Notes: This is a repost from a story that I just started on AO3 under my username ToxicAngel13, I am stating this to avoid any messy accusations of plagerism and the like. I know it's been a long, long time since I've posted or updated here, but I've been fairly active there. That being said I randomly decided to post it here to see how it was received and to offer up a view on how my writing style has changed over the years. This is an ongoing story and I'm not promising any updated to the ones currently on my account. Looking back on them I'm horrified by the quality to tell the complete truth. They all need intensive TLC before I won't shudder as I read them.

Disclaimer: I do not Own any Characters that I am currently using. They will be returned to their rightful owner after a I am done. When the Dwobbits come they shall be all mine though.

Warnings: Redo!, OOC!Lobelia, Slash, Implied M-Preg

And now to the Story...

Bilbo Baggins had lived a long life. A life that was full of pain and regret, more so then most. If fact, as he laid old and withered on soft silken sheets in a slowly rocking ship that was bound for the Undying Lands he had to admit, if only to himself, that the bad memories that rattled in his head far outweighed the good at times. He could hear the others on this journey outside of his rooms, laughing and remembering the days long passed, but he couldn't begrudge them their cheer. Frodo's sweet voice finally sounded alive, unburdened by his foolish Took of a Baggins Uncle's mistakes. The ring, that blasted Ring had nearly destroyed his dear boy in the end, when everything was said and done, and to hear him laugh as he did now was truly a miracle. Even Gandalf, who had become grave and foreboding since his ascension to the status of the White Wizard years ago, was at peace as they sailed onto their next adventure.

The sickly, aged Hobbit would gladly let them have their just reward for their many services to Middle Earth, but he knew the lands that they were bound for would be no comfort to him. He was soul-sick and he had been so for many years of his life. Bilbo knew that their destination wouldn't cure him of his illness, and for once he couldn't even blame his unfortunate situation entirely on the One Ring or the events that finding that cursed object had lead to. No Bilbo's soul-sickness started the day that he had foolishly tried bargaining the Arkenstone in a mad bid to tempt men and elves alike to fight aside his Dwarrow in the Battle of the Five Armies.

Bilbo wheezed as he tried to keep breathing even as his memories drew him in, he had only agreed to make this journey for Frodo's sake, his young cousin, nephew, son of his heart, had been convinced that once he set foot on the lands that they were destined for that everything would be right once more. He could feel himself slipping past this mortal world though, and the old Hobbit doubted that he would even last long enough to make that first step and be preserved at his peak. He was a tired old man, and even if the ills of his body and the taint in his soul were to be suddenly healed, his memories would not be. And even if all memories of the pain and regret he had endured were to be suddenly erased he would not be whole.

But if there was one thing Bilbo Baggins had learned to do in his lifetime, it was the ability to mask such things. He smiled for Frodo's sake, even knowing that these lands were not his to enjoy and even death would not being him solace. As one of Yavanna's children he would even find his peace within her garden's as she had promised all Hobbits, because his heart, his joy belong to the stone children of her husband, Mahal and those halls would never be opened to him. Such was the fate of a Hobbit whose soul belonged to a Dwarf, although Bilbo himself would admit that circumstances like that were solely limited to the mess that was his life. He had long become accustomed to experiencing the worst case scenario.

Slowly, age dimmed eyes closed as the Hobbit in question lost himself to his memories. One does not prepare for supper after speaking to an old annoying family friend earlier in the day only to be faced with his heart-song and a dangerous adventure after all. Not that Bilbo Baggins had known Thorin was his heart-song at first. In fact, before the exiled King Under the Mountain had sung that fateful night, Bilbo had been certain that the company of thirteen Dwarves were completely mad for their quest to go against a dragon of all things, if his fainting spell hadn't proven that. The Hobbit chuckled as he remembered that first meeting, wheezing as the small laugh strained his overtaxed lungs even more. If he had known that those same thirteen Dwarves would become his family then, he would have been a lot less high strung.

As it was, it had taken hearing Thorin Oakenshield sing to change the young Hobbit's mind about accompanying them on the quest that was more likely to turn into suicide by dragon. The low timber of the exiled King's voice had resonated within him, letting the surprised would be burglar know that this sad noble Dwarf was his to love, his to support and die for. Only impressions had been made and opinions had been formed about his suitability for the given job already, If the Dwarf himself had realized the connection that existed between them even that early on in their journey was one thing Bilbo had never known. Thorin had kept that fact to himself, and he had died with it. Pain lanced through the elderly Hobbit at the memory of his heart-song's death, a death that had began Bilbo's slow and painful march to the death's door that he now stood on.

Once, when he was young and foolish, he had hopes to recouncil with the King Under the Mountain. Bilbo never had the inkling that the last time he would see his beloved wouldn't be a time where the Dwarf was finally healed from the gold sickness that had stolen him from the Hobbit, no he had believed with all of his heart and mind that Thorin would escape it's clutches. And the King had, as he lay dying on the battle feild, begging the Hobbit's forgiveness for his words and actions. It had been a bittersweet moment, as Bilbo chocked out those words of forgiveness, his entire being screaming that this wasn't fair that this was the end. They had hardly had a beginning after all, and now Thorin Oakenshield was heading to his ancestors Halls after trying so hard to reclaim his kingdom and his people's home. This Dwarf more than deserved a chance at living in peace, but he was being denied it.

They had beaten Smaug, reclaimed the mountain, and now before Thorin would ever enjoy a moment in his home that wasn't tainted by the madness that had claimed his grandfather his King lay dying. The tears that Bilbo cried then, and in the following days, would not stop falling as the young Hobbit placed a kiss upon his beloved's lips. And that was one memory only Bilbo and the company held. In later years, as the one the Shire called Mad Baggins wrote of his adventure, he had edited out any mention of the love that had been found and lost on the quest. And he had never spoken of it to his nephew, Frodo, because the words would not pass his lips and he wasn't a foolish enough Hobbit to burden the fauntling with the secrets of his heavy heart along with everything else.

Ah Frodo. When Bilbo had been told of Primula and Drago's death he had been crushed, even from the numbness that had overtaken him in the Aftermath of his Heart-Song's death. A numbness that had shaken his once childhood friend Lobelia from her snark in her worry for him, and a numbness that had lessened the moment he laid eyes on the young Fauntling who was left without his parents even as his heartache increased. There stood a boy with inky black hair and eye so blue that they reminded Bilbo of the one he had lost, and the little life that could have been that passed the same day as it's father. To tell the complete truth Bilbo had hesitated for a moment before accepting guardianship of the boy who he came to think of his child. The thought only came into being because the pain had been too much and he had worried that he wouldn't be able to provide what the child so desperately needed because he was broken from his losses. In that moment Bilbo didn't even know if he had enough remains of his tattered heart and soul to be of use to anyone. But immediately that thought passed through his head it was disregarded.

The Fauntling that stood there, looking down at the ground crying needed Bilbo to be strong. Frodo needed him to tuck away the feelings that had consumed the elder Hobbit untill now and provide the lad with a home and as much love as Bilbo could give. And no matter how much the lad would remind Bilbo of his lost chances in the coming years, that is what the elder Hobbit did. Instead of letting himself be consumed by the numbness that his losses had caused, instead of fading like his mother Belladonna had done when his Father had passed from this world, Bilbo Baggins lived. He lived for Frodo, and the giggling the lad would do during Bilbo's tales. And Bilbo continued living for young Frodo, longer than his mother had for him and he saw to it that his charge, his son of the heart grew into a fine Hobbit.

Alas Bilbo Baggins was so very tired now in his old age. And even though he knew his Frodo wanted to shared the adventures that they would surely find in the Undying Lands with him, his breaths were becoming harder and harder to draw. Maybe this was what his mother had felt, as she had caved to the fadings call so many summers ago. It had been a quick passing for her, and having lived eighty years resisting Yavanna's call to rest Bilbo sometimes felt cheated. He had held on for his Cousin's sake, but the great Belladonna had let her grief consume and take her without a word. Bilbo snorted to himself, disgusted with that weak and whiny thought.

He was obviously getting ornery is his old age, fading so fast was not his mother's fault, because she had loved Bungo Baggins with all her heart. She'd loved his father enough to hang up her cloak and put away the silly adventuring spirit that Tooks were so famous for just for him. Bilbo had lasted long enough for Frodo's presence to anchor him only because he had loved Thorin enough to keep his promise and live, Belladonna had made no such promises to Bungo that Fell Winter. Bilbo sighed with a rasp, his mind leaving the memories of long ago as he opened his tired eyes and looked around.

Frodo was safe, he was happy and surrounded with good friends. Perhaps if Bilbo were to give into the call it wouldn't be to horrible for the lad. They were not close to thier destination yet, and Bilbo was so very tired. While Yavanna's gardens may not hold his peace no more than the Undying Lands did perhaps the Valar would take pity on him and grant him entrance to the halls where his Heart-Song resided. Yes, that would be a good goal for the one who was once the Burglar to Thorin Oakenshield's Company of thirteen Dwarrow. Yavanna herself must surly know that Bilbo would enjoy nothing more than to be reunited with his family after his adventuring was done.

Bilbo wasn't even picky about how that reunion came into being, just so long as it happened. Slowly, so gradual that the ailing Hobbit never even noticed in fact, his breaths grow shorter and came less frequently as his eyes closed and a smile played on his lips as he imagined just what his Dwarves reaction to his sudden appearance in their hall would be. Oh it would be a glorious sight to be sure.

Gandalf felt it the moment it happened, sorrow and resignation warring in him as he stood abruptly from his chair and rushed to Bilbo Baggin's room aboard the ship they were sailing. His departure from the cheer alarming thier companions enough for them to follow. Frodo collapsed in the doorway when he arrived shortly after the Wizard, only to see Gandalf on his knees bowed over his beloved Uncle.

"Uncle?" Frodo's voice seemed entirely too loud in the silent room, and Gandalf looked at him.

"I'm afraid Bilbo will not answer you, young Frodo. This journey was far to much for him to handle and he is passed from this mortal plain. Do not judge him for leaving you to this adventure though. Bilbo Baggins has deserved this reprieve for far too long and I do not blame him for stopping in his fight against the Fading's Call." Gandalf murmured. Frodo's fists tightened as those words were spoken, dread filling his heart. The Fading's Call was a affliction of widowed Hobbits who had lost thier Heart-Song and as far as he had known his Uncle had never found his. Why would Gandalf say such a thing?

"May the Valar have pity on Master Baggins and he be reunited with Oakenshield at last." Elrond's voice cut through the air, confusing Frodo more. What did the Dwarf King of his Uncle's stories have to do with Gandalf claims of Bilbo resisting the Fading's Call? He had died over eighty years ago, and Frodo knew his uncle couldn't have resisted the call that long. Everyone knew that once the call had sounded the Hobbit who heard it would die shortly after. Resisting the call shouldn't be possible, not for as long as they were implying. It would have been an agony far beyond what they had experienced this far, and nothing he would have ever wished upon his Uncle.

"One can hope that our dear Burglar can finally rest with his intended once more. When I realized that Bilbo was resisted the call I always wondered how long it would be until he gave into it. And then young Frodo came into Bilbo's life and I knew he would be too stubborn to leave until he had seen one last adventure through. Thorin did ask him to live and Bilbo never went back on his word if he could help it." Gandalf replied to the Elven King, his words thick with sorrow as he tucked the dead Hobbit's hands under the blanket over his body gently. Frodo twitched, surging to his feet as thier words rang in his ears.

"No Hobbit could resist the call for eighty years." He denied, feeling horror in his gut. Once the call happened a Hobbit wasn't truly living anymore. He'd seen it happen, and there was no way that his lively, friendly Uncle had suffered that long beneath his smiles. They had to be wrong. He hoped they were wrong. Gandalf's smile was just a little too tight as he looked at Frodo though.

"I have never seen a being love another so much as your Uncle loved Thorin Oakenshield my dear boy. Without you Bilbo would have given into the call long ago, but once you were ophaned he knew you needed him. Bilbo Baggins was always being underestimated in his life, his ability to love and live after the call should be of no suprise to you given that." Gandalf spoke, and there was a scolding note that made Frodo feel ashamed as he looked at his Uncle's body. This wasn't supposed to be happening. They were supposed to arrive at the Undying Lands and Bilbo would be healed. He looked back to the Wizard.

"Uncle Bilbo never spoke of loving the Dwarf King in his stories and he told me them a thousands times." The remaining Ring Bearer protested, even if the denial felt empty on his lips. He had always known that Bilbo was holding something back when he told of his grand adventures in reclaiming the sighed, looking fondly at the hobbit who lay next to him.

"Some things in life are just too painful to share Frodo, and his love for Thorin was one of those things. It was a secret that he kept to himself, because speaking of it would have only reminded him of better days that would never come again. But he loved that stubborn, foul tempered Dwarf and he was loved fiercely in return. Never doubt that my dear boy. Now, we shall lay dear Bilbo to rest when we arrive, but there is nothing more for us here." The wizard replied, standing up. Frodo wandered to the bed and looked over his uncle who was smiling even in death. As tears started falling from the Hobbit's eyes he bent over and lay a single kiss to the still forms cheek. And even as Frodo wanted to rage that it wasn't fair that Bilbo had left him alone once again he accepted his passing. He wouldn't begrudge any form of peace his Uncle achieved.

It would be days before the previous cheer returned to the ship though, a shadow had been cast over them with Bilbo's passing- it's reminder the pale body of a hero who had passed to his next adventure. By the time the remaining company reached the Undying Lands acceptance had been achieved though. There was nothing they could change, and perhaps. Just maybe the stubborn old Hobbit was finally happy and free of his pain and memories.

Bilbo Baggins was buried beneath a large and beautiful tree within quiet and peaceful lands just as he should be. As Frodo walked from the newly dug grave he could only hope Bilbo was happy somewhere as he himself was finally. He felt renewed and free from the Ring at last and could wish nothing less than for his Uncle to have the same feeling as he embarked on his newest adventure. One day he hoped to hear all about what Bilbo was now doing, but he could wait. He would wait and have his own adventures, so he had his own stories to tell, and there was nothing more to say about it.