An Unexpected Message

Credit goes to writing_moonchild

Summary:At the suggestion that writing a letter to those he lost could help him find closure, Bilbo does just that.What he wasn't expecting... was a reply.

A regular, sunny day in the Shire and everything is as it should be.

Bilbo had returned there after the battle, parting with understanding nods and regretful eyes from the dwarves he now considers family. But it had to be done. He could not have stayed there. Would not.

Not without him.

One who travelled so far, fought so hard, all to reclaim his home. The home he did not get to experience before the world delt one last, cruel blow to him and his kin. Those wonderful boys full of laughter and light, with so much left to give this world.

But no, Bilbo shan’t think of that now. They are resting with their Uncle. At least they can all be together.

Bilbo nods to himself, solidifying the thought, and continues with his tea. He glances briefly at the map that started it all, proudly hung above his fireplace. It was the first thing Bilbo had done once his affairs were in order once more and he was sure no Sackville-Baggins’s were going to pilfer his silverware the second he turned his back. A sort of symbol - to end the adventure right back where it began.

Closure, he thought as he hung it up, that is what this will bring.

But as time went on, he was proven incorrect.

Every hobbit knew of his adventure. And very little approved. Mad Baggins, they whispered amongst themselves as he passed. Strangest hobbit to have ever graced the Shire. Should’ve stayed wherever his wanderings lead him.

If only they knew.

There were some, however, that regarded his adventure as a wonder. Commending his bravery and pestering him for stories. Most were fauntlings, of course. Not yet grown into the ways of the Shire and so uncaring of the gossip surrounding him. Others were family, his dear cousin Drogo and his wife Primula. They visited frequently with their young Frodo, and turned their noses up at any hobbit that dared question them. Though he feared sometimes they worried for him too much.

Drogo was a man of few words, but the furrow in his brow when he thought Bilbo wasn’t looking said more than words needed to. Primula was much less subtle in her concern.

“All alone here Bilbo.” She’d say when she caught him smiling as Frodo played amongst the flowers in his garden. “Surely it gets too quiet?”

He’d turn his smile to her in reassurance, but he knew it never quite reached his eyes.

A knock at his door brought Bilbo from his reminiscing and, as if summoned, Frodo comes bounding in followed by his parents at a much steadier pace. The energy of fauntlings would forever be a wonder. Gandalf insisted he himself was once the same, though Bilbo doesn’t recall, and you can never be too sure with Wizards.

“Uncle Bilbo, Uncle Bilbo!” Frodo exclaims, rushing over for a hug so quickly Bilbo barely has time enough to set his cup down.

He brings the fauntling onto his lap with a smile.

“Hello there my little grasshopper! And how are you doing on this fine afternoon hmm?”

Frodo giggles at the nickname and proceeds to tell his Uncle all about his adventures in the market that morning while his parents settle down and help themselves to the tea and scones Bilbo had set out, anticipating their arrival.

“And then-“

“Frodo dear,” Primula interrupts, her voice lilting with twinkling amusement “make sure you remember to breathe. I’m quite sure your Uncle would appreciate your tale even more if he could understand a word you were saying.”

Frodo contemplates this, before taking a deep breath in and turning back to Bilbo.

“Sorry Uncle” he says with a grin, and Bilbo feels a pang in his chest. Those words, a smile brimming with youthful mischief, they were all too familiar to him. He won’t allow himself to be lost to grief however, and returns his nephew’s look with a smile of his own before replying.

“That’s quite alright my boy. It sounds as if you’ve had a most exciting day.”

“Oh yes I have!” Frodo gushes once again, eyes sparkling. “And Sam said we can plant some of the flowers his Pa bought tomorrow if the weather’s good!”

“Well then,” he nods. “I can guarantee the weather will be perfect. Not even the skies dare interfere with Mr Gamgee’s gardening! I daresay my gardens looked even better when I returned home than before I left thanks to his help.”

Of course that is enough to set Frodo off. He begins pleading for ‘the dragon story’ again as if he hasn’t heard it at least a hundred times already. It’s his favourite tale from Bilbo’s travels (Well, that and the prison escape/barrel ride. Bilbo made sure to leave out the more gory details involving Kíli’s leg from that one. The fauntling was still too young to hear of the harder parts of his Uncle’s journey).

And who is Bilbo to say no to his nephew’s wide, pleading eyes. Honestly that look could melt ice, where had he learnt to do that?

So begins his tale, Frodo chipping in through mouthfuls of a biscuit his Uncle snuck him with a wink.

Before long, the child grows tired and settles further into Bilbo’s arms as he drifts off to sleep, ready to dream of dragons and elves and the thrill of adventure.

Bilbo sighs, running a hand over his nephew’s raven curls. The colour is unique for a hobbit, and reminds Bilbo all too much of a certain dwarven King.

Without his notice, Drogo has made his way into the kitchen to fix them up some more tea and Primula lays a hand on Bilbo’s arm.

“You know,” she starts “you can always talk to us, Bilbo dear. About whatever it is that’s troubling you.”

Bilbo opens his mouth to decline, a polite dismissal already on his lips that he knows will fool no one. Before he has the chance however, Primula ploughs on.

“Or maybe, you should get in touch with those dwarves of yours. I’ve not seen you send a single letter since you’ve been home and it’s already been a year!” She gently takes Frodo from his arms and he looks up to meet her knowing gaze.

“I fear you lost someone.” She says quietly. “You’ve the same look on your face as you did the weeks after your parents…” she stops and takes a breath. “Your eyes are far away from here Bilbo. And as much as we love you, I believe things need to change for you to truly heal. If you can’t write a letter to those remaining, then perhaps a letter to those who passed? It could bring you peace, allow you to move on, whether that be here in the Shire or elsewhere, adventuring once more. Will you at least think on the idea?”

Bilbo can only nod.

~

A letter.

Shouldn’t be too hard, right?

Bilbo is in his study, paper and quill set out neatly on his desk.

…The desk he is currently ignoring in favour of pacing around the room.

Who knew letter writing could be so difficult?

With a sigh, Bilbo sits down, dips his quill into the ink pot, and begins.

To Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain.

Surprisingly - or perhaps not when he thinks about it - as soon as the letter is addressed, he knows exactly what to say. The ink flows across the page, eager to form the words he’s kept inside for much too long.

He begins with the journey; His struggles to fit in, feeling so far from home and his fears that he wouldn’t make it even halfway. But how, the longer they travelled, the more those fears were overshadowed by something else. A longing to do whatever he could for this band of brave dwarrow without a home. He wanted to prove himself to each and every one of them. Most of all Thorin.

He writes how he came to truly know each member of the company. They all had their quirks, habits and reasons for joining the fight. The hobbit had delighted in figuring them out. And in turn, Bilbo knows they learnt about himself. His family, his culture, even silly things like the “adventures” he went on as a faunt, nothing in comparison to the one they experienced together.

He writes about the end. His fears returning, stronger than before. They had bested a dragon but for what? Thorin was overcome by a sickness of the mind and armies descended from all sides on the newly reclaimed mountain.

Bilbo pauses, taking a breath to steady his hand. This was the part he had been dreading.

Thorin. Seeing you lying there, the battle won but knowing you were fading too fast to see it. Well, to put it lightly, it very well broke my heart.

You used your last waking breath to apologise to me for all you had done but what good was an apology when I still lost you?

You would have made a great King.

You fought for your home with  everything  you had. Overcoming the pull of the Arkenstone when it mattered most because truly, deep down, your love for your kin mattered more. You wanted them to have a place to call home, even if you had to give your life to make that happen.

Yavanna Thorin why couldn’t you have been selfish?

I’m sorry. I know you did everything you could. Life was too cruel to you. You and your family both.

Rest well my friend. Perhaps we will meet again one day, when it is my turn to join you across the water.

Yours, Bilbo Baggins.

No number of deep breaths could quell Bilbo’s shaking hands now, as he sealed the letter, addressing it ready to be sent. And if a stray tear finds its way to the envelop in the process? Well then it doesn’t matter. He knows no one will read it. It’s quite clear this is a letter of closure, being addressed to a fallen King. And if someone does happen to read it, and sees his grief clear as day on the page, then so be it. He has nothing to lose.

Not when he’s already lost it all.

~

Weeks pass, and Bilbo begins to feel more at ease.

He knows the people of the Shire can see it too. They are weary of him still, and whispers follow in his wake as he takes more frequent walks with the brightening weather. Relentless gossips are hobbits. But their speculations of Mad Baggins don’t get to him as they used to. Only he knows the true wonders and tragedies of his adventure.

Perhaps someday he will share the real stories. But for now, he has come to peace with all that had transpired. He will forever hold those lost close to his heart. But their presence now urges him onwards with his life, instead of pulling him into the past.

After a stroll across the edges of the Shire, away from his gossiping neighbours, he returns to find a raven perched quite contently on his letterbox. Upon further inspection, he notices a letter secured to the raven’s leg.

Bilbo pauses, and for much too long in the eyes of the bird, evident as it ruffles its feathers and gives a loud caw. This does the trick to startle him from his frozen state and he reaches out to untie the letter, if with a slight hesitation.

There is only one race he can think of that uses ravens for letter sending.

Dwarves.

The bird seems satisfied with the letter in Bilbo’s hands and gives one, slightly quieter, caw before taking off.

The hobbit makes his way into his smial on weak legs, refusing to take note of the letter before he’s sat down with a strong cup of tea. If the dwarves are sending him a message, it can be no coincidence. Someone has read his letter addressed to their dead king and decided to reply.

Once he is seated, he finally looks down, turning the envelop over where he’d placed it face-down and out of sight.

Bilbo Baggins, Dragonthief of Erebor, Hobbit of the Shire.

Alright, that was… not what he’d expected.

The title is not one he’s familiar with, especially in regards to himself, though he supposes he can understand its origins. Just as Hobbits have family names, dwarves carry titles, crafted from their great deeds.

But did Bilbo really deserve such a title? After all he’d done?

And who thought to bestow it upon him? There was only one way to find out.

With that thought, Bilbo carefully opens the envelop, unrolls the letter inside and begins to read.

…

The letter falls to the ground after only a few words. A few, life altering words.

Bilbo, my friend, I’m afraid your letter found me in quite the confusion. You see, I am not dead.

He wasn’t dead.

Thorin was alive.

Bilbo can do nothing to stop the wave of emotion that overcomes him. Tears of relief, of pure joy, stream down his face as he smiles. The first smile in a long time that doesn’t feel forced in any way.

He wipes his eyes quickly, picking the letter up and continuing on.

At first I was overjoyed at your reaching out. We thought you were all but lost to us after the battle. I understood of course, the torment I put you through does not deserve your forgiveness and I believed you better off in your home. Somewhere you could relax after all you endured on our journey.

But the more I read, the more I did not understand. Your letter was written in such a way it seemed like a final goodbye. A sadness burned your words, a fire I very much wished to extinguish.

And then I reached your final words and understood. You thought me dead once the battle ended. It seems my men informed you of my resting among the stones, but neglected to explain it was a sleep of recovery, not one of loss.

All I can do is offer my deepest apologies for not reaching out sooner myself. I decided you were better where you were, and I did not wish to disturb your peace.

I see now that it was never my decision to make, and that my first priority should have been informing you of the progress the mountain has made. The land we would not have reclaimed without you. You gave me, my sister-sons, and my people a home again. And for that I cannot thank you enough.

I offer you now, an invitation to return. To see for yourself the difference this past year has made. You are welcome anytime of course, the people here know of all your efforts to help us, and the title you earned facing the dragon alone. But I do hope you chose to make the trip sooner, rather than later. I fear too much time has passed already and I would see you by my side once more we have much to discuss. The company is eager to see you as well.

If you do not wish to return to the mountain just yet, I understand. Send word back to us and we will wait for you to be ready.

Yours, Thorin.

It was really true. Thorin, Fíli, Kíli, all alive.

‘Send word back to us and we will wait’ as if he was waiting another second. It was still early in the day, he could make good time if he left soon. And really, if Thorin wanted him to send word back to the mountain he would have instructed the raven to wait.

Decision made, Bilbo rushes around his house, gathering essentials, but ensuring he packs light. He has no pony this time so the lighter he packs, the faster he walks.

The last thing he picks up is Sting. The roads are safer now, any remaining orcs hiding further South after the battle, but he is still just one hobbit. Better to be safe than sorry.

He straps the sword to his side and smiles. He’s ready.

Knock Knock Knock

Well who in Yavanna’s name could that be? Bilbo’s brow crinkles in a frown. His cousin and family are not due today, though he had planned on stopping by to let them know he was leaving on the way. Perhaps this will speed up the process. Nodding, he makes his way to the door and pulls it open. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

“Fíli”

“And Kíli”

“At your service”

Bilbo hardly gives them time to step out of their funny little synchronised bow before he throws his arms around them both.

He can’t help but fuss over them really. These are the boys Thorin helped raise, that he knows Thorin regards as sons. The stupid idiotic fauntlings who threw themselves into danger without a single thought and they’re alive! And here! Wait…

“What are you two doing here?” he asks, pausing his fussing to regard them with wide eyes that may or may not be holding unshed tears.

“We came to see you!” Kíli grins as his brother nods.

“Uncle wanted to come himself as soon as he got your letter. But he can’t exactly abandon his kingdom right now, not even to see you. We’re still in the process of rebuilding and rehousing so it’s all hands on deck at the moment.” Fíli continues.

“Well, all hands except ours.” Kíli winks. “As next in line for the throne we were simply duty bound to personally escort you to the mountain.”

Those innocent eyes fool no one.

“And… if it so happened you did not want to return, we were to travel back with the news and let our Uncle know.” Fíli adds, tone a tad more sombre than his brother’s, but it soon brightens. “Judging by your current state however I’d wager you’re just as eager to see Uncle as he is to see you!”

Bilbo did not squeak at that thank you very much. He is a respectable hobbit and respectable hobbits do not have the vocal ranges of mice.

“Ahh, I mean the whole company of course. Everyone is greatly anticipating your trip.” Fíli amends, but his knowing grin says it all.

They make their way out of the Shire, stopping off at Bilbo’s relatives so he can say goodbye and the Gamgee’s so he can assure Hamfast is willing to tend to his garden once again. Frodo wanted to come along on the trip of course, but he was convinced to stay so long as Fíli and Kíli promise to return and tell him some new stories.

Bilbo is not looking forward to that. Frodo is enough like those brothers without having met them, together they will wreak havoc. He has to admit though, it does something to his heart watching them interact. He never thought the sight possible.

As they make their way along the trail on the ponies the boys had tied up waiting, Bilbo breathes easy. Kíli and Fíli’s familiar teasing, the sight of the open road ahead, and the shift of a pony beneath him. Everything feels so right. It would be even better with a full company though.

He voices that last thought and Fíli snickers, nudging Bilbo (gently of course, he doesn’t want to knock the hobbit to the ground) with a grin.

“Oh don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll have some more company soon. Don’t you think Kee?” he remarks, waggling his brows at his brother. Kíli for his part, appears to be pouting, though there’s a steady flush growing on his face that has Bilbo raising a brow.

“You know the elves are busy Fee.” He replies, not sounding all too happy about it. “Why would they take the time to travel all the way here and back? They wouldn’t. So shove off.”

Ahh, Kíli and his elves. Of course.

Bilbo’s first thought is the fiery haired she-elf he seemed close to, but before he can open his mouth to inquire, he hears Fíli muttering.

“You wouldn’t think so with how often he visits the mountain now you’re up and about. Oblivious the both of you.”

Bilbo decides to keep his mouth shut for now. He may be a curious hobbit by nature, but Kíli’s face is looking far too flushed as it is and if his brother’s teasing proves correct, he’ll find out soon enough.

Although, the design on the expertly crafted elven arrows mixed in with Kíli’s own give him an idea.

~

As the night draws in on their first leg of the journey, Bilbo can’t find it in him to be tired. So full of joy and anticipation, he knows he’ll get very little sleep. But it will all be worth it in the end.

He may be leaving one home behind him for now, but he hopes he might find another at the end of the road. He has always been an unusual sort of hobbit after all. And a mountain is quite similar to a hill really, when you think about it.