Dreams or Past - Bagginshield Week Day 4 and i know it’s true that visions are seldom all they

Dreams or Past - Bagginshield Week Day 4 and i know it’s true that visions are seldom all they seemThe words seemed to stick on his tongue and every breath was like being gutted all over again but Thorin had to speak, had to let Bilbo know.There was no time left.  And Thorin would have happily given up all the gold in Erebor for just one more minute with his Hobbit, just one more moment…“There is more in you of good than you know, beloved.  Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure.  So much more than I ever had.  If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.”“There would be no merriment in this world, ever again,” Bilbo wept.  “Not with you gone.”Thorin had just enough strength to bring Bilbo’s hand to his lips, a final kiss.  “But sad or merry, I must leave it now.  Farewell….” And his last memory was of the tears in his Hobbit’s eyes and Bilbo’s voice whispering his Secret Name.And then, Thorin Oakenshield woke up, in his own bed, in his chambers at Ered Luin.  He was well and whole and of the wounds he had received in the Battle of Five Armies, there was absolutely no trace.  Not even a scar.  Surely, if he had died and gone to the halls of his fathers, it would not look like this?  But there were his beads upon his night stand and the book he’d just finished reading on the night before he would set off for Bree, chasing rumors about his missing father.  There was his brush and his boot daggers, his axes and his old sword that he forged with his own hands and his traveling cloak upon its stand.  But he could remember everything, from his conversation with Gandalf and the wizard’s urging that they retake Erebor from the dragon, the moment he’d knocked upon that ridiculous round green door of Bilbo’s home, singing their lament for their home, the Trolls, the Orcs, the Wargs, the skin-changer, the Elves. Bilbo.  Bilbo, shy, flustered, exasperated, kind, eternally curious, so very clever and so very brave.  Bilbo, with the way the sun caught the gold and red of his hair and the way he still smelled faintly of lavender and sweetness even after a long day’s walk.  Bilbo who had stood with his ridiculously useful Elven letter-opener, defending him against Azog.  Bilbo who had returned his kisses with equal ardor and teased him by stealing kisses in turn, a warm sweet weight and warmth in his arms, stealing his heart as well as the Arkenstone.  Surely, Bilbo, after all this, was no mere dream! And then, into his room burst in Fili and Kili and Thorin’s heart clenched painfully in his chest to see his beloved boys alive and whole.  He would have reached out to hold them both close, to whisper his own apologies, except for one thing.  Fili was holding a curly-haired little lad in his arms and by the look of the hair on his feet - this was no dwarfling.  “Uncle,” Fili said nervously.  “Kili and I swear to you, no matter what he looks like or who he resembles, we absolutely sired no children out of wedlock!  We would not be so dishonorable!” “What he said!” Kili echoed.  “I mean, he looks more like Uncle Thorin than we do!"  "That still doesn’t explain how this little darling ended up in your bed, Fili!  Still waiting for an explanation, lads!"  And in stormed Dis, a dwarrowdam definitely on the warpath, with her own axe at the ready.  Thorin’s knees gave way and he sat heavily back on his bed.  The little one crowed and waved his arms at him.  ”Thowin-Da!“  Dis paused.  Took in the little boy’s dark curls and blue eyes and then looked at her brother.  An eyebrow raised.  "Something you’re not telling us, brother dear?"  And once again, the little boy in Fili’s arms squirmed and wriggled, obviously wanting to get to Thorin.  Wordlessly, Thorin reached out for the lad, who went to him with a squeal of delight.  "Thowin-Da!” “You seem to know my name,” Thorin said softly, a faint smile on his lips.  He was surprised that he could still sound so steady, despite the fact that his heart was pounding painfully in his chest.  “What is yours?” The little boy - fauntling, Bilbo’s voice whispered in his mind - stuck a finger into his mouth and then said, quite shyly.  “Fwodo.  Fwodo Baggins."  Baggins.  Sweet Mahal.  It wasn’t a dream.  ”We go to Unca Bilbo now?“ Fwodo… no, Frodo asked hopefully.  And then he frowned and said.  "Guess Bilbo’s my Dada too.  I fink.” It wasn’t a dream.  It wasn’t a dream at all.  But Thorin didn’t pay any attention to the exclamations made by his sister and his nephews and looked at this impossible child, with his dark hair in Bilbo’s curls and Thorin’s own eyes and the sweet mischief in his smile and that oddly knowing look that was a little bit at odds on a face that was still slightly chubby with baby fat.  And this time,  he’d make it right.  Thorin would make everything right in this second chance, this new life.  Whatever happened in that old life was past.  It would be nothing more than a dream and a future that would never come to be.  Thorin smiled fully and gave the only possible answer he could give.  “Yes, my lad.  We’ll get you home to your… no, our Bilbo.  I promise.” - end - Note:  It’s kind of hilarious how these prompts are bleeding into the next one?  Man, these Plot Bunnies are persistent! :P  -- source link

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