Chapter Text
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Thorin II Oakenshield married Bilbo Baggins of Bag End on a crisp autumn day in the year 2942 of the Third Age.
It was a ceremony of the ages, gathering peoples of many kinds from across great distances, for a rare, joined feast. Some say the eagles of the Misty Mountains were seen in the skies. Others claimed to have seen great bears at the tables. Yet the most unlikely tale of all must have been true, as Thranduil, Galadriel, and the sons of Elrond would all later confirm that they did indeed eat at the table of the mountain king at the invitation of Bilbo Baggins himself.
That there were hobbits gathered for the feast was treated as the most likely of all claims, as everybody knew the new king consort was a hobbit himself, and yet no one could recall an equal gathering of hobbits outside of the Shire since the years of the Great Wandering, hundreds, if not over a thousand, years before. Those who knew hobbits well, doubted the telling until they heard of the mathoms, for only hobbits would bring gifts to a party and leave with even more than they had brought.
Laketown would speak of the extravagance and plenty for years, and there might have been a slight influx in Laketown migrants to Bree over the following few years, having heard tale of a land where food was aplenty and the neighbours were fair.
*~~*~~*~~*
The royal couple remained in power, though not always physically present, for the next twenty years, and for those twenty years, Erebor became known once more as the city of jewels – and of fruits, for the hobbit king consort and his kin had quite over-planted the mountainsides and wastelands with orchards of trees and brambles, which turned quite fertile, indeed. For as all those who care about fruits know; there is little more nutritious than ashes to a grove.
But time comes to all and waits for none, and after twenty years of plenty, Thorin and Bilbo considered their work quite done. The time of Filí, first of his name, had come, and so had the time for a long overdue return to an old home…
*~~*~~*~~*
It was with the creaking of bones and the popping of joints that Bilbo Baggins, 73 years of age, and Thorin Oakenshield, a sturdy 217 dwarven years to his back, wandered once more across the fields of the Shire, on a crisp autumn day in 1363 by Shire Reckoning.
As they wandered along beside their ponies, they hummed an old walking song - an old Bilbo Baggins favourite…
Roads go ever ever on,
Over rock and under tree,
By caves where never sun has shone,
By streams that never find the sea,
Over snow by winter sown,
And through the merry flowers of June,
Over grass and over stone,
And under mountains in the moon.
Roads go ever ever on,
Under cloud and under star,
Yet feet that wandering have gone,
Turn at last to home afar.
Eyes that wide a world have seen,
And halls of wood and stone,
Look at last on meadows green,
And trees and hills they long… have… known…
“It is good to see the Shire again.” Bilbo sighed at the end of his song, eyes wandering once more across the sight of old Hobbiton, across the river by the bridge, and up the hill so alone it was only ever known as the Hill.
“It is a fair land you left behind for me.” Thorin agreed, a depth of memories and old conversations laid like ancient treasures beneath his words. “I will never be less grateful, ‘til the end of my days.”
Bilbo chuckled an old laugh, recognising an old tale, often retold, yet never so old as to stop warming his very soul.
“I knew there was time for a while.” he reminded his ancient husband, and smiled at him with a twinkle to his eye. “Once the Battle had been survived, there were no more dangers left in the world to keep us from reaching a ripe old age, by my lived experience, and what a waste it would have been to spend those many, many decades alone…”
…which were words too sweet to ignore, even for an old dwarf in his third century.
Surrounded by the dragonflies of the Bywater, and bathed in the orange light of a slow, autumn sunset, the dwarf lifted one hand to a dimpled cheek and drew his hobbit close, and as a beard once dark, but now quite grey, hugged those cheeks in warmth, Bilbo Baggins sighed into another soft kiss, warmed by the memories of a million more which had come before, his heart still beating a little faster to think there might be a million more left to be known.
His husband’s kisses were one thing which never grew too old at all.
*~~*~~*~~*
Returning to Bag End had been a long-time decision and they lived there for quite some time. It was in Bag End Frodo Baggins was eventually born in 1368 by Shire Reckoning. Primula Brandybuck and Drogo Baggins had been quite happy to spend their final weeks of pregnancy in the company of two doting, old uncles, with plenty of room to spare, once Bilbo invited.
It was then quite naturally in Bag End Frodo spent half his time, hounding his uncles for tales of the outside world, and it was Bag End he moved into when the accident eventually, unavoidably occurred.
Bilbo had suggested Primula give up boating.
Primula had suggested Bilbo give up Thorin.
They had eventually made peace, each choosing to enjoy what was to be enjoyed and allow the other to live the life they had chosen to live.
It did not keep Bilbo from crying bitter tears into Thorin’s beard for years after the event, but it had given them years of happy memories and good times to re-tell whenever Frodo came to their door at night, asking for stories about his parents…
*~~*~~*~~*
“I am calling a quest.” Balin told them one night, some years later, visiting the Shire on a journey. Frodo had been very curious about their dwarrow guest, but also busy enough as a tweenager to leave them all for an adult conversation to run along into the evening with his friends. “A quest to retake Khazad Dun.” Balin specified, calmly sipping his ale.
They were words Bilbo had waited for, and some preparations had been made, but others had been impossible to make, as Bilbo and Thorin both had grown quite unwilling to leave Frodo behind for what was quite possibly another very dangerous quest.
“You are set?” Thorin asked, eyes strong above a glass of red wine. “It was not renamed Moria for no reason.” he reminded his cousin, darkly.
“Aye.” Balin confirmed, voice deep with conviction. “It is time. I do not grow younger, nor any less keen to see the home of Dûrin the Deathless and the source of our mithril. I would craft with it, if only the once, before my dying day, and that is my wish.”
“It is a worthy wish.” Thorin commended with a nod.
Wise from his long, long life, Bilbo did not try to dissuade his old friend. He had learned the hard way that some things were not his to decide. He had, however, made some friends in his time, including one whose invitations had included a visit to a mirror, which had shown him a path to a safer future than he had once feared.
“You must convince Gandalf to join your adventure.” he told the old dwarf, picking idly at a seedcake he no longer wanted to eat. “There is something in the mines which only he could face.”
Thorin and Balin looked at the old hobbit with haunted eyes and they nodded agreement to the strangely specific request. Though they knew he had run out of years twice lived some years ago, he had also been worthy of their trust for many a strange request in the years both before and since. He might not know as much from living life again as he once had, but Bilbo Baggins remained one of the wisest of their advisors and his research into the world had only increased since his retirement.
If Bilbo Baggins said a danger awaited in Moria which only Gandalf could defeat, then a danger awaited indeed.
“My cousin Adalgrim has grown restless in recent years. If he were to join your quest, he might convince the wizard, as well.” Bilbo suggested, carefully. “Gandalf is very fond of travelling with hobbits.”
“Adalgrim Took?” Thorin asked, curious. “Is he not ten years older than even you, my breath?”
Even decades later, the endearment still left a warmth within Bilbo’s chest and he answered with a soft smile. “Oh, yes. Adalgrim Took is quite a bit older than me, and just as much an odd combination of Baggins and Took, as his mother is Rosa Baggins, my own father’s cousin.” Bilbo admitted, cheerfully. “However, this only makes his feet itch all the worse. He has cried out quite frequently during these past few years, that I was wise to go travelling like a proper Took and find myself a dwarf to marry, for in all his years of Baggins propriety, he has yet to make his mark and does not believe he will, either, until a Took adventure has been had.”
“Is there such a thing?” Balin questioned, voice light with curiousity and drink. “Do all Tooks leave on adventures, then?”
“Oh, not at all.” Bilbo admitted lightly. “In fact, adventuring is rarely something to be bragged about amongst hobbits and often something to hide, to be polite, but I believe he might have caught sight of our treasure chest from the troll den, where it stands in our hall, and plans to find one of his own to share mathoms from. His son has already begun to bring him grandchildren and his youngest daughter was recently engaged to a Brandybuck. Wishing to offer them a few brighter gifts could well bring out the adventurer in him, at least for a short while.”
The dwarf hummed and Thorin chuckled at the deviousness of his husband, still so potent after many, many years. He had wondered at leaving the chest out in the open, the lid opened just so, for a few days every year, but those had indeed been the days Bilbo’s unwise cousin had come to visit, throwing long eyes to the side.
“I shall need an introduction.” Balin drawled, sipping his ale comfortably.
“You shall have one.” Bilbo promised, and the very next day they were introduced.
*~~*~~*~~*
Moria was not won. A great evil had risen from the depths and chased the adventurers out, Gandalf buying them time to run with his fall.
It would be three months before anyone saw Gandalf again.
Balin’s dwarves took the time to map out the surrounding mountainsides, as Bilbo’s reassurances had promised them another chance in the future.
*~~*~~*~~*
“...through fire, and water; from the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought him, the balrog of Morgoth.” Gandalf announced to the crowd, as dwarves, and elves, and hobbits sat crowded around the Party Tree, gathered in celebration of the return of an old friend. “...until at last, I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside.”
Alatáriel had sent word ahead of the returning wizard, giving Bilbo the opportunity to invite quite a few of the wizard’s old companions from both quests, under the guise of throwing a summer party - which really was a rather common affair to the hobbits of the Shire.
It had been a great relief when the wizard had wandered into the crowd, leaning quite heavily on his walking staff, to take a seat by the fire and offer his story for a drink.
“Darkness took me.” Gandalf shared to the breathless crowd, then took a sip of his ale. “...and I strayed out of thought, and time. Stars wheeled overhead, and every day was as long as a life age in the earth… but it was not the end. I felt life in me again.” Gandalf drained his cup. “I’ve been sent back, to continue my task. I only hope there are still those among you who will help me.”
There was a silence at the end of his tale, as everybody allowed his declaration to sink in.
“...what is your task?” Bilbo finally asked, holding his own cup in both hands, feeling quite small between dwarves and elves and a wizard.
“To keep an eye out for further traces of Morgoth and his evil.” Gandalf declared. “I have not seen much for many years, but the balrog was one of his, as was Smaug, and there might be more traces yet. Something stirred in the Mirkwood all those years ago, though it fled when you retook Erebor, Thorin. I believe it might fear you, or it did some fifty years ago. We must remain ever vigilant.”
“Aye.” Thorin agreed, his deep voice slowly growing rough from old age. “And in my place, Filí now watches the east, with Daín’s brood ready to answer his call, at need. But tonight, we celebrate as my husband intended. You have won a victory, old friend, and victories should never go without cheer. To the wizard!”
Old he might be, and growing older, but as Thorin called out for a cheer, the crowd answered and Gandalf’s victory was celebrated along with his return…
*~~*~~*~~*
Bilbo celebrated his hundredth birthday a year later and Thorin his two hundred and fifthieth another six years after that and great was the amazement amongst all of their friends, as they both lived to see years even beyond that…
*~~*~~*~~*
Thorin and Bilbo were blessed with many years in Bag End, and many years with Frodo by their side, before danger returned to their sides once more.
It was the year 1401 by Shire Reckoning and Frodo Baggins was coming of age as a hobbit, when one of his mathoms, an old ring from his uncle, revealed an old secret to a fire.
After some research and a few years, Gandalf requested one final quest.
At the time, Bilbo had grown to a hundred and twenty and wore a new ring on his hand - a mithril band set with emeralds and topaz, which he had received from Thorin as payment of an old bet. They both still remembered the taste of the old Took Firebrandy they had shared on Thorin’s two hundred and sixthieth, a few years before.
They were old.
Too old for a quest to Mordor.
In the end, Frodo volunteered for that quest as much to save his uncles as to save the world itself and a Fellowship was formed from Rivendell to protect him.
The Fellowship included the sons of Thranduil and Gloín and Gloín became a dear friend to confide in and worry with while the old hobbit and even older dwarf waited for the quest to reach its natural end.
News eventually reached them, of an uprising of ents and a gathering of eagles. Erebor stood strong against the hordes of the north, with Beorn’s people and the Greenwood on their side. Alatáriel spread her protections wide, keeping evil from entering or even passing by her woods. Word of Saruman’s betrayal was bad, and his corruption of Rohan brought great concern, but word soon followed of a union of Men and of a forgotten king risen again.
Bilbo spent more time in bed than out of it by then and, as the world outside crumbled and rebuilt, Thorin feared a very different end, Gloín’s hand never far from his shoulder…
*~~*~~*~~*
“...you look like you've seen death.” Bilbo whispered from beneath elven sheets.
“Aye, but I have.” Thorin rumbled, a small smile hidden beneath his beard. “And you were there, by my side, every step of the way…”
Bilbo’s skin had the texture of fine parchment within Thorin’s hand, but his fingers wrapped around Thorin’s with a comforting strength as the dwarf lifted the smaller hand to his lips.
It was a kiss amongst thousands, and yet the sweetest of them all, for within that kiss lay a history of battles fought, of journeys made, and thousands upon thousands of moments shared.
Bilbo Baggins did not die in that bed that night, nor the next, nor the next after that.
He would live on for many years more, but not until the destruction of the ring could he walk about, breathing freely, once more.
It was a very good morning the day Sauron died.
*~~*~~*~~*
Thorin Oakenshield was a very old dwarf when Frodo returned and Bilbo Baggins had wrinkled almost beyond recognition.
They still managed a good round of hugs at the look of his face and, even though nothing was the same, hugs from his uncles still helped with Frodo’s pain.
*~~*~~*~~*
It is part of the story that Bilbo Baggins lived to the ripe old age of one hundred and thirty-one, which was several years after Frodo’s return.
Of Thorin Oakenshield, it can only be said that he was never expected to grow older than two hundred and fifty. Merely reaching the age of two hundred and sixty had been a blessing, indeed. The blessing ended on Bilbo’s dying day, leaving two old bodies, side by side, in an elvenhome bed.
Such events inevitably give rise to legends, but Frodo Baggins recorded only two lines in the eventual book of his life:
As the first rays of sunshine reached their noses, they had already given up their last breath. May Yavannah guide them and the Stone Father accept them.
*~~*~~*~~*
In a hole in the ground, there once lived a hobbit.
His story was often retold.
He had been son to a Took and a Baggins, and inherited much from both.
They say he made friends with the tall folk and married a king and a dwarf.
They say he knew some of the future, though none could quite agree how.
His name was Bilbo Baggins and he was one who carried the ring.
He was known as king consort of Erebor and known to have wandered back home.
He was one who raised Frodo Baggins, the hobbit who saved the world.
He died in the arms of his dwarrow, and by his dwarrow he still can be found.
So goes the ballad of Bilbo, the hobbit who changed it all…
*~~*~~*~~*
– End –
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