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Another bright and beautiful day in the shire. Birds were chirping, plants were growing, the sun came rising up from beyond the horizon illuminating the walls of bag-end a golden shade of orange. Bilbo stretched his arms up above him and then dragged himself out of bed to go make breakfast and a nice cup of tea. He reached into the cupboard pulling out two dainty cups and setting them down on the table, his porridge warming up quietly in the back round. He turned around, kettle in hand, realising only one cup was needed and he set the extra back where it belonged, at the back of the cupboard. Bilbo sat silently at his kitchen table with his bowl of porridge cooling in front of him, the steam fading out slowly until it vanished completely. He stirred the spoon lazily once or twice out of habit but ultimately abandoned it leaning it against the rim. His tea wasn't faring much better, left to sit until the cup was cool to the touch. Bilbo sighed, and stared at his untouched porridge, his body felt heavy and any train of thought was lost between his eyes. The porridge stayed where it was, the tea stayed cold and Bilbo stood up and left his breakfast to sit untouched.
It had been a whole year since his great adventure to the lonely mountain. since... Everything had changed. He wasn't the same hobbit he once was. The shire had become too little to keep Bilbo's spirit alive, too quiet to keep him awake. Nothing seemed to manage to settle the uncomfortable feeling that resided at the bottom of his stomach, like a pit of nothingness slowly consuming him day by day. Talking to the neighbours was pointless, all they did was look at him like he was a puzzle piece that doesn't fit. Gardening became the only that could drag his mind away from his everyday emptiness.
Bilbo walked over to the door, opened it, and let the soft, cool breeze hit him right in the face. Taking a deep breath in the he let the crisp air refresh his mind and opened his eyes. The leaves on the trees were dancing with the wind, the residents of the shire were all doing what they would routinely do, gardening, talking, walking, smoking. Everything was the same as it always had been. Bilbo walked swiftly down to his mail box, trying to avoid being seen by anyone, snatched all his letters up under his arm and then hurried back up the steps. It was always horribly dull when he was caught by someone passing by and was forced into a mind-numbing conversation about an overgrown hedge or where the misplaced garden shears had gone. Bilbo found avoiding the locals was best for his peace of mind, his past patience for them had run dry. He got back inside and started flicking through the letters whilst munching on an apple. He was sort of half skimming over everything until he discovered the letter. A neatly presented letter sealed with a deep blue wax, Bilbo dropped his apple, that all too familiar crest. Erebor. His breath caught, turning the letter over his eyes glistened. It was him. The heavy strokes that seemed to flow as gracefully as a river, the way the quill pressed too hard right at the end of the name. Thorin.
Bilbo's hands begun to tremble. So many emotions came rushing over him, he pushed it all back and set the letter down on his desk and just stood there frozen in a state of shock. Bilbo paced around the halls of bag-end for a long while, panic creeping up in his throat until he decided on what to do. What if it was bad news? What if its good news? What if its something he simply couldn't bear to read? He walked over to his desk, picked up the letter and shoved it in the nearest drawer. Out of sight, out of mind he told himself. He went about the rest of his day as usual, trying to keep the letter far out of his mind. Trying to keep busy, but Bilbo couldn't quiet the racing thoughts in his mind. The fact that Tho- that the king had written him a letter that was meant only for him, he couldn't not read it. He sat down for lunch but just couldn't seem to stomach taking a single bite. He stood up and walked over to the drawer, his heart began to race. He opened it slowly, hesitating, but there it was, lying in the exact crammed state as he had left it. He picked up the letter, staring at it and walked a few steps underneath the circular door frame. He ran his fingers round the straight edges and slowly unfolded the top. The first thing that hit him was the muffled scent of stone and smoke, he glanced at the date, the night before the battle. Even the first line made the muscles in Bilbo's stomach tense and his insides go round in circles.
My dearest Bilbo,
If you are reading this, I am dead.
Bilbo blinked hard, seeing that line ripped open everything he had been feeling for the past year. The feeling that he wasn't quite at home, reading the letter filled a part of that hole that felt unfillable. He took a deep breath to prepare himself, and continued.
If fate is to take me from this world, I cannot not leave it with thoughts unspoken. There are many things I should've said to you long ago, the most recent being that I am sorry. I fear I have wronged you more than any friend should, I have been harsh and pig- headed and I have failed to see your unwavering courage, loyalty and heart. I know that what you did for me was for my own stubborn good and that nobody else would have been brave enough to do so and I thank you. I want to thank you for many things but I would end up running out of parchment.
There were many things that I had feared during our quest, but nothing frightened me more than how deeply I had come to relying on you, there are so many things I wished I had said to you but time has been cruel, but there is one thing I must speak before the battle takes the chance from me. I have wronged you, and I have wounded you, yet you remained when any other would have turned away. You became dear to me Bilbo Baggins, dearer than I ever intended, dearer than I ever understood until now. I loved you. Not as a companion, nor as a burglar, nor as a friend to the company. I have carried this feeling in silence, fearing it and burying it beneath crown and duty but as war creeps up onto Erebor's steps our time has run out.
Bilbo's knees wobbled and he sunk down the wooden frame as tears built up in his eyes. He held the letter to his chest as all the loneliness and the constant aching feeling burst open. He cried quietly on the floor of Bag-end, one hand covering his mouth muffling the sounds, the other holding onto the now tear drenched confession. His vision was completely blurred and a heavy pressure crowded his head. He pressed the letter harder into his chest and folded over until his head hit his knees. He didn't know a heart could hurt like this, from love spoken too late. Bilbo took a Shakey breath in and sat up against the wood. He tried to read the next line but the words swam around the page. He wiped his tears with the heel of his hand and continued.
If I return, I shall beg your forgiveness in person. If I do not, then I hope you can forgive me one day. Just know that you are the one i would have chosen, had fate been kinder.
Yours truly,
Thorin Oakenshield.
Bilbo felt around the floor for the envelope, sniffling and wiping his nose with his handkerchief. He folded the letter back up, trying not to burst out in tears and begun to put it back inside, but hesitated as he felt something small roll about at the bottom of the envelope. He pulled out a singular silver bead. One of Thorin's silver beads. Bilbo's stomach churned as he studied the intricate details carved along the sides, he must have taken it out just before the battle, just before he...
His throat began to close, he quickly stood up and sprinted out the door, grasping the bead. He clumsily tripped over his own feet and his hands hit the ground hard before doubling over and gasping for breath. He couldn't do anything to prevent it and threw up all over his flowers. Every hobbit who was outside were now gawking in Bilbo's general direction, taking in all his bizareness but Bilbo had more on his mind to care as during his little outburst he had let go and dropped the bead somewhere in his front garden. The only thing he had left, the only thing he had to hold onto, he began frantically searching for it. Digging around in the grass and his flowers, getting dirt wedged all in his finger nails. He did eventually recover it, sighing with relief as he did so. Bilbo weakly stood up, turned around and sulked back inside his empty home, shutting the door indefinitely.