Epilogue
Aragorn found the old hobbit sitting alone in the Hall of Fire.
"Bilbo," he greeted the hobbit gently. "I have just been to Frodo's room. Gandalf said he had wakened but is now asleep again. I thought you might want to know that."
"Thank you, Aragorn," said Bilbo absently.
The Ranger sat beside Bilbo and touched him on the shoulder. "Are you well, my friend? Have you rested?" he asked. "You have stayed awake all night, waiting for the news of the surgery and sitting by Frodo's bed; you must be weary."
"I am fine, Aragorn," said Bilbo, still not looking at the Ranger.
"There will be a feast tonight," Aragorn went on quietly. "Did you know that Gloin has come with a delegation of dwarves from the Lonely Mountain? They shall be at the feast also."
"Yes, yes," said Bilbo. "We have met."
"Bilbo," said Aragorn with concern. "What troubles you, my friend? Are you still worried about Frodo?"
Bilbo turned to look at Aragorn, a frown adding more creases to his wrinkled brow. 'How can I tell him?' the hobbit thought. 'How can I explain that it was not Frodo I was thinking about but…'
If he must carry the Ring further, It will hurt him deeper, It will even kill him. I can spare him that pain. I can save him from that horror. I am old; I have seen enough and done a lot. If I should die bearing It, what of it then? Frodo is young; he still has a lot to look forward to in his life. He doesn't deserve this burden, this nightmare that is my legacy…
Bilbo gasped. The thought had begun to clamor insistently in his mind ever since the worry and fear that haunted him for the last four days were finally lifted with the certainty of Frodo's recovery. At first he thought that it was his own guilt and love for Frodo that had spoken, but then he recognized the underlying voice that whispered in his heart. More than seventeen years ago, in front of the cozy fire in his study at Bag End, when Gandalf had asked him to give up the Ring, that voice had sung to him, and he had vehemently refused to leave the Ring, insisting It was his by right.
And Frodo will have to hear that voice, that seductive and chilling voice, as long as he has to carry It. How can I stand aside and let him suffer the consequences of my folly? If anyone should be punished by bearing the Ring, it should be me.
Bilbo shook his head and ran one hand over his eyes.
"Bilbo?" asked Aragorn again, more insistently this time.
Bilbo looked at his friend and managed a weak smile. "You are right, Aragorn. I am tired," he said. "I will go and lie down for a while." He stood and began to walk away.
"Bilbo," called Aragorn, standing up and walking to Bilbo's side. "Here. I have a pouch of the Southern Star leaf. Take it, so you will not have to beg your cousins for pipeweed."
Bilbo stared at the proffered bag, then at Aragorn. "Thank you," he said with a small smile. "But I don't think I shall ever smoke again." It evoked too many memories, he thought with a sigh.
He reached out and pressed Aragorn's hand. "Look after Frodo for me," he said, before turning away and walking out of the Hall.
~fin~
