Thorin Oakenshield was nothing if not solid, immovable as the mountain he ruled under. Especially now. He'd been coming once a week ever since it had happened. His friends had worried for a while but now they'd settled into comfortable tolerance, keeping their disquieted emotions to themselves. It was always the same; he would quietly excuse himself from his meetings early and walk to the gates with whatever small treasure he could find that week. In the spring and summer months it was always flowers but when the world grew cold, when the world curled in on itself to protect the life that was left from freezing to its end , he would bring small trinkets instead, sometimes beads, sometimes rings. There was never a week that the little plot under the swaying oak tree didn't feel the warmth of his presence. He wouldn't allow it.
Today it was bright white daisies, his favorite. Handing the money over, he smiled at the vendor as brightly as he could manage. They would sit and make chains on days when the king was less busy and could leave Erebor for an hour or two. Those stolen hours were eternity and mere moments all wrapped up in one. He gripped the small bouquet tighter and grimaced slightly as he saw his nephews approaching him. He truly loved the pair, that much was true, but today all he wanted was to be left in peace and he knew they'd surely want to go with him. Kíli smiled brightly and waved. It was good to see them smiling again. For so long the two brothers were mangled inside about it, especially the younger. But now they had come to peace. It did his again breaking heart good.
"Uncle!"
"Hello, Kíli! Fili." he replied, voice coming down as the two got close enough to pull him into a hug in turn and hear his voice above the din.
"Are you going then?"
"I am."
"Let us come with you, Uncle. It might do some good to have someone with you."
"No." Thorin huffed in reply a bit too gruffly.
"Uncle, please."
"I said no!"
He stomped off, headless of their calls after him. Tears were prickling the corners of his eyes by the time he had left the marketplace. Tears he couldn't cry. Not yet. He had to stay strong until he saw the he was out of his home, until the tree's shade enveloped him. Only when he was safe in that small plot of land could he break. Biting the inside of his cheek, he let his mind wander to happier times. There was his smile and the color of his eyes, though slightly faded in his mind over time they were still etched into him, as if the laughter of his hobbit was a part of him. Maybe it was.
It was a long time before he snapped out of his reverie and realized where he was. Nearly to the gates now, almost free, he let a small smile creep across his face. A dwarfling waved at him over its mother's shoulder, a gesture he returned with all the joy he could muster. He had dark curls in sharp contrast to skin that was still smooth and relatively pale due to lack of sun. It was about time for a generation that need not know the burn of the road on their skin until maturity. He felt a small swell of pride and contentment that swallowed up his negativity for a few short seconds at that. His people had a home again, a home that was thriving. Thanks to him and his company, his kin were going to live the lives they deserved once more. Dark curls suddenly poked at his burst of happiness. Their nephew, son really considering the arrangements of his youth, would stop by from time to time before he too left. So much of him was torn apart after the quest for the ring he simply could not stay in Middle Earth anymore. They were supposed to go as a family. A family. Though he had his sister and her sons it simply wasn't the same as having a family of his own. He remembered plaiting the two's curls, nights filled with laughter and love. Not even Mahal himself could pry him away from his family then.
The guards gave him that same mournful smile they always did as he passed by. He hated that smile. It was pity mingled with understanding and he loathed everything about it. How could they understand? How could they even begin to understand-...? He cut himself short before he got truly enraged, greeting them with but a nod as compared to his usual forced pleasantries. He wanted to hide his feelings behind the mask of regality he always did but he just didn't have the heart to. Not today. It was different today. Everything in him physically ached as the last set of doors opened, the brightness of the dwindling spring day consuming him. The hobbit had always loved spring. He would say that the world was so alive and beautiful again that it made him feel the same. Unwelcome tears prickled the corners of his eyes. He hadn't felt alive in so long. Not since it had happened.
The breeze felt wonderful on his face, kissing cheeks left long untended for with a chill that left goosebumps rising on his skin. It was a pleasant day out. Inhaling deeply, the king shut his eyes and tilted his head up towards the sun. For a moment everything was alright. He could believe that things were the way they had been and that he was simply going to meet his other half for one of their frequent excursions. He could believe that all was perfect for a short while. And it was lovely. It was lovely to not feel so hollow and torn. It was lovely to feel the weight freed from his shoulders. He smiled widely and flung out his arms, a breathy laugh tearing from his lips. To feel alive was a wonderful thing, such a wonderful thing. He began walking again with a significantly lighter heart.
By the time he reached the tree he was at a near run, almost manic in the joy that the warm air had brought with it. He was manic. It was so wonderful to feel something aside from the pain he'd been trapped in. Especially on today of all days. He froze when he saw it. There, sprouting out of the grass as if it were a growing thing, alive and well in spite of what it marked, was his gravestone. The joy fled like birds in the wake of a storm. Etched in perfect Westeron, which he traced lovingly as he dropped to his knees, was a phrase that snapped his heart even as the first sob finally tore from his lips.
Here lies Bilbo Baggins
Son of Bungo
Consort to the King of Erebor
For a long time all he could do was cry. His body was starting to ache from the force of the sobs. The sky was growing dark over him now. He knew no one would worry. Today he had cause to stay out late. Today...today was the five year anniversary of Bilbo's death. It had been the longest half a decade of Thorin's life without his hobbit by his side. The sobs finally subsided a few minutes of achingly long silence-why was his world so silent now?-later. He placed the flowers lovingly on top of the headstone with a hand that shook slightly. Everything hurt inside him. Thorin had wanted to be buried side by side with him, but stubborn till the end, he had insisted on a proper hobbit burial since he had never managed to make it to the Shire one last time. As much as he wanted to argue and explain and proclaim he couldn't. He just couldn't. Who was the king to deny his love this last request?
He remembered the day he died as if it were something he lived every waking, and sometimes sleeping, moment.
He had gone to a meeting on Bilbo's insistence, worried but still managing to think clearly. They had kissed over Kíli's head and Frodo had laughed and told them to find a room, echoing his nephews' sentiments. The meeting had been dragging on forever when suddenly Bofur burst into the room frantic, tears pouring down his face, eyes wide. And he just knew. Saying that he had never run so fast in his life was an understatement. Thorin Oakenshield had flown back to his chambers, had burst through the door panting, had lunged for the raggedly breathing Bilbo's bedside. His chest was tight. Panic rose in his throat with bile. His worst nightmare was coming true finally and Bilbo was smiling at him! Why was he smiling at him!? He seemed to pick up on that as he let out a breathy laugh that turned into a cough. He had grabbed the smaller of the two's fingers as tight as he could. It couldn't be happening. Mahal! Take him instead! The hobbit murmured an "I love you" then. And that's when everything broke.
As the other's said their last goodbyes he felt his soul rip more with each hug and tear. Fili was cradling a sobbing Kíli to his chest as Frodo tried not to let his fiercely bit-back tears show. The young thing had lost so much, he didn't need to lose a father as well after just returning from the most spirit-devouring time in his life. Thorin had wished more than anything he could fix it. But he couldn't. He couldn't do a damned thing this time. At last it was his turn. He had reached his hand up shakily to cup his face, to comfort him and it rung so much of the time so long ago when he had done the same for a sobbing Bilbo. He hadn't even known he was crying until Bilbo's hand started to slip from the moisture. He had pulled him down and kissed him weakly, tensing to hold back coughs. He had said his last I love you. And Thorin had said it many times, over and over, as if saying it would stay death. He smiled the most radiant smile he'd ever seen as his eyes closed. He was gone.
Thorin hadn't cried since then. He didn't cry when sobs and howls of pain echoed through the royal halls as well as those further within his mountain. He didn't cry when he made the last arrangements for his love to rest. He didn't cry at the funeral. He didn't cry when mourners clung to him sobbing, begging him to do something to ease the pain. No, Thorin broke two months after the funeral. Thorin broke in the dark of the night betwixt sheets that still smelled of his beloved hobbit's dirty golden curls. He cried so hard and so long that for a week the dwarf king could barely speak.
And that was when he started going to the headstone. It was a security blanket, it was shelter from the ache in his heart. A piece of him had died, a large piece of him. One needs help when half of themselves is suddenly torn from their grasping fingers.
His eyes stung, wanting to cry but having no tears to shed. Rubbing them with a soft curse in Khuzdul, he sighed heavily. Their talks were brief most days, well his talks. He would sit and tell Bilbo about his day, about how his nephews were doing, about the rest of the company then he'd kiss his fingers and place them to the stone reverently, praying that it would find his hobbit's lips so that he'd never feel as alone as he did. But today was different.
"Bilbo Baggins." he murmured, heart swelling and breaking at the same time as he uttered it "My burglar. It has been five years now. Erebor is flourishing, just like you always said it would. Dale is restored to its former glory. I wish..." his voice breaks "I wish you could have lived to see the cities now that they're truly thriving. You would have loved it."
It was silent for a long time then. He couldn't bring himself to say the goodbyes he knew he needed to. It was tearing him up even more to come and visit like he did. He had to stop this. But he didn't want to. He was terrified that Bilbo would feel abandoned and even in death he couldn't allow that to happen. He still loved him with everything in him. But he needed to let himself be free from the shadow of grief. He needed to start living again. It was time to let himself feel alive again.
"I-I cannot come to see you as much anymore, Bilbo. It hurts my heart too much and you did always worry so much about me being hurt." he said abruptly, voice strangled by the end of the sentence with a laugh and choked down emotions "Don't take it as me not caring about you. I do care. I love you. So very, very much. And I know that if you could you'd tell me you love me too."
He chewed his lower lip, lighting the lantern he'd left for late night visits, and sat again. It was silent again. He could hear the crickets and peeping frogs wishing him a less painful way to leave around his own shaky breathing and the occasional rustling of the tree. His eyes followed the sound up. The stars were shining so brightly tonight. Maybe if he wished hard enough it would bring Bilbo back. He would give anything to have his hobbit safe in his arms again. He would do anything, go anywhere for the chance to hear him laugh, to feel his lips on his-no. He was leaving. He had to let go.
He remembers the first time they had been an affair unlike one he had ever expected.
Beorn had left them all to sleep on the last night of their rest when it had transpired. He couldn't sleep that night, as per usual, and so elected to take first watch. Thoughts about the hobbit and his emotions towards the hobbit and the others' emotions towards the hobbit swam lazily about his head as he gazed up at the stars. They had been stunning that night as well. And suddenly Bilbo was at his side, speaking softly about not being able to sleep and it being a beautiful night and not wanting Thorin to have to sit alone. He practically glowed in the moonlight. The conversation had transpired totally automatically on his part, him making a resolute decision not to look at the shorter creature next to him lest he act on his very acute awareness of how soft his lips appeared to be. Then Bilbo had told him how wonderful of a dwarf he was and how he would be a great king and how happy he was to be part of his company.
He was undone. Thorin stared at him for a moment, completely dumbfounded, before crashing their lips together in a kiss that branded the hobbit as his. At first he was so struck he didn't reciprocate. He had nearly begun to pull away from the sudden, soon to be all-encompassing kiss when his lips began to move against his. It was desperate, fumbling and grabbing. But it was beautiful all the same. He hadn't wanted it to end. When they had finally pulled away from one another panting, eyes glossy and wide, hair mussed, he had simply smiled and asked him to go gentler next time.
"Bilbo, I cannot do this anymore. It eats me up to see your stone instead of you. My soul is broken, Bilbo. I am a king! I cannot be broken! I have to be stronger than the mountain itself. I have to protect my people. I want to see you but I can never heal if I keep coming here as often as I do. It hurts too much!" he practically shouted, his voice snapping at the end of the thought. "I cannot be torn like this forever. I cannot lean on you anymore, Bilbo, you are dead! You are dead and I am alive and I can't do anything to fix this! Not this time. My grief is a weight I have to learn to let others help me carry. I must stop sitting here, waiting for you to appear to me living. You are never coming back, Bilbo! You are never coming back to me and I have to learn to accept that. Seeing you once a week isn't letting me accept this fact. Please understand."
Silence.
"I am not abandoning you. Don't think that. I will return this time once a year. And I will talk to you and bring you flowers and I'll sit with you all night so you don't feel alone. Don't feel alone. Please don't. Alone is the sharpest pain when you've loved like we did. And we loved, Bilbo. We loved. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I can't be with you wherever you are, my burglar. I truly am. And I hope you'll forgive me for not being able to join you right away but I have to stay here for now. I have those that need me. I am a king after all, little one."
There was a rustling behind him that pulled him out of his speech. Who dared disturb the king in his-...?! It was a very apologetic looking Kíli and Fili. He wanted to yell, he wanted to scream at them to leave him in peace. There was a finality in this goodbye and he wanted to do it correctly. Bilbo deserved his best efforts. But in the end he hung his head and that was enough to beckon them over. They rushed into his arms. For a long time the three of them simply held onto their grief as tight as they held onto one another. They allowed themselves to mourn like they hadn't in years. And it felt good. Although he still couldn't cry much, he could hold the two sobbing brothers close. That was enough for him. Being a comfort was enough for him. It made him feel important again, nearly whole again. For he knew in his heart he knew he would never be truly whole now that Bilbo was gone. He could be a rock for those drowning though. He liked the sound of that. Fili's hiccupping brought him out of his musings. A calmed silence settled over the three.
"Uncle Thorin, I miss him."
"As do I, Fili."
The hush was punctuated by the occasional sniffle and shaky breath as the three of them shifted apart, save Kíli who still clung to Thorin like he was all that was holding him up.
"Are you staying with him all night?" asked the eldest prince.
"Aye, I won't be back for a year so I want to stay with him. I don't want him to feel alone."
"We'll stay too." Kíli murmured, voice muffled by Thorin's chest.
So the three of them settled down, telling stories amongst themselves about times when hearts had been lighter and the loss had not been so close. They laughed at the mention of Bilbo's proclamation at the beginning of the trip that he needed to turn around for his handkerchief, at the look on his face when the trolls were turned to stone, at the way he always tried to keep that ridiculous wine-colored corduroy jacket of his clean. Thorin stayed up long after his nephews had gone to sleep thinking about the hobbit he had fallen for, had loved for nearly eight decades now. It was a funny thing, to love someone like that. Because even when you are apart nothing seems to get in the way. Maybe that was what he was missing. He didn't need to mourn Bilbo for Bilbo to feel loved. He just needed to love Bilbo. He would know no matter what came that Thorin still loved his hobbit. It was okay to leave him because he would never be alone, not truly. Not with the love that still burned in the king's heart to protect him and keep him warm. He fell asleep that night with a smile on his lips and one thought in his mind. There is nothing wrong with leaving, you're leaving a gravesite, not him.
Morning came and Fili and Kíli left together a bit before Thorin to give him some privacy. Something seemed lighter about his countenance, something that had been dark for too long now. Maybe he was finally letting go. They walked off arm in arm, smiling. He traced the letters tenderly, deftly as his mind wandered to that last day.
Bilbo had been smiling at him when he woke that morning. And when he had kissed the smaller creature's forehead he had laughed softly. He had asked what was so funny, to which the hobbit simply replied,
"You are."
And when he had asked why he was the hobbit laughed again, this one much weaker and turning into a wracking cough.
"You're funny because you think that my dying is going to be staid if you love me enough."
He had tensed, ready to shout and scream to make him understand that it was the only theory he had to keep him safe here with him and he would be damned if he let it go. But Bilbo had chuckled again and wound his weak, shaking fingers deeper into Thorin's chest hair. All arguments died when he caught his eyes. They spoke what words couldn't. And now Thorin finally understood what Bilbo had left unspoken. Loving him wasn't going to help him stay alive. Loving him was going to help Thorin stay alive. Because living and being alive are two very different things. Bilbo had never been asking him to love him alive with his eyes like he had thought. Bilbo had been asking him to love him even in death and to prosper on his own, which was what he had to do now.
"Bilbo, I'm going now. I'll be seeing you next year, hobbit. Maybe when it's been a decade I'll bring the whole company and we'll plant you some daisies." he paused "I love you, Bilbo Baggins. And I will be seeing you some day. I promise. Don't get to comfortable in your lack of my presence."
"Uncle Thorin! Are you coming?" Kíli yelled, his voice echoing over the plain.
"Aye!" he shouted back. "Goodbye, Bilbo Baggins."
And with one last touch to the gravestone he was gone, walking briskly to catch up with his giggling nephews. If Thorin could sense his presence he would know that that hobbit was smiling down on him for the first time in five years. All the hobbit had wanted for him was freedom from his death. And now he finally had it. The healing would be slow, he knew that. But the healing would come. That was all he could ever ask for.
He was true to his word about planting the daisies. Ten years after Bilbo's death the whole of Erebor emptied and spread daisies along the plains. It was a beautiful sight to see in the spring and beings from all races would come to see the fields of Erebor and their lost consort in the spring. The gravesite was never lonely, always crowded with someone who had come to see the modest resting place of one so beloved and revered. Another ten later and Thorin stepped down, crowning Fili king and his wife, Rerali, queen. Another ten years and Kíli had fallen for an elf and had a child with her. Another ten years and Thorin fell ill. Another two months, and he was with Bilbo, never left to feel alone again.
Eons passed as days for the two, who never were left without the company, the touch, the simple love of the other until the end of eternity.