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Bilbo cast one last look into the mountain, the Arkenstone, a heavy weight in his pocket. His connection with Thorin had been under a constant strain since the Company reclaimed Erebor with the death of Smaug, and had become worse with each passing day. Bilbo knew that the gold sickness was causing the strain. He hoped and prayed with all his heart to Yavanna or Aulë or any of the Valar who would listen to him. He prayed they would help Thorin realize that this was something he had to do. Even if Thorin was furious with him - which he assumed was very likely - Bilbo preferred it to Thorin dying.
He quickly scaled the rampart and made his way to the camp of the elves, aiming for the large tent towards the center. As he walked, his shoulders seemed to grow heavier with each step, almost as if the bond marks that lay there were trying to make him turn around and crawl back into the warm bed where his bond mate slept. Bilbo pushed his shoulders back and walked a bit faster.
No matter what may happen, Bilbo had to stay positive that he and Thorin could work through it.
Bilbo felt spasming, weak waves coming through the bond as Thorin stared down at the Elven King and the Bowman below him. The anger suddenly stopped and was replaced by clear understanding and joy.
“It is a ruse.” Thorin rumbled, “The Arkenstone is in this mountain! It is a tri-”
Bilbo's small voice interrupted Thorin, “No, it's not.”
Confusion. Love. Hurt. Anger.
“What?”
“It is not a trick, Thorin. I know, I'm the one who gave it to him.” Bilbo tried to hold his head high as his friends gasped around him.
Hurt. Anger. Love. Confusion. Anger. Anger. ANGER.
Bilbo suppressed a flinch as he felt their bond stretching.
“I took it as my share.” He tried. Thorin huffed out a laugh but it was cold, dark, devoid of all the warmth that Thorin rarely let show and Bilbo had come to love.
“Do you have any idea what you have done?” Thorin demanded.
Bilbo fidgeted his feet, moving from side to side, uncomfortable with the strain of their bond and the weakening waves of anger coming from it.
“What was I supposed to do, Thorin? You. Are. Sick.” Bilbo bit out, trying to get his point across. “You wouldn't listen to reason! You aren't the dwarf I bonded to, he would have-” He was cut as Thorin suddenly grabbed the front of his coat and swung him around so his back dug painfully into the stone rampart. The dwarrows surrounding them gasped and some jerked forwards as if to help.
“Thorin! Stop!”
“Bilbo!”
“Don't!”
“Uncle!”
The crazed dwarf ignored the cries of his kin and glared at the hobbit below him, pushing him further into the stone and smirking when he winced.
“Do not speak to me of bonds.” He spat.
Anger. Pain. Sad. Anger. Anger. Love. Anger. Distrust.
Bilbo didn't like the barrage of emotions flying at him as he scrambled to pull Thorin's hands from him.
“As far as I'm concerned, I have no bond.”
HATE.
Bilbo stopped moving as he felt their bond stretch to its limit, eyes wide.
“Thorin-”
Snap
The hobbit went limp after he felt the pain of the bond breaking. Everything became fuzzy and blurred, as if his head was underwater. He wasn't aware of the cries of the Company as he was lifted higher and off of the stone. Nor did he hear the booming voice of Gandalf forcefully requesting his safe return. He wasn't aware of Bofur leading him over to the rope until the dwarf pressed the rough material into his hands.
“Go now, Bilbo.” His friends’ eyes were gentle as he urged him on. Bilbo was slowly recovering from the initial shock, but he felt as though he was watching someone else descend the rope and be collected by the wizard waiting below.
He didn't listen to the wizard as he was led away from Erebor and walked through the camp. Bilbo was ushered into an empty tent and was placed on the bed. Gandalf looked down at him with sad eyes.
“How are you feeling, my boy?” He asked softly.
Bilbo stared at his hands. “I'm not feeling anything yet, if that's what you're asking.”
“I wasn't but I suppose that is a good thing.” Gandalf moved to sit next to him on the bed. “Would you like me to stay with you?”
“No, that's alright.” Bilbo looked up at his friend and gave him a small smile. “I'm sure you have more important things to do.”
Gandalf looked offended. “Nothing could be more important than a friend in need, Bilbo.”
Bilbo looked down at his hands again, clenching and unclenching them nervously. “I thank you for that, Gandalf, but I-I think I'd rather be alone for this,” tears begin to fall.
He felt Gandalf put a hand on his shoulder before standing. “I understand, but if you should change your mind, I shall be in the main tent. Do not hesitate to call.” Bilbo gave him a small nod and Gandalf reluctantly turned out of the tent.
Bilbo looked around the tent and found it reasonable for his final moments.
Maybe it's too much for a traitor like me. He thought bitterly.
He knew that hobbits never survive very long after a bond has been severed, whether it be by grief or by their own hand. The longest survival after a bond break in recorded memory was an hour, but hobbits usually don't survive half that long. Bilbo was already beginning to lose feeling in his toes so he guessed a tent with a small fire going in the center, a bucket in the corner, and a small bed would have to do.
The Wilting was never a pleasant thing. Luckily, when Bilbo's father passed, it didn't take long for his mother to Wilt. When the bond is severed so abruptly, it causes whomever is left behind to go into shock. The body quickly begins to shut down as it tries to make up for the sudden loss. The Wilting starts as an almost itchy feeling in the feet, working its way up the body. The person becomes unable to use their limbs completely before their heart stops to beat. In cases where the bond is severed by one within the bond, however, the one who broke it survives because their body was anticipating the break. That gave Bilbo a bit of peace; at least Thorin would survive, as he should.
The prickling feeling made its way up Bilbo's feet as he reminisced about the quest and everything he's been through up to this point. Unexpectedly, the will to live began to burn in Bilbo's belly. He had gone through things that most hobbits wouldn't fathom. He had adventures across Arda, wrestled with wargs, tricked trolls and lived to tell the tale! He has stood toe to toe with a dragon and survived!
As much as he didn't want to live without his bond or his bond mate, Bilbo also wanted to see more of what was out there. This was his first true adventure into the world and it certainly wasn't going to be his last.
Bilbo had heard stories, rumors whispered over tea and passed between faints when their parents couldn't hear, of hobbits who had survived the Wilting by defiling their bond mark in some way. He had never heard any confirmation on the stories but at this point, he had nothing to lose.
He looked around to see if anything in the tent could be useful. His gaze fell on Sting, an idea he quickly threw out the window. He had enough trouble trying to wash his back without hitting himself in the face or neck, he did want to survive this. He then looked at the fire and then back at Sting.
That could work.
It took Bilbo a couple minutes to get everything ready. While he was still able, Bilbo rushed out and found a few water skins. When he got back to his tent, Bilbo carefully moved the fire next to the bed and used Sting to cut one long strip and two other strips about half the length from this blanket on the bed. With that done, Bilbo wrapped the longest piece around the hilt and placed Sting on the edge of the fire pit so that most of the blade was in the flames. Bilbo then stripped out of his heavy coat and shirt, folding them and placing them at the foot of the bed.
By this point, the Wilting had reached his knees and he knew that he had to work quickly. Thanks to its small size, Sting didn't take long before it was glowing a bright almost white yellow at its tip, the color fading to a deep red towards the hilt. Bilbo rolled one of the short strips tightly and placed it between his teeth, the other was wrapped around the fingers of his left hand so he could grab his sword - yes, it is a sword, Balin - with his right. The cloth had done its job to stop some of the heat so Bilbo's hand was merely uncomfortable.
The pinching feeling had reached Bilbo's waist as he brought Sting over his right shoulder, his skin sweating from the heat. With his left hand, he felt around before the slightly raised skin of one of his bond marks brushed against his thumb.
Bilbo's bond marks weren't very big, he was able to cover each with a single hand. They were also the biggest scandal in the Shire. No one could read them. As a babe, Bilbo was born with tiny, deep blue dwarvish runes on his shoulders and everyone threw a fuss about it. Bilbo had a small line on his left shoulder and a slightly longer one on his right. Because of this, it took Bilbo and Thorin until mid-way through the quest to discover that they were bond mates.
At the time, Bilbo was a bit confused at why Thorin hadn't approached him earlier. Bilbo had a good reason for not approaching Thorin: his bond marks were written in another language and the rest of the company hadn't seen them - he hasn't participated in their communal baths before Beorn’s home but he was much too tired to care about modesty. He wasn't confused for long, the dwarf had quickly shown him his soul mark.
Right in the center of his chest - Thorin kept his chest hair closely cropped to show it off, an action that Bilbo later learned was acceptable in this case - written in gold lettering with a hint of green at the edges was his name.
In Hobbitish.
The pair had laughed at their luck and, later, had talked it over and had bonded that night. Thorin had kissed Bilbo's bond marks as they made love.
The marks that Bilbo was about to destroy.
Bilbo was breathing heavily through his nose as he lowered Sting until it was hovering over his other hand. With his eyes cast to the ceiling of the tent, Bilbo took one last deep breath before using his covered fingers to press the flat side of the heated blade into his shoulder.
The strip in his mouth was barely enough to smother Bilbo's scream as his shoulder erupted into agony. He tried to breathe through the pain as he rocked Sting slightly to make sure he got the mark. Sweat dripped from his forehead and tears leaked from his eyes as he felt his skin burn and smelt it cook. Bilbo forced himself to hold his sword there for a few moments more before peeling it away from his back, gagging when he saw some skin stuck to the blade. He thrust Sting back into the fire and scrambled for one of the water skins. He opened it with shaking hands and leaned forward to trickle water over the wound. Another shout tore from his throat as the cold water ran over his raw nerve endings.
Panting harshly, Bilbo straightened and moved the cloth piece from his left hand to his right. It was working, the Wilting had paused at his navel when he had pressed the sword into his flesh. Bilbo wiped the sweat out of his eyes and took a deep breath as he reached for Sting again. The Wilting wouldn't stop completely until both bond marks were gone.
As Bilbo brought his sword down on his other shoulder, under the mountain a king had broken from his madness and a single word fell from his mouth:
“Bilbo.”
Battle was something Thorin knew well, perhaps too well, but he had to keep his mind with him and not allow himself to fall into the easy rhythm of battle: slash, dodge, stab, repeat. He needed to keep his mind sharp so he could find the two most important figures on the battle field.
The thought of the first one - a tall, merciless being devoid of all color, wielding a mace for a fist - made his blood boil.
The second - a being so full of love and courage that he would give up his joy for the lives of many - made his whole being yearn to wrap himself around them and protect them always.
Despite his hopes, a large portion of his mind was yelling at him that he had lost that right, and he may never get to again. He had not felt his b-, Bilbo since the battle started. Even when… Even in circumstances like what happened to their bond, the bond partners are still able to feel the others presence. It isn't the same but Thorin has felt nothing from Bilbo, not even the slightest thing. Thorin sent a quick prayer to Mahal that Bilbo had been rendered unconscious somehow but was perfectly safe.
Thorin still cursed the moment he chose to throw something away, something that had been as big a light as stepping into Erebor again and bigger, for something that was hard and lifeless and cold. Thorin didn't waste a second after he came to his senses to get rid of the cursed thing, casting it into the deepest tunnel, never to be seen again. Thorin grew furious thinking about the stone once more and took his aggressions out on any orc that got in his way.
Despite his efforts, Thorin couldn't hope to find Bilbo in this mess without clearing out all the ilk and cutting the head from the writhing beast. This is why he wasn't surprised that he didn't spot a head of copper curls until after he had slain Azog and the Eagles had joined the battle, swooping down to pick up a fleeing orc and either ripping it to shreds or flying to a great height and dropping it back to Earth.
The hobbit had found himself a clear area away from where the main battle, a rapidly shrinking one to Thorin's glee, and had contented himself to watching a group of eagles playing a grotesque game.
A group of three eagles (possibly fledglings that had tagged along when their parents had left) were playing with an orc. Whether it was alive or not Thorin did not know and didn't know if he wished to. Two eagles were hovering at around twenty feet while one would fly to double that and drop the orc. One of the two waiting would catch the body and then the game would start over.
Turning his gaze away from their play, Thorin called out to the hobbit, attempting to run toward him with his feet slipping and sticking in the blood slick mud. Bilbo turned at the sound of his name and his eyes widened in fear when he saw who had called.
The next events happened so quickly that Thorin could not react in time but nor would he ever forget them.
Bilbo had turned to run just when the eaglets grew bored of their game and the one holding the orc dropped it dismissively, allowing the body to fall where Bilbo had fled. Thorin was close enough to hear the wet whump and sick snap when the body landed.
“BILBO!” Thorin screamed, pushing himself faster through the mud. He cursed every time his foot slipped or he tripped over a body, but he eventually reached where the hobbit lay. He shoved the body from his love, worry growing at the weight of it and how little Bilbo was moving. The hobbit was face down in the mud so Thorin did a quick check for injuries before daring to roll him over. He let out a small groan but otherwise did not move nor did he rouse when Thorin tried to wake him. The dwarf gathered the smaller male into his arms and ran as fast as he dared to the healing tents.
Thorin was directed to one that was relatively empty and felt relief when he saw that Óin was already tending to the wounded inside. The older dwarf saw them enter and pushed another healer out of the way, sending them off to help the other patients.
“What happened?” Óin demanded as Thorin gently placed Bilbo on a cot.
“An eagle dropped an orc on him.” The king replied gravely before moving out of Óin’s way. “It wasn’t too high of a fall but it looks like Bilbo has a broken leg-”
“Anyone could’ve told me that.” Óin muttered, looking where Bilbo’s lower left leg was sticking out at an odd angle to his body.
“-but I wouldn’t be surprised if he also had a cracked or broken rib or two. I also saw some blood on his back, I didn’t see a wound though.”
Óin nodded, hurrying to grab some supplies. He handed Thorin a bowl of water and a scrap of clean cloth. “Clean the lad while I work. He’s starting to look like an Orc himself with all of that on him.” he gestured to Bilbo’s face and arms, which were coated in mud.
While Thorin cleaned – he had no pressing injuries and knew that the rest of the Company was safe so he was able and wanted to help Bilbo – Óin cut the shirt from Bilbo. He cut down the center of the torso piece before doing the same with the sleeves so the shirt opened completely. Thorin felt a stab of guilt when he saw that Bilbo wasn’t wearing the mithril shirt he gave him.
Do you really blame him? He thought bitterly as he tried to stay focused on his task. Thorin continued to carefully clean Bilbo’s face, the water quickly turning a grey brown, until he heard Óin tsking softly. Thorin looked and hissed through his teeth at the black and purple bruises already appearing on Bilbo’s pale skin. Óin pressed his hands down the right side of Bilbo’s chest before moving to do the same on the other side.
“The boy’s lucky he just had bruised ribs, very nearly cracked though, from what I can tell.” Óin muttered to himself as he moved to cut Bilbo’s trousers off, cutting along the outside seam of each leg so that the front of the pants pooled between his legs. He did the same with the small clothes and, after cleaning the area and checking for injuries, covered the hobbit with a cloth to preserve his dignity. Thorin was wiping down Bilbo’s arms when Óin called for his attention.
“I’m going to need your help with this.” He nodded at the broken leg. Thorin placed his cloth in edge of the bowl and moved to brace his hands where he was told – just underneath the knee and the middle thigh. “Just in case he kicks out after I set the bone.” Óin explained. Thorin understood and listened to the short countdown that ended with a subtle click, Bilbo only twitching slightly in his sleep. Óin expertly placed two splints and wrapped the injury before moving onto the hobbit’s feet. He quickly cleaned them and applied a salve before wrapping them in bandages as well, the hobbit’s toes sticking out from the wrappings.
“Alright, help me flip him.”
A voice sounded from behind them before they could move the hobbit.
“Bilbo… Thank goodness you found our hobbit, Thorin.” The deep voice sighed.
“Gandalf.” Thorin greeted.
“Ah, Tharkûn, perfect timing. We need to flip Bilbo but I’d rather not have him back on his dirty clothing. When we lift him, would you pull them out from under him?
Gandalf nodded and with the three working together, they were able to get the job done with minor difficulty. Thorin looked at the hobbit’s shoulders, where he had seen the blood earlier and expected to see a minor would, something that would only need salve and a bandage like his feet but what he saw made his heart drop and take all of his blood with it. He was aware of Óin and Gandalf talking but he could not register what was being said (and he didn’t really care). With a shaking hand, he lightly brushed the angry, raised welts on Bilbo’s shoulders, the ugly marks contrasting sharply with what had lain there before, the marks Thorin had worshiped but a day ago. The dwarf startled slightly when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and looked into Gandalf's eyes.
“Thorin, what’s the matter?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowing in worry.
Thorin swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “Those burns, on his back.” Gandalf hummed and looked like he wanted to say something but waited for Thorin to finish. “That’s where-. Those were-. Our bond marks-.” Thorin was unable to say it but it was enough to get his point across to those within the tent – they had attracted the attention of the other healers in the tent but they were sent on their way after a glare from Óin.
Óin looked as though he was going to be sick and Gandalf moved to run a hand through the hobbit’s curls.
“Oh Bilbo…” The wizard sighed.
“Do you know what happened, Gandalf?” Óin questioned.
“No.”
Thorin looked up at the man. “But?”
Gandalf met his gaze. “But, I do believe they were self-inflicted.”
Thorin heard Óin gasp before the healer went back to cleaning Bilbo, sensing the conversation was turning more personal, with a slight green hue to his skin.
Thorin on the other hand, didn’t know what to think. The words had felt like a punch to the gut and he was unsteady on his feet. Such a thing was unheard of in Dwarven society. For someone to tarnish their soul bond by their own hand was like spitting in the face of Mahal and, if such a thing were to happen, would be punishable by death. Thorin once again looked upon the new… flaws marring the hobbit’s back and felt rage building within him, his hands twitching for the hilt of his sword. He now had the energy to fight another battle, with the bloodlust to go with it as well.
“Why.” Thorin bit out, looking up at the wizard who was watching him with cold eyes.
“Because he was dying.”
Thorin felt all the fight leave him in a second, along with his strength. He was barely able to stumble back and reach a stool in time for him to collapse onto it before his knees gave out.
“What.”
“Hobbits are not built the same as Dwarves. If their bond is severed, they will die.” He spoke gravely. “I have heard of hobbits attempting this, most were unable to finish the act but a few were able to survive. My best guess is that by removing the mark themselves, they were able to reject the bond as well. It wouldn’t have worked if another helped them, for it has been proven that outside influence on the mark has no effect on the bond itself.” Gandalf send a sad smile to the hobbit on the cot. “Bilbo must have had an extreme will to live in order to complete such an act.”
“How long would he have had?”
“He never would have made it to the battle, let alone be able to fight in it.”
Thorin felt sick.
“Listen to me now, Thorin Oakenshield. Bilbo will be unable to travel with his leg and must stay within the mountain for a time. Should you choose to keep him close-”
“Of course.”
“-you must be careful with him. He will be unstable after what he had to do. You will need to watch what you say to him or he may do something…drastic.”
Thorin nodded, glancing at the hobbit. Óin was currently rubbing some salve on the minor cuts on his back. “How long until he is back to normal?” he asked and looked back up at the wizard’s now angry eyes.
“He will never go back to ‘normal’, Thorin. Bilbo had gone through something that most cannot imagine and has come out the other side. His actions are not your fault but from this point on they just may be. He will need your support. It would be the least you could do.” Gandalf muttered that last part under his breath.
Thorin glared at the man. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Although you did not force his hand, you certainly did not help the situation, gold sickness or not, and you should help with his emotional recovery.”
Thorin burst from the stool, ready to yell at the wizard, but Óin’s voice stopped him. “That’s enough. No fighting in the healing tents.” He said sternly. “Now someone needs to help me flip him again. He’s been on his ribs long enough.”
Thorin moved to help but Gandalf stepped in front of him. The two quickly turned Bilbo over so he was once more resting comfortably on his back and Óin placed a blanket over him.
“Head my words, Thorin.” Gandalf said, turning back to look at the king. “You do not wish to make me angry.” Thorin glared at the wizard’s back as he turned and left the tent.
“I got him patched up as well as I can. All we need to do is wait for him to wake up.” Óin told him, coming up to stand next to his kind, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
Thorin shook the hand off and walked towards the tent flap. “I must check on my nephews.”
“Are you going to come back?”
“No. Let me know if his condition changes.” Thorin forced out, ignoring his instincts that were telling him to turn around and hold the hobbit’s hand.
“But-.” A sigh. “Yes sir.”
Thorin walked out of the tent and headed towards the Royal tent, a seed planting itself in the back of his mind. If only Bilbo hadn’t taken the Arkenstone.
The days after the battle quickly turned into weeks which gradually became months and eventually Erebor was beginning its first winter with dwarves in years. It had taken said dwarves some time but, with aide from the Iron Hills and Mirkwood, everyone was able to make it into the mountain before the snow began to stick to the ground.
Bilbo had awoken, alone, some days after the battle. He had been very confuse until another healer had seen him and called for Óin and Thorin. The hobbit had been terrified then Thorin had walking, shrinking into his cot with his eyes the size of dinner plates. The dwarf had been quick to console him, Gandalf's words fresh in his mind. Bilbo still seemed to be scared but after about a week he had relaxed slightly around Thorin. It was just noticeable but Thorin counted it as a victory. It was another two weeks until Bilbo had agreed to stay in the room next to Thorin's.
After moving into the mountain, the two fell into an uncomfortable arrangement. They would have breakfast and supper together, which were usually quiet, awkward affairs. When they weren’t sharing a meal, Thorin would go about his duties and Bilbo would read in his room or, rarely, he would go on a walk around the mountain with Bofur or Ori. As soon as he was able to, Bilbo had used a cane – made by Bifur – to slowly walk around the mountain. He wouldn’t be able to walk for long before his leg would cause him too much pain and he needed to rest.
Thorin wished to spend more time with the hobbit but Bilbo had changed so much. It seemed as though the hobbit’s spark had left him. He didn’t argue with anyone, apologized for things that weren’t his doing, and when he smiled, it never reached his eyes. Thorin was left with a shadow of his former love and he had no idea what to do with him.
Their conversations were not unlike those they had at the beginning of the quest but were slightly familiar with each other. It seemed like they were both simply trying to get through their encounters. Their relationship was in bad shape because of it. Thorin hadn’t touched the hobbit, platonically or romantically, since cleaning him in the healing tent. Not that Thorin hadn’t tried. When Bilbo first started using the cane, he would often stumble. The first few times, Thorin would try to help steady the hobbit, but seeing him shy away in fear had stopped him from trying.
Thorin still tried to make sure that Bilbo was cared for and wanted for nothing, trying to follow Gandalf's advice as best he could. Despite his efforts, Bilbo still had bad days.
Sometimes Thorin or someone would say something and Bilbo would disappear into the mountain for days at a time, coming back tired and starving but would not tell where he had been. Other times he would just lock himself in his room and refuse visitors and food. Those times were scarier for Thorin because Bilbo, at times, would lock himself away for a week, forcing Thorin to break the door down. Each time he had to do this, Bilbo would be curled in a corner of the room, arms wrapped his knees that were pressed to his chest, hyperventilating. Once, Bilbo had been rubbing his neck during an episode and Thorin felt something stab his chest.
They also avoided the oliphant in the room. Neither one had spoken about their bond nor about the scars on Bilbo’s back. That was until Bilbo had broken the silence one evening while they were eating supper, a winter storm whirling around the mountain.
“Thorin?” Bilbo said softly, not looking up from where he was moving his food around on his plate.
“Yes Bilbo?” Thorin answered, continuing to eat without looking at the hobbit. He knew that if he focused his attention on the hobbit, he wouldn’t say anything more.
“How are you? I-, I don’t think I’ve heard anyone ask you. Everyone’s been so kind to me but I think they forgot that there are two people affected by my actions.”
Thorin looked up at the hobbit, surprised. He was still looking at his plate but that had been the most he had said in one sitting in weeks. The dwarf cleared his throat. “I’m okay.” Bilbo glanced up at him and Thorin sighed. He hadn’t convinced himself either.
“Honestly? I’m exhausted. It feels so wrong to have you sitting across from me and not feel you. It seems as though you are merely a ghost haunting the mountain.” Thorin hesitated before continuing, “I ask myself sometimes if there could have been some other outcome to that day. If only you hadn’t taken the stone, if only I’d been stronger, in only different things had been said. Maybe the bond would still been intact, maybe more would have perished. Maybe, maybe, maybe.” Thorin sighed again, closing his eyes and running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been driving myself cray with the what-if’s. Sometimes I even wonder if it would have been better if you had died-.” Thorin stopped, realizing what he had just said.
It had been months since he had someone to talk to. Even Dwalin didn’t talk with him outside of what his duties required of him and Thorin's tongue had gotten away from him.
“Bilbo-.”
“Its fine, Thorin.” Bilbo said, wiping his mouth and standing awkwardly, hand on his cane. “If you would excuse me.”
Thorin sat, unsure of that to do, and watched at Bilbo hobbled to the door of his room. He heard Bilbo’s door open and shut a moment later, lock sliding into place.
What had he done?
Surprisingly, Bilbo had emerged from his room by his own will five days later. Thorin made sure to keep a close eye on him even though the hobbit acted as if nothing had happened. After a few weeks and nothing had changed, besides Bilbo getting a clean bill of health from Óin and was able to walk around without his cane, Thorin began to relax. They had gone back to their awkward meals, although conversation was a little easier.
“May I go to Dale?” Bilbo asked suddenly during breakfast.
“You don’t need to ask for permission, Bilbo. May I ask why?”
“It’s been two weeks since my leg healed and I would like to on one more adventure before I go home in the spring. It may only be a small one, but it will no doubt be my last one.”
Thorin's stomach twisted at the mention of Bilbo going home. “If that is what you wish. Let me arrange for Dw-.”
“I wish to go alone. The weather has been good and I would like to get out and stretch my legs.” Bilbo said quickly. Thorin studied the hobbit, suddenly suspicious, before nodding reluctantly. “Thank you, Thorin.” He said, reaching across the table to touch Thorin's hand lightly, a genuine smile spreading across his face for the first time in weeks.
“You’re welcome, Bilbo.”
Bilbo left the following day. He was bundled up in the warmest coat he had but Thorin still felt a twinge of worry. The winters around the mountain were longer than the hobbit had experienced back home, and were known to be harsher as well.
“You better hurry, I’ve seen a storm on the horizon.” Thorin said as he escorted the hobbit to the main gates.
“Oh, I think I will be just fine.” Bilbo assured him, his eyes shining with the most determination Thorin had seen in a long time. He hiked his pack higher onto his shoulders and Thorin noticed a small package, wrapped in leather, fall from Bilbo’s pocket. The hobbit rushed to pick it up. “A shopping list.” Bilbo explained hurriedly. Thorin nodded, brushing off the strange action as one of Bilbo’s new quirks.
When they reached the gates, Thorin was reluctant to send Bilbo off. “Bilbo…” he said.
The hobbit looked up at him in understanding. “The road is now calling, Thorin, and I must away.” Sounding like a poet of old and making Thorin snort lightly.
Thorin swallowed, humor falling from him, and squeezed the hobbit’s shoulder softly. “Farewell, Bilbo.”
Bilbo gave his a small smile before turning and trekking across the frozen landscape.
“Ye sure he’ll be alright?” Dwalin asked, coming to stand next to Thorin.
“It is what he wished.”
The storm struck a few days later, earlier than anyone had expected and the Company was worried for the hobbit.
“He’ll be fine.” Thorin repeated to himself every time he heard the wind howl outside a window.
It wasn’t until the storm had passed and another week had gone by that Thorin began to feel uneasy. He had sent a raven to both Bard and Gandalf. The former had replied that Bilbo had arrived two days before the storm, gave his coin to the reconstruction effort, and left again the day before the storm. The later (how the bird had found him, Thorin didn’t know) had said that he would keep an eye out for the hobbit as he traveled back to Erebor.
Thorin and the Company (whoever happened to be free at the time) would go out daily to look for the hobbit.
They didn’t find the body until spring began and the snow melted. Gandalf had arrived the week before and aided the search effort and had been the one to fins Bilbo.
Thorin had heard Gandalf's cry and looked to see the wizard crouched next to a small brown lump on the muddy earth. Thorin wasn’t aware he could run that fast. He dropped down next to Bilbo and let out a quiet sob.
“No. Bilbo. No, no, no, no. I can’t be!” Thorin cried. He wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse that the snow had preserved Bilbo. It looked as though the hobbit had laid down for a nap in the sun. Thorin pressed the back of shaky fingers to Bilbo’s cheek, feeling the cold flesh was too much for the dwarf and it felt like something broke in Thorin's chest.
He curled into himself at the mere force of it, gasping for breath as fat tears rolled down his face. It felt as though something had ripped his heart from his body, leaving a jagged hole in its wake. Thorin felt a hand on his shoulder and pushed away from it, stumbling away before crashing to his knees after a few steps.
Thorin had to brace himself with a hand in the mud as he cried for the first time in decades. He cried over the loss of his home. Of his family. He cried over the struggles his people had to overcome in their years of wandering. He cried the overwhelming death at the battle of Azanulbizar. He cried over his treatment of Bilbo in the early period of their quest, over their lost time, and over that final decision that took his bond mate from him. He cried for what seemed like hours before he started to calm.
Thorin heard someone walk up behind hi and turned to see Gandalf behind him, cheeks wet and holding something in his hand. Further behind him, he saw the Company making their way towards them
“This was in his hands.” Gandalf said, voice thick. He held out a small, leather wrapped package. “His pack was also empty except for his heavy coat. I do not believe this was an accident.”
Thorin felt bile rise in his throat as he reached out to take the package, cradling it in his hands. The other had just reached Bilbo, their cried falling on deaf ears as Thorin pressed the package against his heart.
The package stayed untouched on Thorin's desk for two weeks. It stayed while the Company said their final goodbye’s, after Gandalf had collected Bilbo’s body and took him back to the Shire to be buried with his kin. (The wizard had asked a favor from the Eagles, who had readily agreed, one carefully picking up Bilbo’s body – wrapped in white linen – in its talons while another carried Gandalf.) It also stayed during the ceremony held in bilbo’s memory.
It wasn’t until the day after the ceremony that Thorin finally sat down and ran his hands over the pakage, carefully peeling away the leather to reveal a neatly folded letter. Thorin's heart clenched when he saw the familiar handwriting.
Thorin Oakenshield,
I must start out in saying that this was not your fault. My actions are my own and no one can push me into doing something that I wasn’t already considering, unless you count that one time with Fíli and Kíli. When I had burned my bond marks, I did it out of wanting. I wanted so much more: to see all there was to see, do whatever the world had to offer. However, I was not prepared for how much I would have changed. When I awoke, I was like I had become a ghost. This was merely something that I would have done eventually. It is not your fault.
Next, I need to thank you. These past few months have been incredible. I would have been okay without all the things that were tryin to eat us though but every good thing in life comes with bad. Back in the Shire, I had grown into a routine that I had settled for after my parents deid. If my younger self had seen what I had become, he would have run so fast without looking back. Now, I believe he would have been proud to see who he was going to become. The person who helped that come to be was you, Thorin. Even though you hated every moment, you allowed a sheltered, inexperienced hobbit join you on such an important quest.
Over hill, and under tree, through lands where never light has shone, to these memories I will hold. (Yes, I remember how you laughed when the elves read old poetry, you’re welcome you old doof.) Many places I have been and many sorrows I have seen, but I don’t regret nor will I forget those who took that road with me.
I love everyone in the Company so much and, although I didn’t show it very much, I still love you Thorin. I love you so much that it hurts sometimes. Even as I write this, I yearn to be held in your arms one last time. But, no matter how much my body wishes for something, my mind is unable to forget and I am so very sorry for that.
Night is now falling, so ends this day. With your blessing, Thorin, I will go to turn to paths that lead home. We came all this way and now comes the day I must ask you to go on without me.
Go, lead your people, be the king you always wanted to be and watch them flourish. Do not live here in the past with me, for where I’m going, you may not follow me for a long time.
So please, Thorin. Live.
Despite all the things that are left to say, my time here is short. I must bid you farewell Thorin, my love, my mate, and my friend. As well to the rest of the Company:
I bid you all a very fond farewell.
Bilbo Baggins of Bag End
Thief of Erebor
Bond Mate of Thorin Oakenshield