Once again, I should mention that I do not own the Hobbit, nor the characters. Just this idea. Enjoy. I tried to make her reactions realistic and as accurate as I could, mainly by pretending I learned I was gonna die. I like to hide when I'm sad so I tried incorporating the same with Bilbo. This honestly made me so sad.
It was strange how a single moment can change the course of your life. How within a second, everything you knew, or thought you knew, or cared about, can become worthless.
"What?" Bilbo croaked, voice scarcely above a whisper as she desperately looked upon the pale and sweaty Dr. Tunnely who couldn't meet her eyes.
"I'm so very, very sorry my dear." Bilbo's heart pounded in her chest, the sound of it roaring in her ears as the room seemed to tilt. She clutched the edge of the examination table, grounding herself against the tremor threatening to take over her body.
"But I feel fine! It was just a few dizzy spells! Not... not." Bilbo couldn't finish, the words lodged themselves in her throat threatening to choke her.
"I'm so very sorry my dear, but it's such a sneaky disease. You don't know until..." Dr. Tunnely cleared his throat awkwardly and nervously fidgeted with the buttons on his coat.
"No." Bilbo choked out but it sounded watery and desperate. "No I'm sorry, I can't accept this. There must be some way, some cure!" Bilbo shook her head vehemently, her curls bouncing with the motion but Dr. Tunnely simply looked down at the ground while fiddling with his fingers in a way that looked like a twitch.
"The signs don't lie." was all he said his downcast his expression pained.
Bilbo felt the blood drain from her face, leaving her cold, clammy, and numb. The room felt too small, the walls too close. "How long?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Dr. Tunnely hesitated, his reluctance palpable. "If my suspicions are correct... a year, maybe less."
The world seemed to stop. Bilbo's ears rang, drowning out everything but the echo of his words. Bilbo's knees buckled, and she sank onto the edge of the examination table, her hands gripping it tightly as if it were the only thing keeping her from floating away. She stared at the floor, her vision blurring with unshed tears.
"Mrs. Baggins! Mrs. Baggins! Are you alright?!" Dr. Tunnely asked, his voice breaking with the distress of his words. He ran a trembling hand through his thinning hair and reached his hands toward her, but Bilbo brushed him off.
"I'm fine," she said, her voice cracked, and she bit her lip to stop the sob threatening to escape. "I'll... I'll see myself out," she said stiffly, pulling her disassociated body upright again and schooling her features. "Thank you for your time Doctor, please don't tell anyone about this, I would like to get my affairs in order before... anyone knows."
Dr. Tunnely hesitated, his mouth opening and closing and his hands trembled, but the resolve in Bilbo's voice silenced him. He nodded reluctantly, his expression was pinched in conflict but he bit his lip and nodded all the same. "Of course, Mrs. Baggins," he said softly. "Your privacy is paramount. If you need anything—anything at all—you know where to find me."
Bilbo gave a curt nod, her movements wooden as she gathered her shawl and basket. The room felt stifling, the air heavy and thick, pressing against her chest. She needed to leave, to breathe, to think—but most of all, she needed to be alone.
The walk back to Bag End was a blur, her surroundings a tapestry of muted greens and browns. The familiar rolling hills, the distant sound of birdsong, the smell of freshly turned earth—all of it felt strangely alien, like a world she no longer belonged to.
By the time she reached her round green door, her legs felt like lead, each step an effort of will. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, the warmth of home doing little to thaw the chill in her bones.
Bilbo closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment as she tried to catch her breath. The silence of Bag End was deafening, broken only by the faint creak of the floorboards beneath her feet. She wanted to cry, to scream, to rail against the unfairness of it all—but instead, she stood there, frozen, her mind racing in circles.
You're dying
The words echoed in her mind, a haunting reminder. How could this happen? How could the world keep spinning, as if nothing had changed?
Bilbo pushed off the door, hung up her shawl, and put away her basket before wandering into the kitchen like she was already a ghost in her own body, her eyes scanning the familiar space as if seeing it for the first time.
For a long moment, she simply stood there, her fingers grazing the edge of the kitchen table as if the solid wood beneath her touch could tether her to reality. Her breaths were shallow, each inhale catching in her throat. The firelight flickered, casting shadows that danced across the walls—mocking, alive, while she felt hollowed out and still.
Her eyes fell to a cup resting on the counter, one she'd left out that morning, still stained with the remnants of tea. It was such a mundane sight, yet it struck her with the force of a blow. That morning, she'd thought she had time. Time to clean it up later or make another batch. Time to make a hundred more cups of tea. Time for quiet afternoons in the garden, for writing letters she'd been putting off, for finishing that quilt she'd been working on for months.
The tremor started in her hands, barely noticeable at first, but it quickly spread through her body. Her chest heaved as her breath hitched, her composure crumbling. She gripped the back of a chair to steady herself, her knuckles turning white.
And then the first sob broke free.
It was low and guttural, a sound she barely recognized as her own. The tears came hot and fast, spilling down her cheeks as the weight of it all crashed over her.
"I don't want to die," she whispered, the words trembling and raw. "I don't want to..." Ripping herself away from the desperate grip she held onto the chair with, Bilbo scrambled away from her kitchen, from her confession, from the truth.
She stumbled into her sitting room, her legs shaking under the weight of her anguish before her knees gave out entirely. She sank to the floor, crawling under the empty space of her father's armchair and gripping the oak leg as if it were the only thing anchoring her to the world. Her breath hitched with every sob that tore free from her chest.
Her cries were harsh and violent, rattling through her body with a force that left her trembling. They were raw, primal, each sound scraping at her throat as if trying to drag out the despair lodged deep within. Her fingers dug into the wood of the upholstery, clinging to it as if it could somehow hide her from the world and hold her together when she felt like she was falling apart.
The room seemed to grow around her, with her sobs being the only sound encompassing the walls, leaving her feeling more empty and consumed in grief than ever before. Images began flashing through her mind— every anger, grievance, sadness, and pain Bilbo had ever experienced— suddenly came to the forefront of her mind, demanding to be seen, acknowledged.
The grief was relentless, waves upon waves threatening to drown her. Her tears pooling on the floor for every lost dream, for her parents, for the little girl she was that wasn't allowed to grieve. For the stories of adventure, of courage, of triumph over insurmountable odds that had inspired her, filled her with a quiet longing for something more. Now, they felt like cruel reminders of a life she would never have.
She wept for it all, she wept until she was sick, till she could no longer make a sound and she simply trembled in her anguish. She cried until she no longer had the energy to cry, and then in the silence of Bag End—which had once been her solace, but now felt oppressive, a void that swallowed her cries and offered nothing in return—Bilbo acknowledged a truth she had been denying since her parent's death. Bag End didn't feel like home. It felt like a tomb.
"I really wanted to go on that adventure." Bilbo brokenly whispered into the void of silence before her consciousness faded, curled up in the remnants of her, once again, shattered heart.