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Bilbo sits besides the cot.
The tent he sits in is cold, for the night itself is cold and the small fire burning inside the tent isn’t enough to warm his body. Even if it was, Bilbo would still feel cold.
He has been sitting for a long time. Bofur has been by numerous times, offering him drink, offering him food, offering him a blanket because Bilbo, yer freezing!
He has accepted none, the drinks on the table, the food on the ground. The blanket, however, has been placed over his shoulders. But the warmth does not seep through his skin.
The chair is uncomfortable, the wood hard on his thinned body – nothing like before he’d left the Shire. But he hardly cares.
In fact, he hardly feels anything.
Anything but empty.
The hand clutched in his – his knuckles pale from squeezing too hard, the other’s because, well… – is cold. Cold and lifeless and Bilbo continuously prays for it to move again.
Please Yavanna, please. Life is cruel, he knows. But he still prays for it to not take everything from him.
Not again.
Not Fili.
“Fili,” the blonde standing on his doorstep bowed. His golden hair shone like the sun in the candlelight of Bilbo’s hallway. His eyes sparkled with youth, mischief and excitement as they glanced up at Bilbo.
It stole his breath away, made his heart falter in his chest and that’s when Bilbo knew.
He was a goner.
He hadn’t even noticed there was another dwarf standing next to Fili, for the blond prince was all he had eyes for.
Bilbo squeezes the hand in his.
Fili had stolen his heart straight away. And he, as he had been told later on, he had stolen Fili’s that night too.
“You captivate me in a way no other has done before, master Baggins. So I must ask of you to please, let me court you.” Fili was serious, lips in a thin and nervous line as he regarded Bilbo in the soft candle-light falling onto the Rivendel balcony.
“C-court? Surely you are joking!” Bilbo cried out, a laugh on his lips even though his heart skipped a beat and heat rose on his cheeks.
Fili shook his head, took Bilbo’s hands in his and solemnly promised: “I would not joke about a matter like this. Give me a chance, master Baggins.” He then grinned cockily. “I swear you will not regret it.”
Bilbo knew he didn’t stand a chance. He hadn’t stood a chance since meeting Fili.
“Oh, well if you insist.”
The kiss he received upon his reply was nothing short of mind-blowing.
No Bilbo didn’t regret this.
Bilbo smiles sadly.
He had regretted it later, when Thorin found out.
But Fili, his sweet and brave Fili had defended him and though reluctantly, even Thorin had not been able to deny the obvious love between the two. Especially when, after the confrontation with Azog, Fili had refused to leave Bilbo’s side. It weren’t his pleads which had let Thorin allow him to stay plastered to Bilbo. No, it was the fear in his eyes – fear of losing Bilbo – that had made Thorin cave.
And then they had arrived at Beorn’s…
“We are retiring for the night.” Fili claimed.
He had a hand tightly around Bilbo’s wrist, dragging the hobbit out of the big hall and towards his – theirs, for they’d been allowed to share and Kili had fled the moment he could – room.
Catcalls and cheers followed them, along with more than a few lewd comments that made Bilbo flush in a way that set fire to Fili’s loins.
Inside their room, Fili pushed Bilbo up against the door. They had a moment to themselves, with a door in-between them and the company. He’d be damned if he wasn’t going to make use of it.
His hands were everywhere, stroking, sliding and slipping beneath fabric. His lips were all but devouring Bilbo.
Bilbo, whose hands nervously clenched against Fili’s shoulders and who was desperately kissing back.
“F-Fili…” Bilbo gasped, their kiss breaking and he leaned his forehead against Fili’s. “Calm down.”
Fili froze, actions halting straight away and looking up at Bilbo with a slight slimmer of fear in his eyes. “You want to stop?” He asked, but they both knew he was asking so much more than that.
“No,” Bilbo shook his head and raised his hands. He cupped Fili’s cheeks in his hands, a loving smile on his lips as his thumbs stroked the edges of Fili’s lips. “I just want to… savor this. To love you.”
And weren’t those words a shock to the both of them. They’d never actually said them.
But Bilbo didn’t start stuttering apologies.
And Fili didn’t back away, claiming love was too much to deal with.
They both leant in. They hugged. They kissed.
They made love and savored the moment.
For neither of them knew how long it would last.
Bilbo sits next to Fili’s bed when a dwarrowdam comes in to tend to his wounds.
She asks him to please let go of the prince’s hand but her words don’t reach.
When she tries to tug Bilbo’s hand away, a whimper passes his lips and he snaps his eyes up at her. He pleads silently, eyes desperate and begging to please not separate him from Fili.
The dwarrowdam doesn’t try again.
Later, when she’s gone Balin visits. He has sad news, he claims, and Bilbo lets go of Fili’s hand. He falls to the ground, cries on his knees and begs of his friend to please, please don’t tell him that Fili won’t make it.
He is guiltily relieved when he is told it isn’t Fili, but Thorin who might not make it through the night.
Balin leaves with the advice for Bilbo to rest. Sleep some, lad, for Fili wouldn’t want him to actually kill himself.
Bilbo knows he shouldn’t get into Fili’s bed. He’s been told it can do the other harm, that Bilbo might accidentally hurt Fili. But he’s been sitting in that chair for hours – if not days – with only Fili’s hand as comfort. He is chilled to the bone and he just knows that a dark hole is beginning to form where his heart used to be.
His heart, which is lying on a bed.
Golden hair splayed over a white pillow like the sun over snow.
Long lashes fluttered over now pale cheeks.
Breathing softly.
Unmoving.
Dying.
Bilbo crawls into the bed – on Fili’s left, his not-so-bad side – and under the covers.
He takes Fili’s hand in his, gently even though he’d do nothing rather than cling to it. He can feel Fili’s warmth now. When he turns his head a bit he can feel the ghosts of the other’s breath against his ear. He can feel the live left within Fili.
It gives him hope.
“When all of this is over I’m never letting you go again.” Fili promised one night in Laketown.
Bilbo huffed. “You possessive sod.”
Fili laughed and nuzzled the side of Bilbo’s head. “I like to think you don’t particularly mind.”
Bilbo leaned against Fili, intertwining their fingers with that damned loving smile on his lips. “I don’t.”
“Good,” Fili breathed and closed his eyes, basking in Bilbo’s presence. Then it slipped: “I would have you willing when I place a crown atop your head when one day I will be king.”
Bilbo’s breath hitched, hand clenching around Fili’s in shock and a flush adorned his cheeks as he turned his head so he could look at Fili. Breathless, he murmured: “Fili… are you asking me to marry you?”
Fili’s blush was bright red and crawled all the way down to his neck. He had a happy grin on his lips but yet he still lowered his eyes nervously, fingers flicking over Bilbo as he whispered: “If you would have me.”
“If I….” Bilbo started but faltered, looking at Fili like he’d gone insane. “Of course I do!” He cried and tackled Fili to the bed.
They fell down in a heap, laughing, kissing, touching.
Being.
Later, much later, after some tender loving and drinks in the tavern with the company – with many drinks in celebration of their future union – they were in bed again.
Fili wa asleep, exhausted and Bilbo was crawled up against his side. He couldn’t sleep, but didn’t need to. He was perfectly happy lying next to Fili – his Fili – holding the other’s hand and basking in happiness.
“B-Bilbo…” Fili suddenly rasped, voice raw and broken and a dreadful cough passed his lips. “Bil –” Fili’s desperate voice faltered and he squeezed Bilbo’s hand weakly.
Wait, his mind said. Fili squeezed your hand!
Bilbo sits up straight away.
Eyes wide.
Body in shock.
He stares and stares and he doesn’t think he has ever been more happy to see Fili’s eyes – tired, still so ghostly, but sparkling with familiar love – looking up at him.
“Fili,” he chokes, raising his hand and pushing his fist against his mouth to keep from bursting out in sobs.
“Bilbo,” Fili rasps again, voice so weary from disuse and exhaustion. But he isn’t too exhausted to raise a hand. To cup Bilbo’s cheek in the palm of his hand and smile at his hobbit so tenderly, like nothing has happened. Like everything is perfectly fine. “So, when’s the wedding?”
That’s when Bilbo breaks down. He collapses down to the bed, face buried against the pillow and his hand clenching Fili’s while deep, heartbroken sobs pass his lips and tears roll down his cheeks. “Y-you’re alive,” he hiccups through tears, clenching Fili’s hand so tight he’s a bit afraid he might break his fingers.
“I am,” Fili breathes, his free hand weaving through Bilbo’s curls and dragging the hobbit closer, clinging to Bilbo as Bilbo clings to him.
They don’t notice the dwarves – a guard, Dwalin, Bofur – rushing into the tent in worry and alarm.
They don’t notice how they share sighs and looks of relief.
“I am,” Fili breathes again, closing his eyes.
For a long while they don’t notice anything but each other.
They don’t need to.
They are both alive. They are both fine.
They are.
And that’s enough.