Fifty-nine years later…
"Goodnight, dears! Be sure to watch where you're going—don't let those silly tree roots sneak up and catch you by your toes!"
"Don't worry, grandmamma! We'll be extra careful t' not stub our toes!"
"And to not trip and scrape our knees!"
"Goodnight, mum! Goodnight, granda'! We'll try to visit again in a week or two!"
Baylee chuckled as she watched her grandchildren wave at her as they skipped alongside their mother and father. "Those two are such a handful," she said, lightly shaking her head in amusement. "It's a wonder Lynnie and Ponto can handle them at times."
"They remind me of you when you were their age. Only, you were less prone to tripping than they are."
As she turned to head back inside, she saw her father standing in the doorway of Bag End. Though nearly sixty years had passed, her father looked every bit the youthful gentlehobbit he had been when they returned from Erebor; nary a wrinkle was to be found on his face. Age, however, hadn't been so miraculously kind to her: At ninety-two, she looked very much like the grandmother she was, with plenty of wrinkles and a full head of silvery-white hair.
"They just haven't grown into their feet just yet," she said, starting to slowly climb the steps leading up to the door. "In a year or two, they'll be just as nimble as all Greenhands are." Bilbo met her halfway up the stairs and started to help her the rest of the way so she wouldn't have to rely on just her cane.
"And they'll be climbing trees and getting into even more mischief just like their cousins," he quietly laughed. He looked up at the oak tree atop Bag End, smiling at the thought of how his older grandchildren enjoyed scrambling up into its branches and seeing who could climb the highest.
"Or they'll be dragging Frodo off to play hide-and-seek with him." As they reached the top step, she paused a moment to cover her mouth as she yawned.
A pitying smile came to Bilbo's lips. "I'm surprised you're not passed out in a chair after chasing those two around all day," he said. "Would you like me to make you some tea, dear?"
She shook her head. "No, no thank you…I think it's best I head to bed a bit early tonight," she replied with a small chuckle. "It's a good thing I wasn't the only one chasing those two around, though I do feel sorry for poor Frodo. I don't know how many times he rolled down the hill with Daisy and Tanta today." As they entered the front hall, she could see Frodo fast asleep in one of the parlor chairs, his feet propped up on a settle.
Bilbo dismissively waved his hand. "Ah, the lad needed a good few hours with his cousins," he chuckled. "Not only was he having fun, but he worked himself up quite the appetite so he could put a dent in that feast you and Lynnie made for us."
"That is true, though you put an even bigger dent in it," she giggled before, once more, covering her mouth with her hand as she yawned.
"You best get yourself off to bed, dear," Bilbo said, the pitying look returning to his features. After such a busy day, he knew she had to have been exhausted; he, too, was tired, but it was a different sort of tiredness he felt. "We don't need you falling asleep while standing up."
She playfully rolled her eyes. "I'm not that tired, da'."
"Mhm. If you say so, dear." Leaning over, he kissed the top of her head. "Sleep well, dear. Don't worry about breakfast in the morning—I'll make your favorite: Waffles with macerated berries."
"Ooh, that sounds delicious," she grinned and, for a moment, Bilbo could only see a younger version of her. "Sleep well when you get there, da'. And please make sure Frodo gets to bed at some point, will you? He'll have a horrible neckache if he sleeps in the chair like that much longer."
He nodded, the vision of his daughter's younger self replaced by reality once more. "I'll have my final smoke of the night and then send him on his way."
"Alright. Goodnight, da'." She smiled when he kissed the top of her head for a second time.
"Goodnight, dear."
Baylee made her way down the hall, her steps silent, save for the gentle 'tunk' of her cane on the wooden floor. Though she had moved back into Bag End after Halfast's death nearly six months ago, she still couldn't help but find it odd to be returning every night to her childhood bedroom. But, as strange as it was, it was better than returning to the room where she had spent fifty-four years with Halfast, where his half of the bed empty would remain empty.
Halfast had been a wonderful husband and father to her and their four children. In the months following Thorin's death, her younger self had questioned whether she could ever love someone again, but after returning to the Shire and reuniting with Halfast, she learned that she could. It took time, of course, and she had been reluctant to tell him about Thorin, but he had been patient and understanding of the situation. Even when his father pressured him to go after some other, less 'damaged' hobbit lass, he waited for her until, at last, she had finished healing.
Stepping into the room, she closed the door behind her and went over to the bedside table, where she turned up the oil lamp's wick, bathing part of the room in a soft, warm glow. The room hadn't changed much—all the furniture was the same as when she was younger, as was the bedding, the rug, and the curtains. But the bookshelves were empty now, their contents residing in the hobbit hole she had shared with Halfast (and had been given to her eldest son upon her moving out).
Though it took her longer to undress these days thanks to the arthritis in her hands, she managed to change into her nightgown and get her hair unpinned from the bun she had twisted it into earlier in the day with little trouble. After resting her cane against the side of her nightstand, she sat down on the edge of the bed and opened the drawer of the little table. As she reached inside to grab her hairbrush, though, she paused; her fingers had brushed against cold metal. Forgetting about the brush for now, she instead took hold of the metal object only to pull out the necklace she had worn as Erebor's queen.
Mouse-Lass…
When she, Bilbo, and Bofur had first returned, she hadn't wanted to take it off—she would wear it even while sleeping. But as the years went on and her emotional wounds healed, she managed to take it off for varying lengths of time until she was only wearing it for special occasions and those occasions were usually when members of the Company would stop by for a visit. She had brought it with her when she moved back to Bag End, but had almost forgotten that she had tucked it away in the nightstand.
'You could do with a good polishing,' she thought, running her fingers over the metal. 'I should keep you somewhere more befitting of your worth…you used to sit on the neck of queens, after all.' Her eyes closed for a moment, a sad smile coming to her lips.
As dearly as she loved Halfast, her love for Thorin had never faded. She once thought that, with time, it would just become a memory, but every time someone mentioned Thorin's name or brought up the journey, the ache in her heart was just as strong as it had been when he first passed. It made her wonder more than once if hobbits and dwarves, like men, had soulmates and, if they did, if Thorin had been hers.
Mouse-Lass…
Unfolding the necklace, she wrapped it around her neck and, though it took her a few tries to get the hook through the eye, she managed to fasten it into place. It had been quite some time since she last wore it, so it felt heavy around her neck and the cold metal sent a shiver down her spine. But its weight was soon forgotten and the metal grew warm with her body heat.
She yawned deeply as she brought her legs up onto the bed, tucking them under the covers; a soft hiss of pain left her mouth and she lightly pressed on her hip as it dully throbbed for a moment. When the pain left, she leaned over and turned down the wick of the lamp until the little flame extinguished itself. With the room now bathed in darkness, she exhaled a soft sigh and closed her eyes before drifting off to sleep, thinking of the errands she needed to do tomorrow…
"It's time to wake up, Mouse-Lass."
Baylee suddenly gasped, her eyes flicking open only to find blue sky dotted by fluffy, white clouds above her and tall grass surrounding her. Her brows furrowed in confusion; this…this wasn't her bedroom. Out of habit to avoid stirring up the aches and pains of old age, she slowly pushed herself upright only to realize that she didn't feel any kind of stiffness in her body. Not even her hip, which was a constant nuisance in her old age, ached.
She looked down at herself only for her eyes to widened in in shock. Instead of wearing her nightgown, she was clad in a somewhat-worn yellow dress. Not only that, though, but as she looked at her hands, she found all traces of aging gone from them: There were no wrinkles, no age spots, no arthritic knuckles.
As she felt her face, she found the same results: No signs of aging. She still had the large scar around her eye and, as she covered her right eye, the world turned into a faintly-colored blur. A small, confused pout came to her lips and she suddenly pinched herself to see if she were dreaming—quite hard, just to be extra sure—only to let out a quiet curse as the spot on her arm stung quite badly.
Behind her, someone chuckled.
She squeaked and spun around, her eyes becoming as wide as saucers and her jaw falling slack: There stood Thorin, a broad, amused smile on his lips as he looked down at the little hobbit lass.
Understandably, she pinched herself again, harder this time. But the result was the same: Pain.
"O-Oakenshield?" she whispered, afraid that if she spoke too loud, her voice would disappear.
He chuckled and, leaning over, held his hand out to help her up. "I swore I would find you again, didn't I?" His voice nearly startled her; over the decades, she had almost completely forgotten what he sounded like.
For a moment, she hesitated, looking between his hand and his face a few times. His eyes were the same, rich sapphire blue that she remembered but they held so much more love and joy than she remembered ever seeing in them. As the realization that this was all truly real finally sank in, a broad grin came to her lips.
She took his hand, allowing him to help her to her feet, but instead of just pulling her to her feet, Thorin lifted her into his arms and held her aloft as he spun around in a circle with her. She yelped in surprise, but it quickly turned into a fit of laughter. Looking down at him, she found him wearing a wide, mirthful smile and he was laughing as well.
Cupping his face in her hands, she kissed him deeply, letting it linger for as long as her lungs would allow—another sign that this was no dream. When she was finally forced to end the kiss, she pressed her forehead against his. She could feel tears of joy starting to fill her eyes, but instead of sobbing, she laughed once more.
After years of waiting, her nightmare had finally ended.
A/N: And thus, Thorin and Baylee do, indeed, get their happy ending~
Hooboy, what a wild ride writing this story was! 606 pages, size 12 font, and with single-line spacing. I honestly can't give enough thanks to all of you who have continued to read it, even when I took that unexpected hiatus due to mom's death last year and all but abandoned an uploading schedule. I may not have replied to all the comments, but I assure you, I have read them (and will continue to read them) all and they really helped to keep me motivated to keep working on this, even when I just wanted to give up on it at times. Again, thank you all for reading ❤️❤️❤️
Like the last chapter, this one has an illustration to accompany it. Just replace the spaces with periods: www tumblr com/art-by-moosie/714264055346577408/thorin-and-baylee-reuniting-in-their-second-lives?source=share