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"I'm not asking you to allow it, Gandalf."
Those were the words that came out of Bilbo's mouth before he went to save what remained of the King of Erebor: he hid behind the ring wrapped around his finger, scrambled across the snow-covered rocks, faced Orcs, and his vision suddenly blurred. The end of a weapon had caused him to faint. While his thoughts were nothing more than hazy visions of everything and nothing, Thorin was at sword point with Azog on the nearby mountain at Ravenhill. Perhaps it was this one's pain, the need to warn of a still unknown danger, or luck that made him wake from that blow: when he got up, he saw only him, watching the flight of the giant birds. With clear urgency, he hurried to him, but he was already breathing in short gasps, and lay sprawled on the icy block.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— I'm here, I'm here! Do not move, lie still.
He placed his hand on the wound, and they both let out a sound: one of disgust, one of agony.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— I'm glad you are here: I wished to part with you in friendship.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— No, no, Thorin, you will be all right, you are not going anywhere yet.
Thorin continued, though a pent-up cough choked him.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— I take back my words and my attitude at the Gate. You did what only a true friend would do. Forgive me for putting you in such danger, I was too blind.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— No, I'm relieved that we have shared our dangers, Thorin, each and every one of them. It is much more than any Baggins deserves.
Thráin's son gave his companion a weakened smile.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— Farewell, my Master Burglar. Go back to your books and your armchair; plant those trees, enjoy watching them grow...
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— No, no, no, Thorin! Do not dare to leave me now, Thorin.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— ... If only more people valued home over gold, this world would be a much merrier place.
The hobbit placed a hand on the other's head, searching for any way to bring him back to life. He pointed to the sky, whispering,
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Thorin, hold on. The eagles have come, the eagles are here. Thorin—
Then, Bilbo could not help but break into melancholic sobs. Trying to keep them from escaping, he covered them with his fist, standing alone on the cold ice. It seems it was one of those times when the hobbit just felt truly alone, for the first time, not in a positive way. Being by himself brought a peace no one else could bring, but feeling lonely was a completely different aspect: one he wished he never knew. He wept for some long, long minutes—one, two, five, ten or even more. He was pulled from this trance by footsteps that grew louder as they drew nearer. Baggins didn't bother to draw his sword or gather stones to throw, for his emotions prevented him. Believing it to be one of the enemy forces, he closed his eyes, silently accepting his fate.
𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍— Bilbo, Thorin! Are you all right? We saw that Azog is already dead, and his troops fell swiftly.
Bilbo didn't reply, still trying to process that his dear friend had perished. When the others saw the terrible scene, some knelt inconsolably, while others found the courage to approach the two.
𝐃𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍— How is that possible, if the other one died first?! Are you sure he is not alive?
He wiped his wet cheeks, his expression twisting slightly.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Not anymore, Dwalin. I stopped hearing his sighs a while ago, and I fear he has succumbed.
𝐃𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍— We could try to help him, heal him with Elven medicine: it worked for Kíli with the arrow, why not for Thorin?
The other sniffed, his voice still hoarse.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— How could that success?
𝐃𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍— Those beings are truly magical, they mays surprise us! I'm sure the she-elf knows, does she not, Boffur?
The latter nodded eagerly, and hope was reborn in the hobbit's heart as he rose.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Do you swear we have nothing to lose by healing his wound?
𝐁𝐎𝐅𝐔𝐑— Even if we lose time, it doesn’t matter, for we have already vanquished the evil. Perhaps Tauriel knows a remedy, something that will bring us closer to him once more.
Grabbing one of the corpse’s arms, Bilbo exclaimed:
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Let’s go, we must go now! The sooner we reach her, the greater the chance of his recovery.
𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐈— You heard the burglar, let’s take our chances and beat the odds, by Erebor, and by Thorin Oakenshield!
The dwarves agreed to lift the heavy body from the ground, carrying it to the ruins of Dale. In the center of the square, they laid it down and began to search for a solution to the supposed mortal wound. An elf was emerging from the high columns, heading north, and noticed them. Although he hesitated to come down and help them, his heart moved with pity, and he asked them:
𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐒— Do you need something, dwarves, or why else are you here?
Balin turned to him, explaining everything.
𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍— The King of Erebor is gravely wounded; we are searching for the elf Tauriel, as she knows the herbs and rituals that must be performed in these situations.
𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐒— I saw her with Kíli just a moment ago; he has died as well.
They groaned in anguish upon hearing the news, their spirits breaking. How many others had fell?
𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐒— But do not lose faith as she has. Surely she can help you, even if her attempts prove futile.
Thranduil's son raised his head, calling out to his companion, waiting for her to come. It seemed that grief had slowed her movements, making her take longer to arrive. His expression was one of complete surprise, glancing over curiously.
𝐓𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐋— What do you expect of me?
Bilbo replied immediately.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Anything, elf, just bring him back. Is that too much to ask?
𝐓𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐋— My soul is tired, I highly doubt that I can manage to improve nothing...
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Please, Tauriel. Even a mere attempt can be enough for me.
She swallowed, preparing herself first.
𝐓𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐋— Alright, I understand. I must keep reminding you how rare it would be to succeed, so tell your egos to calm down.
They stepped out of her way, leaving her to work alone. She meticulously examined the damage, grimacing as she grasped the gravity of the situation, even though most of them already knew. Legolas took the opportunity to vanish along his own path. Tauriel was trying her best, considering her own world had been destroyed, and focused on the important work. She paused her studies to think carefully, thousands of ideas swirling in her head, some to discard and others to consider. Finally, she stepped back, announcing:
𝐓𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐋— I'm afraid I'm unfamiliar with this type of healing: it looks irreversible. I know how to deal with poisons, arrow wounds, spear points... Not with this. Forgive me, all of you, companions.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— No. There has to be a solution, isn't there? A more powerful magic, a spell, a push that will bring us closer to him.
𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍— Bilbo, you have heard Tauriel. If even she does not know how to deal with him, I do not think anyone else will.
The hobbit tried to get the words out repeatedly, failing. Inhaling sharply, he pleaded once more:
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— And Gandalf, where is he? And the other elves, don't they know any spells? You cannot let him go, not while I'm still here. He must still be alive— revived, if he no longer has a soul!
Tauriel looked away, feeling the urge to release the accumulated stress. Bilbo turned to the dwarves, searching them for a way out.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Don't just stand there! I agreed, I signed the contract to accompany you; to accompany the leader. Are you going to give up so easily? And all the courage you have shown me this whole time?!
𝐁𝐎𝐅𝐔𝐑— It’s truly a shame, Master Baggins, but you are not the only one affected: we were companions too.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— And why do you not show it?!
Balin's calm attitude crumbled down as the despair reached his ears. Pacing in circles, he used his palms as a megaphone to amplify his voice.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Gandalf, you, Grey Wizard! We need your help, quickly, before—
He fell to his knees, exhausted from battle and devoid of affection. Hardly knowing what to do, he let himself be enveloped by the breeze, no longer by an embrace. Óri knelt beside him, gently patting his back to comfort him.
𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍— It would be best if we all had a moment of peace and came to terms with the situation; there is nothing left to do.
That only prompted bitter tears to well up in the eyes of several, including Thorin’s best companion. They mourned, now all thirteen sharing the pain of parting, until night fell upon them, and even then the burglar’s sorrow remained unrelenting. He sat to the right of the body, hearing the emptiness of a heart, for its beating had ceased. He spoke to it of expectations, memories, and unimaginable desires; to see the gleam in its eyes one last time.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Do you remember that day you entered my house uninvited with your companions? It was annoying, but only now do I realize how much I would have regretted it had I refused your offer. I promise you, my friend, that your legends will be known even in Bag End; that your battles have not been in vain, and the world will remember and respect you. I, for one, will always admire you, Thorin.
He lay down on a hard rock, falling into a sleep filled with all that could have been, and nothing but nightmares difficult to process.
When dawn broke on the horizon, his eyelids only felt heavier, even after having had something to call rest. He stretched out a limb, wanting to make sure it was still there. He had never straightened his back so dramatically. Since no one was around, he went to the mountain gates in their presence; the rest were unusually calm after the event.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Thorin, Oakenshield, where have they taken him?
𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐅— Ah, good morning to you as well, Bilbo Baggins. It seems you have already noticed your friend's absence.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Is this another game, Gandalf? I think you know exactly what I mean. Was it the elves, another pack of Orcs, the eagles?
𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐅— Do not get upset, burglar; you might regret it if you bother to find out the news.
Bilbo frowned, raising his chin firmly, though the effects of exhaustion were still evident.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— What are you implying? What's going on?
The wizard chuckled, making his way through the other companions. He came face to face with the wise Balin, whose face was equally pleased.
𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍— You said we would all get a reward, did you not?
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Well, I'm not that interested in a reward anymore. Besides, I took the Arkenstone; I don't think I deserve anything but my return to Bag End. But, yes, yes, that is right, so what now?
The dwarf stepped aside, making enough room for another person.
𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍— Then, take your fourteenth share.
And there, from the shadows and the dark wilderness, emerged a familiar figure, renewed and more complete than ever. Bilbo blinked in heartbreaking confusion, his shoulders tensing, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. He lunged straight toward the silhouette, clinging to it as if his life depended on it, and the figure mirrored the gesture. All that escaped the hobbit was a series of stammers:
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Thorin, I—! How is this possible? If—
Thráin's son held him tightly against his chest, bending down to his eye level.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— Sometimes it's best not to question everything that happens. It's been an unexpected turn of events. Isn't that so, Bilbo?
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Yes, certainly it is, Thorin.
He sighed, a shiver running through him from the sudden emotion, raising his eyes to look at him and make sure it was not just another dream. Those deep, blue irises brought back his lost tenderness. He quickly intertwined their arms a second time, still fearing it would vanish, that everything would slip through his fingers. Thorin decided to remain silent and savor this compassionate gesture, longing for every second even before it was over. In the embrace, their bodies fit together like a perfect collection of books, lined up in order on a tall bookshelf; and their hearts, of course, pumped blood in sync once again.
𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐅— I really would not want to interrupt this fleeting moment, but we must head back, or it will be too late.
Disappointment settled over the hobbit's head. With displeasure and slowness, he undid the knot they had made, pressing it firmly against the wall.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— And you will all stay here, won't you?
The king remained silent, unsure how to express himself. He gestured to the others, allowing them their turn.
𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍— Well, we fought for Erebor and its mountains; to reclaim what was ours. We even got its governor back. This is our home, and we wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, now our home has its King.
𝐃𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍— You are right, we need a break, and there is no better place than this.
𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐅— Go ahead and say your goodbyes, Mr. Baggins.
He clenched his fists and unclenched them uncomfortably, smiling at them before he began.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Whenever you pas through Bag End… You may visit me as well. Tea is at four o’clock, and there is plenty of food to eat, since I know you all enjoy it.
With a slight twitch in his nose, he added at the end:
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Don’t bother knocking, you are always welcome.
He waved his hand slightly before turning away, his back to them. He walked several steps beside Gandalf, already thinking more about what he was leaving behind than what lay ahead. A gruff voice called from behind them:
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— Bilbo, wait!
He would recognize it under any circumstances.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— What is it, Thorin?
The dwarf halted his trot when he was close, his mouth agape, speechless, until he finally managed to speak.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— I think... I truly believe my kingdom is unparalleled, both for its riches in gold and its location. But it's not just that which is incomparable: the inhabitants are too. And even if I had hundreds of dwarves in Erebor, it wouldn't feel as populated as it does without you.
The other's eyes widened like two full moons.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— How can you renounce your own homeland? You have come this far for this; your efforts will have been for nothing if you give it up.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— Yes, this is my home, of course it is; the problem is that you are my home, and a home isn't the same as having a roof over your head.
A small "Uhh" escaped his lips as he turned to the wizard to see what he thought. The wrinkles on his forehead deepened and he adjusted his grip on his staff.
𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐅— Who will you leave as king if not yourself, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin?
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— My companions understand my cause, I have already told them: as he is the wisest, I want to leave it to Balin, even if only for a time.
𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐅— This does not work that way, Thorin. Erebor needs its king, the grandson of Thror, heir to the throne.
Bilbo countered, noticing that Thorin was about to refuse, a response he would soon regret:
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Well, that would be a great reward as my fourteenth part.
The wizard glanced sideways at them both, with little disdain.
𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐅— If you leave now, what have you fought for?
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— Not only for my kingdom, but for myself and others as well.
𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐅— So it is true that death and love do blind you more than any kind of gold. You may have to try harder if you want to convince me.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— I do not need to convince you. I already explained it: Balin gets the throne, I 'temporally' get a nice rest. There is no barrier nor obstacle to stop me, because for once, I wish to forget about being logical: it is destiny I trust in.
...
𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐅— Have you prepared everything you need? You will not forget anything, will you?
The king lifted his supposed-to-be luggage with pride.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— Nothing at all.
He raised the magic staff, beginning the journey while muttering,
𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐅— Hours and hours returning a soul to its body so that these fools do not repay me with even half of what I have done to them...
The two remaining men followed him with uncontainable joy, quickening their pace. Soon they mounted their horses, setting off on their return—in this case, Bilbo's. It was comforting to know that they would no longer have to don armor and sharpen blades to then plunge them into another elf consumed by the Shadows. Most of the journey consisted of high hills, tall groves, wide meadows, and the occasional intimidating narrow passage. Their hooves trotted and rested at night; nights when a small creature approached and secretly fed them apples to avoid being scolded. It had grown fond not only of the King of Erebor but of everything he represented, and that included the negative aspects. For example, the friendships he had had to let go of, the genuine laughter fueled by wine, or the legends told in midnight songs.
They were at the edge of the Shire, which made the Grey wizard stop walking.
𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐅— This is the border of the Shire, hence why I should leave you both.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— We understand, Gandalf.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Well, that's a shame: I would have liked to have a wizard around; they seem to bring good luck.
𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐅— You don't really think luck is the reason all your adventures and missions have been accomplished, do you?
The hobbit fell silent, shrugging his shoulders.
𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐅— The magic rings should not be used carelessly, Mr. Baggins, do not take me for a fool! I know you found one; I have had my eye on you since then. And you, Thorin, do not think I have forgotten about your kingless kingdom there in Erebor!
The latter chuckled softly. Bilbo swallowed, calming his nerves. He extended a hand, mumbling:
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— That's good to know. Farewell, Gandalf.
The wizard accepted his farewell, shaking their hands.
𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐅— Farewell.
He gave Thorin a simple nod, returning to his own business. They knew they would have a serious talk about every thing that happened.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— You don't need to worry about the ring anymore! It fell out of my pocket during the battle; I lost it.
𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐅— You are a brave person, Mr. Baggins, and I'm quite fond of you. Still, you are nothing but a little being in a very wide world.
And the group of three dispersed the next moment. Bilbo pointed in the direction they should go, accompanied by his friend, and as they walked back to his house, they talked.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Is it normal that I still cannot believe you are back, Thorin?
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— Yes, it is, Bilbo. I wasn't expecting myself to return either.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— ... I have missed you, quite a lot.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— I would be lying if I didn't say the same.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— You leave me wondering, though: what makes you want to come with me anyway? It's confusing, leaving your own land, and with nothing planned.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— I have already told you; I wish to part with you as friends. I truly do.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— But my contract is over, isn't it?
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— The contract stopped mattering to me a long time ago, Lord Baggins.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Why are you acting like this now? I mean, I betrayed you once, I hid things I shouldn't have, I wasn't always fair.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— Perhaps death itself has taught me to value you properly.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— I suppose I will do the same. Value you.
Their steps kept sounding between them, mingling their quiet breaths.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— May I ask about that ring Gandalf mentioned?
Bilbo spluttered at first, trying to come up with an excuse that would cover the topic.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Uh, like I said, I don't have it anymore.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— I can tell wether you are lying or not.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— I am being truthful!
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— I'm reminding this, Bilbo...
In another couple of hours, they could see the entrance to Bag End, its small gardens, and its cozy houses. The surroundings were definitely new to the dwarf, and the other hobbits were surprised too, since they no longer recognized those faces. The plants were crushed by the king's heavy footsteps, following behind those of the little being. When they finally reached the path that led to the round door, a throng of locals pressed in between them, causing as much irritation as confusion.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— What on earth could have happened while I was gone?
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— Why, what's wrong?
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— They are taking my stuff! That's my mother's trousseau, and that lady is carrying my dining chair!
Thorin dropped his loads on the grass and went after one of the people carrying the furniture out, trying to stop him. Bilbo approached another neighbor and demanded,
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Put that puff down! What's going on here?!
The man dropped the chair, staring in bewilderment at the one who had spoken to him.
𝐌. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐘𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓— Is that you, Bilbo? You are not supposed to be here.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— What? Why not?
𝐌. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐘𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓— Because of your supposed death and all, we thought you weren't coming back.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— I am definitely not dead, supposedly or not! Get out of my way, I'm stopping this. How did you even manage to open the door?
And he ran off, shouting the one he had left behind:
𝐌. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐘𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓— I'm not sure that's allowed, Mr. Baggins!
"As if I care," muttered the bargler. Just to the right of his dwelling, he found a stall with another pile of rugs, furniture, and paintings. He sneered angrily at the audacity: selling belongings for such prices. The man was holding up a long piece of cloth, appreciating its material.
𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐎— Oh, take a look at this precious. It's Shire-made, no reproductions. Who wants it?
Before anyone could buy it, he pushed his way through the crowd.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Wait! There has been a mistake.
𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐎— We are just negotiating. You have got the wrong people, good hobbit.
𝐋𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐀— Yes, who even are you?
His eyes scanned the woman from head to toe without a shred of remorse, and he retorted as he snatched some cutlery from her.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— You know very well who I am, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins! This is my home! And those silver spoons you are buying are actually mine, thank you very much.
A gasp escaped the shopkeeper's lips as he spoke cautiously:
𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐎— It's been thirteen months since your last appearance. If you really are Bilbo Baggins and, indeed, alive, can you prove it?
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— How am I supposed to prove it? You can already tell; I'm a hobbit, with the same hair and face as I left, is it so hard to believe?
𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐎— Well, you cannot judge us for thinking you are lying; you have become antisocial, always shut up in that burrow.
Bilbo's nose twitched, rummaging through his pockets and backpack for evidence. Touching an old piece of paper, he unfolded it and hurriedly showed it to them.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— I uhh, I have a legal contract from… Never mind. But it has my signature on it; that should be enough.
He took the contract without being offered it, examining each letter. He squinted, and when he was convinced, he handed it back.
𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐎— It seems there’s no doubt… Who is this person you have given your service to anyway? ‘Thorin Oakenshield’?
He clutched the evidence between his fingers, hesitating. Coincidentally, the person mentioned was growing larger in the distance, carrying the stolen furniture.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— Bilbo, I got most of your things back! Don’t worry about the rest; I will get you better ones.
All eyes turned to him, astonished at the appearance of a dwarf in that town. Mr. Baggins gave them a half-smile, helping his friend with the belongings.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— He, gentlemen, is the great Thorin Oakenshield, the very King of Erebor.
An awkward collective silence fell until quiet voices started mumbling:
— Didn't that kingdom fall long ago?
— I do not understand the need to bring a dwarf here anyway...
— Why isn't he reigning in Erebor then?
— Only the wizards know how they forged such a bond; I even saw them arrive together!
Thorin simply frowned, holding back his irritation, and focusing on carrying the furniture back, he walked away from the shoppers. Bilbo thought it was also a better idea to ignore them, and stood to his right.
𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐎— You still haven't answered my question!
He didn't answer it when he asked a second time either. Crouching slightly to reach his ear, his friend whispered:
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— Are you not going to tell them?
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— I don't think it is any of their business.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— There are many things that are nobody's business, and yet we tell them. Are you afraid now?
His companion quickened his pace enough to finally stand in front of the wooden door. He removed the bolt with difficulty, opening the door with a small kick since he couldn't use his arms. He let the other pass, slamming it shut.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— Bilbo.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— What is it?! Sorry— What do you need, Thorin?
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— Talk to me. We have kept too many secrets from each other, and I don't want it to end the same way.
He looked around, surveying the banished room.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— First, let's do what we have to do: get this in order. Then, I swear to confess everything you need to know.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— That seems fair, my Master Bargler.
The two of them rearranged the house together, setting every table, adorning every picture, sweeping away every speck of dust. As the interior came alive again, the exterior faded away, leaving only the verdant blossoms growing on the roof. They sat near the blazing fire, two armchairs for two inseparable people, and the hobbit took in the sparks flying from the blazing fire, the stars falling across the sky through the window, the dishes piled up in the next-door kitchen—all except for those lovely eyes.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— Would you like to begin?
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Yes, you are right. It would be rude of me not to, wouldn't it?
Oakenshield didn't dare laugh, remaining stoic. This increased Bilbo's unease, revealing the seriousness of the moment.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Since you have apologized, I will do so too: I'm so sorry about that misunderstanding with the stone. Perhaps, if I had planned a solution taking the consequences into account, I wouldn't have lost you.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— Apologies are the least of my worries, Bilbo, because I'm here now, and I am not leaving. I forgive you, you know that. Tell me, instead, what your heart wants me to know.
He exhaled nervously. He understood that his friend only wanted to know his true self, and he would grant him the pleasure of doing so; it was the least he could offer him, after all he had done: stayed, accepted him. For the rest, it was probably hardly anything, but it was Bilbo we were talking about, not the others.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— From the night you entered, uninvited, this very place, you also entered a large part of me. I do not apologize just because I think what I did was wrong; I apologize because I tried to protect you, and I failed. I know you have returned, but you are not the same, and if you are not the same, then neither will I be. I confess, Thorin, that you mean more than a friend, a companion, and a king to me.
The flame flickered between them, surrounding them warmly.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— And you are worth more than all the riches of Erebor, Bilbo. I appreciate your courage, and for letting me know we are in the same situation.
And the hobbit, unable to contain his emotions, burst into sobs again, making no attempt to calm them.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Gandalf is right, that I am only a small creature, and that I am a fool; but I truly love you, Thorin Oakenshield.
Thorin rose from his seat and went to embrace him.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— And I will love you back, Bilbo Baggins. There are no words that can express how much.
He continued to weep on the chest of a friend— a loved person. These were no longer tears of longing, pain, or sorrow, and it was no longer separation that his soul felt. The king smiled joyfully, allowing himself to find solace beside him. One of them spoke up in a few stutters:
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— You definitely have changed.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— For good or for bad?
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— For perfection. At least is seems like that to me.
That night, two figures embraced each other in the darkness, sharing uninterrupted dreams and gentle caresses that filled their affection.
And the hours turned into weeks, the weeks into years, and the years into an eternity. A happy eternity: Bilbo and Thorin lived together in a watchful peace, with no more action or blood to be spilled. Each morning was the admiration of a painting with weary eyes, their light lingering with a smile when they saw each other. The ink that stained the paper printed intimate phrases dedicated to a loved one, to be recited at dusk. For a king who reveled in relics and pride, this time it seemed to matter little—though he still thought about it secretly—. But what would he gain but respect and a crown, instead of an unconditional love like this?
Everything remained the same, until that day when the autumn sun shone like hundreds of candles in a dark hole.
Bilbo had always enjoyed big parties, especially those that included people he liked, such as his nephew Frodo, the wise wizard Gandalf, and... his own company.
He stood in front of the mirror, searching for any imperfections in his attire.
𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐎— You are worrying too much, Bilbo.
The other hobbit jumped slightly, turning around.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— Do not startle me like that!
Frodo giggled.
𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐎— I think you look good.
Bilbo's surprise lessened, transforming it into a relieved smile.
𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎— I hope he thinks so as well.
𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐎— Knowing Thorin, he probably will.
So, even though Thorin had suggested a more closed off ceremony, at the end of the path, the reward was certain: twelve dwarves appeared amidst the crowd of hobbits. Thorin, with an almost unrecognizable joy, greeted his old friends with enthusiastic pats and shouts of excitement.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— Honestly, I thought some of you might prefer to stay in the comforts of Erebor.
𝐃𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍— I wouldn't miss it for the world, Thorin!
𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍— Yes, well, it was a bit of a struggle to convince Bombur, but the mention of the feast worked.
He was already seated on one of the benches, filling his stomach with meat and crumbs.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— I told Bilbo to get some meat just for you.
𝐁𝐎𝐅𝐔𝐑— Speaking of Bilbo, where is he?
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— Oh, he's getting ready in his burrow.
Óri and Nori took a step forward, wanting to go toward the house, until Oakenshield stopped them before they could see anything.
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— You two stay here for now.
𝐎𝐑𝐈— Come on, Thorin, we are his friends!
𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐈— Exactly, why not? We are excited, we could surprise him, he would like it!
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍— Just wait!
The command made them obey, though not angrily. Some even laughed, going to take their seats and prepare their instruments.
When the clock struck eight in the evening, all the guests were seated for the grand celebration. In the center was a great arch, and around it, the volunteer musicians. Thorin stood atop it, patiently awaiting the arrival of his beloved. When Bofur’s flute played the first notes and the melody of Fíli and Kíli's violins accompanied it (now played by Oin and Glóin), the curious hobbit walked straight to his king. Gandalf took the opportunity to launch several fireworks: two comets in the sky, shimmering yellowish colors overhead. The applause erupted the same instant the couple shared a sweet kiss under the twinkling lights.
In the sentimental moment, Bilbo thought:
“Now I know how I will end my book;
and they lived happily ever after to the end of their days.”