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They say there is a thin line between love and hate, as is there between love and greed. And Thorin son of Thror son of Thrain, he loved his gold, he loved it so much that he had spent every second in Erebor’s treasure halls since the defeat of Smaug.
He felt alive in this ocean of gold, waves of wealth crashing against his booted legs on the hunt for the only treasure that really mattered, while another one was weighing heavily in his robe’s pocket. He had thought nothing of it when he had picked it up, intending to return the ring to its owner in a more private moment. But with all the voices in his head a private moment was near impossible, even when he and Bilbo had occasionally ended up alone in these halls, both tearing through mountains of gold on pursuit for something more important.
Bilbo…
Thorin looked up in search for his burglar – a burglar? No, Bilbo was his burglar, Bilbo would never steal form him, not Bilbo, not his Bilbo. Still…
It had been hours… days, who could tell, since he had last seen the hobbit. For a moment the king wondered if there had ever been a fourteenth member to their company or if he was just another voice in his head. Then he reached for the ring and remembered.
Thorin had caught Bilbo rummaging through his pockets in the darkness of the tunnel leading out of the mountain, murmuring and cursing to himself much as Thorin was doing it right now. When he had questioned the hobbit what he was looking for, Bilbo had flinched and waved him off without even looking up.
“It’s nothing, really, just this thing- Aha!”, then he had turned around and revealed the acorn in his hand, “Thought I had lost it for a moment there.”
The hobbit’s smile had been stiff and when he had explained that he was going to plant it in his garden, Thorin couldn’t help but notice that the other one was still not looking at him. The king had reached for the ring inside his pocket, knowing this was what his burglar was really looking for. However, the hissing voices in his head advised him to keep it. What reason did Bilbo have to lie to him? Did he not trust him? Thorin couldn’t trust someone who didn’t trust him.
And he knew now, that he could trust no one, not after the days they had spent in the treasury, still not having found the Arkenstone. It was impossible, they should have found it by now. The only explanation: Someone had betrayed him; someone had stolen the king’s jewel from the king. Someone would have to pay for this.
The voices told him that he knew who had done it.
He clutched the ring in his fist, cursing the hobbit for dropping it in the first place. If only he could let go of this damned thing. Then again, what if this ring was the only thing keeping the hobbit with him, what if he would leave the moment he gave him the ring? That wouldn’t do, Thorin decided. The hobbit would stay.
Maybe it was time to stop looking for the Arkenstone and start looking for the cause of all his problems. The reason he could not sleep at night, the reason he could not think properly, the reason he had a ring instead of his jewel.
***
They say there is a thin line between love and hate, as is there between love and fear. And Bilbo Baggins, fourteenth member of the company, he loved his golden magic ring. He knew it was not technically his but in the heat of his anxious search, technicalities mattered very little to the hobbit.
“Finders, keepers,” he told himself to ease his maddened mind, the only problem being that he could not find the blasted ring. He had walked the paths he had used since running away from the fire spitting lizard over and over again, but trying to find a golden ring in a hall filled with golden treasure was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
He did not know when he had last eaten or slept, the tiny voice in his head being more important, telling him to keep going until he would find another, more evil and whispery voice urging him to get the ring that was right in front of him like the ring had done when he had lost it in Mirkwood.
However, he never found that voice and, in the end, he knew, he just knew that someone else had taken his ring. Silent tears mixed with cold sweat were running down his cheeks as he was picking through the tiny pieces of treasure, unable to give up what was lost. For even the smallest chance of retrieving what he loved most of all, was worth the torture of turning this whole hall upside down and if it was the last thing he did.
Good thing they were still looking for that stupid stone, that way he could pretend he was looking for it as well and no one batted an eye. Really, he should just get rid of it already, saving Thorin from the madness that stuck to these treasures like illness to a child.
But he could not, he had to find the ring first.
“Oh Thorin,” he whispered.
If only he could save him from this madness. Spare the king of this torture of obsession.
“Oh… Thorin,” he repeated in agony, wishing he could go back to the Goblin cave and leave the ring behind.
But Bilbo knew, whatever they used to have, whatever that had been, had been gone by the time they had entered this mountain, this cursed mountain… It had suffocated their flame, draining them of their love, giving each of them an object to love instead and in a cruel twist, making them the object of their obsession, possessed by their miserable love.
How Bilbo had resisted the ring for so long before, he did not know. Maybe if he found it again and secured it, he could go back to whatever he had done and felt before…
But deep down he knew that he could never go back. When he would find the ring, he would lock it up and never let go of it again. It was much easier to dedicate yourself to an object, he thought. No rejection, no insecurity or uncertainty. Only possession. Safe and secure.
If only he could find it, he thought anxiously.
He spent another eternity, looking for his ring, carefully listening for any evil whispers that might come his way. To his surprise they came accompanied by heavy footsteps, followed by the rough voice of his…
Well? What was he to him at this point?
The whispers told him.
“Master Baggins,” said his opponent.
***
The moment Thorin made out Bilbo’s dirty figure between his shining gold, he quickened his step, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The hobbit looked more a burglar than ever.
The king knew this burglar must have heard his approach, but again, he did not seem to care.
“Master Baggins,” he spat out the name. It took all his self-control to not call him other names. He didn’t want to scare him off, after all.
As the thief turned around, Thorin was taken aback. Bilbo’s maddened gaze pierced him like an arrow, the sunken eyes and dark circles revealing a similar condition to Thorin’s own. It was as if he had peaked into a mirror.
“Come here, Master Baggins,” the king commanded, standing his ground.
The hobbit dropped the goblet he had been holding, shuffled through the treasures and slowly made his way up the stairs. Thorin’s skin was itching with anticipation. Now, confronted with the hobbit he didn’t know what to do. Should he beat around the bush, corner the hobbit, be blunt?
His mouth watered with want, overwhelmed by the possibilities.
“You have it, I know it,” Bilbo stopped his train of thoughts, standing wearily in front of him, seeming smaller than ever. Thorin noted that he still wasn’t looking at him, instead his eyes were focused on the pocket with the ring.
“Did you steal it from me while I was asleep?” the hobbit dared to sound scornful.
“How dare you accuse me of theft,” Thorin growled, losing his sword from its shaft, “when it is you who has been hiding the Arkenstone from its rightful holder?”
“Oh please,” the hobbit laughed drily, “Don’t bother. The stone is long gone. Disappeared into darkness where you shall never find it again.”
It was as if Thorin had been struck in his face, “And why should I believe you, halfling?”
Now it was Bilbo’s turn to recover and he tried to shrug it off, “See for yourself.”
Thorin eyed Bilbo suspiciously, not falling for this act. He had spent enough time with him to know when he was planning something, he could see it in his slightly tightened eyebrows, even now.
Nevertheless, the king put his sword back and carefully approached the hobbit, ready to block any sudden movement, although the thought of him attacking the king seemed ridiculous. But nothing was too ridiculous in light of promised treasure, especially if said treasure was cursed.
He grabbed Bilbo’s arm, noticing how bony it had become, and patted the front pockets of the coat down with his other hand. Nothing.
“Thorin,” they looked into each other’s eyes, the first time since days. Thorin noticed the tear streaks on the other’s face and the pain in his eyes, immediately loosening his grip.
“I’m sorry,” Bilbo apologised, before pushing past the king and running for the secret tunnel that led out of the mountain. Too late Thorin noticed, that the ring in his pocket was gone and he could have exploded with anger. Filthy, little rat!
Instead, he set after the burglar, ready to take back what was his. His honour, his treasure, his revenge. The burglar had wronged him, he was his to deal with. He would make sure that Bilbo Baggins would never leave this mountain ever again, he would lock him up with all his other treasures, keeping him like an insect to inspect.
Panting in his heavy armour and cloaks he reached the end of the tunnel and saw to his horror that the heavy stone door had been opened. The hobbit was stronger than he looked. Without thinking he followed the thief outside, only realising his mistake when he looked around, not a trace of his game. Suddenly, the door fell shut behind him. He was locked out of his own kingdom.
***
Bilbo was running and slipping and crawling up the tunnel, one hand against the wall as he was unable to see in this pitched darkness. Right now, he was fearing for his life, having wronged Thorin in so many ways he had lost count. Surely, nothing could make the king’s wrath any worse, not even this next step in his plan.
Well, it was too late anyway.
The hobbit was standing in the darkness, wearing his beloved ring just in case, shuddering as he had put it on, and waiting for the king to come and fall for his trap. He pressed himself against the wall as Thorin rushed past him and took a deep breath, before pulling the door shut behind the other madman, saving him.
He wasn’t sure what he was doing, he just knew that he couldn’t let Thorin come close to the treasure inside this mountain. Bilbo would do anything in his power to protect Thorin from the madness he himself was going through because of this stupid, horrible ring. It made it so easy to love, so shiny, so even, so powerful. Perfect, more perfect than any living being could ever be.
Bilbo slipped to the ground; all fight that had been left in him gone the moment he enclosed the ring in his sore hand which was cut and bruised from handling the gold too carelessly in pursuit of his own treasure. The only treasure.
A whimper escaped him, when he turned the ring around, feeling its smoothness. This was it, he realised, he would never let go of his precious ever again. He would wander the halls of Erebor for hundreds of years to come, locking himself in like the dragon had done it, with only one companion. But first, he had to get rid of the rest of the dwarfs.
The hobbit shuddered, shaking his head, banging against it with his hands to get rid of such ideas.
“No,” he told himself, “No, no!”
He was here to help them retake their mountain, to give them a home. This had been his only goal for the past months, everything he had fought for… he could not give up on it now, not now, where they were so close.
A dull thump at the door, scared him out of his thoughts and he was on his feet, clutching the bump that was the Arkenstone in his coat. It was impossible for Thorin to get through this door without the key, Bilbo told himself, still ready to run for his dear life. If the king got his hands on him now… he didn’t want to picture what would happen, then.
“Baggins!” he heard a distant voice from the other side of the stone, followed by loud banging.
He wanted to curl up in a ball, buried by mountains of gold and never wake up again. He could not face the wrath of Thorin Oakenshield, he did not want to look into those blue eyes when they were darkened by greed and filled with hatred.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, not nearly loud enough for the other to hear.
He felt as though he was about to pass out, torn between love and fear, holding on to the only thing that promised him safety. If he had seen himself, he would have been ashamed but in obsession was no room for shame and anyway, it was too dark to even see the outline of his own hand when he held it right in front of his face.
As he shifted on the cold stone, still curled up in pain, he felt the Arkenstone shift in his coat. Without thinking, he pulled it out and was immediately blinded by its shine. It was a beautiful thing, indeed. Capturing the light of a thousand years, beaming with its uniqueness.
He hated it. He hated this stone for taking away the Thorin he used to know, the Thorin he used to admire so much, the Thorin he would rather die for than turn away from.
But that Thorin was long gone.
No, he was not, he argued with the whispery voice in his head, it’s not to late, not yet.
The hobbit stood on shaking legs. What he was about to do was madness, madder even than these past days locked up in the mountain with its cursed gold, but this madness was not driven by fear or by greed, it was not obsession. He dared not say what he was driven by, not yet ready to admit himself this feeling but it was enough to leave Arkenstone and ring behind, covered by his filthy coat as not to attract unwanted attention.
***
The moment Thorin had stopped banging against the door demanding entrance, the coldness of the night had crept into his skin and bones. He had been too exhausted to resist the stone door any longer but it had been a much longer while for him to stop moving at all.
Now he was laying on the ground, his chainmail and rocks making it as uncomfortable as the times he had slept on his treasure hoards like the lizard before him. An almost comforting thought.
But the chill of the night was sobering and watching the stars, he realised two things.
One: He had failed the company in the promise of being stronger than his grandfather, he had fallen for the dragon sickness the moment they had set foot into the mountain. The worst part about this realisation was the lack of empowerment to do anything against it. The gold had a chokehold on him like nothing else.
And two: He had to save Bilbo Baggins. He could not stand seeing the hobbit destroyed by powers meant for much stronger to bear. Thorin would take the ring himself if he had to.
But what of the Arkenstone?
A question not even the stars could find an answer to.
Suddenly, he heard the door open and was immediately on his feet. Impossible. He held his breath, anxious to see what was bound to happen.
Bilbo stepped out of the tunnel, closing the door behind himself. Thorin yelped and tried to stop him, but it was already too late. And suddenly, everything snapped back to normal, fresh air and not being disturbed by tiny voices in his head working its wonders.
“No- What are you doing?” he groaned in disbelieve, “How do you suppose we get back in?”
Bilbo crossed his arms before his chest, in the moonlight he almost looked like his old self, “Through the front gate.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Master Baggins!” Thorin huffed, “You’ll break your neck.”
“Good thing I have an expert dwarf with me then.”
Incredulous, he was staring at the spot Bilbo had just stood in before setting off to the staircase. He wanted to follow the hobbit, he really did, but something was holding him back. A longing glance at the door told him exactly what was holding him back. Somehow, he knew that Bilbo was not carrying the Arkenstone with him, his steps being too light. It was still in the mountain.
“Thorin!” the urgency in the hobbit’s voice finally tore him away.
“Bilbo!” he stormed towards the trail that would lead them down.
“Did I not tell you,” he chided when he saw the other one spread across some steps and hurried towards him, careful not to trip.
“Oh, shut up!”
Thorin was taken aback by his bluntness but honestly, in the past hours Bilbo had done worse than telling the king to shut up. Such as stealing from him, lying to him, and going as far as to lock him out of his own kingdom. He could not help but smile.
“Can you walk?” he asked concerned as he was helping the hobbit up.
Bilbo brushed over his shirt and trousers as though it mattered, as though they had not already been full of dirt since days, “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I guess I do need an expert dwarf.”
They looked at each other, the moon shining in their eyes and Thorin could feel a wave of relief washing over him, stopping his breath. He was still holding the other’s arm, although he was already standing on both his feet again.
There was so much he wanted to say. He wanted to tell Bilbo that he had missed him, that he was thankful for everything, truly everything he had ever done for him. He wanted to ask him to stay in Erebor, ensuring that neither would ever fall sick again, breaking each other’s isolation forever.
In the end he only asked, “Where is your coat?”
***
Wrapped in Thorin’s coat Bilbo slowly descended the hidden path leading them to the foot of the Lonely Mountain, Thorin walked right in front of him. Neither had the words to express their feelings and both were tired from exhaustion, so they climbed over the rocks in silence, the king occasionally assisting his burglar. Life could be so simple.
After hours it seemed, they reached the top of Ravenhill and rested in the guardroom. Bilbo was ready to fall asleep right then and there but Thorin had different ideas.
“Not yet, Master Baggins,” he said and gave the burglar’s shoulder a soft squeeze, “We’re almost there.”
If they survived this night they would be free. But first, they had to talk.
He cleared his throat and looked up at Thorin, who was sitting next to him and staring into the distance, Bilbo could only imagine what he was seeing and for a moment he panicked, “Thorin.”
When the dwarf met his gaze with soft blue eyes, he exhaled, relieved.
“It’s alright,” Thorin promised in a whisper, “I know.”
And for a moment Bilbo was mesmerized. It was as if a curtain had been lifted; the wind had finally carried away the thunderous clouds, making room for the sun. Oh, how Bilbo loved bathing in the sun!
But he had to be sure.
“Promise me,” he started, “Promise that you will not go looking for the stone. You know where it is, you could take it any time. But you do not need it, Thorin, you don’t need a jewel to prove yourself as king. Take my word for it, if need be, I will vouch for you any day: You are the king of Erebor. You always have been, with or without the Arkenstone.”
Tears had formed in his eyes, but he choked them back, “It was you, Thorin.”
His voice broke at his name.
“It was you who I, who all of us, believed in. You are the one who we were fighting for, you are your people’s hope. If anyone can rebuild Erebor, it is you.”
His voice ceased and the tears started to fall. Thorin’s rough hand was there to catch them, carefully wiping them off his cheeks.
The dwarf put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. Bilbo could only imagine the emotional turmoil the other one went through, right now. They stayed in their embrace for a while, both mourning what they had lost. They had a mutual understanding of each other’s pain that brought them even closer together and, in the end, it was Bilbo’s turn to wipe away Thorin’s tears.
When the hobbit was about to drift into sleep again, subconsciously ready to dream of his ring, he felt a hand running through his hair, pulling him out of these dangerous waters.
“Bilbo,” Thorin said the name as though he was tasting the syllables, just saying it for the sake of hearing it spoken out loud.
“Why did you not tell me of your burden?” he asked, the tenderness in his voice making the hobbit shiver.
“It was my way of keeping up with you,” he replied honestly, “At the time it seemed like a blessing. A way to prove myself worthy.”
“Sounds familiar,” Thorin hummed and Bilbo chuckled, finally breaking the prison of isolation. The truth was liberating.
“I shall promise you to never look for the Arkenstone again, if you promise me the same,” the other continued, “Never look for that ring again. You don’t have to keep up with us, Master Baggins-.”
He stopped.
“Bilbo,” he corrected himself, “You’re miles ahead.”
The burglar genuinely laughed at that, blushing against his will. Only hours before they had been chasing each other through the mountain driven by madness, who would have thought it would end like this?
“Very well,” Bilbo said and offered Thorin his hand, “I will never look for that ring again.”
Thorin took his hand and squeezed it, “And I will never look for the Arkenstone again.”
Having pledged each other sanity, the pair got up yawning, prepared for the last part of their journey. The sun had begun to rise, showing them the path leading to the front gate.
“Look,” Bilbo pointed out, as they passed the ruins of Dale.
“The people of Lake Town,” Thorin had noticed them as well, “I shall send for aid, immediately. My cousin in the Iron Hills shouldn’t take long to provide us all with supplies.”
Bilbo stopped and when the king turned around, the hobbit was beaming at him.
This was it. The sun was up and they had defeated the last enemy of their journey: Greed and fear, emotions more powerful than any dragon ever was, however, unable to defeat love.
“I love you, Thorin Oakenshield,” Bilbo breathed, not daring to raise his voice, scared to be heard. It was much harder to say these words to another living being, but the reaction was better than any treasure could ever be.
Thorin froze after hearing the words spoken so literal. He gathered himself, looking at anything but Bilbo, then he approached him, “This is not how I wanted this to go, you weren’t supposed to say it till-.”
“Oh, shut up!” Bilbo moaned and shut the king up with a kiss, arms wrapped around his shoulders.
“You should have done this the first time you told me to shut up,” Thorin grinned against the other’s lips, making him laugh again.
“I can’t with you,” Bilbo shook his head and was about to step away, ready to move on to the front gate but Thorin had other plans.
“Oh, come here,” he said and embraced him tightly, nuzzling into his golden locks.
“I love you too, Bilbo Baggins, burglar of my heart.”