Work Text:
Thorin could barely breathe as he raced out onto the balcony. The full moon had just risen over the far off Iron Hills, and stars twinkled overhead. The pale light made the white marble flagstones and railing almost glow, though he knew full well that in the daylight the weeds and cracks would be visible. Now, though, if not for the dwarven architecture they could be in some Elvish realm, looking down from the mountainside onto the silvered landscape far below. In the distance, the lights of Dale could be seen, cookfires flickering among the ruins in the old town where the townsfolk were rebuilding. Perched on the railing was Bilbo, looking out at the sights, a delicate white china cup in his hand.
An empty cup.
Thorin could have wept, had he breath to do so. "Bilbo..." he panted. "Why..." The hobbit whipped around, startled, almost dropping the cup before setting it safely aside.
"Thorin! Good heavens! I..." a look of discomfort crossed his face, visible even in the uncertain silver light. "I hadn't thought to see you here."
"Clearly." The king huffed, stretching out his hands, an expression of misery on his face. "Why... why have you done this thing?" At Bilbo's look of puzzlement, he motioned at the cup.
"Oh... that." Bilbo looked embarrassed. "The... well, the usual reasons I suppose." Thorin sunk slowly to a seat against the railing, putting his head in his hands.
"Why... why would you..." he near-sobbed. "But... I never got a chance to tell you," he cried out. The hobbit's face went from startled to apprehensive.
"Tell me what?" The hobbit ran a hand through his curls, already mussed, and the dwarf felt a morbid sense of horror that he had never touched Bilbo's hair. "Thorin, I... I'm sorry if I shouldn't have been up here. I just... I will miss this view, and the moon was full, and..." A cry of anguish cut him off.
"We will miss you. Damn the view! I will miss you." He gulped, drew in a huge breath, and let it out in a sigh, as though his wounds were finally claiming him, making Bilbo's brows draw down in concern. "I... I love you," he said softly. Bilbo stood speechless and gaping, leaning backwards to a degree that he was most likely saved from falling off the mountainside only by the railing.
"I... oh, Thorin," Bilbo said in a soft voice, stepping forward cautiously, like he was approaching a frightened animal. "That... Why... why would you tell me this now? I mean, I'm glad to know, and... well, I must confess that I have felt... do feel, I mean... um, similarly, but..." The hobbit eased towards the dwarf where he sat on the cold flags, but when he got close enough massive dwarven hands clutched at his wrists and forearms.
"How could you just leave me like this?" he demanded roughly. "Come with me to Oin, now! We must save you, don't... don't..." Bilbo looked at him in obvious confusion.
"What on earth are you talking about? What can Oin do?" Thorin shook his head, tears running down his cheeks.
"Nothing now, most likely... you've... you've already..." he buried his face in the hobbit's chest, dark hair pressing against Bilbo's chin. After a moment, he tried cautiously to extricate himself but found himself held too closely.
"Thorin, you're going to have to let me go soon," he said, only to cause a sob to emerge from beneath the dark hair pressed into his chest. A tentative hand came up to stroke the dark locks, but Bilbo's face showed a deep inner conflict. "Thorin, clearly we need to talk, but this is..." his stomach rumbled. "Blast. I... Thorin, I have to go." He tugged again. "We can talk about this in a bit, I must..."
"There will be no more talking soon enough! I... I will at least wait with you until the end!" Thorin declared, leaping to his feet and ignoring Bilbo's horrified expression. No sooner had Thorin's hands loosed their grip for him to stand than Bilbo took advantage of the brief release to bolt for the stairs, quicker than one would have thought hobbits could move. By the time Thorin made it to the bottom of the steps, Bilbo was out of sight and the dwarf sank to the flagstones of the landing in front of the passage leading into Erebor, sobbing as if his heart was broken. He sat there in the moonlight, crying, wishing things could have been different, so very different.
=
An hour later, Thorin was shocked to see the hobbit picking his way back down the hall towards him, carrying a torch. The king leapt to his feet, pallor visible even in the moonlight. "I... Bilbo! How... you're..." The hobbit gave him an apprehensive look, as though he'd lost his mind.
"Thorin, I apologize for running off, but... well... I had just drunk senna and peppermint tea. There were... urgent things that needed to be attended to," Bilbo said awkwardly. "I returned as quick as I might." He fixed the torch in one of the empty cressets mounted beside the door into the mountain. In the flickering light, Bilbo looked a bit pale but unharmed.
"You... Bilbo, you drank a whole cup of tea made with gurzûn. You should be dead," Thorin whispered. He reached out tentatively, touched Bilbo's arm, and jerked back as though shocked that his hand had not simply passed through. Bilbo eyed him uncertainly, stepping forward.
"Dead? I... Thorin, those herbs merely stimulate the bowels," the hobbit muttered, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. "The diet here is... well, and the cram... it's a bit lacking in, uh, roughage." Shaking his head, Bilbo's eyes became sharp. "But I'd much rather discuss what you told me up on the balcony than my, ahem, digestive issues." Thorin shook his head slowly, staring at Bilbo as though he were some sort of unquiet spirit.
"Bilbo... listen to me. If I had drunk a sip from that cup, I would have slept for a day and a night at least, and woken sick. If I had drunk two sips, I would be asleep for days, and likely useless for a week after. The whole cup... I would be dead. That you are alive, let alone walking and speaking is... I don't understand." The hobbit's face was a mask of surprise, but Thorin stepped up to him, almost too close, and seized his upper arms in a tight grip. Bilbo gazed up into half-crazed blue eyes. "I thought you gone. I thought you fled from us to... to where I could not follow."
Bilbo gave the self-deprecating chuckle that was his trademark. "Good heavens, such a fuss! I would not... well..." his lips firmed, pursed, and Bilbo looked away. "It's been quite a long time since I was inclined to do anything so... terribly dramatic as all that. But," hazel eyes bored into Thorin's, sharper than usual, "I wish to hear more about this deathbed confession of yours than I do about deathbeds. I had thought that I was imagining... that is to say, that... well..." he stopped, flustered, as Thorin's hand rose slowly and one thick forefinger touched the hobbit's cheek, slid soft as a petal down his face.
"You are truly alive?" Thorin whispered, seemingly ignoring everything Bilbo had said. "Truly?"
Sighing, Bilbo nodded (despite the guilty pleasure he felt from the caress). "Yes, Thorin, I'm... mmf," The king's mouth was pressed to his, short beard scratching at the hobbit's face, and Bilbo went limp in the strong arms around him. After the moment's shock had passed, he kissed back with fervor. Time passed with the two of them locked together before finally they pulled apart, slowly, both with gazes slightly averted.
"My tongue and lips are numb now," Thorin mumbled with an embarrassed smile. "You really did drink all that gurzûn, hobbits are amazing creatures." Bilbo caressed the short beard of the king before him, smiling at him.
"Dwarves are amazing creatures as well, Thorin. I can think of one in particular that amazes me every day," he grinned. "Thank goodness for misunderstandings."