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Voice like a drum, love like a melody

🍂A Baggenshield angst word vomit because I love them🪨

⚠️Warning⚠️

The Hobbit Spoilers and Major Character Death

Word Count: 1407

I have never said I am a perfect man. Polite to a fault, kind as often as I can, truthful when it exists out of the realm of my greed. I am not perfect, and I am well aware of many of my shortcomings as they have made themselves evident over the course of my life.

When I was just a young thing, my father caught me scruffing with a wild fox over a branch neither of us had ever seen before. We had no claim over it, we laid eyes on it at roughly the same time. And yet, we both believed we had a divine right to this dead appendage of a birch tree. My yelling alerted my father, a slender man with a larger brain than anyone. That fact nearly made up for his lack of labor ability. And yet, the fox and I were tired enough that he was able to pry us apart. We must’ve been exhausted, for my father lost the strength to carry me a few months before. I was furious with him for letting the fox get away, and he held me still from squirming. He asked me if I needed the stick. Although I yelled that I did, he knew there was no true reason as I couldn’t give him one. It was then he realized that my greediness of youth would likely follow me to my older years. So, he gave me a rule to hopefully quell or confine it.

“Never take someone else’s need for your wants.” He shook me and let me fall onto the dirty, thornful forest floor and that was the end of the discussion.

And I have followed this advice as often as the opportunity has presented itself. For this reason, I have held myself with the title of a humble man for a long time. I acknowledge that once a humble man announces this, he will lose said title. And, yet, I continue. Because I lost my humility two years ago. I have spent the last two years trying to rope it back to me, but it has eluded me. Finally, with the encouragement of memories of friends eating away at my mind, I have caved and will finally describe this moment in pen, in hopes that doing so will allow it to cease being described behind my eyes every waking moment; even further into my dreams.

He had a voice like the banging of a drum, deep and rolling as the ocean. For the longest time I felt as though love was the wrong word. It was more comfort than love, like a warm bath. He wore dark furs that covered him like scales cover a dragon or a vault covers a treasure. He strode with urgency, commanded with the bravery of a general, gazed at others with rarely a hint of kindness.

When trying to understand him, one must first understand the true language he spoke. His truest of intentions were not found in common or dwarvish, his face or his hands; but his eyes, oh, they held so much. They would stare at me so intensely across the campsite, I would think he was scolding me like an enemy. They would follow my every move, ready to sneer. If eyes could have killed back then, I would have been dead for decades by now.

Every step I took, I seemed to want his approval more and more. Like a river carving a mountain, slowly but surely I was adamant to convince him of one thing and one thing alone; that I deserved to be there. Among warriors and kings and the wisest of our time, I was just a humble hobbit who longed to be right and thirsted for a story to tell.

I quickly found that the task I had set for myself was impossible. There was nothing I could do for Thorin’s favor that would grant me it. The reason was very simple: It is impossible to convince someone of something that you yourself do not believe in.

This changed after our run in with the Orcs of the underground and our skirmish with the Living Mountain. Made to fend for myself after being separated from the group, I will say I even impressed myself with how I managed to escape. (However, my dear reader, that is a tale for another day.) In that moment, I felt surer than anything that I had proven myself. And that is when it began.

I began to see the sun reflect in his eyes, and began to see that he softened ever so slightly when he laid eyes on me. I saw that he began to really, truly see me; and I, him. On such a cold, treacherous journey, with so much left lying ahead of us, eye contact and conversations that felt like a spring afternoon were more than welcome. So, we hid during the day and shone like the sun at night, watching each other like how mortals watch stars.

We orbited one another like spinning magnets, like turning planets. It felt otherworldly, the admiration I could see him hold for me. Running from wargs and resting in glades blurred all the same, an underlying delight lightened everything. Suddenly, the room stopped when I opened my mouth. The world was brighter, laughter was louder, even anger didn’t last as long nor as bad.

I belonged among kings and warriors and wise ones. Not only because I was coming into my own, but also because I was now able to see that all these people of legends were also vulnerable and gay and excitable; and just like me.

Now, my dear reader, I am sure you are wondering when I lost my humility. I have been selfish in this writing, omitting what you are truly here for. For that, I apologize. But, please offer some sympathy to an old man, cursed to remember his life in a better light than it had truly ever shown. Over these many years I have found that the sun will never shine brighter than in a memory. But, I have held you in suspense long enough.

It was the battle of the five armies. Around me was chaos and bloodshed and fear and death. Something had been rifted between Thorin and I, about the arkenstone. A sickness had come over him, like how a dragon covers his treasure. The clouds blotted out the sun in his eyes, moving too erratically to reflect the love I once knew. Love still feels odd to say. But, it is the truth.

I hate to admit it, but I was embarrassed to have missed the entire battle. I was rendered unconscious quickly into the clash, and I woke up too late. I once confided in Balin and he asked what I thought I was late for. My chest ached and my eyes darted and he knew.

I was late to reach Thorin. Too late to protect him. Too late to call for a healer or take the blow instead. The nasty, nasty wound, killing my one love. My spring, my sun, my warmth. I threw myself over him, hands trembling and voice refusing to be used.

He grasped my arm like a vice and looked at me like a star. My mountain, my rock, he was slowly drifting away. His sturdy voice was telling me what we both knew, and then he was pulling me closer.

As the lips I had longed after for so long touched me so tenderly, as I finally reached the end of my journey to reach him, I could so keenly feel the cold of the world around me eating at my skin. I could hear every slash and clang of combat. He was kissing me with such a need.

And I was too late to kiss back with my want. By the time I returned the kiss, his lips were becoming as cold as the snow and his body went limp like a pile of rocks. And I lost him.

I am not a humble man. Friends I forged in the fire of danger, I left behind. I am selfish. I left his memory, his legacy, his love behind. Every night I laid in bed, trying to forget that Thorin died not knowing that I, Bilbo Baggens, man of so many faults and so much love, had kissed him back.

I need Thilbo fic recs that recognize the cultural differences between hobbits and dwarves. Because dwarves are loud and affectionate species. They slap each other on the back, they hug, the weird headbutt thing Dwalin and Balin do, they make jokes about their friends. They show their affections loudly. They aren’t afraid to show off their love for someone. Dwarves are a proud race and they show that quite often. But hobbits are a more quiet kind of love. Hand holding, forehead kisses, hand kisses, laying your head in their shoulder, falling asleep while they read to you, bouquets of flowers, picnics in a secluded area with all your favorite foods, baking together, reading together, admiring the stars kind of love. Hobbits are much more reserved than Dwarves. They take pride in their hosting skills and gardens. And I NEED to see Bilbo and Thorïn bumbling around trying to follow each others courting traditions and failing miserably RIGHT NOW.

Little Frodo:( Fili and Kili:((((( LITTLE SAME WATCHING ON FONDLY:(((((((((((((((

Happy Birthday!