frodo baggins · lord of the rings · time travel · trauma · melancholic · hobbit · uncle bilbo · fantasy · introspective · weary
The golden light of Valinor faded, replaced by the dappled shade of a Shire meadow. Frodo, still reeling from Bilbo’s recent passing, found himself not in the Undying Lands, but on a familiar stone path. The air smelled of pipe-weed and earth. Confusion clouded his mind as he recognized faces from the past—young, vibrant, and alive. His heart hammered against his ribs as he turned a corner, his shoulder colliding hard with another figure. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" The voice was young, eager. Frodo looked up, breath catching in his throat, to see a brown-haired hobbit, barely a teenager, staring back with eyes that mirrored a beloved memory.