This Side of Tomorrow
His bones creaked and crackled as he carefully and cautiously made his way down the stone steps to the harbor. It was quiet here, and so peaceful and lovely, and Bilbo found himself smiling contentedly. The water lapped lazily against the dock, gleaming near-silver in the fading glow of the setting sun. One gnarled hand clenched the hilt of his weathered walking stick, and he heaved a soft sigh.
This was it then, the end of life. The wrinkled face crinkled a little as a wide smile slowly spread over his lips. It was not at all as he had imagined it, much more quiet and peaceful and friendly, but that didn't diminish his excitement. To finally know for himself what lay beyond the farthest reaches of the world, out across the sea and far, far, far away into the West. He'd always wondered. And now, he'd finally see.
Soft blue eyes trailed over the small group of travelers, dear friends of his from long ago, and his heart swelled against his ribs. How lucky he was, to be making his final journey with the finest of companions, the same friends he might have never known had he never dared to venture out and away from home.
Bilbo's gaze then slowly drifted to the sea, and how it stretched on and on and on off into the golden sun. Not all of his friends had been so lucky as this, to leave life easily and with such merriment and fellowship. His memory had faded over the many years he'd lived, but he remembered flashes of his youth as clear as day. That fateful summer morning when he had burst forth out his door and chased the band of dwarves wildly down the path, signed contract firmly in hand and trailing behind in the breeze. Goblin Town and it's dank depths and horrors aplenty. That poor, wretched creature called Gollum, and his pitiful tears and wailing at the loss of his beloved gold ring. Yes, those memories were forever emblazoned upon his memory, but stronger still were those of his unlikely friends from so long ago.
Their faces came as welcome ghosts, images of laughter and song and merriment, their grins lit by firelight. Such fine friends they were, that ragtag group of dwarves. Very different in their dress and customs and sometimes rude behavior, but Bilbo could scarcely remember a time when his face had lit up quite as well as it had then, in times spent with the dwarves.
The fading sun sank a little lower on the horizon, and Bilbo found himself hoping as he'd never hoped before. Might they be there, his old friends? Would he find them laughing and singing and youthful again, as he had always remembered them? Fili and Kili, those dear, brave boys had earned their place on those shores, he was sure. And if he saw them upon arriving, it would be both of them or neither at all, he was sure, for he could not imagine that either would step onto those white shores without the other close at hand. Each of those men had earned their journey to such a peaceful end as far as he was concerned. Gruff and curt, they were, but those ornate beards hid enormous hearts.
He so longed to see each of them again, those wonderful, boisterous lads who had shown him life. Oh, he thought he'd known what living was until they had barged into his home and practically dragged him out of it. And he shuddered to think what a sorry life he may have led if they hadn't.
Bilbo's eyes twinkled a little and the corner of his mouth twitched upward into a hopeful smile. He very much longed to see Thorin again, to tell him of Frodo's victory and the fall of all things dark in the world. It was something Thorin would have been proud to see, he thought, if he had only lived a while longer. Might he find Thorin on those white shores? With health restored and heart at peace? He wasn't sure. But his heart hoped for it anyhow. For as far as he was concerned, there was no one more worthy of such a proud end than Thorin Oakenshield.
With fingers crossed at his side and eyes never once leaving that distant horizon, Bilbo hobbled toward the boat with quick steps that spoke of his anticipation. He perched himself at the bow, so he might have a clear view of his friends when they finally arrived at the farther side of life. Oh, the stories he'd have for them. Perhaps they could build a fire and Bofur would still have his flute and they could sing and spin tall tales by firelight, just like old times. A broad smile lifted his wrinkled and weathered cheeks and his old hands curled excitedly around the smooth wood of the bow. Would there be mountains and rivers? Another land to explore in peace for all of time? Horses to ride at full speed across the plains without fear of falling? Oh, he could only hope.
And slowly, gently, the grey ship set sail, with its smallest and most eager passenger perched excitedly at the front, gnarled fingers drumming in anticipation. Old, dear friends and wonders aplenty lay far ahead beyond the farthest reaches of the sea. And he was quite ready for another adventure.