Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot of this story.
Just a quick re-imagine of what would happen should Thorin have survived without Bilbo's knowledge.
Bittersweet
Bilbo Baggins had been at home with his armchair, his books and his trees for little more than a year. Some days it felt longer; some days it felt less. So much had happened in the two years before his return. He had gained so much, and lost even more; no one would say that he was the same Hobbit. Yet, if he was given the option to start again, he would still go, for the friends he had found far outweighed what he had lost. Even if it were some of those friends that he had indeed lost.
He had planted the acorn he had found, like he had told Thorin he would. It had finally begun to sprout, just after the last chill of winter and the first signs of spring. He took it as the first sign of a new beginning. Though, It reminded him of those he had lost, Thorin, Fili and Kili. Yet, it felt as though they were with him now, not buried somewhere across the world under a mountain. He still enjoyed the simple things: books, the wind in the trees and such, yet he could never be under the illusion that the world held only simple and comfortable things exclusively, like most Hobbits believed, or at least wanted to. He could never believe such a thing now, though he did not want to. A broader view of the world had made him braver, wiser and a better friend; he hoped so at least.
He saw them sometimes; Thorin, Fili and Kili. Faces in a crowd, however odd that was in a land of only Hobbits and the occasional traveller. It was never them of course, but he would wish that they were. He often wondered if any of his surviving friends would drop by for tea as he had suggested- he certainly hoped so, and he would be very cross with them if they did not. If it took them too long, he might just end up going to them. One day. Maybe in a year or two, or maybe when he was old and grey. Who could say.
He closed his book, not having been able to read anything as he was too deep in thought. He went to rise from his armchair, thinking he might take a nice long walk.
Then came a knock upon his door.
Like it always did when someone knocked upon his door, his heart stopped for a moment, hope getting the better of him. He was always disappointed. He sighed, making his way to the door. Probably Lobelia, he thought.
He opened it with like a pop gun, as Gandalf would describe, ready to unleash hell on Lobelia if need be. As soon as the door was out the way he began to speak. "Right, listen here, Lobelia. I have told you before and I will tell you again, you can't have my- "
He stopped short, the words caught in his throat.
It was not lobelia. Not Lobelia at all.
Thorin Oakenshield had expected many things upon arriving at Bilbo's door again after all this time, alive and well, but he most certainly had not expected the solid punch to the jaw he had received before he could even say 'hello.' In foresight, he supposed he probably should have expected it; Bilbo was, well, Bilbo. He never ceased to surprise him.
So he stood there, nursing a saw jaw with his hand as he looked at his friend, if he had the right to call him that. He saw many emotions in his familiar eyes. Anger, sadness and …hope? He smiled lightly, "I deserved that."
Bilbo swallowed, looking him up and down as he breathed deeply. After a moment, he adjusted his waist coat and looked him in the eyes, "you are real then?"
He hummed, "yes. I believe so, Master Baggins." He was slightly worried as to what Bilbo had meant by 'are you real.' Yet, he supposed the punch was a sort of test, among other things.
"How? I saw you dead on a stone slab, next to your nephews," he stopped, drawing a breath, and for a moment Thorin would swear he saw tears in Bilbo's eyes.
"If you mean to tell me that they too are alive-"
Before Thorin could do anything to stop them, his two devious nephews appeared from the side of the door, and barged past him into Bilbo's home. In no less than half a second, they had attacked Bilbo with a bear hug that would Beorn to shame, knocking the Hobbit to the floor, "where alive, Master Boggins," smiled Kili.
With nothing else he wished to do, he joined his nephews in their embrace, somewhat hogging the hobbit to himself. He had missed him dearly. At hearing the small sob that escaped from Bilbo, he pressed his face into the Hobbit's hair. "It is good to see you again, Master Baggins."
And It was. It was so very good.
Bilbo launched upwards in his bed, breathing deeply. He had not dreamt such a thing before. Of course, he had dreamt of them, but never like this. Never alive and well and at his door. Only memories of them on their quest, things that had happened. He thought he knew better than to let his mind imagine such things. Such hope. It would never come to light.
So, deep In sadness, he allowed himself to fall back onto the bed. Though, he did not sleep. He did not wish to dream of such things again.
Across the other side of the world, deep within the Mountain, Thorin once again woke up from the dream. The same dream he had been having for months. He reasoned that with nothing better to do while he was bedridden, his mind conjured what he desired most. To go back to the shire.
It was funny, he had spent the last sixty years dreaming of reclaiming Erebor and becoming king, and now that he had, and was, he could dream of nothing else but going back to where it had all started.
The dream was always the same. He would knock on the door of Bilbo Baggin's home and wait, listening to the angry words directed to 'Lobelia', then the door would open. Bilbo would see him. Then he would punch him. Then, after all, had been revealed, he would hug him.
Of course, it was only a dream.
But not forever.
Like he had travelled across the world following a dream, he would follow another back. Once he was healed.
He would knock on Bilbo's door again.
He and his nephews.