Chapter Text
Bilbo closes his eyes one night after another one of the innumerable days he's spent in The Undying Lands.
It sounds quite grand at first, really, immortal life. But it's only grand as long as things are new. And he's explored all that The Undying Lands have to offer now, and all that's left is something not unlike his life he'd lead before Gandalf came to his door and he'd said "Good morning."
Except now there's a sorrow. A quiet one, but potent. Sam has been here for many long years, as have Legolas and Gimli. But Merry and Pippin had stayed behind, and apparently passed and were buried in Rohan and Gondor as heroes. He'd known those boys since they were infants, and now he's outlived them.
He's outlived a lot of people.
He's a bit tired of it.
Frodo has never recovered. Bilbo himself hasn't either, of course. He still finds himself reaching into his pocket every day with his weathered, skin-and-bone hands, hands that can barely hold a walking stick, let alone Sting or a good solid rock.
It's not really being young that he misses. It's being... studier. Less eaten away.
He thinks Frodo often feels the very same way he does, and it makes his heart sink. He'd give anything to take the burden away from him. Some days he even wants to take it away for Frodo's sake, and not his own. Some days he wishes he'd never given Frodo The Ring and had kept it himself, and some days he wishes he'd taken it to Mordor himself, and some days he wishes he'd left it as is, and some days he doesn't even remember why The Ring was that bad.
That's another thing. The in-and-out nature of his grip on reality. He likes when he's himself, but hates the grief and great regret that comes with it. And he hates when he's but a floaty, half-minded ghost, yet likes the absence of the soul-crushing guilt.
It makes him tired to think about, all of it, and yet it's all he can think about these days, with the adventures run dry and Frodo spending all his time with Sam. A change of pace, change of scenery, change of experience.
A change.
Any change.
Bilbo closes his eyes one night after another one of the innumerable days he's spent in The Undying Lands.
And opens them when he stumbles over a rock and is steadied by a gloved hand.
"Careful, Bilbo," a familiar voice warns, low and tense. "There's injury enough ahead for us."
But Bilbo doesn't move. He stares.
Stares up into the face of Gandalf The Grey as an army of elves marches forwards all around them.
"Bilbo?" Gandalf waves his hand in front of his face. "We need to mo-"
"Gandalf?" Bilbo breathes, and then startles! He puts a hand to his throat. "I- good heavens-"
"What is it?"
"This is- no, it can't be-"
But it is. As Bilbo turns around in a circle, it is.
It's The Battle Of The Five Armies, and Dain hasn't yet come down the hill. Sting is on Bilbo's hip, and a mithril shirt drapes his torso, and that means Thorin and Fili and Kili are inside of that mountain and they're alive.
"WAIT!" Bilbo sprints to the front of the army, startled elves jerking out of the way and Gandalf shouting after him! Bilbo rushes up to the front just as Dain descends, and Bilbo runs right up between the King Of The Iron Hills and The King Of The Woodland Realm.
"WAIT!" He's exhausted in a way he hardly remembers, and it's exhilarating. It is bone-deep and brought on by days of non-stop adventuring and hardships and problems endured, and he's missed the feeling more than he ever realized. "You can't fight each other now, not when we're about to be besieged!"
"What is your halfling talking about?" Thranduil growls to Gandalf.
"I don't-"
"Orcs are coming, Azog's army!" There's a clarity, a wisdom, and he remembers it all like just yesterday but sees it all through over a century of experience now. "If you fight now, you lose warriors we can't afford to spare!"
"Why should I trust ye when I don't even know who ye are?" Dain demands.
"I am Bilbo Baggins of The Shire, and I've lived this once before." It must sound like he's eaten one too many funny mushrooms, but he doesn't care.
"Bilbo!" Gandalf surges forward. "What's gotten into-"
"Sauron's back, yes?" Bilbo hisses, just for Gandalf to hear. "You faced him while we were in Mirkwood, he's responsible for it being Mirkwood. You told me all about it in The Undying Lands, long over sixty years from now."
Gandalf's eyes are wide. "How did you-"
"You're right to be wary of my ring, by the way. But I need to hold onto it for just a bit longer."
"Stop whisperin' to yer wizard so we can get on with this!"
"You'll be getting on with nothing!" Bilbo turns to face Dain, and then looks at Thranduil. "I'm of The Company of Thorin Oakenshield, and I can testify that we've been pursued by Orcs all throughout our journey! And, I know that they passed into Mirkwood, so you, King Thranduil, know I speak the truth!"
Thranduil clenches his jaw, staring daggers at Bilbo. So what? Bilbo met him so often in The Undying Lands that they started having tea together. It took ages, but he eventually dug through the bitter exterior to the actually okay elf beneath. Never did get him to see Thorin's view of things, but they moved past that.
"So stop being a bunch of stubborn clotheads and save your armies for the orcs!"
"CLOTHEAD?" Dain points his warhammer at Bilbo. "Yer speaking to-"
"I speak to all of Durin's line that way! And, frankly, all Elven royalty when they deserve it."
"You whimpering little-"
And then it comes. All eyes turn to the hills.
And The Orcs descend.
Bilbo is already on Ravenhill when Thorin arrives.
"Bilbo!"
"Turn around, right now."
"But-"
"It's a trap, Thorin. Another army will be on their way soon. I won't see this happen again."
"Again, what're you-"
"A blessing of The Valar, a cosmic joke, who knows? But I've lived this, and many years passed it, and you did not." He looks at Fili and Kili. "None of you did. Well, save Dwalin here. But this time, everyone will live, and trust me when I say we'll be preventing many tragedies by making this happen."
"Have you hit your head?" Kili has Bilbo's head in his hands to check it over before Bilbo can respond.
"I'm sounder of mind than I've been in years! Now let go! Here, I'll prove it to you. Kili, your Starlight Lady met me in The Undying Lands and told me about how you entertained her more than that feast could, that night in the prions, just with your stories."
Kili's eyes widen. "How did you-"
"And Thorin, I know that you threatened Dwalin with death before coming out here, and before you came to your senses."
Thorin looks at Dwalin in shock.
"I didn' tell him," Dwalin confirms.
"And Fili, you fought an Orc in Laketown with a table."
"But how-"
"Now get off of this hill! I'll gladly kill Azog myself for all the pain he's caused, I've got over half a century of Durin-less sorrow to take out on him!"
"You can't possibly be thinking of taking Azog on yourself," Fili protests.
"I can, and I am. Because I can do this." And he pops on The Ring.
There's shouts of alarm, and he laughs. "Still here, don't worry! And I won't be doing that often in the future, this needs to go to Mount Doom before Sauron's armies can recover from this battle. Now get off this hill, or at least go get more reinforcements to fight with you! Four warriors, the mistakes of youth."
It ends.
And everyone lives.
Because there had been no death prior to the arrival of The Orcs, the armies were better matched. Because Thorin had gotten to Ravenhill earlier thanks to not being as sorely needed on the battlefield, Bilbo had been able to provide ample warning.
And he had, indeed, killed Azog himself.
He hadn't even made a fuss of it.
Azog had been at the top of the hill, commanding his army, and Bilbo had come right up behind him and stabbed him in the leg, and when he'd gone down Bilbo had given the strongest shove he could muster.
And so ended Azog The Defiler. And so lived on Thorin, Fili, and Kili.
And now Bilbo sits in a private medical tent, all of The Company being treated for thankfully minor and non-lethal wounds around him, as Gandalf paces.
"I don't understand how this is possible."
"Surely at your age you've also learned to stop questioning things like this." Bilbo watches as his arm is bandaged.
"I must question it! This isn't something to be tucked awa-"
"Oh, speaking of." Bilbo pulls out The Ring.
He feels the hold of it's long, long years in his possession from his prior life... yet he doesn't. It's like an echo, resounding off of the short time he's possessed it as far as this body knows. It's such a muddled, confusing feeling, that it's almost easier to think through it.
To know why he feels it. To recall clearly, in a way he hasn't even since first being told the tales, of what it truly is. What it's caused. What it will cause.
"This is The One Ring." He holds it up for all to see. "The One Ring of Sauron. We need to take it to Mount Doom, because otherwise my dear nephew Frodo will in sixty years time or so, and along with him will go three other young Hobbits, as well as Gloin's son Gimli and Prince Legolas, and Aragorn Heir to the Throne of Gondor, and Borimir of Gondor who will die on the journey." He looks at Gandalf. "And you, who'll die as well, but come back as Gandalf The White, because Saruman is not to be trusted and in fact will align himself with Sauron, if he hasn't already."
Silence. Gandalf is dumbstruck, and most of The Company look ill. Gloin has passed out.
"And I do expect you all to come with me," Bilbo informs them, "Because he's barely got any armies now, and I know dwarves are similarly resistant to this Ring's power as us Hobbits are. And I'd rather not rely on Gollum to lead the way into Mordor if I can help it, Gandalf, because he bit off my nephew's finger in the end."
"... Well? Surely we can all handle another adventure after a few weeks recovery. Oh, and, Thorin, I have something specific to tell you as well."
Thorin steps forward, still in shock and unable to speak.
A situation which isn't helped by how Bilbo grabs Thorin by the coat and pulls him into a passionate kiss.
Then the silence ends by the sounds of uproarious shouts and celebrations.