Chapter Text
The following morning brings one more diplomatic meeting. Bilbo is not entirely certain why his presence is required - and rather reluctant to leave bed - but Thorin cheerfully informs him he may as well get used to diplomacy if he intends to stay.
“As the dragon-slayer, your word holds quite a weight among dwarves and others,” Thorin tells him while they make their way toward Dale, “Also, I was thinking of naming you advisor.”
“I’m not entirely certain I’m qualified,” Bilbo replies and huddles deeper into his coat. A thin layer of frost dusts the ground and the wind feels even colder today.
“Oh, you are,” Balin says with a wide smile, “Most dwarves will either have seen what you can do or at least have heard about it, and they’d rather be on your good side.”
Bilbo grimaces. “That’s still no qualification for diplomacy.”
Thorin teasingly brushes his shoulder against Bilbo, making the hobbit stumble slightly. “And yet you were the one telling everybody not to go to war. I think you understand the basics.”
It’s not a memory Bilbo likes to recall and he knows Thorin isn’t exactly fond of these moments either. Between the Master’s absurd demands, Thorin’s descent into goldsickness and Thranduil’ willful ignorance of both, nobody cut a good figure.
But Thranduil has since returned to his realm and the Master has vanished into the unknown. Bard pursues a pragmatic course and that means negotiations are getting along quite well. Thorin has offered pay for those involved in battle anyway and no longer refuses to return what the dragon plundered from Dale.
Once again, their meeting is short and Bard soon leaves. Elrond, Gandalf, Dain, Thorin and Bilbo remain in their meeting chamber a moment longer.
“There was something I have been wondering about,” Bilbo states once the meeting has been formally adjourned. His stomach twists when all attention abruptly is focused on him, but he has grown familiar with these people. Kings and legends they may be, though now that he knows their names and habits, they do not loom all that large any longer.
“The wraiths, the nazgûl -” the names sends a shudder down his spine, “Are they gone? Could they return?”
Tension hums through his body. He tries not to betray it, but the question carries much weight. Should they return - should they truly be after him as the others seem to suspect - he will bring danger to every place where he will stay. When all he wants is to see his friends safe and happy.
Elrond and Gandalf exchange a look. “Being wraiths, they do not die,” Elrond explains slowly, “And they are bound to the ring, as long as it is not destroyed, they will linger.”
Bilbo swallows and glances to Thorin. Perhaps he should not stay, then.
“But,” Elrond continues, “Their movement depends on their master’s will. He was greatly weakened in battle so he will not so soon turn his mind back upon the mountain.”
“Was that what he was after?” Dain asks, eyeing the assembled persons sharply. “The mountain?”
“The mountain’s strategic -” Gandalf begins, but Bilbo interrupts his spiel quietly. “The wraiths came after me, I think. They knew my name.”
It comes out fiercer than he wishes to and Gandalf inclines his head in a silent apology. Bilbo feels Thorin silently step behind him, offering support.
“That is quite possible, Master Hobbit,” Elrond eventually replies, studying Bilbo thoughtfully, “Though we do not know what he knew of your power or what he hoped to achieve. Nor do we know why he was so intent on Erebor - we may have defeated him, but we have not learned his plans."
“Evil sometimes follows its own logic,” Gandalf summarizes with a sigh and then gives Bilbo a fatherly smile. “For the time being, he is far too weak to pose a threat.”
“It’s not my safety that I’m concerned about,” Bilbo protests, though he realizes that he ought to be, because his powers were meaningless against the intangible form of the wraiths, “I’m rather concerned what my presence may mean for others. If orcs and wraiths are likely to turn up wherever I go, I’d like to know.”
And warn people. Or stay away from those he fears for.
Elrond raises an eyebrow. “You needn’t worry,” Gandalf tells him, “It is unlikely the enemy will devote much attention to you. I rather think he heard a rumor of your power and got a wrong idea - now he likely has realised the truth.”
Bilbo wonders just what kind of idea Gandalf refers to, but Elrond quickly clears it up. “You think the enemy believed Master Baggins carried the one ring?”
Gandalf nods. “It would explain his desperate gambit during the battle.”
A shudder runs down Bilbo’s spine. Him having found the one ring - a thought as absurd as terrifying. He has battled dragons and wargs, met legends, but the one ring has been lost for an age. And the one magic ring he has is safely tucked into the inner pocket of his coat.
“Indeed,” Elrond replies, not bothering to hide his disbelief. Instead he turns back to Bilbo and the dwarves. “Whatever he may have suspected, it will be a long time before he has regained enough power to gather a new army.”
“And in that time Erebor should have rebuilt her defenses,” Thorin comments quietly, “She will not fall to an army of mercenary orcs.”
“Aye,” Dain agrees cheerfully, “And if you write me in time, I’ll even help you with that.” He flashes a wide grin toward Bilbo. “So you see, Master Hobbit, you needn’t worry.”
Bilbo nods in return. He may be uneasy, but he will accept the judgement of those wiser than him. Perhaps this danger will now be permanent - perhaps he simply will have to learn to adjust. Because once on their way back to the mountain, Thorin is quick to assure him that Erebor will defend him.
“Though I doubt it is you that will draw orcs and plunderers near,” he tells Bilbo, “Her riches have ever since inspired jealousy and greed. More than one army has marched upon her.”
“I see,” Bilbo replies. And it does make sense - compared to the grand hoard of Thror, a hobbit with a peculiar talent perhaps is not so interesting.
“Bilbo,” Thorin interrupts his thoughts and stops. His hand gently grasps Bilbo’s chin and tilts his head up so their eyes meet. “I hope you are not doubting your decision to stay?”
Something shines in his eyes and Bilbo’s breath hitches.
“I hope you know that every dwarf here and in the entirety of Arda will gladly defend you,” Thorin tells him, “What you have done for us can never be repaid. And I beg you, put aside these foolish concerns for our safety. Before you worry for us, please worry for yourself.”
“You are powerful, but you are no warrior. I do not mean this as a fault, I admire this. You will seek a peaceful solution, even if it may be to your own detriment. And that makes me worry,” Thorin says, smiling sadly at Bilbo, “Because I want to see you happy. I do want to have regained my home at the price of your happiness Bilbo Baggins. If I did, I would rue the day Gandalf sent us to your home to the end of my life.”
Bilbo swallows down the clot forming in his throat. He blinks away water in his eyes. “Thorin, I… I…” he finds he does not know what to say, does not know what he has done to deserve this heartfelt confession.
“I love you,” he says instead and it’s not a reply but these are the only words that will come.
And a beautiful smile begins to blossom on Thorin’s face. “Does that mean you will stay?”
“Yes,” Bilbo whispers and leans up to catch Thorin’s lips, not caring who could see, “Yes.”
***
The rest of the company is overjoyed to learn Bilbo intends to stay. Bofur offers him a tour of the mines, Dwalin sword-fighting lessons. Kili jokes Bilbo may speed up their repairs with his talent and Ori wordlessly hands him a Khuzdul primer which makes Gloin pat Bilbo’s back hard and declare he’s well on his way to becoming a full dwarf.
Bilbo laughs and joins their raucous impromptu celebration and they spend the evening spinning wild tales and dreaming of the future. It is bound to be interesting, Bilbo thinks, his heart still trembling in face of the decision he has made. A decision he thinks he still cannot fathom in its entirety, though he knows it is the right one.
So when the party winds down, he excuses himself to get some air. Gandalf finds him on the reconstructed parapets, gazing out toward the west. After so many years spend on his own, he enjoys a moment of solitude.
“I will set out the day after tomorrow,” Gandalf tells Bilbo, “I head for Rivendell in the company of Lord Elrond. You could come with us. Somebody from Rivendell would see you all the way to the Shire.”
Bilbo gives him a small smile in return. The decision has not yet entirely settled, but he knows what path he should take. “Thank you,” he replies, “But I will stay. When the days start growing longer I will head out with Fili and Kili to settle my affair in the Shire.”
“You do not plan to stay in the Shire?” Gandalf asks, eyebrows disappearing toward his hairline.
“No,” Bilbo shakes his head, wistfully looking toward the western horizon. The clouds over there are glowing orange as the sun disappears and a part of him longs for the home he knows lies there, “I don’t think I can. After all, the entire world now knows of my little talent. I’m afraid of what that may bring to the Shire.”
Gandalf’s brow furrows in concern. “I am certain the rangers would be willing to provide protection. The Shire is after all –“
“No, no,” Bilbo interrupts and warmth blossoms in his heart. “In all honesty, Gandalf, I’m not sure the Shire is my home any longer. I mean, it is, certainly, and I’m looking forward to seeing it again. But I think my place is here, now. Does that make any sense?” Here with his dwarves and Thorin, Bilbo adds to himself. It is not so much the place - Erebor may clean up to be splendid once more - but the people he cannot envision living without.
Gandalf studies him for a very long moment. Then he sighs. “I think I see. But I am sorry this adventure turned out like this for you and now you cannot –“
“No, Gandalf, no,” Bilbo protests again, laughing, “Please don’t feel sorry on my behalf. I had, well, no, I didn’t have an idea of what I was signing up for, but I had ample opportunities to turn around. Now that I’m here, I feel as if I arrived somewhere. I don’t regret it. Not the least bit.”
Though he could have done without the trolls, being run through, facing a dragon, wraiths, and several other unpleasant encounters. But he does not regret having ended up in Erebor. Having met the dwarves.
Gandalf shakes his head. “You are a most curious fellow, my dear Bilbo. But if that is your decision, then it is.”
So the old codger cares for him, Bilbo thinks and the corners of his mouth twitch upward. “It is, Gandalf,” he confirms brightly, “It is.”
***
Once Gandalf leaves time flies. The months of winter bring snow storms and celebrations. The interior of the mountain slowly but certainly returns to life. Houses are cleaned, halls stabilized and the remains of the dead set to rest in one solemn ceremony. Thorin makes sure regularly consult with the men – who, Bard announces one day – will try to rebuild Dale once winter has passed.
The first dwarves arrive from the Iron Hills, glad to see their home restored and eager to settle back in. Thorin complains to Bilbo about displaced nobles writing angry letters and more outrageous claims, but those that reach Erebor settle in quickly. A genuinely cheerful atmosphere begins to spread through the once so still mountain.
And Bilbo is glad to see his friends so happy for a change. Thorin in particular seems to grow younger with every passing day, the lines on his face vanishing, replaced by laugh lines. Of course, he tells Bilbo one night, there will be trouble ahead. Conspiracies, plots and a lot of jealousy. Maybe even, he warns, ill-will directed toward Bilbo.
But Ori has completed his chronicle of the quest for Erebor and Dain has seen to having copies sent to every corner of Arda. So that the nobles in Gondor and the Haradrim in the far south may know the name of Bilbo Baggins, dragon slayer. With a groan Bilbo buries his head in his hands – especially when he learns that Dain intends to have statues made of all the company, their hobbit included.
Even if the Shire never learns of Ori’s tale, the rest of the world is unlikely to forget him. Settling quietly in Bag End is finally out of question – but Bilbo doesn’t think he could go back to his old life. He may miss the tranquility of it, and there may come days when he will yet curse his decision. For now, however, he has fallen in love with this wider horizon and looks forward to meeting the traders from the far east once they arrive, and face the trials and tribulations of a dwarven court.
Thorin smiles at him, shaking his head. “You are a marvel,” he whispers, before leaning down to press a kiss into Bilbo’s hair.
***
The journey back to the Shire is both shorter and longer than before. Perhaps Gandalf is right and the battle for Erebor removed some of the scum plaguing the roads. Or maybe it’s the huge armed host accompanying them. Kili and Fili have insisted on riding to meet their mother in the Blue Mountains and personally bring her the news. Thorin was reluctant to allow them to leave and Dwalin made them take half an army.
But it’s a smooth journey and everybody is in a good mood. They are making good time and even stop for a short visit at Rivendell. The body of the host does not enter the valley, but Bilbo enjoys meeting the elves again. Elrond, ageless as ever, gracefully invites him to return whenever he wishes.
“You are quite an extraordinary hobbit, after all, Master Baggins,” he tells Bilbo when Kili and Fili have left them in order to measure up against Elrond’s sons and foster son in some form of weapons contest, “May I ask what you plan to do now? I was under the impression you were to stay with Oakenshield?”
Bilbo blinks, surprised. But even if Elrond knows of the relationship, Bilbo is no longer the easily scandalized hobbit in fear of his reputation. “I will,” he confirms, “My name – the orcs knew it and I fear if I stayed in the Shire that would draw them near.”
And the Shire’s defense is its location, not its inhabitants. Hobbits will fare badly when confronted with armies and orcs and wraiths. And Bilbo does not want to see the Shire’s green hills stained with blood. It’s too much his home, still.
“Also, I’m afraid my relatives will not exactly be welcoming me back,” he confesses, “Adventures are generally frowned upon.”
Elrond chuckles. “It seems a fascinating place, indeed. I believe I’m beginning to understand Mithrandir.”
Bilbo raises an eyebrow. “Truly? I have to admit, I was under the impression nobody does.”
“That’s why I said I was beginning to,” Elrond deadpans.
They leave Rivendell behind quickly. Once the Weather Hills come into view, Bilbo feels a tingle of excitement well up in his chest. His home has so long been but a faint memory, an unreachable dream – now the lands begin to look familiar again. The hills soften, and before Bilbo knows it they are on the cobblestone streets of Bree.
Fili and Kili and their guard leave him here. They will continue to the Blue Mountains and pick him up on their way back. Though they need to be reassured one last time that no, Bilbo does not need a guard.
And then he’s home. Seated on his pony, dressed in outrageous foreign fashions, he cannot quite stop himself from politely greeting the gaping passer-byes and pretending everything is normal. Except for the expressions on his fellow hobbits’ faces, it is. The sky above blue and cloudless, the flowers in bloom. Green and golden fields spread around the paths and soon the first smials come into view.
Freshly washed laundry dries in the warm breeze, a whiff of apple pie drifts past him. Bilbo smiles. He has missed this. And even though he will leave all of this behind again, and then probably for good, he knows a part of him will always be rooted here.
***
His smial is both dusty and empty, though it doesn’t take long before the first hobbits are knocking on his door in an uproar. Hamfast Gamgee looks at him as if he’s unreal and murmurs about Lobelia trying to have him declared dead.
Bilbo grimaces, and sets out to settle his affairs. Which quickly turns first into a public shouting match and then into an impromptu family reunion when his cousin Primula catches sight of him and loudly joins in. Everybody is nicely drunk before the sun has completely set and even Lobelia has been mollified after Bilbo handed her a very outrageous ruby necklace. In truth, he already collected that one in Erebor, thinking of her.
Over the next few days he distributes more presents. And finds himself invited to numerous afternoon teas – surprising for someone who ought to be pariah – but Bilbo smiles and laughs and generally makes the most of it. It’s easier to stand inane chatter now that he has no reputation to protect and knows he will be leaving it behind. At some point he wonders if he might not miss it –
But then again, he can make the journey. Thorin even mentioned wanting to come with him someday – and if they’re not beset by orcs or getting lost in Mirkwood, the road is not that long.
On the fifth day he makes the journey to Tookborough in order to meet the Thain. His grandfather shakes his head in exasperation, but his grandmother quickly draws him into a hug. Before Bilbo quite knows what happened he sits on a richly decked table and is told to “Eat up, you’re too thin!” his younger relatives meanwhile clamor to hear of his adventures.
He ends up having to stay the night, because the children have too many questions and his grandmother is very interested in hearing about Thorin.
“So he offered you a home?” she summarized when Bilbo is once again answering questions, though now the children have been sent to bed.
He suppresses a smile and nods.
“Really,” she shakes her head, “You should have told us before accepting just like this. What if he was stringing you along?”
Bilbo almost sputters. “He’s King of Erebor. He’s a very honorable person.” Foolishly honorable, Bilbo would like to call it. Thorin still hasn’t entirely forgiven himself for allowing himself to fall under the gold’s spell, no matter how briefly.
“King or not,” his grandfather sighs, “You come home when you want to.”
***
Later, when Fili and Kili turn up – ridiculously overdressed and with a small, equally overdressed set of guards – the entirety of Hobbiton seems to have gathered to see Bilbo off. Some gossip cheerfully on the fringes, but everybody who holds himself of some importance abruptly feels personally required to wish Bilbo farewell.
He bears it all with a bright grin, because compared to what he has seen out there, he does rather like his fellow hobbits. Petty as they may be.
Even Lobelia wishes him a good journey. Perhaps the rich gifts have tided her over losing out on Bag End – but to Bilbo her gesture does feel honest. Maybe one day he’ll send her a set of silver spoons from Erebor.
As he slowly makes his way to the end of the line, he recognizes another set of familiar faces. His grandparents have made the journey over from Tookborough, and when his grandmother hugs him one last time, Bilbo has to blink back tears.
This, he thinks as he turns his pony on the road out of Hobbiton and to the east, still is and will always be his home. He will miss the rolling hills and little rivers, even the petty neighborhood rivalries. But before him the road leads ahead, to hills and mountains and lakes and another home at its end.
The End