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Thorin stumbles toward the edge of the frozen waterfall, looking out over the battlefield below, where the remaining orcs scatter in retreat. They’ve won, he thinks. But his strength gives out, and he collapses onto his back.

He lies there, staring at the sky, wondering if he’ll ever see his boys again, if they’ll forgive him for what he’s done. And Bilbo… he should apologize. But it seems Mahal is calling him now.

That’s when he sees a familiar figure rushing toward him.

“Bilbo…”

“Don’t move! Lie still!” the hobbit scolds him, already at his side. Bilbo examines the wound and recoils in horror. Even someone like him, unblooded in battle, knows Thorin won’t survive this.

“Oh!”

“I’m glad you’re here…” Thorin murmurs. He has to say it, has to make it right. He can’t rest in Mahal’s Halls if he doesn’t.

“Shh.” Bilbo presses against the wound, trying in vain to stop the bleeding.

“I wish to part from you in friendship,” Thorin says, knowing his time is slipping away.

“No. You are not going anywhere, Thorin. You’re going to live,” Bilbo says, fierce and trembling. But Thorin knows better. He feels it.

“I would take back my words… and my deeds at the gate. You did what only a true friend would do. Forgive me. I was too blind to see. I’m so sorry I led you into such peril…” Thorin chokes on blood, each word a struggle.

“No, no. I’m glad to have shared in all your perils, Thorin, each and every one. And it’s far more than any Baggins deserves.” Bilbo smiles through his tears, and Thorin finds the strength to smile back. After everything, it seems they’ll part on good terms. He wants more, so much more, but after all he’s done, this is already more than he deserves.

“Farewell, Master Burglar. Go back to your books and your armchair. Plant your trees, watch them grow.” Blood fills his mouth, but he pushes through it. “If more people valued home above gold, this world would be a merrier place.”

“No! No, no, no, Thorin! Oh, don’t you dare!” Bilbo cries, shaking him. Thorin gasps, the last breath of air catching in his lungs.

“Thorin… Thorin, wake up… the eagles… the eagles are here… Thorin… the eag…”

The world fades.

Silence.

But then, light. When he opens his eyes, he doesn’t understand what he’s seeing. Green hills stretch as far as he can see, dotted with wildflowers of every shape and color. Round doors set into hillsides, smials if he remembers right. Hobbits walk with cheerful ease under a bright sun.

The Shire. He’s in the Shire… but why?

“Oh, good morning, Thorin! Lovely day, isn’t it?” a hobbit calls out to him with a beaming smile.

His lips move on their own. “Good morning, Holman! It truly is!”

“Are you planning to celebrate your anniversary with a good roast?” Holman asks with a grin.

Thorin looks down. In his hand, he holds a dead pheasant with an arrow through its chest.

“Oh, Bilbo and I certainly plan to,” he replies, surprised by his own voice.

“Then you’ll need this!” Holman hands him a bouquet. “No offense, Thorin, but everyone in Hobbiton knows you can’t read flowers. So we decided to help out and make it for you!”

“Thank you, Holman. This will surely bring a smile to my husband.”

Thorin feels his body move, following a path he somehow knows by heart. He doesn’t falter. He doesn’t get lost. And soon, Bag End stands before him. He opens the door.

“Bilbo! Ghivashel! I’m home!” he hears himself call.

From the hallway, Bilbo appears, his hair now white, his face lined with age, but his smile as bright as ever. And there, in his hair, a marriage bead. Thorin suddenly feels the familiar weight of one in his own.

Could it be?

“Welcome home, love! Did you have a good time hunting?” Bilbo greets him, pulling him into a kiss. Thorin’s heart thrums with warmth. It feels… normal. Sweet. A shared habit born from years of love.

“I brought something for you,” Thorin says, handing over the bouquet. Bilbo’s eyes light up as he accepts it.

“What a beautiful piece,” he says, delighted. “Did you pick the flowers yourself?”

Thorin sighs. “Sadly, no. Holman and the others helped.”

“Oh, that sweet hobbit. He really should retire and let Gaffer take over. He’s not young anymore,” Bilbo chuckles, taking Thorin’s hand.

“Neither are we, amrâlimê,” Thorin laughs softly, letting Bilbo lead him into Bag End. It’s decorated for a celebration, Dwarvish trinkets, hobbit flowers, warmth everywhere.

“Happy Anniversary, Bilbo.”

“Happy Anniversary, Thorin,” Bilbo whispers, holding him close.

Thorin hums a soft tune as they sway together. In the hallway mirror, he sees himself, hair white like Thrór’s, face worn, but still stout. And he’s smiling. Truly smiling.

But then a voice. Faint. Desperate.

“…I hope it could be real… It can be real… Thorin, please wake up…”

Thorin opens his eyes, for real, this time.

He blinks several times, eyes struggling to adjust to the light. Slowly, he turns his head, taking in his surroundings. A tent. A medical one, by the looks of it. And beside him, he sees a familiar hobbit, silently weeping.

“Please come back to me, Thorin… I can’t go back to the Shire without you. We can be happy there. Or here in Erebor, if that’s what you want. Just don’t leave me… Please wake up… I can show you the summer dances. You can show me the mines you talked about in Rivendell, the ones with the fireflies…” Bilbo’s voice cracks, his face buried in his hands. He doesn’t realize Thorin is awake.

“Bilbo…” Thorin croaks out, voice hoarse.

Bilbo jerks upright, eyes wide, and the moment he sees Thorin smiling, a choked sob escapes him. He launches himself forward, only to stop short when Thorin lets out a pained hiss.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Bilbo quickly pulls back, inspecting the stitching along Thorin’s side with gentle, practiced hands. His touch is steady, confident, and Thorin wonders, how many times has Bilbo done this before?

“Bilbo… how long?” he asks, his voice rasping, followed by a cough.

“A month. Here, drink,” Bilbo murmurs, lifting a cup of water to Thorin’s lips and carefully tilting it. “Slowly now.”

Thorin expects to bristle at being treated like an invalid, but the care in Bilbo’s eyes silences any pride. He drinks without protest. Bilbo speaks softly as he sips.

“Fíli and Kíli are alright. They almost didn’t make it either… but thanks to Thranduil, and Gandalf, you all pulled through. You were the only one who didn’t wake up that first week. I was so scared. Every day I thought I was going to lose you. I… I couldn’t. So I stayed. Visited all the time. Just to make sure…”

“You talked to me, didn’t you?” Thorin murmurs, pausing. “I dreamt of the Shire… That we were…”

He stops. He isn’t sure he’s ready to speak of the dream yet.

“Oh. I suppose that’s my fault,” Bilbo says with a small laugh. “I… I blabbered on and on about the place. Hoping you’d respond. I apologize. I just thought—”

“Peace, Bilbo,” Thorin says, gently cutting him off before he spirals into a nervous ramble. “It was a pleasant dream. And I would like to hear more, when I am fully awake.”

Bilbo smiles, eyes still wet. “Well… I’ll try to entertain you.”

Thorin reaches for his hand, but pain shoots through his side and he winces.

“I’ll go get Óin! Stay there, Thorin!” Bilbo says quickly, already dashing off. As always, his steps make no sound. Thorin watches him go, sighing softly as he stares at the tent’s ceiling.

He offers a silent prayer to Mahal, for this second chance, for more time.

And he wonders… Can that dream be more than a dream? The one where he and Bilbo grow old together?

Maybe. Just maybe.

Thorin doesn’t have much time to think before Óin comes rushing in and starts prodding him all over.

“What can you remember? Do you know who you are? How many fingers am I holding up?” Óin fires off.

“Up until Bilbo found me. I am Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin. And you’re not holding up any fingers, Óin,” Thorin groans, bracing himself for the full brunt of the examination. He can feel Bilbo’s worried gaze on him, and despite the discomfort, he can’t help but smile. “I’d rather hear about my nephews, if you don’t mind. Are they walking?”

“Well, they’re more limping than walking, but with those crutches you'd think they were racing. Blasted nephews of yours, always acting like I can’t outrun them. They need bedrest! Mahal’s balls, save me from the Durins!” Óin grumbles. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be another problem for me.”

“I promise, Óin, I’ll make sure Thorin doesn’t go out of his way to open up his wounds,” Bilbo volunteers with a shy smile.

“Well, seeing as you’ve practically taken my role as his majesty’s healer, go right ahead,” Óin huffs, clearly annoyed, but his smile is playful. Bilbo turns bright red.

“Bilbo, you don’t have to,” Thorin says gently, uncertain if Bilbo truly wants to be near him now that he’s awake and capable of hurting him again.

“No. I want to. Thorin, you are dear to me. I’ll do my best to keep you in good health,” Bilbo replies, his voice firm and his expression bordering on offended at the very idea he’d feel otherwise.

“Then I am in your care,” Thorin says with a soft smile, and Bilbo’s blush deepens to a truly lovely shade.

“Alright, enough! Stop staring at each other!” Óin groans, throwing his hands up. “Bilbo, go tell the others he’s awake while I actually do my job.”

“Óin, that’s hardly necessary, I can walk out on my own!” Bilbo protests, but he still heads out of the tent, muttering under his breath.

Once he’s gone, Óin mutters something about hobbits and love-struck Durins before getting back to work. Minutes pass in relative quiet while he changes Thorin’s bandages, when the tent flap opens again and Balin enters.

“Your majesty,” Balin says with a warm smile, “it does my heart good to see you awake. The Company is overjoyed. Your nephews especially wanted to rush in immediately, but we advised them to wait, considering your condition and their own.”

“Dwalin’s not here because he’s guarding them, isn’t he?” Thorin asks, already knowing the answer.

Balin chuckles and nods. “Aye. It’s taken all his strength to keep them from barging in.”

“Good. Any word from my sister, Dís? Is Dáin still here? And have Thranduil or Bard made any new demands?”

“We sent a raven to Princess Dís a few weeks ago, but it hasn’t returned yet. Dáin remains in Erebor. As for Thranduil, he and his people agreed to lend supplies in return for payment. Bard and his folk will be welcomed within the mountain this winter, in exchange for their help with repairs.”

“You’ve done well, Balin,” Thorin sighs, grateful. “I know my behavior while I was dragon-sick nearly destroyed those relationships. I’m thankful to have you by my side, and for your diplomatic talents.”

But Balin only chuckles.

“Oh, that wasn’t me. It was Bilbo.”

Thorin blinks. “Bilbo?”

“Yes. He’s the reason we had elven healers looking after you. When Gandalf collapsed from overexertion in healing the three of you, it was Bilbo who convinced Thranduil to keep his people here. He gave up his share of the treasure to pay for their supplies, and for Dale’s reconstruction. It was his idea to suggest Bard help with Erebor’s repairs as a way to ride out the winter. And when Dáin raised concerns about letting Men inside the mountain…” Balin grins. “Bilbo convinced him otherwise.”

Thorin flushes, ears burning. The way Balin describes it… it sounds as though Bilbo acted like—

“Dáin is going to ask you some questions,” Balin adds with a smirk.

“Balin… does Bilbo know?” Thorin asks, feeling slightly faint after the revelation.

“You can ask him yourself, Thorin. But for now, let me update you on the state of things,” Balin replies, and begins to explain what has transpired since Thorin fell in battle.

During the first week, Bilbo resolves their most pressing issues, gaining needed supplies by strengthening relations with their neighbors and securing enough manpower to restore essential parts of Erebor for shelter during the coming winter. Troubles flare from all three sides, each race wary of the others, but Bilbo runs tirelessly between their separate camps, fostering goodwill and introducing individuals he believes will get along. All while the mountain is being rebuilt for them.

“The winter has been mild, thankfully,” Balin continues, “but the elves believe it’ll change soon. By tomorrow, we should be ready to move back into the mountain. The elves have already returned to their forest, except for Tauriel, Kíli’s intended—”

“What?” Thorin interrupts, startled.

“Tauriel. Former captain of Thranduil’s guard. She disobeyed orders to save Kíli’s life. Because of her actions, she’s been welcomed to stay with us. Will that be a problem?” Balin asks, watching him closely.

Thorin feels the urge to say yes. No dwarf should be with a non-dwarf. Chasing Tauriel away would be easier. Cleaner. But before he can speak, Balin adds quietly:

“Bilbo would be so disappointed if there was a problem.”

That stops him. Because what right does he have to deny Kíli, when he himself longs for someone who is not a dwarf at all? A hobbit, no less.

He sighs deeply. “She is free to stay in Erebor, as thanks for her deeds in service to the line of Durin.”

“I’m certain this will delight Prince Kíli,” Balin replies with a knowing smile.

Thorin scowls but says nothing.

“Now, Thorin, be honest with me. Do you feel well enough to meet with Dáin?” Balin asks, turning serious.

“I don’t believe I am,” Thorin admits. “I still feel faint, and I might fall asleep in the middle of a meeting. I’d rather not give Dáin more fuel for his stories in the taverns.”

“Then I’ll tell Dáin he’ll have to continue speaking with Bilbo for now,” Balin says, standing.

Thorin stiffens slightly. “Balin… Does Bilbo… is he afraid of me?”

Balin smiles gently. “No. In fact, he worried over you more than anyone else. Not even Dwalin could match him.”

Thorin exhales, tension he didn’t know he carried melting from his shoulders. “Thank you… I believe I should rest now.”

“Do you not wish to eat first, Your Majesty?” Balin asks with concern.

“I don’t think I can stomach anything at the moment, no,” Thorin answers truthfully.

“Very well. I shall leave you to rest then, Your Majesty,” Balin says with a respectful nod before leaving him alone.

Thorin sighs as he sinks back onto the bed, closing his eyes with the knowledge that Bilbo is out there… acting as his consort. The thought makes him blush as sleep claims him.

His eyes open again, though he knows he’s dreaming. Bilbo stands before him, seemingly younger than in the last dream. This time, the hobbit is draped in finery: robes embroidered with gemstones and precious metals, the most striking being a marriage bead in his hair and a circlet on his head, made of real flowers turned into metal.

At the back of his mind, Thorin is pleased. He can tell it’s his creation.

Bilbo’s attire is a seamless blend of dwarvish craftsmanship and hobbit aesthetics, a breathtaking ensemble. But it all looks incomplete without the wearer, and Bilbo wears it perfectly.

Thorin looks down and finds himself in an equally lavish outfit, clearly a matched set to Bilbo’s. He can feel a crown on his head, not the raven crown he wore in his madness, but a new one. A simpler, elegant design, like Bilbo’s, though adorned with more geometric shapes, crafted, he knows, by Fíli and Kíli themselves.

As Thorin looks around, he realizes where they are: the throne room. Bilbo sits on a throne beside his, positioned so Thorin can reach out without strain. He does so now, and Bilbo greets him with a smile.

“What’s wrong, my love? You’re awfully clingy today,” Bilbo teases gently.

Thorin’s lips move of their own accord. “You know me, bunnel. I need your support for dealing with the elves.”

“Oh hush. You know why Legolas is visiting today.” Bilbo’s fingers curl around his hand. “He’s finally going to ask for permission to court Gimli.”

“I still say he should ask Glóin, not me,” Thorin grumbles with a soft laugh.

“Oh, we both know why. Gimli’s considered royalty, your third cousin. If Legolas marries him, it’ll be a major diplomatic arrangement,” Bilbo giggles.

“Like the time I realized I was marrying a prince from the Shire?” Thorin teases.

Bilbo turns red and waves him off. “Stop. You know Thainhood isn’t the same as being a king. Being Fortinbras’ cousin doesn’t make me royalty.”

“But being married to me does,” Thorin says with a smug grin.

“Well, I suppose so,” Bilbo admits, smiling sweetly. “But I wouldn’t mind if it didn’t. All I want is you.”

Thorin leans forward, about to pull Bilbo into a kiss when the throne room doors open with a creak, interrupting them.

“Agh, I’ll show you my affection later, in the bedroom,” Thorin mutters.

“Oh, you better,” Bilbo replies, adjusting himself to appear more proper, though his smirk gives him away.

The next time he wakes, Thorin sees he is inside a room, and he can feel Erebor all around him. He is inside the mountain now, and the familiar weight of stone brings him relief. He also spots his cousin Dáin standing nearby, looking grim.

“Thorin, I have grave news.”

Thorin opens his mouth to respond, but a harsh cough escapes instead. Dáin quickly hands him a cup of water, which he gratefully gulps down.

“What is it?”

“There’s a halfling running around acting like your consort! And it seems he’s fooled your Company, no one’s complained, and some of them even defend him! And I know he’s not your type! But now that you’re awake, we can toss that traitor in the dungeon where he belongs!”

Dáin turns red with anger, while Thorin flushes with embarrassment.

“M-My consort?” he echoes, already suspecting what Bilbo has been doing, but to hear Dáin say it like that ...

“Aye! The same one who stole the Arkenstone! Say the word, cousin, and I’ll have his head!”

Dáin’s grin falters when Thorin suddenly bellows, “YOU WILL NOT TOUCH A SINGLE HAIR ON THAT HOBBIT!” before doubling over in a fit of coughing.

Dáin stares at him, stunned. After a pause, he says, “Oh... so you do like the half—”

“Hobbit. He is not half of anything,” Thorin snaps.

“Right, right, hobbit. So… you like him, then?”

Thorin bites his cheek, then gives a slow, reluctant nod.

“...You serious?” Dáin asks again.

“Yes, I am serious,” Thorin replies, already feeling the urge to hit his dear cousin with a warhammer if he keeps pressing.

“Then why is there no courting bead in his hair?” Dáin asks suddenly.

Thorin feels all his anger drain away. He looks aside in shame.

“Oh, Thorin , don’t tell me you haven’t even confessed to the lad!” Dáin groans, rubbing his temple. “No wonder I didn’t believe them when they said you liked the hobbit. It’s all your fault! ”

“I was not in the right mental space to confess!” Thorin yells back.

“I thought the mithril coat was stolen! But the Company kept saying it was a proposal gift!” Dáin argues.

“It was during my gold madness! For obvious reasons, I need a new one!” Thorin shouts again, clearly distressed.

“A proposal gift before a courting bead?!” Dáin asks in disbelief.

“Again , I was mad!”

“Clearly,” Dáin laughs, while Thorin rolls his eyes.

“Is there anything else you wish to speak with me about?” Thorin asks, fed up.

“Well, aside from telling you to go and ask him out already, nothing really. Unless… you don’t know what your hobbit’s been up to?”

“Yes, yes, I heard from Balin. He united the three races for Erebor’s sake, and I am grateful. We’d be in a dire state without him,” Thorin says, smiling fondly at the thought.

“Do you need help? Tips?” Dáin asks.

“On what?” Thorin frowns.

“You know. Actually confessing.”

“Not from you ,” Thorin grunts.

“Excuse me, but unlike you, I’m married!" Dáin replies, looking insulted.

“That’s because Thira has horrible taste in men!” Thorin shoots back.

“Don’t bring my wife into this!” Dáin yells.

“Well stop butting into my love life!" Thorin fires back.

“I named my son after you!” Dáin retorts.

When Bombur arrives with a bowl of gruel for the king, he pauses in the doorway, watching the Lord of the Iron Hills and the King Under the Mountain bickering like two pebbles in a jar.

“Um…”

At the sight of Bombur, both dwarves fall silent. Thorin gestures for him to come in.

“Bombur, please. Come in.”

“Am I interrupting something?” Bombur asks, handing the bowl to Thorin.

“Nothing at all,” Dáin replies, watching as Thorin takes a few bites.

“I already said enough.”

“...Yes, you did. And I will speak to Bilbo. Thank you, Dáin. I truly believe we wouldn’t have survived without your help,” Thorin says sincerely.

“Thank my soldiers, not me. But I appreciate the sentiment,” Dáin nods before exiting the room.

Thorin tries to finish the bowl of gruel but only manages half before handing it back to Bombur.

“How is the rest of the Company?” he asks.

“Oh, well, I’ve started working in the kitchens. My brother and cousin are with the miners, clearing rubble to make more room. Ori’s buried in the library trying to salvage books. Dori’s making blankets for the winter. Glóin is preparing trade agreements for spring. Óin’s healing the injured, of course. Nori’s helping Dwalin keep an eye on the dwarrows from the Iron Hills. Balin’s helping Bilbo with everything too complicated for someone like me. And Fíli and Kíli are supposed to be resting, but they’re following Bilbo around instead.”

Thorin nods. He understands why Dwalin has Nori keeping watch on Dáin’s men. While Dáin is a dwarf of honor, not all his warriors share that virtue. Some might like to see Dáin on the throne through unsavory means.

Dáin would be appalled if he found out, but for now, it’s a dangerous time. The mountain is still unstable, and with limited food supplies, even a small act like poisoning could be disastrous. Thorin approves of Dwalin’s choice. Nori may be sly and conniving, but like the rest of the Company, he’s loyal. Thorin sees them all as family. How could he not, after everything they’ve endured together?

“Are you alright, Bombur?” Thorin asks.

“I’m a bit tired, but I’m not going to keel over if that’s what you’re worried about, Your Majesty! Besides, you know I love cooking, I don’t mind tiring myself out doing what I love!” Bombur laughs heartily.

“Try not to overdo it,” Thorin replies with a smile.

“I will if you promise to do the same, Your Majesty,” Bombur grins.

Thorin smiles as he and Bombur catch up for a while, until the cook excuses himself to return to his duties. Left alone, Thorin stares at the stone wall. He knows he should rest, his body begs for it, but sleep evades him. He sighs and shifts, trying to sit up, when the door opens again.

His heart lifts.

Bilbo enters, arms full of papers, muttering under his breath. “Honestly, who needs ten copies of the same document? Two or three is fine, but ten? How clumsy must you be to need that many? I really should give him a proper talking to. I—Oh!” He finally notices Thorin. “You’re awake! Did I wake you? I’m so sorry. I’ve gotten used to doing my paperwork in your room because I feel the need to be with you, because I—”

Thorin watches as Bilbo abruptly cuts himself off, his face flushing. “Bilbo… it’s alright. You didn’t wake me.”

“O-oh, I see… Well, good then. Do you mind if I borrow your desk?” Bilbo asks shyly.

“I don’t. Feel free to take it,” Thorin replies.

Bilbo thanks him, then places a stack of books on the chair to boost his height before settling in and starting his work. A comfortable silence settles between them. Thorin watches the hobbit with quiet joy. He looks so at ease, scribbling notes, crossing out unnecessary lines, confident in every decision. Thorin blushes slightly, realizing this is essentially consort work. Which means…

“Bilbo,” Thorin says softly, “mind if I interrupt for a moment?”

“Oh, of course. Do you need something?” Bilbo puts down his quill and turns his full attention to him.

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

Bilbo sits up straighter. “I’ll have you know I’m a Baggins! And any Baggins worth their name knows how to handle—”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Thorin interrupts gently. “I’m not questioning your skill. I meant… Bilbo, you’re making decisions in my name, yes?”

“Well… you couldn’t, and someone had to. I like to believe I know you well enough to know what you’d want. Or, was I wrong? When Balin asked for my opinion, I gave it freely, so I assumed it was alright. I’m sorry if I—”

“Bilbo, breathe.” Thorin reaches out, calming him with a smile. “It’s alright. I’m glad you stepped in. You’ve done more for Erebor than I ever imagined… but there is a problem.”

Bilbo frowns. “Oh… what is it?”

“You’re acting like my consort.”

Bilbo blinks. “And?”

Thorin stares. “Your reputation… Are you truly alright with it being questioned? With people assuming—”

“Well, we both know it’s not true,” Bilbo says with a shy smile.

“Yes, but…”

“Then it’s fine! Who cares what people say? Rumors will fade, and we know the truth. You need help, and I’m here to give it,” Bilbo says, smiling as he returns to the paperwork.

But Thorin sees it, the panic behind his eyes, the subtle tremble in his hands.

“Bilbo…” Thorin says softly, “Tell me the truth. How do you really feel?”

“I told you—” Bilbo begins, but Thorin gently cuts in.

“Bilbo… be honest.”

The hobbit mumbles something too quietly to hear.

“What was that?”

“Don’t let me go,” Bilbo whispers, eyes welling with tears. “Please, Thorin. Don’t send me back to the Shire. I can’t go back… not alone.”

“Bilbo…” Thorin grunts, trying to rise from bed, but his injuries scream in protest. Still, he forces himself up and stumbles into Bilbo’s arms.

“I’m causing problems again,” Bilbo sobs. “You don’t want me here, not really. If I stop helping, the rumors will die, but I’ll be useless. Just another mouth to feed. A very large one. I already caused trouble just by being a hobbit—”

Thorin silences him with a fierce embrace.

“Shhh… Bilbo, calm yourself. You are not causing problems. You never were.”

“But I— You stood up because of me, and now you’re bleeding again—”

“Bilbo,” Thorin interrupts, gritting through the pain. “Take a deep breath. Tell me what’s truly wrong.”

Bilbo trembles in his arms. Then, seeing Thorin holding his hand, he finally speaks.

“I blamed myself. For almost losing you… and the boys. I stole the Arkenstone to get help, but it led to so much worse. You charged out into battle without a plan. You went to Ravenhill with barely any support. I thought if I’d done something different, convinced you somehow, you wouldn’t be so hurt. Maybe you’d still trust me…”

“You do have my trust,” Thorin says quietly. “You did what you thought was right. And look, I’m still here.” He holds Bilbo tighter. “It’s me who should be apologizing. What I said at the gates—”

“We discussed this. I forgave you,” Bilbo insists, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes.

“Then take my forgiveness too,” Thorin whispers. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

Bilbo stares, stunned. “You… you don’t want me to leave?”

“No. Stay here, Bilbo. In Erebor. Maybe… one day, we can visit the Shire together . But for now, stay with me.”

Bilbo blushes, eyes wide, a soft smile blooming on his face. He leans in slowly, and Thorin parts his lips, heart pounding, anticipating the kiss he’s dreamed of…

Then—

Wetness.

Warm. Sharp.

Blood.

He’s pulled something again, pushed himself too far. Pain pulses through him.

“No, no, no, no! I’ll go get Óin!” Bilbo panics, grabbing him. “Thorin! Stay awake! Thorin! THORIN!"

Bilbo’s desperate cries are the last thing Thorin hears as everything fades to black.

The first thing Thorin notices is the sound of sobbing. His feet carry him instinctively to their shared bedroom, where he finds Bilbo crying, clutching a letter in trembling hands. His copper curls are still there, though streaked now with silver, much like Thorin’s own.

“Ghivashel, what’s wrong?” he asks gently.

“Thorin! Oh, Thorin!” Bilbo throws himself into Thorin’s arms, and Thorin immediately wraps him in a firm embrace, softly kissing the tears from his cheeks.

“My cousins… Drogo and Primula… They died,” Bilbo whispers between sobs. “It was a boating accident. They left their child… Oh, Thorin, he’s all alone. No one in the Shire wants to take him in and, he no longer has a home.”

Thorin doesn’t hesitate. “Then we will give him one.”

Bilbo pulls back, eyes wide with surprise. “Are you certain? You really believe we can?” His voice wavers. “What about Erebor?”

“Bilbo… Fíli and Ori are more than ready to inherit the crown. Kíli and his wife Tauriel will stand beside them, and Dís will guide them all. I made you a promise, to return to the Shire with you. Now seems like the perfect time, don’t you think?”

Bilbo tears up again, burying himself in Thorin’s arms. “Thank you, Thorin. Thank you truly.”

They begin to plan, how to hand over the crown to Fíli, what to pack, how to travel back to Bag End.

“Will he like me?” Bilbo asks suddenly.

Thorin pauses his packing and looks over with a smile. “Of course he will.”

“Are you sure?”

“I won’t lie, no, I’m not certain he will at first . He may dislike you,” Thorin chuckles. “But you won me over, didn’t you? And my first impression of you wasn’t exactly glowing.”

“Oh, I hope he won’t be as horrible as you were when we met,” Bilbo teases, laughing as he leans against Thorin. “I will miss Erebor.”

“I will too,” Thorin admits, holding Bilbo close. “But we can always visit once Frodo is older.”

“You think he’ll want to come?”

“If he’s anything like you, he’ll beg to,” Thorin replies with a laugh.

“Oh, let’s hope not! I was a wild child!” Bilbo laughs. “Look at us, already planning everything, and we haven’t even met the lad!”

Thorin can’t help but lean forward and kiss him, soft and warm.

Thorin wakes to the sound of laughter. As he sits up, he hears Kíli shout, “Uncle’s awake!”

“Kíli, don’t shout!” Fíli snaps, then turns to Thorin. “How are you, Uncle?”

“Warm…” Thorin replies, confused by the heat at his side. He shifts, and notices a weight against him, copper curls peeking from the edge of the blanket. Bilbo is fast asleep, holding onto his arm.

“What time is it?” Thorin asks, stroking Bilbo’s hair.

“After dinner,” Fíli answers.

“Bilbo always sleeps beside you, Uncle,” Kíli says with a grin.

Thorin flushes. “I see…”

“Uncle, will you be alright?” Fíli asks hesitantly. “I’ve heard stories about dwarrows surviving near-death and… coming back different.”

“There’s no need to worry, Fíli. If there was, Óin would’ve told me, and he hasn’t. How about you two ?” Thorin asks, eyeing the crutches nearby.

“We’re fine! Just need rest before we ditch these crutches,” Kíli replies brightly.

“Which you’re both clearly ignoring,” Thorin says dryly, making them laugh.

“What are you two doing here?”

“We were worried,” Fíli explains. “Óin told us you reopened your wounds earlier. We had to make sure you were alright.”

“I’m sure Óin already assured you of that?”

“Well, yes… but we had to see , you know?” Kíli grins sheepishly.

Thorin raises a brow. “You know better than to question Óin. And if you’re not healed by the time your mother arrives—”

“Yup! Kíli, let’s go!” Fíli bolts upright, grabbing his crutches.

“Bye, Uncle! It’s late anyway!” Kíli hurries after him. Both of them limping far too fast to be safe.

Thorin shakes his head, hoping the Company keeps them from hurting themselves further. Once alone, he looks down at Bilbo, still curled at his side, hand gently clutching his arm.

He looks peaceful now, so different from the last time Thorin saw him awake. But under that peace, Thorin notices the dark circles under his eyes. He sighs.

“Oh, Bilbo. I hope you’re not overworking yourself thinking you still need to prove anything. You already did, and more .”

Bilbo shifts in his sleep, snuggling closer. Thorin smiles at the gesture.

“Anyone who says otherwise will face my ire. I hope you know that. Rest well, ghivashel.”

Thorin lies back down, soothed by Bilbo’s breathing. Sleep comes easily, and for once, he doesn’t dream.

He wakes still feeling the warmth of the hobbit beside him. The realization makes him smile. He’s startled when the door opens and walks in Dwalin and Balin.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Dwalin says, smirking as he sees Bilbo tucked beside him. “Now, did you rip your stitches havin’—”

“No, Dwalin,” Thorin cuts him off with a glare. “I did not rip my stitches doing whatever you think I did with Bilbo. So shut up.”

Dwalin chuckles. “Alright, alright.”

“Enough of that,” Balin interjects, though his eyes twinkle. “Óin says with Bilbo helping you do bed-rest exercises—”

Dwalin snorts. Balin elbows him. “—you should be strong enough to start walking again. There’ll still be weakness, of course. We cleared part of Erebor so you can get moving safely. Dwalin will accompany you. And Bilbo."

“Me and Bilbo?” Thorin repeats.

“Yes. We all know Bilbo won’t let you out of his sight,” Balin says with a smile.

Thorin turns bright red. Dwalin bursts out laughing.

“Oh, you’re smitten,” Dwalin grins.

“Shut up, Dwalin. And quiet down, Bilbo is still asleep.”

“I’m not anymore,” Bilbo mutters groggily.

“Good morning, Bilbo! Did you sleep well?” Balin asks cheerfully.

“Yes, I did. Did you need me for something…?” Bilbo mumbles, still groggy as he turns over, only to meet Thorin’s gaze.

The hobbit freezes. Only now does he seem to realize they’ve been sharing a bed, just as they have for the past few weeks. But this time, Thorin is awake to witness it.

Bilbo jolts upright and promptly falls off the bed with a surprised yelp and a loud thud.

“Bilbo! Are you alright?” Thorin calls, sitting up quickly.

“I’m fine! I’m fine, nothing to worry about, just clumsy me!” Bilbo flails as he scrambles to his feet, blushing furiously. “I am so sorry! I just got used to sleeping with you—I mean beside you! Beside , not with ! I didn’t mean to imply that I—that I do things while you're asleep! Not that I would while you're awake but—”

“You wouldn’t?” Thorin interrupts, voice low and teasing, just a little husky.

Bilbo turns crimson. “I, uh…”

“Ahem. We are still here,” Dwalin says dryly, clearly enjoying every second of Bilbo’s embarrassment.

“Do you two need a moment?” Balin asks kindly, though his eyes twinkle with mischief.

“NOPE! Not at all! I’ll go get breakfast while you three talk about Erebor and… and whatever it is you need to talk about! Goodbye! Farewell! Later!” Bilbo all but sprints out of the room, his ears red to the tips.

Thorin watches him go, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Well… have you two confessed yet?” Balin asks once the hobbit is safely out of earshot.

“No, not yet,” Thorin sighs. “We’ve had our moments, but… I didn’t have a bead to give him. And with the strength of my arms right now, I can’t craft one worthy of him.”

“I can help, you know. There’s no shame in that,” Dwalin offers, his voice surprisingly gentle.

“I agree,” Balin adds. “But even without a bead, a verbal confession would still mean something. You can explain why you want to wait, but tell him what’s in your heart.”

Thorin nods slowly. “Thank you. If I can find a quiet moment between us, I’ll try…”

He pauses, mind drifting back to the vivid dreams he keeps having, visions that feel more like memories than imagination.

“Balin… I do have a question.”

“What is it, lad?” Balin asks, settling beside the bed as Dwalin leans against the wall with folded arms.

“I’ve been having these dreams… They feel real. But in them, I’m older. So is Bilbo. And…” Thorin trails off, face warming with a blush. He can’t exactly say he dreams of being married to the hobbit.

Balin’s eyes soften. “Oh, Thorin. Dreaming of your One is normal. You know how dreams can blur the line between hope and memory. Don’t let it trouble you too much.”

Thorin nods, even if he’s a little disappointed. He expected this answer. But deep in his heart, he wonders if Mahal, or perhaps Yavanna, is trying to show him something. A future. A truth. A hope.

He just prays it comes true.

…Maybe not the part where Bilbo’s cousins die, though.

Shaking his thoughts away from such a dark subject, Thorin turns his mind to the upcoming walks. He may need a crutch or two while regaining the strength in his legs, but the most important thing is that Bilbo will be with him. And they have much to talk about, especially the stories Bilbo promised him about the Shire. He finds himself genuinely looking forward to it.

But first, he needs to understand what’s going on in Erebor. He turns to Balin. “Is there any way I can help, even in my current state?”

“If you insist, you could start on paperwork,” Balin replies with a disapproving look, clearly not fond of the idea of Thorin working instead of resting.

“Perfect,” Thorin says immediately, making Balin sigh in exasperation.

“You’ll have to convince Óin of that, your majesty.”

“Call him in, then,” Thorin says with a determined huff.

“Dwalin, go get him,” Balin instructs, and his younger brother nods before stepping out.

They don’t have to wait long. Dwalin returns with Óin, who looks positively furious.

“Your majesty! I said you need bed rest !” Óin all but explodes, emphasizing the word like it’s a personal battle cry.

“I’ll still be in bed while doing paperwork,” Thorin replies with a resigned sigh.

“And what about the resting part, hmm?” Óin asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“I’ll sleep when I’m sleepy.”

“That’s orcshit and you know it,” Óin snaps, glaring.

“Óin, I am king, and I order you to allow me to do paperwork so I can help my own bloody kingdom,” Thorin growls in return.

Óin throws his hands up. “Bah! I’m getting Bilbo!”

“Wait! Don’t—!” Thorin calls out, but Óin is already gone.

“…Someone’s in trouble,” Dwalin says a little too cheerfully.

“Shut up,” Thorin mutters, shooting him a glare. Balin, for his part, tries to smother his amusement behind his hand.

Óin returns moments later, with a very worried-looking Bilbo in tow.

“Thorin, what’s this I hear about you refusing to rest properly?” Bilbo asks, concern written all over his face.

“Bilbo, you must understand. I am king. I have a duty to help, even now,” Thorin pleads, his tone softening. The other three dwarrows raise their eyebrows at the rare sound of him pleading .

“Well… I know what it feels like to want to prove yourself,” Bilbo begins, voice hesitant but firm, “but you told me once that I didn’t need to. So you don’t either, right? Seems only fair.”

Thorin hesitates. “It’s not the same, Bilbo. I am the king. I’m needed here. This isn’t about proving anything, it’s about providing for my people.”

Bilbo pouts, his brow furrowed as he looks into Thorin’s eyes, worried. Thorin sees his chance and gently takes Bilbo’s hand, squeezing it.

“I promise you, I’ll sleep when I need to. I won’t push myself beyond what my body can handle.”

“…Alright. I’ll hold you to that,” Bilbo replies at last, still frowning, but squeezing his hand back. “And I’ll be watching you, Thorin. Don’t think I won’t.”

“Mahal save me from the stubbornness of the Durin line,” Óin mutters loudly, throwing his arms in the air. “Seems their deaths will be the only time I get to retire!” He storms off, cursing under his breath with such colorful fury that anyone unfamiliar might accuse him of treason. Fortunately, dwarrows know better, it’s practically tradition for Durins to ignore medical advice.

Once Óin is gone, Bilbo turns to Thorin with a shy smile. “So um… I heard from Balin you’re going to try walking soon? Will you be alright?”

“I will be. Dwalin will accompany us to ensure our safety,” Thorin replies. He notices Bilbo’s smile falter slightly at the mention of company.

“Oh. I thought… No, that’s fine. You’re the king, after all. It makes sense you’d need an escort,” Bilbo says, a little too quickly, his voice quiet.

“But we’ll still be together,” Thorin assures him, gently squeezing his hand again. “And I’d love to hear those stories about the Shire you promised me.”

“…Well… any time spent with you is time well spent,” Bilbo murmurs, blushing as he squeezes back.

Dwalin groans under his breath, already resigned to being a third wheel, while Balin is visibly trying not to laugh at his younger brother’s misfortune.

With that in mind, Bilbo says his farewells for the day, needing to tend to his own affairs. “Bard plans to rebuild Dale, and it’ll go faster with our help. It benefits us in the long run, trade will flourish there. Dáin thinks I’m being too lenient with the Men, but I know what I’m doing with those prices. Wish Dáin luck!”

“Don’t you mean, wish you luck?” Thorin chuckles.

“Nope! Because I’m not the one who’s going to be embarrassed after this,” Bilbo says with a cheeky grin, closing the door behind him.

“…Balin, should I be worried about my cousin’s dignity?” Thorin asks warily.

Balin lets out a hearty laugh, but the dead look in his eyes betrays his exhaustion. “Too late for that, your majesty. Bilbo shattered it weeks ago.”

That would explain Dáin’s barely contained agitation the first time Thorin saw him after waking. What exactly did Bilbo do? Thorin looks to Dwalin for answers, but the other dwarf only grins and shakes his head, clearly not sharing the story. That bastard.

“Well then, Balin, bring me the pape—” Thorin cuts himself off with a loud yawn, freezing mid-sentence. Both dwarrows raise their eyebrows at him.

“I can still work,” he insists, glaring defiantly.

“You promised Bilbo,” Balin reminds him.

“We’ll tell him, you know,” Dwalin adds.

Thorin holds their gaze for a long moment… then sighs and begrudgingly shifts to make himself comfortable in bed.

Balin and Dwalin head out, wishing him well. Thorin closes his eyes, wondering what he’ll dream of this time.

When Thorin opens his eyes again, he finds himself in a vast greenhouse. The space is brimming with vibrant flora in colors and shapes he could never hope to name. His mind tells him this is Bilbo’s greenhouse, designed by him , as a proposal gift.

He steps inside and sees Bilbo tending to a rose bush. But the hobbit’s shoulders are shaking, he’s crying.

“Amrâlimê, it’s alright. I’ve chased those morons out of Erebor. You’ll never have to see them again. Their kin will know what wrong they’ve done to us.”

“You don’t understand, Thorin…” Bilbo’s voice trembles. “They were right. I’m just a hobbit playing pretend. Look at me. I’m no consort. You deserve so much more. Being married to me doesn’t help you… I can’t even give you children. I’m useless …”

“Bilbo… Lukhdel , no, you are not.” Thorin drops to his knees and gently takes Bilbo’s hands, pressing soft kisses to them. “Look at me. Erebor wouldn’t be as prosperous as it is without you. I wouldn’t be as happy. Don’t believe the poison those fools spat at you. I love you, and that is the truth. I want no one else. You are my One. May Mahal strike me down if I ever stop loving you.”

“Thorin… I know you love me. I do. It’s just…” Bilbo sniffles. “So many dwarrowdams from powerful families are coming to Erebor, trying to entice you. I feel inadequate. Rumors are spreading… that you’ll divorce me. Or take a concubine. I know it’s foolish but… I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m so weak that words can undo me like this…”

“Oh, Bilbo… my sweet Bilbo. You are strong. But you’ve held this in for so long, and it finally cracked you. I should have been more firm in my rejections. I didn’t want to offend their families, but in doing so, I hurt you. Will you give this fool of a dwarf another chance?” Thorin looks up at him, eyes filled with guilt and longing.

“Oh, Thorin… I should’ve told you sooner. I acted like it didn’t bother me, but it did. I’m sorry for hiding it.” Bilbo collapses into Thorin’s arms, sobbing into his chest.

“And I’m sorry for making you feel like you had to hide anything from me. We’ll get through this, bunnel . I promise. We’ll get through this.” Thorin presses gentle kisses across Bilbo’s face.

“We will… Thorin?” Bilbo murmurs.

“Yes, ghivashel?”

“…Can you take me to the bedroom?” Bilbo asks shyly. “I want to forget that whole incident for a little while… and just remember being wit—THORIN!”

Bilbo shrieks mid-sentence as Thorin suddenly scoops him into his arms and dashes toward their bedroom, laughing.

Just as Thorin kicks open the bedroom door—

He jolts awake.

“NO! ” Thorin cries out, bolting upright, only to immediately hiss in pain and collapse back into the bed.

Bilbo, who was sleeping beside him, shoots up. “Thorin!? What’s wrong!? Are you hurt? Was it a nightmare? Should I get Óin!?”

Thorin turns bright red as realization sets in.

He screamed over the loss of… what might have been a glimpse of the future. A future where he was married to Bilbo. In bed with him. Holding him. Loving him.

All he can focus on is that he missed the ending. He didn’t even get to see them in bed together, properly. But more importantly Bilbo had been crying in the dream. In pain. And he can’t let that become real.

He needs to make sure Bilbo never suffers in silence again.

“Bilbo…” Thorin says seriously, eyes locked on him. “You can always tell me if something is bothering you.”

“Oh—of course. I know that,” Bilbo replies, clearly confused by the sudden reassurance.

Thorin sighs in relief and pulls Bilbo into a hug. Bilbo hugs him back, still confused, but never one to refuse an embrace from Thorin.

“I will protect you with all I have,” Thorin murmurs into his hair.

“Oh… um… that’s… thank you, Thorin,” Bilbo stammers, flushing a deep red. “Shall I… go get us breakfast?”

“No. Stay here,” Thorin says, tightening his hold. Bilbo turns an even deeper shade of red.

“T-Thorin? Did you have a nightmare?” Bilbo asks softly, concern lacing his voice as he tries to calm his flustered expression.

“…Of sorts,” Thorin replies. The dream, or vision, felt real, like all the others before it. He and Bilbo seemed happy in it, in the end… but Bilbo had still been hurt. Hurt when he shouldn’t have been.

Forget the beads. He needs to make sure Bilbo knows he loves him now.

He remembers the greenhouse, the one he designed as a proposal gift. In the dream, Bilbo tended flowers there. It was beautiful, filled with emotion. If that truly is a glimpse of the future, perhaps he can nudge it closer to reality.

A greenhouse would take too long to build, but flowers… flowers he can do. If he can find them.

But it’s winter. Where would he even find flowers this time of year?

“Bilbo,” Thorin says suddenly, releasing him. “Can you fetch Nori for me? While you’re out getting breakfast?”

“Huh? Oh… um, sure! I can do that.” Bilbo nods, still pink in the cheeks and ears from the prolonged contact. “I’ll be back, Thorin.”

As Bilbo slips away, Thorin gathers his thoughts. He needs Nori, specifically Nori , because unlike his brothers, the dwarf has discretion. Ori and Dori are close to Bilbo, too close to keep secrets from him. But Nori… Nori can be trusted to be quiet, and effective.

He waits patiently for Bilbo to return with him.

Soon, the door opens, but to Thorin’s dismay, all three brothers enter.

“Hello, your majesty!” Nori says with a grin. “Bilbo was, unfortunately, stolen away by your cousin Dáin. And well, Dori and Ori haven’t seen you in a while and wanted to check in. Hope that’s alright.”

“Your majesty, are you well? Is the blanket warm enough?” Ori begins babbling immediately. “Dori made an extra-large one. It’s cold, since it’s winter, and we haven’t activated the heating system yet and—”

“Ori, calm down,” Dori gently cuts in, patting his younger brother’s back. He hands Thorin a steaming bowl of stew. “Let his majesty respond at least.”

“Thank you,” Thorin says, accepting the bowl. He eats quietly as the brothers chatter. Most of what they say matches what Balin and Bilbo have already told him, but there are new rumors too. Apparently, some believe Bard is seducing Thranduil. Just imagining that elf is enough to make Thorin’s stomach churn, but he manages to keep his stew down.

Once he finishes, Dori takes the empty bowl back with a kind smile.

“Alright,” Nori says, clapping his hands together. “To business. Why’d you call me, Thorin?”

“Brother! Manners!” Dori snaps, scandalized. “You’re speaking with his majesty!”

“It’s fine, Dori,” Thorin says with a tired but genuine smile. “We’re friends, after all we’ve been through.”

“Well, if Thorin says so, it must be fine,” Ori chimes in cheerfully, earning a sigh from Dori.

“I suppose… but still, don’t be crass, Nori.”

“When have I ever been crass?” Nori says with a grin.

Dori simply gives him a long, unimpressed look.

“In any case, Thorin. What’s up? Need me to look into something?” Nori asks, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

Thorin glances at the two other dwarrows. Nori catches the look and quickly adds, “I know Dori’s a loudmouth and Ori looks like he’ll break under questioning, but they’re my brothers. They know how to keep a secret. Dwalin would've caught me years ago if they didn’t.”

Thorin considers it. True enough, Dwalin has never been able to squeeze information out of either Dori or Ori when it comes to Nori’s many misdeeds.

“Very well,” Thorin says. “I wanted to ask… do flowers hold any meaning for hobbits?”

There’s a pause. Then—

“What? Oh… OOOOH! You’re finally confessing!” Nori grins wide as Ori and Dori let out excited squeals.

“Yes, yes, now answer the question!” Thorin hisses, turning bright red. He waves them down, trying to stay focused. The dream feels like a prophecy, like something he’s meant to fulfill, but it could still just be a dream. He needs to be sure.

“Ori asked Bilbo a lot about hobbit culture,” Dori says proudly.

“Yes!” Ori nods enthusiastically. “And flowers do have meaning for them! They’re often used as romantic gifts, especially when given with care or grown yourself!”

“Ah… I planned to confess with flowers, since in my current state I can’t exactly make a courting bead myself… But this season…,” Thorin sighs loudly.

“Perhaps paper flowers would do?” Ori suggests. “I’m sure Bilbo would recognize the sentiment and love them all the same.”

Thorin knows Bilbo would indeed appreciate the effort, but the idea of giving him fake flowers sits wrong in his gut. It feels like a lie, as if the depth of his feelings were somehow fake too. He’s already not offering a bead, the least he can do is give real flowers. There has to be a way.

Then it hits him. The dream. The greenhouse.

He gasps, remembering now where the greenhouse is located, and why. It sits in the upper quarters of the mountain, with natural sunlight pouring in from high above. He found the place, filled with wildflowers. And wildflowers are hardy, far more resilient than domesticated ones, Bilbo once ranted about that very fact to Ori during their journey.

Surely… surely some must have survived.

“Get Bofur and Bifur. I’m going to need their help,” Thorin says, excitement lighting his voice.

“I know where they are. I’ll go get them,” Nori waves as he hurries off.

It doesn’t take long for Nori to return, leading the two dwarrows into the room.

“Hello Thorin! Need us for something?” Bofur asks cheerfully. “And hey, good to see you up and about!”

“Did you call us for an update on the rooms we’ve been clearing?” Bifur adds, his Westron now clearer without the metal shard in his head.

“No,” Thorin shakes his head. “I wanted to ask if you could help open up a part of the mountain, as soon as possible. There’s something there… something important to me.”

“Oh? Where exactly?” Bofur steps closer, pulling out a map.

Thorin points to the spot, and Bofur blinks.

“That’s pretty high up. What’s up there?”

“Something I need… to confess my love to Bilbo,” Thorin says, honest and steady.

Bofur grins. “Oh, finally! We’ve been waiting for this!”

“We’re so happy for you two!” Bifur adds with a wide smile.

“He hasn’t accepted yet,” Thorin chuckles, his face turning a shade redder.

“Bah! Like he’d reject you,” Bofur laughs with a wink.

“Can I trust you two to open it up for me? How soon can you start?” Thorin asks, nervous energy buzzing beneath his skin.

“We’ll need to check how damaged it is first,” Bofur replies. “But we can head there this afternoon.”

“We’ll do it as soon as we can,” Bifur nods firmly.

“Excellent. I thank you, truly,” Thorin says, meaning every word.

“Bah, what are friends for?” Bofur waves it off. “Just make sure to tell us how it goes!”

“I promise I will,” Thorin replies, a rare, soft smile on his face as he begins planning the most important confession of his life, with the help of friends he’s proud to call family.

When Óin enters the room with his brother Glóin, along with Balin and Dwalin, they all pause, surprised to see most of the Company already gathered inside.

“Oy, what are you all doing, crowding around my patient?” Óin demands with a frown.

“Thorin is planning on proposing to Bilbo!” Bofur cheers with far too much glee.

“Confessing ! It’s just a confession , not a proposal,” Dori corrects quickly, huffing.

“Oh, we already heard about this,” Dwalin says with a grunt. “Thorin told us he’d wait until he could make a bead.”

“He was, but he says he can’t wait anymore,” Ori adds, dreamy-eyed. “He’s going to confess with flowers!”

“Ah, courting him in the ways of his people. Smart move,” Balin nods, clearly approving.

“Where are you going to get flowers this time of year?” Glóin asks, setting down a stack of papers he was clearly planning to show Thorin. This conversation now takes priority.

“That’s where we come in!” Bofur says brightly.

“Thorin believes there may still be flowers in the upper sections of the mountain,” Bifur explains, beaming with pride.

“Hm… the upper quarters do get more sunlight than the rest,” Balin muses, stroking his beard.

That’s when Bombur walks in, trays in hand and Fíli and Kíli following close behind.

“Your Majesty! I brought breakfast! I hope you're— What is everyone doing here?” Bombur stops short, staring at the unexpected crowd.

He’s holding a tray with three bowls of hot stew on it, for Fíli, Kíli, and Thorin. The boys had wanted to spend the morning with their uncle.

“Thorin is planning his confession,” Ori answers without missing a beat.

“Can we finally call Bilbo ‘Uncle’ then?!” Kíli asks excitedly, nearly bouncing in place.

“Wait! When did you make a bead? I wanted to help!” Fíli frowns. “Or, oh, are you making one now?”

“Relax, boys,” Thorin says, raising a hand. “I’m not using a bead. I plan to give flowers, it’s a hobbit custom.”

“Flowers? Now?” Bombur blinks. “In this weather?”

“Oh, brother, let me tell you Thorin’s plan,” Bofur grins, already preparing to launch into it again.

“Stop crowding around my patient!” Óin shouts, thoroughly ignored as the discussion continues well into the afternoon.

The room only quiets when Bilbo walks in.

“There you all are!” he sighs in relief. “I’ve been looking everywhere! I need help with—” He stops, blinking at the Company, all of whom are now wearing suspiciously wide grins. “Did I miss something?”

“Not at all,” they say far too quickly and begin shuffling out of the room, one by one, leaving Bilbo standing there bewildered.

“I… alright then,” he murmurs, still clearly confused. He turns to Thorin before he leaves. “We’ll have dinner together later. I promise.”

“I look forward to it,” Thorin replies with a soft smile, finally alone, and filled with hope.

Weeks pass, and the dreams continue to come.

They still feel prophetic, vivid enough that Thorin wakes each time with the weight of them heavy on his chest. He can only guess the passing of time by the physical changes he sees: the lines on Bilbo’s face, the streaks of silver in his curls. In their elder years, they live in Bag End, peaceful and slow. In their prime, what must be their middle years, they rule Erebor together, king and consort.

Their relationship is not without flaws. There are arguments, silences, hurt feelings. And yet, every time, they mend. They choose one another, again and again. Thorin finds comfort in that. He also finds dread. The visions show moments where he wounds Bilbo, or where Bilbo wounds him. But even then, love remains.

In the waking world, Bilbo stays close.

Whenever he's not needed elsewhere, he joins Thorin. He sits beside him while he works through paperwork. He walks with him, slowly, matching Thorin’s crutch-aided pace with endless patience. It fills Thorin with quiet joy. Bilbo does not shy from him, even now. Even after all that’s happened. Without the dreams, Thorin suspects he'd be drowning in guilt, too afraid to move forward.

Then, one morning, Bifur gives the word: the space is cleared. The upper section is open. And yes, it’s filled with flowers.

So now Thorin finds himself here, heart thundering, with Bilbo at his side and Dwalin trailing discreetly behind.

Thorin walks unaided now, his steps light and sure, though he struggles to maintain the illusion of calm. His hands are sweating. He knows Dwalin is watching, quietly amused.

“This is new,” Bilbo says, glancing around curiously. “I’ve never been here before. What’s over this way?”

“I have a surprise for you,” Thorin replies, his voice steady despite the storm inside him.

“Oh? For me? You really shouldn’t have,” Bilbo teases, smiling.

“I wanted to. And I hope you’ll love it.”

“Well, I can’t promise I’ll love it,” Bilbo says with a soft chuckle, “but I’m intrigued now.”

They walk together, and when the door to the space comes into view, Dwalin halts behind them. Bilbo notices but says nothing, especially not when Thorin quietly reaches for his hand.

“Bilbo…” Thorin says, pausing as he pushes the door open. “I truly hope you love this.”

The moment the door swings wide, Bilbo gasps. His eyes light up, wide and full of wonder.

The room is bathed in soft sunlight, and everywhere there are wildflowers. Hardy, blooming, defiant against the season. Bilbo runs forward, laughing in delight, exploring every nook, every cranny. Thorin’s heart soars.

He wastes no time. He gathers flowers quickly, fingers trembling as he assembles them into a bouquet. He finishes just as Bilbo turns around.

“Bilbo…” he says, holding out the bundle of color and green. “I love you. Will you allow me, Thorin Oakenshield, to court you?”

Bilbo stares, speechless.

His jaw drops as his eyes move from the bouquet to Thorin’s face. For a breathless moment, Thorin fears he’s made a mistake, that the dreams were lies after all.

Then Bilbo launches himself forward, throwing his arms around Thorin’s neck and kissing him deeply.

“Yes!” he cries. “Yes, I will! I love you too!”

Thorin laughs, giddy and free, as he lifts Bilbo into his arms, spinning him around. They kiss again, and again, both of them breathless and flushed. He can’t stop smiling. He never wants to.

Eventually, exhaustion creeps in. Thorin stumbles slightly, and Bilbo steadies him, concern written across his face. They call for Dwalin, who helps escort Thorin back to his chambers.

That night, Thorin falls into sleep, deeper than he has in weeks.

He dreams of a small hobbit child with raven curls, sapphire eyes, and a laugh that shakes the mountain walls. The child calls him Adad.

And in the waking world, Gandalf arrives.

The wizard stands by Thorin’s bedside, smiling softly.

“Poor dwarf,” Gandalf murmurs. “Your guilt and self-pity once seemed greater than your love that you didn’t try to fight back death… but not anymore. You’ve found your way back to him. And he to you.”

He gently places a hand on Thorin’s brow.

“You don’t need the dreams anymore, Thorin. You no longer need to dream of happiness, it’s already yours.”

With that, Gandalf leaves.

Thorin sleeps on, dreamless for the first time in a long while.

And he smiles in his sleep.