Chapter Text
“Bilbo” the wizard circled him, pipe in hand “My darling hobbit, I feel like I had failed you”
“It’s alright, Gandalf” Bilbo sipped on some strange, spellbound liquid “Didn’t you say that everything happens for a reason?”
“You are wise beyond your years, my friend” he sighed, and sat beside the hobbit “I should learn from you”
“You? Learning from me?” Bilbo snorted, overlooking the ruined remnants of Dale “What is there to learn? Only one of us is as old as the hills, as trees in evergreen forests”
“Even the oldest of beings have faults” bony, warm hand enveloped his shoulders, pulling him to seek warmth in soft, worn down grey robes “We are lacking adaptability, more than any other creature. Our fault lies in the thought that the circumstances are willing to bend under our will”
“You are quite adaptable, Gandalf” hobbit nuzzled into his side “You had proven it time and time again on the course of our journey”
“I should have been more present” the wizard sighed, rubbing his arm “I should have protected you”
“Were you the one to make me steal the Arkenstone?” Bilbo closed his heavy eyelids “Were you the one who made me climb down the ramparts at darkest hour to barter with it? I don’t think so. I don’t do anything that goes against my wishes”
“That is what I appreciate in you, Bilbo Baggins” old being nodded “For I wish to possess the same bravery that drives you to act”
“Come on now, I got choked once, and now you’ll spend an eternity buttering me up?” Bilbo scoffed
“No, no!” Gandalf smiled “I just found the fitting moment to voice the thoughts that were circling my mind on the duration of our journey”
“Well, I hope you spoke them all, for the more you compliment me, the less likely I’ll believe in it”
“Ever humble” wizard muttered “Bilbo, I will ask of you not to fall asleep”
“Why not, the armies are standing as still as statues?”
“Something evil is brewing on the Raven Hill” Gandalf’s soft voice was laced with something incomprehensible, something powerful and menacing “I will need your presence on its cliffs”
“Ah, so that’s why you were buttering me up” Bilbo stood up, stretching “You didn’t need to do so, for I would have followed your orders regardless”
“Would you now?” his bushy brows were drawn in deep thought
“Gandalf, you heard the orders of the King” Bilbo sighed, drawing out Sting “I have nothing left to lose”
“You are gravely wrong here, my friend”
Thorin’s fingers were scrubbed raw with his futile attempts to wash himself off of what he had done. Water basin stood at his throne, placed at his left side, as if purposefully taunting him. Previously clear liquid was tainted pink with blood. Shadows of what weren’t there danced in the dulled corners of his vision. Head of golden curls appeared, and then fell onto the marble floors in a heap of lifeless limbs.
The King roared, kicking the copper basin, sending it flying over the depths of Erebor. How dare that rat, that petty, deceptive thief haunt his thoughts? How dare that bastard forego his exile and find a way to appear to Thorin in shadows?
Dwalin avoided him after his threat to kill him too. Nis nephews refused to regard Thorin as their uncle. Balin was still there, but his judgmental stares wiped out any act of servitude. Others, frankly, Thorin didn’t care about others. There was a chance all of them knew of traitor’s plan, pretending to be searching for the stone, making a fool out of their King. It was a miracle Thorin didn’t wring their necks too.
Thorin gasped, as he came face to face with his reflection, looking up to him from the floor of pure, melted gold. Once again he found himself in the very same room he confronted Smaug in, the Hall of Ancestors. Thorin looked up, and met dozens of cold, judgmental, stares of stone forefathers. His gaze was drawn back to the river of gold. It was easier that way, it was safe.
“Gold” he mumbled “Beyond pain, beyond measure”
He paced around it, transfixed on its shine, on its smoothness. His crown was getting heavier and heavier to bear. Thorin was exhausted, but the urge to see his possessions somehow managed to hold him upright. There was no one to beg him to eat, no one pleaded for him to rest. He had all the time in the world, to observe the riches without any interruptions.
“Beyond life” he grinned “Beyond love”
“That is not true” that voice, Thorin gulped, his hands begun buzzing again, yet there was no water to wash them with “Love conquers gold, love conquers all”
“And what if love for gold conquers love for a mortal?” Thorin hissed
“That means you had lost your mind completely, Thorin Oakenshield”
Thorin then turned to the very source of his torment. Bilbo Baggins of the Shire was standing there, across from him. His expression was tranquil, the reflected gold making his curls shine with it, as if he drank the precious metal up. Mithril was shining on his chest, elven blade rested at his hip.
Thorin hated him with every fiber of his being.
“I should’ve killed you, when I had the chance” he lunged at the hobbit, but missed
“What a shame” halfling spoke, more of an echo than a voice “For I loved you till the end”
“You loved a pathetic dwarf!” he roared “Penniless, without a crown, without a kingdom!”
“That dwarf hadn’t wished for my demise” soft hands clutched his forearms “That dwarf didn’t deserve the fate that had befallen him”
Thorin gaped. Bilbo’s neck was broken, head lolling to the side, those stormy blue eyes dried out, empty, unseeing. His One, his traitor, was nothing more but a limp, bloody mess, thrown from the ramparts like a ragdoll.
“You do, however, o mighty King Under the Mountain” Bilbo smiled, pulling him down “You deserve to die of what you sold your soul for”
Thorin was choking, gold melted under him, swallowing him. He screamed for Bilbo to rescue him, to have mercy in his ever lenient heart. But hobbit refused. Thorin was dying. His kin gave up on him. Bilbo gave up on him. There was no place in that fair heart for a monster so vile as he was.
“Bilbo!” Thorin gasped “Bilbo!”
Thorin Oakenshield was lying atop of river of molten gold. He was in the Hall of Ancestors. The crown weighted heavy on his brow. There was no Arkenstone. There was no Bilbo. There was no hope. The armies were approaching.
The crown didn’t weigh him down anymore, lying there, on the molten floor, under the ever watchful gaze of those who came before. There was a sound of a heave, then, of a sob. A shudder of breath.
Then, rapid, heavy footsteps ran towards the ramparts.
“Yavanna, help me” Bilbo muttered, a horde of orcs trampling over his hideout “Aulё, guard me”
The war was not the mighty, honorable thing. It wasn’t the march of brave men, it wasn’t the cries of faithful maidens, waiving their handkerchiefs in parting. It wasn’t worth the songs that were composed after it came to an end. It was an ugly, brutal, merciless thing. It was a living nightmare that didn’t seem to end.
Bilbo ran along the frozen streams of Raven Hill, sliced the tendons on orcs’ ankles and struck ugly bat-like beasts between the eyes. There had been an avalanche of some sort, one of jagged tocks striking him in the temple, making him faint. Bilbo didn’t know for how long he’d been unconscious. The sound of war horn and the ringing of a mighty bell made him gather his bearings.
There was a sound of rocks tumbling. There were war cries. There had been a company of thirteen, emerging from the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo gasped. Dwarves, his dwarves. His dwarves, who were headed towards him. Bilbo drew in a couple of shaking breaths, reaching towards his temple and finding it bloodied. He will have to hold on until they come, then.
“Are those…goats?” he slurred, vision barely focused “Their beards remind me of Gandalf”
Hobbit laughed. Fell over, retched on an empty stomach. He didn’t know how many concussions he still had in him. There were horns blaring from Raven Hill too. They made grey masses move, they weren’t good. Bad, everything was so bad. Bilbo heaved. Gandalf. There was something he was supposed to say, something he was supposed to do.
He had been on all fours, tethering between the consciousness and darkness.
“We should divide” a voice sounded somewhere close “Fili, Kili, inspect the watchtower. Dwalin, you fight alongside me”
Bilbo’s eyes shot open.
“No!” he wailed “Don’t move!”
Hobbit scrambled upwards, blindly following the traces of that voice. His voice. Thorin. It was Thorin. Four heads shot up at the sound of his approach before Bilbo fell over again. A patter of feet, a pair of soft, brown eyes.
“Master Boggins!” Kili cried, clutching him “What are you doing here?!”
“Don’t divide!” Bilbo clawed at his tunic “You will die! You will die! He will hunt you! The watchtower-don’t!”
“Calm down!” Fili appeared beside his brother “We will not divide if you do not wish so, let’s get you down, alright?”
“No!” Bilbo hissed “No, no, no!”
A tall, hesitant figure approached him. Bilbo couldn’t make out his face, but he knew. His soul knew who was standing before him. He heaved, tears losing themselves in the tracks of blood.
“Don’t go” Bilbo shuddered “You will die! Do not dare!”
“It is not your decision to make” his voice was stone cold
“It is!” the hobbit screamed “I won’t allow you! You will not die in my arms, Thorin Oakenshield!”
“Look at yourself! You cannot stand straight!” the voice was getting desperate “You cannot fight, nor you can tell me what to do!”
Bilbo breathed in, then, out. Felt the chill of the wind. Saw the word gain color. Smelled the putrid smell of war, of orc flesh, blood, and smoke. Saw Thorin’s eyes, looking at him. They were as blue as the skies of The Shire, as deep as its roaring rivers. Bilbo saw him, and only him. Thorin, his pain, his save haven. His torment, his cure. His home.
Bilbo saw his love marching toward his death.
“It is the wizard that prophesized your fate! The Pale Orc will pierce your heart, Thorin!” Bilbo shouted at his retreating back “Your pride will be your demise!”
“Then so be it” Thorin said, and ran away from his sight
Pale Orc has gotten even uglier, standing in his armored garb, as if he was waiting for Thorin to show up.
Bilbo panted as he reached the frozen waterfall, world mudded and monochrome. It had been a dirty trick, to assure Kili he could stop clinging to him, and that they will leave Thorin to face his battles. But the other orc showed up, taller and broader than Azog, and three dwarrow rushed to fight the beast, in fear he will target the weakest of the group first. But as the head of an orc was slain, there was no trace of Bilbo to return to.
Dwalin’s heart filled with dread. And yet, they were busy, the rest of the company fighting and slowly approaching the foot of Raven Hill. Boys laughed as they saw Bofur riding the ugly, troll-like beast. Elder dwarf watched them, with some eternal feeling, the knowledge that their fates had been saved.
“Thorin” Bilbo whispered “Please, Thorin…”
He fell again. Cursed his weakness, the ache that sad deep within his bones from the chill of the hilltop. Winced at the battle cries and the sounds of horns. Thorin was fighting Azog, avoiding swings of the mace, stabs of blade. Managed to slice across orc’s chest with Orcrist. Tripped, fell onto the ice.
Bilbo groaned as he pushed himself over to the two figures. Gasped as the ice begun to crack. Azog was pushed beneath it, and even though the hobbit was wearing the cursed ring, he felt as if their eyes had met as the beast was drifting under the surface. Thorin paced almost languidly, following the orc’s movement. Bilbo gathered his strength, stood up, watched dark shadows appear on the horizon. Those weren’t bats, no, hobbit smiled, head clearing. Those were the eagles.
Thorin’s scream rang through the serene silence. Orc stabbed his leg, and was atop of the ice again. Bilbo felt his soul lurching. His hand found the handle of the Sting. Circled the pale beast. Thorin’s injured leg gave out underneath him, and dwarf couldn’t even shout as his whole strength was used towards suppressing Azog’s blade from piercing his chest.
Bilbo took off the ring. He wanted to let the Defiler know, that he had been slain by a small, weak hobbit. A disgraceful death, a treasonous death. Bilbo wasn’t called a traitor for nothing. He gathered all his remaining strength, diving Sting up to the hilt, onto the side where the heart should’ve been, if the monster even had one.
The blood spilled was deeper and darker, as if poisoned. It was a splatter of color on orc’s pale back. Bilbo knew that the beast still had strength to turn around and behead him, but he refused to hide. He wanted Thorin to know that he followed him, till the end, despite everything.
The Defiler groaned as the Sting was drawn out, splattering blood onto ice and the figure laying pinned underneath him. Thorin tried to push him away, and yet, the orc was larger than him, even if he was mad with pain. It fell down forwards with the final cry. It wanted to destroy, even in death.
“Thorin!” Bilbo shrieked at his love’s wide eyes
Thorin was unresponsive, pinned underneath the corpse of his mortal enemy. His eyes were staring at the sky, mouth agape. Bilbo was starting to push the orc away, to grant his dwarf even one unlabored breath. At this, consciousness begun to overcome the sense of pure pain, and Thorin managed to push the figure away from underneath, groaning as the curved blade left his body.
Dwarf stood up, and their eyes met. Bilbo was speechless with fear and relief. Thorin was approaching timidly, as if the hobbit was a small, frightened animal.
“Oh” Bilbo thought “He thinks I am still scared by him, that I will run away…As if I ever could to that”
Hobbit closed the distance between them, crying at relief of feeling those arms, warm as a hearth even in the cold, envelop him. Thorin’s hands were lost in his curls, and his breath tickled Bilbo’s ear. His love returned, his Thorin was here. His Thorin’s legs gave out, dragging Bilbo down with him.
Bilbo blanched as he saw the pool of blood spreading across Thorin’s stomach.
“Thorin!” Bilbo pushed his whole weight onto the wound “Thorin! The eagles are coming!”
Dwarf king winced, but soon, the pressure Bilbo was putting on resolved into a small, barely noticeable hum. He looked at those golden curls, tousled by the winds of Raven Hill, gazed at panicked, storm-blue eyes. His eyes lingered over the ring of fresh, bloodshot, blue bruises on Bilbo’s neck.
“Help!” Bilbo hollered “Help! Fili! Kili! Call for help! Quickly, he’s bleeding out!”
“…Irak’adad?!” Fili gasped, Kili speechless beside him “Irak’adad!”
“Hurry!” Bilbo snarled “There is no time for panic!”
There was a faint, rapid stomping of boots, but it did not matter, because Bilbo’s eyes fell on him again. Thorin smiled. Even in death, he was selfish. He was glad to have his love all to himself. If only Bilbo smiled at him one last time.
“I’m sorry” he shuddered
“No, don’t you dare to apologize, Thorin Oakenshield!” Bilbo’s eyes were filled with ire
“Your eyes are like a storm clouds rolling in, and sometimes there are sparks of lightning in them” Thorin sighed “I was too blind to see, too scared to meet them, before I knew you loved me”
“Hold on! Hold on, you stupid, stubborn thing!” Bilbo propped him up, steady hand digging into his side
“I don’t know how a creature so fair could have such dark eyes” Thorin’s heart felt light at last “And how beautiful they are, like night sky. And your hair is as golden as a field of wheat…Remember how you ran through it like a child, on the first month of our journey?”
“Y-yes, Thorin” Bilbo’s lashes fluttered, trying to blink away the tears
“I am happy to see you, I thought you turned away from me forever. I am sorry-” there was a sharp, metallic taste in his mouth “But I am happy that it is you, that it is your hands that are last to hold me”
“You will not die, Thorin! Don’t you dare to say goodbye to me!” hobbit grunted, pushing deeper “You will not perish! I will not let you!
“I will-“ Thorin choked, and spit out a clump of blood “When I am in the halls of Mahal, I will find him-”
“You will not be there yet, not for the next half of a century!” Bilbo sobbed “Not till I pass!”
“I will find the Maker, and beg him to allow me to visit the Gardens of his Wife”
“I won’t be there, Thorin” tears landed on Thorin’s cheeks, but they were not his own
“You will be, one day” Thorin smiled “And when Mahal will get tired of me begging, I will visit you, and you will be sitting there, by your books, in your armchair”
“Why couldn’t it be now?” Bilbo heaved “Why not in this life?”
“Bunmel” Thorin tried to smile, but his bloodies teeth only made Bilbo weep even more
“What…w- what is the m-meaning of that word, Thorin?” his love was choking with his tears
“Beauty…of all beauties”
Thorin was selfish. Thorin was possessive and greedy.
Thorin hoped, that Bilbo would not take another lover after him. He hoped, that his name would settle itself deep within Bilbo’s heart, the one that always was too big for a creature so small, bigger than life. He hoped, that his title would be chiseled in runes he hadn’t time to teach to his beloved, and wished Bilbo would spend the rest of his life trying to decipher them.
He wished that Bilbo knew, that the soft, rounded-up letters of his name were carved on Thorin’s heart too.
“Thorin” Bilbo whispered, soft as a flutter of wings “My love, open your eyes. The medics will be here soon”
Thorin would’ve challenged Valar if Bilbo asked him to, but the heaviness of his eyelids was too much to conquer. His beauty was whispering strings of empty words just to keep him tethered there, down on this earth with him. Bilbo was telling him how Thorin will live, and rule, and Bilbo would be there beside him. How they would decorate their chambers. How they’ll have a fireplace, two armchairs, and hear a pitter-patter of small feet on the smooth stones.
If Bilbo’s empty promises are the last words he ever hears, Thorin will die happy. If Mahal asks him, in the Grand Halls, if Thorin died with honor, Thorin would tell his Maker that honor didn’t matter to him, not when he lived long enough to see those storm-blue eyes look at him kindly once again.
“Thorin…”
His heart skipped a beat.
There were soft fingers running through his hair, scratching at his scalp, making him long for the warm touch and lean in. Thorin felt too awful to be in the halls of his maker. There was a pain in his abdomen, and a scratch of bandages on his brow. He breathed in, smell of alcohol and fresh bandages making him wince. One of Thorin’s eyes cracked open, the room blessedly dim. No, not the room. The ceiling was made of cloth – a tent.
His love was there, by him, one hand nestled in his hair and the other one holding a steaming cup of tea. His curls were messed up by the bandage, wrapped tightly around the temple. Not that the hobbit minded much, or thought about himself at all, for Bilbo’s gaze was fixed on the bloodied stain on the blanket where Thorin’s wound was.
Thorin had never seen those eyes, so kind and radiant, look so haunted.
"I was going to find you-" he choked, voice hoarse “In the Gardens-“
"Thorin!" trace of life returned to Bilbo’s eyes "Please don't speak, you need to rest"
"No, I will not rest till I say what I wanted to say" Thorin coughed, throat dry as a sandpaper "Please listen, before you leave me"
"Thorin-" Bilbo was nudging a glass of water between his lips, the dwarf was trying to push his hands sway “You stubborn- come on, drink!”
"Bilbo" he whispered fervently "Bunmel, forgive me"
“What?” hobbit quietened his fretting, looking lost
“I know that your heart is too fair to hold bitter resentment in it, I know that you forgave me the moment you saw me injured” Thorin’s tone was steady, his hands, not “I know it all, yet I am unable to forgive myself for what I had done to you”
Bilbo was looking at him, eyes a mixture of concern and bewilderment. Thorin looked at his pale skin, eye circles, sunken cheeks. His hair, matted and dull, his stature small and half-starved.
“I am sorry, I had led you to such peril-” Thorin choked on his words, throat closing “If I could- I, I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t have taken you-“
“Don’t cry, dear, don’t cry” Bilbo sighed, laying a gentle hand on his cheek “I am happy to share your perils, Thorin. I do not lie when I say, that if I were given a choice, I would have done it all again in a heartbeat”
“You are too good for me” Thorin wept “You should go back, before you become tainted with my filthy conscience”
“I will help you wash it clean, then” Bilbo smiled, wiped his tears “I promised I will be here to see Erebor prosper, and I also want to see what a mighty ruler you’ll make. Besides, what is the use of an armchair, if the rest of the room is empty? There will be no laughter, and there will be no joy”
“But you will be home” he whispered
“My heart is yours, Thorin Oakenshield” a soft hand covered his “And where my heart is, my home will be”
After what felt like an eternity passing between their gazes, Bilbo’s lips descended upon Thorin’s. Their second kiss was salty, tasting of bitter tears of remorse. Thorin sobbed, hiccups breaking the caress of Bilbo’s soft lips, which made the hobbit return them to their rightful place with even more fierceness.
His hands ran through the raven-black waves of Thorin’s hair, and Bilbo smiled into the kiss as his fingertips felt the coarser texture of its grey streaks. Just because Thorin returned his feelings and was injured, it didn’t mean he will escape hobbit’s teasing.
“I will make you a flower wreath of mithril” Thorin whispered into Bilbo’s lips as they parted “A crown worthy enough to find rest atop your fair golden head, forged with my own hands”
“You have it all already planned, haven’t you?” there was that lovely spark of mischief again
“I made a promise to myself, when a seed of hope planted itself in my heart” Thorin smiled at warm, feverish memory “I thought of it ever since I heard that you might have loved me back”
“Returning back to the smithy?” the hobbit chuckled, laying another fluttering kiss on his chapped lips “From prince to smith, from a smith to a king, and now you wish to go back to being a smith again?”
“Seems like I do” Thorin chuckled fondly at his love’s gentle banter "Why it all must go head over heels with us, Master Burglar?"
Bilbo rolled his eyes, gifting him another kiss that was worth more than all the precious stones and metals under the Lonely Mountain combined. Settled on his chair, and pulled out a handful of parchment and a quill. Sipped on his cooling tea, held the cup up to Thorin’s parched lips. Dwarf made sure to drink from the same spot hobbits lips touched a moment ago.
“Because, dearest” the hobbit smirked “Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably”