Chapter Text
A gasp jolted its way out of his body, making wide eyes dart around the cozy bedroom he was resting in with feverish familiarity. There was a lamp, wooden beams supporting the ceiling, a few hanging baskets filled with food for any midnight snacks he might seek, and a small indent on the wall from when he killed a cockroach a few weeks ago.
Wait.
He startled upwards, throwing his wooly covers off of his body as they fell to the floor in a pile. Without a thought, he jumped over the quilt, feet slapping against the wooden floor as he carefully studied the small indent in the wall, soft hands rubbing over the wall as he released multiple gasps, one after the other. This indent didn’t happen last week, no, it happened nearly- oh goodness it happened when he was forty-eight years old when he stabbed the cockroach with a knife after it scared one of the faunts- but that couldn’t be right because he was one-hundred and thirty-one now. Wasn’t he? But if he was, why was he here? He was on a boat sailing for the West last he remembered, what was- when did he get back here?
He stumbled backwards, knocking into the wooden frame of his bed as he ran a hand through his curly hair- by the maker herself when did all of his hair come back- before he all but sprinted over to the bathroom, nearly knocking the water basin over from where it was constructed into a cupboard. He looked up, staring into the mirror with wide green eyes as he stared at his reflection.
There he stood, with brown curly hair that was tucked back behind pointed leaf-shaped ears, his skin more tanned and far fewer wrinkles engraved into it from his years of ageing. His hands, which were softer compared to how calloused he was used to them being, stroked over his forehead in shock, before dragging down his cheek as he released a final breath. There he was, in all of his young glory, but- but why? Why was he here? Why couldn’t he remember his name? Why couldn’t he remember-
“You have gone through far too much pain in your life time, young one.” Her soft voice echoed throughout the green field, flowers blooming around her as the leaves of trees swayed with a non-existent breeze. “Far too much pain for such a pure soul.”
That voice- her voice- he clutched his head, stumbling back into the bathroom wall as he squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to remember what she told him.
“My husband an I have managed to convince Ilúvatar to allow you to live once more, a task that was not easy to accomplish, mind you.” She explained, sweeping a hand above his figure as vines slowly began to creep up him. “Your memories will return to you, and the rest of your choices will be yours to make, my dear child.” She murmured softly, green hands- with flowers and leaves growing from them- gently picked him up, holding him up to river-blue eyes. “Do not let me down, my dear Bilbo.”
“Yavannah!” Bilbo gasped, falling to his knees as calla lily petals blew through his window, swirling around him as he looked up at them warily. “Yavannah. . .” He whispered once more, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and index finger. Bilbo blinked once more, sucking in deep breaths as he felt one-hundred and thirty-one years of pain leave his bones and joints. Oh thank the fair lady herself, Bilbo had forgotten how good it felt to feel so young, he wouldn’t be feeling all of this pain if it wasn’t for that damned ring and its stupid lifespan increasing abilities. The only good thing that came from it, was that he was able to care for his dear Frodo for longer, and even then he managed to royally screw that up.
“Oh goodness. .” He groaned, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he hunched his legs up to his chest. What on Middle-Earth was he meant to do now? He was forty-three, he had three years before the quest to Erebor, what was he meant to do? Run away and avoid the pain of losing his loved ones? Charge back into battle with barely a moment of experience beneath his belt? “No, no, no, no, no.” Bilbo murmured to himself, shaking his head as he clicked his fingers. “You cannot afford to be a coward, not again.” He reminded himself, standing up and relishing when his knees didn’t click in protest of the sudden movement. With a new found determination, Bilbo went back to his bed, picking up the quilt and throwing it over the mattress before entering his kitchen, lighting the candles that hung in the lanterns as he picked up a notepad and quill, hurriedly scrambling through the drawers for a spare pot of ink before he hurriedly began to scribble down notes of preparation.
Food.
Training.
Daggers.
Medicine.
Food.
“Right.” Bilbo murmured, tearing off the paper and tucking it into the pocket of his pyjamas. “Right, I can do this.” He murmured wandering the kitchen as he sucked in a deep breath. “Three years to prepare for victory.” He smiled in a self-reassuring manner.
“Or for failure.”
Calla lilies represent purity, re-birth and divine beauty. <- In this case, I used calla lilies to represent re-birth