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“I’m going to see Bilbo.” Thorin said one evening. Balin glanced up from the pile of paperwork and turned his sad eyes to the fireplace by his side.
“I won't be too long. Just...don’t tell anyone else where I am.” The king continued, gently placing his own paperwork to the side. He was more warrior than scholar anyway, and Balin would get more done without his pestering.
“Sure laddie, just don’t be out too long. And...tell Bilbo I said hello.” Balin said. He didn’t look Thorin in the eye. He never did, when discussing their hobbit. Hardly anyone did.
“I will.” Thorin said, the tightness in his throat causing more of a croak than his usual voice.
Thorin departed from Balin's study. Dwalin stood outside his door, always guarding him from...from what. No one had attempted anything. Most dwarves looked at him with pity, not malice. Thorin preferred malice. He could deal with someone wanting to kill him. But he hated the pity.
“Going to see Bilbo?” Dwalin asked, his voice low and deep.
Thorin nodded. He trusted Dwalin.
“I’ll only be an hour. Leave me be.”
Dwalin didn’t protest. He never protested these days, choosing to stay silent rather than reopen wounds. He only followed Thorin until they reached the hall where Bilbo was, and then he stopped outside the door. He would be there until Thorin came back.
Thorin walked into the hall, shutting the door behind him. It was always colder in this part of Erebor, as there weren’t many down there who needed the warmth. But it was always tolerable, for him and Bilbo. He walked past the room of Fili and Kili, and stopped in front of Bilbo’s door.
He knocked, for what reason he knew not, and stepped inside.
He took a seat along the wall of Bilbo’s room. Bofur had offered to put in a nice bench or even chair for Thorin to sit in, but Thorin refused. It didn’t seem right to take up so much space in Bilbo’s room. He sat for a long while, longer than he should’ve, just enjoying the silence that had become a friend to him.
“I finally gave the jewels back to Thranduil. I- Balin designed a contract in both our favor, and I compromised. Something you’re always reminding me to do.”
Thorin smiled. It was cold, visiting Bilbo, but he wouldn’t miss it for the world. The hobbit was the best advisor he’d ever had. He shifted against the stone floor where he sat. A small blanket had been left for him after his last visit, and he pulled it over his lap.
“And Gloin’s son Gimli finally arrived. You would love him. He’s as loyal as they come. Much like you.”
Bilbo didn’t respond. The familiar ache of chill in the air began to fill his lungs.
“I’m struggling with my council right now. They want me to settle down and marry. I-” Thorin’s voice cracked a little.
“I guess since Fili and Kili are... Gone. It falls back on me to have an heir.”
He wiped away the tears that were forming. His last few words echoed and then silence pervaded, sinking into everything. He absently traced the runework along the floor with his finger. He recognized the runes of fellowship, friendship, and loyalty. Devotion.
Of sadness.
He withdrew his hand as if he’d been stung.
“Dis hasn’t forgiven me. I doubt she ever will, as I can’t forgive me either.” Thorin sighed.
Bilbo never responded in these conversations, and yet Thorin knew exactly what he was saying. His hobbit always sat quietly across from him, never any indication that he was listening. But Thorin knew that he was.
But the evening drew to a close, and he knew that he had to move on with his day. His council barely tolerated the mere hour he spent with Bilbo. Sure, the company understood, but no one else could fathom why the King sat by the tomb of a Hobbit.
“Same time next week, then, my old friend.” Thorin whispered. He folded the blanket back up and placed it in the corner of the stone room. He gently traced his hand over the stone that concealed Bilbo’s casket from him.
Thorin left his friend for the evening, entrapped in stone.