Hello again, everyone!
Thanks again to those who have read this! I didn't think over 300 people would read this, but that's what happened!
I apologize for the heavy feelings in the previous chapter. (I labelled this as 'humour'!) I promise it will get happier.
DISCLAIMER: If the Hobbit was mine, it would be so bad that nobody would ever have published it. Obviously, that is not the case.
Kili couldn't sleep. For the few days following Bilbo's death he had slept fitfully, drifting in and out of disturbing nightmares. He had just woken up in a panic, having been reliving Bilbo's death once more. The last moments of Bilbo's life had become a recurring nightmare of his, so real and vivid that all Kili could do was scream and wish that he could wake up before Bilbo could go, but he always stayed.
Each night, it was the same: he would be keeping vigil over Bilbo's sleeping form, keeping occasional tabs on the hobbit's breathing, pulse and temperature. For a while, everything is fine, until Kili glances at Bilbo again and there is far too much red for it to be fine.
He calls for the rest of the dwarves, who come running in, and Oin, Balin and Thorin all try desperately to stop the fountain of blood spurting out from Bilbo's wound. Kili always wonders how so much blood could come from such a little person, and right at that moment, Bilbo's eyes snap open, and he groggily looks around, extremely disoriented.
The hobbit mumbles words, but Kili is too focused on the deep red stain that is steadily growing on Balin's handkerchief…
"Are you okay?" his brother's voice snapped him out of his reverie, and Killi jumped in surprise.
"What?" he asked, then hurriedly added, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."
It's too fast an answer, though, and Fili could tell he's not indeed fine. "What's wrong, Kili?" he asked, and looked straight into his brother's hazel eyes.
Kili shook his head. "Nothing. I'm fine."
Fili sighed in exasperation. "Kili," he said, grabbing his brother's hands. "You're paler than a ghost, you're shaking like a leaf, and you were tossing and turning in your sleep. What is going on, Kili?"
"Fine!" Kili shouted, then realised that everyone else was still asleep and continued in a hoarse whisper. "Every night, I dream about Bilbo, okay?" he said, and tried not to notice Fili's shocked expression. "Every night when I close my eyes, all I can see is him in pain, and all I can feel is panic, and there's just so much blood!" His voice broke, and he succumbed to his tears, sobbing like a little child.
Fili was stunned; he hadn't expected this. "Kili..." he said, but he couldn't think of anything to say. He almost broke down himself, seeing his brother like this, so dejected, afraid and sad. He so wanted to say something to his brother, to tell him that it would be okay, but he knew that there was nothing he could do or say to make it all okay. All he could do was wrap his arms around his brother's shaking body and cry alongside him, and thus, the two dwarf princes sat together and wept for their burglar.
Bilbo wished he knew why he was a ghost in the first place. When hobbits died they were supposed to go to Yavanna's Garden, so why was he still here? He knew that there were stories of people living on after death as spirits, but only when they had unfinished business, and none of them had ever been hobbits.
Perhaps it was because he had nothing else to do that he remained as a ghost among the dwarves, or because somewhere deep down inside he knew he was needed.
At any rate, Bilbo wished he could stop being a ghost. He hated walking the line between living and dying, where no one can see him and everyone is mourning him. He wanted life or death, not somewhere in between.
If I am dead, he thought glumly. Let me go to Yavanna's Garden. If I am alive, let me live. Don't keep me here like a prisoner among my own-
"...Bilbo?"
Bilbo jumped, and rose to his feet. An old dwarf with a hooked nose and a long white beard stood not three feet away from him. Bilbo hadn't noticed the dwarf approach because of his musings. It didn't surprise him to see Balin by his grave; the dwarves often sat by the grave marker, but what was odd was that Balin wasn't looking at the grave, he was looking straight at Bilbo.
"Y-you...you can see me?" Bilbo asked in a whisper. His heart was all in a flutter and he felt more excited than he had felt since the day the dwarves showed up at his hobbit-hole and whisked him away on this adventure.
Balin replied in an equally soft voice. "Aye, lad. I can see you now. I couldn't before." He paused, and his gaze drifted towards the tiny grave beside them.
"'The burglar who stole the hearts of 13 dwarves.'" Bilbo read off his gravemarker. "Did I really?" He asked, with a hint of sarcasm.
Balin grinned. "Didn't you hear Bofur at your funeral? You're our family." He looked skywards, up towards the top of the Lonely Mountain. He sighed. "I can't believe you had to die over a mountain."
Bilbo shook his head. "It isn't a mountain, Balin, it's your home."
Balin frowned. "No, lad." He said, shaking his head sadly. "Home isn't a mountain; it's us." he pointed to Bilbo and then to the rest of the dwarves seated in a circle around the fire. Turning back to Bilbo, he asked, "So why aren't you in there?" He gestured towards the mound of dirt.
"I'm not sure," Bilbo admitted. "But I shouldn't be here. I've never heard of a ghost hobbit before." He twirled his thumbs around each other and awkwardly looked at his own grave. "Can we…" he didn't know quite why it bothered him, but something about his own burial site made him uneasy. "Can we move somewhere else?"
Balin nodded slowly and gave Bilbo a queer look as they moved into a secluded spot away from the mountain.
Balin sat down on a large rock and faced Bilbo with an uneasy look on his face. "Look here, Bilbo," he said, and scratched his bearded chin. "You have to know that I'm not angry with you or anything like that. I'm just very shocked, that's all. It's not every day your dead friend appears to you as a ghost." he chuckled a bit, but his smile faded when his eyes rested on the hobbit's hand. "What happened to your hand?" He asked.
"I can apparently still get burned," Bilbo replied dryly. "I guess I still have to worry about incineration."
Balin laughed then, a deep, fruity laugh. "Aye, lad, I do think lacerations and evisceration aren't any problem for you anymore."
Bilbo smiled, but a nagging thought at the back of his mind surfaced and he oldnt help but to ask it. "Balin?" he asked, and the dwarf looked surprised at the hobbit's serious tone. "Why do you think I'm still here? Why haven't I gone on to Yavanna's Garden?"
Balin sighed, and looked uncomfortable. "I'm not sure, lad," he said, and pondered this for a minute. "Do you truly want to go? Or do you feel obligated to stay?"
Bilbo thought about this. "I don't know," he said after a lengthy pause. "I want to go to Yavanna's Garden, but I know you all need me here." he saw Balin smile tearfully. "But I don't think I had a choice," Bilbo added. "I don't even remember dying. I just woke up and everyone was crying, and I was a ghost."
Balin opened his mouth to reply, but a black haired dwarf wearing a floppy cap with ear flaps hanging by his cheeks appeared beside him.
"Who are you talking to, Balin?" Bofur asked, looking around in confusion.
Looking Bilbo straight in the eyes, he mentally sent the hobbit a message: Should I tell him?
Bilbo didn't hesitate to nod vigorously. Of course, tell him, Bain. He thought, though he knew Balin couldn't possibly know those words were hovering around in his mind. Tell everyone.
Balin flashed Bofur a sad grin. "Bilbo Baggins," he replied, nodding with tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "I'm talking to Bilbo."