Bilbo was old. Much older than the young, spry hobbit that had set out on a journey so long ago. Scars he didn't have before covered his wrinkled hands, and his eyes were dark with worry, sorrow, joy, and love. His hands were shaky now, his hair gray. And, he loved food as much as ever.

Bilbo sat down, waiting for his tea to boil, at an old table, scratched all over with marks from dwarves scraping plates over it. He fondly traced the marks with his forefinger. Oh, the memories. Tears glistened in his eyes. Suddenly, there came a knock. A quiet knock, but a knock.

Bilbo got up, leaning heavily on his cane. He made his way to the door, eyes shining. Carefully, he turned the knob. The door opened. A crackly voice came from outside. Bilbo flung the door wide, and hobbled out. There, outlined against the sun, stood a bent figure. A dwarf. A dwarf he knew.

Thudding came the sound of the dwarf's cane on the floor. His beard was so long it swept his belly. His hat made a strange shadow on the ground. His smile stretched wide, crinkling his bright eyes.

"Oh, Bofur." sighed Bilbo, chuckling to himself through his tears. "I never thought I'd see you again!"

"Aye." said the dwarf, smile as wide and warm as the sun. "Me neither, but here I am!"

Then, he took Bilbo by the shoulders. "The others will be here soon." he laughed.

Then, he looked at Bilbo, looking him up and down. His lower lip quivered as if he was about to cry, and tears shone in his eyes. "And... I hope we aren't late for tea." Then his brown eyes overflowed and he gathered his old friend in a tight hug.