(A/N: Hello! I decided to do an alternate story to Hearts of Gold. It takes place after Thorin kills Azog in chapter 8. Most of the parts will be the same ((from chapters 8 and 9)), but new scenarios will be added. In this version, Bilbo is still unconscious at the tower when Thorin finds him. Fíli and Kíli still live, so don't worry. I hope you enjoy the story! It will have a happy ending, I promise. Rated M for language, violence, and fluff, and minor character death.)
Thorin grimaced as he made his way down Ravenhill. His upper left arm was killing him; Azog had stabbed him there before he (Thorin) had run him through with Orcrist, thereby slaughtering him. Blood seeped through his makeshift bandage and rolled down his sleeve.
Above him, the Eagles were soaring as voices cheered nearby. He smiled. They had won and the enemy had lost. Of course, they would have lost anyhow now that Azog was dead.
He was eager to join in the celebrations, although he preferred a more quieter atmosphere. But Fíli, Kíli, his cousins, family, and friends were down there somewhere, as well as Bilbo. They would make it worthwhile.
When he reached the bottom of the hill, he saw Fíli and Dwalin running towards him. They had gone back to the mountain just as the battle ended a short time ago. It was not long before they realized that Thorin had never came down from Ravenhill, so they went to find him. However, it turned out that it wasn't necessary to.
He beamed as he walked over to them, relieved they were all right minus some bruises and cuts.
"Uncle!" Fíli exclaimed, leaning on his knees to catch his breath. He embraced him with one arm after he did. "Thank Mahal you're alive!"
"I take it that Azog isn't, then?" Dwalin inquired.
Thorin nodded while thumping his nephew's back. "He's not."
"Good. I knew you'd be able to get rid of him."
Fíli laid a hand on his wrist as he peered at his arm. "This looks kind of bad, Uncle."
"Don't worry about it. It's not as bad as it seems. I will have Óin take care of it. Where's Kíli?" he queried, noticing that he wasn't there.
"Inside Erebor. He's fine, just getting patched up," he added before he could worry. "He said that Bolg had roughed him up pretty good before he, that red-haired she-Elf from Mirkwood, and Beorn killed him. He didn't seem to be paying attention to what injuries he has, though. He's too interested in telling his story to everyone who will listen."
Thorin couldn't help but feel a mixture of pride, joy, and amusement as he said this. "I bet he is. Where's Bilbo? Is he all right?"
Dwalin shrugged. "I don't know. We were forced to split up. But if he had managed to escape the Orcs that attacked us, he's probably in Dale with Gandalf. The Wizard hasn't come back yet either."
He frowned as he turned to look at the nearby city. "I hope he did. If they aren't back when Óin has finished checking my injuries, then I'm going to look for him myself." It would be his fault if something had happened to Bilbo. He made the choice to go to Ravenhill; Bilbo wouldn't have needed to warn him about Bolg's army if he hadn't.
They made their way through cheering crowd when they reached Erebor, hugging their family and friends or pounding shoulders as they did. Thorin looked for Óin after entering the Mountain and saw that nearest empty bedrooms were being reserved for the wounded or dead.
It turned out that it wasn't necessary to find him after a several minutes. Óin walked out of one of the rooms and spotted him immediately.
"Ah, there you are, Thorin! I was hoping that you had made it," he declared.
"Your hopes had been put to good use," Thorin returned. "Where is Kíli? How is he?"
"He'll be fit as a fiddle once he heals. He has a scar on his right cheek an' a smaller, shallow one on his left waist. There are some bruises here an' there too, but he'll be all right as long as his scars don't become infected. He's in the room I just came out of. You can talk to him while I look yer arm over. It's bleedin' down your sleeve! Get in there!"
Kíli was lying down on the bed when Thorin stepped in the room. The red-haired she-Elf that Fíli mentioned earlier was with him, sitting on a chair next to his bed. He was not happy to see her, but he nodded politely all the same. She inclined her head in return.
"Uncle, you're here! So Fee and Dwalin did find you!" Kíli remarked with a wide smile.
"We found each other to be exact, Kee," Fíli joked a little.
Everyone chuckled as Thorin lowered himself onto another bed. He couldn't help but wince as he stared at the cut on his younger nephew's face. It was still vividly red.
Óin assisted him in removing his coat and upper-body clothing. He grimaced when he uncovered the wound on his arm and looked it over. The others winced or pursed their lips.
"Yer a lucky one, Thorin. It's not as deep as I thought it was at first, but it's still deep enough. None of the nerves have been damaged, but there may be some scarrin' even when it does heal. Let's pray that it doesn't get infected, or else your arm might be rendered useless if the infection isn't caught quickly."
He tended to the wound immediately, as well as the bruises on his back, sides, and his right ankle. Thorin didn't make a noise when the ointment and salves stung, but he cringed internally.
After his injuries had been bandaged and cleaned properly, Fíli handed him some fresh garments and his royal-blue coat.
"Thank you," he said before getting dressed.
"I'll change the dressin' every few hours or so. Don't move yer arm too quickly or put too much pressure on it fer at least two or three weeks. It won't heal if ya do." Óin advised as he helped him.
Thorin nodded. "I'll try not to. Did you see Bilbo or Gandalf when you left to bring my clothes?" he asked Fíli.
He shook his head. "No, they didn't come in. I looked outside, but I didn't see them in the crowd either."
"I'm going back out there then," he remarked.
"You oughta stay here and rest. Lay down for a bit, and then you can look for them," Óin fussed. He tried to push him back onto the bed.
Thorin stood anyway. "No. I need to go right now. I'll come back when I return. You have my word."
Óin followed after him as he left the room. No matter how much he argued and threatened, Thorin didn't listen to a word that he said. He finally gave up, muttering under his breath as he went to tend to other Dwarves and Men who needed him.
Thorin searched through the horde of people when he was outside, but Bilbo was nowhere to be found. He called his name as loudly as he could; there was no response.
"King Thorin!" a familiar voice shouted.
He turned to see the Wizard making his way over to him.
"Gandalf!" he yelled back. "I'm glad to see that you're still with us."
"As I am that you are."
He looked around. "Where is Bilbo? Is he with you? I sent him back to Dale after he told me about Bolg's army."
Gandalf frowned. "No...I thought he was still with you. I haven't seen him since he left to warn you about him."
Thorin grew pale as he stared at Ravenhill with alarm and horror. "Damn it! He's still up there! I should have checked to see if he was before coming back. Damn it!"
He edged his way out of the throng and bolted for the rams that were nearby. He climbed on one that was lucky enough to be unharmed with some effort. He then turned to Gandalf, who had followed him.
"I'll be right back. Have Óin prepare the bed next to Kíli's in case Bilbo has been injured," he said.
The Wizard nodded before leaving to do as he requested. Thorin dug his heels into the ram's sides and it took off.
I'm coming, Bilbo. And please be alive when I find you. Please, he thought to himself as the ram galloped across the field.
Moments later, he reached the courtyard. Dead and unconscious Goblins and Orcs lay everywhere. He didn't see a green coat anywhere among them. Nor was Bilbo on the stairs that led to the tower.
It was not until Thorin had climbed to the top did he notice Sting glowing on the floor. He slid off of the ram and picked it up. He knew that its owner couldn't be very far away.
He glanced around. "Bilbo!" he yelled, his voice echoing.
No reply. Thorin started to look for him in spite of his aching feet.
"Bilbo! Bilbo, where are you?!"
Still no answer.
His heart clenched with anxiety and dread. What if he wasn't here? What if something else had happened to him?
He was passing by one of the tower's stairways when his eyes landed on a still, green-clad figure lying next to the wall.
Yes, it was Bilbo.
Thorin rushed over to him. "Ghivashel! Oh, Ghivashel, please be alive. Can you hear me?" he whispered frantically as he gently shook him.
Bilbo did not wake up or make a sound.
He placed two trembling fingers on his neck before sighing in devout relief when he felt a pulse. Bilbo was alive, just unconscious.
"Oh, thank Mahal. Hold on, Ghivashel. Hold on. It's Thorin. I'm here. I'm taking you to Óin so that he can give you the help that you need. Just hang on for me. Please," he begged in a low, soft voice.
Thorin took off his coat and wrapped it securely around his quivering form. His love was freezing, for Durin's sake! After that, he slid Sting into the scabbard on Bilbo's waist. He carefully lifted him up, ignoring the pain in his left arm as he gave him a brief, but deep kiss on the lips. Then he hoisted him onto the ram and climbed on after that.
He held Bilbo close to warm him as he guided it back down Ravenhill as quickly and carefully as he possible. "We'll be there soon," he murmured. "I will stay by your side while Óin is taking care of you, Ghivashel. I won't leave you for a minute."
Within several minutes, Thorin was slowing the ram to a halt in front of Erebor's entrance. Fíli and Kíli were standing there waiting for him. Tauriel was standing with the latter, having been unsuccessful in her attempts to keep him in bed so that he could rest. Balin was there too.
Dismay, horror, and worry filled each other their expressions as their attention shifted to Bilbo. Thorin climbed off of the ram and carefully gathered him into his arms. They rushed over to them.
Kíli's eyes were bright with tears as he noticed how still and quiet Bilbo was. He choked back a sob seeing the dried blood on the right side of his head and face.
"Oh Mahal, no! It's too late. He's d..." he whispered in a cracking voice.
"No, he's not...just unconscious," Thorin soothed him.
Everyone sighed in relief.
Fíli moved to take Bilbo next. "Here. Let me carry him, Uncle. You don't want to strain your arm and tear your stitches out."
Thorin pulled him into his chest. He didn't want anyone to hold Bilbo except himself. "No! I don't need help. I can bring him to Óin without any trouble."
"Uncle, don't be ridiculous...!"
"I said NO!"
All of them jumped and exchanged glances. Fíli and Tauriel were shocked as well as confused. Kíli and Balin had knowing looks in their eyes. However, they too were stunned. None of them had clearly expected this outburst.
Thorin didn't care about what they might have been thinking. He felt responsible for what happened to Bilbo. Therefore, he would look after him and make sure that he was properly taken care of.
He hurried inside while the others followed him. Gandalf met them in the hall as they made their way to the room both he (Thorin) and Kíli were in not ten minutes ago.
"Oh, thank goodness that you found him so quickly," the Wizard sighed before casting a spell on Bilbo. He was also relieved to see that he was alive. "Óin has the bed ready. We must make haste lest his injuries become more serious."
The said Dwarf healer was waiting for them. Other healers were now tending to the wounded, so he was able to go back to the room. He had been sulking until Thorin appeared, but his frown vanished when he noticed Bilbo.
"Bless me! Wha' happened to him?" he queried in alarm.
"I'm not sure. It's likely that an Orc hit him very hard on the side of the head. Either that, or something heavy landed on it," Thorin responded.
Thorin laid Bilbo down, unwrapping him from his (Thorin's) coat that he used to keep him warm. He pulled the woolen blanket over him after that. Then he sat down in a chair that was next to the bed and gently took his hand.
Óin didn't notice (though everyone else did) as he set to work immediately. He cleaned the blood off of Bilbo's head and face to examine it.
"He has a gash under his temple. Thank Aulë it's not deep and not bleedin' anymore. He must've landed on it or bumped into somethin' really hard after he was hit on the forehead. There's a bump the size of a tree knot there. But we won't know wha' happened fer sure until he wakes up and tells us. If he wasn't knocked out right off, that is," he observed.
"Is his condition very serious?" Thorin questioned, managing to keep the nervousness out of his voice.
"It's serious enough if he hasn't waken up yet, and he might have a concussion. We'll see after we wakes up. But don't worry too much. He'll recover in time."
He treated the cut and bruised lump with ointment, salves, and medicine that would bring down the swelling. After that, he wrapped a bandage around Bilbo's head, right under his curly hairline.
Thorin found himself blushing as helped Óin undress him so that he could check for more injuries. Not that he had never seen him without clothes when they bathed on the journey. Well, he only saw his upper body anyway. Still, undressing Bilbo was something new in his experience.
He had no other injuries, thanks to the Mithril shirt that he was wearing under his coat. Everyone's eyes grew large when they saw it.
"Where did he get that from?" Kíli breathed.
"Me. I let him have it as a gift because we didn't have armor his size," Thorin replied.
Fíli blinked. "Wasn't this yours?"
"Aye, but I'd rather that Bilbo had it. He needs it more than I ever will."
He rose an eyebrow, but said nothing else. He suspected that there was more to what his uncle had told him.
Óin finished re-clothing Bilbo then. "I'm done here. Now, I want 'im to be on bed-rest for a week as a precaution. If he has a concussion, he can't be movin' around too much, or lettin' himself get stressed out. You can take 'im to his room now. Just don't jar his head or anything. I'll check on 'im later. Let me look at your arm and make sure that your stitches haven't loosened up."
It turned out that they hadn't, but he changed his dressings regardless. He left after that.
Thorin uncovered Bilbo and lifted him up. He used his right arm to carry most of his weight so as not to put pressure on the other, which was aching quite a lot now.
"I'm bringing him to one of the royal chambers. I want him to receive the best care possible while he heals. He wouldn't be injured if I hadn't gone to Ravenhill, so I will look after him when Óin isn't there. Either that, or I will have someone do it in my stead if I am busy," he stated.
"You know that that's not true, laddie. It's not as if you knew that he would get hurt. You would have been there to protect him if you did," Balin noted.
Thorin made no comment on that. He knew that he would always feel responsible for what happened to Bilbo. No amount of attempted convincing would make him believe otherwise.
"If anyone needs me, I will be sitting with Bilbo," was all he said.
"Do you want any help?" Gandalf queried.
"No, I have him."
He stood up regardless. "Well, you'll need someone to hold the doors open for you at least. I'll go with you."
Both of them left the others in the room. As the door closed, Thorin heard Fíli ask in a low voice, "Is there's something going on here that I've missed before?"
They went to Bilbo's bedroom to get his nightwear first, then headed to the royal chambers. Some members of the Company briefly spoke to them on the way, inquiring about Bilbo's state and their health with concern.
Eventually, Thorin led Gandalf to a bedchamber that was around the corner from his own. He thanked the latter when he opened the door for him.
Gandalf assisted him in changing Bilbo's clothes. Thorin kept his head as still as possible while they did. Finally, Bilbo was tucked in under the warm covers.
The Wizard placed a hand on his shoulder after the latter sat on a chair. "I will tell Óin and anyone else who needs to speak to you where you are. I know that you don't want to leave Bilbo's side. It is fortunate that nothing else happened to him, or your circumstances would be bleak. Thank Mahal that it isn't and that you still have the chance to make things right. Use it wisely and well," he murmured.
He left and shut the door after telling him this. Thorin was glad; he just wished to be alone with his Bilbo.
Relief coursed through him for the second time that day as he lifted Bilbo's hand and kissed it. Tears poured out of his eyes as he wept quietly and mulled over what Gandalf said.
He had been so close to losing his One. So close. If he had rested as Óin had ordered him to...if he had chosen to wait until later to find him...he may have been too late. He cried even harder-but still silently-as he imagined all of the gruesome things that could have happened to take his love away from him.
Listening to Óin meant that, unless someone else went to search for him, Bilbo would have been left on Ravenhill to freeze until he was no longer unconscious, but...no. He couldn't bear to think of it.
Irreversible damage may or would have done to his brain. He may have lost some or all of his memory, for all he knew.
Or he may become a child once more-mentally, that is-and therefore need to grow up and learn things all over again.
Worse of all, he may end up in a vegetable-like state.
No matter what happened, Thorin would never have the chance to apologize to Bilbo. Not just about the whole Arkenstone issue, but also for quarreling with him when he (Bilbo) disagreed with his request to not partake in the battle. For not resolving matters with him sooner. For being irrational.
And he would never have had the chance to tell Bilbo that...that...
Thorin laid his face on his chest and sobbed into it with heightened despair. However, he did smile a little, knowing that none of this was to be. They could still put all of their troubles behind them. Add to that, Bilbo would recover soon. He would reveal his intentions to court and marry him after he did. They could plan the rest of their lives together. After all, they had the time and opportunity to, having survived the battle.
He managed to calm down eventually. He used the hand that wasn't clutching Bilbo's to wipe the tears off of his face. He didn't want anyone to notice that he had been crying. Nobody would take him seriously ever again if they did.
For how long he sat there, Thorin didn't know. Óin came in periodically to look them over and change their bandages. He also laid two pitchers of water on the table next to the bed, in case Thorin needed a drink. He knew that Bilbo might be thirsty after he woke up too.
Bombur offered Thorin dinner soon after, but he was not hungry. He told him to save it for later or give it to someone else if he couldn't.
Dáin stopped by to give him a report on who was dead or wounded too. Less than half of his troop was, as well as Bard's. Thorin nearly smirked when he heard that Thranduil was shot in his right leg with two arrows. Luckily for him, neither were poisonous. He would live. Nevertheless, his army took most of the brunt.
He (Dáin) nodded to the unconscious Hobbit once he had finished telling him this. "You and Bilbo are very close, aren't ya?" he inquired.
Thorin inclined his head.
"Mmm. I knew ya had to be since ya haven't left the room in hours. I'm sorry that he got hurt, but I heard that he'll be fine. Well, I'm gonna go now. I know ya wanna be alone with him. But I wish the both of ya good luck."
It seemed as if more people were figuring out the true nature of their relationship.
"Thank you," Thorin muttered.
By the time Óin had finished giving him and Bilbo their last check-up, it was after midnight. The lamps stopped burning, but the room was dimly lit by the flames in the hearth. He didn't notice; he was practically dozing off. His head rested on the side of the bed.
Just as sleep was about to claim him, Bilbo's hand moved in his. He froze as he began to stir next, and then he groaned. He looked up to see that his Ghivashel was taking in his surroundings with blank confusion.
Thorin felt tears of joy well in his eyes as he sat up. "Bilbo?" he murmured in a gruff voice.
He jumped and turned to him with a startled expression. He was all the more aghast when Thorin embraced him tightly.
"Oh, Bilbo, you don't know how happy I am to know that you are going to be all right," the latter whispered.
Bilbo froze, then began to struggle in his arms. "Excuse me, sir! I don't know who you are, but will you please get off of me?!" he demanded in anger, bewilderment, and fright. "Who are you? Where am I? What is this place? This doesn't look like my house! Get off me, I say! You are rude and invading my personal space!"
Thorin paused. Did...Did he say what he thought he said?
He backed away from him. "W-What?"
"I am sure that you heard me clearly, sir. Who are you?"