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Golden leaves from trees not burned beyond all hope of regrowth littered the ground where Bilbo stood.
Winter was close at hand, but autumn clung to the air with a desperation felt by many beneath the mountain. Those healing sought fresh air when they could escape the wrath of Oin and Elvish healers who had stayed long after the battle was finished. Though they did not swear as prolifically as Oin did when he caught a patient out of bed, they glared dwarves, men, and their own kin into submission if they suspected a flight risk.
Bilbo knew better than to protest, so he became the perfect patient.
The gash on his head required a dozen stitches and he’d managed to fall on his ankle wrong, so he was stuck hobbling though the great halls of Erebor with a broken spear Ori found on the battlefield. He made quite a funny sight, limping from room to room as if an Orc was on his tail, but no one thought of getting in Bilbo’s way; not after his row with Thorin Oakenshield echoed in the deepest caverns - his ire carried by the western winds.
“If you die Thorin Oakenshield so help me I will march into the halls of your fathers and drag you back by your ragged braids.”
Thorin was too stunned to speak so he nodded jerkily and succumbed to the darkness that hovered on the edge of his vision in time to see Bilbo huff and storm out of the room to berate his nephews.
Thorin had not awoken since then.
Bilbo spent his time mostly by Thorin’s side, leaving only to bully Fili and Kili into settling down when they grew restless. He kept them in line by threatening to tell their mother, who was on her way to the mountain, about the trouble they were giving the healers.
With the fear of Dis in their hearts, Fili and Kili promised to behave, but only if Bilbo spent more time with them since they were awake and bored while their uncle was neither.
Bilbo agreed.
With winter’s onset came a caravan from the Blue Mountains and the bustle around Erebor increased to a deafening buzz.
Bilbo sought refuge on the outside ledge connected to his quarters, which had been cleaned out once he informed Balin he intended to stay until Thorin awoke and Fili and Kili were no longer bedridden. He spent very little time in his temporary room, often sleeping by Thorin’s bedside, but when more dwarves flooded into the mountain to see their king, Bilbo quietly vanished.
It was often the lady Dis who would pull Bilbo from his refuge and shove him back into loud company.
He would put up a fight, or at least make it look like one, but truthfully Bilbo was always glad to be surrounded by his friends. Being by himself made him maudlin and wistful, two things he could not afford to be when there was so much work to be done around Erebor.
He visited Ori in the library every other day and popped in on Bombur in the kitchens whenever he felt the urge to make something with his bare hands. He saw Oin every day and Balin almost as much, but the others were preoccupied with more important tasks. Dwalin and Nori set straight to work with building a reliable security network both of loyal subjects and spies in case the dwarves from the Iron Hills got twitchy.
Bifur and Bofur busied themselves with more personal matters, such as the restoration of various rooms and of the city of Dale, with Balin’s council as well as Dain’s. Gloin kept a close eye on the treasures of the mountain and Dori seemed to bounce between duties as kitchen aid and medical assistant.
Bilbo, who had little care for treasure or espionage, kept close to the infirmary, though he was often invited to diplomatic talks by Dain and Balin who valued his opinions when it came to the matters of elves and men.
The only member of the company who did not linger under the mountain was Gandalf, who Bilbo urged to return to the Shire and make sure Bag End was still standing.
“I just know that those Sackville-Baggins’s are strutting around my home and I’ll thank you kindly to dispense justice on my behalf until I am able to return.”
Ignoring the tittering Fili and Kili tried to smother upon hearing his request, Bilbo walked Gandalf to the gates and bid him farewell. The sincerity in Gandalf’s eyes made something in Bilbo’s gut ease because he knew Bag End was in good hands – or rather would be once he arrived in the Shire.
Winter grabbed onto the mountain and clung to it with a fierceness Bilbo had only witnessed once as a child.
Fili took his first steps around the room whist a snow storm raged on the other side of stone walls. Bilbo wished the weather was more favorable so he could treat Fili with a picnic in celebration. Kili took to using Bilbo’s spear once he was well enough to get out of bed, though the exertion tired him quicker than it did Fili.
Few ventured outside of the mountain ‘til the last weeks of winter fell with a hush and feet of unmarked snow.
It took little persuasion to get Fili and Kili bundled up and outside; they longed for fresh air and snow like Bilbo longed for his armchair and a good cup of raspberry tea. He did not stay outside long, his feet going numb only after a few minutes, but Bilbo was able to watch Fili, Kili, and Dis meander the frozen ground from his balcony.
Bilbo composed a quick letter to Thranduil, informing the king of Fili and Kili’s recovery and thanking him once more for allowing Tauriel to linger behind and treat the wounded. He knew her eventual departure would dampen Kili’s spirits – Fili’s as well, which caused Bilbo endless amounts of amusement when he imagined what Thorin would have to say about his two nephews allowing themselves to be enchanted by an elf.
The thought of Thorin sobered Bilbo’s mood and he passed his note onto Dori who would see that it would reach the Mirkwood by raven. His footsteps whispered down the hall as he made his way to Thorin’s rooms. Bilbo nodded to Oin who, on his way out, held open the door with a small frown.
“He’s a stubborn dwarf, that one,” he groused and Bilbo huffed in agreement.
Pleased to see his book in the same place he left it two nights ago, Bilbo cracked it open and began to read aloud until night had fallen and Dis came to collect him for dinner.
Spring broke quietly over the mountain, but Bilbo could feel it in his very bones as life slowly returned to where it thought it would never flourish again.
Bronze pots were forged and placed secretly upon Bilbo’s ledge where they housed flowers of all sorts, much to Bilbo’s delight. He cared for them sweetly and without rush, going so far as to teach Ori, Fili, and Kili the joys of gardening. Though they did not truly understand Bilbo’s enthusiasm for such an action, they had plants of their own, which they tended to in hopes of keeping Bilbo under the mountain longer.
A letter from Gandalf arrived not a month into spring and though he was initially distressed over the happenings in the Shire, Bilbo was pleased to hear his status of “deceased” was corrected and his possessions restored to Bag End, which Gandalf put his dear friend Hamfast Gamgee in charge of guarding from jealous relatives.
“You cannot leave Bilbo! Uncle still sleeps!” Kili cried when Bilbo folded up the letter and expressed his desire to go home, if only to rub his vitality in the face of the Sackville-Baggins’s.
“I am well aware of that Kili and I will not journey home until Thorin has awoken; a promise is a promise. However, that does not mean I cannot express my desire to return home once in a while. Now sit still and let your mother braid that rat’s nest you call hair.”
Kili sulked, but stilled and kicked his brother under the table when Fili snickered into his soup.
Bilbo kept busy as the warm weather brought trade back to the dwarves of Erebor.
Dale had grown by leaps and bounds, even with the crippling winter halting most of the rebuilding. It was not truly habitable, but vendors came from Lake Town and beyond to fill the mountain with goods and their pockets with gold.
Bilbo ventured down with Tauriel, who offered to stay until Bilbo made his journey west.
“Though the Orcs have fled these lands, stragglers lick their wounds in caves and wait for an opportunity to strike Master Baggins. I can at least accompany you to Rivendell and see for a guard to take you the rest of the way home.”
Bilbo tried to insist that her company wasn’t needed for the journey home – not unwanted of course just unnecessary – but Tauriel would not be persuaded. When she received permission from Thranduil in a letter and presented it to Bilbo with an air of smugness, he gave up.
It seemed there was no end to the stubbornness of elves and dwarves.
With his free time, which he had quite a bit of in Erebor since the mountain was coming along beautifully under the company’s supervision and the help of the dwarves from the Iron Hills and Blue Mountains, Bilbo found himself writing about his journey. Sometimes he would read his work to Thorin, who never criticized his wording nor the portrayal of the company, though Bilbo realized that trying to tease Thorin into consciousness by telling lies of his character left him little joy and only heartache.
“Do not worry Master Baggins; he will wake when he is fully healed.”
“It’s been months Oin, how much longer does he need? His cuts are healed, not a bruise to be seen… what is keeping him away from us?”
Tauriel rested a hand upon Bilbo’s shoulder and spoke gently.
“Sometimes it is not the body that needs healing Bilbo, but the heart – the mind. Perhaps he is trying to recover from the wrought the Arkenstone did to his soul.”
This did little to ease Bilbo’s worry, but he wondered if Tauriell's theory bore merit.
With the vestige of spring close at hand, Bilbo spent more time at Thorin’s bedside where he not only told fictional stories, but stories of his nephews and his sister. Bilbo talked of meeting Gloin’s wife and son Gimli and how Ori had to be dragged from the library by Dwalin most nights. He spoke of the Shire and of his parents whom he missed less and less as Bilbo learned to miss Thorin more each day.
Bilbo often assured Thorin that the dwarves who were restoring Erebor to its original glory were loyal to him and wished every day for his recovery so he could sit upon the throne that was rightfully his.
“Dain and Dis are doing a wonderful job and even Fili and Kili have stepped up their accountability in the matters of court, but they await their king Thorin. You are needed in this world, not the one you’ve been hiding in.”
Thorin’s chest rose and fell steadily, which only incited Bilbo further.
“I know you can hear me Thorin Oakenshield and I’ve had quite enough of this sleeping business. I demand you wake up this instant and take responsibility for what happened upon that dismal edge! If you think you can just ask to part in friendship and then ignore me until I finally leave for the Shire you have another thing coming!”
Thorin did not stir and Bilbo felt desperation begin to build in his throat.
He reached out and grabbed Thorin’s hand, relieved to feel its assuring warmth in his palm and he spoke softer and with more feeling than he had in months.
“None of us blame you for the gold-sickness, nor your actions when faced with my betrayal. You may not believe me of course, but I’m asking you to trust me when I say that all I want now, in this moment and the many that shall follow, if for you to wake and become the king I know you’ve always meant to be.”
“I cannot leave without seeing your eyes one last time.”
Bilbo laid his head down next to Thorin’s arm and though he did not cry, his heart felt as if it were leaking all over the bed.
He lost track of time and dozed into a daydream when a hand on his head startled him out of it so violently he nearly fell out of his chair.
“Thorin!” he exclaimed and righted himself in time to hear a rough chuckle.
Bilbo was torn from leaping in joy and smothering Thorin with a hug and running from the room to grab Dis and her sons. He did neither though when he noted that Thorin’s eyes remained closed.
“Why have you grown silent hobbit?” Thorin asked playfully and Bilbo swallowed a lump in his throat.
“Why do you keep your eyes closed dwarf?”
Bilbo held his breath and watched anguish flash across Thorin’s face. With a wrinkled brow and cautious hands, Thorin reached out until he could touch Bilbo and he gently pulled the hobbit down until he could touch Bilbo’s face.
“Because if I open them, you will leave and I would rather see darkness for the rest of my days than watch you go.”
A sob pushed through Bilbo’s lips and he threw his arms around Thorin and clung tightly to the worn fabric of his shirt. Thorin soothed Bilbo with soft whispers, apologies he spent days dreaming of but he never imagined such a reaction to his words.
Bilbo pulled back and cupped Thorin’s face and like his voice they shook.
“Blast you Thorin Oakenshield for worrying me so and then waking up with words that would stop my very heart!”
Bilbo huffed in agitation at the flash of hurt upon Thorin’s face and then he collapsed against his solid chest and spoke just above a whisper.
“You can’t very well rule a kingdom you cannot see, so I suppose for the good of Erebor I shall have to stay, but you must open your eyes for me to do so. I will not have Oin nor your sister Dis blaming me for the death of their king because he would not open his eyes and thus fell down a crumbling staircase.”
A hoarse laugh echoed in the room when Bilbo’s words caught up with Thorin and he wasted no time pulling him back so Bilbo would be the first thing he saw.
Familiar forest green eyes greeted Thorin and he was in awe at the wetness that trailed silently down Bilbo’s cheeks.
“Hello there,” Bilbo croaked and Thorin’s answering smile was warmer than the summer sun.
“Thorin Oakenshield, at your service.”