Archive of Our Own

The first time it happens, Bilbo is reading in his armchair by the fire whilst Frodo is playing on the floor. It had been a few months since he took the faunt in, and while he still doesn’t understand why he was compelled to do so (he was always horrible with children), he doesn’t regret it.

He didn’t notice when Frodo stopped playing, or even when he stood up. He only noticed when he called for his uncle, and Bilbo looked to see him staring down the hall at thin air.

“Yes, Frodo, my lad?” He asked, keeping one eye on his book and the other on the boy in question.

“Who’s that?”

Bilbo froze, fully focused on Frodo now as he lowered the book onto the arm of his chair. “Who are you talking about?”

Frodo pointed at the air. “That man over there. Who is that?”

He frowned, rising from his seat to stand next to the boy. Perhaps he saw someone looking through the window. Perhaps one of their many cousins was loitering around. Lobelia, probably.

But there was nothing.

“I don’t see anything, Frodo.” He told him, and Frodo’s frown deepened.

“But he’s right there!” The boy protested. “He looks hurt and very sad. Are you sure you can’t see him?”

A chill crawled up his spine, for while he knew children had wild imaginations, it didn’t seem right that Frodo would see something like the man he was describing.

“All I see is the hall, my boy.” Bilbo answered truthfully, and Frodo huffed a little. “It’s probably best not to pay them too much mind. I’m sure they’re just here for a visit and will be gone soon. Now, it’s time for lunch. And perhaps we’ll go visit the Gamgees afterwards.”

Frodo looked like he was ready to argue, but decided against it. “Okay.”

Still, he stared down the hall at something that wasn’t there.

x

There are old tales regarding spirits of the dead. Most of them are dark and terrible, about angry spirits of those who passed on far too soon, haunting those they held responsible. Of those who loved someone in life and did what they could to convince their beloved to quickly join them in death.

Bilbo, of course, never believed in such things. And even if he did, he sincerely hoped that certain loved ones would move on instead of haunt him for the rest of his days. Particularly three dwarves who were unfairly slain. One even moreso.

It still pained him when he thought of Thorin and his nephews, Kíli especially. When he first saw the prince, he had a soft spot for him, even though he tried to clean his shoes on his mother’s glory box. During the quest, however, it became more than that. Much more. But he never said anything, never dared to. It would’ve been foolish if he had, even if Kíli had survived. For he was a prince, young and kind. Bilbo was just a simple, middle-aged hobbit, and he always knew that Kíli never thought of him as much more than a good friend. Not to mention that he would stay in Erebor, where he belonged, and Bilbo always knew that he would return to the Shire, no matter what.

Despite all the reasons, his heart still shattered when he heard that Kíli had died, and it still remained in pieces, which would possibly be its state until he, too, passed on.

Still, Bilbo didn’t give it too much thought, even though Frodo would still stare at something that wasn’t really there and he would sometimes feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

It wasn’t until it happened a second time that he changed his mind.

x

He was in the garden, tending to his tomatoes while Frodo played in the garden around the back. He liked to garden, always had, even though Hamfast helped tend to it as well. Now, though, as his age began to creep into his bones, he began to think that hiring the gardener on full-time might be a good idea. He didn’t really want to admit it, but he was starting to get too old for it.

Laughter broke him out of his dark thoughts.

Bilbo shot up, for he hadn’t heard his nephew laugh like that since before his parents passed on. What in the Lady’s name was so funny?

Curious, he followed the path around back, ears picking up Frodo’s excited chatter. He didn’t hear anyone else with him, so he had no idea who, or what, he was talking to.

When he turned the corner and saw that Frodo was talking to air, he grew concerned.

When, almost out of nowhere, a violent breeze ripped through the flowers in front of the little hobbit when everything else was calm and still, he grew frightened.

“Hey! Where’d he go!?” Frodo asked, and now Bilbo was properly, truly terrified.

“Frodo!” He called, voice high and panicked, causing the boy in question to look at him. “Frodo, come inside now! Hurry!”

“But, Uncle-!”

“Please, just hurry inside!”

Frodo seemed a little upset that his playtime was cut short, but he must’ve picked up on something, for he followed Bilbo’s instructions without another word.

They both went in, and as soon as he could, Bilbo shut the door with more force than was warranted and locked it behind him. A breath shuddered out of him after as he rested his forehead against it.

“Uncle Bilbo?”

Said hobbit immediately straightened and turned to his nephew. “Frodo, my lad, I want you to be honest with me.” He said, gently grasping at Frodo’s shoulders as he made sure they locked eyes. “Who were you talking to earlier? Was it that sad man?”

“Yes.” Frodo answered honestly, and Bilbo felt cold. “Is that… Is that bad?”

Oh, it could be, if all the stories would be believed. Especially since he had no idea who this “sad man” was supposed to be. Instead, Bilbo straightened, leading Frodo to the kitchen.

“Let’s have some tea, Frodo. Perhaps we can talk about it, then.”

“Okay.”

He cobbled something together from leftovers, far too jumpy and nerve-wracked to do anything else. As he set down the tea, he turned back to his nephew as he set up his plate.

“Frodo,” Bilbo pressed gently. “Do you think we can talk about the sad man?”

Frodo nodded and Bilbo sat himself down. “What about him?”

“Well…” Bilbo murmured. “What does he look like?”

The child frowned in thought. “It’s sometimes hard to tell, but he looks like a traveller. He’s not one of the Men, since he’s not as tall, but he’s a grownup. He told me so himself.”

“Anything else?”

“Well… I think his hair is black, or a really dark brown. It’s long for a man, and kinda fuzzy.” Frodo explained. “His face looks dirty, but he says it’s his beard.”

Something prodded at Bilbo’s chest, forcing himself to ask the next question. “Do you know his name, Frodo?”

“Yeah.” He answered. “He said his name is Kíli.”

Something hard and painful lodged into Bilbo’s throat after Frodo said those words. There was no way he would’ve heard of that name before, because Bilbo was careful with it. With his, his brother’s, and his uncle’s names. It was still too painful to think about, so he never said them to Frodo. Not even when he told the boy about his adventures.

“Frodo, are you sure that’s his name?”

“Of course, Uncle!” He answered. “He corrected me five times before I got it right!”

Bilbo almost fainted at the mere thought, but after facing over a dozen dwarves, a wizard, goblins, orcs, spiders, an elven dungeon, and finally a dragon, he only sank forward onto his hands, mind reeling.

It couldn’t be possible, for Kíli had passed on. The young prince had no reason to linger in the realm of the living, let alone linger around Bag End. If any of the dwarves lingered as spirits, Bilbo would think that they would stay in Erebor. So it couldn’t be true, not one bit.

“Frodo, I’m about to ask you something else, and you won’t be in trouble, but I want to make sure,” Bilbo stated as soon as he found his voice again, staring his nephew down. “Have you gone through the things in my study? In the chest, perhaps?”

“No!” Frodo cried. “Honestly, Uncle Bilbo, I would never go in there! Besides, it’s locked, and I don’t know where you put the key!”

Bilbo immediately stood and marched towards said study, ignoring his nephew’s vehement pleas of his innocence. Instead, he threw open the door and walked up to the bookshelf, grabbing the key from the very top. He then went and knelt in front of his chest, gathering the courage to look at the items he hardly touched since he put them there in the first place.

“I promise you, Uncle Bilbo! I didn’t touch anything!” Frodo cried as he ran into the room himself just as he unlocked and opened it.

And it was true: the insides were entirely prestine. His mithril tunic still lay peacefully wrapped on top, with Sting resting just above it. He pushed both aside and pulled out his book, quickly flipping through the pages and daring to go further than he ever had.

He had asked Ori if he could have it after the funeral, after they were entombed. The scribe didn’t mind in the slightest. He had extras of all three, anyway, always aiming for perfection. Bilbo only looked at it a few times before it became far too painful, throwing it into the back of his book and never looking at it again.

But there it was, as prestine as ever. Kíli, sketched with ink, looking more impish than regal (he had a feeling that the prince wanted to be more regal when he posed for it, anyway). Hair falling around his face in wild waves.

Gingerly, he held the sketch out for Frodo to look at.

“Does he look like this?” Bilbo asked.

Frodo frowned for a minute, studying the sketch closely, until his eyes cleared. “Yeah! Yeah, he does!” He said. “Hey, how do you have a picture of him in there, anyway?”

Numbly, Bilbo took the sketch back. “It’s… somewhat complicated, Frodo.” He answered. “But… You know the princes from my adventure? The blonde prince and the young prince?”

“He’s the young prince, then?” Frodo asked, and he nodded. “Oh. So that’s why he mentioned the parasites.”

Bilbo frowned. “Pardon?”

“He said he ran into trolls when he was alive, and a burglar was trying to save them from being eaten. He said that they had parasites, and Kíli told me he claimed to have the biggest of them all!” Frodo proclaimed, smiling a little, causing Bilbo to laugh. “So… Was he really the young prince?”

Bilbo sighed, for it still seemed unbelievable. Plus, he didn’t want it to be believable in case all the old tales were true.

“Truly, I don’t know, Frodo…” He admitted. “It would seem so, but…”

But he didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want to, because that would mean Kíli was lingering, haunting him. That he was possibly suffering, or worse, out for some kind of revenge. Because no spirit would linger if it were a happy one.

“Is it because you’re scared of the sad man, Uncle?” Frodo asked. “If so, you shouldn’t be. He’s actually very nice!”

“I… I’m sure he is, Frodo.” Bilbo told him, touching his shoulder. “Just… Just be careful, okay? Be cautious.”

“Okay…”

“Now, go finish your tea. I’ll join you once I’m done putting this away.”

With a quick nod and Frodo hurrying back to the kitchen, Bilbo was left alone in his study. He stared at the sketch for a while, eyes dancing along a face he had memorized long ago, before slipping it back into his book. This time, it wasn’t so far in the back.

“It’s impossible.” He muttered, stroking the leather binding. “Even if it were possible, you wouldn’t come here. Why in all of Arda would you come here, anyway? There’s nothing for you, here.”

Call it denial, but Bilbo thought it sounded better than what Frodo had said (and what happened in the garden earlier). So, he placed the book back in his chest, reaching for the cover to lower it down.

That was when he felt it. A tickling of air at the back of his neck. Like a breath, except cold instead of hot.

“Bilbo…”

He promptly slammed the chest shut, clenching it tightly as his heart pounded and he glanced around the room with wild, fearful eyes. Because something whispered to him. It whispered in a voice he hadn’t heard in years.

It whispered in Kíli’s voice.

x

The third time was the final time, and it was more like the seventh time, if Bilbo were being honest. It was weeks after the revelation that the “sad man” was almost undoubtedly Kíli, and it became more believable each night that had passed, for it seemed his spirit was done being quiet and subtle.

Each night, Bilbo would lay awake, hearing footsteps and old songs he had last heard with the Company. He would hear that whispering voice forming unintelligible words and feel the air grow cold when it felt like someone was touching his arm or breathing on his neck.

Frodo was the worst off. For while Bilbo suffered lack of sleep and subtle chills, Frodo suffered illness. While the boy seemed to be the only one who could see and understand Kíli, it didn’t happen without consequence. It grew to a point where Bilbo truly feared for the lad, and he had turned to pharmacists and supposed mystics for help, but they had no answers.

One warm night, he had Frodo sit up in bed and gave him some tea to drink before he went to sleep. His nephew seemed much paler now, his skin almost clammy.

“I’m cold.” He complained, and Bilbo’s heart ached for his nephew.

“I know, Frodo. The tea will help, and I’ve got extra blankets for you.” Bilbo told him. “Now, drink up.”

Frodo took several sips of the tea before he spoke again. “He’s sorry, you know.”

“Who’s sorry?”

“Kíli.” He answered, and Bilbo felt that familiar churning in his stomach at that name. “He says he’s sorry for getting me sick. He says he’s sorry about scaring you with the story about the orcs. He’s sorry for getting you caught by the trolls. He’s sorry… He’s…”

Frodo sniffled a little then, eyes growing watery. “He says he’s sorry for everything, Uncle.” He whimpered. “Uncle… Uncle, he’s so sad, and it hurts…!”

Bilbo shushed him soothingly, heart aching and furious for what had his nephew so distraught. “Frodo, it might be hard, but I want you to ignore him right now.” He told him. “Now please, finish your tea. I promise it’ll make you feel a lot better.”

His nephew sobbed a little before nodding, drinking down his tea and letting out a shaky breath and sinking down into the bed.

“There you go.” Bilbo soothed, tucking Frodo in as he thanked the stars that the tea he gave him would help him sleep. “Feeling better?”

Frodo merely hummed an affirmative, snuggling deeper into the bed. Bilbo placed a gentle kiss on his forehead before snuffing the candle out and leaving the room as quietly as possible.

He was going to go straight to his own room, or perhaps grab a blanket so he could sleep and watch over Frodo, but he stopped when he heard the footsteps. They were the same as always, slow and careful, almost pacing. Causing the floorboards to creak under an imaginary weight.

Bilbo swallowed down what fear bubbled up in his throat before he walked towards the source. As the air grew colder, he drew his housecoat closer, feeling his skin prick and his hair stand on end.

Eventually, he found himself in the sitting room, and the footsteps stopped. He felt like something was watching him, and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

“Kíli…?” He called softly, feeling the air shift slightly. “Kíli, is that you…?”

Bilbo didn’t know why he bothered asking. In truth, he didn’t want an answer. He was never comfortable with the whispers, anyway.

“Kíli, you need to stop.” He said, voice firmer. “I don’t know why you’re here, or what you’re trying to do, but you’re hurting my nephew, and I can’t have that. He’s… He’s the last person I have, and I… I can’t lose him, Kíli. Please don’t make me give him up. If you want something from me, fine! Otherwise, you need to stop this, because I won’t sit idly by and let you hurt Frodo any longer!”

Silence buzzed in his ears, and Bilbo swallowed nervously. Hoping he didn’t wake his nephew with his shouting. The air was thick, and he found it a little hard to breathe. He almost felt foolish, talking to someone who probably wasn’t even there. Who shouldn’t be there, anyway.

Just as he was about to turn and go to bed, he heard it.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

It was the clearest he had ever heard him, almost like he never died. Bilbo whirled around to finally face the prince who haunted his mind and his halls, and he sobbed, covering his mouth with his hands.

For it was Kíli, standing there not a few steps away, and it was horrible.

The prince looked almost like a shadow, hazy around the edges and gray. He was dressed in the armaments he was wearing when he fell, and he had the marks to prove it. There were arrows jutting from his torso, blood tracks on his fingers and around his mouth. The most brutal injury he seemed to have was the large gash that extended from his forehead and down his cheek. The blow took one of his eyes, apparently, for all that was left there was a bloodied socket.

“Oh, Kíli…!” He choked out, now knowing why Balin wouldn’t let him see Kíli’s body after the battle.

“I… I know it looks bad.” Kíli said, wincing as he looked down at himself. “But it’s really not! Really!... Well… Not anymore, at least...”

The prince threw him a smile, though it didn’t reach his surviving, clouded eye. Bilbo eventually lowered his hands from his mouth, tears streaming down his face.

“Kíli…” He breathed. “Kíli, why…? Why did you do… with Frodo…?”

The smile vanished, and Kíli’s eye grew more pained, if possible.

“I had no choice.” He confessed. “After years of trying to get your attention, to get you to hear me, nothing seemed to work. Until now, you couldn’t hear me, couldn’t see me. I almost gave up until you took him in, and he looked. And I… call me cruel and selfish, but I wanted to have at least some way to tell you before I faded. I just… I think I was dragging it out, and taking too long. I had heard, but… I didn’t think it would get this bad…”

There were so many things Bilbo wanted to say at that moment. So many questions that lingered on his tongue. But one word threw him for a moment, and he frowned.

“Faded?” He asked. “What do you mean ‘faded’?”

“It’s… It’s rare, but…” Kíli muttered, swallowing. “If a soul, like me, lingers in the living realm for too long… We fade away. Kind of like dying again, but permanent. We cease to exist, never able to go to the halls of our fathers.”

A bubble of anger burst in Bilbo before he could stop it. “Why would you do this, then!?” He snapped. “Kíli, you can’t put yourself through this! I mean, sweet Eru, Kíli, think about the people you care about, and what they would do if you faded! Think about your mother, your uncle, your brother….! Think…!”

He stopped himself, almost going too far. Now was not the time for any sort of admissions.

Kíli didn’t seem to catch on, though. “It would be worth it.” He said. “It would be, if I finally got the chance to tell you…”

Bilbo looked at him, seeing the prince press his lips into a tight, thin line. “Tell me what?”

A breath burst out of Kíli’s mouth, and it echoed strangely off the walls. “Everything…” He admitted softly.

He felt his heart lurch, and he cautiously took a step forward. “You can tell me now.” He encouraged. “Tell me why you stayed here with me, of all people.”

“Of all peo-!” Kíli sputtered, looking truly blindsided. “Bilbo, do you realize how important you are? How important you were- you are to me?”

Bilbo could only shake his head, numb save for the feeling of a hope he long since quashed being rekindled far too late. “No.” he admitted. “No, I… I don’t. I’m- I’ve always just been a hobbit from the Shire, Kíli. I’ve always just been Bilbo Baggins…”

Kíli frowned, eye scrunched in pain. “Bilbo…” He breathed out, and before said hobbit knew it, the prince was approaching him, hand outstretched.

He lurched back in surprise, but besides that, Bilbo found that he was practically frozen in place. The air was so cold and dense he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. All he knew was Kíli’s face, gray and hallow, one eye piercing him like one of his arrows into his soul as one blood-covered hand reached to touch his face.

If Kíli were alive, he would’ve felt warm, calloused fingertips caress his cheeks. Since he wasn’t, Bilbo had assumed that it would just feel like cold air, similar to the chills he’d feel on his arm and neck. He felt neither. In fact, the only thing he felt was his heart fill to the brim before promptly breaking into pieces.

His vision had whited out, and once it cleared, he saw visions. Foggy, bright images fluttering under his eyelids of what could’ve been. Of Thorin, alive and healthy, being crowned king, with Fíli to take the throne afterwards. Of Fíli with a sweet dwarrowdam (who looked almost exactly like Nori), surrounded by so many children it would make any hobbit couple green with envy. Of himself, hair glowing as if it were shimmering gold, which was ridiculous, since his hair was more brown than gold. But his golden hair was the last thing on his mind, because Kíli was with him in those images, alive and in one piece. Of them both standing victorious together on the battlefield. Of returning to the Shire together. Of Kíli hanging his quiver next to Sting above the fireplace. Of a wedding in the spring and dancing the night away at the reception. Of Kíli teaching Frodo archery and how to smile and laugh again. Of them sitting together outside at dusk, hands entwined. Of laying in bed. Of growing old together.

It was over not long after it started, leaving Bilbo gasping for breath, only to sob it out right after. All the things he only dreamt of wanting had felt so stark, so possible. It only made the pain of Kíli’s death worse. Because those weren’t his dreams that were playing in his head.

They were Kíli’s.

“Bilbo…?”

He looked at Kíli upon hearing that broken tone, seeing Kíli’s eye wide and glistening.

“Bilbo…” The prince repeated in a broken whimper. “Did… Did you…?”

Bilbo nodded before he could finish. “I did! I do!” He sobbed out, falling to his knees. “I loved you…!”

He wasn’t sure he said it aloud, or if the spirit of the prince he loved could even hear it. His words sounded garbled in his ears as he sobbed, practically howling in grief. If he were a stronger hobbit at that moment, he wouldn’t be so overcome, and he had a feeling he would be embarrassed of himself come morning. But after all the weeks of fear, sadness, and hope, it all came crashing down on him. All the grief he thought he had lived through came back all at once, even worse than the first time as he thanked and cursed the Valar for the love of a prince he didn’t think would love him back, only to be gone and torn from the world unfairly.

It felt like hours passed before he could stop himself, but by then he was aware of a presence around him. It was cold, but not as cold as it once was. No longer like a sharp gust of wind during winter, but now more like a cool breeze to provide relief during a hot summer day. He opened his eyes to see the fuzzy outline of Kíli’s shoulder, and he belatedly realized that the prince was trying to embrace him, to comfort him. He was vibrating in a strange way, and Bilbo belatedly realized that it was because Kíli was shaking.

“Kíli…” He breathed, unsure of whether or not he could touch back.

“I’m sorry…!” Kíli choked out. “I’m sorry for how we treated you in the beginning! I’m sorry for not standing up for you against Thorin! I’m sorry for letting you face Smaug on your own! I’m sorry for being too much of a coward to follow you when you were banished! I’m sorry for not telling you the truth when I had the chance! I’m so sorry for everything…! Bilbo…!”

It was clear that Kíli was sobbing, though it still echoed strangely in Bilbo’s ears. Carefully, he reached to return the embrace, feeling the slightest bit of resistance when his hands touched Kíli’s back. It was like touching a soft, tightly-weaved bag of fabric filled with air that would pop if he wasn’t careful. Regardless, it was Kíli, and he knew Kíli would be able to handle a hug from him, dead or not.

“I forgive you.” He told him. “I forgive you, and… I still love you.”

And he meant it, although there really wasn’t much to forgive in Bilbo’s mind. But Kíli felt differently, it seemed.

Eventually, the prince pulled back, and Bilbo was a bit shocked to see that he now had both his eyes and his face was clear of blood. In fact, Kíli looked almost exactly like he did when he first showed up at his door.

“I love you too, if that wasn’t clear.” Kíli told him, a wry smile stretching on his face, and Bilbo couldn’t help but giggle hysterically at it all. Kíli joined him as they both still knelt on the floor.

“I… It was clear.” Bilbo eventually told him once they calmed down and stood. “And I… I’m sorry, too, Kíli.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” He told him, frowning a little.

“I do, really.” Bilbo pressed on. “For not being strong in the ways that counted. For not speaking up when it was necessary. And for… For what happened. To you, and to your brother and Thorin.”

Kíli huffed, and such noises still echoed strangely in his ears. “Well, then… I forgive you.” He replied. “And I’m sure they forgive you, too.”

Bilbo smiled at him, and it felt bittersweet to see that smile returned. For while Kíli no longer looked sad, or hurt, he was still a prince that had lost his life in battle. Still wasn’t long for this world, and had to move on. And Bilbo had to live the rest of his days without him, however long that would be, even though he was right there in front of him.

He then watched as Kíli’s brow twitched and his mouth turned down into a confused frown. He looked off to the side, and Bilbo watched as his face went slack.

“Oh…” He heard Kíli breathe. “They… They’re here…”

Bilbo frowned, turning to look in the direction Kíli was. “Who are here?”

“Thorin and Fíli… And my father, my grandfather… They’re all here…” Kíli explained softly. “They’re waiting for me.”

Bilbo’s heart thundered in his chest as he tried his best to see them himself. But he could only see his hallway, and he was starkly reminded of the day Frodo first brought Kíli’s lingering spirit to his attention.

“I can’t see them.” He said, trying his best not to sound like he was complaining.

“That’s because they only show themselves when someone in our family’s ready to pass on.”

The realization that Bilbo would have to eventually let Kíli go, and far sooner than he would’ve liked, hit him again. This time, while he was sad, he wasn’t as sad as he was before.

“B-But I don’t understand…” Kíli said, turning his confused frown back to him. “I’m not ready to go, yet…”

Bilbo did his best to smile up at him. “I think you are, Kíli.”

“No… No, I don’t want to!” Kíli protested, and it hurt to see Kíli’s eyes brim with tears. “I’m not ready to go, yet! I’m not ready to leave you! Not when I know now that…!”

“Kíli, I know that this is the last thing we want. Believe me, I don’t want you to go, either. I don’t want any of you to go…” Bilbo told him, feeling his own eyes sting once again. “But you have to. If you don’t want to fade away, and if you want to ever see the rest of us again, you’re going to have to.”

Kíli sobbed. “It’s not fair…!”

“It’s the last thing I want as well, but it has to be done.” Bilbo told him, trying to urge the prince to look at him. “And besides, how will we ever see each other again if you go off and fade on me?”

Kíli blinked at him, and he rushed to continue.

“While I’m in no rush to die, I know that we will see each other again some day.” He continued. “Yes, you’ll be going to the halls of your fathers, but I’m sure I would be able to find them. I found one of your hidden doors easily enough, so that shouldn’t be too hard.”

Kíli huffed out a laugh that sounded far too much like a sob.

“We will see each other again, Kíli.” Bilbo told him. “And then we’ll have the rest of time together. It… It might take a while, but it’ll happen. You will not lose me forever, Kíli.”

Kíli took a deep breath before nodding. “You’re right…” He muttered, the tears falling off his face looking like stars. “I don’t like it, but… You’re right. It’s funny how you always seem to be right, you know.”

“Not always.” He corrected, and he watched Kíli’s lips twitch up in a smile for only a brief moment before they resumed their trembling.

“I stayed because I loved you, and I saw you cry.” He confessed. “It was after Thorin joined us, and you walked out of the tent to sit by yourself, and you started to cry for us. I… I didn’t want you to cry over us, Bilbo. I didn’t want you to be sad, and have me be the reason for it. I didn’t want to leave you until you knew how sorry I was, and I knew that you weren’t going to be sad anymore. And I…”

Kíli sniffled then, grappling with Bilbo’s hands, even though he couldn’t feel it. “You have to promise me that, when I’m gone, you won’t be sad anymore.” He pleaded. “Please, Bilbo, I couldn’t bear it if you’ll be sad and I can’t be there for you!”

Bilbo sighed, debating on whether he should caress Kíli’s cheek, and wondering if he could. “I can’t promise you that I’ll never be sad ever again, Kíli. I’m bound to be sad sometimes, especially over you.” He admitted, and Kíli’s face fell. “But I can promise you that I’ll try not to linger in my sadness.”

“I guess that will have to do…” The prince muttered sadly, and Bilbo found that touching Kíli’s cheek was almost like feeling a breeze.

“Can you make me a promise too, Kíli?” He requested. “Please, find peace. Do not wallow in what you left here. Do not torture yourself. Just find peace with your family.”

“I’ll try.” Kíli choked out. “For you, I’ll try. I-.”

He was cut off, and Bilbo watched as he looked to the side, looking so torn and weary. But Bilbo could hear it, faintly: A soft whisper in a voice he barely recognized.

“That’s… That’s Fíli.” Kíli told him, voice wavering. “He says I have to go...”

Bilbo nodded sharply, feeling his eyes sting as he looked down the hall.

“Take care of him for me.” He pleaded. “And don’t cause too much trouble.”

Kíli choked out a loud laugh, and it echoed even more strangely than it did before. Like other people were laughing with him.

“They promise to follow the first.” Kíli said. “The latter… Well, Fíli makes no promises.”

Bilbo laughed himself, feeling his cheeks go wet again. “I guess this is goodbye, then.”

Kíli nodded. “For now.”

Bilbo nodded as well, and he was about to force himself to let go when Kíli took a step towards him. He felt something comb through his hair and a gentle pressure on his forehead. His vision swam with it, and he felt himself begin to slip from consciousness.

“I will wait for you, Bilbo Baggins. Remember that, and remember that I love you.” He heard Kíli tell him just before he fell. “For now… Goodbye.”

x

“Frodo?”

Said hobbit whined, not at all liking the fact that his sleep was being disturbed. He was dreaming of dragons and elves, and it was one of his favorite dreams to have.

“Frodo, it’s me.”

Blearily, Frodo pried one of his eyes open, only to see Kíli leaning over him.

“Kíli…?” He murmured, taking as good of a look as he could with his eyes still fogged with sleep. He then smiled. “You’re no longer hurt.”

“Yeah.” Kíli said, smiling. “I got better.”

“And you’re no longer sad, too.” Frodo said, nodding slightly into his pillow. “That’s good.”

“It is. It’s very good.” Kíli told him. “But I’m afraid I have to be going, now.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“I’m all better, and my family’s waiting for me to go home with them.”

“Oh…” Frodo muttered. “Did you tell Uncle Bilbo you were sorry, yet?”

There was a slightly pause before Kíli cleared his throat. “Y-Yeah, I did.” He said, and Frodo was glad. He knew Kíli was particularly sad about not being able to talk to his Uncle, after all. “But, Frodo, before I go, I want to apologize for getting you sick. I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“It’s okay.” He told him. “I forgive you, Kíli.”

“Good.” He heard Kíli breathe. “Well, I need to get going. It was good meeting you, and I hope you get better soon. And you better take care of your Uncle Bilbo for me, okay? He can’t always protect himself.”

“Okay, I promise.” He murmured. “But Kíli?”

“Yes?”

“Will you come back to visit?”

There was a slight pause before he heard Kíli’s answer. “No, Frodo, I’m afraid not.” He told him. “But perhaps we’ll meet each other again, someday.”

“I’d like that.” Frodo said. “See you soon, then.”

There was another pause before he felt a peculiar pressure on his forehead.

“To be honest, Frodo, I hope not.”

He wanted to question Kíli about his answer, but he fell back to sleep before he could.

x

Bilbo woke to the feeling of the sun on his face and the softness of his bed. At that point, it was like any morning: He would simply relax, stretch, and reflect before Frodo would barge in to drag him out of bed to make breakfast. It was something simple. Something routine.

Then the events from last night came barreling back into his memory.

He shot up, heart pounding and half expecting to hear the floor creak or the whispers. But all he heard were the birds sing and the bees buzz.

“It must’ve been a dream.” He muttered to himself, looking around for any traces of Kíli’s lingering presence. Unlikely, even if it wasn’t a dream, for Kíli was a spirit after all. “Maybe it was all just one big, strange dream…”

Another thought entered his mind, and his heart clenched. “Frodo!”

He launched out of bed and out of his room, rushing down the hall to the boy’s room before throwing it open. He felt relief sweep through him when he saw Frodo sit up in bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Mornin’, Uncle Bilbo.” He greeted softly.

“Good morning, Frodo, my dear boy.” Bilbo replied, approaching the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” Frodo replied, smiling. “Your tea really helped.”

“Good, that’s good.” He breathed, for now he knew it wasn’t all a dream. “Do you feel up for some breakfast? Perhaps some eggs on toast?”

“With bacon?”

“Of course.”

“Then yes!” Frodo chirped, throwing the covers off. “I’m famished.”

Bilbo laughed, following Frodo as they left his room and headed for the kitchen. If he was desperate for some actual food for breakfast (and actually asking for bacon), then Frodo really was starting to feel like himself again.

Once they were in the kitchen, and Bilbo began working on food whilst Frodo sat at the table, he couldn’t help but feel like it really was any other morning. Like the past several weeks didn’t happen. Such thoughts pained him slightly, for what if he imagined Frodo becoming ill because of Kíli’s presence? What if he dreamt their entire conversation and how he moved on with his family? What did it mean for him? For Kíli?

“I’m gonna miss him.”

Bilbo blinked, looking at his nephew. “Pardon?”

“Kíli. I’m going to miss Kíli.” Frodo supplied, and Bilbo felt his stomach twist. “He said he was going to go with his family last night, and that he was all better now. I’m glad, but… I’ll miss him.”

It took him a while to muster a smile for his nephew. “I think we’ll both miss him.”

“Did he say goodbye to you?”

A part of Bilbo didn’t want to say, for it still felt too much like a dream for it to be possible. But he nodded. “He did.”

“And he apologized?”

Bilbo couldn’t help but snort, turning to face his nephew. “I was afraid he would never stop apologizing.”

Frodo giggled, and Bilbo laughed with him, watching as the young hobbit frowned.

“Uncle Bilbo?”

“Yes, Frodo?”

“What’s that? In your hair, there’s something in it.”

“Wha-? My hair? What happ-?” Bilbo floundered, only to pause in coming through his messy curls to feel something he had never felt there before. Something tight, but not uncomfortable, put behind his ear.

It was a braid.

He followed it down and felt his eyes sting when his fingers met cold metal at the end of it. He couldn’t really see what it was, but he didn’t need to in order to know what it was and what it meant.

“It’s a braid with a bead.” He muttered, fingering the little bead in his hair.

“Did Kíli put it in?” Frodo asked. “It looks nice.”

“I… I think he did…” Bilbo continued, feeling his eyes brim. “I don’t know how…”

“Do you think it means something?”

Bilbo nodded, having heard about courting habits from Balin during the quest, and even then the information was rather stilted. Privacy and all, not to mention that Bilbo didn’t think he would ever court anyone, let alone Kíli. But Balin had talked about braids and their significance before. And he knew the significance of the one in his hair now.

“It’s a promise, of sorts.” He explained, voice cracking. “Something that I will hope to fulfill, one day.”

He didn’t know he was crying until he felt his cheeks grow wet, and he hurriedly wiped them away.

“Uncle…!” Frodo cried, clearly upset about Bilbo’s tears. “Uncle Bilbo, I’m sorry I made you sad!”

“Oh no, Frodo. You didn’t make me sad!” He told him, rushing over to embrace his nephew. “It’s just… Kíli was… is someone very dear to me, and I feel a little sad that I won’t be able to see him for a very long time. But I’m not as sad as I was before.”

“Because you’ll see him again?”

“Someday, yes.” Bilbo said with a smile, images of Kíli’s own flashing through his mind. “But not for a while yet, which is okay. Because that’s what it’s like, Frodo, when someone we love goes away. It will hurt, and we will cry, but we will always have memories, and they’re always there for us, even if we can’t see it.”

Privately, Bilbo hoped that Kíli wouldn’t try to do what he had done and tortured himself with staying in a place he could no longer exist in. But he would not tell Frodo that.

“They are never far from us, Frodo. As long as we remember them, and we love them, they will stay. And we will never be parted from them for long, even though it might seem like it.”

“It’s… It’s kind of like mum and dad, isn’t it?” Frodo asked softly.

Bilbo nodded. “Yes, Frodo. It is kind of like that.” He answered.

Frodo seemed deep in thought for a while, and Bilbo merely held him.

“I guess it’s okay, then.” The young hobbit answered after a while. “So long as they’re okay, and we’ll be able to see them again… Even if it’ll take a long time.”

“Just remember that they’re never far, Frodo.” Bilbo soothed. “They’re always with us.”

“But not like Kíli was?’

“No, not like Kíli.”

“I… I’m kind of glad for that, at least. Not that I wouldn’t… He was just so sad…” Frodo muttered, looking up at him. “I don’t want that to happen to them.”

“It won’t, Frodo. If anything, someone will be there to help them if it did.”

“Like Kíli?”

“Like Kíli.”

“You think Kíli would help them if they became sad?”

Bilbo didn’t really know, but he was sure that the prince would do his best to try anyway. “I’m sure of it.” He answered. “Now, how about that breakfast?”

Frodo smiled faintly. “As long as you haven’t burnt the bacon again.”

“Oh, you cheeky hobbit!” Bilbo cried, tickling his nephew, causing him to squeal and giggle. “I’ll have you know I’m the best at making bacon! One day, I might pass on my teachings on to you!”

As Bilbo the went back to making breakfast, glad to have put a smile back on Frodo’s face, he thought of Kíli. Of his young life cut short. Of never telling him the truth until it was far too late. Of his smiles and laughs, and of his enthusiasm and optimism. Of how he always knew what to say to make Bilbo loads better or ten times worse. Of his pranks and his kindness. Of his brother and Uncle.

He thought of Kíli, and he smiled.