking the leather now on his arm. He lunged at Bilbo, hugging him tightly. Bilbo laughed, then winced, wrapping his arms around the lad in return, tail patting Kíli’s back. 

“And Thorin.” Bilbo said. Thorin looked up at his name, surprised. “What? Didn’t think I would leave you out, did you?” Bilbo asked playfully. He handed Thorin the last item from the bundle. It was a small, wooden hair bead. Thorin looked at it in his palm. The wood was carefully carved, sanded to perfect smoothness. The grain of the wood swirled and danced along its frame, speaking of the years the tree had lived. Small, delicate runes had been carved along its surface, speaking of love and eternal devotion. Trailing vines dotted with flowers encircled the runes, protecting them. 

“Ah… I hope it’s not too presumptuous of me. I- I wanted to give you something special.” Bilbo explained, his voice stammering, tail quivering with nerves. Thorin placed his hand over Bilbo’s smaller one, engulfing it. 

“I love it, Bilbo.” He murmured quietly. Bilbo blushed and nodded, looking at his lap. 

“I’m glad.” Bilbo responded. Someone cleared their throat. 

“Ah- yes. You all can sleep anywhere you like. I’m afraid I only have two guest bedrooms, however.” Bilbo said worriedly. Bofur laughed.

“Same as last time, then? Good to know the house hasn’t grown. That would be concerning.” He said, mock serious. 

“Yes, yes, set up wherever you like!” Bilbo said. “Now, if you will excuse me, I think I could do with a nap.” 

The dwarves chuckled, getting up and retreating from the room, leaving the hobbit to his bed. Frodo quietly snuck out behind them, staying at a distance, hiding in the shadows and watching them. 

While Bilbo slept, the dwarves tramped around Bag End, trying to be quiet, and utterly failing. It didn’t hinder Bilbo’s sleep; he much preferred the sounds of life around him while he slept. He had gotten used to the ruckus the dwarves made on the journey to retake Erebor, and after returning, found it much harder to sleep when it was quiet. A smile rested on his face while he dreamed. 

The dwarves were setting up places to sleep, mostly all packed into the parlor, in front of the fireplace. As they tussled for the best spot (opinion on what the ‘best spot’ was varied, so there were multiple wrestling matches going on at once), fluffed pillows, spread out blankets, and teased each other. Two small, sky blue eyes watched them. Frodo was peeking from behind a wall, trying to understand these scary intruders without them seeing him. 

He failed. Kíli looked up from rolling around on the floor with his brother, and saw the eyes watching him, capped by black curls. Fíli looked up to see what had distracted his brother, and also saw the small watcher. He waved. The tiny figure let out an ‘eep’ and ducked behind the wall. Small footsteps could be heard retreating. Fíli looked at Kíli. Kíli looked at Fíli. They grinned at each other. They got up in the same movement and carefully followed the small hobbit. 

They rounded the corner. A basket of blankets sat against the wall, a broom leaning over it. It wouldn’t have been suspicious. That is, if there hadn’t been a small, black tufted tail poking out from under the pile of linens. It swayed nervously. 

“Kíli, do you need more blankets for your bed?” Fíli asked in a slightly too loud voice. Kíli nodded, mock serious. 

“Oh, yes. I think two simply isn’t enough.” He pointed at the basket in exaggerated delight. “Ah! Our problems are solved! Extra blankets. How lovely. I think I’ll just take three or four more…” Kíli leaned forward, taking one blanket off the top of the pile. “One…” He grabbed another. “Two…” Fíli reached for one also. Once it was removed, they found the small, trembling form of the pebble. 

“Aaaah! The tiny hobbit!” Fíli shouted. 

“Oh no! I’m scared of tiny hobbits!” Kíli screamed. He threw the blankets in his arms up into the air, collapsing onto the floor. Fíli joined him as the blankets came fluttering down, flinging his own over both of them. They huddled, fearful, under the blankets. 

Frodo watched all of this play out with a confused expression. He slowly climbed out of the basket, the last blanket clutched around his shoulders. He slowly walked forward. He paused, then poked the blanket-dwarf pile. Kíli’s head popped out from under the blankets. When he saw Frodo, he shrieked and dove back under the blankets. Frodo giggled. He prodded the other lump. Fíli could be heard sobbing. Frodo giggled again. He persistently jabbed at the bundle.

“Do you think he’s gone?” Fíli stage whispered. 

“Dunno. Let’s check.” Kíli whispered back. Frodo giggled again. He poked them one more time. Their heads emerged warily. Frodo lifted his hands, fingers slightly curled into claws.

“Rawr.” He said, his voice itself barely above a whisper. It was the cutest thing either of the brothers had ever seen. Shoving down their instinct to coo at the adorable scene, they instead both screamed and ran down the hall, leaving the blankets to flutter down where the two dwarves had previously been. Frodo giggled harder than ever and ran after them, tail flicking back and forth in delight. He chased the brothers down the east hall and into the west hall. At the end of the west hall, Fíli suddenly stopped and turned, catching Frodo up in his arms and falling backwards. He set Frodo on his chest, as if the little hobbit had knocked the much larger dwarf over. 

“Kíli! I’m down! Saaaaave meeeee!” Fíli moaned. Frodo laughed, tail swaying with mirth. Kíli charged, snatching Frodo off of Fíli, setting him gently on his feet, then skipping back. 

“Come at me!” He roared defiantly. Frodo ran forward, ducked under Kíli’s sloppy punch (which was aimed too high), and kicked his shins. Kíli groaned in mock agony, collapsing to his side. 

“Nooooo!” Fíli howled, darting forward to protect his fallen brother. Frodo slapped him with his tail. Fíli fell down, landing next to Kíli. “We have failed, Kíli. The tiny hobbit has defeated us.” Fíli wailed.

“Not YET!” Kíli shouted, suddenly darting up, and whisking Frodo off of his hairy feet, setting him on his back, and tickling his sides. Frodo screeched out a laugh, feet kicking in the air, trying to fend off the attack. His tail flickered and darted all over the place, lashing faster than they had ever seen a tail go. His small hands clutched at Kíli’s bigger ones, scrabbling for hold. Frodo gave a mighty shove at Kíli’s hands. Kíli staggered back, landing with his back on the floor, staring up at the curved ceiling. Fíli landed next to him. A small face framed by dark curls came into view. Frodo grinned triumphantly, clambering up to sit on both of them.

They heard feet stomping down the hall. Bofur, followed closely by Thorin, Dwalin, Bifur, Ori… the whole group stood in the doorway, staring at the ruckus caused by the two youngest Durin’s. 

“What in Mahal’s name are you doing?” Dwalin grumbled. 

“What’s going on?” Thoirn asked his nephews. Despite his stern face, his eyes twinkled with mischief. Frodo shrank slightly when he saw the crowd, but Kíli patted him comfortingly on the leg. 

He whispered ‘it’s alright’, before crying “This fearsome little thing has defeated Fíli and me! Run! Hide, find somewhere to hide!” Kíli winked at the gathered dwarves, while Fíli gestured widely for them to obey. 

“Well, that’s it, is it? Seems good enough for me.” Bofur declared. He turned to face the assembled dwarves. “Hide! Run for it, lads!” He charged off down the hallway. Ori laughed and followed closely on his heels. That set of the tidal wave. The dwarves dispersed to find hiding spots. All of them. Even Dwalin.

Fíli chuckled, patting Frodo’s back. “Well, you best find them. They need someone like you to put them in their place.” Frodo smiled, just a little hesitantly, then scrambled off of Fíli and Kíli. Once his feet hit the floor, he turned to the two sprawled dwarves and offered up his hand.

“Help me?” He asked, his voice quiet, as if he feared rejection. 

“Alright! We’ll show those idiots who’s boss!” Kíli agreed, standing and taking Frodo’s hand. Fíli jumped up to follow them. The hunt had begun.

The three rushed off to find their prey. They found Balin in the guest room, positioned clumsily behind a chair. He didn’t seem to be trying very hard. His legs could be seen from the doorway. But Frodo was thrilled to have found someone so quickly, and Balin fed that by praising him to no end. 

They ran through the hall that connected the guest room, west hall, and back room. They skipped the west hall, as they had started in it. They searched the back room, finding Óin pressed into a small nook behind a protruding cabinet. He grumbled endlessly about getting out, complaining about joints and being ‘too old for this’. Frodo dragged Fíli and Kíli off to find their next victims, leaving Óin to sort himself out. 

Dwalin was found in the wine cellar, and, like his brother, didn’t seem to be trying very hard. He was standing in the corner of the room, back to the barrels, arms crossed. Frodo berated him for his poor hiding skills, unaware that the older darrow hadn’t been trying to hide. Dwalin listened to the pebble’s points, then nodded, telling him that they were quite reasonable, and promising to ‘do better’. He kept a straight face the entire time. Kíli had his arms wrapped around his middle, convulsing silently, while Fíli was chewing his lip so hard it had started to bleed, eyes twinkling with amusement at the solemn scene in front of them. 

Bombur was, predictably, in the pantry. He had somehow managed to squeeze himself underneath one of the shelves, one side pressed into the floor, the other into the bottom of the shelf above him. He had made an effort to conceal himself, having dragged a sack of grain in front of his hiding spot. Frodo immediately noticed it though. He tried to tug it out of the way, but was unable to do so at his small size. He fell back, and would have landed pretty hard, but Fíli darted forward to catch him. He righted the small hobbit. Kíli dragged the sack out of the way, revealing Bombur. Frodo clapped his tiny hands in delight, tail flicking with joy. Bombur beamed at him, patted his head, and congratulated him. “How’d you know I was there?” Bofur asked. 

“Uncle Bilbo never leaves stuff on the floor.” Frodo explained. He darted off to the next closest doorway, leaving the three adults to glance at each other. 

“Didn’t know he was Bilbo’s nephew…” Bombur murmured. 

“Cummon!” Frodo’s small voice urged Fíli and Kíli from the hall. The brothers quickly followed, still pondering the revelation.

They found Glóin in the cold cellar, shivering slightly. He was munching on an apple, surrounded by the other fruits, vegetables, and nuts that were kept in the cold cellar. At first, Frodo was greatly offended by someone eating without him. But then Glóin explained that Frodo was such a good finder, and Glóin had heard the others being found, and all the stress of being found had made him very hungry. Frodo nodded solemnly, agreeing that he was an amazing finder, and consented that it was reasonable to be stressed when someone as scary as himself was hunting you. Even still, he would only be satisfied once he had gotten an apple, mumbling around a mouthful that finding everyone had made him hungry. He finished his snack quickly, raring to hunt down the rest. 

As they entered the next room, the smoking room, Frodo tugged gently at Kíli’s sleeve. “How many left?” he asked. Kíli smiled at him. “We have six people left to find.” Dori was standing behind a curtain, giving himself away more by how he was marveling at the craftsmanship. Frodo pulled the curtain back, giggling at the surprised expression on Dori’s face. He immediately charged off, without waiting for Fíli or Kíli, to the next room. 

He charged past Bifur, who was crouched behind a glory box, and straight into the spare room. He whirled around, looking for any out of place dwarf, and upon finding no one, putted in disappointment. “Come on, let’s go back this way.” Fíli directed. Frodo agreeably trotted back out the door, gasping in delight at seeing Bifur’s face poking above the glory box. Frodo patted Bifur’s forehead, straining slightly to reach it, as if to say ‘found you’. 

In the Parlour, Frodo found Thorin pressed onto a window sill, the curtain drawn. Thorin commended Frodo for his quick observations, ruffling his black curls. Frodo giggled, smiling at the taller dwarf, before turning to see where to look next. Thorin tapped his shoulder.

“Just so you know… someone else is in this room.” Thorin grinned at the small hobbit, and winked. Frodo’s eyes sparked, and turned quickly to see where someone else could hide. He peeked under several chairs, and looked underneath a bedroll. He was about to give up, when he noticed a big foot rest, one with a lid, was slightly cracked open. He rushed over to it, gave a huge shove on the lid, making it fall open. He found Bofur, hat squashed, grinning at him.

“Well done, laddie. That was a hard spot.” Bofur complimented Frodo. Frodo beamed at him. Bofur ruffled his hair, no one could resist Frodo’s fluffy curls, then turned an accusing eye to Thorin. “You traitor! You gave me away.” Bofur wagged a finger at the stoic king. 

“My allegiance lies with Frodo first.” Thorin said smugly. He smiled at Frodo. The pebble grinned back. 

“Well, I see how it is,” Bofur sniffed, turning to Frodo. “Better hurry, lad, still have two more to go!” Frodo nodded, dashing into the kitchen. His tail swayed behind him, the tip occasionally flipping back and forth. Fíli and Kíli followed, sniggering about the feuds starting up over Frodo already. Suddenly, all three heard a snicker. Frodo’s head whipped around, but no one could be seen. A bit of dust floated down from the ceiling, landing in front of the small hobbit. Frodo crouched, poking at the pile curiously. He looked up. Nori was above him, all four limbs splayed out, holding him to the ceiling. He chuckled at the look on the pebble’s face, and the incredulous looks on Fíli and Kíli’s faces when they followed Frodo’s gaze. 

“Finally. My arms were getting sore.” Nori complained, dropping silently to the stone floor below. He guffawed at the scowls on the brother’s faces. “What, expected I’d go easy just because he’s a toddler?” 

“I’m no’ a toddler.” Frodo pouted. Nori nodded in agreement.

“Oh, no, I was talking about Kíli over there.” Nori grinned conspiratorially at Frodo.

“HEY!” Kíli yelped. Frodo giggled. 

“So, just one more to find?” Nori asked. 

Fíli nodded. “Yep, Ori.” 

“Ah.” Nori bent down to Frodo’s ear. “Run into the next room, and then once you get there, turn around and run back as quickly as you can.” Frodo looked at him, confused, but Nori poked his nose. “Just trust me.” Frodo swatted at his hand, but nodded his ascent. 

He charged down the hall, into the dining room, Fíli and Kíli hot in pursuit, then whipped around and came charging back. 

“Wha-” Kíli gasped as the small boy zoomed past them. Upon reentering the kitchen, the three found a grinning Nori and a startled Ori.

“Found you!” Frodo cheered. 

“What are you doing here?” Fíli asked. Ori looked embarrassed.

“I’ve been following you.” At the confused faces, he explained further. “I didn’t pick a hiding spit, rather I just followed you from room to room, so I wouldn’t be caught.” 

“Hmm. That’s pretty smart. Next time I play, I’ll have to do that.” Kíli decided. 

“Bilbo’s awake.” Thorin poked his head into the room, motioning for the dwarves to gather. They swarmed to Bilbo’s door, all vying to get through. Frodo managed to slip past all of them, ducking under arms, and darting between legs. He popped out of the crowd of dwarves, rushing over to Bilbo’s bead. He clambered up, snuggling under Bilbo’s arm. 

“Ah, Frodo-lad. And did you have a nice afternoon?” Bilbo asked, mussing the lad’s hair. Frodo squeaked, pushing Bilbo’s hand away, but he was beaming.

“Uncle Bilbo, Uncle Bilbo! I’m very scary. I scared Fee and Kee,” Fili and Kili beamed at their nicknames, “they said I’s the most scary thing ever! And then they ran, an’ I chased them, and I knocked them over! But we friends now. An’ then I scared alllll of them!” Frodo’s tiny hand waved at the gathered dwarves, tail flicking in excitement. “An’ then they hid, an’ I found them!” Frodo finished, his breath all spent. He had started slurring in his excitement. Bilbo shot a grateful smile at the dwarves, then grinned at Frodo.

“That’s wonderful, my lad. I’m glad you got to know them.” 

The evening was spent pleasantly. The dwarves recounted Frodo’ triumphs in great detail, the small hobbit preening at the praise. Bilbo enjoyed the story very much, trying not to laugh. Dinner continued the delightful evening, laughter ringing through the hobbit hole’s halls, voice speaking around food in mouths. At seven thirty, Bilbo insisted on Frodo’s bedtime.

“Awwwwwww” Frodo complained, his tail dropping. “But I wanna stay up and talk.” 

“You will have all day tomorrow to talk. Sleep is very important for growing boys.” Bilbo said sternly. “Now, go on.” 

“I’ll take him.” Dori offered. Bilbo thanked him. Dori took Frodo's tiny hand in his own, much larger hand, and guided the drooping hobbit out the door. Despite all the lad’s resistance, he was very tired. 

“I'm glad Dori was willing to put him to bed. It's been a while since he slept in his own room, as I couldn't tuck him in.” Bilbo murmured. Soon, Dori came back. 

“He’s asleep.” Dori said, a soft smile tugging at his lips. 

“Well. Now that we're all here, I have something I need to talk to you all about.” Bilbo said. All the levity had left his tone. His face was serious and… sad. The dwarves settled, becoming somber, paying rapt attention to the smaller figure in the bed. 

“It's about Frodo.” Bilbo admitted. 

“I've been wondering about him. He calls you uncle.” Fili said. Bilbo nodded.

“In truth, he's closer to a cousin than a nephew, but he might as well be. His parents were my cousins, and some of my favorite relatives. They died in a boating accident, and none of my other relatives would take Frodo in.” The dwarves' faces were shocked, and disgusted at the idea of leaving a child alone. “So I took him. The lad was so sweet, and so sad and alone. He’s the best little boy to ever live.” Bilbo smiled fondly. 

“But now I’m going, too. And I know no one will take him. I want him to be taken care of. I want him to be loved.” Tears started pooling in Bilbo’s eyes. His hands gripped the covers. “That's the main reason I wanted you to come here. The lad needs a family. One that will love him for who he is.” Bilbo turned pleading eyes to the group of listening dwarves. “Will you please watch over my boy?” The dwarves stared at Bilbo in shock. 

“You- you want us to take care of Frodo?” Balin asked. Bilbo nodded. 

“But he'll be away from his people, his home.” Dori said. 

“What is the worth of a home if no one loves you?” Bilbo asked. “If he was alone, it wouldn't really be home. I'd rather him live in the mountain with you.” Bilbo said. 

“Alright.” Thorin leaned forward, placing his hand on Bilbo's. “We'll take him with us. If you wish it, I will adopt him.” Bilbo lurched forward, wrapping his arms around Thorin's neck, his tail hugging Thorin.

“Thank you. Thank you so much, Thorin. I- I didn't want Frodo to be alone again.” Tears spilled down Bilbo's face, staining Thorin's tunic. “Thank you.”

Thorin sat in a chair next to Bilbo's bed. It had been a couple of days since he had agreed to adopt Frodo. Bilbo was reading a book on elvish folklore. 

“Bilbo… are you alright?” Thorin asked. He had thought Bilbo was weirdly… ok with dying. Bilbo looked up.

“Yes, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?”

“Well… you're dying.” Thorin hedged. Bilbo waved his hand dismissively.

“Oh, that. It's no big deal. I'm just glad Frodo has someone to look after him.” 

“Are you sure?” Thorin pressed gently. 

“It's really fine, Thorin. I've made peace with it.” Thorin grasped Bilbo's hand.

“Bilbo, the thing is… you don't have to be at peace with it. It's ok to grieve for yourself.” 

Bilbo's face pulled in, as if he was fighting to restrain tears. “I… I don't want to be selfish.” He mumbled. Thorin gaped at him.

“Bilbo! It's not selfish to not be ok. It's normal. Healthy, even.” Bilbo's face crumpled. Tears pooled in his eyes, then spilled over.

“I- I don't wa-want to d-die!” Bilbo sobbed. Thorin sat on the bed next to Bilbo's shaking form, drawing him into a hug. Bilbo's shoulders heaved, his frame rattling with the uneven breaths caused by the build up of phlegm in his lungs. His tail curled around Thorin's wrist. “I- I want to see the mountains again! I wa-want to see the forests of Lothlorien, I want to see the G-Greenwood. I want to s-see the waterfalls in the Misty Mountains! I don't want to d-die! I-” Bilbo's sobs cut him off. He swallowed, trying to breathe. “I want to see Frodo grow up.” Bilbo choked out. 

“I know.” Thorin's own voice was shaky with the tears dripping down his nose into his beard. “ I know, Ghivashel, I know.” Thorin pulled Bilbo closer. 

“It- it's not fair!” Bilbo sobbed. “It's not fair. I'm not ready to die. I don't want to! It's not fair I'll die so young, it's not fair I won't see Frodo grow up! It's not fair!” Bilbo's chest heaved with the effort to breathe while crying. His head sank onto Thorin's shoulder, unable to speak anymore. He sobbed harder than he ever had. Except, maybe, when Thorin had been dying. Thorin stroked Bilbo's hair in slow, even movements. 

He continued to do so as Bilbo's sobs slowly petered out, until he was no longer sobbing, instead making choked, gasping noises. Thorin stroked Bilbo's hair as he slowly fell asleep, occasionally wiping away a stray tear from Bilbo's cheek. He stayed in position at Bilbo's side all night, hand methodically stroking, stroking, stroking Bilbo's hair. 

When Bilbo woke up the next morning, he found Thorin was still at his side, fingers running over his curls. 

“Did you sleep?” He asked.

“No.” Thorin answered simply. 

“You didn't have to do that for me.” Bilbo mumbled.

“I wanted to.” Thorin murmured back. Bilbo was silent for a moment.

“Thank you.” He whispered eventually.

“You're welcome.” Thorin said.

“No- I mean, not just for staying up. I mean, thank you for… letting me feel.” Bilbo said. “I feel better today. Kind of… light, even though I'm still dying. I still feel sad, but it's ok now.” Bilbo said quietly. Thorin didn't respond, instead, he pressed a kiss into Bilbo's hair. Bilbo blushed.

“That probably doesn't make much sense…” he muttered.

“Yes, it does.” Thorin insisted. Bilbo smiled. 

When Bilbo went into the final hours of his life, all the dwarves, and Frodo were present. They had spent the week since the dwarves had arrived spending as much time together as possible. It had been pleasant. Frodo was no longer scared of the dwarves, even intimidating Dwalin, and all of the dwarves adored Frodo. Fili and Kili had taken to calling Frodo their cousin, in return for their nicknames. Bombur was ensuring the lad ate properly, and Dori was insisting on brushing out his curls every morning. 

At the end of the week, everyone was gathered in Bilbo's room. The dwarves were seated around his bed, with Fili and Kili pressed right up next to it, and Thorin next to Bilbo's head. Frodo was snuggled under Bilbo's arm. After breakfast was cleared away, Bilbo didn't speak much. The last couple days, his breathing had worsened. It had started rasping, as if something was blocking his airway, making it harder to get enough breath. 

This morning was the worst it had ever been. The air rattled in his lungs, sounding almost like bones. His hands were cold and blue. He didn't add to the conversation, but seemed to take great pleasure in listening to the dwarves talk. After a terrible fit of coughing, he settled back into his pillows.

“It won't be long now.” He rasped, his tail dropping over the side of the bed. The room instantly sobered. Frodo, who had been told about how he would live with the dwarves, buried his face in Bilbo's side. Bilbo looked around at the somber dwarves. 

“Take care of him. I want you to know, I… I love you all. I wish you the very best of lives.” The dwarves nodded. Fili, Kili, Ori and Bofur were crying, the rest with misty eyes. Thorin, tears dripping down his own face, squeezed Bilbo's hand. Bilbo's tail inched to where Thorin's hand wrested, wrapping around it.

“Frodo.” Bilbo said, voice wheezing. Frodo looked up. “Be a good lad. I love you. I will always be with you.” Bilbo kissed Frodo, tucking his curls behind his ear. Frodo curled up, trembling slightly, pressed into his uncle. 

“I'll miss you.” Frodo mumbled, tears pouring down his round cheeks. 

“I'll miss you too, Frodo-lad.” Bilbo said. Tears were falling down his face, now. Bilbo didn't wipe them away, instead, he closed his eyes and let them fall. Fili and Kili pressed closer, every other dwarf pressing closer behind them. Thorin still hadn't let go of Bilbo's hand. They sat around their hobbit, keeping him company as he passed from this world to the next.

His breathing became more laboured, the rattle more pronounced. They stayed by his side as his breathing slowed, as it stopped. 

Bilbo's chest was still, his struggle to breathe ended. His hand slowly loosened from Thorin's, his arm relaxed from Frodo's shoulder. His tail flopped, all movement ceased. Thorin sat in empty silliness, numbness spreading through his whole body. Frodo, realizing what had happened, sobbed into Bilbo's side. 

Bilbo was gone. 

Bilbo's funeral was a quiet affair. Not many hobbits showed up, most had been polite to Bilbo's face, whispering about ‘Mad Baggins’ behind his back. The Gamgees showed, along with the Cottons. A few stray people who had been friends with Bilbo came. 

Thorin was very glad for Samwise Gamgee, Merry Brandibuck, and Pippin Took. They were some of the few friends Frodo had, and helped him through the funeral. 

They buried Bilbo in the hobbit fashion, in the ground, so he could return to Yavanna. They covered him with the soft, dark dirt, and planted flowers on top of him. Each dwarf had a plant, as they had been the closest to Bilbo. Frodo planted lilies right over Bilbo's chest, his tears watering the earth. Thorin drew him into a hug, a little surprised when he returned it. The lad was in desperate need of comfort, Thorin guessed. 

After the funeral, they returned to Bag End, packing up what they wished to bring with them. Frodo insisted on taking Bilbo's blankets, and his best waistcoat. He didn't wear them, as he was still very young, but he wanted it for, as he said, ‘fancy stuff’. They took almost everything, as Bilbo had told them to. He wanted Frodo to have whatever he wanted. 

They would leave for the mountain on the morrow. Frodo promised to write to his friends, and tell them all about what the mountain was like. 

Thorin thought, as he stocked the wagon with food, that the journey might be more troubling.