“I believe this is the second time today I have been crowned by a King.” The hobbit mused, marveling at his circumstances. He tried to think of all the parts of his journey full of the lights that never faded, of beauty and goodness, but the traumas of war ran deep, as did a task that lay unfinished.
One that may very well may be his last. For now his time was suspended, perhaps granting him a bit of peace before he, as far as he knew, lost his life in the fires of Mount Doom.
( It was hard to see any other option for himself. But he had accepted this. He had accepted that he would most likely die at the end. It only grew more agonizing if he thought of Samwise — who he wished desperately of ways to which he at least, might live. )
Peering at the gladiolus in his hair, he fingered it with soft, humble little smile.
“The flower of strength, honesty and sincerity. You think highly of me indeed. I do not know what Kings see in me, that they see fit to grace the smallest of folk with their kindness, but I am honored for it."
The only way of favor he thought to give him, was a low bow, the flower set upon his head.
Uncle Bilbo, you wished to show me such things..such goodness, you hoped I would have such an adventure. Where lights such as these never faded…
Do you suppose..some might last? Some might never fade, ever?
Or do I hope too much?
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