Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He's dying. He has to be. There's no other explanation for the excruciating pain that’s tearing him apart from the inside out. There's no other explanation for the raw agony that's crashing through him in waves.

He must be dying— for his heart, his love, was dying too.

Bilbo wraps his arms around himself, trying desperately to keep himself from falling to pieces on the stone beneath him.

“Fili and Kili might not make it,” Oin had said.

The two that had welcomed him from the start without question. Their undying loyalty and kindness they'd shown him along the way.
He'd come to think of them as family, just like the rest of the company. Their cheerful laughs and seemingly unending quips and sarcasm that could make even Dwalin chuckle. His two unfaltering friends— no matter how relentlessly they would tease him.

Then the killing blow had come.

“It will be a miracle if Thorin survives.”

It sends another wave of agony through his chest. Oin had said it with such finality, like there was nothing else to be done but sit back and wait for the inevitable. Bilbo’s grief was suffocating him. Burying him. He couldn’t see anything through the tears that clouded his vision.

Thorin. His Thorin.

His blood was still on his hands, dried and flaking off. It had been what he had stared at while they all waited for the news. Examining the blood that had caked under his fingernails numbly. He'd sat there with vacant eyes, tears unable to form.
There had been hope then. It had niggled at the back of his mind since they’d rushed him back into a room.
Hoping beyond hope that this was a dream. No. A nightmare. A terrible, awful nightmare that he might wake up from.

He’d open his eyes to see that they were still on the road, everyone going about making breakfast. Fili and Kili would be gathering firewood along the campsite. Thorin would be sitting by the fire, his hair slightly tousled from sleep.

The sting from his knees hitting the stone beneath him served to ground him. The cold seeping into his body forcing him to stay here in this moment. This terrible, awful, soul crushing moment. These last few days had been real. The steady warmth that had pulsed from Thorin’s wounds had been real. As had the goodbye he had said to him.

Someone, somewhere is wailing. Howling.

A pair of arms wrap around him and pulls him tight against their chest. It's only then that he comes to the realization that it is him that is crying. Its his emotions that are tearing through his chest, spilling and bubbling out into the open air.

Great sobs wrack through his body until he thinks he might just shake apart from their force. It’s too late, he wants to say. Nothing in this world nor the next could hope to hold him together anymore. He was falling apart at the seams, his very essence spilling and dripping onto the cracked stone. Bilbo pauses only for gasping breaths to try and desperately get some air back into him.

He doesn't remember ever crying like this. Feeling like this. Like his heart had been ripped from his chest and a giant chasm was left in his wake.

Those arms pull him in a little tighter. Trying to give him some semblance of comfort.

Dwalin. The gruff dwarf who had taken so long to trust Bilbo. The first one who had barged into his house and had unknowingly marked the start of his adventure. It is Dwalin who is holding him when the tears slow just enough to allow him to see through his swimming world. He’s got Bilbo tight against his chest and lips pressed into a tight line. But what’s so much worse are the tears Bilbo sees threatening to fall. And somehow that made it even worse— Dwalin— the toughest one of their company, holding back tears.

A fresh wave of pain starts anew and another round of sobs leaves Bilbo before he buries his face in Dwalin’s chest.

Dwalin doesn’t seem to mind. He holds Bilbo until his voice is hoarse and his sobs turn into small whimpers. Letting him stay until the numbness takes over.
Rays of sunlight pierce through the hall, sending it into beautiful hughes of oranges and reds, a sliver of pink dancing every once in a while.

How awful, Bilbo thinks vehemently, to have such a beautiful sunset on such a terrible day.

Chapter Text

Fili and Kili are up and attem a week later. Bilbo had burst into another bout of tears when he’d come into the room and seen them both sitting up.

Both of them were pale as snow and looked absolutely dreadful, which Bilbo made sure to tell them later. But they were awake and talking to him, some of their humor already coming back, and Bilbo would count that as a win. 

His joy, however, was short-lived. With Fili and Kili on the mend he only had Thorin’s fate tying him to the group of dwarves. His only real reason for staying as long as he had. 

Of course, he loved his newfound family. They had grown close on the road and while they were constantly being chased and going to bed hungry… They also had days of singing on horseback to chase the hours away and impromptu swimming lessons on one special occasion. And some of the best sleep he'd had was when they had all fallen asleep in one big pile. Warm bodies pressed together in the cold of the night and soft snores soothing him off to sleep.  But one should never overstay their welcome and there was only so much a hobbit could help with in the slow restoration efforts that had started within Erebor. 

It’s when he finally wakes up that Bilbo feels that final thread slowly unravel and slip out of his hands.

Balin had been the one to break the news to him, a tired smile on his face.

“Now, he won’t be taking visitors for the next few days. He needs his rest. Oin’s orders.”

Bilbo had only nodded mutely. 

“I thought you should be one of the first to know.” There’s a moment of quiet hesitation before he presses his forehead against Bilbo’s in a quick show of gentleness that individuals outside the dwarf race rarely see. And yet he was one of the few that got to call themselves lucky enough to be on the receiving end of their familial affections. 

Slowly, Bilbo sinks down into a nearby chair with a shaky exhale. 

Thorin was awake . Yes. Thorin was alive and (mostly) whole. 

He had thought that news like that would send him jumping for joy. He should be breaking down the door to see him, damn Oin's orders. And he was happy. He was so, so relieved that he thought he could start crying, again . 

That’s it then, wasn’t it? His dwarves were safe within the halls of Erebor once more. Fili and Kili would be causing mischief in no time and Thorin– 

Oh, Thorin.  

The past few weeks had been torture on the mind and left him spinning in circles. Fear and doubt had unraveled like smoke in his mind, slowly expanding until it clogged all his senses. 

Was he going to be alright? What would he do if he wasn’t? What would he say to him if he wakes up?

Would Thorin even want to see him? 

"I wish to part from you in friendship…"  

In friendship. Not as the one he loves. 

And how could he love him anymore? Bilbo had betrayed him. Had given up the arkenstone. And while Bilbo was still certain it was the right thing to do, the guilt that coiled in his gut whispered otherwise.

Thorin had hated him at that moment. Had threatened to kill him. Held him over the ramparts as his heart started to crack. And when Bilbo had looked in his eyes he had known afterwards with certainty. 

That wasn’t the Thorin he had fallen in love with– and this Thorin didn’t love him anymore. 

Could Bilbo really look Thorin in the eyes after that? Could he go into his rooms and pour his heart out to him and see that same look in his eyes? Would he even be allowed to stay in Erebor?

Or maybe he would let Bilbo stay, out of pity or guilt,  but wouldn’t want to continue what they’d had. 

How could he survive that after Lake Town? 

After Thorin’s sweet kisses and praises had been whispered to him in the dead of night. And in the light of the next morning… his head pillowed on Thorin’s chest, listening to the thump, thump, thump of his heart. How could he survive if Thorin took all of that back?

Bilbo decides then, while staring at the floor, that he’s had enough heartbreak for one lifetime. He would be satisfied to have those nights untainted. He would be satisfied with the knowledge that Thorin is alive . He would be fine if Thorin wanted to go back to being friends, but he did not think he could bear to hear it from him.

He would go back to his warm hearth and stocked pantry. He would return to his empty, too-silent house and treasure these memories he’d made. 

Who would miss one measly little hobbit anyway? 

Erebor belonged to the dwarves once more. 

His job here was done.