Hands-When all other things faded Bilbo would remember his hands.
Bilbo had always categorized his life by hands.
His father's smooth hands that had never worked a day in his life. Hands that caught him up and hugged him tight, hands that tucked him in at night.
His mother's soft gentle hands combing through his hair as she told him stories. His mother's firm grip in his as they walked through market or to go Visiting. Or even her nervous straightening of his clothing just before he met Mister Gandalf.
Then came the No Hand years, when the only hands in his life were the ones that shook his and moved on, never to come back, or if they did only briefly.
The first hands he saw were wrinkled and weather worn. Covered hands, bare hands, tattooed hands, quick hands, slow hands, silent hands, and ones that yelled. Of all the hands the Company had Bilbo loved Thorin's the best.
Thorin's hands were worn and rough from fighting and smithing, they were scarred and stiff froom etching out a living for his people.
For a little less than a year Bilbo had Thorin's hands in his life before they too were taken from him.
It took many years before hands came back in to him in a permanent fashion.
Frodo's hands.
Frodo's hands were tiny compared to all the other hands in his life, they were tiny and gripped tighter than any other he had felt. They were dirty, they were clean, they were always full of something, never still.
But Bilbo dreamed of workworn hands, hands that held him tight to his body promising him safety, hands that dangled him over the edge of a battlement , hands that caressed his hair gently and hands that threw him angrily, hands that were gentle and harsh.
Even after he forgot all the other hands Bilbo remembered Thorin's hands and the many touches they had given him, good and bad.
So... yeah pay no mind to the randomosity I was bored and this is what came out...Yes Thorin died.