Written from a prompt from glubyoutodarn on tumblr. I could hardly do this prompt justice, but I tried my best :) Please Review.
Streams of red, pink, and orange bloomed across the evening sky as the sun sank towards the horizon, the cool spring day quietly coming to an end like the many days before it. The lands were peaceful now, no longer under the threat of Mordor or Isenguard. The people of Middle Earth were safe from harm and could go where they wished. Purged of Orcs and Uruk-Hai, the roads were now safe to travel, many carriages bearing elves to the last ships sailing to Valinor. One such carriage carried the Hobbit who had saved Middle Earth along with his aging uncle, Bilbo Baggins. The two hobbits were making their final journey at the request of Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond when Bilbo had fallen ill. Once Frodo had received the word that Bilbo was sick, he had immediately come for his uncle, worried that he might be too late, that maybe he had waited too long. When he reached Rivendell, Bilbo was frail, but ready to travel. He had enough power left in him to spend the journey rambling of his old adventures. Of Thorin Oakenshield, Smaug, and the Lonely Mountain. Frodo loved those stories, though it pained him to see the elderly Hobbit retell them through hacking coughs. At the astonishing age of 131, Bilbo still had quite the memory, his stories as clear as they had been when Frodo was a young Hobbit. When Bilbo ran out of stories to tell, Frodo picked up, recounting the War of the Ring and his adventures in Mordor.
"You know I loved him," Bilbo said when there was lull in their retellings, "That grumpy dwarf King had my whole heart."
Frodo nodded, tucking a blanket around his shivering uncle. "You've told me before, I only wish you two could have had more time together. Goodness knows, you deserved it."
They continued on in companionable silence, the rattling of the carriage wheels the only sound among the quiet beaches and tree lines.
They were two thirds of the way there when Bilbo passed on. The silence broken when he looked at Frodo and said softly, "Frodo, my boy, I don't believe I'm going to be with you on this last adventure." Then he took a wheezy breath and closed his eyes, never to open them in that body again.
TotSTotSTotS
He'd been old and grey when he'd last closed his eyes-and now the colors were bright and he couldn't help but wail against the light. Everything was too loud and overstimulating. He saw flashes of faces above him, but his eyes weren't working right and his vision seemed blurred. A soft cloth was wrapped around his new tiny body, swaddling him in warmth. Arms cradled him and a distant voice whispered to him, but the words jumbled in his mind. Half of him seemed to understand the mother's words of comfort, but the other half only heard jumbled gibberish. He was confused, he seemed to be split into two, but the two halves blurred more and more until one rose above. Soon, the only memory of Bilbo Baggins in him was that last moment in the carriage, but even that fragment was fading. The strongest part of him, a new-born dwarfing, stopped wailing as his mother began to rock, calming the world around him. The creaking of a door started him crying again, the harsh sound grating his ears. A small dwarfling tiptoed into the room, catching the mothers attention.
"Thorin, come see your baby brother."
