Chapter Text
Thorin couldn’t say how he made it back to Bilbo and Murdêl but somehow he did so. The trip out of Mordor was accomplished in the blink of an eye and the next he knew, they all three were standing upon a distant carrock watching as Mount Doom exploded in fire and Mordor collapsed around it. Together Bilbo and he stood watching, shoulders leaning into one another until the sun was high in the sky. Finally, exhausted and a little sun drunk, they remounted and headed back to the Shire.
Tharkûn was waiting for them beneath the spreading branches of Bilbo’s oak tree smoking a pipe and sending smoke rings floating off into summer morning. He rose as Thorin and Bilbo approached and with great solemnity, executed a deep bow before Thorin. “Well done, Thorin Deathless.”
Thorin nodded back, unable to find any words to offer in reply. He turned to Bilbo as the Hobbit stepped past them to head down to his home.
“Bilbo?” he asked quietly.
The Hobbit stopped and turned his head to the side, not quite far enough around to allow him to look at Thorin but clearly responding to him. Tired lines were carved into his face and he looked as if he’d aged a decade or two in the last night.
“I’m alright, Thorin.” Bilbo lips twitched as if trying to offer a smile and failing. “Or at least, I feel like I will be.”
Thorin could only nod. There was so much he still wanted to ask, like how Bilbo had come upon the ring; and so much he wanted to say, like how sorry he was that he had almost failed at the task the Wizard had given him. But the words he wanted to offer stuck to his tongue.
Bilbo’s countenance curved into something softer and a bit more true. “You know when tea is served. You’re always welcome, Thorin.” And with that, he turned away and disappeared down the hill.
Thorin turned to look at the Wizard. “Will he truly be alright?” he asked.
Tharkûn smiled around the stem of his pipe. “Hobbits are resilient creatures. He has been changed, yes, and is perhaps a bit bruised but he will find his way.”
Thorin stared hard at the ground as if by willing it so, he might be able to see through grass and walls and track the movements of one lone Hobbit.
“Still, I will not leave him alone tonight. Or any night soon, if that settles your heart, Thorin.”
Thorin nodded his head. It would be good to know that Bilbo had someone near by, even if it was a meddling Wizard. Which reminded him of the Wizard’s role in his own adventures.
“Did you know?” he asked tiredly.
For once, the Wizard didn’t dissemble, only looked off into the morning thoughtfully.
“I suspected,” he offered quietly. “But I did not know for certain. How could I? I am not Death and while I may guess at your powers, I could never truly know.”
Thorin wanted to argue at that, rail against the hubris of the Wizard to force them all into such desperate circumstances without a clear understanding of how it would all work out. But he no longer had the energy to do so.
The Wizard, however, didn’t seem to need to hear the words to understand them. He bowed his head over his pipe so that his words seemed to float up with the smoke. “I had faith though, and sometimes that is all that we ever have. That, and a small bit of luck.”
“Luck indeed,” Thorin snorted. Faith that Thorin would eventually come to realize the extent of his powers and luck that he would do so before it was too late. Such was the way of the world, he supposed.
“And now what shall you do, Thorin Deathless?”
Thorin looked back over at the Wizard. Crowned in white, he was once again the ageless Maia and Thorin had no doubt that soon enough he would be striding across the world, intent on more mischief. And Thorin found that for the first time in a long while, he wanted to see where the world went, what new challenges it’s people would face, and what new joys.
“Death’s duties are neverending,” he offered with a smile.
“Indeed. Although perhaps they may be a little less solitary?”
Thorin could only shake his head at the Wizard’s presumption. “Perhaps,” he conceded.
The Wizard let out a self satisfied huff and pulled his pipe from his mouth. “Then I expect that I will be seeing you again before too long.” He carefully up-ended the pipe and snuffed out the embers beneath his boot.
“I don’t doubt it,” Thorin agreed. “Although, perhaps next time with a bit less theatrics.”
“Perhaps,” Tharkûn echoed. Without further goodbye, the Wizard ambled off down the hill. Faintly, Thorin heard the sound of the round green door closing and the querulous voice of a Hobbit directing the Wizard to leave his boots by the door.
Thorin turned back to Murdêl and stood for a moment looking out into the quiet morning, absently rubbing the ram’s soft ear between two rough fingertips. Around him the Shire was waking up and Hobbits were going about their business as if the events of the night before had only been a fleeting night terror. And maybe that was all they had ever truly been.
A glint of metal caught his eye and Thorin bent down to find Murdêl’s abandoned saddle bags tucked beneath the tree. One had been stamped flat and Thorin regretfully pulled the remains of Bilbo’s toy from its depth. The other bag had been shielded from harm by one of the oak roots though and its contents remained unscathed.
With Murdêl following close behind, Thorin made his way down to Bilbo’s door. He stacked the forgotten purchases on a bench beneath the window. At the very top, he laid the little paper box with its biscuits only slightly worse for the rough night. He contemplated knocking but in the end just turned away.
“Let’s go home, Murdêl,” he said tiredly. “I think Middle Earth has earned a holiday from Death today.”
And so they did.
---
Thorin’s life settled back into the well remembered routine from before the Grey Wizard had introduced him to Master Baggins. His time was once again his own and he used it to catch up on all the items that he had previously put off. He replaced all the contraptions he’d used to deal with the overflow of soulstones. He visited his sister and let her fuss at him for challenging one of the Maia. He even thought about sending the raven messenger for his nephews instead of her just to see her flush with annoyed pride.
Eventually as the leaves began to fall and the days turn colder, he found himself once more standing before a round green door set into a hill. He knocked sharply and was greeted by a familiar voice.
“Come in! It’s unlocked.”
Fighting not to roll his eyes, Thorin pushed open the door. It seemed that in the end, Master Baggins was much the same as ever. He left his boots tucked by the door and cloak hung on a peg and saw himself into the kitchen where Bilbo was busy assembling a meal, back to the doorway.
Thorin snuck quietly up and placed his offering in the middle of the table. Then he softly cleared his throat. “Master Baggins.”
Bilbo yelped in an entirely undignified manner and spun around to see him. “Thorin! What are you doing here?”
Thorin allowed a small smile to curve his lips. “I believe I was invited to tea? And I needed to deliver my gift.”
Bilbo blinked at him dumbly for a moment before his eyes traveled down to the table. In the center stood a small battle ram and sitting astride it, picked out in perfect detail was a Hobbit, shoulders definitely squared, and a Dwarf with sword in hand.
Bilbo reached out with one gentle finger and nudged the toy. He watched in pleasure as it sprang to life and galloped across the table top with fully articulated limbs.
“Do you think your nephew will like it?” Thorin asked softly.
Bilbo snorted. “Perhaps something less… militant, next time,” he requested with a small smile. “But, I love it.”
A small knot in Thorin’s chest loosened at the easy welcome. Part of him had worried that he would never be welcome back in this small, round kitchen. He should have known better than to doubt.
Bilbo’s raised eyebrow clearly communicated that he knew exactly what sort of an idiot Thorin had been. The Hobbit shook his head and gestured towards a chair.
“Sit,” Bilbo ordered. “I think I have a few tarts left over that will go lovely with our tea.”
And so Death sat and took tea with a Hobbit.