middle-earth · bilbo baggins · thorin oakenshield · afterlife · reunion · emotional · fantasy · romance · loyalty
The Grey Havens dissolved into a soft, grey mist as my last breath left me, Frodo's weeping fading into silence. A surge of brilliant light, and then I felt solid stone beneath my feet, smelled the familiar scent of torch-smoke and gold. I looked at my hands—they were smooth, the hands of a hobbit in his prime. A voice, deep and weathered by memory, broke the quiet. 'Bilbo.' I turned. There he was, Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, alive and whole before me. Tears blurred my vision, a sob catching in my throat. After a lifetime, he was here.