A/N: This little story is dedicated to my friend Ehrenthered/snittycakez. It was inspired by an evening walk that I had while listening to my Pandora. The plot bunny would NOT leave me alone.

I hope you enjoy it.

AND I highly recommend listening to the song that inspired this whole thing: "Always Golden" by Radical Face

'He was my friend.'

'Aye lad, he was more than that.' Dwalin's rumbling voice echoed in Bilbo's ears, dulled by the months of solitude back at last in his smial under the hill, but still ringing just as profoundly for Bilbo Baggins as the day that they'd been spoke.

He was more than that.

And of course he was, Bilbo mused gripping the warm mug of tea closer to his chest, reveling in its steaming goodness as unpleasant and isolating thoughts assaulted him, memories that he longed to forget as much as he longed to preserve them.

Today, it appeared, he was to think of Dwalin…

And of course he was more than what Bilbo had asserted to the gruff dwarf all those months ago. A friend? Hadn't Thorin Oakenshield always been more than a friend?

More than a leader of a company?

More than just a king?

Of course. Of course he had been more than all that.

So much more.

Everyone could see it, except perhaps, Thorin himself. How many times had the look of uncertainty crossed that stoic face, marring the crystalline vibrancy of his sapphire eyes? How many times had the company told Thorin that he was worth so much more?

Hadn't Balin said as much in Bag End at the very beginning of it all?

And then Dwalin had said as much in the throne room when Thorin had been in the thrall of his sickness—and Bilbo swallowed back the thickness in his throat at the memory. The look of utter despair and disbelief had nearly made Bilbo's knees buckle as he watched Dwalin gaze at his friend and king with a look that betrayed the frustration and loss he felt.

He felt as though he'd lost Thorin, lost his friend, his closest ally.

And Dwalin had been right to say what he had, of course. He WAS more than a friend.

So much more.

Becuase Dwalin knew Thorin better than Bilbo ever did, more than he could have ever hoped to know someone.

They were brothers, perhaps not in name, but in spirit.

And Bilbo understood the look on Dwalin's face as he recounted Thorin's childhood as they'd sat around the table after the heat and desolation of battle left them too weary to do much else.

The grief had still been too raw for them.

And though Dwalin had tried to hide it, unlike Balin, Bilbo could see how deeply Thorin's death had affected him. Instead of crying, though, he'd started talking to the hobbit (a strange thing in itself really, considering how little he'd talked to Bilbo through the entirety of the journey).

He talked of Thorin's wiles and whims as a child.

It had reminded Bilbo very much of Kili and those bright, mischievous eyes and lopsided grin….

Bilbo winced and took a sip of his tea, his fingerers gripping the warm cup far too tightly.

'No, still too fresh for that' he noted silently as he blinked a few time, watching as the curtains against the window blurred briefly before warmth trickled down his cheek.

Indeed, it was still too fresh.

But Thorin had been a wretched child, apparently.

'Aye, got into loads of trouble, he did' Dwalin had muttered, a wry smile on his face, though it didn't reach his eyes. 'Once had to help the lout off the edge of a cliff 'cause he'd followed a ruddy goat up the side of the mountain, offerin' the blasted animal leftover crumbs from the kitchens. He lost his way and couldn't get himself back down. I had ta talk him backwards…'

Bilbo smiled softly at the image Dwalin's memory had conjured up, even all these months later. A younger Thorin, staring wide-eyed down at the sheer drop before him, his friend coaching him through the return journey because the brute couldn't remember whether he'd gone right or left…

"Well he did get lost in the Shire. Twice." Bilbo muttered to himself, noting how scratchy and choked his voice sounded.

He blinked a few times again to clear his vision.

More warmth splashed against his cheeks as he took another sip of his tea, noting that the warmth was rapidly decreasing in the cup.

Bilbo pulled his blanket closer about his legs, burrowing deeper into his robe as he listened to the soft patter of rain against the window pane, contrasting against the small crackling of the wood in his fireplace, his thoughts lost in the moment.

Dwalin's stories had not stopped at the goat debacle of course.

Oh no.

He had plenty more. And once he started talking, it appeared the dwarf could not stop.

Not that Bilbo had wanted him to.

He talked of more foolish notions the young prince concocted in his boredom and the unwilling part that Dwalin (and sometimes Balin) played in them.

Like the time Thorin had decided to explore the lower tunnels, the ones in disrepair unsafe to travel in.

'The oaf was determined to find diamonds, ya see,' he remarked softly to Bilbo, 'We'd had a shortage that year and it was causing a strain on our tradin'. Making for low supplies and hungry dwarrows.'

Apparently, Thorin and Dwalin had ventured into the darkness, with their lanterns and pick axes and buckets, into the farthest tunnel in the left shaft of tunnels, which had been known for producing some rather spectacular diamonds (at least by the Blue Mountain's standards).

'Of course the ruddy beams were weak. Shoulda gone with my instinct and stayed outta there, but Thror—Thorin hadta just press forward.'

Until, that is, a beam on the farther position in the tunnel gave way as they were picking into the walls of the tunnel, in search of those elusive gems.

There'd been a mighty groan, a creaking of timber as it scraped sharply against the rough, jagged rockface as the wood descended upon them in a smattering of splinters and sand and dust and boulders.

Dwalin had nearly been crushed beneath one of the larger falling rocks.

Except Thorin had seen what was about to happen and had rammed him out of the way, barely missing his own crushing.

As it was, no one was too terribly injured. Dwalin did sustain a rather large chunk of the wooden beam to conjoin with his flesh near the elbow.

But it had been far better than being crushed.

HOWEVER…

'Aye the dolt,' Dwalin had muttered softly, his eyes betraying the fondness he felt for the King under the Mountain, 'Aye he saved my life. But ended up getting' himself trapped in that ruddy tunnel until a team could be organized under Thror's supervision, to rescue the wayward prince.'

'Brought a right foul mood on his family,' Dwalin had remarked lightly, 'His grandfather was livid for months afterwards. Dis did nothin' but tease him.'

But Dwalin?

Dwalin never spoke an ill word against Thorin's courage after that.

'What we'd done was stupid, aye. But what he did? Aye that was bravery.'

Bravery.

THAT certainly described Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo agreed.

Of course bravery always seemed tempered with foolhardiness, as the hobbit, himself came to realize on the quest when wargs had descended that foolish dwarf had charged through fire and smoke towards the pale orc…

Then Bilbo had been the foolhardy one…

Killing an orc, saving a dwarf…

And consequently building a friendship all in the same moment.

Bilbo frowned coming back to himself and trying to dispel the memory of the flickering flames, the gaunt face of King Under the Mountain and the narrowed, leering face of the pale orc atop his white warg.

The hobbit cast a brief glance towards his mother's glory box where Sting remained and he let a soft smile ghost his features.

Thorin Oakenshield seemed capable of doing just about anything, and convincing anyone to follow him.

Isn't that what Dwalin had said as well?

'Aye I followed him into the towns of men, as he worked as a blacksmith. Followed that fool anywhere. And when the famine hit, he had not choice. And neither did I.'

Dwalin's face had soured at that thought and memory and Bilbo had been confused by such a foul, dark look from the dwarf.

It turned out that such work was far beneath the status of such a regal dwarf. And they were forced to go from village to village, scraping a few coins together to send back to the blue mountains.

'It was a shame for him.' Dwalin admitted softly. 'And it never sat right with him what we'd been reduced to, scraping a living off the rocks, compared to the luxuries of Erebor.'

That had been why they searched out Moria as an alternative. Thorin's discontent had mirrored his father's and grandfather's.

'And when the king was displeased, ya knew that somethin' was bound to happen.' Dwalin remarked, takin' a swig of ale. 'That was why we invaded Moria.'

Bilbo shuddered, remembering Balin's recount of the battle, that first long night at the beginning of their journey.

'There is no choice…not for me.'

That was certainly what he'd said in Bag End…

But such a memory as Moria sent another wave of unease upon the small company and Dwalin's foul face had darkened further as he had spat the name of the Lonely Mountain from his lips, as though it tasted foul on his tongue.

'That's why after his grandfather died and his father disappeared, he got it in his head that we needed to reclaim the mountain…why HE needed to lead a company and—'

The dwarf couldn't finish his words after that, his face contorting into one filled with a black rage and discontent as he stared into his mug of ale, lips pulled taut against, brows knit together and eyes unblinking.

Bilbo didn't know what to do at the time to comfort his companion.

SO he waited.

That was all he could do really. Given that his own voice had lost its weight in the moment.

And eventually Dwalin had begun to speak again.

'I wasn't gonna let 'im go by himself, even if this adventure was just a foolhardy notion in his head.' Dwalin had noted softly, clearing his throat a few times. 'So I convinced Balin here that we needed to get a few lads together to with him. I promised him, that day that I'd always be there for him. And I meant it, ya know.'

Dwalin had sighed after saying that, his eyes betraying the growing pain he felt in the moment.

'We lost so much in Moria.' He'd conceded 'I couldn't let him go on this blasted quest not knowing if I'd see him again. He was my brother. My kin. My king. He'd always been that. He'd kill for me and he knew I'd do the same.'

And that had led them to Bilbo Baggins of Bag End.

And then across the wilds.

Meeting orcs and wargs and spiders and unruly elves…

That had led to Bilbo's terrible cold in Laketown and Dwalin's most unfortunate excursions through the toilets at Bard's home.

That had led them to being captured while stealing weapons from the armory.

That had led them to the mountain halls where Bilbo had bargained with a dragon.

And where Thorin had taunted that same dragon with Dwalin by his side through it all.

And then the gold sickness…

And then—

Dwalin had admitted to the words he'd spoke to Thorin in the throne room after Bilbo's expulsion from Erebor…

After he'd stolen the Arkenstone

'You sit here, in these vast halls, with a crown upon your head and yet you are lesser now than you have ever been.'

Bilbo let his blanket fall from his lap as he hastily stood, running his sleeve across his cheeks hastily as he stalked towards the glory box.

He wanted to forget as much as he wanted to remember.

But once conjured, his memories would not release him from their hold until they'd finished.

And Dwalin's voice continued to reverberate in his mind as the images continued to swirl behind his eyes, pulling him back to that moment at the long table with the warriors of Erebor, even as he sat on the floor of his hobbit hole many months later.

Dwalin informed the hobbit that Fili and Kili apparently had been adamant about defending Dain's forces and had demanded their uncle to do the same once the battle had begun…

Bilbo blinked a few more times picturing those two foolish youths standing toe to toe with their uncle, scowls and glares firmly set in place as they stood their ground, reciting what Dwalin had articulated to Bilbo:

'I will not hide, behind a wall of stone while others fight OUR BATTLES FOR US! It is not in my blood Thorin.' Kili had bellowed, having raised his chin defiantly.

'We are sons of Durin. And Durin's Folk, do not flee from a fight.' Had echoed his brother, softer but not less hardened against and argument Thorin might have thrown his way.

'Aye they were like true warriors then. Grown up before my eyes.' Dwalin had murmured, his voice fading slightly as his eyes had grown more downcast. 'Never thought I'd see the day those two would have stood so proudly against their uncle. But they did. Fought hard and demanded respect.'

The hobbit lifted the lid of the mahogany chest and peered at the contents of the box, searching for the item he desired.

Even as he reached for the object he desired, seeing it carefully nestled in the corner he'd left it in only a few days before, Dwalin's words eched round in his head like a dangerous taunt.

'But in the end, everything goes away…'

Those words had been filled with bitterness, and grief as Dwalin had spoken them, refusing to look at the hobbit anymore and ignoring the shifting glances of the others in the company.

Bilbo had understood what Dwalin did not articulate to him. His silence spoke the volumes of regret he held in his heart for what had happened on Raven Hill.

They'd been separated and Thorin had faced Azog on his own.

Dwalin could not save him this time.

Neither could Bilbo.

Both faced the prospect of losing someone they'd cared deeply for. And after losing Fili and Kili too it was a low blow for both of them.

For all of them.

Even now, these many months later, Bilbo had to swallow back the bile that threatened to rise in his throat at the images that would forever be seared in his brain.

Watching Fili fall had been gut-wrenching.

Discovering Kili after the battle had nearly been his undoing.

But, discovering Thorin?

Bilbo had that last goodbye from dwarf king. He got to see those determined blue eyes one more time before they closed, got to hear that voice, however strained it was, speak his name, before it silenced forever.

He had a goodbye, a parting, however wretchedly it haunted him.

'I wish to part as friends…'

The hobbit ran a hand over his eyes and rubbed his nose, willing the image to abate, even as it continued to haunt him.

That face…

Marred by deep cuts and bruising that around his cheeks, and with crimson staining his lips, Thorin had laid upon the ice, oceanic eyes sparkling brightly even at the end, his ebony hair splayed about him and matted against his cheeks.

He'd reached for the hobbit's hand, weakly reaching for the connection as the stain in the dwarf's tunic grew ever wider, much to Bilbo's horror.

'I am so sorry to have led you into such peril… Go back to your books... and your armchair... plant your trees, watch them grow. If more people... valued home above gold... this world would be a merrier... place...'

Bilbo swallowed again and shook his head to dispel the thoughts, to force them aside, even though the soft smile Thorin quirked towards him, even at the end, still lingered at the forefront of his mind.

Bilbo had his ending, had his moment of consolation to cling to.

But what did Dwalin have? What resolution did he receive through all that?

Nothing.

No goodbye. Dwalin, who had seen Thorin through every moment of life, every adventure, did not get to say a goodbye to his closest friend.

What a bitter taste that seemed to leave in the warrior dwarf's mouth.

But…

And Bilbo paused for a moment and debated, hand still tracing the lines upon the map as he stewed.

What was better? Truly? After all the hurt, the sorrow and grief? What was the better parting? The lasting impression of a dying friend, or the fond memories?

Bilbo had the final parting. But Dwalin had those memories, unmarred by such an ending.

Who had won out in this horrid business?

Didn't Dwalin deserve that final goodbye, that last moment with the friend he'd grown with? Bilbo knew that, despite the sorrow of the moment, that goodbye was necessary for him. Bilbo could not have parted without seeing Thorin one time more.

But Dwalin?

'Aye everything goes away.'

The words the warrior had uttered suddenly struck Bilbo so profoundly that the hobbit let the key and map slip form his fingers as the words provoked a new thought, one he hadn't considered before.

Perhaps…

Had Thorin known that phrase? Hadn't he spoken it too?

Bilbo was certain he had. Balin had certainly spoken it as well. It seemed a common phrase among the dwarves.

So, perhaps…

Perhaps that was the point.

Everything goes away. That's what Dwalin and Thorin both knew. The lives they'd lived and the experiences they had all centered around that thought, around that realtiy.

Everything goes away.

Thorin's departure had been that for Bilbo. And truthfully, Bilbo needed that parting, needed that closure.

But for Dwalin?

He still had those memories of childhood, those fond thoughts.

What he didn't have was the goodbye.

He never would.

"He would never go away." The hobbit muttered softly, allowing a bitter smile to work its way on his face at the realization.

Ah Thorin was a true friend indeed.

Thorin had understood Dwalin's unspoken fear of losing his friend, of having to say goodbye again, even as he understood Bilbo's need for closure and acceptance and friendship.

And so he'd never given him the chance TO say goodbye. Dwalin would forever have the memories of Thorin. The light, the laughter and the life of Thorin Oakenshield would forever remain alight and well within Dwalin's memory.

It would never go away.

"Oh, you clever dwarf" Bilbo uttered to the silence of Bag End.