Royalty In My Veins

by LemonTeaandHoney

With Erebor in his power and the dwarven gold Thorin, son of Thrain, has succumbed to the sickness that plagued his grandfather nearly one hundred years prior. With the taste for gold now on his tongue the mighty king is determined to claim the Arkenstone and every other form of treasure under the mountain. This includes the most cherished prize of all: Bilbo Baggins, his burglar.

Royalty In My Veins
A Hobbit fan fiction by CryChick12345

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Summary: With Erebor in his power and the dwarven gold Thorin, son of Thrain, has succumbed to the sickness that plagued his grandfather nearly one hundred years prior. With the taste for gold now on his tongue the mighty king is determined to claim the Arkenstone and every other form of treasure under the mountain. This includes the most cherished prize of all: Bilbo Baggins, his burglar.

Pairing: Thorin/Bilbo

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mature content, explicit sexual situations, and mild violence! Spoilers for the Hobbit book and movie alike!

Author's Note:
Hello there, good people! I just wanted to warn you all that this has drastic spoilers from the Hobbit. About three years ago I read The Hobbit (or as it is sometimes called There and Back Again) by J. R. R. Tolkien and I adored it. So some of the details from the end of the book are still kind of faded in my memory. Due to that factor I will solely be basing this on the new hobbit movie. From what I can remember The Battle of The Five Armies is pretty dang close to the original book ending. Anyways, I just wanted to clarify that if any of the details are wrong. Please judge this very lightly due to the fact that this is the first Hobbit fan fiction that I have ever written. I would be very pleased if you all left me some reviews and told me what you thought of this. I hope to hear from you all soon and I hope you all have a wonder, fabulous day! Bye! :D

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"Let me run from these hills and be ridden of this cursed orb."

Bilbo Baggins lacked his normal, unruly confidence. Usually he dappled in the thought that everything had a silver lining- that eventual things would play out for the best if fate allowed it. It was his hobbit ways. His kind were used to the unorthodox sense of reality where it was all cozy nights by their fireplaces, surrounded by trinkets and dabbles of comfort. But this was not The Shire. He was no longer tucked away in his hobbit hole back in Bag End, surrounded by his books and pantry stocked with luscious delicacies, his warm bed and knickknacks lining the walls. It wasn't in his principles to go on adventures and it certainly wasn't in his ethics to do anything dangerous. But when staring down the maw of death he certainly needed all the bravery that his Took blood could supply.

And nothing could be more dangerous or death baring then going against the word of his Dwarven king. Thorin Oakenshield was a powerful man and not even the great wizard or his own company would come between him and his gem of the mountain. The Arkenstone was his crowned jewel and anyone who bared it in secrecy would be given a death summon. So, with the bright blue shining treasure nestled within the inner pocket of his coat Bilbo Baggins would run. He would run all the way back to Dale and place the jewel directly in the hands of the most trusted elf or perhaps Bard himself. He needed to rid the mountain of its most accursed object. He needed to rid Thorin of his most valuable treasure and them maybe, just maybe, they could consent to a deal for its safe return. Perhaps with the Arkenstone once again resting in the great halls, the elves with their own jewels in hand, and the people of River Town swimming in enough gold to build their city three times over everything would fall back to peace and the little hobbit could return back to his home in the Shire. Back to his books, back to his warm bed, back to his fire place, back to normality.

"These damn dwarves will be the death of me." Bilbo cursed once again, hand slipping within his inner pocket to graze the smooth coating that surrounded the Arkenstone. As much as he feared this war and the overbearing foreboding that emanated from Thorin's words, Bilbo could not deny the fact that he wanted nothing more than to see his king pleased. The dwarves had become his family in the last few months of travels. All of them had- Kilo, Fili, Balin, Gloin, Oin, Bofur, Bombur- but none of them were as cherished in Bilbo's heart as Thorin was, not even the two nephews. There was something about Thorin- maybe it was his sense of power or leadership, or maybe it was just the fact that the man had finally accepted Bilbo as one of his company. Either way, Thorin was Bilbo's dearest friend on his long journey and he would be crushed if something were to happen to the young king.

Swiftly darting around a stony corner, Bilbo made sure that his footsteps were quiet and unheard. The rest of his company lay sleeping in the halls, not giving a care or fearing the oppression of tomorrow as they drifted off into sweeter lands. The great embrace of sleep had clamped on to each of them, pulling them into oblivion for the next few hours as they all put their trust in the small hobbit who was supposed to be keeping a watch full eye on the entrance. Little did they know that their most trusted burglar was about to pull the most devious stunt in all of their Dwarven lore. Not even the king under the mountain would be any wiser about his trade off.

Stepping through another doorway, heading off to the small corner in the grand hall where he had hidden a coil of woven rope for later use, Bilbo pattered across the floor clumsily, terror rocking every inch of his tiny physique. There was that persistence fear that one of the dwarves would shake off the bounds of sleep and come in just in time to find the hobbit scaling down the wall with the Arkenstone clutched in his nimble fingers. Perhaps some would just shake it off and wipe the slate clean, knowing nothing when morning peaked. Others, like Kili and Fili, would either cut the rope or reel him back in, immediately taking him into their custody and dropping him off at Thorin's feet. It would be out of loyalty for their uncle or maybe it was all about family pride. Either way he would be packaged and shoved in a dungeon somewhere to rot for the rest of eternity. Until his skin melted away and bones were the only clue that he had ever existed at all.

Taking a deep breath, starting to weave between two pillars, Bilbo gave a strangled shriek as a sword came down jaggedly in his cross path. The blade struck the stone column with a defining clank and Thorin stepped out from behind, mouth pursed in curiosity at the hobbit.

"T-Thorin! What are you…..How are you doing this fine night?" Bilbo inquired as he bite down deeply on the inside of his cheek. A facial expression of complete and unworldly horror mingled within his calm façade as the little hobbit stood before the dwarf, nearly crumbling under the watchful and stony gaze of Thorin. His entire form gave a lurch of discomfort as the large man took a foreboding step in his direction.

"What are you doing, Master Baggins? You are supposed to be watching the entrance hall." Thorin's words were like the mutilated leaves of fall: crisp with a brittle exterior that suggested brokenness. Thin, unfeeling, and harsh. His usual stormy eyes were rimmed red in the same hue as the demonizing fire that had erupted from the underbelly of that dastardly dragon Smaug. His face was hollow and sullen, giving Bilbo a vivid flash of the grotesque monstrosity that he had met in the tunnels beneath the Goblin kingdom. Thorin was starting to resemble Gollum in sorts, falling deep into that same false sense of reality. He was succumbing to his own form of madness.

"I was just….walking. Trying to take my mind off what's looming in the distance." Bilbo Baggins was an unusually good liar at times. And during other attempts to put up a façade his plan was easily foiled. It was a hit and miss situation when the chance or need arose. This time, however, Thorin took the Halfling's answer with a sigh of resignation. Perhaps he would have caught on to the false sincerity in the words if not for his unnerving trust in the other.

"We are in very dire times, Bilbo. I understand your fear." Thorin assured with sympathy bleeding into his eyes. This was one of those moments that made Bilbo's heart melt. It made him see the old Thorin- the one that had arrived on his doorstep in the dark that night with the rest of his company as they all enjoyed a meal, talked of their adventure, and sung the song of the lonely mountain. The deep luscious words of that melody continued to roll through Bilbo's head like the voice of a spirit, soothing him to sleep almost every night as he recalled the warmth and passion that flew from the other's mouth on that night. The pines were roaring on the height. The winds were moaning in the night. The fire was red, it flaming spread; the trees like torches blazed with light.

"But we must defend our kingdom. I must protect my wealth." The on slaughter of words drew Bilbo away from that warm sense of security that he longed to hold once more. Looking up at his king with wide eyes- eyes flickering with terror and concern- the young hobbit watch as Thorin began to walk in the other direction. His heavy footsteps echoed about the hall like the ominous call to war.

"Thorin, listen to me, we cannot fight the elves. We have bigger problems than this constant feud between them and the dwarves. There is something else out there. A bigger evil that…" Bilbo paused as the king spun around on his heels, turning to face the shorter with a striking sense of vengeance. Eyes coiled with red embers of anger.

"Walk with me, Hobbit." Thorin announced as he pulled Bilbo forward with ease. His large, battered hands coupled the smaller's arm and forced him to walk, bare skin burning hotly against the other's. All the molten gold underneath the mountain could not compare to the fire flickering between their fingertips as they trekked through the grand halls.

"Thorin?" Bilbo questioned under his breath.

"Hm?" The dwarf pondered as he allowed his hand to slip away from the smaller's arm, now coasting behind him in a leading manner. Bilbo stiffened at the fingers that danced along his back, soothing the searing flesh and willing away some of his worry. His mind was eased by the fact that the king no longer keep up his defensive tone.

"Where are we going?"

"A walk. Just like I said." Thorin assured with a hint of distaste bleeding into the words. The harsh reminder of when their journey began caused Bilbo to crinkle his nose, thinking back to the day when Thorin would only address him like so. There was never any kind words or faithful compliments. Instead their days were filled with venom and a wedge so deep it almost severed the contract that had bound the two from the moment they descended from Bag End. If that had been the case The Lonely Mountains would have stayed lonely and the dwarves would have never reached their pinnacle of desire. Perhaps that would have been better than their current circumstances.

The loneliness of the halls left Bilbo feeling empty inside as he stared at the unfeeling exterior that surrounded him- that coupled him in its cold vengeance. The smell of burned fabric and ash hung through the halls like a garland for everyone to see. Thick coats of dust mingled on the floor about their feet, baring down the footprints and leaving them to forever mark what once was. Deep cobwebs hung about the mechanics and walls of the mighty dwarf home making it seem more rustic then needed. Bilbo felt it lacked in comparison to his hobbit hole in Bag End even if it double his house in size. There were no book lining the halls, set neatly in their place and surrounded by trivial trinkets. There were no plants for decoration or vivid colors and patterns. No flower printed dishes or tea pots for when company dropped by. No cozy arm chairs to settle into when night sprung and the world descended into quiet. The halls lacked windows and maps and portraits and knickknacks and bric-a-brac that ever house in The Shire was adorned with. Every inch of the mountain castle was completely necessary and was short of what it needed to become an actual home. It was too sterile, too functional. He wished only to have the chance to make it feel cozy like his hobbit hole.

"You look wistful, Baggins. What are you yearning for?" Thorin asked as he keened on the hobbit's wandering eye.

"Home." The other stated simply, voice brittle and cold. He couldn't seem to get into his usual spring, boasting about the delicious food he was going to eat and how much he would enjoy redecorating once he was welcomed back. Rather Bilbo lacked his normal luster. It was all being sapped away from him as the Arkenstone weighed a thousand tons in his pocket, threatening to bring its weakened carrier to his knees.

"What is really bothering you?" The king was not so easily fooled. He could sense the hobbit's overwhelming drear. An enormous weight was being held over his friend's head and Thorin wanted nothing more than to lift what he could not bear.

"Everything." The hobbit mustered as they once again feel into the looming oppression of silence. Neither of them said a word as they were carried deeper into the bowels of the kingdom, going down and down and down. Bilbo felt that the air was being sapped from his lungs the longer they walked. He entertained himself within the thoughts of melancholy as they stepped further away from the others. Away from the one place where he could get a breach of fresh air within these smothering mountain walls. The one place where he could see the stars, twinkling in their rhythmic dance as they descended from the heavens to say hello.

His depression did not win out, however, as Thorin and him stepped through a gapping doorway and out onto the overhanging balcony that lay overhead the Dwarven treasure. Billons of gold chips flew out before Bilbo in a sea of medal, winking with their attractive gleam out from under the heavy set torches that lined the walls. Thorin looked once again overwhelmed by its power and beauty, stumbling in a replica of how he reacted when they first arrived in the golden hall. The hobbit, on the other hand, simply snorted with dignity as he faced the other direction, seeing nothing impressive or eye catching about the worthless gems. Of course he could have used his share of the gold on some new furniture for his home in The Shire or invested it in restocking his pantry (considering that it was fully eaten out after the dwarves last visit), but then what would he do? There was nothing more in the world that he desire. And he definitely did not seek pleasure in merely staring at the horde like his Dwarven counterpart.

Without a second of hesitation Thorin was down the staircase, running just as fast as Bilbo had to catch up with the company on the first day of their adventure. His eyes shone brighter than the Arkenstone. It was obvious within that moment that the sickness was deeper than any of them had first thought. It was as though the gold itself had molded into Thorin's body, conforming to his bones, incase his veins, poisoning his blood with its pungent sting.

Bilbo watched subtly as Thorin dashed down the stairs and fell knees down into the gold. Wincing back at the harsh thud that came when the dwarf fell Bilbo started down the stone steps after him, making sure his movements were even and calm despite the thunderstorm of emotions that rumbled through him. Every part of his lithe little body was in a fit of anxiety as he planted himself beside his king, watching the man dig his fingers deep into the piles of gold. The coins slipped between his rough hands with an unbelievable tenderness, cluttering back into their groups with a tense recoil.

"You know, Mr. Baggins, I have searched this hall from wall to wall, digging through the gold and gems with everything that I am. Yet the Arkenstone is not here. I have wander for minutes, hours, and yet there is nothing. I came here to ask you for a favor, my friend."

"What?" Bilbo muttered as he interlaced his arms around his stomach attentively, trying to crawl in on himself.

"I want you to talk to the others. Find out which one of them has it. They trust you and they know how passive you are. All I need is for you to find out who took it and then I can deal with the rest. This is the one thing I need, Bilbo. I have to have the Arkenstone." Standing up to full height, towering over the hobbit by a head, Thorin dropped what few piece of treasure he had between his fingers back to the floor. Even so his eyes didn't leave his coins.

"Who would have stolen it? Kili? Fili? Balin?" Bilbo trekked on, shuffling a pile of gold with his hair covered foot. With a deep sigh he finally added, almost like an admission of guilt, "Me?"

Thorin perked up at that, tearing his eyes away from the gold labored as he stared at the hobbit. A sigh came about his lips as well- one that was full of exhaustion and overwhelming dismissal, "No, I don't think any of them would have taken it and I know you did not. I trust that my closest companions would not dare steal what I desire the most. The others, however, could have turned their back on me. An uprising of sorts. Planning on claiming the Arkenstone for their own. I swear that when I find the trifling fool who dare steal from me he and all his accomplices will be put to death and I will see to it myself that they are destroyed!"

Bilbo's eyes lowered drastically as his heart rate beat like the chime of bells that had once come from Dale. He wished that Thorin hadn't put so much trust in him. It made everything so much more difficult. Either way the hobbit replied accordingly, "I don't think anyone in the company would dare steal from you." With a deep nervous laugh Bilbo looked back at him, "We are your family. We care far too much about you to drive you in to this kind of state."

"The ones who care about you will be the ones to stab you in the back." Thorin whispered harshly through clenched teeth. The Arkenstone seemed to heat up as all of Bilbo's guilt poured into its core. Still the hobbit spoke certainly.

"Believe it or not I actually care about you. I don't want what happened to your gr-"

"I am not my grandfather." Thorin erupted suddenly, spinning to face the hobbit on the cold bitter wind of night. His face was shadowed with a sullen anger and hatred bubbled in his veins like molten gold.

"So I have heard. But you are the king! You have royalty in your blood, Thorin. I understand that you are different from your kin, from your grandfather, but I can't help the deep feeling I have that something is going to go wrong. War is not what you want." Bilbo sputtered as he backed towards the door of the hall. He wasn't afraid of Thorin, not his king, but he was afraid of the man he had become. A sickness could only burrow so deep before reaching the surface and it was clear now that the deliria had hit its mark.

"War is upon us, Bilbo Baggins! I will not see my kingdom fall once more. I will protect Erebor with my life!"

"But who will protect us! Me, Kili, Fili, Bombur, the others. More is at stake here than your delusional fancy with gold and a kingdom! Are you willing to see all of us- your family, your bloodline, your friends- go down in smoke like River Town!? I don't want that and I know somewhere in the sicken head of yours, you don't want that either!" The young hobbit bit back in anger. A sudden fire was building beneath his skin- hotter than anything Smaug could have produced. His blood was rising. His mind was swimming with the aching thought of what was to become of them- all of them. The hills beneath them would forever be filled with the blood of dwarves, humans, and elves alike and Bilbo held no doubt that the rain would only bleed black across this land if such a misfortune were ever to fall.

"All I want is my kingdom back! My home! My gold!"

"There is no home once your family is gone! There can be no kingdom without its citizens! I don't know if you've noticed, but all of us are looking towards the end, Thorin. You have brought death to our doorstep and those Elves out there will not hesitate to take back what they deserve. What has been stolen from them." In Bilbo's mind the entire thing was quite trifling. How could a few gems be more precious than the lives of his kin? How could Thranduil let his forces fall to such an overriding evil? And for what? A few pieces of jewelry?

"They deserve nothing! And neither do those thieves from that damn town!" There was a clatter as the mighty king kick a pile of gold in anger, sending the coins across the floor in a shower of spark, light catching in every crevasse that arched against the plating.

"They deserve what your word promised them!"

"This is my fortune. This is what we have worked for! And I won't be given up a single coin! I would rather die!"

"And you will! Along with all of us! We are all going to die, Thorin! Do you want that? Does this gold mean more to you then everyone who cares about you? Me, Fili, Kili- We all need you Thorin Oakenshield. Whether you want to accept that or not." Bilbo took a step back from the man and backed into the wall, eyes pleading with him for some sanity. The king relinquished none of his fire, however, as he turned to face the hobbit. The shorter of the two bit his tongue in disgust before adding, "You may be a king now- what, with your gold and crowns and gems and jewels- but you were always my king. You were my king long before that."

"I was no king." The dwarf's voice sudden dropped to a whisper, flickering like the fine torches that hung against the gold room's walls. Shadows danced about his face menacing as he turned away once more, looking down to cover his shame. There something in his voice, something that made the hobbit behind him shiver, "I had no riches, no land. I was no king."

Silence splintered throughout the room like warning bells. Bilbo stood staring emotionlessly at his king, hands clutch to his sides. There was no fear in his voice, no anger in his eyes, and no regret in his heart as his nimble fists began to quiver. Knuckles turned white in the low lit hall as Bilbo Baggins felt an uncontainable rage spread from those shaking hands. A steady heart beat transformed to one of unimaginable sped as he stared on with dark eyes cast downwards. If one had spoken to the other hobbits in The Shire about what happened next most would have blamed it on his Took blood, making him more mischievous and less calm. Others might have predicted it to be some form of his own mass deliria causing him to break so suddenly like a splintering sheet glass. And then there are those who would have said nothing at all, just looked down and shook their head as they recalled what a classy name Baggins use to be. Either way, in his fit of incontrollable rage and intolerance, Bilbo Baggins did a very unhobbit-ish and unBaggins-ish thing.

"Item do not make the person, Thorin!" The word cut the air like the jagged incision of a blade as Bilbo strode forward, grabbing the back of Thorin's cloak and causing him to turn. Before the Dwarven king could calculate a respectable response to the other's allegations there was a harsh echoing through the golden hall followed by a dull clatter. Thorin's gaze was casted sideways for a moment, eyes locked on where his crown lay stricken on the cold stone floor. It rest among a hill of gold, sitting there like a bird on its perch. Instantly a skewered frown etched across the young king's face and his features twisted into an unimaginable mask of forced rage. Without a moment of hesitation Bilbo was pressed deeply against the cold wall, rigid rock digging into his back like the needle tendrils of a spider's hand. He could not speak nor breath as the dwarf before him balled a fist into the front of his shirt.

"You dare strike me! You should fear the consequences, Halfling!" Thorin roared as one hand came to rest on the blade casted to his side, "I should kill you where you stand!"

Bilbo simply nodded at the statement, once again molding back into his usual passive stage. He stared at that brutal hand clasped to the sword hilt before continuing, "I am not afraid of Thorin Oakenshield. You, on the other hand- I fear you with every inch of my being. But I do not fear my king."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Thorin questioned as his hand loosened around the hobbit's chest. His searing anger smoldered a bit at those soothing yet icy words. It's the same instance when making a sword. You have to submerge the blade for it to cool. And Bilbo's words were the only thing that could cool the Dwarven king's rage. There was something about the Hobbit. Something different. Something that the king desired. They were such polar opposites yet it enthralled the other to some extent. He liked how different Bilbo was compared to all the others, how kind and heartfelt and caring. He had a sense of coziness about him, a feeling that Thorin presumed all Hobbits had, that could make anyone feel at home in his company. Staring into those wide eyes of the other Thorin finally managed to detach his hand from Bilbo's shirt.

"You are not the man I left my home in the Shire for. For him I abandoned my book, my armchair, my garden, and everything I held dear. For him I set off on a journey that would most likely end my days. I left my home to help him reclaim his own. I fought beside him, laughed with him, watched a city burn with him, and battled Smaug with him. I would give my life for him. But you- you are not Thorin Oakenshield. You are not the same person who stood on my doorstep that day, looking in as his company devoured everything in my pantry. You are someone completely different. And I would not follow you if my life depended on it. I would follow Thorin anywhere, but never you." Bilbo bit the inside of his cheek gently, a nervous habit that he had picked up along the trip, and glanced back up at Thorin. He knew that there was a nerve there, one that the man hoped to strike. He wanted to force some sense into the other through anger.

Thorin stared at the hobbit with his mouth slight agape, lost for all words and dumbstruck. He turned away whispering, "This is not like you, Halfling. Usually you shrink under the eyes of superiors."

"You are not my superior. I know that I may be short. I may small and unarmed. I may be clumsy and sheltered. I may not rest on a mountain of gold, but my heart is worth more than all of the gems that lie in this hall. I know what is right and what is wrong. Do you?" Bilbo shoved a single arm towards the gems and golden chips that lay about his feet. He wrinkled his button nose in disgust.

"A heart worth more than all of my gems? The thought is ironic, isn't it? The thing that I can't have is one of the richest treasures that can be obtained." Thorin murmured as he took a step back towards Bilbo, chest nearly lining up with other. Even with the man before him being so short the dwarf looked down into the hobbit's eyes sullenly.

"My heart and every other heart that beats beneath this mountain is worth more than you strong hold of gold, Thorin. You just need to realize that, my friend." Bilbo retorted adamantly. His face was a mask of monotone, however there was something in his eyes. Something cold. Something broken.

"Funny- how you still call me friend. Why is that, Mr. Baggins, if you don't respect me anymore?" The voice laced up the Hobbit's spine like tendrils of ice, forming into his joints and splitting the bones. His face paled in a sort, looking chilled and harsh despite the warmth of the golden hall.

"I say friend because I don't want to accept the fact." Bilbo whispered back as he stood on his toes, trying his best to look Thorin directly in the eyes. He still didn't measure up, however, considering that the dwarf was a least a head taller.

"What fact?"

"The fact that you have lost you damn mind." Bilbo cursed briefly, which was very unusual to who he was. Thorin raised an eyebrow drastically at that, giving a quirky laugh. For a moment Bilbo just stared at the other man, reading his carefree smile, before a wave of warmth washed through his chest. Seeing his king smile made his heart skip a beat. His skin was on fire.

"Maybe I have lost my mind." Thorin admitted, stepping back away from the other as he raised his arms in surrender, "But I have a reason to."

"Yes, you do." Bilbo assured attentively out of fear that he would once again spark the man's insatiable instability if he spoke ill tongued. Stepping forward to follow the dwarf Bilbo once again met his eyes, "I know that you have a lot to worry about, Thorin, but I….the company can help you if you would just let me in."

"I appreciate your offer, Mr. Baggins." Thorin murmured breathily, another round of anger drowning out the usual shade of his eyes, "But I will not listen to your irrational ideas. I will not succumb to those damn elves! I will not fall to them!"

"But you will let us fall will you not? You will watch us die for a few dust covered hunks of gold? Do you not know how much that hurts, Thorin? If I die at dawn I don't know if it will be from this bloody war or your incompetence. How can you be so thick headed?! I always heard that dwarves were hard to deal with, but I never knew you were like this!" Bilbo's voice strained as he glared deeply at the dwarf. Anger swaddled every inch of his form as he realized how pointless all of this was. How lost Thorin was. There was nothing that could get through his deliria. All he saw was gold.

"If we are so damn stubborn and hard to deal with then why did you join my company?" Thorin spat as he once again pressed against the hobbit, trying to force him to bite his tongue through fear. Bilbo didn't back down. He couldn't- not when so much was riding on this conversation. Not will so much anger pumping through his blood stream. He had never felt so much anger. It was indescribable. It was dizzying.

"Because I believed in you!" Bilbo cried obscenely as he pointed at the king. Pain billowed through everything that he was. Tiny tears sung the corners of his eyes as everything boiled over. His harsh voice edged off a bit, becoming softer and more understanding, as he gazed a Thorin. "I believed in you. The day I met you I saw something in you. I saw a brave man who would do anything to give his nephews and his Dwarven brother's their home back. The first time I spoke to you I felt so beneath you, but you did not flaunt your birthright. You did not act as though you were of royal blood. You just presented yourself as a leader, not a greedy king in search of gold. That's what made me join you. Then, you started telling me how worthless I was. How completely and utterly useless. I was lower than the dirt under your boot. But I still stayed. I stayed because somewhere under all those insults and harsh words I heard something saying 'please don't leave'. You needed all the help you could get. You didn't have a home to go to when night peaked. So I stayed. No matter how many times I tried to walk away or slip out at midnight I always came back. You made me want to impress you. You made me want to be part of your family. And I tried. I tried until I felt hopeless. And then you showed me that you actually cared. Maybe it started when we first escaped the Goblins and I told you how hard I was trying to help you reclaim your home. Maybe it was when I saw you lying there about to be murdered by Azog. Or perhaps it was when you made that promise in Lake Town or when you came back after I found the key to Erebor. I don't know when it was, but at some point you showed me how much you actually cared. And for that I stayed. I stayed because I started to believe in you."

"You stayed because of me?"

"Yes, that's what I've been saying all along. I would follow you to the end of the earth, Thorin Oakenshield. I would walk over the edge of oblivion with you, hand in hand. I just need you to know what you're doing. You are going to murder our entire company with this obsession. We can't fight those elves. We can't win. Do the rest of us not matter enough? Do you not care about us?" Bilbo strained as a steady stream of teardrops boarded down his cheek. He could feel the king's eyes all over him- consuming him. Relishing in him. Judging him.

"I…I…Never say that I don't care. You, my family, are the most important treasures that I have. I cherish that. Family is everything to me. My home comes second beneath you. You are my gold. You are my gems. But I cannot be a king without my riches. Without my kingdom."

"Have you not been listening to me the entire time? You are my king. You have always been. Even when you didn't have a drop to your name you were my king." Bilbo bit his tongue suddenly, pain splintering through his form with the jagged action. He knew not any other way to silence his own words, however, as all his emotions bubbled forth.

"Hobbits are sentimental creatures, aren't they?" Thorin muttered in a near incoherent manner as he stepped closer to the Hobbit. Without warning Thorin pulled the man into a brief embrace, much like he did after they were carried by the eagles away from Azog and his monsters. This time, however, there was a sense of something more than just gratitude. This time the embrace was full of need- a burning need that flared up in the pit of Thorin stomach, making the man pull Bilbo even deeper into his chest. His arms relinquished around the petite form a few moments later, allowing the Halfling to step back. Bilbo simply raised his hand to his cheek, drying what was left of his tears before responding.

"Yes, we very much are." Bilbo admitted as he looked back up at his king, eyes still rimmed in pink from his overwhelming wave of emotions. "Let me follow you to the end of our world, Thorin Oakenshield. Don't shut me out. Don't trade me….us for your wealth."

"What do you mean by us?" Thorin asked dumbstruck as his eyes observed the little hobbit before him. Bilbo simple met his gaze confusedly.

"The company." He stated as though the factor was obvious. For a moment Thorin turned his head, looking out at the piles and piles of wealth that expanded beyond him. He let out a sigh as his eyes once again detached themselves from the shining troves of immortal joy.

"…..I have an admission, Halfling." The words were spoken blandly, not with anger nor joy. They echoed through the vast hall ominously causing Bilbo to glance around nervously. His stomach bubbled at those word as fear once again laced its way into his heart. When he spoke once more the words came out in a rasp.

"What is it?"

"When I said my home comes second- when I said that this is my gems, my riches- I was only thinking of you, my hobbit." Thorin whispered out to the other man, eyes locking on Bilbo as he waited heatedly for a response.

"….I figured….you meant all of us. Kili, Fili, Bombur, Balin, Dwalin….?" Bilbo trailed on as he looked away, not being able to stand those deep eyes watching him. His heart beat rapidly in his chest, much like it had when his rage descended, but this was different. It was a good kind of worry- one that was full of heat and passion and longing and hope. It was everything that Bilbo had wanted Thorin to remember. Everything that the king had been lacking in his madness. And here it was. The words that dripped from Thorin's lips were as sweet as the bitterest wine and as heavy as the soft breath that grazed his face as they stood inches apart.

"Only you. You are my gold. Ever since I met you Bilbo Baggins, you scared me. You were too small, too weak to travel along with my company on our journey. When you rejected our offer I was pleased. I didn't want you to be hurt- even from the first day I cared about you condition. When I saw you running down that road in The Shire, yelling that you signed that contract, my heart stopped. I treated you so horribly because I knew the danger of it all. This wasn't what you were bred for. And you couldn't be lost. It would be worse than never reaching the mountain. I wouldn't have been able to function with that guilt, with the pain. But you surprised me. And you continue to surprise me, my burglar. Surprises are very hard to come by and it's even harder to find someone that I care about. It's very odd that I would get both of those in one person, and especially on a trip like such. I don't want to lose you. You are my wealth. I would desire to be your king. Forever if it pleases you."

"You truly have lost your damn mind, dwarf!" Bilbo sputtered as he felt a heavy hand come down to rest of his side gingerly. Instantly his skin began to burn like the huge furnaces that the dwarves kept to melt gold. All he could feel was the gentle hand that cascaded warmth through the very strings of his soul. Thorin was playing him like a smooth melody on his harp, being just as tender as he would when plucking those thin strings.

"Maybe…" The dwarf replied sharply, eyes boarding into the hobbit's own. There were no signs of that sickening madness. Almost as though it had never been there in the first place. All Bilbo could see was raw emotions in the other's eyes- emotions that some did not feel in their lifetimes. He saw lust. He saw adornment. He saw pleasure and need and warmth and jealousy and envy. Everything that he'd ever thought love was. And it all reflected in the dull orbs of the Dwarven king, explaining everything with the lack of words.

Leaning forward subtly causing Bilbo's heart to flutter Thorin pressed his forehead against the Hobbit's own, bending down in the process. Their noses barely touched as they both stood there frozenly. Warmth spread through them in a torrent at this light touch. Almost like a fire that had been dormant for years. It was an insatiable, burning pleasure that took a demonizing hold on Bilbo's heart as he closed his eyes. Thorin's fingers numbly found the little Hobbit's hand through their daze, holding the delicate limb protectively. These tiny actions were more intimate then any kiss could ever hope to be. That didn't stop the little Baggins, however, as he leaned forward and connected his lips subtly with the Dwarven king's.

In all reality it was true: Hobbits were sentimental creatures. And Bilbo Baggins could not describe how he felt about Thorin Oakenshield. At first he assumed that it was a deep admiration that he saw in the Dwarven king- what with his strong build, bravery, cunning attitude, and stone cold determination. He had felt it though. The sense of admiration was growing and swelling, shaping into something more or new as the days drew on in their rhythmic pattern. One day it would be so fiery, so lustful, that the hobbit couldn't get the king out of his mind. Other days it would burn like the fierce and thunderous flames that had come roaring out of Smaug's ugly maw. At one point it was so painful, so achingly painful, that the Halfling would tremble within his own lost sense of self-pity. It would hurt worse than having all his flesh torn off by trolls. He would roll over in the night, straining and watching the royal dwarf through the darkness as need curved in every pore of his body. He ached to touch him, to be close to him, to hear those beautiful words that would certify their eternity together.

By the time the kiss was broken between them, Bilbo feeling shaky and a sheen of sweat coating his body, both the dwarven king and hobbit had sunk down to their knees. Neither of them seemed to notice the position change as Thorin looked deep into the little halfling's eyes, an attentive hand cupping his cheek. Bilbo trembled at the feeling of that strong hand against his cheek- the hand that had help him up in dire times, the hand that had defended him from trolls and goblins and Azog, the hand that had embraced him, rejected him, held him fast in hard times, and offered him an adventure that he could not foresee the outcome.

"Well…..That was…..something." Bilbo assured as he tilted his head to the side, allowing Thorin better access to his face, and blushing profoundly. This entire scene was quite embarrassing. To think that this was the man who had been calling him weak and telling him that he did not belong when their journey had first begun. This was the man that Bilbo had been afraid of at first, but subtly come to embrace as their trip conspired.

Thorin chuckled roughly at that comment, voice dry with the lone reminisces of humor, "I have to wonder- does that mean you accept my affections or rebuff them? You are too damn hard to read, Bilbo Baggins."

"Rebuff your affections? No…No!" Bilbo sputtered as his blush deepened. For once all his words were lost. He had no intellectual comments to give or long explanations to elaborate on. Rather, he had gone quite blank for the time being. He couldn't even form a coherent thought, "I…..To be honest, I have been quite attracted to you for some time now."

"Honestly, Mr. Baggins, this is not your forte." Thorin gazed at him with calm, caring eyes. For a moment he settled his hands on the hobbit's lower back, feeling as the Halfling shifted with mortification at the touch, "Perhaps you should let me led from this point on."

"What does-?" Bilbo didn't even get to finish the thought as he was pulled down beside his king, staring into the man's stormy eyes as their bodies conformed to each other in comfort. The small hobbit once more felt a blush creeping upon his face as need rumbled deep in his stomach like a hurricane, thunder and lightning sputtering through every pore of his body. There was something intimate about the way Thorin held him close, hands swaddling the small of his back with a surprising softness that one wouldn't expect from the broader man. It didn't seem to fit with his stern, stony personality or his strong physique. Either way, Bilbo sighed in relieved pleasure. His heart was melting like fine drops of molten gold as Thorin pressed deeply against him, one of the dwarf's legs sliding between his own. Bilbo could feel his heart pounding rapidly, an overwhelming sense of need and affection rolling in his stomach. This was his Thorin Oakenshield. This was the man he had begun to adore. This was the man he had undeniably fallen in love with.

"What are you thinking of?" Thorin murmured as he ran a rugged hand through the small hobbit's curly locks, watching the man's curious expression with his own peaked curiosity. Bilbo's hair straggled between his fingers tensely, stretching out before bounding back into place in that luscious unruly manner that had always left the king wondering. With a soft attentiveness Thorin nudged his thumb against the curve of Bilbo's ear, following its flowing shape up to the point and listening as the hobbit took a deep, labored breath.

"I never could read your mind." The man furthered. "You were always so different."

Once again Thorin began toying with those desirable bowed ears that had captivated him for so long, dragging his thumb against the pale flesh as the hobbit beside him cringed appreciatively. Bilbo was shaken by this action as he allowed his head to loop to the side. Delicate fingers interlaced around the thicker hand, guiding him and silently pleading with him to continue.

"I rather like that fact. There is more fear when you're open with everybody." Bilbo assured as he let out a deep disgruntled groan through his nose. His back arched subtly at the touch of the other man, eyes skewering closed and mouth hanging open in agape. Sweat beaded on his forehead as desire pooled in his stomach.

"You kill me, Bilbo Baggins." Thorin crooned as he let go of the other's ear, hands trialing down the lithe body beside him and coupling around a thin waist, "Everything you say makes my heart beat more rapidly. I would love to just let you talk and talk for hours on end, but I fear that you would just jabber on for an eternity. Sometimes I believe you like the sound of you own voice more than I do."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment or no?" Bilbo pressured breathlessly, eyes slipping together into slits as he hissed at the dwarf before him with annoyance. The king let out a laugh as he caught sight of that look- a laugh that was ironically joyous. Such a sound had not echoed from his lips in a long time, but the image of his hobbit in an infuriated, off balanced state was branded into his mind for forever enjoyment. He had been obsessed with that look for so long now: how the Halfling would frown edgily, green orbs dashed with an animalistic look, nose rumpled in distaste, and small wrinkles crinkling around the edge of his eyes. It was a desirable look, one that Thorin simply liked on him. Perhaps annoyance was the greatest adornment for his love.

"You are beautiful." The statement came out certainly as a strong hand coupled the petite hobbit's face, heavy fingers encircling the outer side of his jawline. With an aching sweetness Thorin once more brushed his lips attentively against the other's mouth. Finger tightened in the deep fabric of the dwarf's cloak as Bilbo clung to him, letting the kiss wrack every inch of his form. Desire and need erupted deep within his chest causing a lustful nose to escape burdened from his nose. It was all so perfect, all so beautiful. However, Bilbo jerked suddenly as a jagged thought came echoing through his mind like a gong, breaking through his passion and heated desire with a harsh warning. All this beauty could have been shattered within a moment of time, everything come down as a horde of elves came marching forward begging for blood.

"What's wrong?" Thorin's questioning brought Bilbo's face upwards, jade eyes cast with a shadow of worry and doubt.

"I am still terrified of what tomorrow brings." Bilbo confided as he leaned heavily against the Dwarven king, lips brushing passed his ear with a warm, wet breath.

"Shhhhhh. We need not think of that now. It can all wait. What cannot is this moment." Thorin assured as he softly forced the small hobbit onto his back, overtaking him in one soft swoop as he pressed his bigger broader form down over the other. He stared down at Bilbo Baggins, propping himself up on elbows and knees so all his weight wasn't harbored down on the small being, and a delicate agreement washed between them as eyes meet. For once Bilbo was lost for words, but he simply mouthed one detrimental saying.

"I am not afraid." The little hobbit gave a wiry smile at the man above him, shifting heatedly and running an attentive hand through long tangled locks.

Thorin smiled back at that comment even though something more laced his lips. Nervousness was not something that the king was accustom to. He was not uneasy when they faced Smaug- in fact the thought of death was ready to be embraced by him. He was not nervous when they fought against the troll or goblins. There was nothing on their journey that had made him truly feel the tightening grips of nervousness or fear, but right here, right now, his stomach was in utter knots. He was terrified.

Fingers found their way around the hobbit small body and drug off his coat with much difficulty. Thorin discarded the garment with little regard as the fabric jaggedly hit the stone pavement. A clank illuminated from the depths of the cloak as it sputtered across the floor harshly, captivating all of the Halfling's attention for a moment. Bilbo paled at that sound, the Arkenstone rearing its ugly head in his mind. He waited for the jagged accusations, the harbored suspicions, and violent words. Instead Thorin was completely entranced in the other. His eyes devoured the little hobbit with a burdened hunger, heat and passion wracking his form as he just stared. Staring at the fine curves of his face, at those pursed lips, at those green eyes that shone with an adoring light. Eyes lingered on that head of soft golden curls, at the gentleness of his ivory skin, at the fragility of his form. It was all so much and Thorin yearned with need.

After discarding his own cloak Thorin began tearing open the hobbit's shirt with care, lowering the other's suspenders in the process.

"You are absolutely beautiful." Thorin purred once more with love as he trailed a heavy hand along the hobbit's delicate bare chest. His fingers glided easily across the smooth flesh as he bit his lower lip, staring directly back in the halfling's eyes. He absorbed every inch of that look- the blushed cheeks, the tousled hair, the lust glazed eyes, the crinkle of his nose- and sensitively pressed a kiss to his lips in retort. Lips lingered together for a moment, holding all the intimacy and caring that it could, before the king pulled back. A dire comment hung on his lips, one that meant more to him than his own life, meant more than all the gold that piled in his halls, "I have fallen in love with you, my hobbit. I love you with everything that I am."

"The feeling is mutual." Bilbo wheezed out as his chest tightened. He feared that if he dared speak the actual words he would never be able to say anything more. He feared that he would lose all his breath, unable to regain the oxygen again, and never speak to his king again. Instead he just grappled at Thorin's shoulders, pulling the man closer and nearly causing him to topple over. All Bilbo could do was intertwined himself deeper in the person he cared so deeply for. And not a single word was uttered from that point. Maybe a few off hand comments to one another as all clothing was discarded, but nothing more. They let their actions speak for them.

The entire scene was very slow and very, very careful as the Dwarven king took the hobbit as his own. Everything seemed to be split into different memories from the way Bilbo yielded under him, grabbing his shoulders as his entire form rocked with movement, to the feeling of their fingers lingering together, calloused hands looking so much different from the delicate petite fingers of the other. Some details and memories stood out beyond other. The way the rough stone under Bilbo's thin pale back opposed the warm inviting body on top of him. The way the air seemed to be thicker as sweat beaded down both their forms. The way the small hobbit was completely convulsing at times, fingers baring down against the stone so hard that nails began to crack. The whispery voice that would murmur different words in his over sensitive pointed ear in a language that Bilbo could never hope to understand. However, through the entire experience one scene would forever be printed into their memory, a moment that was so passionate that it took on a wild sense of forbidden adventure.

"Thorin!" Bilbo's scream echoed throughout the golden hall as he tore at the larger man's shoulders, arching his back as he felt a warm, heated mouth engulf the tip of his ear. Thorin's teeth bit down wickedly against the hobbit's sensitive skin as a hot coil of adrenaline and need laced his stomach, wishing to draw more and more of those vivid screams from his lover. He had never heard the hobbit sound so completely and utterly blissed. The pure ecstasy in his voice was overwhelming.

Thorin growled in response as he felt the tender hands of the little hobbit couple against his back, Bilbo trying his best to get a grip on reality. The king under the mountain could not believe the power he held over the other within this moment- how he could do whatever he wanted with the Halfling. Never had he felt as dominant in battle nor as a king.

Thorin's stormy eyes etched over the hobbit's bare physique as he tore his lips away from that arched ear, a noise of resonating want coming between his lips briefly. The image of his little Halfling lying there against the stone cold floor, body hot and needy below him, was unbelievable. Bilbo's face was stark pale except for the brush of red along his cheek bones and chin, dripping down in a deep line all the way to his shoulders and chest. His head was pushed all the way back, sweat sheen curls spraying along the stone floor in a curtain around his head. It was the most beautiful thing that Thorin had ever had the grace of seeing.

And because of that that scene was forever branded upon the walls of his mind. He would never forget how beautiful the hobbit was, how soft and sweet, how perfect and petite.

More details lay upon those- details that both of them would be relying on in the morning. Details that would forever be held close to both their hearts. They would forever have the scars of how intimate they had been. How long they kissed. How warm their bodies were pressed against each other in the heat of passion. How they became broken, shattered, and repaired as they made love. And once it was all over they both just lay there, Bilbo's head placed in the crook of Thorin's neck as the king under the mountain pressed his lips gentle to the hobbit's forehead in intimacy. Both were tired and over sensitive from their passionate action, but neither of them could afford to give in to the tight bounds of sleep that tried to rope them. For Bilbo was more certain than ever about what he needed to do and Thorin held a pit of worry that one of the company would awake and find them together, even if he didn't want to admit how much that thought bothered him.

Rolling over in Thorin's arms, turning to face the dwarf who had his eyes closed in serenity, the tiny hobbit ran an agile hand through the salt and pepper hair of his king. His king. He grinned at that thought- the thought that Thorin was honestly a part of him of now. An insatiable hunger tore at Bilbo's stomach as he needy wrapped one leg around the dwarf's waist. It was something that spiraled through his belly in a vivid coiling wire. He couldn't have expected it. He didn't know what spawned it, but there he was. Tangling himself around Thorin as though it was a necessity. As though he would fade from existence if not for the one thing that tethered him to the earth.

"What is wrong, my love?" Thorin breathed against the shell of the hobbit's ear. Bilbo flinched gently as the over sensitive skin tingled with each word.

"I believe I should return to my watch, Thorin. Gods know what would happen if one of the company awoke to find me gone. Oh! Imagine Kili and Fili's reaction! They would never let either of us live this down!" Bilbo cried breathlessly as he clenched his hands deeply into Thorin's hair. The mighty king under the mountain chuckled at that, bring his hobbit closer. His thick hands coupled the small of the halfling's back, forehead and nose leaning directly against the other.

"It would be no worry of mine if any of them saw us." Thorin assured as he nudged a brief kiss to the other's lips although his words sounded doubtful.

"It would worry me! Do you know how embarrassing that would be?! Imagine the constant reminder those two would give me. They would crack so many jokes about-"

"You are such a strange being, Bilbo Baggins" Thorin murmured as the hobbit lingered out of his arms and stood up, blushing harshly in the low light of the gold room. His skin seemed to boil under the golden glow of the torches, silhouette conforming to the way he tried to cover every inch of his bare flesh. His soft edges and curves lined up against the wall in a willowy mirror of shadowed beauty as the small hobbit wadded up the few piece of clothing he had, burying his fists into the fabric heatedly. From his place on the floor Thorin could see the redness against his burglar's skin, pale flesh dotted with a sheen and blush. Sprinkles of pink dusted along the small of his back and caked against those beautifully slim shoulders. A few droplets of sweat beaded down the man's spine and dripped down to the stone cold floor. Deep breathing was the only sound that echoed as he sporadically suited up. A jingle dashed through the room as the hobbit tore that metal chain shirt that Thorin had given him over his chest, tucking it beneath his over shirt as though he didn't want anyone to see it. With his clothing now tucked back into place and suspenders hooked over his slim shoulders, Bilbo picked up his coat. There was a moment of hesitation there. One that Thorin took notice of. With a quaint glance in the king's direction, Bilbo tucked the fabric over his arm, smoothing it with one hand. The king behind him stood up as well, throwing on only his trousers before walking over and wrapping his thick arms around that petite waist.

"I don't understand you." Thorin commented offhandedly as he buried his face into those deep curls, inhaling the other's scent and staring down at the hobbit gently. Bilbo swept around in his arms looking hazy and content as though he was in his own little world. With a light brush of his hand the dwarf pushed back a curtain of golden curls, watching as they bathed copper in the fire light. Thick eyelashes flickered at that action, pastel pink lips parting in a gap. Leaning forward like he had many times in the past few hours Thorin nudged his forehead against Bilbo's own, speaking in a billowing voice that seemed to linger in the room for an eternity, "But I do love you."

"I…I love you, too. And all I want is what's best for you." The dwarven king knitted his eyebrows at that, a question hanging on his lips. The hobbit sounded so guilty. So unbelievable hurt. However the question never came as Bilbo pressed a light kiss to his lips and disappearing from his arms. Bilbo clambered up the staircase in a vivid motion, taking the steps two at a time until he was out of the room and Thorin was left by himself. The king finished dressing before taking his leave as well, wondering what the words meant and what tomorrow would bring, between Bilbo and him or otherwise. Making his way back through the halls, seeing no sign that his hobbit had lingered despite his duty, Thorin rejoined his company. For a while Thorin just lay in that dark, no sleep coming, a look of confusion still etched against his face. It took some time before the mighty king under the mountain feel into a fitful sleep, comfort only coming from the beautifully sweet dreams that swaddled him in memory and the feeling of velveteen flesh that lingered beneath his fingertips.

---

"How did you come by that?!" Thorin's entire body convulsed in rage as he stood before Bard and the elven army, watching as the man down below held the heirloom of his house with a smug look. He was obviously relishing in the king's undeniable temper.

Night and morning had come and passed. Dawn was peaking and at first sight the world seemed to be at peace. The king under the mountain certainly was as thoughts of the previous night plagued him with indescribable savagery. All he wanted was to meet up with his little hobbit and reply the previous events until the day dragged on into night. He wanted to have Bilbo Baggins all to himself. However, it had been close to sunrise when the Halfling finally approached the company, looking chipper and quite content with himself. No one seemed to know where Bilbo had slinked off to during the early morning hours, but Thorin's mind did not relish on the thought. As he sent his company in search of the Arkenstone, the hobbit included, Thorin made sure that the dwarves lead the expedition. It was perfect for him to sneak a soft kiss in as Bilbo struggled back behind the rest that were already descending into the depths of the kingdom. A kiss and a slight grab of the side was all the king was rewarded with as the day hitched into their usual routine. Of course, their search was put on hold as Bombur came running down into the golden hall, out of breath and puffing, to alert them that he had seen the approaching army while on watch. Even more kiss, cascades, and gentle whispers were exchanged on the way back up, only being given in the darkest part of the kingdom. As they approached the entrance to the kingdom Bilbo never left Thorin's side and the look of nervous guilt never dissipated.

Now, standing between his two nephews, Thorin felt that his world was crashing down in a vision of beautiful sparks and shards. Everything was blowing up right before his eyes, coming down like the great falling of Dale back when his grandfather was king.

"One of your own company exchanged it in hope of a peaceful resolution." Bard egged on in hopes of sparking the dwarf's anger. He longed to see the man lose his composer. After all that had happened Bard wanted to unhinge the king.

"Who?! Who in my company would dare betray me?!" Thorin echoed down at the human with wide eyes, face etched with a deep heated anger. Even though the demanding accusation wasn't focused at Bard Thorin spoke down to him, not knowing who else to focus on. He didn't have a proper perpetrator. Even so the former Lake Town resident shrugged his shoulders, not budging within the king's accusations. He didn't expect the dwarf to get his answer so quickly. Bard didn't expect the one who had given him the stone to come clean without further pressure.

"I gave it to them! I did!" The entire wall erupted into deep murmurs and questioning looks as the sea of dwarves parted, revealing the one person that could make Thorin's heart stop. Even if he recognized the voice so easily the connection did not register until the Halfling stepped forward. Bilbo's face was strikingly calm despite the fire that flickered in his eyes. A flaming fear that Thorin saw immediately. Instantly the king's heart sunk.

"You…?" Thorin's word was like the harsh cutting of a sword, a blow delivered deeply into the little hobbit's chest. The dwarf's face drained of all color as he took an attentive step forward. There wasn't anything harsh about this action. Only pain. Misty eyes shone with so much hurt. Unbelievable hurt as he gazed at the one that he had given so much love to. The one that he had made love to the previous night. The one that he cared so deeply for. Suddenly, everything changed. Thorin's mouth formed a harsh line. All love and need sapped from his heart in one swift motion, dissipating into thin air, and being replaced by a bitter seething hatred, "You?! You miserable hobbit! You undersized….burglar!"

Bilbo sputtered out a strangled scream as two heavy hands clenched to the collar of his shirt, shaking him ruthlessly until his entire body felt like it was made of water. Panic clenched in the small hobbit's chest as he gazed into the eyes of his king. No- this wasn't his king anymore. This was that monster. The monster that he had so heftily feared. With a jerk of his powerful hands Thorin sent Bilbo sputtering into the wall, the harsh stone digging into his flesh in the most unpleasant manner. Red rimmed eyes boarded down at him as the dwarven king pulled Bilbo up on the stone wall, hanging his head and shoulders determinedly over the ledge. With one small swoop of his hands Thorin could have sent the small hobbit plummeting down to his doom. He could have allowed the smaller figure to slip over the side will all his unbalanced weight, hitting the ground below and silencing him for all eternity.

"Thorin! Please!" Bilbo sputtered out suddenly, a metallic taste finally filling his mouth as the blood had been stalled. A busted lip was the least of his worries and Bilbo was sure that being slammed into the hard stone could have caused a lot more detrimental damage to him. Either way he looked at his love with a blood stained frown, feeling heated tears well behind his eyes. This was perhaps the worst way to fade from existence. At the hands of the man he had fallen in love with. The man he had longed for.

"I wish I had Gandalf here! Curse him for his choice of you! May his beard wither! As for you," Thorin's eyes focused so hard on the hobbit that he was more likely to burn holes through the man's skin. Staring into those pain etched eyes Bilbo saw something more than rage. It was hurt beyond comprehension and the Halfling had no doubt that his love would have been crying if not for pride and self-worth, "I will throw you to the rocks!"

"Don't." Bilbo's voice was so low that it was only him and his king that could hear the desperate plea, "Please, Thorin. Don't. You know I had my reason. I would not hurt you otherwise."

Thorin's body felt like it had been struck by lightning as the words from the previous night ran through his head in a torrent. I love you, too. And all I want is what's best for you.

"How is this best for me?!" The dwarf whispered edgily, hands trembling with pain and eyes coursed in deep longing. His question was not answered however as Gandalf parted through the crowd below, sweeping his hands for room.

"Your wish is granted!" The wizard cried in hard certainty. His eyes were etched with a strange, other worldly anger as he stared at the current predicament the hobbit from Bag End had found himself in, "And none too soon. If you do not like my burglar please do not damage him. Let him speak, Thorin Oakenshield!"

"Never again shall I make deals with wizards or their friends!" Thorin declared as he flung the small hobbit from the wall and back to safe ground despite the jagged motion of it all and unceremonious landing. Bilbo whimpered slightly as a pain etched through his body from the connection with the stone. For a moment Thorin looked as though he wanted to give comfort or some other dabble of help, but that quickly faded as he once again addressed the form in front of him, "Speak, rat."

"Dear me! I'm sure you remember saying Thorin that I might take my fourteenth share! Perhaps I took you word too truly! It seems that you have trouble speaking and keeping up what you mean!" The hobbit spoke each word with its own rightful amount of venom. The king stared down at his little hobbit with lips pursed. Realization washed over him in a torrent as Thorin faced away, guilt flickering in his eyes before being replaced by anger.

"I will let you go, Bilbo Baggins." He turned pointedly. Bilbo felt his heart shatter as he stared back into the red rimmed eyes of Thorin, tears lingering there as though he was about to cry, but they refused to fall, "And may we never meet again!"

---

Bilbo Baggins awoke to a mighty strong headache when the after effect of that knock on the head finally pulled him through. The battle was still raging down below- dwarves, elves, humans, and orcs all fighting in a brilliant display of a grotesque mockery of humanity- and it seemed that the mighty eagles had now joined in the battle. The huge birds bared down on the others wielding boulders and cawing with vicious revenge as they scooped up orcs left and right. It took a moment for the small hobbit to gather his bearings through all the commotion.

A distant memory lingered at the back of his mind, fuzzy and inconclusive as Bilbo stood up, shaking a hefty amount of snow from his body and combing slim finger through his ratty hair. Every inch of his form was wracked with a stiffness and many muscles suggested soreness would be found in the coming days, however, he had much bigger worries then his current state. Rather the Halfling was consumed by fear as the scene locked in his distant memory finally clicked. Thorin. His Thorin. He had went after Azog. Fili and Kili were dead. Where was Thorin?

Feet had never moved faster over the frozen stone as Bilbo raced through the faded reminisces of the tower searching for a sign of his king or that dastardly monster. Nothing turned up. Not even a war call or heavy footsteps in the snow. Everything was deathly quiet. The air swirled in a vivid dance around him as ice crept into his body, seeping deeper than just the skin or bones. This cold was in his soul.

Continuing his expedition, Bilbo ran out on one of the various balconies that lined the tower, once more looking down at the chaos below. His eyes swiftly tore away from the madness, however, as something else peaked his interest. There, standing on the frozen river with the pale orc fallen by his feet, was Thorin Oakenshield. His Thorin. His love. And Bilbo could only breathe a sigh of relief that he was alive. That he wasn't vanquished by that monstrosity and laying dead in the snow somewhere. Another deep breath was about to expel from the hobbit's lips as suddenly the king fell against the ice, laying there motionless as Bilbo choked on his breath. The way he collapsed- it wasn't from exhaustion that was apparent. Something was wrong. Deathly wrong.

With all the breath left in his body and every ounce of energy he could muster, Bilbo came flying out of the tower and skidding across the ice. He did not care if the froze river ached against his bare feet or if he would most likely fall and injure himself on the way there. All the hobbit could see was Thorin. All he could feel was the panic interlacing his heart. The fear was only justified as Bilbo came close enough to see the wounds. To see the blood. Crimson stained the front of Thorin's clothing like a badge of courage, dripping out onto the crystal white ground with such a contrast. It was merely a second before Bilbo was down on his knees over the dwarf.

"Bilbo? You are alright." Thorin spoke joyously through red lips as he smiled weakly up at his love. No one would ever be able to describe how happy the dwarven king was despite the intense pain that he felt.

Not a word was said as Thorin bent forward with a kiss hanging upon his lips, breathing the faint hint of death into his hobbit. Bilbo took the harsh feeling, the raw emotion, like a dagger to his chest, allowing all his frozen blood to spill out against the crystal white ice like an expansion of his pain and loss. Tears brimmed down those fine, velveteen cheeks as the little Halfling held fast to his dwarven king, taking all the pain he could in one breath. Crimson lips brought upon the kiss of death- the kiss of goodbye. When they pulled back Thorin stared on with a tethered gaze, lost among the stars. Bilbo could feel all the life slipping out of his love like the fine drips of snow coasting between two sparring tree branches. In the end life was only as wealthy as one made it and Thorin, though in his last few moments tied to mortal realm, filled his world with gold and jewels and gems with that one kiss. He got everything he had ever wanted with that one embrace. But holding on to a forever is more complicated than starting one and holding something transparent is even more difficult.

Clamping a heavy hand on the back of his hobbit's neck, Thorin brought the other downwards so close that their chest were touch. Almost as though he was trying to will away the harsh and pungent embrace of death with one of his own- one that was only sufficed with love and immortal yearning.

"Do not weep, my dear Bilbo Baggins. I am not afraid. And we do have this moment. A moment that will forever last an eternity." The dying dwarf proclaimed through blood stained lips, whispering as though he feared the wind would carry his words away so that the other could not hear his declaration.

"An eternity is not long enough, my king." Bilbo brought on with another on slaughter of tears. He still did not find peace as a battered thumb came to wash away the gushing hurt. The droplets of water continued to bead down his face like the steady flow of blood to a heartbeat- in perfect rhythm to what he was feel. With each panic and broken thud within his chest another tear swaddled down the hobbit's bare cheek.

"Hobbits truly are sentimental creatures." Thorin murmured to himself offhandedly despite the knowing fact that the Halfling could hear in their close quarters. His eyes stared glassily at Bilbo as he felt the steady rain billow down from the other's cheek and patter onto his own, much like the first thunderstorm of spring- subtle at first then overwhelmed with sudden crackles of lightening, splitting apart the very foundation of everything as it built into a beautiful climax. Gripping tightly to the other man, terrified of how deeply everything hurt, Thorin let another deep tremble rack his form. He could feel it. The way his heart refused to work properly. The way his lungs were fighting for what little scrap of air they had left.

"I am so sorry." Thorin assured after a moment of blinding pain. The eruption in his chest was like the fine shattering of glass, just as cold and just as defining. It shook him to the very core and only soothed as a soft hand came up to couple the deep gashes in his chest, pale fingers now stained with the black blood of a dying man. A sting followed suit with the cascades, but none of that was felt. Only the attentive and off balanced beating of his heart could be found as the small hobbit relinquished him from the pain, "All I have ever brought you was heartbreak, fear, death, and fire. I am so, so sorry for that."

"And what have I brought you? Only more stress and worry. We both opposed the other quite a bit I would say." Bilbo murmured between chapped lips. His voice was faded like the silent sorrowful song of a ghost, lost and broken.

"You were never a burden to me. I know I have spoken those words before- that you were worthless- but I will once again say that I have never been so wrong. You are perfect, Bilbo Baggins." Thorin murmured as he held the halfling's hand tightly. For once he actually felt free. He felt loved beyond comprehension and nothing would have ruined this moment, not even the quickly approaching death sentence that threatened to draw him back into oblivion. He longed to just shout that at the top of his lungs despite the shortness of his breath. He wanted the world to know how much he cared for the hobbit. He wished for their love to be known by all. And one did know. One other despite themselves.

Dwalin couldn't manage to find his speech or move his feet as he watched with a hazarded eye the scene that was playing out along the ice. He had followed Thorin and the two nephews up on the mountain top in hope of slaying Azog with their combined force, but now, with both Kili and Fili silenced, Thorin Oakenshield, the king under the mountain, was fading as well. Even so the dwarf made no attempt to give aid, realizing that that wound could not be healed- with the skill of Gandalf the wizard or otherwise. Besides there was no hope in trekking all the way down the mountain side and back before the young king gave in to the mercy of death. So Dwalin just stood there watching as the two of them spoke with what little breath Thorin had left. Not only did he hear the words they spoke but every action was captured with his eyes- the way Bilbo pushed Thorin's hair back, the way the king's hand clung to the hobbit's own, how their eyes meet, the attentiveness in both voices. Dwalin had witnessed the closeness before, but never thought much of it until it was all displayed before his own eyes. And when the words reached his ears subtly he finally understood.

"I love you." Bilbo's voice was so whispery, so damaged Dwalin immediately feared that the small hobbit might never be put back together. Teardrops lingered down his cheeks in a wave of mass sorrow.

"I have always loved you." Thorin replied labored as he strained himself, mouth captivating the hobbit's own for one moment before the king laid back, "If more of us valued food and cheer and song above our hordes of gold I believe it would be a merrier world. But, sad or merry, I feel that I must leave now. Farewell, my love. And do not forget me or how much I cared."

Even the light movement of the king's hand seemed draining as he drew the ring he had been wearing since their journey began- the square iron seat one that lingered on his right hand- from his finger and placed surely in Bilbo's small hand. And with that silence descended on the icy river as the king under the mountain froze in place, hand still lingering within the hobbit's own.

At first it was subtle- the reaction. A mere shake of the head, jostle in denial as he tried to rouse his love once more, praying that it was all just a terrible nightmare. But reality broke like a sheet of glass, sending everything that Bilbo Baggins ever thought or felt into different perspectives. His voice was shrill against the wind as he could not contain the billowing emotions that roared in his stomach: anger, pain, lost, hatred, need, want, lust, depression, love. It all came rocketing forward in one moment as the hobbit lost all sense of self-worth and cried in spite of his pride, "Thorin? Thorin?! Please! No! No! Thorin!"

Dwalin continued to watch at the river's edge with pain choking in his throat, watching the hobbit cling the larger man and wail with everything that he was. Just holding on, praying out loud, and crying. Crying brokenly. Crying harshly. Crying without relent. A cry that etched through the mountain hard enough to wrack the very foundation that they stood upon. And without another word or signal that he was going to stop the Halfling miserable screams Dwalin stepped back, footsteps silent against the snow covered stone. A numbness settled into his heart as he walked back down the mountain slowly, grief willing the way of his heart and causing him to move sluggishly. He would tell the others. He would alert them of their kings passing and both heirs. He would leave Bilbo Baggins in his silence to cry until his teardrops froze in the cold. Dwalin knew all he had to do was ask and the great wizard would eventually hike his way up the mountain to aid the young hobbit, prying him away from his lost love in resolution as the man continued to sob.

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Years pass without notice. Eventually seasons come and seasons go, leaving only the faded memories in their place as people grow and change. As they age and move on with life. Nothing can stay the same for too long and all hurt dulls with time. Adventures become subtle, only relived through old written pages. Lost loves find a way to burn brighter in the night, causing the harbors of such feelings to only find relief when the dreams play upon them with glimpses of their other. Bilbo Baggins was no different in this sense.

Sitting on the bench beside his door in Bag End- back to his books and pantry and knick-knacks and cozy life- Bilbo sat with a pipe in his mouth, watching as the young boy ran through his yard without a care. So free, so unburdened as he dusted himself in dirt and grim, finding new adventures in the most dull of places. Frodo Baggins was like his uncle in many ways. The child mirrored his adventurous attitude and sputtered with the same striking intelligence. He seemed to be the hobbit's double in much sense.

"Uncle Bilbo." The small hobbit pulled at the elder's waistcoat with his hand, looking on with adoring turquoise eyes.

With the will of his arms Bilbo pulled the smaller up beside him on the bench, sitting the boy down and waiting for him to speak once more. And speak Frodo did- a request so unexpected that it took the Halfling aback for a moment, "Can you tell me a story? A fun story? An adventure story?"

Bilbo sputtered on his pipe for a moment, smoke billowing out the end as he removed it from his mouth. Laying it down beside him, resting carefully on the bench's armrest, the hobbit couldn't help but wonder where his nephew had learned of such things. Clearly no one in The Shire had any knowledge of adventuring and dwarves and dragons or any other interesting subject that Frodo was pointing to know. Never less, with a look of deep concern and modest surprise, the young boy's uncle began with a question of his own.

"Have I ever told you the story of Thorin Oakenshield?" Bilbo questioned under his breath, chest stinging at the very sound of that name. For a moment he prayed that his young nephew would somehow miraculously nod yes so that the hobbit did not have to finish his tale. For he feared that starting talk about the dwarven king would bring on more emotions than he could handle. Despite the plea Frodo replied accordingly.

"Who is that uncle?" Frodo asked with the wide eyes of an interested child. Of course, Bilbo knew that Frodo would absorbed would he was about to say like a sponge, spouting the words to anyone who would listen no matter the occasion. With that in mind the elder Halfling spoke up once more.

"Thorin Oakenshield was a great man, Frodo. He was a friend of mine. One who I will never forget. You see he was a king. A dwarven king. And he did what most of us would only dream of. Thorin took his home back from a dragon."

"A dragon?!" Frodo piped up with utterly astonished eyes. His little mouth hung open with so much respect and shock that it made him look older than his years. That look should not have been graced on a child, but there the hobbit was. And his face only got more and more excited and respectful as his uncle continued that marvelous tale, all the while fiddling with that square iron ring that hung heavily on his right hand.

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Author's Note: Done! Finally done! Gosh dang! I don't think I've ever written something this long in just one go. I feel kind of impressed with myself and I hope that all the work I put into it is shown. Anyways, sorry if the ending is kind suckish compared to the rest. I just really want to have some kind of ending rather then just stopping the story abruptly.