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bilbo stands in a field of flowers. they're daffodils, bright yellow bulbs that face toward the sun, straining to catch whatever rays they can. he turns his head to his right, and there is the lake. its dark blue waters stretch far, almost to the horizon, where he can just barely see the tops of trees on the other shore. he turns his head to the left, and there is the mountain. its peak is dusted with snow, and its roots sparingly circled by tall, sturdy trees—the kind that survive through even the harshest winters.
bilbo faces forward, and there he is. his skin is beautifully tan, his hair is dark like ink, his eyes are a piercing blue unlike anything bilbo has ever seen. he has to look up to meet those eyes, as he's taller than him—something that bilbo still hasn't quite gotten used to since leaving the shire.
bilbo can't help but reach out, despite or in spite of himself, to brush fingers along the edge of the coarse hairs on his face, kept at such a carefully short length. his fingers trail up to his cheek, the skin under his eyes, the bridge of that strong durin nose.
he smiles, that soft expression that he only makes when looking at bilbo, and cups bilbo's hand against his face. his makes bilbo's look so small, and that makes something warm pool in his chest.
i have something for you.
bilbo doesn't think he sees his lips move, but he hears his voice all the same. he could never forget that voice—the song he sang all the way back in bag end had resonated in his bones. he doesn't think he'll ever forget it, even if he wanted to. sometimes it haunts his waking thoughts more than his sleeping ones.
he moves, stepping back from bilbo without releasing him. he brings up his free hand, and opens it to reveal… a flower. it's small, and white with a yellow center. bilbo recognizes it to be a daisy. he looks up at him, head tilting to the side in curiosity. surely he can't mean…
but then his hands move, carefully extricating from under bilbo's, to place the flower into his hair. another follows, bulbous and slightly larger and orange-pink. he puts this tulip on the other side of bilbo's head, tucked right above his ear. then there's another flower. and another. and another.
bilbo's eyes widen as camellias and lilies and primroses, so many flowers that he can't keep track, are added one after another. by the time he leans back, seemingly finished, there's an entire crown of them on bilbo's head. they're weaved in bilbo's hair, overlapping and crossing each other in an intricate design.
bilbo thinks he feels wetness gather in his eyes, but he isn't sure. he stares at him, mouth agape and stunned.
he smiles that smile at bilbo, and this time he does see his lips move.
be mine, they say.
bilbo doesn't know how to respond, only managing to choke out, "thorin…"
and he wakes.
--
bilbo gasps, sitting up in his bedroll. he looks around, his brain frantically trying to reorient itself. no bloomy field, no thorin—just the company spread out around him, sleeping in their own bedrolls in a side chamber of erebor that the others told him had been a receiving room at one point. they had taken to this space after smaug left the mountain, the company collectively deciding amongst themselves that they didn't particularly want to be alone. it was more for comfort than protection, though none of them said it. bilbo sighs, rubbing his face with one hand and willing the sound of dwarves snoring, which he's come to find comfort in over the course of their journey, to calm his racing heart.
"alright there, bilbo?" a voice from his left says.
bilbo picks his head back up to meet the eyes of bofur, who is on watch, sitting halfway across the hall. the hobbit nods, despite the tired expression on his face clearly showing the opposite. "yes, yes i'm fine. just a… strange dream," he says, lowering his gaze to stare blankly at his lap.
bilbo doesn't look up, so he hears more than sees bofur carefully pick his way past the other members of the company to crouch next to bilbo. "you want to talk about it?" he asks quietly.
bilbo hesitates, looking around at the other dwarves. he knows that they're asleep, and he does trust them all. but it still feels strange to pour his heart out to his friend with everyone around.
luckily, bofur seems to notice bilbo's indecisiveness, and gently wraps his hand around the hobbit's upper arm. "come on, why don't we get some fresh air? you look like you could use it."
bilbo nods his assent, letting bofur help him up and herd him towards the gate. the two climb the ramparts, bilbo in front and bofur behind, guiding his way.
bilbo hauls himself up the last ladder, turning his head to see bifur, also on watch and who had no doubt heard them ascending. bofur comes up behind bilbo, settling a comforting hand on his shoulder and smiling at the other dwarf. "'ello, cousin! we've come to relieve you."
bifur gives bofur a confused look, saying something to him in khûzdul. bofur responds, and understanding dawns on the other's face. he stands from the chair he was sitting on and walks to the ladder, patting bilbo and saying something that he supposes is meant to be comforting.
bilbo nods his thanks, despite his lack of understanding. then the dwarf is gone, descending down the ramparts to join the rest of the company.
bofur moves next to him, and bilbo watches the miner sit on the ground instead of the chair, taking out his pipe and going through the motions of cleaning, packing, and lighting. bofur's eyes flick up to bilbo when he doesn't move, patting to the free space next to him in invitation.
bilbo sniffs and takes the proffered seat, tucking his knees up to rest his chin on.
the two sit in silence for a long moment, bofur smoking and bilbo staring up at the stars, trying and failing to pick out the shapes in them. the constellations look so different here, and it reminds bilbo just how far from home he is.
the hobbit sighs wistfully, closing his eyes against the emotions stirring in his chest. it's then that bofur nudges him gently. bilbo opens his eyes to be met with the dwarf's pipe held out to him, to which he wrinkles his nose.
"thank you, bofur, but i'm not so desperate as to smoke the rubbish you lot call pipe-weed."
bofur laughs at that, loud and long and carrying out into the valley. "sure enough!" he says when he's regained his breath. "i just wanted to make sure you're the same bilbo in there, underneath all o' that melancholy you've gained up as of late."
bilbo lets out a small, self-deprecating chuckle of his own. "i have, have i? well, we know whose fault that is."
"aye, that we do." bofur sighs, taking another puff from his pipe. "so, about that dream?"
bilbo chuckles. "very subtle there, bofur," he says, biting his lip as he mulls over his words. "it was… about him, actually. about thorin." bofur's face remains passive, but bilbo gets the feeling that the dwarf had figured as much. "he… gave me a crown of flowers," bilbo all but whispers, staring into the middle distance.
bofur doesn't immediately respond, and when bilbo meets his eyes, he sees the slight confusion there. bilbo clears his throat. "in—in hobbit culture, gifting another a flower crown is…" he trails off, and can feel the heat rising to his cheeks.
bilbo scrambles to think of an appropriate analogy, anything that would suffice instead of outright saying it. "it's like how men gift each other rings!" bofur looks, somehow, more confused, and bilbo covers his burning face with his hands. he won't be able to look bofur in the eye if he has to explain this plainly.
"it's a sign of courting," bilbo mutters. even with his words small and muffled by his hands, bofur seems to understand him.
the dwarf makes a small noise, and places a hand on bilbo's shoulder. "i see," he says quietly. "so you've finally realized it, have ye?"
bilbo glances up at bofur, a defeated look in his eyes. "what do you mean?" he asks, but he thinks he already knows the answer.
bofur gives him a knowing look. "you know what i mean, bilbo."
bilbo stares at his friend, and feels tears rise inexplicably. "yes, yes i suppose i do. i have for a while, i think, but couldn't admit it to myself…. this revelation couldn't have come at a worse time."
"oh, bilbo," bofur whispers next to him, and his hand on bilbo's shoulder turns into an arm around him, gently pulling him into a side-hug.
"i just…" he starts, gripping bofur's jacket as his tears fall in force. "i don't understand. what is it about this place? ever since we got here—no, even before then—it's like he's a completely different person! what happened?"
bofur sighs, gently smoothing down bilbo's hair. "it's the sickness, bilbo. our kind is cursed with it. we were afraid this would happen, but it is hard to see, aye."
"i don't understand," bilbo says, pulling away to look bofur in the eyes. "it's just a stupid shiny rock!"
"aye, it is. but it's also the legacy of our people. it means a lot to us, and to him especially, as the king."
bilbo gives him an incredulous look, scathing even through his tear-streaked face. "does it mean more than his closest kin?"
bofur opens his mouth, and seems to hesitate. after a moment, the dwarf sighs in defeat. "well. you've got a point there."
the two return to their silence for a while, both staring into the middle distance contemplatively.
after thinking over his words, it's bilbo who breaks that silence. "bofur… say, in theory, that… one were to know where the arkenstone is." the hobbit pauses, looking up to meet the dwarf's wide eyes. "what course of action should he take?"
bofur gives him a look that bilbo can't exactly parse—somewhere between shocked and disheartened, like something he suspected but hoped wasn't true had turned out to be exactly that. but before the miner can even think to form a response, bilbo suddenly feels himself hoisted to his feet by a strong grip in his lapels.
"treachery!" the person shouts, and bilbo is face to face with the king under the mountain. he holds bilbo against the wall that he and bofur had been leaning against, the hobbit's feet barely brushing the ground. bilbo's red-rimmed eyes widen in surprise, hands reflexively coming to cover the king's clenched in his borrowed coat. "you would threaten the treasure of my people?!"
"thorin, what are ye doing? it's just bilbo, let him go!" bofur tries to plead to him, but the king will hear none of it, with how far into his own head he is.
"silence!" he shouts. "are you in league with this traitor?!"
bofur looks between the two, obviously torn between his friend and his king.
"n-no," bilbo responds instead, "he's not, leave bofur out of this."
"i was not asking you," the king says, shooting bilbo a withering glare before turning back.
bilbo locks eyes with bofur, and shakes his head minutely.
bofur makes a noise of distress, but quietly says, "no, my king."
"then leave," is the quick response. "i will deal with this sneak-thief myself."
bofur doesn't immediately comply, continuing to stare at bilbo in plain concern. but bilbo nods again, and the dwarf hesitates only a moment longer before turning the way they came. bilbo listens to him descend, waiting until he's sure the other is completely out of earshot before turning back to the king.
"so," he says, sneering at bilbo. "what do you have to say for yourself?"
bilbo sighs in defeat. "thorin, please, whatever you think is happening, it's not—"
"do not deign to tell a king what he can and cannot think in his own kingdom!" the king snarls at him. "you seek to take this treasure, the wealth of my people, for yourself. you do, don't you? admit it!" he shakes the shorter male in his grasp, bilbo clutching his smaller hands over thorin's.
"thorin, that's not—"
"then what was it?!"
"it was—i just—i had a-a dream and it—"
"a dream? you expect me to believe that?!"
"thorin, i'm in love with you!"
the confession finally gives thorin pause, his entire being stilling at bilbo's words. the hobbit feels wetness fill his eyes, and internally curses his tookish emotionality.
"i wouldn't spare a passing glance at all the treasure in these halls, if it wasn't tormenting you so," he says, breath hitching as his tears fall. "nothing is worth more to me than you. i just want you to be alright."
there's silence after his words, and for a moment bilbo fears he's gone too far. maybe he was reading into things. maybe thorin's small touches and heavy glances were no more than concern for a friend—or just a traveling companion, a member of the company of thorin oakenshield, and thus his concern. then thorin blinks, and bilbo can practically see the fog of the sickness lift from his eyes.
"bilbo, you… you truly…" the king breathes, his face slowly turning from rage to disbelief and, if bilbo isn't mistaken, something akin to hope. "is this truly how you feel?"
bilbo scoffs, a wet and tired noise. "i try not to make a habit of saying things i don't mean. i thought you would realize that by now."
thorin's face falls slightly, and he looks around, seeming to come back to himself and notice the position he is in. he lets go of bilbo's lapels, gently setting the hobbit back on the floor. "i… i'm sorry, bilbo. truly, i am deeply sorry. i… i'm not sure what came over me."
bilbo sighs, smoothing his shirt down with his hands and stepping back from thorin. "i do," he says quietly. he waits for thorin to meet his eyes before continuing, "it's the gold, thorin. you know it is. it's making you sick."
rage quickly rises to the surface again, and thorin steps into bilbo's space once more, looming over him. the dwarf follows the hobbit as he steps away until his back meets the wall behind him. "i am not sick!" he insists. "i am trying to protect what is mine!"
"yours?" bilbo says incredulously. "what is yours? the gold? the arkenstone? and here i was thinking that we reclaimed this mountain—that i faced down a dragon—to reclaim your homeland, not a pile of shiny baubles!"
thorin opens his mouth to cut bilbo off, but the hobbit beats him to it. "you are changed thorin, this place is corrupting you! the dwarf i met in bag end would never second-guess his friends, his kin. not over one sparkling rock."
"it is the king's jewel and i am the king. it belongs to me!" thorin roars in his face.
bilbo makes a sad noise, somewhere between a scoff and a sob. "if you covet it so much then take it!" bilbo shoves something at thorin's chest then, and the dwarf barely manages to grab hold of the object before the hobbit is ducking away from him and running off down a nearby hall.
"burglar!" thorin shouts after him. but bilbo doesn't turn back, and between one blink and the next, he has lost sight of him in the dark. thorin scoffs and gives it up, looking down to whatever bilbo all but threw at him, and what he sees astounds him.
a white, oval shaped gem, roughly the size of his fist and glowing.
the arkenstone.
--
the company see neither hide or hair of their hobbit in the coming days. they're still unaware that the arkenstone has been found—considering their king has not been in any state to share such information, especially in regards to bilbo—but they but decide amongst themselves to start searching for him, as well. they scour from the largest halls to the smallest tunnels, but none are able to find him.
at some point bombur has the idea to leave food out for the hobbit, in case he gets hungry. so one night, he leaves a bowl of the watery stew they'd called dinner on a fallen pillar, near to their camp yet far enough away to be mostly out of sight. when the bowl is gone the next morning, the company lets out a collective sigh of relief. it's the only sign they have that bilbo is even still alive.
thorin, for his part, withdraws impossibly farther into his own head. the others see him, but not in any meaningful way. he no longer strolls the treasure hoard like the mountain's newest dragon, and he discards the regal cloak and crown he had taken to wearing. but he doesn't speak. he doesn't eat. if he sleeps, the others no not where or when. even fíli and kíli are unable to get more than grunts of acknowledgement out of him. it's as if he disappeared when bilbo did, although in a quite different way.
it's at one of these rare points of catching sight of him that balin comes to thorin. the old dwarf stands at the top of a set of stairs that thorin sits at the bottom of, seemingly staring at his hands in his lap. the king looks… disheveled, to say the least. his hair is mussed and tangled in places, his beard is getting long, dark circles ring his sunken eyes. and balin sees a glimpse of a younger version of thorin, one that had just lost his father, brother, and grandfather in one fell swoop. thorin looks, inexplicably, like he's mourning.
"thorin, my boy," balin starts, having decided that approaching thorin as friend offering counsel, rather than subject supplicating his ruler, would be the best course of action. "whatever is the matter?"
thorin doesn't verbally respond, but curls further into himself, tucking his hands into his chest and bending so far forward his head almost meets his knees. balin sighs, slowly descending the stairs. "you know, we've not seen bilbo for three days and nights, now. you wouldn't happen to know anything about that?"
thorin still doesn't respond, and it's when balin is standing next to him that he realizes his king is, in fact, holding something. balin gasps slightly upon catching a glimpse of that ethereal light he hasn't seen in so long. "w…where… when did you…?" balin stutters as his eyes rake over the sight of thorin, a distraught look upon his face while he clutches the arkenstone close to himself. "you… did not tell us the arkenstone had been found."
thorin looks up at balin, his eyes glassy and red-rimmed. balin is caught off-guard when thorin actually responds to him. "he had it," his king says, voice raw and rough from days of disuse. "bilbo had it, all along."
balin blinks at thorin, thinking that he must have heard him wrong. "bilbo… you're sure?"
thorin nods. "he gave it to me himself," he says, gaze downcast, and his next words are the smallest balin has ever heard him speak. "after confessing his love to me."
balin splutters, at a complete loss for words, before chuckling. "so the lad finally realized it. good for him!"
thorin peers up at balin curiously, confused by the older dwarf's words. balin gives him a scolding look. "oh come now, thorin. our master burglar has been smitten with you since mirkwood. maybe even before then."
thorin shifts his gaze to stare into the middle distance, once more consumed by his own thoughts.
"and you?" balin asks, breaking his train of thought. thorin meets his eyes again, brow slightly furrowed in an unvoiced question. "have you realized how you feel for him yet?" balin elaborates.
thorin flinches as if struck, completely taken aback by balin's words. "i don't know what you mean," he's quick to reply, though even a blind man could see through his lie.
balin gives him a look. "thorin, i have known you since you were a babe in your mother's arms, may the stone keep her. i think i ought to know how to read your emotions by now. better than even you can, apparently."
thorin releases a harsh breath through his nose, turning away from balin as color rises to his face. the dwarf king chews on the inside of his lip, thinking over his words. "since the goblin tunnels, i think," he eventually answers, albeit with muttered words. "when he faced down the defiler in my place. but, i…" balin doesn't interrupt, quietly letting thorin gather his thoughts into words, as he knows how difficult it can be for him. "he caught my eye from the beginning."
balin nods. "aye, that he did."
thorin looks back to balin, confused once more. "you knew?"
balin raises one white eyebrow at him, hands planted on his hips. "you might be dense when it comes to your own emotions, but that does not mean the rest of us are, as well."
thorin leans back to give balin a slightly outraged look, before his face breaks out in a smile and he laughs heartily. "i might be offended if your words were wrong, my friend."
balin joins him in his laughter then, and the halls of erebor are filled with the sound of joy for the first time in almost two centuries. when the two sober up, balin gives thorin a meaningful look. "you know what you must do, then?"
thorin sighs, but nods. "yes. yes i do."
--
after his… disagreement with thorin, bilbo had found himself a decent little tunnel to hole up in. it wasn't nearly as large or lavish as his home in bag end—quite the opposite, in fact—but there was dirt on the ground and a cool breeze in the air, bringing with it the smell of loam and damp. it was absolutely nothing like bilbo was used to. and yet, it felt right in some primal, animalistic part of himself. as if laying in dirt was a base need he never knew wasn't being fulfilled.
but he didn't stay in his makeshift hobbit hole all of the time—he still has friends to watch over, after all. it's at one of these points, when bilbo has ventured out to check on his dwarves, that he catches sight of something peculiar.
it's thorin. he's crouched and facing away from bilbo, but he recognizes that hair—dark as night with streaks of gray like shooting stars, bilbo thinks he would recognize it anywhere. and thorin seems to be… taking a hammer to something? rather harshly as well, if the loud clanging and noises of exertion are anything to go by.
bilbo quietly approaches thorin, although he needn't try so hard as he also has his ring on, and peers over his shoulder to see what the king could possibly be doing. but bilbo would never, in a thousand years, expect to find thorin taking a hammer to the arkenstone.
bilbo is so startled he slips his ring off before he can think better of it, blurting out, "thorin, what in the world are you doing?"
thorin startles, turning sharply and brandishing the hammer at bilbo. but he quickly relaxes when he realizes just who is behind him, and a look of surprise comes over his face. "bilbo, it's you. i…." thorin stands then, quickly forgetting what he was in the process of doing. "i did not think… no, never mind that," he says, shaking his head. "bilbo, i am… i must speak with you."
bilbo regards thorin warily, though he seems much less hostile and more levelheaded than he did before. "alright," he says, "well, we're speaking now, aren't we? although i would like to know what it is you think you were doing, first."
thorin looks behind him, to where the arkenstone sits on the ground, a crack sown right through its center. "i was… i…" thorin says, turning back to bilbo. "you were right. the ark—that thing, it is robbing me of my mind." bilbo's eyes widen at his words, but thorin isn't done yet. "it is driving a wedge between us, and so i am getting rid of it."
bilbo gapes at thorin, his mouth opening and closing like a fish's for a few moments. "so y-you're attempting to destroy the king's jewel? for me?"
thorin nods, a grim set to his face, like he knows what he must do but is not necessarily happy about it. "for us," he corrects. "we must be rid of it. for both our sakes."
"but thorin—"
"no. no, 'ibin abnâmul, this must be done. i must do this. i fear it's the only way. i feel the sickness trying to enclose me, even now." thorin's hand comes up to brush fingers across bilbo's cheek. "and i will die before i hurt you again."
bilbo stares up at thorin, and can feel his eyes filling with tears. "you… you really mean that?"
thorin nods before bilbo has even finished his sentence. "yes, yes amrâlimê, i have never been more sure of anything in my life. i have loved you since i first set my eyes upon you."
time seems to slow then as thorin leans down, and his lips land, softly but surely, onto bilbo's. and both feel a missing piece of themselves click into place.
nothing is really solved, there's still battles to be fought and kingdoms to be rebuilt. but for now, in this secluded part of the mountain, all seems right in the world.