Why hello.
Since the other story I've been working hasn't really kicked off, I've decided to work on a more angsty idea that popped into my head a few days ago. So, I hope you enjoy it!
Extent of Bagginshield: It will just be Thorin and Bilbo acknowledging they love each other. Might be some hugging, but not kissing and DEFINITELY NOT SMUT! If you don't ship them, just of them in a Sherlock and John relationship kind of way. They're best friends, basically :)
Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this!
Farewell, my dear burglar.
These were the last words that Thorin Oakenshield said to Bilbo Baggins. At first, the hobbit was in a state of denial, as he tried to comprehend what Thorin had said to him.
No, he thought numbly as a white cloth was pulled over the dwarf's body. It cannot be. He ignored the warm, comforting hand of Balin on his shoulder and ran out of the small tent, to Oin's shouts of protests.
He ran for what seemed like an age, before his legs could run anymore. He collapsed to his knees, sobbing his eyes out onto the barren soil beneath his knees. The sky let loose a light shower of rain, as if Mahal, too, was also weeping for the warrior. He did not feel the throbbing pain in his forehead, where the rock had struck him, as he was drowning too much in his sorrow.
What about the life we were going to have in Erebor? He wanted to wail, though he knew it would be no use. He felt as if Thorin had betrayed him, for leaving the hobbit alone. This saddened Bilbo, and he cried harder.
A million thoughts were rushing through his head, as he desperately tried to imagine how life would've been if Thorin died. Bilbo would've been his loyal Consort—chiding him and supporting him much like a loyal advisor. But Bilbo knew he would've been much more than that.
He would've been Thorin's companion for life.
Bofur found him later, on his knees, his clothes and hair damp, and his eyes raw and dry from crying, until no tears fell anymore. He allowed himself to be led to the Healing Halls in Erebor, sucking in for breath like a half drowned person. The sounds around him were muted, as if someone had clamped their hands over his ears. He could not discern what Bofur was murmuring to him, though it sounded warm and comforting. Finally, he succumbed to his weariness and fell into darkness.
He found himself under warm sheets when he came around. He was in a small room, dimly lit by the dying flame of a candle beside his bed. There was a large bandage on his forehead, and he felt heavy and tired.
"Master Baggins," Balin was at the door, a sad smile on his face. "You're awake at last,"
"How long have I been unconscious for, Balin?" he asked.
"Just a few hours," the dwarf replied. "How are you?"
"I matter not," Bilbo said hastily. Under the sheets, he fingered with his golden ring, taking comfort in the way it whispered to him. "How are Fili and Kili?"
Balin sighed. "They are stable—not getting worse yet not getting any better. The Healers are saying that if they do not wake up by two days, there is minimal chance of them surviving."
"How awful," Bilbo murmured. "Has Gandalf done anything to help?"
"He's done everything—healed the majority of their wounds and slowed the blood flow down. It's drained him completely."
"What about the elves?"
"They've tried everything as well. They've said that only time will tell,"
"They'll pull through," Bilbo said reassuringly, but the words tasted bitter in his mouth.
"Of course," Balin said. "Because the lads are strong, and the Line of Durin are not so easily broke—"He choked on the last word, and quickly walked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
Poor Fili and Kili, he thought to himself, twirling the ring around in the pocket of his waistcoat. I will not be able to see the expression on their faces when they find out Thorin is dead.
You might not have to, a silky voice echoed in his mind.
Bilbo jumped, causing the bed to creak slightly. Who's that?
Why, it is your old friend, the voice chuckled. You picked me up in the Goblin tunnels.
Bilbo couldn't believe it. Are you…my ring? He felt a bit stupid for asking that question.
Do not feel foolish, Master Baggins. Yes, I am the ring you took from the creature, Gollum.
How come you have never talked to me before? Bilbo asked. I've only ever heard you whisper things that were too soft for my ears before…
I have been biding my strength, and my time Master hobbit. For 500 years, I lived in the clutches of that gangly creature. Now, I am free.
But why would you speak to me now? What do I have to offer?
Hobbits are wonderful, curious creature Master Baggins. You have much to offer to me. And I have much power.
And how much power do you have?
The power to bring back your One from the dead. The dwarf they call Thorin Oakenshield.
Bilbo's heart skipped a beat, as he froze in shock. Could you?
It comes with a small price, the ring said. But it matters not. Would you pay any price to bring back your beloved dwarf from the dead?
Yes, I would, Bilbo begged. Anything to bring him back.
Good, the ring said. But you must do what I say from now, is that clear?
Yes. All Bilbo could think of was of Thorin breathing again.
Thinking again.
Alive again.
Talking again.
Okay, Master Baggins. First, slip me on.
Bilbo obliged, turning invisible again. He felt light-hearted and carefree again.
Then you must sneak out and find Oakenshield's body. Just listen to my voice and I'll do the rest.
As if in a trance, he rose out of the bed and walked towards the door, opening it silently and stepping out.
That's it. Just follow me.
Bilbo walked through the cold, stone corridors, not knowing where he was going. His feet made no sound as they led him to the place where Thorin laid.
He will be with me soon. These were the hobbit's only thoughts, as his feet led him through the quiet Erebor.
He soon stopped outside a thick, stone door. Though the words were written in dwarvish runes, Bilbo could somehow understand them.
The Antechamber of Mahal, it read. Bilbo pushed open the door and stepped inside. Suddenly, all the warmth rushed out of his body and he shivered.
It was as cold as death.
In the middle of the room was a stone slab, risen high on an ornately carved pedestal. On the stone slab laid Thorin, his black hair surrounding his peaceful face like a curtain of night, the silver beads winking at him like stars. His hands were placed on his stomach, as if he was just sleeping.
Not for much longer, Bilbo thought as he gazed upon the dwarf. Thorin's corpse had been cleansed of any dirt or blood. He was dressed in a simple navy tunic, all adornments stripped from him but his hair beads.
You have followed all my instructions perfectly so far, the ring purred. The next stage is to hold his hand with the hand I am on.
And what will happen if I do? Bilbo thought suspiciously.
You will see, it replied simply.
Bilbo stretched out towards Thorin's limp hand.
Should I take his hand? He thought as his hand got closer and closer.
Because…
The hand got closer.
All…
Their fingertips touched.
Magic…
Bilbo's fingers curled around Thorin's.
Comes…
Their palms touched.
With a price.
Bilbo tightly clasped Thorin's and his hand together.
The ring began muttering in a strange tongue, the words slithering on and off Bilbo's skin eerily, like a snake. At once, the ring and Thorin's body began glowing in a harsh golden light. The hobbit found his strength being sapped out of him as he held on.
What's happening!? He thought frantically. Bilbo tried to wrench his hand out of Thorin's but it was as if they were moulded together.
Foolish, naïve hobbit! The ring snarled as Bilbo's vision became blurrier. All magic come with a price, and the price for raising your beloved from the dead is your soul!
No, he thought weakly, as his legs buckled underneath him. The edge of his distorted vision darkened as he fell to the cold, stone floor. Who are you?
I am the Necromancer of Dol Guldur, the ring said. And your soul is mine.
His memories flashed by him, as his vision dimmed. He saw Thorin entering Bagend, Thorin saving him when he fell, Thorin hugging him on Carrock, the way Thorin's face lit up when Bilbo jangled the cell keys in his face, Thorin in Lake town, when he confessed to loving him, Thorin's rage when he found out Bilbo stole the Arkenstone…
And the last memory—the light leaving Thorin's eyes as he choked out his last words.
Farewell, my dear burglar.
And his last conscious thought, before Bilbo blacked out, was an apology. To Thorin. To everyone he cared about.
I'm sorry.
Comments? Criticism? Both are welcome!
As we progress through this story, the chapters will be longer :)