Disclaimer: I do not own anything by J. R. R. Tolkien or Peter Jackson.

Chapter One

The first thing Bilbo felt as he regained consciousness was the pain in his head.
He groaned and reaching a hand up, felt the large gash that disappeared into his hairline. His hand came away slick and he struggled to focus on the blurred image of his blood stained fingers.
The effort proved to be too much for the hobbit and he let his arm fall back beside him.
He felt so tried. In fact, it was almost too much effort to draw breath, each inhale seeming a ragged struggle against the tightness in his chest.
As Bilbo became more aware of his surroundings he realised that his struggle was due to the something, or rather someone, lying across his chest.
With what was left of his energy, he gathered his strength and rolled the body off of him, grateful when he was able to inhale with ease.
The stench of death was almost overwhelming now and with that the hobbit abruptly sat up, his blood running cold in fear.
Bilbo's stomach lurched, but he ignored it along with the sudden wave of dizziness that overtook him. Was Thorin alive? What about the rest of the Company? The last thing Bilbo remembered was the sight of Thorin, Fíli Kíli and Dwalin riding to engage Azog in battle.
With adrenaline riding hard through the hobbits veins, Bilbo struggled to his feet, his gaze franticly seeking out the bodies of every fallen dwarf within his sight in the hopes that he wouldn't see the very thing that he feared most.
His eyes were met with much death, almost too much to comprehend and although he did not recognise any of the dead; he found that it provided little comfort; the fallen before him stretching further than the eye could see.
Unable to help it, Bilbo swayed where he stood. His heart wrenched with worry, sapping what little strength he had whilst his head pounded greater in pain.
The hobbit desperately wanted to find his friends, needed to know that Thorin and the Company were safe and alive, but he knew that in order to search for them, he would first need to get his wounds tended to.
Without thinking his feet propelled him towards The Lonely Mountain and he hoped that the battle was as well and truly over with as it seemed.
Bilbo staggered through the masses of dead bodies and after what felt like hours, finally crested the top of a hill.
In pain and feeling weak, the hobbit released a breath of relief at the sight before him. A multitude of tents had been pitched in the valley between the gates of Erebor and the ruined city of Dale. Bilbo could clearly see the bustle of life as dwarves, men and elves alike travelled between the tents, caring for their wounded.
Stumbling clumsily down the slope, he finally reached the tents and nearly sagged when he saw a familiar and most welcome face.
"Bilbo, my dear fellow!" Gandalf cried when he saw the approaching hobbit. "We were worried about you, but it's good to see that you seem unharmed for the most part." Gandalf clapped a hand on Bilbo's shoulder and the hobbit couldn't help but grin, albeit tiredly, in return.
"Gandalf! How is everyone? Are they well…alive?" Bilbo finished hesitantly, wringing his hand's in anxiety when the wizard's face tightened subtly.
"They are all alive, Bilbo."
Bilbo did sag then and the wizard folded him into his arms, the hobbit almost lost amongst the cloth of Gandalf's robe.
"Bilbo…" Gandalf trailed off and Bilbo looked up into his aged face, tensing when he saw the worry there.
"What is it Gandalf?" Bilbo asked when he didn't elaborate any further.
The wizard sighed. "Thorin is greatly injured, as are Fíli and Kíli."
Bilbo sucked in a harsh breath. "How badly?" He croaked, and whether it was from the worry or the pain from his injuries, Bilbo found himself swaying and clutched onto Gandalf's sleeve when he felt like he might topple over.
"Come, my friend. Let us see your injuries attended to first."
"No!" The hobbit tore his arm from Gandalf's sudden grasp. "Tell me." He demanded, a grim set to his mouth.
"The healers are unsure whether they will last the night, but it is not all hopeless. The line of Durin is strong." Gandalf reassured the hobbit when the smaller man suddenly paled.
"I want to see them." Bilbo said firmly.
"Bilbo-"
"No, Gandalf. Now."
The hobbit and the wizard stared at one another for the space of several breaths before Gandalf bowed his head. "Very well. But you must prepare yourself for they are gravely injured, especially the King."
Bilbo nodded his head once and followed behind Gandalf as he lead him towards one of the larger tents close to the gates of Erebor.
As they drew close, Bilbo saw Dwalin standing beside the entrance. The warrior was covered in dried blood and had several visible wounds, scratches really, but thankfully nothing that seemed too serious.
Dwalin uncrossed his arms as they approached, the tightness around his eyes seeming to lesson in what Bilbo thought might have been a small degree of relief.
"Burglar. Finally. The King has been asking for you."
Bilbo could only nod, his voice having quite left him as pushed through the flaps and into the tent.
Thorin was the first thing that Bilbo saw and he couldn't help but rush over to the wounded King.
"Thorin." The hobbit breathed, taking in the sight of the bloody bandages that peaked from beneath the heavy blankets of fur lain across the dwarf.
Thorin's eyes opened at the sound of Bilbo's voice, but started to cough before he could say anything; his face twisting in barely concealed pain.
"Shuuush, Thorin." Bilbo couldn't help but smooth a hand over the King's damp and tangled hair.
"Bilbo-" Thorin started, his voice rough and breathy with effort.
"Don't move. Don't move. Lie still." Bilbo reached for the wet cloth beside Thorin's bed and wringing it out, wiped the dwarf's sweaty brow.
"I'm glad you're here." Thorin paused, taking a moment to inhale. The sound a disturbing rattle. "I wish to part with you in friendship."
Bilbo felt the first beginning of tears prick his eyes and he grasped Thorin's hand from where it lay upon the fur. "No. You're not going anywhere, Thorin. You're going to live."
In that moment, Bilbo wished for that to be true. Wished for it more than anything else in all of Middle Earth.
Thorin drew in a ragged breath. "I would take back my words and my deeds at the Gate. You did what only a true friend would do. Forgive me." His grip tightened around Bilbo's. "I was too blind to see it. I am so sorry that I have lead you into such peril." His voice was so filled with emotion that Bilbo had to fight in earnest against the sudden rush of tears that threatened to choke him.
"No, I'm-I'm glad to have shared in your perils, Thorin. Each and every one of them." Bilbo swallowed, feeling the growing lump in his throat. "And it is far more than any Baggins deserves."
Thorin's breath grew even more unsteady, his next words almost garbled. "Farewell, Master Burglar. 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."
Before Bilbo could protest that this wasn't goodbye, Thorin grew still and Bilbo let out a wail as he shook Thorin's hand. "No! No, Thorin-"
Suddenly he was pulled from the King's bedside and Óin was in his place, shouting for the tent to be cleared as several other dwarves and even an elf gathered around Thorin's bedside.
Bilbo didn't bother to stop his tears this time and they fell freely down his face, not even caring when he felt himself being propelled from the tent.
All too soon the sun was suddenly blinding him, the pain he had forgotten in the face of Thorin's injuries, stabbing through his skull.
The blackness came swiftly and Bilbo welcomed the chance to be rid of the pain that was the breaking of his heart.
The last thing Bilbo thought of was his regret, regret that he'd never told that stubborn, rude and ill-mannered dwarf that he'd loved him.

To be continued...

*** MAJOR SPOILER ALERT ***

Don't worry, this isn't as sad as it seems...see Chapter Two for confirmation.

AN: Thank you all for reading, it's greatly appreciated