I just really felt like doing this, I'm in a letter writing kind of mood.

To my friend, to my companion, to the one I miss so foolishly and so brokenly,

Thorin II Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King under the Mountain,

You crept up on me.

Odd, considering that I, the burglar, was supposed to be the one doing the creeping.

Everyone made that quite plain.

I sit in my Hobbit Hole now, wondering where the time went and if it was all worth it at all. I have a cup of nettle tea in front of me, though this letter is acting as a distraction so I have a feeling it will go cold soon. I have a taken a sip. Yes, yes, it's cooling down quite quickly.

I honestly don't know what to write. You will not read this, because you are long gone. Balin said you are with your ancestors now, and I do hope that is true. You deserve to be with the King's before you.

But, selfishly, I wish you were with me instead.

I wonder if I would have stayed in Erebor, had you lived. Had Kili and Fili lived, too. I know that they were young, for Dwarves. Awful, awful. I have a feeling they died how they would have wanted to die - protecting you, that is. With body and with armour.

But they were just so young.

I am so glad that I was able to talk with you before you died. Still, I should have said more. If Oin had not been pressing against your ribs and muttering under his breath, I think I would have said more. Oh, what am I saying? You knew. I know you knew.

You were so intent upon letting me know how sorry you were. I am sorry too. I just did what I thought needed doing.

I miss you terribly, you stubborn Dwarf.

I feel there was something unsaid, and even though I am sure you knew, I still wish I had said it. In the end, the fact that I will never say it to you unsettles me somehow. If I could, I would write it in the sky and the stars and reflect it upon sunlight and moonlight so you could see it, wherever you are now.

Maybe you watch me now. Maybe you smile, maybe you frown. I can never tell with you.

You deserved to be King. Had that sickness not coiled around your mind, you would have made a great King. The best King. And that is coming from a Hobbit who, as you know, can be quite opinionated on such things.

My house is quiet, Thorin. I don't like it. Even my books and my fire cannot help me escape the loneliness that is seeping into the very wrinkles of my skin. Maybe I should have stayed in Erebor, with the others. But not without you there.

I don't think I could have stayed there without you.

You would call me foolish. Foolish Hobbit, you would say. I am foolish. So terribly foolish and foolhardy, writing a letter to eyes that cannot see; will never see again. How sad that is. You had quite lovely eyes, for a stubborn Dwarf.

Such a silly letter, this is.

Yours,

Bilbo Baggins.

A silly little letter, but I really felt like writing something Bilbo/Thorin.