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When Thorin fell Bilbo felt it, even though he did not know the significance of the feeling at the time. Shortly after he had spied the Eagles coming to their aid, and shouted his discovery to the Elves around him, there had been a burning sensation inside the Hobbit’s chest. While it wasn’t exactly painful it had been more than enough for Bilbo to lose his breath and drop to his knees.

A few of the Elves fighting around him looked to him in concern, thinking him wounded, but there was no time or space for them to go to him. The Eagles might have arrived but still the battle raged on with no clear end in sight.

Bilbo dropped Sting and scrabbled at his chest. Just like the Elves he believed himself injured, merely unable to feel the pain of it yet. Not many Orcs carried bows, but enough did that an arrow wound wasn’t such a strange conclusion to draw when something forced the air from your lungs. But as he delved beneath his ragged shirt he found only the smooth silvery links of the Mithril shirt Thorin had gifted him. He had completely forgotten that he was wearing it, because for all its strength it was it was as light as a feather.

In the distance a sudden roar was heard; the sound of many voices joined together in grief and fury.

Bilbo gasped and tried – but failed – to struggle to his feet as he recognized the meaning behind it. One of the commanders had been badly injured, possibly killed; one of the Dwarfs as he felt sure that it was their voices he had heard and not the Men.

As darkness flooded his eyes a thought came unbidden into Bilbo’s mind which shamed him deeply.

Would that it had been Dáin who had been injured. Would that Thorin was just as untouchable as he had been when last Bilbo had seen him on the battlefield. It would be too cruel of fate to have let him die without first giving Bilbo the chance to ask his forgiveness. It would not be fair to have him die at all now that he had reclaimed his home at long last.

Then the darkness won and Bilbo knew no more.

-

When Bilbo came to himself it was to the sight of Gandalf’s lined and worried face.

Looking around revealed that he was no longer on the battlefield. He lay inside a huge tent among others who had been wounded in the battle. However, Bilbo quickly realised that he was essentially unharmed, unlike most of them. His chest still felt strange, his head ached something fierce, and as Gandalf helped him stand he discovered that his muscles had appeared to have stiffened during his spell of unconsciousness. But by a miracle he did not appear to have any more holes in him than he’d had at the start of the battle.

One of Gandalf’s arms was in a sling and Bilbo was careful of it as he drew himself to his feet.

“One of the men from Dale found you alive and brought you here,” Gandalf explained. “It is good to see you awake.”

Getting his feet beneath him made Bilbo’s head swim and he brought a hand up to his temples only to pull it away with a hiss as his fingers found a sore spot. Looking at his fingers revealed them to be bloodied.

“I don’t quite know what happened,” Bilbo said and looked at the red staining his fingers. If he was still bleeding he could not have been unconscious for very long. “As we’re standing here I take it we won.”

“Yes,” Gandalf said haltingly and it made Bilbo’s head snap up. “But victory was not without cost. Some of it you can see around you, but -”

“Thorin,” Bilbo breathed, now remembering the call of the Dwarfs. “Thorin. Tell me he is all right.”

“My friend…” was all that Gandalf said, but the grief in his voice rendered the need for more words meaningless.

Bilbo felt his knees turn to jelly but he steeled himself, he had to know.

“The rest of the Company?”

“They all live,” Gandalf assured and this time relief did what sorrow couldn’t and Bilbo sank to the ground.

Thorin was dead, but the others lived. They were probably far from fine, but they lived, and Thorin did not.  Bilbo lived, surviving against all odds while the best warrior he would ever see, ever know, had fallen.

Absurdly Bilbo felt a wave of laughter rise in his throat, but when it came out it had taken the form of a huge sob.

Angrily he rubbed at his eyes. It was not yet time for this. Again aided by Gandalf, he rose to his feet.

“Fíli, Kíli,” he rasped. “How are they? Where are they?” They would be taking the loss of Thorin the hardest and judging by the way it seemed that Bilbo’s own heart had shrivelled inside his -

The memory of the burning feeling came to him and Bilbo put his hand over his chest.

It was not unheard of that two who were very close had been able to tell when the other had been hurt, or worse. But that concerned only the closest of siblings, friends or lovers... He and Thorin might have been friends, but the even that had been voided by Bilbo’s betrayal. It didn’t matter what unspoken feelings Bilbo had kept in the same chest that now ached dully.

“Were you injured?” Gandalf asked when Bilbo stood unmoving with his palm pressed to his chest. “I would have thought the Mithril would have protected you.”

“I’m not injured,” Bilbo murmured. “Not more than the bump on my head. It’s just -” Then he shook off the thought. What did it matter anyway? Regardless if he had felt it or not, Thorin was dead. “Please,” he said. “Take me to Fíli and Kíli.” A horrible thought struck. “That is, if I would be welcome?”

Gandalf inclined his head. “I will,” he said. “Because they both know, all of them know Thorin did not mean his last words to you.”

Bilbo smiled mirthlessly. Good for them.

“But you should know they have so far refused to part from their uncle’s body,” Gandalf warned.

Taking a deep breath Bilbo pushed back the curls hanging in front of his eyes, wincing again as he touched his wound.

“Just take me to them.” All three of them, he added silently.

-

Fíli looked a mess, having apparently been knocked on the head quite a few more times than Bilbo had. The blond Dwarf had a jagged cut running from his left eyebrow and down onto his cheek and it was close enough to his eye that Bilbo felt cold inside. Just an inch further to the right and he would likely have been blinded. Apart from that wound he had multiple smaller cuts and bruises, as well as a heavy bandage around one arm.

Kíli at first glance, seemed fine. The youngest Durin appeared to merely be bruised around the edges, not even bleeding from any obvious scrapes, but that opinion changed as Bilbo noticed that the boy’s left shin had been splinted and tightly bound. The coldness grew stronger inside Bilbo. A warrior with a broken leg was a terrifyingly easy target during combat. How close Kíli must have come to following his uncle was more than he could bear thinking about.

They both slept - Fíli curled up behind Kíli on the furs covering the ground, arms wrapped tightly around his brother. As they hadn’t yet noticed Bilbo appearing at the tent’s opening he had time to let his gaze sweep over Thorin who just like his nephews lay on the fur covered ground. 

Bilbo had seen few dead bodies in his lifetime but it seemed as that old cliché about the person only appearing to sleep held fairly true. It just wasn’t a peaceful sort of sleep that had captured Thorin. There was something displeased lurking in the corner of his mouth and a hint around the brow suggesting that they might any moment go from smoothness to a frown once more.

In short Thorin looked much like he usually did when asleep, except that his chest did not rise and fall. There was no blood or wounds on his face and furs covered most of his body so Bilbo could not see the injury that had taken Thorin’s life. He believed he was thankful for that; it was hard to know what he felt apart from the immense grief that crashed over him over and over like waves against the shore.

As Bilbo took the first step into the tent Fíli’s eyes shot open and he quickly moved to put Kíli behind himself. Seeing that the visitor was no other than their burglar he reflexively relaxed again and dropped the hand that had been reaching for his axe. At that same moment his eyes widened in realisation as the dregs of sleep gave way, and he quickly nudged Kíli awake.

Bilbo had no idea what to say, but as the two did not seem averse to his presence he walked forward until he could sink down on the furs. He allowed himself one caress of his hand down Thorin’s cool cheek, and then turned to the brothers.

Still not having found his words he merely opened his arms and was relieved when Kíli crawled into his lap with a choked sob, and Fíli squeezed his hand in thanks Bilbo felt very undeserving of.

There was dried blood in the locks of Kíli’s hair and Bilbo’s fingers busied themselves with untangling the dark strands. Without having to ask for it - and that was just as well because he wasn’t sure he could have - Fíli begun to describe what had happened.

The brothers had of course been with Thorin when he died.

Bilbo had been with the Elven soldiers further out on the edges of the battle field, but the Dwarfs and Bard’s people had been right in the middle of it. Despite them being surrounded by Orcs and Wargs they had been faring rather well; Fíli had heard Dáin yell over to Thorin that he even could have left some of his guards at home. Then Azog had entered the fray, this time with his son, Bolg.

“They can have children?” Bilbo asked, shocked into speaking.

“They are flesh and blood regardless of how twisted the two have become,” Fíli said with a grimace. “But I’d prefer not to think about it.”

“Quite,” Bilbo replied, glad he was already sitting down.

Knowing that the Orcs would rally with their leaders amongst them Thorin had gone after Azog, Dwalin at his side, while sending Fíli and Kíli to deal with Bolg.

This time Thorin had not been weary from a long outdrawn battle, nor was he injured from tumbling down a mountainside. And he was not alone. Dáin had fought his way over to his cousins and it was only a matter of time before Orcrist parted Azog’s foul head from his body.

Bolg had not taken kindly to Azog’s death and with a great roar he had swung his axe around wildly, hitting Kíli on the leg. The blow, luckily for Kili, landed with the blunted back of the axe first, but with enough force that it broke the bone.

“I might never walk again, that’s what he’s saying,” Kíli interjected, lifting his head from Bilbo’s lap.

“We don’t know how bad it is,” Fíli argued and Kíli turned to glare at his brother.

“I would gladly had given up both legs if, if Thorin hadn’t -”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Fíli scolded gently, with the tone of one having said the words many times already.

As Kíli had fallen he had yelled out from the pain which had drawn Thorin’s attention to him. Focused on getting to his sister-son Thorin had not seen the Orc coming from the side, and only Dwalin’s shout at the last second had turned what would have been a killing strike into a mere  glancing blow.

Not that it had helped.

“The blade was poisoned,” Kíli spat.

Steeling his heart, Fíli had then taken advantage of Bolg’s distraction with Kíli to gut the Orc with his sword. When he turned it was to see his uncle clutch at a wound on his thigh and collapse onto the ground.

Torn between staying with his brother, who would have been as good as defenceless if Fíli had left, and going to Thorin, Fíli had been relieved to see both Dwalin and Dáin quickly make their way over to Thorin. His relief was quickly exchanged for disbelief as he’d seen Dwalin’s stricken expression, and how the large Dwarf fumbled with Thorin’s clothes to check the beating of his heart. At Dwalin’s slow shake of his head Fíli had lifted his head and screamed, beginning the call Bilbo had heard all the way across the battlefield.

Spurred by the death of the enemy generals, as well as wanting to avenge the fallen Thorin, the Dwarfs and Men had rallied and wiped out the rest of the Orcs and Wargs. By this point Fíli had carried Kíli away from the battle, with Dwalin taking Thorin as Dáin and his personal guard covered their withdrawal. But it had already been too late, if there had been any chance at all.

When they brought Thorin to the healers his chest no longer rose and fell and had likely not done so for a while.

“When -” Bilbo’s voice cracked. “When is the ceremony? Or ceremonies I should say.”

“Tomorrow,” Fíli said, eyes infinitely filled with loss.

“So soon?” Bilbo said, again feeling the absurd urge to laugh. Thorin was dead and here he sat calmly discussing his funeral with Fíli while Kíli tried to fit as much of himself into his lap as was physically possible; the lap of a Hobbit Thorin had just recently banished from Erebor as a traitor. “I guess it makes sense, Erebor needs a -” He stopped himself mid-sentence, struck by the weight of the words he had been about to speak.

“A king,” Fíli filled in. “Which would be me. No, don’t apologize,” he told Bilbo when the Hobbit tried to do just that. “I know what is expected and I will not be found wanting. Tomorrow we will return Thorin to the stone, and tomorrow I will be crowned.”

He looked over at his uncle with a steady but sad gaze.

“They are preparing a vault for him now, beneath the mountain. It’s mostly just a matter of getting rid of all the dust that has gathered. The royal burial chambers always have vaults ready.” Fíli smiled mirthlessly. “If Kíli and I had died we would have found our place there as well.”

“I’ll thank you not to speak about such things,” Bilbo said tightly and he had to concentrate on not clenching his fist into Kíli’s hair. “And why is it that no one has sewn up the cut on your face? It will scar if you leave it like that.”

“Let it,” Fíli shrugged. “It’s not like I will ever forget this day anyway.”

“I don’t see that you need more reminders then,” Bilbo said, consciously softening his voice. “Both of you, come with me to the healing tents -”

“We can’t leave him,” Kíli protested. “We can’t -”

“I will stay with him,” Dwalin said, stepping into the tent. He had likely been eavesdropping for a while - how else would he know what they were talking about - but such things mattered little now.

Bilbo steeled himself before meeting the bald Dwarf’s gaze, though to his surprise he found neither anger nor censure, just the same bone deep sorrow that Bilbo knew could be found in his own eyes. “Go on,” Dwalin prompted when none of the three made any attempt to move. “I will stay.”

Fíli and Kíli left first, the younger being supported by the older, and Bilbo followed close behind.

“I am more sorry than words can express,” Bilbo said to Dwalin, who heaved a sighed and inclined his head.

“As are we all, lad. As are we all,” was the reply he got.

Just as he was about to step out of the tent Bilbo felt an irrational reluctance to take the last step. He didn’t want to leave Thorin, but… it wasn’t really Thorin anymore was it. Just a dead king and the shattered pieces of Bilbo’s heart. Taking a deep breath Bilbo left the tent, absently rubbing a hand over the hollow ache in his chest.

-

Bilbo managed to keep a tight rein on his emotions as he brought the boys to the healers, as he followed them up into one of the cleared rooms inside the mountain, as they both fell asleep again curled around each other like two pups, as an uncharacteristically gentle Dwalin led him down the winding corridors to the rest of the company.

Then and there, as Bilbo met Bofur’s warm, kind eyes, he allowed himself to weep.

-

The funeral was beautiful, while at the same time the most horrible ceremony that Bilbo ever could have imagined. His parents’ funerals had been bad, but at least children always knew that they were expected to bury their parents. Thorin had been in his prime; had he not died he could have lived for at least another century and Bilbo wanted to rage at the unfairness of it all. How had someone like him manage to live when someone like Thorin had not?

In the back of his mind Bilbo heard the murmured objection to his presence from some of the Dwarfs Dáin had brought with him. Bofur had explained that any such complaint would not be personal.

“It’s just, we are a private people,” he’d said apologetically. “I don’t rightly know that anyone who is not a Dwarf has ever been present at one of our funerals, and now we’ll have a Man, an Elf and a Hobbit all at once.” He shook his head. “You have of course the same right as us to be there, being one of the Company, but I’m not sure what Fíli is thinking letting Bard and the Elvenking into the mountain.”

“He is thinking that he will not repeat the mistakes of the past,” Bilbo defended ardently. “You need allies, now more than ever before, if you wish to restore Erebor to -”

“Aye,” Bofur had admitted. “All I’m saying is that there might be other ways of going about that. A way without Elves.”

That even someone as kind and cheerful as Bofur could not let old grudges go made Bilbo want to tear his hair. Was nothing even to be learned from this tragedy? He might be the youngest compared to all the Dwarfs around him, but at times they could certainly make him feel like they were children.

Thankfully, muttering and grumbling was all the objections amounted to, and most of those did indeed just concern the presence of Thranduil.

Before the ceremony started, Dáin made a point of greeting Fíli with the outmost respect, as one king to another, and for that Bilbo sent the Dwarf a thankful look. Bilbo imagined that if Dáin had wished to he could have made a claim for the throne himself; arguing that Fíli was much too young to take up the crown. It was a relief that he did not seem to have any such desires.

After greeting Fíli, Dáin surprised Bilbo, and many of the Dwarfs, by greeting Thranduil and Bard in much the same respectful manner. This time the look Bilbo sent in the Dwarven Lords direction had been more shocked than thankful, and of course this was the time Dáin looked back at him.

Hastily schooling his face into blankness again Bilbo silently cursed himself as Dáin made his way over to stand in front of him.

“Master Baggins,” he said and bowed low, as low as he had bowed to Fíli and Bilbo was dumbfounded. “Dáin Ironfoot, at your service.”

“Bilbo Baggins, at yours,” Bilbo replied, more reflex than anything else. Belatedly he remembered that he would do well to return the bow, and with red cheeks he did so.

“My cousin spoke to me of you, before the battle,” Dáin said in a low voice. “I would ask that we would speak later.”

Swallowing twice to clear the sudden obstruction in his throat Bilbo nodded.

“Yes, of course, my Lord,” he replied, and Dáin nodded calmly in acknowledgement before returning to his guard.

What was actually said as Thorin was given back to the stone Bilbo could not have told, so the Dwarfs were allowed to keep their secrets. He remembered wanting to protest when Bard placed the Arkenstone into the tomb; which was stupid. Thorin was dead, the Arkenstone was just a stone. What did it matter where it ended up?

Seeing Fíli place Orcrist on top of the stone felt better. Of course better still meant that Bilbo had tears slowly trailing down his cheeks, but he would not be shamed by such.
 
There was a song. Bilbo could recall neither words nor the melody but he could remember feeling it echo through his bones.

He had then expected to then move to the throne room for Fíli’s coronation, but the throne room, along with the rest of the chambers that had stood between Smaug and the treasure vaults had been almost completely destroyed. Thus it came to pass that the new King under the Mountain was crowned standing with one hand on his uncle’s tomb and Bilbo had to blink away a new onslaught of tears as Fíli lowered his head to accept the circlet of gold and mithril.

The crown of Thrór had long since been lost; the intricately wrought piece that now rested on Fíli’s golden had was something Nori had found and brought up from the treasure vaults.

When everything had been said and all others had left, Bilbo, Kíli and Fíli remained.

Kíli was leaning heavily against his brother - who was leaning just as heavily against Thorin’s tomb.

“I’m so sorry, Uncle,” Fíli whispered. “I failed.”

“We failed,” Kíli echoed and the look in both their eyes was more than Bilbo felt he could stomach.

“You live do you not?” he said, putting a hand on each of their shoulders and giving them a shake. “Erebor is reclaimed, Azog is dead, his son is dead, and you live. Thorin would not have considered that a failure.

“No,” he continued when it looked like the boys would protest. “You did not fail, if Thorin was -” Bilbo had to clear his throat. “If he was here he would tell you the same thing.” He then chuckled drily. “Though I’m not sure he would thank me for speaking for him, the way we - after what I did.”

“No.” This time it was Kíli who protested. “Uncle regretted what he said to you, I know he did.”

“It was the gold-sickness,” Fíli said quietly. “He was not himself.”

Bilbo just squeezed their shoulders before taking a step back. They were such sweet boys, and Fíli would be a great king. Much of his youthful bluster appeared to already have been peeled off him, and Bilbo could see the shape of the ruler he would become already forming around him. He just hoped that at least something of the smirking, swaggering lad would remain.

“My king,” Bilbo said and bowed, ignoring how he wished he was uttering those words to another Dwarf. “My prince,” he said and bowed to Kíli. “Forever at your service.”

“And we at yours,” the brother said, and instead of returning his bow they swept him up in a hug.

When Fíli and Kíli were ready to leave Bilbo still was not, and it wasn’t just that he dreaded the talk with Dáin that was waiting for him. It may not be Thorin inside the tomb, but it was the closest approximation of him that Bilbo would ever have again, and he wanted to say good-bye.

“I’ll be right along,” he assured. “I just, I need to -”

“We understand,” Fíli said. “Come brother, let’s see if anyone has managed to usurp me yet.”

“That is not funny,” Kíli complained. But Bilbo could see that he was comforted by the first joke they had heard from Fíli ever since Thorin’s death. An entirely solemn Fíli was a deeply upsetting thing.

The silence after they’d left was as heavy as the entire weight of the mountain above his head.

“I think it will be hard to go back to the Shire,” Bilbo said absently, and stroked his hand along the complicated looking lines of runes that marched along the top of the stone tomb. He wondered if the runes told the story about Thorin’s life and bravery, or if they had already been there when the chamber had been prepared. Perhaps they were nothing more than wishes for peace in whatever afterlife Dwarfs believed in. “Oh, the going back part will probably be fine, Gandalf has promised to accompany me. But I can’t imagine what I will do with myself once I’m back in my hobbit-hole. Gandalf said that I would not be the same, if I came back. And I know that to be true without even having to go back.” Bilbo shook his head. “But go back I must, because -” he trailed off. “Well I can hardly stay here, can I?” How could he, it wouldn’t be right, not after Thorin had banished him.

The Hobbit let out a shuddering sigh and bent his head to rest it against the cool stone.

“I miss you already,” he murmured. “I have been, ever since you got that strange gleam in your eyes and starting to care more about gold than of your people and your future. I wish - I wish that the boys are right when they say that you were not yourself. I wish that you did not die hating me.”

“I did not,” a familiar deep voice said behind him and every muscle in Bilbo’s body tensed. “I was wrong. And thank you, for what you said to them. I wish I could tell them myself.”

Slowly Bilbo turned around. There was no one in the room.

“Thorin?” he breathed because it had been his voice. It had been him. “Thorin?”

Out of the corner of his eye Bilbo saw a movement, and when he turned there he was. Thorin Oakenshield, clad in his customary furs and armour, but with a most unusual expression on his face.

“You can see me?” Thorn demanded, blue eyes wide with shock.

For the second time in two days Bilbo felt the dark rise before his eyes and he fainted.

-

When he woke it was to the concerned looks of Ori and Bofur. Bofur was kneeling by his side and he smiled in relief when Bilbo blinked up at him.

"Up you go lad," Bofur said, and together they rose to their feet, Bilbo being quite heavily supported by the Dwarf.

"Have you had anything to eat today?" Ori asked anxiously. “Once I spent the entire day inside the library and forgot to eat and when stood up to leave I ended up on the floor instead.”

"Yes, yes" Bilbo assured the young Dwarf, though he honestly wasn't quite sure that he had. "That's not why I fainted. I thought -”

“Everything all right?” Dwalin asked, walking into the chamber. “Dáin’s looking for you,” he added nodding towards Bilbo.

“I think we should go and get some food into this one first,” Bofur said and gently grasped Bilbo’s arm. “We found him on the floor just now, out like a light. No idea how long he’d actually been there.” Annoyed Bilbo snatched his arm back.

“I dare say anyone would pass out if Thorin’s ghost suddenly appeared behind them.”

“Thorin?” Dwalin growled as Ori and Bofur exchanged a worried look.

“I'm not crazy,” Bilbo protested. “He was here, he spoke to me -”

“What did he say?” Dwalin demanded.

“He told me that he was wrong and he thanked me.” Bilbo blinked. “Oh dear, maybe I am crazy.”

“Let’s go and talk about this somewhere else,” Bofur suggested, casting a sidelong glance at the tomb.

The Hobbit swallowed. “Perhaps that would be wise,” he agreed. “But I know what I saw.”

He hadn’t taken more than three steps towards the door, Bofur and Ori hovering at his sides, when Thorin suddenly appeared in front of him.

Bilbo yelped and jumped back, and probably would have fallen if it hadn’t been for Ori wrapping a surprisingly strong arm around his back.

“Burglar,” Thorin said.

“Do you see him now?” Bilbo exclaimed. “He is right there.”

This time the look the Ori and Bofur exchanged was closer to panic than worry, and Bilbo realised with a growing sense of dread that they really couldn’t see him.

“So far you are the only one who seems to be able to see me, much less hear me” Thorin said slowly. “I tried to go to Fíli and Kíli just now, but -”

“Go get Óin,” Dwalin said, and when Bilbo turned away from Thorin, Ori was nowhere to be seen.

“I’m not crazy,” he said to Dwalin with as much confidence he could muster, which lessened every time he had to repeat that same sentence. “He really is there.”

“Sure he is,” Bofur said and Bilbo just barely restrained himself from ripping the hat right off of his condescending head and stomping on it, the hat that was. Because he wasn’t crazy.

“Quick,” he said to Thorin. “Tell me something only you and Dwalin would know.”

Thorin looked at him in a way that was much too incredulous for someone who was supposed to be dead. “Don’t give me that look, just tell me something, anything.”

“Repeat this,” Thorin said, and then slowly said several words in Khuzdul that had Bilbo feel like his tongue was shaped the wrong way. However he could not have done too badly because as he begun on the third word Dwalin’s face suddenly lost much of its colour and Bofur’s hand came up to squeeze tightly, too tight really, around Bilbo’s wrist – not that Bilbo even felt it as he looked into familiar blue eyes, filled with unfamiliar hope.

Dwalin turned towards Bofur. “We have to find the Wizard, do you know where he -”

“Aye, he said he would go back to - I’ll go -”

“Have him meet us at the gates,” Dwalin ordered, and Bofur took off running. The large Dwarf turned to gaze in the direction where Bilbo was still looking, towards Thorin. “You will come?” he asked. “He will come?” he said to Bilbo when he realised that if Thorin replied he would not be able to hear it.

“He will come,” Bilbo repeated at Thorin’s nod.

The Hobbit took a step forward and lifted his hand, holding it just over Thorin’s arm before letting it drop. Instead of touching the leather in Thorin’s armguards his hand found nothing at all and with a shiver Bilbo wrapped both his arms around himself.

-

“I'm afraid I don't sense anything,” Gandalf said apologetically. “You say that he is standing right here?”

They were out on the battlements, which wasn’t really Bilbo’s favourite place to be considering what had transpired the last time he’d been there. Snapping his eyes back from the bit of the wall Thorin had threatened to throw him off of Bilbo turned to meet Gandalf’s gaze. At least the Wizard didn’t seem inclined to think him crazy, though Dwalin had probably helped more with his ‘He’s not crazy’ then Bilbo’s own assurances every could have done.

“He’s just a couple of feet in front of you,” Bilbo said tiredly.

“Spirits sometimes linger when they are bound by a purpose,” Gandalf said thoughtfully. “Did he swear to do something just before he died?”

As Thorin shook his head Bilbo did the same. “No, he did not.” Turning towards Thorin again Bilbo said: “And if you haven’t noticed it, Erebor is very much reclaimed. If that’s what’s keeping you.”

“So eager to see me leave then,” Thorin said and Bilbo took a step back, arms coming up as if to ward from a blow. Bilbo's horror must have been plain to read on his face, because Thorin's feature softened.

“My apologies,” he continued swiftly, and he did look contrite. “That was not fair of me. But I know Erebor is back into Dwarven hands again. If I have a purpose, that is not it.”

“What did he say,” Dwalin demanded, but Bilbo ignored him.

“I thought death would bring clarity to the mind,” Bilbo said hotly. “But it cannot be so or you would know that I -” To his shame he felt tears start to fall. “You would know that there is nothing I desire less than to know that you are gone from this world. Excuse me,” he added and fled inside.

-

“I always seem to pick the wrong words when I speak to you.”

Bilbo didn’t even jump this time when Thorin suddenly appeared standing by his side.

“I was not aware that you picked your words at all, I thought you just said the first thing that entered your head.”

Thorin sighed and sat down next to Bilbo and the rational part of Bilbo’s mind wondered why it was that he just didn’t sink through the floor. “That would be Kíli,” Thorin said. “I promise you, there are plenty of thoughts I keep to myself.”

“Oh,” Bilbo’s eyes were round with realisation. “Oh, we haven’t told the boys yet. They have to know -”

“That their uncle is haunting these very halls?” Thorin said bitterly. “I’m not sure that is a comfort.”

“Did you not see them?” Bilbo demanded. “They miss you like a limb.”

“And I them,” Thorin murmured, and all Bilbo’s ire abruptly drained. “After the battle I woke up standing next to my own body, and they were there, weeping, and I could not hold them, could not speak to them. It was a relief when suddenly everything went dark, cowardly as that may be.”

“What happened?” Bilbo asked and Thorin’s mouth twisted.

“I found myself instead standing by my own tomb, listening to you doing what I could not. Once more, thank you for that. And my sister-sons are entirely correct. I deeply regret the way we parted.”

“I -” Bilbo didn’t know how to phrase his question in a manner that wouldn’t sound horrible self-absorbed. “Do you think -” he began haltingly. “That you might regret it enough so that it could keep you here?” The thought was silly of course, but to his surprise Bilbo saw that Thorin was honestly considering it.

“Has Dáin spoken to you?”

The question surprised Bilbo. “No, not yet. But he told me that he wished to, about you I assume.”

“As we prepared for battle my mind cleared,” Thorin said, not looking at Bilbo. “I’m not sure if I was finally far enough away from that cursed treasure or that my sense just finally returned. But I knew I had wronged you, horribly. I asked Dáin that he would go to you if I did not survive the battle, to tell you that I would take back my words and deeds at the gate.”

Thorin’s fists clenched at his sides.

“What worth has silver and gold compared to loyalty and honour? All you were trying to do was to help me in my madness. Save us all from a needless, useless war that we would have lost. And I repaid you by threatening to kill you. I do wish for your forgiveness but I don’t see how I would deserve it.”

“You still have it,” Bilbo said quietly, wishing that he could reach out and place a hand on Thorin’s shoulder, or take his hand. “I should have found another way, a way that wouldn’t have caused me to betray your trust. And for that I am sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,“ Thorin denied. “All blame for this lie with me, and me alone.”

“Then there is no blame at all.” Bilbo’s smile was a bit wobbly at the edges. “Because I forgive you.”

“Bilbo, I -”

Just as he had appeared, Thorin was suddenly gone and Bilbo’s heart leapt into his throat. Could it be that Thorin’s spirit had moved on, assured by Bilbo’s forgiveness?

The Hobbit slowly got to his feet, supporting himself with one hand against the smooth stone wall.

He’d best go find Fíli and Kíli.

-

Unsurprisingly he found them together, standing just outside Erebor’s gates. Bilbo blinked as the mid-day sun made his eyes water; after several hours inside the mountain the bright light came as something of a shock.

“Bilbo!” Kíli exclaimed when he caught sight of the Hobbit, and the way he was eyeing the space behind and next to Bilbo made the Hobbit assume that someone else had informed them about Thorin already. “Is Uncle -?”

The young Dwarf’s face fell as Bilbo shook his head and Fíli’s mouth tightened into a thin line.

“He was here,” Bilbo explained. “But now I’m not sure.”

“Has he moved on to the Halls of Waiting?” Fíli asked and Bilbo shrugged helplessly.

“I don’t know, he just disappeared mid-word. I’m sorry.”

Just then a burly Dwarf walked past carrying a great number of swords and axes, all appearing to be Orcish by make. When he caught sight of his king he stopped to bow, but when he leaned forward he accidentally jostled the weapons and managed to scratch his right index finger when trying not to let them fall to the ground.

“Oh, balls,” he said and immediately looked horrified. “Oh. Your Highness, please accept my deepest -” he started to say, then he tipped over, somehow managing not to skewer himself on any of the blades.

After a beat, Bilbo rushed forward to kneel at his side. Kíli’s leg prevented any sort of rushing from the two brothers, but as they had been standing so close it wasn’t long before they joined the Hobbit.

“He’s too heavy for me to turn,” Bilbo said and rose to his feet. “Kíli, lean on me so Fíli can do it.” Belatedly, it occurred to Bilbo that giving the newly crowned king of Erebor orders might not be something he should do, but at least it didn’t seem as if Fíli and Kíli cared because the younger of the two came willingly to throw an arm over Bilbo’s shoulder while Fíli knelt down to roll the fallen Dwarf onto his back.

“I don’t think he is breathing,” Fíli murmured and placed his hand on the Dwarf’s chest. “Whatever blade he cut himself on must have been poisoned.”

A crowd had begun to gather around them and Fíli sent one of the Dwarfs to get Óin or any of the healers that Dáin had brought with him.

“I really hate Orcs,” Kíli said and the arm around Bilbo’s shoulder’s twitched as if he longed to grab his bow and find a few of the beasts.

“We’ve already told everyone to be careful with the enemies’ blades,” Fíli explained with a tight expression as he returned to them, the crowd parting to let him through. “Considering what happened to Thorin I thought - But apparently we were not careful enough.”

“Leather gauntlets,” an auburn haired Dwarf to Bilbo’s right said and the Hobbit vaguely remembered seeing him earlier that day; he was part of Dáin’s guards. Fíli nodded.

“Indeed.” He turned to the guard. “Can you send word to those still collecting the blades out on the field?”

“Of course, your Highness,” the Dwarf said and bowed before departing.

“I really hate Orcs,” Kíli said again as a nervous looking Dwarf with long black braids started to collect the blades the now-dead guard had dropped. Two others had bent to pick up their fallen comrade and Bilbo carefully looked away from their grieved expressions.

“I believe that is the same blade that felled me,” Thorin murmured, practically in Bilbo’s ear and the Hobbit startled badly enough to almost send himself and Kíli crashing into the ground. Luckily Fíli had been standing directly on Kíli’s other side and was able to catch them both before his brother further injured his leg.

“Bilbo?” Fíli questioned.

“I - Thorin is here now,” Bilbo said softly, not wanting to be overheard by any of the other Dwarfs. Of course Kíli didn’t share that restraint.

“Thorin!” he more or less yelled, as if Thorin was deaf and not dead, Bilbo thought a tad unkindly. He did not look forward to another game of ‘has the Hobbit lost his mind?’ - especially not if ‘and what about the king and prince?’ was added to the same question.

The shout had made everyone around them halt, and Bilbo looked helplessly towards Fíli who shrugged. “If he is here still, they will learn of it sooner or later,” he said.

A loud yell made the three of them look up. The two Dwarfs that had been carrying their dead friend now had empty arms and were slowly backing away from the other Dwarf, who wasn’t dead anymore. Or at least Bilbo assumed so as he lay on the ground, coughing hard enough to make his chest and belly shake violently.

The realisation did not hit Bilbo over the head as much as it threw three Oliphaunts at him.

“Kíli, I’m going to move away now, are you leaning on Fíli?”

He barely even waited to hear the confused sounding yes before he darted forward and sank to the ground next to the coughing Dwarf.

“Which blade did you cut yourself on,” he demanded. “What did it look like.” Looking over at the dark-haired Dwarf that had been gathering them up before he waved him over. “Come over here.”

The Dwarf threw a glance at Fíli who nodded. Meanwhile, the burly Dwarf had more or less finished coughing and Bilbo repeated his question.

“I’m not sure,” he Dwarf answered with a raspy voice. Bilbo gestured at the Dwarf with the swords to put them down on the ground in front of them.

“Which. Blade.”

The look Bilbo received would have had him scrambling for an apology at any other time, but at the moment he could care less. “It think it was that one,” the Dwarf said after a few agonizingly long seconds, pointing at one with the blade split into several teeth, almost like a saw.

“Is that the blade that cut you?” Bilbo asked of Thorin who stood by his side.

The Dwarf on the ground looked annoyed. “I already told you,” he began, but Bilbo only heard Thorin.

“It looks to be the same.”

“Fíli, I need you to come with me now, and we should to run.” Bilbo was surprised at how calm he sounded. “I think Thorin is alive.” Of course that calm disappeared completely when he met Thorin’s eyes. If he thought they had been filled of hope before, that was nothing compared to the light that filled them now. And then he disappeared again. Grabbing the Dwarf with the dark braids who had bent again to gather the swords he pushed him towards Kíli.

“Your new assignment is to help the prince,” he said. “Kíli, I’m sorry, but we really need to hurry.”

The brothers glanced at each other before turning back to Bilbo.

“We trust you,” Kíli said and put his arm around the shoulders of the increasingly confused dark-haired Dwarf.

“Where are we going?” Fíli asked as they started running. “The burial chambers?”

“Yes,” Bilbo said, already starting to feel a little short of breath. “And on the way we are going to grab some Dwarfs, and you are going to tell them to open Thorin’s tomb.”

-

“This is most unusual,” complained one of the Dwarfs they had drafted. Thankfully, he still did as his king told him to, and with the combined effort of ten Dwarfs the slab covering Thorin’s tomb was pushed to the side. It had only been hours since the ceremony, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that Thorin still looked the same. He still looked like he was sleeping a slightly troubled sleep, and the Arkenstone was still placed between his hands. Somehow Bilbo had expected obvious proof that his theory was correct - And then he saw it.

“Did you see that?” he asked and almost elbowed Fíli in his eagerness. “He breathed!”

“He did what?” one of the other Dwarfs said.

“The Halfling’s lost it,” someone murmured, not viciously, but pityingly. Bilbo ignored both of them in favour of dragging Fíli closer.

Waiting for the second breath reminded Bilbo of seeing Thorin get thrown to the ground by Azog’s white Warg, each moment swelled into an eternity and it was almost unbearable to not just throw himself at Thorin and shake him until he opened his eyes.

“He lives,” Fíli whispered when the next breathe came. “He lives!”

Hearing someone else say it suddenly made it real and without Fíli to support him he would have fallen to the ground when his knees refused to hold him up any more. Thorin was alive.

-

Five hours later Thorin breathed almost normally, though he still hadn’t woken up, nor had his ‘ghost’ made any further appearances. Both these things worried Bilbo, but he hoped that the absence of Thorin’s spirit just meant that it just had decided to settle back where it belonged. He would need it there when he did wake up.

They’d moved him into one of the rooms that Smaug hadn’t destroyed and Fíli had sent for furs to replace the rotted sheets and mattress that could be found on the bed. And he had also sent word to Óin. When the old Dwarf arrived a flurry of activity began with a much too still Thorin at the centre of it. Bilbo refused to leave, so Óin gave him a cup of honey water and a spoon, together with orders to try and get Thorin to ingest as much as possible without drowning him.

As Bilbo began his task he wondered if Thorin would remember what had happened when he had been outside his body. Would he even remember the battle? What if he woke up and the last thing he remembered was throwing Bilbo out of Erebor, almost literally. Still, leaving was not an option.

“We tested the poison on birds,” Óin explained some time later. The rest of the company and Dáin had come to gather inside the bed chamber. “It slows down both the victim’s breathing and heart rate, too much poison and they actually die, but just enough and they only appear to be dead.”

“So we would have left him to die,” Dáin stated, heavy brows held in a deep frown. “If it hadn’t been for his burglar.” They hadn’t actually shared the little detail of Bilbo seeing Thorin’s spirit with anyone outside the company. The official story was that Bilbo had merely put two and two together after seeing a poison that imitated death. It was easier that way.

Messengers had been sent to Bard and Thranduil with the news of Thorin’s restoration, together with warnings that they would do best to wait with burials until they were absolutely sure that the ‘dead’ were not actually just poisoned. In their own camp they had found three more cases where the supposedly dead Dwarf still drew breath, just at a rate that was unnoticeable unless you knew to look for it.

“Unless someone would have heard him moving inside the tomb, yes,” Óin said matter-of-factly, but his trembling hands betrayed his true feelings on the matter. “I don’t know how long it will take for him to wake up, and it’s possible that he would have been too weak to call for help when that time came.”

That was when Bilbo stopped listening and instead concentrating on dribbling water into Thorin’s mouth, gently stroking his throat to help him swallow.

-

Inside the mountain it was hard to know the passage of time as there was no sun to go by, but when Thorin finally stirred Bilbo judged that at least four more hours had to have passed.

“Fíli, Kíli,” he said and nudged the two young Dwarfs who also had refused to leave Thorin’s side. “I think he is waking up.”

Of course, to be contrary, Thorin merely opened his eyes and then closed them again. But even that felt like a miracle.

-

It wasn’t until two agonizing days later that Thorin opened his eyes and did not immediately close them again. And of course Bilbo missed it because he had finally succumbed to sleep. He woke to the sound of soft voices, and a hand gently stroking through his hair.

Blearily Bilbo raised his head from where he had buried it against the furs covering Thorin’s thigh. Beneath his hand Thorin’s chest still rose and fell, and as he’d wiggled his hands beneath the furs he could even feel the steady beat of Thorin’s heart, now back to normal. That was good. That was very good. After that his mind actually took a moment to analyse exactly which voices it was hearing, and once that investigation was complete Bilbo’s eyes immediately snapped to Thorin’s face where they found two exhausted, but completely aware bright blue eyes.

“He wouldn’t let us wake you once we said that you’d been awake for almost three days,” Kíli said when Bilbo glared at him. “He’s only been awake for an hour or so anyway, you only missed us crying all over each other and Óin showing up to shout at us not to upset Thorin.”

“Though he did say that he was glad to see him back amongst the definitely living again,” Fíli said with a bright smile.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, with a voice even lower and raspier than normal. “Once again I wronged you, and once again you saved my life.”

“Do you not remember me saying that all was forgiven?” Bilbo asked and placed his hand over Thorin’s much larger one.

“I do remember,” Thorin said. “But I still think that it is more than I deserve. Of course, that will not stop me from asking for even further boons that I am not worthy of.”

“This is our cue,” Fíli hissed to Kíli who rolled his eyes. “We’ll be back later,” the blond said to Thorin who smiled and nodded.

“‘Til then, my king,” he said and Fíli made a face.

“I will step down as soon as you are able to wear the crown without the weight of it making your head fall off. I can probably get Nori to find something lighter if that means I’ll be rid of it faster.”

“Try and find a crutch for your brother instead,” Thorin admonished.

“He was a good king,” Bilbo told Thorin as the boys had left. “Or he would have been, given enough time to actually be one in anything but name.”

“Does that mean that you do not support his decision to abdicate?” Thorin asked and it took Bilbo a moment to realise that the Dwarf was joking.

“Maybe Kíli can be king for a while,” he suggested. “Sitting on the throne would mean that he would finally rest that poor foot of his.”

Thorin hummed non-committally.

“What was it that you wanted to ask?” Bilbo finally ventured when silence started to feel too thick. It was all he could do not to throw himself at Thorin and get close enough that they’d melted into just one being. He couldn’t seem to make himself to stop touching Thorin. But that could at least me taken as just relief that he was no longer intangible. Kisses were another matter entirely.

“If I had died there would have been other things I would have regretted not telling you,” Thorin said. “But I felt that it was not fair to you to hear them, or I knew that they would not matter one way or the other, so I didn't share them with Dáin.”

“Will you tell me now?” Bilbo asked.

“The first thing I would ask is if you would consider staying in Erebor.”

“I need to go back to the Shire,” Bilbo blurted and Thorin’s face suddenly appeared to be cut from unmoving stone.

“Of course, you have said as much before,” he agreed. “You’ve missed your home, I should -”

“No, no,” Bilbo protested. “I need to go, but I will come back. I left so sudden, I need to - But I would come back. I couldn’t not, not when you - The only reason I was going to leave was because I wasn’t sure that you really wanted me here. “

“This gives me hope for my next request,” Thorin said, and the light was back in his eyes. “Because not only do I want you here, I would want you by my side, for the rest of our days.”

Bilbo watched as if a trance as Thorin twined their fingers together, as he brought their joined hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss on the back of the smaller of the two.

“I would spend the rest of my days making you happy, even though that is a selfish way to make up for my failures considering that I have found that my happiness mirrors yours.” Another kiss, just the barest pressure of Thorin’s lips against his skin. “I had wished to show you the splendour of Erebor, as she would be once we had restored our home. I wanted to be able to offer you more than -”

“Do you love me?” Bilbo asked, interrupting Thorin’s words. “Because if you do, you do not need to offer me anything more than that. You have asked me for nothing I would not give again a thousand times and I have done nothing I can regret since it has led me here."

“I love you,” Thorin said, and Bilbo finally gave into the urge to crawl into the bed with Thorin. He tried to be careful, and not put pressure on any part of Thorin that could be hurt, but he needed to feel Thorin’s heartbeat, needed to know that he was alive.

“I love you,” Thorin said again as Bilbo rested his head against his chest. “When I realised that you could see me, that you could hear me, I wanted to tell you. But I did not think it fair. It was too late.”

“Not too late. Never too late.” Bilbo raised his head to press a brief close-mouthed kiss to Thorin’s lips.

Slowly Thorin’s hand came to rest over Bilbo’s heart. “I thought that I could perhaps appear to you because I had already given you my heart, regardless of if you knew it or not. Then I thought that my love was perhaps the very reason I was still walking this world. I was going to tell you, after you had granted me your forgiveness, but then I was pulled back into the darkness again.”

“I love you,” Bilbo whispered. “When I thought that you had died it was as if the stars had gone out in the sky.”

“I’m here, very much not dead,” Thorin assured and began to card his hand through Bilbo’s curls again.

Still exhausted, Bilbo closed his eyes, and lulled by the sturdy drum of Thorin’s heart, and the steady rise and fall of his chest, Bilbo tumbled into sleep - finally safe in the knowledge that Thorin would still be there when he woke up.