Work Text:
Thorin woke to the faint sound of a quill scratching and someone humming a cheery little melody.
Smiling to himself he turned in bed, not ready yet to start his day. He could effort getting up late. After all it wasn't as if he had to be anywhere else in the moment than right here, in his beautiful chambers. Not having to lift the weight of the responsibilities of a ruler on his shoulders anymore, he felt lighter than ever before in his life. Retiring did that to people he guessed.
Slowly he opened his left eye, squinting at the sunlight that flooded the room, and watched the little Hobbit who was the source of the noises that had broken through his slumber.
Bilbo sat on the balcony of their rooms in one of the armchairs facing west and wrote into the red book of his. From time to time he stopped his tracks to stare into the distance and once in a while his humming was interrupted by a soft chuckle.
Illuminated by the sunlight, Bilbo looked almost otherworldly. His locks shone golden around his head like a halo and his eyes sparkled like they were tiny suns themselves.
Bilbo hadn't aged a single day since he had first laid eyes on him, and he was still the most beautiful thing Thorin had ever seen.
"I know that you're awake, you great lazy dwarf," Bilbo didn't even turn around to look at him as he spoke.
"So, are you planning to spend the whole day laying about and watching me, in what you seem to think is a sneaky way, or will you get up and have breakfast with me?"
Thorin only pressed his face into his pillow and grumbled something unintelligible. He could hear Bilbos soft laugh and his steps (though he had to listen really closely for them - these feet of his really were as quiet as a cat's) when the Hobbit walked over to the bed.
There was a kiss on the back of Thorin's head, light as a feather, and a murmur beside his right ear, not louder than a gentle waft of wind.
"Good morning," Thorin didn't have to look at Bilbo to hear the smile that coloured his voice.
Thorin tried to pretend to be every bit that grumpy stoic dwarrow he used to be known as, but he really couldn't do anything against the laugh that rumbled through his body.
It was funny because Thorin hated mornings. Or, you know, used to.
(That, of course, was before the time when the first thing he saw every day was his lovely little Hobbit.)
"What do you mean," he mumbled into his pillow, because he knew the story of Bilbo and Gandalf's fateful meeting all these years ago by heart by now,
"Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not," Thorin turned his face to look at Bilbo, careful that his face was giving nothing away.
"Or that you feel good this morning," the Hobbit's whole form was shaking from the silent laughter that bubbled in his throat.
"Or that this is a morning to be good on?"
"All of them at once of course," Bilbo tugged at the blankets.
"And my morning will be even better when you've finally gotten up!"
He laughed and it sounded like the sweetest bells were ringing and Thorin knew that he would never, never get to hear enough of it, even if he lived another hundred years.
Thorin walked to the edge of the frozen waterfall and watched full of wonder as the eagles hunted the now leaderless and scattered orcs down.
It was over.
They had won the battle.
Azog was dead at last.
Azog was dead and he had survived.
And, much more important, Kíli and Fíli had, too. As had the rest of the company, at least as far as he knew.
Still, Thorin frowned, something undefinable bothering him at the corners of his mind. Like there was something he had forgotten. Something he had failed to notice in the heat of the battle. Like there was something wrong with the line of Durin surviving. Like there was something missing.
His sister sons were alive though, he was sure. They were safe. They all were.
Only they... They really shouldn't be. If it wasn't for that lucky stone hitting Azog as he took hold Fíli... or for that lucky slip of Bolg's feet as he tried to grab Kíli... or for that lucky, though still incomprehensible distraction when Azog-
''I am the Luckwearer.'
Thorins mind stopped working for a moment as the faint memory of the Hobbit speaking took over.
'Well, I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know.'
No.
'Look, I know you doubt me. I know you always have.'
No.
'I am he who walks unseen.'
No. It couldn't be...
A Hobbit did not belong to such a gruesome place as a battlefield! Least of all this Hobbit! Gandalf surely wouldn't have allowed it! He would've made sure that he was safe, surely?
Except... They wouldn't have had a choice now, had they? There hadn't been any time for anyone to flee.
But even if Bilbo had been in the battlefield, why would he leave Gandalf's side, as it was without any doubt the safest place for him? Why would he decide to protect him, of all people? Why risk so much for someone who had-
Who had almost killed the love of his life with his bare hands? Almost thrown him from the rampart onto his dead?
No. It was impossible!
(Why was it then that he couldn't stop the shivers that ran through his body? Why did he feel like the blood in his veins had turned to ice?)
"-rin..."
He turned around, blind panic rising in his chest.
"-orin?" The voice was weak and broken, but still there wasn't a doubt to whom it belonged.
"Bilbo?"
His only answer was a wet cough. Thorin began to run.
"Bilbo? Where are you?" Thorin all but shouted, trying to drown the sound of his thundering heartbeats with his own voice.
"Thorin..." he sounded so near.
"Bilbo! Bilbo, I can't see you. Please. Can you tell me where you are?"
"I... Wha-? Oh. Oh, yes of- of course, I-" and suddenly there was a little body there, lying not three feet away from him on the ground. And Thorin knew in this moment that never in his life he had expierenced true fear before.
"...Bilbo?"
When Thorin finally exited the bathroom a couple of minutes later their chambers smelled heavenly of honey, freshly baked scones and tea. The former king followed his nose up on the balcony. And sure enough the little table was loaded with food. It seemed that as soon as Bilbo had made sure that there was more than enough food for everyone in the mountain (and Dale) he had become physically unable to make any meals at all that weren't fit to fill the stomaches of at least five grown (and starving) Dwarrows.
Thorin wasn't one to complain, though. Sure, his middle had expanded a little bit, but he found after all these decades of concentrating on nothing than the sole survival of his people, he deserved to indulge a bit in the pleasures of life. Pleasures such as the plate full of Bilbo's scones that stood on a little shelf right beside the door to cool down. To bad he would have to wait until tea before he would be allowed to eat them.
Right on cue his stomach rumbled loudly.
Thorin looked around. Well, there was no Hobbit in sight... He took a step towards the shelf. Stopped. Looked around again. No Hobbit. Took another step. Almost there. Just had to reach for the plate now- yes!
He halted again, precautionally hiding the captured scone behind his back. Still not a single Hobbit to be seen anywhere. Thorin felt very victorious. (It was a shame that he couldn't be smug about his theft if he wanted to see the light of the next day. Bilbo could be really scary when food and the proper time to consume said food was concerned. It seemed so silly, though, that he had to wait for tea to have one. Either way they would end up in his stomach...)
All that was left to do now was to destroy the evidence of his evil deed. He'd just opened his mouth to bite into the scone when a flash of red on the table caught his attention.
Bilbo's Book.
Interesting.
Instantly he walked over to take a closer look at it. He hadn't been allowed to read anything that Bilbo had written into it. At all. Bilbo was very particular about this. He never left the thing anywhere. In fact it was almost a bit suspicious just how secretive his Hobbit was about that blasted book. Not that he didn't trust him, of course! Because Thorin did. He really did.
But seeing it lying right there in front of him... Taunting him with his secrets... Surely one tiny peek wouldn't hurt anybody, would it? He took a deep breath and opened the book.
An Unexpected Journey
a Hobbit's Tale, By
Bilbo Baggins
"What exactly do you think, you are you doing?"
Thorin did absolutely not flinch and squeal like a certain puny elven king when Bilbo materialised out of thin air right behind him and snatched the book out of his fingers.
"That is private, keep your sticky paws off! It's not ready yet," he huffed.
"Ready for what?" Thorin couldn't help the pout.
"Reading, of cou- THORIN OAKENSHIELD IS THAT ONE OF MY SCONES IN YOUR HAND?"
"...Umm. No?"
There was blood. So much blood. One creature as small as this couldn't possibly bleed so much, could they?
"Bilbo! Mahal! What-"
"Tho...Thorin..." Bilbo's eyes flickered over his face.
Thorin tried frantically to stop the bleeding from the Hobbit's head.
"I'm here, Bilbo. I'm here. It will be alright! Just hold on, alright! Look. The Eagles. The Eagles are here."
Bilbo smiled softly.
"I-I'm glad you're here. I wanted to- I'm sorry. The Arkenstone-"
"No! No, you don't have anything to be sorry for! You did what a true friend would do, and I was to blind to see it! Forgive me for my words and my deeds at the Gate. I would take them back. Please."
"Yes of course I..." the Hobbit trailed off and he blinked slowly.
"Bilbo! Don't you dare closing your eyes Bilbo!"
"...m cold Thorin"
Infinitely careful Thorin wrapped Bilbo in his gown and held his shivering body against his chest. Oh, how different this was to all the times he had fantasised about this. How cruel, that the first time he'd have his One in his arms would have to be like this.
"Bilbo. I am so sorry," Thorin hadn't even noticed that he'd started to cry unil his voice broke.
"So incredibly sorry that I have lead you in such peril..."
There was the soft touch of a hand on his face, and when he opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) Thorin looked directly into Bilbo's.
"No... I'm glad to have shared in your perils, Thorin... Each... each and every one. It's more... than any Baggins deserves..."
Bilbos eyes fluttered close and his hand slid slowly from his cheek, taking salty water with them.
"No. Nonononono! Don't you d-"
Suddenly he heard someone calling in the distance.
"Thorin?!"
The Dwarrow turned his head so fast he could feel his neck protesting in pain but he didn't care.
"GANDALF! HERE!" he looked back at Bilbo's face, his eyes closed, but his heart still beating and Thorin could feel hope rise in his chest.
"Bilbo, look! Gandalf! Gandalf is here! Everything is going to be fine now. Gandalf is h- Bilbo?"
Thorin sulked through their whole meal until Bilbo finally stood up with an exaggerated huff and dumped the scone Thorin had previously stolen on the dwarrows plate.
"Now stop sulking you overgrown baby."
The Dwarrow wasn't in the mood to feel at all insulted by being called a baby. Instead he grinned at his Hobbit as he stuffed the whole thing at once in his mouth. Which in return made Bilbo's fake annoyed expression vanish into thin air, making place for his laugh.
"You know I still wonder how my relatives would have reacted to the sight of you, had I haver brought you back in the Shire with me," Bilbo actually had to fight tears as he said this, he was chuckling so much.
"Wuuddmmmnunnn? Mmmnuuuwwwummnnn!"
"Did no one ever tell you not to speak when your mouth is full Thorin? I swear to Illuvatar one of these days I will teach you some table manners!"
Thorin struggled to chew and swallow as fast as possible.
"I said: 'What do you mean? Surely they would have been impressed by my majestetic presence!'"
The Hobbit made a point of mustering him up and down, taking in the (fairly badly) self-made morning gown Thorin was wearing every morning ever since that fateful day when Bilbo had decided the former king needed to learn how to sew, and the fluffy slippers on his feet. Then he looked back up into his eyes.
"I'm sure they would've been."
They managed to keep their faces straight for about ten seconds before they started to laugh again.
After their breakfast both of them decided to stay a bit on the balcony to smoke and take in the beautiful day for a bit.
For a while they sat in a comfortable silence, both bathing in the sun and blowing smoke rings into the air. After a few minutes Bilbo started humming again.
"What are you humming? I have never heard this melody. It's beautiful. Is it a song from the Shire?"
Bilbo smiled.
"Actually, it is one I wrote myself. I have finished it just this morning."
"Oh? Can I hear it then?" Thorin loved Bilbo's songs as well as Bilbo's singing. He had a wonderful voice. Bilbo nodded.
"If you want to. Maybe...," he trailed of.
"Yes?"
Bilbo flushed a bit. "Maybe you want to play your harp while I sing? I so love your playing."
Thorin laughed.
"Of course, ghivashel. I'd love to. You have to sing it to me without it, until I know the melody by heart, though."
And so they sat on their balcony, the sunlight illuminating their forms as below them Erebor slowly began to brim with life, and Bilbo began to sing.
"Home is behind. The world ahead..."
Thorin could not recall how they ended up in the big tent of the elven king. Neither did he care much. The only thing of import in the world was bloodied and broken in the bed in front of him.
"Can you help him?" Thorin didn't recongize his own voice anymore.
"Please. I beg you."
Thranduil didn't look half as smug as Thorin would've imagined. In fact he didn't look smug at all.
"Thorin..." Gandalf's voice sounded broken.
"He isn't breathing anymore, Thorin."
"No! He is alive! He was alive! I know he was!"
Frantically his hands cradled over the still body, desperately trying to find the faint heartbeat that he'd felt just a couple of minutes before.
"He is gone."
"No! There has got to be anything you can do! Use your magic! I beg you!"
"I wish I could, Thorin. But he is out of our reach."
"I am sorry," Thranduil spoke up for the first time since they had entered the tent, his voice lacking every trace of the usual arrogance and mockery. "There is nothing I can do."
"No. No. That is impossible. No."
Thorin felt to his knees, his hands still pressing on Bilbos chest, willing his small heart to start working again.
He felt more than saw Gandalf approaching.
"Thorin..."
"No. Leave us."
Thorin didn't turn to see if they did as he asked when he gave in into the grief of losing his heart. What did it matter anymore if they saw him like this? What did his pride matter? It had brought him nothing but pain in the end. And so he kneeled at his beloved's deathbed and cried. He begged Bilbo to open his eyes again and again. But the Hobbit refused to do as told, like he always did.
Finally he prayed, through tears and despair. "Mahal. Eru. Anyone who is willing to listen. I beg you! Anything! Everything! I will give up everything if I can just be with him again! Please."
No one answered.
There was a knock on the door, interrupting Thorin as he tried to copy Bilbos melody to his best ability on his instrument.
"Uncle?" came Fíli's voice from behind him.
He turned around to smile at his sister-son. Fili had grown older and more serious over the years. Pain, worry and responsibility had left their traces on the once so boyish face. The price of the crown.
"Did you just play on your harp?"
Thorin almost laughed at the distressed expression his nephew was wearing.
"As a matter of fact, I did. No reason to sound so shocked."
"I'm- just surprised. I mean... You haven't touched your harp since..." Fíli trailed off, looking uncomfortable.
Thorin just shrugged. "I guess you're right. I haven't played in a while. But now I have something worth to start playing again!"
Fíli perked up at this and actually smiled carefully at his uncle.
"I'm really glad you found something to make you want to play again, uncle. May I ask what it is?"
"Of course," Thorin smiled widely and turned back to his instrument. "Bilbo wrote it."
The smile on Fíli's face morphed into a grimace full of pain and grief, but Thorin was plucking the strings again, as if he had forgotten all about his guest.
The melody followed the young king as he left the chambers of his uncle, tears threatening to flow over.
One day he would remember. He would look at the oak standing proudly at the foot of the mountain and he would remember everything that happened... the good... the bad...
He would remember how someone had told him the exact same thing many years ago.
He would remember looking at him as he told him that.
He would remember being in love.
Would remember hoping in that moment that the oak would be planted here in his kingdom. Because this would be his home. But not like this. Never like this.
He would remember praying and begging... and then he would remember the price.
I will give up everything if I can just be with him again.
He had paid the price in full.
He'd given everything he had. His pride. His youth. His Arkenstone. His crown. His familiy.
His memory.
His sanity.
And now there was only one thing left.
One last thing left for him to give away.
I will give up everything if I can just be with him again.
Everything.
Anything.