"Go back to your books and your armchair. Plant your trees. Watch them grow."
And so the company's burglar did his King's bidding.
He buried the acorn in the rich soil of his little garden, hoping to one day see it grow into a great Oak.
...Buried with it were his memories of two twinkling sapphires that shone like stars, his loyalty, his honour, his willing heart...
That day, Bilbo Baggins buried Thorin Oakenshield.
Spring came, and his flowers began to bloom. Bilbo nurtured the sapling with tender, loving care as he watched it grow. One day, one day the Oak would grow to become as big as the Party Tree.
But then a storm came.
Lightnings flashed and thunderbolts came crashing down upon his Smial, and the hobbit sat hunched inside as he shuddered.
Bilbo hurried out of his door at daybreak and looked upon the devastation. It was as if the stone giants had returned to unleash their wrath, but this time there was nobody to save Bilbo from a great fall off the cliffside-
Because there lay his little oak tree, smashed and broken under the rocks...
Bilbo said his farewell speech beneath the Party tree, and left all the memories he clung onto behind him as he took the road to Rivendell.
He left Bag End, where the songs of his companions still haunted its empty rooms.
His trunk, where he kept little trinkets that reminded him of The Journey.
His Ring... The one ring that brought him there just in time for them to say their last good-bye...
He left all of that behind, until finally came the day when the old hobbit, too, gave up the greatest of his treasures as a King would cast away his crown.
Sting would serve Frodo well, and Bilbo did not let himself hesitate as he lifted up the last of his belongings and handed it over.
"Light as a feather, and hard as dragon's scales," he said, and he smiled as he parted with his one and only gift.
This time it truly was good-bye.
His hair greyed and his memories faded. Days and nights rolled into one blurry dream and Bilbo often nodded off to sleep by the fire in the Last Homely House.
He had given all there was to give, left all there was to leave. The red book which held the tale of his Unexpected Journey was safe with Frodo. No longer did Bilbo remember the music of the golden harp, nor the sweet smell of the fresh pines. The name of his feisty pony was like a lost ghost on his lips, and oh! Could that be the Dragon's flame!
-or perhaps it was just a flickering blaze dancing in the fire...?
Then they were taking him to the shores.
Someone said he was about to embark on his last journey; could it be Gandalf?
Bilbo gave in to a big yawn.
He could not quite remember now, but he'd ask the meddling wizard the next time he came over for tea. He must remember to bake more scones; perhaps Gandalf would bring some friends this time. It had been so long since last he had any company...
A great Elven ship waited for him by the shore, and Bilbo was welcomed by the fair folks. Ah, how the memories came back to him now! Faces and days he met on the roads came rushing back into his mind, and Bilbo squinted as he peered beyond the gathering crowd, searching for a familiar silhouette that was bound to be there.
Alas, he could not see so well anymore, and the old hobbit gave a sad smile.
"I think I'm quite ready for another adventure..."
Bilbo plodded slowly towards the setting sun, looking straight ahead. Never once did he glance back to the East - towards the mountain where memories were buried deep beneath the rocks.
The King's burglar boarded the ship and leant heavily on his cane. Ah! That was the one thing he never parted with after all! For it was no great treasure.
It was but a simple, Oaken cane.