Chapter Text
“Don’t let them boss you around.”
“Alright.”
“And when he asks, ‘axe or sword’, try to think of something better than conkers. You used to have a very good aim. Say that.”
“If you say so.”
Bilbo watched as the older hobbit looked around his home, cane clutched tightly in a wrinkly hand, hair snow-white and expression firm.
“One last thing, Bilbo…” The hobbit said. “Do not let fear overcome your desires. Sign the contract. Agree to join them. Do what you can to help and protect them. And… and don’t be afraid to tell him you love him. No matter what, don’t hide your feelings from him. Do not wait for their home to be reclaimed to do so.”
“Who do you speak of?” Bilbo asked.
The old hobbit smiled, and Bilbo saw a deep pain in his eyes. “You will know.”
“But why?” Bilbo asked. “Why not wait? Wouldn’t it be better to not distract them? This quest you speak of… It sounds rather harrying…”
The old hobbit winced, hands flexing on his cane as he pulled his shawl closer to himself. “There is not a happy ending for this quest, Bilbo Baggins.” He told him, voice sounding heavy. “Once you arrive, there will be no time. There will be goldsickness, there will… banishment… War… and death…”
Bilbo’s eyes widened, fearful himself as he saw tears in the hobbit’s eyes that were quickly wiped away.
“The one we love dies, before we can even say goodbye.” He choked out. “Died protecting his uncle from the orcs. And I… I couldn’t reach them.”
His heart clenched as the old hobbit began to sob. Warily, Bilbo approached him, laying a hand on his delicate shoulder, but it only made him sob harder.
“I only ever learned that he loved me in return from someone else, after their funeral, and I have since lived on with regret.” He continued through his tears. “Neither of us knew if the other felt the same, and while I lived on with this small amount of comfort, he had died without ever knowing.”
Bilbo felt his own eyes water, realizing that such heartache that this old hobbit felt, this older version of himself felt, was also meant for him.
He did not want this. This clearly brutal pain of a love lost to war.
“What can I do, then?” He asked, voice cracking. “What can I do to stop it?”
The old hobbit looked at him, lips pressed firmly together. “You go, even though I’m sure you’re afraid to now.” He answered. “And you tell him as soon as you seek shelter after facing the pale orc. You do what you can to be happy with him, be there for him, and love him, as much as you can!”
The old hobbit frowned a little, eyes glistening anew. “I do not know if that will change the outcome of that final battle.” He admitted, but he then gripped Bilbo’s hands tightly. “But a friend once told me that even the smallest of things can change the future. It just might, but if not… at least you will have what moments you can together.”
“It doesn’t sound like it’s worth it.” Bilbo admitted.
The old hobbit, the older, wiser Bilbo, smiled at him, despite his pain.
“Believe me,” He told him. “It is.”
xxx
Bilbo stared up at the ceiling, thinking of his life and how it had changed after he had met the old hobbit.
He had followed his words, and was prepared for almost every odd turn that happened the moment Gandalf had arrived. He didn't let the dwarves walk over him, making sure they washed their hands before they moved to the dining room to eat. He spoke of his aim and his skill with "other blades" (really his kitchen knives), instead of speaking of his skill with nuts. He earned their respected, their trust. Even Thorin had warmed up to him by the time they had reached Rivendell, and not after they faced the pale orc, as the old hobbit claimed.
He even fell in love, and he made sure to tell him once they had reached a home belonging to a skin-changer.
Indeed, the old hobbit was right on a many number of things, including the latter, but so was his friend.
They had survived. All of them had. Even he survived, even though he was worse for wear. He didn't think he would ever be more grateful.
So much had happened since that battle. He collected his belongings from the Shire and moved them to Erebor, where he had agreed to stay. He gave his home to his least-hated cousin, and got married not long after his affairs were sorted.
Said cousin died, as did his wife, and he took in the child that was left behind.
Bilbo looked at them, now. At his beloved husband, though scarred, was still as handsome as he ever was. At Frodo, who had grown fearful of the thunderstorm that had rolled passed, and who was currently lying between them.
He was lucky, truly. Luckier than his other self was, at least. He had hoped, however, that what he had done had changed his future as well.
He hoped the old hobbit finally had peace.
"Evening, Uncle Bilbo."
Said hobbit shot up at the voice, eyes wide as he saw a hobbit sitting in a chair nearby. He was pale, sullen, with dark curls and piercing blue eyes. He looked tired, so very tired, but he also looked familiar.
"F-Frodo...?" Bilbo whispered, slowly slipping out of bed.
The hobbit grinned. "I take it this has happened before?"
"Er... something similar, yes..." He admitted, pulling on his housecoat. "What... How... Why are you here?"
Frodo's smile had wavered, if only a hair, and he adjusted himself. "I came to you tonight to warn you of something." He explained.
"Warn me?" Bilbo asked. "Whatever do you need to warn me about, dear boy?"
"Well, Uncle Bilbo..." Frodo muttered, twiddling his thumbs before looking at him again, eyes serious. "I've come to warn you about your old ring..."