Chapter Text
There he stood, the raven haired king, facing down the pale orc once again, the same fire lit in his heart that had been there in Moria. His armor, damaged and tinted, serving him little now.
The icy was slippery beneath both of their feet, making the fight even more dangerous.
Thorin heard the echoing cries of a battle still raging below them, at the base of the mountain; the mountain he had fought so tirelessly to reclaim.
He heard the war horns of the orc’s, dictating orders to legion after legion, new foes entering the battle one by one.
He hadn’t the time to worry.
The ice cracked with every blow Azog dealt.
Not far away, Bilbo had followed. He slipped past Dwalin as he fought the goblin mercenaries.
An impending sense of dread has fallen over the halfling.
His feet were silent on the hard rock ground, as he heard, in the distance, the battle between Thorin and Azog.
He caught sight between rocks and crevices.
Thorin, even from a distance, was fighting on his last limb. What strength he had left, he poured desperately into this fight.
Bilbo watched as the orc was plunged into freezing cold water. For a moment, the fight seemed to have been won. He stood, for a moment, preparing to approach Thorin, convince him to leave Ravenhill, when the ice was split from underneath the king, and Azog was found alive.
Thorin hadn’t the strength to fight as Azog pressed his blade further and further towards the King’s chest.
Thorin slid his blade away, letting the sharpened metal pierce his skin.
Bilbo’s eyes were wide with fear, a hand clasped over his mouth to stop himself from crying out.
His opposite hand clutching his sword, shaking, and unsteady.
There was nothing he could do.
He heard a thud, and a cry.
He looked up
Thorin had managed to muster power, flip the orc on his back, and return the blow, the dwarvish blade sinking all the way into the ice.
But it was too late. The damage had been down. Crimson dwarrow blood soaked through his armor and cloak.
Bilbo’s feet carried him of their own accord to the raven haired man’s side, as he fell to his back.
His once bright blue eyes, now dull and icy.
“No no no, Thorin..” the mantra repeated as Bilbo sat beside the fallen man.
Thorin’s gaze immediately fell upon the hobbit.
Even without words, he was clearly regretful. The hobbit he cared for, more than gold in truth, the man he so horribly betrayed for the sake of that gold...had still followed him into the arms of death
With shaky and numb hands, Bilbo pulled back a layer of tunic to reveal the wound, he cringed at the sight of the blood, now partially drying.
Thorin’s breathing was sharp and quick. A lung had, no doubt, been punctured. Tears spilled out over the Halfling’s cheeks, falling onto dwarvish armor.
“Master Baggins...I am..truly sorry, for what I said at the gate..and if I could,” he hissed in pain, “take it back..I would”
Bilbo understood what he was implying.
“No..Thorin.. You’re going to be fine. You are going to live,” the words did little to help, even as Bilbo tried to apply pressure on the wound.
Bilbo’s voice was shaky with fear, his lips trembling as he searched for something better to say.
A rough and calloused hand reached up, settling over the smaller one, now stained in blood. Thorin’s grip was still sure, he knew this could possibly be the last time he had the honor of seeing Bilbo,
Bilbo could feel his pulse going slower and slower as Thorin continued speaking.
“Had I not been too blinded by greed...things would have been much different..I am sorry...”
“Thorin..you were sick, you needn’t apologize,” Bilbo’s voice cracked in pain, his chest tightening,
He was not going to let Thorin die here, not on this ice covered hill.
He would drag his body back if he had to, to get medical aid.
Thorin had little hope for himself. He accepted his fate and was content dying here. He had proven himself, and he was at peace with having Bilbo be the final thing he saw in life.
He knew, if he survived, Bilbo would be, and should be, unwilling to forgive him.
His lungs would give way soon, truly it was only a matter of time. Thorin could feel his eyes getting tired. All his aches, bruises and cuts had set in.
Not far away, stood the king of the elves, gazing down upon his captain of the guard, her eyes filled with tears as she clutched the body of Prince Kíli, who was holding on, similarly, just by a thread. She demanded to take him back down, to help him as she once had before. Thranduil hadn’t the heart to deny her...
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Bilbo’s hand turned up, clutching tightly to Thorin’s.
“I will..take you there by myself, if I have to.”
The Hobbit, despite his smaller stature, mustered all the strength he had gained over this journey, mustered all his courage, all his daring ness, all of his need, for Thorin to live, and pulled him first into sitting up, and then, to his feet.
He would not sit by and watch as Thorin, the dwarf who had truly captured his loyalty and his companionship, died in his arms.
As he was lifted, Thorin slouched over his shoulders, making Bilbo falter and almost fall at first. The weight of Thorin’s remaining armor didn’t help.
The dwarf’s hand holding onto Bilbo’s did not loosen its grip. Thorin had only one good leg to stand on, and was bleeding out more and more by the second.
“Master Baggins..do not strain yourself on my account..I cannot go on further..” Thorin’s throat was dry, his voice deep and rough.
“That’s not true..Thorin there must be some way!” The hobbit pleaded. He could care less about his own injuries or tiredness. It was as if those had vanished.
The dwarf was pained to hear the sorrow in the hobbit’s voice...pained to hear that his injury and inevitable death and caused Bilbo so much anguish..
Nevertheless, Bilbo kept going. One foot in front of the other..
Ahead of them, a silven elf leaped gracefully from a ledge to the ground, carrying a similarly statured body, although her doing so was with much more ease. Tauriel ran with intent down the snow covered rocks. She was focused on her point ahead, not at the two behind her.
She did not see them, but Bilbo saw her. She might be their only hope...
Bilbo recognized the body as Kili’s. The young prince seemed lucid. His hand held onto her green tunic, and he tried to hold his head up.
Bilbo had often heard of the healing abilities of the elves but...by the time he thought to shout, she was gone.
They had lost what hope Bilbo thought they might have at alerting someone of Thorin’s condition. No one had the slightest idea of where Dwalin or Fili were.
As Bilbo took a step down, the weight of Thorin became too much, only doubled by the sense of fear, of loosing a chance.
They both fell to the cold ground.
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Hope quickly drained from the hobbit as they hit the ground. He did what he could to avoid hurting Thorin anymore but his body did very little to cushion the fall. The dwarf let out a pained groan, but nothing more. He did not complain about the pain. His head tilted up to face Bilbo, as properly as he could.
"Do not fret...Master Baggins...you can return home.. Back to your books, and your armchair..you can plant your tree...and watch it grow.." Bilbo's shaking hand still remained tightly wrapped in Thorin's.
The image of his home in BagEnd resurfaced, images that hadn't been on his mind in a long time. The warm smell of freshly baked goods..a comforting fire, and birds chirping outside....wouldn't be complete if he went back alone.
"I am..I am going to return home, and so are you.." The words meant little now. There was nothing that could be done. Above head, the sound of wings flapping echoed around them. The eagles had come. Bilbo looked up in awe at the mighty birds swooping down into the battle field, one by one. Suddenly, he heard another sound. Footsteps. Footsteps on hard stone, nearby.
Bilbo looked around frantically. The footfalls were too quiet for a dwarf, but they were there. Nearby, he saw him, Lord Thranduil, leaving from the same place Tauriel had.
The animosity between the two kingdoms didn't stop Bilbo from immediately shouting out.
"Lord Thranduil!" His voice echoed off ridges and crevices. Even the slowing battle below wasn't enough to silence him. The white haired elf turned on his heel, assuming himself to be alone. The sight in front of him was not what he was expecting. To see the high and mighty Thorin Oakenshield, brought down to a lowly, dying dwarf in the arms of a hobbit, truly was surreal. Thranduil could see the pain on Bilbo's face...the halfling truly did care for him.
"Please...he needs help."