Now I have a sad.

Also I have a headcannon that since Dwarves call their significant other their 'One', maybe Hobbits would call their significant other their 'Sun'. Y'know, 'cause Hobbits do very much like the sun.

Idk. I hope you like.

Sapphires in the Firelight

My dear Frodo,

You asked me once if I had told you everything there was to know about my adventures, and while I can honestly say I have told you the truth...I may not have told you all of it.

So here it is. My confession. Here I shall note the words I have kept buried deep within my soul, wrapped so tightly in countless layers of regret and heartbreak I oft felt I may snap from the strain of it all.

I am a very old Hobbit now lad. My face is lined like spiderwebs caught in the sunrise, and I rather think my hair is beginning to resemble a particularly misshapen cloud. Oh how often you tease me about my aging bones, and I laugh so heartily because I remember a time when two cheeky princelings shared their own jokes at their elders' expense. A time when the world seemed that much brighter.

There is a Hobbit saying; no doubt you have heard it from time to time. It is said you're apt to leave a piece of yourself behind when charging off on adventures. I think perhaps this much is true, for I was very much a changed Hobbit when I returned from my own adventures.

For a long while after my return, the world was bleak. I wallowed in a monotonous routine I cared little for, dwelling upon memories. Perhaps I may not have grown so old had you, my dear child, not stepped into my life. You engulfed my sorrow in your boundless energy and lifted me into a happiness a dared not ever hope to feel again.

For this kindness, I believe I do owe you the full truth.

You have heard the whispers of course. Even today, those that are left still gossip over their fences, hissing into ears like particularly annoying serpents.

"Mad Baggins of Bag-End, raising a child! How irregular."

"A pity really. He used to be such a respectable young lad. All those horrid adventures turned him terribly odd, so it be said."

"All these years he's never even married, and now he's taking care of a fauntling! It's madness I tell you."

I have maintained my silence all these years. Admitting the truth out loud was something I could not bring myself to say, lest my heart be again cleaved in two.

I did indeed return changed, for no longer was I a bachelor.

Once Frodo, oh once, I was handed a shirt of silver steel amidst the golden glow of crystal lanterns and blazing forges, staring into those eyes that will forever linger in my dreams, burnished sapphires set ablaze in the firelight and framed in rich midnight braids. Unspoken vows were passed between us then. To give them words seemed dangerous, as though the world might shatter at the slightest reverent whisper to pass between our lips.

We confessed not with words, but with sweet, haunting glances and the pained gasps of Death's cold grip. We said nothing of it in those tender moments in the firelight, and we said nothing of it as blood oozed over the bitter ice and shuddering breaths did breathe their last.

Now, in what perhaps will be my final hours in life, I shall speak the words I sealed away deep.

I, Bilbo Baggins of Bag-End, The Shire…did marry the Dwarrow King Under The Mountain, Thorin Oakenshield.

I married him mere hours before he fell in battle.

I held my Sun as the beautiful azure light faded from his eyes. I wept as he grew still and his breath ended. I begged and pleaded to the falling snow to bring him back to me when he began to grow cold in my arms.

I screamed to the copper-tang filled air for hours, unable to let go of his body, even as his kin came to bring him home.

And now, dear Frodo, I weep because I never got to say those five simple words that sat upon my foolish heart in the many months we journeyed together.

I love you, Thorin Oakenshield.