I probably shouldn't be starting yet another story when I already have three to get through already, but I just couldn't hold myself anymore. I found this amazing prompt while browsing the Hobbit Kink Meme a few months ago and I just couldn't let it go. I don't know how it happened, I'm not even part of the BagginShield fandom (but I'll admit, they're kind of cute together ^^), but I really wanted to try and give it a fill, because it's a wonderful prompt, and hopefully, it might gradually turn into a full-fledged story eventually…

And if you're hoping for fluff and happiness, I'm sorry to say that you've unfortunately knocked on the wrong door. ;)

Pain.

Pain was the only thing his brain could register right now, as each ragged breath he managed to take in seemed to burn his throat and set his insides on fire. He'd though that he'd already been through the worst when Azog's blade had pierced his armor, that the burning agony that had come along with the feel of steel burying itself deeper and deeper into his flesh had been without a doubt the worst thing he'd ever had to endure. It turned out he was wrong.

Now, he could actually feel the cold beneath him seep into his body, could almost feel the wound in his side bleed out, could feel Death creeping up on him, slowly but surely, as if She was well intent on letting him suffer as much as possible so that when the final moment came at last, he'd see it as mercy and would accept being whisked off in her black arms forever. It hurt, and if Thorin could have, he would have thrown a thousand curses at Fate and her cruel and twisted games, but he couldn't bring himself to, he couldn't do anything more than accept what was happening –accept that he was undoubtedly dying- because he deserved no less, after all. Who was he, to be allowed to live when his greed and selfishness had cost the lives of so many? Thousands had died today, because he had refused to part with a miserly part of his family's heirloom. Fili, his own blood, had died because he'd been too blind with revenge to think clearly and had preferred sending his closest kin to their doom rather than reconsider and stay his hand for today. He'd as good as killed the blond himself, if he were honest, and the realization had Thorin's guts twisting uncomfortably, knowing that even now, even on the verge of Death, he was not going to be allowed a moment of freedom, a moment to appreciate solace and peace. No, he could picture it all, each mistake, each wrong move, glaring back at him, reminding him of what a poor King he was, what a disgrace he must be towards his Father and Grandfather. No amount of self-loathing would ever make him redeemable in their eyes, and Thorin almost expected them to disown him as soon as he set foot in Mahal's Halls and was reunited with them, being shunned by his deceased family was what he deserved, after all.

At least Kili was probably still alive. It wasn't much of a consolation, but Thorin felt a small ounce of relief knowing that the Defiler had not succeeded in wiping out his entire line. His younger sister-son might not have heard or cared to see to his voice when he'd anxiously called out to him earlier, after his brother's death, but the small flicker of hope that still endured, that small part of him that clung to the belief that Kili was –had to be- still alive made the fact that he was dying almost a little easier to bear. Durin's house would still stand, even after he was gone.

Kili still had a whole life ahead of him, and, if Thorin had been allowed to live on, he would have come to terms that his younger nephew had fallen for an elf. He might not be the warmest to the creatures of the woodland realm, but Thorin knew he had never quite been able to deny Kili anything, and were he to bring home an elven maiden, he didn't think he'd be able to refuse in the long run. After all, Kili was young, didn't he deserve happiness even if finding such a treasure was to be with a pointy-eared warrior, especially after what he'd put him and the rest of his companions through? Aye, maybe some might have called him out on his indulgent nature towards his youngest, but Thorin wasn't one to care about how outsiders might disagree with the way he raised his sister-sons. They had always been an essential part to Thorin's small world of joy, them and his dear Sister, as he'd never really been a very open enough person to include anyone else in his sphere of joy. However, the Quest had changed that. Before setting out from Ered Luin with his twelve companions, Thorin wouldn't have described himself as a very caring person, but after seeing what each and every dwarf he'd brought along with him had been through and willing to do in order to see their adventure through, he'd come to deeply respect each and every one of them.

The other person he'd strangely enough grown attached to was one Bilbo Baggins. A year ago, when laying eyes on the odd little Hobbit for the very first time, he'd never have guessed he'd have come to care so deeply for him, and yet, strangely enough, he had. Thorin knew he'd remained quite quiet, he'd never truly told Mister Baggins how he felt about him, but both of them had grown closer along the way, and neither of them would wish for what they had once had to be lost forever, which seemed to very well be the case, if the warmth he could feel flowing down his side was indeed blood. There was no way that Oin would be able to make it up here to save him in time, there was no way anyone would find him, for that matter. Fili was dead, Bilbo, he did not know what had become of him after he'd stormed the tower, Kili he had last seen charging head first into the pack of orcs right above him and Dwalin, Dwalin had tried to call him back but he had not listened… And now he was going to pay the price for his stubbornness with his life.

Often, he'd prided himself in being a head strong dwarf, it had been a quality many recognized among his kin, but taking into account some of his more recent actions, Gandalf's words, "Your pride will be your downfall", seemed to make more sense to him all of a sudden. Thorin regretted his conduct, especially now that, alone as he was, he could not ask a single soul for forgiveness, and were he offered the choice to start anew, he would take it without an ounce of hesitation. Those he had so badly wronged deserved him to make up for it in any way he could.

So engrossed in his treasure had he been, he'd missed out on what he had, he'd left behind his loyal friends, he'd turned on his family and had almost had one of his nephews murder the one person who had come to mean more to him than anything, all because of the cursed Arkenstone, and Oh! How he wished he could take it all back, how he wished he'd not said those words to Bilbo on the rampart, how he wished he had not almost forced Fili to murder the small Hobbit, how he regretted having doubted his loyal company, and above all, he regretted never having had the chance to tell them all how sorry he was for it all. Having the chance to apologize to them was something he longed for, yet something he knew he didn't deserve, would never be worthy of. Maybe this was his punishment, maybe going on to his Father's Halls with the knowledge that he'd torn his family apart, dishonored his word and been willing to hurt Bilbo for the sake of treasure and wealth was what he would have to bear, an eternity riddled with guilt and shame. It should have unsettled him, yet it didn't, for Thorin knew he deserved no less.

Still, leaving behind those he cared for, leaving Kili without having a chance to say goodbye and wish him well as new King under the Mountain, leaving Fili to the crows where he must still be laying with nobody aware of where he had fallen, leaving his dear friends Balin and Dwalin the responsibility to inform his sister Dis of how his grand quest had taken a turn for the worst, leaving Bilbo with whom he'd hoped to start anew after the battle to pick up the shattered pieces, leaving all of them behind, it hardly seemed like Fate was being fair to him, and not for the first time did Thorin both question and curse the decisions made by those above him, those Gods who seemed to do as they wished with their mortal lives as if it were just a game, with little regards to the will of the pawns they used for their own entertainment.

In an act of defiance, well intent on showing them he was not ready to go down just yet, Thorin tried to move, at least lean upwards slightly, hoping he might not be alone up here, on this gigantic frozen plateau. Not for the first time did he regret separating from the rest of his company, as now the weight of his loneliness came crashing down on him, awareness that nobody would be here to ease his passing finally dawning on him. He coughed, red specks of blood coming up as he hacked, once again reminding him of his impending doom, reminding him that once again, he'd failed so many in Death just like he had in life. How was he ever going to be able to repay Bilbo if he died? How was he going to be able to help his Sister bear the grief of her lost sons if he was not there to support her through the long journey known as grief? How would he do right by the many he'd wronged if he were to die this day?

With those thoughts in mind, Thorin found a small spark inside of him lighting up again. While he undoubtedly deserved death, he did not want to die, not when there were still so many he owed apologies to, not when he had managed to start building something new with Bilbo, something they could both share together if he could hold on just a little longer. Didn't he owe Bilbo that at least? After everything the Hobbit had done for him, didn't the small Hafling not deserve him to fight for him now too? Didn't the company not deserve to have him at least apologize for his conduct and have him live to make it up to them? Aye, dying now would be selfish, it would be nothing less than escaping what he was due without making amends, and Thorin really did not wish to part from his friends without first having the opportunity to say how sorry he was and that he had not meant any of this to befall them when he had accepted them as worthy members of the Company when they'd first set out from Ered Luin, about a year ago now.

Bilbo, however, he knew deserved more than that. While Thorin cared about the well-being of his company as a whole, Bilbo he knew was the person he would particularly have to make up to. They had trusted each other, the two had come a long way from the small Hobbit whole in which they had met, and Thorin knew he had broken a part of what they had had when he'd tried to have the small burglar thrown of the ramparts after he'd doubted him and the others. Bilbo couldn't have taken such an offense easily, and Thorin would count himself extremely lucky if he, or any other member of the company for that matter, ever found it in himself to forgive him, for he deserved no such mercy, of that he was sure.

The slight pain in his chest was his only warning before he coughed again, and the coppery taste of blood left an acrid taste in his mouth as he heaved what he could, just another reminder that he was going to die, alone up here, isolated from those he cared about. Had he possessed the strength, Thorin might have wiped whatever specks had managed to fall on his chin, but as it was, he just couldn't bring himself to care. He was dying, what was the point in trying to do anything to stop it? The pain in his side was a constant reminder of what awaited him, if the inevitability of his situation, and while a part of him screamed at how unfair it was, at how it shouldn't be him who was losing everything after barely having the chance to bask in his newly-reclaimed homeland, after everything he had done to ensure Erebor was once again in dwarven hands, but defying Fate was never something one did, and right now, as hard as it was for a dwarf as stubborn as he, Death was slowly creeping up on him, and he ought to give in to acceptance sooner rather than later, it would make it easier in the end anyway. Refusing it was only prolonging his torture, so why bother?

You owe it to him, to all of them.

Apologies. Right. Thorin screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the pain, for if he could not feel it, maybe he could bring himself to believe that this was not the end for him, maybe there was still a tiny chance for a soul as irredeemable as his to find a second up, he could almost bask in this idea that everything was fine, that instead of a battle raging beneath him, it was just another winter in Ered Luin, that when he came home that night, Dis would be waiting for him with Kili and Fili, who would eagerly tell him about what they'd learnt from Balin and the countless books of knowledge he shared with them. Closing his eyes, he could see her smile, her soft lips curve up in her quiet greeting, before she would return to the kitchen to watch over their meal as he would take off a soggy coat and collapse in the first chair available. Were the opportunity given to him, he would probably then light up his pipe in the hopes of a quick smoke to let off all the tension of the day before his two nephews would come barreling in, Kili seeking to sit on his lap and Fili, a little more reserved, would ask how his day had went.

Thorin almost smiled, but his attempt was cut short when a sharp pain ripped through his side when Kili would take hold of his tunic a little too tightly, throwing him back into the cold and brutal reality and whatever warm heart Dis had sat him down beside was gone, the cold of the ice below freezing him to the bone as it seeped in maliciously through his clothes, his exhausted body unable to fight it any longer.

A part of him desperately wanted to give in, it would be so much easier after all, and it would cause him less pain in the long run, but even as he closed his eyes, Thorin felt his hand clench, his body, while needing rest, unwilling to comply to the relief his mind was leading it towards, and so the dwarf found himself pulled between life and death, wishing for the latter yet bitter at the thought of everything he would be leaving behind forever if he just gave in and closed his tired eyes, knowing that were he to do so, there was a big chance he would never open them again.

It would be so easy though, to just let go, nothing would matter anymore, not him, not the crown, not the damned Arkenstone, nothing at all.

Thorin through he could hear a faint noise to his right, small like the sound of a scurrying squirrel scampering off after realizing it had been seen, and for a moment he wondered what sort of small creature would possibly be able to make it's way up here when, out of the corner of his eye, he could make out a curly mop of brown hair. That was no squirrel-

"Bilbo!" He choked out, coughing up more blood as his body fought the exertion he'd put it under, but Thorin couldn't bring himself to care. Of all the people he'd known, the one person he would wish to spend his last moments with had come for him, and while he was deserving of no such gift, he wasn't about to turn the Hafling away.

Weakly, he reached out a shaking arm in an attempt to take hold of the other's blue robe, grab onto something that might anchor him to reality for a few moments longer, just the time to let Bilbo know how sorry he was and take that burden off his chest at least.

He did not see the other's worried face, he did not see Master Baggin's eyes roam over his body in an attempt to take in the damage, he did not see his shaking hands hover over the wound in his chest, all he saw was that someone was there for him, and Thorin wasn't about to turn that away.

"Bilbo!" He wanted to say something else, Mahal knew he had so many thing he wanted to tell the Hafling ranging from a full-hearted apology to admitting how deeply he cared for him, but as he opened his mouth, nothing came out, and words seemed so futile all of a sudden, when it came to expressing how dearly he'd come to value the younger.

"Shh, don't move. Lie still." He could feel the other's shaking hands fumble with the front of his tunic, no doubt in an attempt to try and stop the blood flow, but one look at the ugly wound was enough to have him turning his head away in disgust. Thorn couldn't fault him however, the gruesome reality that came along with battles was never something Hobbit had (or should have had to, for that matter) endured, and poor Bilbo seemed quite at a loss of what he ought to do. Several times, his hands went through a back-and-forward movement, hovering above his injury in question, yet each time the Hobbit had been about to put his hands down, he retracted them at the last moment, as if he just couldn't bring himself to come into contact with the blood.

Leave it, don't worry about it. The words were on the tip of his tongue, he didn't want to cause Bilbo more anguish than he was already going through, but when his mouth tried to curve around the sound of the first word, Thorin couldn't bring himself to voice it out because it would just bring such a finality to their situation. He knew he was dying, that he would not wake up tomorrow to bask in his newly-reclaimed homeland, and yet having the small Hobbit here beside him made him long for nothing more than that, just to have the chance to spend a day –one day- in his company where all would be well.

"I'm sorry-" He rasped out, a sharp intake of breath sending a spark of pain shooting up his side, and he winced, Bilbo's hands keeping him down. One would probably tell him to keep his words, to save his breath for as long as he could, but Thorin didn't care he had this one chance to apologize to someone, and while in no way would it make up for what he had done, at least parting with the world would be easier knowing he'd taken a small step towards forgiveness.

"No, no don't say anything. You'll be fine." Bilbo cut him off, rummaging through his pocket in search of his blasted hanckerchief. He knew he was no Oin, and far was it for him to claim to have an extensive medical knowledge, but he would be damned if he did nothing. Ushering Thorin to save his breath –for he was not about to let him die, not if he had a say in the matter- the Hobbit took out his family trinket with trembling fingers, fumbling with the fabric several times before putting it over the wound in an attempt for it to soak up whatever blood was there, squeezing his eyes shut when Thorin inhaled sharply. He did not mean to put him through so much pain, but there was no helping it. If he did nothing, then the other would die, and Bilbo would be damned if he let the dwarf king die so soon after they had just started something together.

"I'm glad you are here." Stubborn as he was, Thorin wasn't about to let his appreciation for the fact that the Hobbit was here go unnoticed, Bilbo deserved to know how much he valued his presence, even if this were to be the last time he would see him. Truly, come to think of it, there was probably not another soul he would rather have spent his last moments with, if Thorin were honest. He valued each and every member of his company, of course, there were no dwarves more loyal and more honorable than those twelve he had gotten to know over the course of the last year, but Mister Baggins had always held a special place in him, and while Thorin hated injustice, he knew he would be lying if he were to say that Bilbo didn't hold any other place than one slightly above all of his companions.

Still, Bilbo tried to keep him quiet (and he now understood Gandalf's frustration regarding Thorin's stubbornness a little better) and his hands continued to awkwardly try and stem the blood flow of the dwarf's wound. It was much uglier-looking now that he could see it up close, and not for the first time did he regret caring so much, as it only made it harder to bear.

"Everything will be fine, Thorin, you'll see. Just… Lay still –shh." He didn't know who he was trying to convince more, himself or the wounded dwarf beneath him, but the words just stumbled out of his mouth without a warning, and so bus was he trying to tend to his friend's hurt, the Hobbit just didn't stop his rambling. "There, see?" And he squeezed Thorin's arm just a little tighter once he'd tied the piece of fabric as tightly as he dared. "Everything will be all right, I've got you."

I've got you. Thorin had never been one to let himself be taken care of, let alone another being than a dwarf, but oddly enough, in the haze his eyesight had become, the Hobbit's voice was oddly comforting, and the hand on his gave him something to hold on to as the pain in his side began to slowly dull down.

Maybe things wouldn't turn out so badly in the end, he mused, after all, Bilbo was there, Bilbo had told him that everything would be fine in the end, and for once, Thorin let his usual skepticism rest as he indulged in the knowledge that the Hobbit was there for him, here of all places.

Aye, as long as Mister Baggins was there, everything would be fine, and sparing a last glance to the small burglar, trying to muster a would-be encouraging smile for him, Thorin closed his tired eyes, letting himself bask in the security that, whatever happened, the next time he would wake up, Bilbo would be there for him. And everything would be alright.