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Thorin lay there, still upon the ice. His eyes gazed skyward, as his chest heaved labored breaths. Blood smeared around him, soaking his armor and the ground beneath him, and Bilbo felt a terror spear through his heart.
No…
“Thorin, Thorin-”
Even in his distress Bilbo moved silently across the ice, his bare feet carrying him to the side of the dwarf who had come to mean more to him than he ever thought possible.
Thorin met his eye, and a relieved smile came over his bloody face. “Bilbo.”
“Thorin, oh, it is going to be alright.” Bilbo said, his hands fluttering around the deep wound. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
“Bilbo…” Thorin’s voice was soft, a warmth to it Bilbo wasn’t sure he’d heard before. “I’m sorry it has come to this, my dear burglar. This wasn’t how I wanted our story to end.”
Bilbo shook his head. “This isn’t the end, Thorin, don’t talk like that.”
“I should have told you before now.”
“Anything you have to say, it can wait until you’re better, Thorin.” Bilbo said, panic lacing his voice.
Thorin’s hand covered his, and held it still. “Bilbo…I do not know the last time I felt such joy as when in your company. You have made this treacherous journey to Erebor bearable in a way I never could have expected. If I had not known you longed for your home in the Shire, I would have offered you one here. By my side.”
Bilbo searched Thorin’s eyes, glazed with pain, but full of sincerity. His heart pounded in his chest and he gripped the dwarf’s hand tighter. “Thorin…”
“I did say…it was all ours, Bilbo. Yours and mine.” Thorin trailed off, as the light faded from his eyes.
And Bilbo wept.