Ring Shenanigans Chapter 8
Spoiler: They deserve a soft epilogue, and I am a benevolent god <]:-)
Hello! Are you ready for the last chapter of Ring Shenanigans!? Remember that I’m starting the workshop cut of The Hobbit but the Multiverse Does the Macarena next!!! (That’ll be The Hobbit, ofc, but several of the protagonist characters have been replaced by someone the actor has played in another franchise, and the dwarves are adamant they still reach Erebor by Durin’s Day!)
Daily reminder that clicking this nifty button supports my ability to pay rent and also have sweet little treats while I write:
Last thing I’ll say is look out in the next few days for that poll I mentioned! It’ll go out probably the day after tomorrow <3
Blinking awake, Bilbo finds himself in a stately bed, with his left arm swaddled in bandages. There’s Oin sitting near the bed in a comfortable-looking chair, reading an ancient-looking book, and two unfamiliar elves murmuring quietly in the corner of the room by the door.
Well, that’s it then. He’s survived, and Thorin’s survived, and Fili and Kili too, and the Ring is gone.
No more timeloops. No more need of them.
Everything is alright now.
Bilbo allows his eyes to sink closed, wishing, somehow, for the quilt his mother made some decades before her death. He knows just where it is: inside the chest near the archway separating kitchen from drawing room—
His spoons!
Bilbo’s eyes snap open and he hops out of bed— a dwarven bed. They must be in Erebor. Wonderful! Best to check if dragon sickness has stolen his soon-to-be-husband before he leaves. And this time, Thorin truly cannot come. He has a kingdom to re-establish, and Bilbo knows his spoons, however dearly he clings to them, are not quite that important.
Oin has followed him out at a run, and the elven healers as well. They hound him until he stops stomping away (admittedly, somewhat directionless. He’s never been in the more domestic sections of Erebor before) and insist on asking him a few questions. Does he know where he is and his own name, how bad is the pain in his arm, any swelling in his fingers as far as he can tell, what’s the last thing he remembers— and Bilbo answers dutifully, unwilling to cause as much a fuss as he’s sure refusing treatment would engender. The very instant they are done, however, he shakes them off and continues stomping.
Oin takes the initiative to guide him, while pestering him with this question and that, holding his ear trumpet up to hear each answer as they speedwalk down the halls toward, apparently, the banquet hall where everyone is eating. It’s only been a day or so since they were deposited by a flock of incredibly put-upon eagles on Erebor’s doorstep. Gandalf sustained only minor scrapes, and Thorin escaped entirely uninjured.
Bilbo slams through the doors to the banquet hall to say. “I’ll be back in three months time.”
The company of dwarves, Gandalf, Thranduil and Legolas, and Bard of Laketown all turn to look at him.
“Who is this?” Bard asks.
“Bilbo Baggins,” he introduces himself.
True to his character, Bard does his damnedest not to react too visibly to his size, nor what Bard has just been told about Bilbo Baggins (timeloops, the end of Sauron, and other various Ring Shenanigans, plus the missing fingers). Simply returns the introductions, “Bard of Laketown.”
“I know,” Bilbo clips, somewhat impatient. “If it wouldn’t be terribly troublesome, I would like to borrow a pony so I can interrupt the estate sale my neighbors will attempt to have of my house. I have been through quite enough to justify getting to keep Lobelia Sackville-Baggins out of my cutlery drawer, if I do say so myself.”
And, spell of surprise passed, the dwarven company bursts out laughing and surrounds Bilbo with overzealous care and an overwhelm of shouting and demanding for all kinds of things. Thorin demands to know if his spoons are truly so important, but when Bilbo says that yes, they are, Thorin says, alright and tells Thranduil that the return of the white gems is now also contingent on Bilbo having an escort through Mirkwood both on the way to the Shire and when he returns from the Shire to Erebor, which Thranduil (incredibly displeased by the mundanity of all this, the reprehensible romance of it) allows.
Gandalf goes with Bilbo, and Thorin is convinced to stay home with the task of rebuilding Erebor and Dale and making the necessary preparations for his and Bilbo’s wedding upon Bilbo’s return.
The trip there and back again is uneventful. Bilbo arrives exactly one month before the estate sale was to take place, and the majority of the Shire is somewhat miffed about his return. Bilbo would love to give them a few strong words, but nothing would come of it except a reputation further tarnished.
He establishes the Gamgee family as caretakers of the estate in his absence. Hamfast Gamgee is a good, trustworthy man, and his son will be great friends with Frodo when the boys are born. Best to establish good relations now. Then, he grabs his mother’s quilt from the chest and his Aunt Magdeline’s two fishing rods and three of his spoons— a selection that has Gandalf looking at him from beneath a quirked brow— and they set off back toward the Lonely Mountain.
In the first few days of their return trip, Gandalf skirts around what he means, but exactly five days into the trip, he finally broaches the topic. “Bilbo, are you quite sure you want to return to Erebor?” he asks.
And Bilbo replies, simply, “Yes. Quite sure.”
Silence is perforated by the hoofbeats of the pony and horse they ride. Gandalf reasons, “Not a soul would blame you if you wanted to, er… rest, as it were. In the comfort of your own home, I mean.” He studies Bilbo as he adds, “You still seem awfully attached to the place.”
Bilbo smiles. “Gandalf, in thirty years I will have a nephew, and his parents will die when he’s just a small thing, and he will need some place to go,” he explains softly. “Also, I could not allow that conniving backstabber Sackville-Baggins to have my cutlery in two lives, not over my dead body!”
The wedding is grand and beautiful. Dain Ironfoot and his dwarves of the Iron Hills came as soon as they received word to help the line of Durin rebuild, and the people of Laketown were more than happy to reinstate Dale under Bard’s leadership instead of the sniveling wretch running Laketown, and so there is a nascent kingdom ready to support and attend a royal wedding by the time Bilbo has returned from rescuing his spoons.
And, the most insane thing happens and the immutable wheel of fate turns and something new happens.
Bilbo meets Dis. Thorin’s sister, Fili and Kili’s mother. She is taller than Thorin by nearly an inch, with a longer beard braided intricately for the festivities, and she beats everyone else to greet Bilbo, smothering him in the kind of hug only mothers know how to give. “You saved my sons, my brother. Master Baggins of the Shire, I thank you.”
And then the rest of the company is only seconds behind, and Thorin demands that his sister get off his husband, as she still has hers. There is a lot of sibling teasing, and it becomes very clear that Dis is the younger sister as she pesters Thorin with all kinds of embarrassing stories that any husband, she insists, must know.
Bilbo is stuffed into six layers of fabric, traditional for a dwarven wedding, he is told. There is a brief hand-binding ceremony. Then, a banquet. Through it all, he’s barely got time to say a word to Thorin. Everyone is congratulating them, asking Bilbo about how the Shire fares and if he managed to save his spoons, asking Thorin about matters of future policy, or reminiscing about the long journey to get to this happy day.
So when everything is all done, and the two of them practically collapse into a bed so large they could fit the whole of the company that took them to Erebor on it, they take a few moments to appreciate the lack of raucous cheer.
And when their ears have stopped ringing quite so much, Bilbo turns to face Thorin. “I missed you,” he says. “You’d think I have all this practice with it, but I’ve found it’s quite different missing someone you don’t think you’ll see again and missing someone who you can’t wait to see again.”
Thorin smiles. “I’m fortunate to say I am incredibly unpracticed at missing you, and won’t ever have need of such a pointless skill.” He leans toward Bilbo, and the kiss is inexperienced and awkward-- but that’s a skill they can practice.
:D there she goes <33333
I hope you love this as much as I do qwq I love it so much I might print and bind it (or try to at least, it’ll be the second thing i’ve ever bound lol) please lemme know your thoughts in the comments, and thank you so much to all of you for joining me on this one!!! :DDDDDD
And, as always, Scream at me in the comments; nothing brings me more joy :)