"A letter to Thorin Oakenshield."
Or: Bilbo writes a letter while in the Undying Lands.
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You might want to excuse any mistakes when writing this letter, as well as the quivering ink. It's been too long a time since you last saw me write anything, indeed, and age does not forgive anyone! I have reached more than 131 years, after all, and I have very much lost count of days, weeks and years since I got here.
You see, I might sound absurd when I tell you why I'm writing this letter. I met you when I was 50, said goodbye to you when I was 51. More than double my age back then has passed since that awful war, and I have only thought about how delightful it would be if, one day, you suddenly knocked at my door as you once did — hopefully, without the need of queer signs nor the company of too many dwarves for my humble home... and my humble pastry. The many stories I could tell you! You know me, a good Baggins never strays too far from home, but my Tookish self has led me, since I turned my back to your rightful home and returned to mine, through many walks and even risky moments such as my dear Frodo!
You might be asking yourself who Frodo is, and I shall answer: my nephew. My dear nephew, the new hero of our age, as I have heard; I may be old, but these ears still work quite well and these undying landscapes have gifted me some health back. Oh, Frodo! You would have loved him as much as you agreed to my presence — as proper as any Hobbit should be, mind you, but with a heart worth more than your mithril. I am not exaggerating, my dear Thorin, and you are aware of that because I bluff but never lie
I promised myself I would be honest when writing this. My memories are all muddled up, even now, and yet I remember vividly when Frodo came to me. It was not mercy that moved me, Thorin, but the need to find a new journey in my life. The burning desire of something that would distract me from your
I am silly, am I not? Crossing out all these words. Not starting in a new paper. Silly Bilbo, as always!
As I was saying, Frodo is my nephew, or sort of, son of some cousins. I took him in, and we share birthday! You should have heard the tales about me and my gold from our adventure, Thorin — your and mine, I mean. I raised Frodo as a proper Hobbit, a Baggins, and his heart dwelled in the Shire until it couldn't any longer. It was my fault.
Frodo is such a sweet child. Even as we came here, with the Elves, he kept smiling with painful eyes, buried in the sorrow of needing healing that the land wouldn't give him. Oh, Thorin, I am so guilty of this, and yet I cannot say it to no one, even if everyone knows! I'm such a fool, indeed, because I lied to all of you. I am no burglar, Thorin, just a fool that riddled against a foregone creature and took a Ring with him. A small trinket, I thought, that granted invisibility — and turned out to be the Ring of the Dark Lord! Imagine my face when I found out in Rivendell, and the moment my dear sweet Frodo took my place.
Sometimes I look at him, you know? I see his longing for his friends, his beloved, and my guts turn around. My heart aches because if I had never taken that Ring, if I had known better, such sorrow would be mine — I would have travelled to another adventure and spared him this suffering. But, at the same time, I'm so selfish, because that Ring let me finish our journey and save you all to bring you to Erebor.
No, I'm not crossing that out. I've been told that you are somewhere in these lands — that there are some halls in which you live now, waiting for something I don't understand, surrounded by your family and friends. I've heard that you remain there, a mere soul waiting and waiting, and I am sure you are elated to see your loved ones. Yours was a life of suffering, Thorin, and up to the end I never truly understood — now that I see my nephew's lifeless life, I get that sense of guilt only an uncle can get for the sorrow they brought upon their family.
I am rambling again, and I have no strength for much more. I will end this letter soon, I promise. I don't know how or if it will reach you, Thorin. I can only hope that you will read my name on the envelope and open it — we parted our ways in tragedy.
I hate myself for not doing more.
I used to wake up and hope it was all a nightmare. Now, I feel like I'm in a dream and wish to wake up with you in those marvelous halls. I have no idea what awaits me once my body gives up — do I have a soul? Will I wander without rest? Can I sneak into your halls, with this ugly wrinkled appearance of mine, and hope you embrace me?
I am so sorry for tarnishing this letter. Silly me! So dumb. I am so dumb. I'm still as dumb as I was. As naive as I was. 50 years it took for me to feel more alive than ever after I met you — and more than another 50 years have I forced my feet to continue. You never know where your feet may lead you in your path, and yet I don't wish to stop and look back.
I never got to say what I thought about you. Even now, I dare not to say — no words would suffice for those months I accompanied you and the Company. I found joy, dread, fear. Courage, a courage I never knew I had, and a courage that abandoned me when your eyes lost their light. Your eyes, Thorin, always hiding what you felt, and yet being so pristine clear to me in moments I could never share, not even in my book about my journey with you lot! That's how much I treasure them.
Even worse than ever, I never got to say how I felt about you. I guessed you knew it — sometimes so sharp, sometimes so oblivious. And I knew how you felt too. Therefore, I've remained faithful, Thorin, and kept my mithril shirt — well, until I gave it to Frodo, and, funny enough, you saved my nephew. My dear boy. The way I found to fill my life with someone I could care for, that I could sometimes fantasise was somehow our boy because he has blue eyes and dark hair...
I said I was selfish when I took in Frodo. I love him. I love him as a father could love a son. And I also love him as the same father who has lost their partner and remains a widower. Because I lost you.
The courage that failed me when I was next to you as you took your last breath is now brimming through my veins to write all this. Do I wish to send this mess of a letter? Yes. Yes, because my time is clocking by. I am a mortal in the middle of those who cannot die, Thorin. I know I'm leaving Frodo behind, yet am unaware of where to go.
Do you think I can push my way to your halls? At least to see you one last time before I, maybe, become one with the void once more. I am known for being convincing.
My wrist aches, and my tears won't stop flowing. I must beg for forgiveness if there is any smudge. I cannot continue writing any longer. Do send back something if you get this. I don't know how.
Say hello to Fíli and Kíli. And Balin. Óin. Ori. And anyone who passed away before me. I miss you all. I love you all.
Bilbo Baggins, who wished to be your Consort Under the Mountain
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