The road goes ever on

"Don’t worry, Bilbo," Fili said quietly, not quite sounding as assuring as he had hoped he would,"It will get better. I am sure of it."

“I suppose you're right. It's just that these past few days have been absolutely dreadful.”

    Being cooped up here in Erebor and dealing with Thorin's growing paranoia was starting to wear all of them down. It wasn't until now that Bilbo realized that out of everyone present, he had the least to complain. He sighed softly, nodding his head a couple of times before speaking again.

          Thoughts of home had lingered in her mind. She had been through so much even before the battle had begun. She had saved not only Kili but the children and the others as well from the great dragon Smaug’s wrath. She knew that she would have to get them to safety, after all, there was no weapon that could pierce a dragon’s hide, that was until she saw it die. She watched as it’s fire deminished and the great Smaug came crashing down into the lake below, never to breath another breathe again. That was a sight she would never forget but only after did she hear those words, the words that cemented her feelings inside of her. They might have been spoken in his language but she knew them and in her heart, she understood them. She loved him and he, her. He made her a promise. He promised to return to her and yet, that promise was not fullfilled and for a hesitant of a moment, she reached for the token only to remember that he laid clutched in his hand in the ground with him, a lover’s kiss placed upon it’s smooth surface and her pain had returned in full force.

          If it were possible, there would have been a light smile placed upon her gentle lips as he handed over the bag, she took it with ease, slinging it across her shoulder and realizing just what she was doing in that moment. The bag felt light, despite knowing that it was truly not. However, it was nothing more than a tool to her. A tool to keep the grief at bay. She did not want to face it any longer. She no longer wanted to deal with the pain that engulfed her body. The loss of her lover. Nor did she desire to let herself be swallowed whole by something that was so real and so short lived. The bag represented so much more than what it truly was for her. This was guilt but it was also greif. She watched her men, no, her friends lay down their lives in a battle they did not know would happen and she watched her closest allies die before her. Death was not unknown to her, yet, this time, she had felt as if she had never seen such a sight before.

"Indeed. A warrior’s death. They will surely be welcomed at the gates of Valhalla with a warm smile from those that are waiting for them.”

          There was comfort hidden behind her words, at least, comfort for an Elf. One did not die, they simply moved on to Valhalla where their loved ones and friends awaited their arrival but was it the same for everyone? Did Thorin, the Dwarven King, show up there? Did Fili and Kili find each other again in the after life or where they alone? Would she ever find Kili and her parents when that fateful day would finally arrive for her? And would Bilbo, the young hobbit beside her, be reunited with his friends when his time came? All questions that she knew would never be answered, nor would they ever be voiced in words, instead, she shifted the bag on her shoulder, keeping in pace with the other two.

"You are quite right. However, they died for what they believed in. None of them deserved such a tragic ending, but I believe they will live on in starlight and in memory.”

“In Starlight, hm? Yes, I am certain that they will. They won't soon be forgotten.”

    He also had to admit that was a lovely sentiment. There was a weight behind those words, signifying that the statement was important to Tauriel. Their meaning lost on him, but the impact was more than clear. It was suiting for him, too. The sky had been clear the night the dwarves appeared on his doorstep, with the moon and stars shining bright behind them. His hand still in his pocket, Bilbo's fingers closed around the acorn. Plant your tree. the words echoed in his mind. That was exactly what he'd do. The oak tree that would grow from this would stand in memory of Thorin, of Fíli and Kíli-- a memorial of sorts, and a testament to this incredible adventure. Heartbreaking as it had proven to be.

    He found himself smiling. Still a tired and fragile display, full of sadness, but holding less pain than before. The time that Bilbo had gotten to spent with the company could never be taken from him nor would it be forgotten. The tree he'd grow would only help him remember. There was comfort to be found in that. Ah, but the same could not be said for Tauriel, could it? Hazel eyes turned her way. She mourned as he did, he knew that much.

“You loved him.”

    the words were out before he knew it, spoken softly.

"It might not be much, but would you care for help carrying those?" 

          There was a pause in her voice then,           debating here if she should explain herself           or let the thought linger. Would they ask or was           it wrote across her face clear as day? 

"I am sorry for you loss, Mellon. Many died today that did not deserve such a fate."

          She had fought in battles before, she had watched           both her kin and orc and what have you die before           her eyes and each loss was a great hit to her heart,           yet, she had never experienced such a pain before.           If this was how love felt, then she did not want it.           She did not desire it any longer and she questioned           how long this pain would last.

    Throughout the entirety of this journey, that had been the one word that had always offered the hobbit a sense of comfort. The memory of Bag End had always been a warm and happy one. It was a place of peace and quite. Often Bilbo had dreamed about returning, runing away from this adventure to the safety of the Shire-- everyone knew that, and eventually they had wished him nothing but the best. Even Thorin in his darkest hour had done the same.

    The memory sent his hand reaching for his pocket, fingers brushing against the acorn he had shown Thorin. It was a heavier burden than the bag he carried, representing love and grief in equal amounts. At least for now. Thinking about Thorin was too painful.

    Once all their goodbyes had been said and they had turned their backs to Erebor, Bilbo had fallen into silence. Words would only betray the grief he felt right then, something he did not think he was ready for. Gandalf would offer him a conversation soon enough, when they both knew that he was ready. That was what he had expected, only to be surprised by Tauriel appearing beside them. He lifted his head to gaze up at her, at first uncertain. The words he thought to speak died on his lips. ('Oh? No, please, don't trouble yourself.' 'It's quite alright, I think that I can manage.')

    “That's very kind of you.” Bilbo offered her a small smile, tired and fragile but ever so sincere before surrendering his pack to her. It didn't feel right to let her carry the weight, but he understood that it was easier than trying to carry the grief. 'We take our distractions where we can get them. There is no harm in that, I suppose.

“And I am sorry for yours. They died valiantly, giving their lives so that others may live---”

    Oh how he tried to smile. Covering up the sadness he could feel bubble in the pit of his stomach. Neither smile nor his words helped him there, words trailing off into silence that was followed by a shake of the head.

    Bilbo watched his company pluck at her harp with a certain king of fondness, her smile met by a somber one of his own.

“Ah, yes. You're quite right. It is frightfully easy to lose yourself in such sad feelings, I'm afraid.”

    Lifting his chin, his smile seemed to become warmer.

             If he had rapped upon the door with a fraction of the intensity that his heart beat against his chest, the entirety of the Shire would have been woken up in seconds. Needless to say, he did no such thing, allowing only for his knuckles to graze against the green painted wood. How quickly one forgets the simplest sensations of  h o m e . 

Yet every time a hand found the doorknob,  t r e m o r  after  t r e m o r  rattled his grip loose, and made his skin sting like ice. What he would do to not feel such paralyzing guilt; to be able to carelessly swing open the door like he had so many times before, without the fear of being turned away. Nevertheless, such was the fate of Frodo Baggins, two months g o n e from home. 

                     The need to open the door and be enveloped in familiar orange lamp-light in place of moonlight was thus upon him again, and  shaking fingers tightened around the knob. His mind still entertained the thought of slinking back into the shadows as he willed himself to ever so slightly  t u r n  the doorknob, pushing  s l o w l y  as the deafening creak of the hinges revealed Bag End…

Frodo peered in, motionless. The entrance hall was dark, save for the moonlight splayed here and there across the polished wooden floors. Holding his breath in nervous anticipation –– it was all he could do to stop himself from hyperventilating –– he stiffly approached the light of the parlor. There was no doubt Bilbo was sitting inside (for at such hours he was either in the parlor or the study, as a rule), and the hobbit shuddered to think what he would say at the sight of him, what with his rugged clothes and dirtied face. Probably disown him on the s p o t . 

    Bilbo sat in silence, comfortably leaning back in his armchair by the fire while turning a cup of tea around in his hands. He barely noticed the crackling of the fire anymore, did not hear his own breathing-- slow and steady, with deep tired sighs whenever he let his mind stray to think about the silence that filled up the entirety of Bag End. There had been a time when Bilbo had preferred it this way. Where the silence was a welcome friend-- something to be treasured at the end of a long day.

    And perhaps, for a while, he had managed to find some peace in it the first few days after Frodo had ran off from Bag End. The novelty had worn off rather quickly when the young hobbit did not return after three days, which was when worry reared its head and nagged at him day and night. Frodo's disappearance from home had been something the old hobbit had kept quiet, save for sharing it with a few trusted friends. The last thing they needed was such news spreading trough the Shire. The boy had his reasons, of that Bilbo had no doubt.

             If only he could have just warned him, instead of running off into the blue.

    Every day Bilbo had searched. Yet always close to home, never once expecting that he would find the lad. It was not his place to judge him. If anyone should understand such wanderlust, it had to be him. Intellectually he did understand. Emotionally was a little more difficult. His nephew had become as a son to him, and perhaps that had been what drove Frodo to run away, no doubt hoping to have an adventure of his own. Drawing in another deep breath, he sipped at his tea. Every night he would think about his nephew and wonder where he was and if he would return home. Or maybe Bilbo would wake up one day to find a letter sent by the lad, telling him that he was fine.

    His heart skipped a beat when he heard the great wooden door creak open, the sound of soft footsteps on the tiles following after. Carefully he set down his cup, not making any other move. It had to be Frodo. For who else would approach Bag End at his hour and let themselves in so silently? Relieve washed over the older hobbit upon hearing his nephews voice. Soft though as he spoke, it was unmistakable. Rising from his seat, Bilbo found himself just standing there, taking in the sight of Frodo.

            “Frodo, my lad.”

    Worried though as he looked, a smile broke trough as he crossed the room, putting his arm around the younger's shoulder. He should be angry with the boy-- or scold him. Things he found he could not be or do. Not right then.

            “You look like you've been trough a lot out there. Come, boy, sit.

"You’re so tiny!"

For a moment, Thranduil feared that Bilbo was a dwarf, but he didn’t look like a dwarf. He wasn’t hairy, except for on his feet, which Thranduil found fascinating.

The hobbit was a good deal shorter than the Mirkwood prince, and he found the exclamation humorous. Only a child could be in awe in such an innocent way by such differences. At the second comment, Bilbo did allow himself to chuckle, wriggling his toes in the dirt.

"You are quite right! It keeps my feet warm and protected." he smiled then, giving his feet a fond look.

"Back at my home, everyone has large hairy feet. We are rather proud of them.

[text] and maybe I'm not as drunk as you think I am

[text] fine. I'll leave it.

[text] That doesn't mean anything.

[text] Hold on let me count, I got a couple bottles on the table

[text] or maybe I'm seeing double can't be sure.

Sometimes I forget it’s my turn

Sometimes I have thread bias

Sometimes I can’t match the length of your reply

and other times I will bury you in a wall of text