Rue (A Thorin Oakenshield/Hobbit Fanfiction)

50

Thorin and Talia walked out of the pavilion hand in hand, satisfied with the consensus reached by the council. They had bid their daughter farewell with the Fellowship of the Ring, but they still had one other that they owed their goodbyes to. Their footsteps echoed on the smooth stone as they walked, taking in the serenity of the autumn leaves around them.

The King and Queen paused before an older fellow, sat on a bench overlooking the falls. His hair had gone completely white, though it contained a little bit of its curl from his youth. He had traded in his worn red vest for a cream-colored waistcoat, which matched nicely with the other white apparel the Elves had given him. The hobbit set down his thick red book with a sigh, placing his quill next to it with a shake of a hand that revealed his age. Thorin and Talia only watched as he remained perfectly still, content with the view before him.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Bilbo said, never turning to glance at his company. Though it had been a few decades ago since he last saw them, he would always be able to recognize two of his closest friends.

"You always wanted to come back." Talia agreed, slipping her hand out of Thorin's and moving forward. Ignoring the ache in her bones, she crouched beside Bilbo, kissing his hand and rising again. "It is wonderful to see you, my friend."

"Why, you treat me like royalty!" The hobbit exclaimed, making both of them laugh. Much to Talia's surprise, he sprung up and enveloped her in a warm hug, patting her shoulders in a fond nature. "I think it should be the other way around, should it not?"

"No." Thorin responded, arriving at Bilbo's other shoulder. His smile was as bright as his eyes, visible even past his grey hairs and wrinkles. "We are friends, Master Baggins. You serve no one."

"Thorin!" He chuckled, embracing the King as if the last time he saw him was yesterday. Thorin gladly returned it; if there was one thing dwarves and hobbits had in common, it was their courage to be upfront with their emotions. "I see our years have caught up to the both of us."

"Listen carefully, Master Burglar." Talia warned, chiding the hobbit playfully while gesturing to his finger. "You can point out my husband's grey hairs all you like. But should you say a word of mine, you're dead."

"It wouldn't be the first time I thought such in your company." Bilbo teased back, not missing a beat. "The amount of times I nearly lost my life on that journey should've been enough to scare this hobbit back into his hole."

"Well, we are both grateful that you didn't."

Bilbo smiled at Thorin, offering him and Talia a seat on the stone bench. They sat on either side of the burglar, enjoying the view with him.

"I am a Took, after all, as is Frodo. It makes a great deal of sense; adventure is in my blood."

"As it is in ours." Talia replied, her emerald eyes meeting Bilbo's cinnamon brown ones. Then, she ran her fingers along the red leather cover of his book, extremely interested. "I've always known you were a writer. I remember you and Ori collaborating on his own recollection of the journey, back when I told my story before the troll camp..." She trailed off, beginning to formulate and pose her question. "What is your story, Bilbo?"

"Well, it is of that very same adventure." He patted the cover gently, still looking upon Rivendell. "Only mine never was reborn from the ash like yours. Mine came from less... noble beginnings."

"What do you mean?"

"You were born heir to the throne, Thorin. You had a city, a title, a people... I had my hobbit hole. Still, it is not a tale of nobility. I don't think that can be measured in words." Bilbo spared a glance at Thorin, who reciprocated it with a smile. "Rather, it is a tale of home. Both mine and yours, and why the smallest people can make all the difference in the world."