One Last Kiss
HKM: "You don't have to love me, just don't go." Bagginshield
The red morning sky shone over the field, making the Lonely Mountain a dark beacon reaching for the sky. The lake nearby shone orange and the ruins of Dale were equally black as the mountain.
The aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies is a field of the dead. Elves, Men, Dwarves, and Orcs lie in bloody heaps. Thorin sat staring at the bloody field before him. How much of this was his doing? Or were these events he could not stop even if he tried?
Thorin clutched his injured arm, tied in a sling, trying to sift through his memories and find the source. He couldn't. He could only see Bilbo's fear when he closed his eyes.
"There you are." Thorin turned to look at Gandalf. The wizard leaned on his staff with his good hand. The other is also in a sling. "What brings you here, if I may ask, King under the Mountain?"
Thorin looked out over the field again. "Nothing," he lied, standing. He hissed in a breath as his sore muscles strained to do his bidding. "I would like to speak with Bilbo."
"Best hurry then," Gandalf said. Thorin furrowed his brow. "He intends to leave today with the Elves—"
Thorin hobbled past him.
Gandalf grabbed his shoulder, "Easy, Thorin!"
"I can rest easy when I have spoken to him," he said, pushing Gandalf off. He found Bilbo's tent and passed through. Bilbo gawked. "Is it true?"
"Is what true?"
"You intend to leave?"
Bilbo nodded. "I've no reason to stay."
"You do."
He stiffened, narrowing his eyes at Thorin. "You lost that right when you tried to kill me."
"I know, but…Bilbo, please don't go," Thorin said. He stepped closer, kneeling. "You don't have to love me, just don't go."
"And watch you torture yourself all over again?"
Thorin winced.
He had been fascinated by Bilbo nearly from the moment they met. He was fascinated, but not in love. Not at first. Not until Bilbo was held by his limbs by two Trolls threatening to tear him limb from limb.
From there, everything had been one nonstop trial to keep him and everyone alive. In the dead of night, he nursed the ache in his heart from an unreturned love.
He lashed out, hurting Bilbo and hurting himself.
He finally confessed in Laketown, unable to take the pain anymore. He expected his love to be thrown back at him and that he would slink away, wounded, brokenhearted…
Bilbo had accepted his love and it had relieved him. What was once painful was then exhilarating. What once made him feel cold warmed him.
Bilbo shook his head. "You know I can't do that. Not again. Not for a lifetime, Thorin."
"Don't go."
"I have to. I'm not going to stay where I do not feel safe."
Thorin swallowed. "You need not see me. You need not speak to me or anything…"
"Thorin, stop," Bilbo snapped. "Just…stop. I'm going back to the Shire. It's already decided."
The tent-flap was pulled up and an Elf looked in. "Lord Hobbit, your pony is ready."
"Thank you."
The Elf left. Bilbo buckled his bag and slung it over his shoulder. Thorin got to his feet shakily. "Is there really nothing I can do to make you change your mind?"
"Nothing," Bilbo assured him. He pulled Thorin down to his height, pressing his lips to Thorin's. "Goodbye, Thorin Oakenshield."
Bilbo walked out of the tent.
That night, Thorin would rant, rage, and vent his frustration any way he can. He'd ask himself why he didn't try harder to prevent Bilbo from leaving. Why he could only beg and plead when he should have been more forceful.
He would then collapse, reminding himself he was the reason his One ran away from him.
But for now, he could only stare, motionless and defeated, where Bilbo had walked through.
