Bilbo hid it well, or as well as a hobbit stuck in a smial with thirteen dwarves could. It started off simple in the beginning, had started long before the dwarves had arrived. He had felt the fading, had felt himself slipping. Like he was walking along a cliff edge and every so often his foot would slip. The farther he went the worse it got. There was not much more to it, at least for a time. Then, closer to the time of the dwarves arrival, he physically started to fade. It was getting harder to get up, his leg was hurting more. Food was harder to eat. He was eating less, his favorite foods now his worse enemy. It just wouldn't sit right with him. He started to lose weight because of it. His hair started to thin out. He felt weak, fragile. Sometimes it hurt to breath. Then, the day before his dwarves (they were and are and always would be HIS) arrived, he started coughing. It started off as a tickle in his throat, but by the end of the day, his ribs hurt and he was exhausted. The next day he started to cough up blood. Just a little, mind you, but any sensible hobbit would call a doctor. Bilbo knew better, though. Why waste the good lad's time when Bilbo knew the outcome? He was dying, it was as simple as that. He had wanted to be alone when it happened, but now…..now he was afraid of being alone. He was afraid of dying. He thought he was ready, but now he wasn't.

He knew he should tell the dwarves, should tell Lobelia and Hamfast, should tell Thorin, but then he would see how happy they all were. See them smiling over Hamfast's brew. See Dori and Lobelia arguing over growing techniques. He couldn't do that to any of them. He was already causing them enough pain. No more. He would leave, he would die in peace somewhere. Maybe where his mother had whispered her last words to him. Maybe beneath the Mulberry tree a few hills yonder where his father had proposed to his mother…. Oh, Eru! What would his life had been like if Thorin had proposed to him instead of sending him away, far from his family?

Bilbo stopped his packing and covered his mouth with his hand as tears slipped down his face. There he goes again, crying like a baby. Everything could have been different. He would be living in Erebor with Thorin, dying there. And what of the ring? It would have taken Thorin, taken all the dwarves. He knew it. That didn't make any of this better, though.

The rumble of thunder surprised Bilbo and he looked out the window to see it had started raining. Lightning flickered and there was another rumble. The dwarves would be back soon. Bilbo let his head fall onto the pile of clothes before him in the chest he was kneeling in front of. He was hoping to be gone by now. It was too late, wasn't it? Everything was too late. Thorin was too late, forgiveness was too late, everything. He could've had it all, could've had his dream life. But not now.

Bilbo didn't care that the clothes were getting wet as he cried. There was too much in him right now to top the tears. He would have to tell them. Tell that he was…..that he was going….his thoughts were interrupted by a violent cough that ripped at his chest, sending sparks of pain through his lungs. Only this time, he couldn't make it stop.

He heard the door open, but it was coming from far away. He heard voices calling, he heard the stomping of feet, but they were being drowned out by the wet, soul tearing coughs echoing through his chest. He tried to push himself up, to get away, to do something, but his body failed him then. All the energy was sucked out of him, replaced with pain and loss. Thorin…..How could he do this to Thorin? Panicked voices reached him, but he couldn't understand. Strong hands grabbed him, lifted him up. As his vision went black, he saw Thorin's face, Thorin's worried face. Bilbo tried to reach up, tried, but the world went black.

*Fading From This World*

"…..fine, Thorin," the old, tired voice broke through the darkness. That suffocating darkness that wouldn't let go.

"No, he's not. He's dying. He could be dead. What if we hadn't come when we did?" Thorin was here, or there. Please, please don't let him be dead just yet. He needed to apologize.

"But he's not and you got here in time. But that won't be enough for long. He is old, Thorin, he is tired. Can you let him go?" that old voice again. It was so familiar….like an old memory….

"Gandalf," Bilbo gasped out, wincing as his lungs complained. A warm hand pressed against his forehead as another gripped his hand tightly. Thorin's hands, the same as they were when the dwarf had first cupped his face and kissed Bilbo so thoroughly that the poor hobbit thought the world had ended.

"I am here, old friend," an older, more wrinkled hand gripped his other hand, squeezing gently. "I told you I would be."

"Sorry…" Bilbo forced his eyes open. Thorin was hovering over him, sitting beside him on his bed. Gandalf sat in a chair, leaning onto the bed. Both looked worried, "Sorry…..for….every…"

"Shush, Bilbo, shush," Thorin whispered. "Do not apologize. I have already told you that you have nothing to be sorry for. Please, little one, relax."

"Rest, Bilbo, everything is ok. You just over strained yourself today," Gandalf said softly. "We will be here when you wake."

"Will….I?" Bilbo forced out, eyes fighting to close.

"Yes, Bilbo, you will," Gandalf smiled a little at that. "It is not quite time yet."

"You…you will…stay?" Bilbo turned his attention to Thorin.

"I don't plan on leaving you, not yet," Thorin shifted so he was lying next to Bilbo, still holding his hand but now his other arm was gently resting on his stomach. The dwarf looked like he had aged ten years at least.

"And I….don't plan…..either," Bilbo whispered before letting his eyes slip close, falling back into the darkness. He could've sworn though, just before he was lost to oblivion, that he felt something wet fall on his cheek.