Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first time Bilbo heard those two foreign words, he was staring into the fire of the hearth in Beorn's gigantic hall, Thorin in his own bedroll a warm presence behind him. He couldn't fall asleep, the events of the evening keeping him awake as he was reviving again and again the (almost hesitant and feather-light) kiss the dwarf had placed on Bilbo's lips just after the company had decided to go to bed. It had been a surprise, but not an unpleasant one, that Thorin indeed felt more for the hobbit than just friendship, and after Bilbo had glanced around and only saw grins and approving nods from the other dwarves, he had realised that all of them had already known about Thorin's feelings, and that it was only Bilbo who hadn't seen it all along.

So there had really been no question where Bilbo would sleep that night, and as soon as they had both laid down in front of the fire, Thorin had hugged Bilbo close, so that the hobbit could feel every breath of the dwarf on his neck and their hearts seemed to beat in unison. Thorin, seasoned warrior that he was, appeared to fall asleep quickly, and while Bilbo was still trying to make sense of Thorin's behaviour prior of today, he heard the quiet murmuring behind him.

Zâyungi zu.

Was that dwarfish, Bilbo wondered, but didn't dare to turn around and ask Thorin himself. They needed their sleep, and maybe it was just meaningless nonsense? The dwarves had never really stopped using their own, strange sounding language around Bilbo, but also never bothered telling him the meaning of their conversations. It seemed that their mother tongue was to be kept a secret, and Bilbo would surely not force them into teaching him such an arcane part of their culture.

The next time Bilbo heard the words uttered aloud, he had just managed to save all thirteen dwarves from the elves' prison, riding a barrel down the whirls of the Forest River and now helping each of them out of the small barrels that had once been filled with apples, wine and fish. Bilbo had just managed to get Bombur out of his as he noticed that behind him stood Kíli and Fíli, sharing a rather private moment after almost a month being separated from each other. They'd had no time for pleasantries while still being in Thranduil's palace, but now Fíli and Kíli were hugging each other like they wouldn't let go in a million years, clinging to each others clothes like lifelines, and Bilbo was close enough to hear at least some of their words, and he was surprised as he found that he partly recognised them.

Nadadeluh, zâyungi zu.

But who gave Bilbo the right to intrude such a heartfelt scene? He still wanted to know what those words meant, but right now simply wasn't the proper time to ask for translations. He would have another chance, maybe in Lake-town, where they'd hopefully get some rest and help from the men living there.

What Bilbo did not know was that Lake-town would be torture for him. Thorin was fully occupied with negotiating with the humans, and they had barely time for a quick kiss every now and then. Fíli and Kíli were often with Thorin, and the rest of the company seemed to have the order of talking to Bilbo only about about trivial matters; every question about their task at hand was directed back to Thorin. And in the evening, the dwarven prince was often too tired to do much more than hug Bilbo, press a kiss to his forehead and then snuggle close to him under the blankets and hides in their bed.

Sometimes Bilbo could still hear those whispered words, but it was always just short of him falling asleep, and he never remembered it in the morning.

Zâyungi zu.

That damned Arkenstone, how much Bilbo hated it. He didn't know what made him confess to Thorin that he'd be the one to take it, but he also did not want to hide anymore. Thorin as he'd seen him in the treasure chamber had very much frightened Bilbo, and he wished nothing more than to get the dwarf back that had placed small kisses on his neck at night.

Instead, all he got was the fury of Durin's kind.

“Traitor! Kalilâl!“ Suddenly Bilbo was lifted high into the air, and his feet were dangling above the cliff. „Dijnûa zu! Why did I ever agree to bring a miserable hobbit on this journey!“ Thorin glared at him, and for a second Bilbo actually thought he would fall, just as Gandalf came to his aid, persuading Thorin to put him down back on the ground. Just like the wizard, Bilbo tried to bring the dwarf back to his senses with reason and one or two sane arguments, yet to no avail. He could still see the glint of anger and disgust in Thorin's eyes as Bilbo was lowered to the ground in a basket, and the hobbit was sure that it was not just his imagination when he heard Thorin mutter something in the dwarven language, and even it sounded familiar, it was spoken with the same hatred that had lingered in Thorin's gaze.

Ra thadul zâyunga zu.

If the heavens were kind that day to Bilbo, or even more cruel than the Pale Orc, the hobbit could never truly decide. He stumbled into a tent, his head still aching from the stone hitting it, breaking out in sobs as he saw Thorin looking so forlorn in a cot cushioned with expensive looking hides, soaking up the blood that the dwarf's heart still pumped to his innumerable wounds. The hobbit rushed to Thorin's side, for a short moment forgetting what had happened only days ago at the gates of Erebor, but then stopping, his hand barely touching the dwarf's arm that lay atop the blankets. Still it was enough that Thorin opened his eyes, looking at Bilbo, though not with loathing, but something that reminded Bilbo very much of their first night at Beorn's.

“Melekûnuh ... my hobbit.” Thorin grabbed for Bilbo's hand, but his grasp was weak, so Bilbo took Thorin's hand into his, and for the first time he had the impression of holding the hand of an old dwarf; a dying dwarf.

“Farewell, good thief,” he muttered, his voice weak. Bilbo could hear the blood gurgling in Thorin's lungs with every breath he took. “I go now to the halls of waiting to sit beside my fathers, until the world is renewed. Since I leave now all gold and silver, and go where it is of little worth, I wish to part in friendship from you, and I would take back my words and deeds at the Gate.”

Bilbo's eyes welled up as he listened to Thorin's words, which appeared so much as if he'd rehearsed them many times in the last hours; Thorin Oakenshield did not apologise without wording it perfectly.

“Farewell, my king,” Bilbo brought himself to say, his voice thick with unshed tears, his hands clutching tightly around Thorin's. “I forgive you for the madness that made you want to throw me down the cliff, and I truly wish we would have had more time, as I feel deeply for you – although I still think you're far more than a simple Baggins like me deserves.”

“No!” Thorin said, determination in his gaze, though the harsh sound made him cough up some blood that Bilbo wiped away with the sleeve of his jacket without thinking much about it. As soon as Thorin could breath a little easier again, he stared at the hobbit long before explaining. “I saw far more in you than just a simple hobbit; some courage and wisdom, blended in measure. I'm sure if more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would indeed be a merrier world, that I would gladly have shared with you at my side, in word and bond.”

Finally, finally the tears in Bilbo's eyes flowed freely, mixed with a sad smile on his lips. “A dwarf-king and a gentlehobbit? We would have made a fairly odd couple.”

“No-one disagrees with their king when he has found his love.” Thorin had closed his eyes by now, yet he still spoke to Bilbo. “Indeed this is what I whispered into your skin; I spoke about love, and I regret doubting my own feelings at the Gate when I was mad from all the gold. Zâyungi zu, akhùthuzhur.“ And with those words, Thorin squeezed Bilbo's hand one last time, his breathing evening out, and the hobbit knew that Thorin was slipping away. Bilbo rubbed at his eyes, yet could not stop his tears as he spoke a few last words to his dwarf.

“Farewell, Thorin Oakenshield, may your journey to the halls of waiting be safe and quick.” Bilbo had to stop so his voice wouldn't shake. “I love you too.”

And this was how Thorin Thrain's son Oakenshield died: With a smile on his lips, and his hobbit by his side.