We see Bilbo mourning over the death of a great man. Or do we...?
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"Thorin," Bilbo choked out. "The eagles." His voice cracked. "Look..." Tears rolled down his—
Thorin's eyes popped open. "Eagles indeed. Majestic creatures."
Bilbo's jaw dropped. "Th-Thorin!"
Thorin gave a hearty laugh. "You think there was only one of those silver-steel coats? Nah, there was two. I gave you one and myself the other. But I gave you the better one," he assured Bilbo.
"B-but... I thought... you..."
"Oh!" Thorin stood, and pulled the emotional wreck of a hobbit to his hairy feet. "I just like a good laugh from time to time."
"The blood stain..." Bilbo stammered, pointing to Thorin's red-stained coat. "What caused that?"
Thorin touched it. "What, that? Oh yeah. Balin packed me a jam sandwich and, uh, it leaked." He put his finger in his mouth. "Hm, strawberry..."
"For goodness' sake, I thought you were dead! Why would you do that to me?!"
Thorin grinned sheepishly. "Sorry?"
With a loud sob, Bilbo hugged Thorin, Son of Thrain, tightly—which made the dwarf slightly uncomfortable, might I add. Nevertheless, Thorin returned his affections and apologized for the scare.
In the end, there was a great feast, and everyone got drunk and had a merry time. Thanks to some rare elf magic, Kili and Fili were patched up quickly, and quite miraculously, and they were up and laughing in no time. Gandalf puffed away on his pipe like always. The dwarves and the hobbit and the the wizard ate a fat pig and sang songs and told tales of their ancestors, and things never looked brighter.
THE END
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