Chapter Text
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas
Bilbo’s eyes searched the small crowd as their boat docked at last on the shores of the Undying lands. He hadn’t raised the question with Gandalf, fearing the answer he would be given. The hope with which he had set sail now withered in his chest when his search came up empty.
He wasn’t here.
A firm hand on his shoulder reminded him of his companions and, giving one nod to Elrond who stood by him, he slowly walked down the ramp towards the docks, leaning heavily on his stick as he felt his joints protest.
The faces that stood above him were that of elves, the small party that had assembled to welcome the last elves to their new home. Many of them looked down on him and nodded their heads in acknowledgement of him and his nephew Frodo who had just caught up with him. The boy had been deep in conversation with Gandalf about something, of what he knew not, they all seemed to have their own secrets.
As did he.
He barely paid notice to the muttering or voices around him, it was of little consequence no doubt and he simply wanted to find somewhere where he could finally sit and get comfortable. Comfort was hard sought after these days.
But as he raised his head to finally take in his surrounding, something stirred within his chest. A deep longing and something akin to sadness.
“See mountains again…” he muttered to himself as he saw that they were surrounded by peaks that stretched far into the north and south. Far removed from the mountain that he knew.
A chuckle resonated from behind him, one that he recognised as Gandalf’s. “Behold the Pelori Mountains,” he said, “They stretch around the coasts of these lands, sheltering the heart of this land from the turmoil outside of its borders.”
Looking to his side, he saw Frodo gazing around him in awe but also carrying the ghost of memories that Bilbo did. Bilbo had not been the only one to see mountains after all.
“Our home,” Frodo sighed, casting a smile down at Bilbo who did his best to return it.
No, Bilbo thought to himself, home was now behind him. A new world was ahead.
And it wasn’t quite home yet.
*
It wasn’t until they were sat within the halls of a villa set by the shore that Gandalf approached him with an unusual proposition.
Bilbo gazed down at his wrinkled hands that were illuminated by the fire in the hearth. His skin was far more papery than he would have liked, his joints too swollen and painful for him to comfortably grasp a book anymore. The elves had offered to read to him but it wasn’t the same. Reading was a private thing, one meant for the solitude of one’s own mind. Hearing the words just didn’t paint the same picture as reading them did.
And he’d long given up smoking before Frodo had returned from his journey. As his chest ached with the barest of breaths, he found he could take no more pleasure in that which he’d once greatly enjoyed.
“I hope you didn’t think you could keep this from me,” Gandalf said as he sat down in the empty armchair, next to Frodo.
Bilbo didn’t need to see to know the remark had been directed at him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bilbo said as casually as he was able.
“Oh you know perfectly well Bilbo Baggins. You have been keeping this a secret for far too long!” There was no malice within his tone. An ounce of concern was there, hidden with his insistence of an answer.
“Uncle, what is he talking about?” Frodo asked gently, forcing Bilbo to look at them both sternly.
He rested his arms on the arms of his chair. “What does it matter?” he bit out, “Whatever has happened, I put behind me.”
“But what about your feelings?” Gandalf asked, “Have you put those behind you?”
Bilbo’s anger sank but his resolve faded little. “What gain do you seek by opening past wounds?” he asked quietly, turning his eyes back to the fire so he wouldn’t have to see Frodo’s worry and concern. His past needn’t be burned on his poor nephew who had already endured so much.
“A chance of putting things to right.”
“Don’t,” Bilbo said firmly, his anger and sadness returning as he fixed his eyes on Gandalf’s kinder eyes. “There is no bringing back the dead. I know that, you know that, the whole population of middle earth knows that! Do not offer false hope when there is none.”
“Can this wait?” Frodo asked Gandalf, “You’re just upsetting him. I don’t know what this is about but it surely cannot be worth the anguish that my uncle clearly feels on the matter.”
Gandalf smiled gently. “Your concern for your uncle is admirable. But trust me when I say that his anguish will not end unless he hears me out.”
“What can be worth such pain?” Frodo asked, looking between Gandalf and his uncle.
Bilbo threw Gandalf a look, warning the wizard not to speak, but of course, he did anyway.
“Love,” he answered and Bilbo gritted his teeth as he refused to let past memories stir in his mind and heart.
“Love?” Frodo repeated confused, “But Bilbo has remained a bachelor all his life… hasn’t he?”
“Technically yes,” Gandalf replied hesitantly, noting the anger and pain Bilbo threw at him. “But that does not mean he never loved.”
Bilbo hung his head, he didn’t want to hear this. It was too much.
“Bilbo?”
Taking a deep breath, he realised there was no keeping it quiet now. Not now that Gandalf had excited that familiar Tookish curiosity within his nephew.
“How long have you known?” he asked Gandalf.
“Not long,” he replied, “I always suspected, but it wasn’t until Galadriel alerted me to your tortured soul that it all finally clicked.”
Bilbo nodded, “Do you remember the King from my adventure, Frodo?”
“Thorin? Yes, how could I forget? He always seemed quite grouchy in your tale,” Frodo said.
A small smile played at Bilbo’s lips, “I perhaps paid him a disservice in writing him so. He was a short tempered dwarf, as many were, especially with me at the start… but there was a kindness in him, and- a-and more love than anyone knew.”
“So you and him…”
Bilbo shook his head, “I loved him, more fiercely than anyone I have ever known. And I didn’t know it, truly, until we reached the mountain and I lost him piece by piece. First his mind, and then his body. I am just thankful his mind returned to him before the end, so that I could part from him in friendship if nothing else.” Taking a shuddering breath, he added, “I do not know if he even- if he even felt the same, well I assumed he didn’t. But I couldn’t even bring myself to ask at the end.”
Tears streamed from his eyes before he could catch them, falling silently down his cheeks. He’d never voiced this to anyone, and to do so made it feel simultaneously surreal and far too real at the same time.
Arms enveloped him before he curled in on himself and he sobbed into Frodo’s shoulder, who he hadn’t seen or heard get up.
“I’m so sorry uncle,” he said soothingly, gently rubbing Bilbo’s back as he calmed down.
Bilbo rubbed his nose as they pulled out of their embrace, Frodo remaining by his elbow.
Gandalf had been watching the scene quietly and Bilbo finally turned to him. But Gandalf spoke before he could. “It is not with cruelty that I bring this to you Bilbo,” he soothed, “I have spoken with Galadriel and we believe that all is not lost.”
“The dead can’t come back Gandalf,” Bilbo repeated.
“No they can’t,” Gandalf agreed, “But the living may seek them out.”
*
“This is ridiculous Gandalf,” Bilbo grumbled after Gandalf had explained his plan, “This is a journey for a younger hobbit, I cannot do it like this.” But even he couldn’t help but feel a pang a hope against the cold hatred of the restrictions his body placed on him.
“I could do it!” Frodo insisted, sitting forward.
“No,” Gandalf protested, “Only Bilbo can do this, and he must do this alone lest we are all put in danger. As for your body Bilbo, Galadriel will be able to temporarily restore your youth but the enchantment will only last a week. You have until then to find Thorin’s soul.”
“And if he doesn’t want to be found?” Bilbo asked. Did he have the right to go disturbing the dead? What if Thorin was happier in his halls?
“I never said this would be easy,” Gandalf said, “Mandos does not take kindly to that causing disorder within his realm and he may try to stop you. Keep to the paths and you shall find what you seek.”
Bilbo smiled, “I remember the last time you told us not to stray from the path. That hardly worked out,” Bilbo reminded him, thinking back to the dark days of Mirkwood.
“No… but this place is not like those dark forests,” Gandalf warned, “I have passed through that place myself and it is only by the grace of the valar and Eru that I returned.”
Hardly comforting. “And what about Frodo?” Bilbo asked, meeting his nephew’s worried eyes.
“We shall travel to the pastures of Yavanna where many of your family now reside,” Gandalf said. Belladonna and Bungo… Drogo and Primula…
He would see them again, but there was one more trip he had to make. One last adventure.
*
After having his youth restored by Galadriel, in some form of hokey-pokery that would have set the Shire in uproar, Bilbo spent some time getting used to his younger self again. He still made himself jump every time he looked in the mirror and saw half a stranger staring back at him but there was little time for him to linger on the shore’s of the undying lands. Time was running out every moment he spent waiting.
And so he spent no longer where he was, he packed his bags, bid farewell to his companions and set off along the path which Gandalf had directed him onto, leaving him with a crude map which would aid him on his way.
Looking down at the map clutched in one of his hands, he was distinctly reminded of the map he’d left in his study. There had been no room for such personal possessions, and he’d mainly kept it as a memory of Thorin, and of their adventure.
But if he was successful, an item of memorabilia may not be necessary.
They had made port at the Bay of Eldamar, forcing Bilbo to take the Pass of light towards where Gandalf had assured was an entrance to the underground network that led to the Halls of Mandos, and it would certainly be quicker than walking across the terrain above ground. And should he not become trapped there, he would have plenty of time to do more sightseeing when he returned.
He didn’t come across many people, elves or otherwise on his journey, he figured they must all be in the great cities that he’d heard tell about. In any case, it favoured him greatly. Gandalf had warned him that there may be those that try to stop him, and it may be harder to tell friend from foe than he’d first assume.
No, it would be best if Bilbo trusted no-one at all, not until he met his goal.
*
It took him two days to reach the hidden passage, and the ever ticking of time had weighed heavy on him for he had only 5 days left to complete the task. And time bended strangely in the pathway to the dead, Gandalf had told him, not just because there was no way to tell the time of day, but also because the realm was not truly set within the lands of the Valar.
The passage was marked out just as Gandalf had told him, a stone archway set in the middle of a circle of stone. To outsider, it would look like a ruin of some kind, an ancient settlement or place of ritual which had long since been used. But Bilbo saw the runes etched into the stone, reminiscent of the ones he’d seen in Erebor, but these were much more elven in nature.
Stepping within the circle, Bilbo shuddered even though there was no breeze. In fact, the air within the circle was suspiciously still. A mark of magic, Bilbo thought to himself, walking to stand in front of the archway.
He took one last appreciative look of his surroundings, this may be the last daylight he sees in a while. And the last time he can truly trust what he sees in front of his eyes.
Having seen no-one was watching him, Bilbo said clearly in elvish, the words Gandalf had made him practise, “I seek that which is passed, and come as friend to all, for I am no servant of Melkor!”
After a bated breath, Bilbo was about to try again, believing he must have gotten a word or pronunciation wrong. But then the archway shimmered, giving the appearance of a veil held over it.
And without daring to waste a second more, Bilbo stepped through…
Entering the halls of the Dead.