Thorin held Bilbo aloft, the hobbit's legs dangling in the air. "Go! I cast you out of Erebor - and no friendship of mine goes with you," he hissed, spittle hitting Bilbo in the face, who flinched as if Thorin had struck him with his fists. "Go, and never return - or suffer the consequences on pain of death."
"Please, Thorin - don't do this," the Halfling begged. "I love you."
"Vile betrayer - what do you know of love? After stabbing me in the back..." Thorin shook his head in despair, and Bilbo had a moment's hope that the gold fever would leave his mate's eyes, but his hope was all for naught. Thorin's features hardened once more, and he shook Bilbo so fiercely that the hobbit's teeth rattled.
"Don't you understand? I took the Arkenstone to save you!" Bilbo pleaded with Thorin to see reason. "I didn't want you to throw away your life and the lives of your company over a bit of cold, hard rock. What good would your treasure be to you if you were all dead? It's not as though you could take it with you - where you'd be going, I mean."
This gave Thorin pause, but his eyes soon flashed dangerously again and he extended Bilbo further over the ledge, threatening to drop him onto the rocks below. It was only Gandalf's timely interference that saved Bilbo, not that the hobbit thanked the wizard for his meddling. Guilt was already settling in his stomach like a tightly-coiled knot, and he would gladly die if only Thorin would look on him with kindness once more - just one glance, and then he could die a happy hobbit.
Bilbo was soon distracted from his melancholy, though, by the arrival of Orcs, Goblins, and Wargs, all of whom wished to wage war against Thorin and his company. Bilbo had now found a purpose again: to fight alongside Thorin and to ensure his survival. Nothing else mattered but that Thorin lived; even if the dwarf-king never spoke to him again, at least he would be alive.
And so Bilbo fought, slashing at any passing creature that was not Man, Elf, or Dwarf and thrusting his sword into the underbellies of Wargs as he struggled to reach Thorin's side. Along the way he passed many members of the company, even helping out on occasion, such as with Fili and Kili, who were each so caught up in covering their brother's back that they forgot to watch their own. At last, though, Bilbo reached Thorin.
But he was already too late.
The Dwarven King had been struck down by Azog the Defiler, and was currently gasping out his last breaths. Falling to his knees, Bilbo crouched down by Thorin's side, his little hands ghosting across the planes of the mighty ruler's chest that was spattered with blood, both his own and that of his slain enemies.
"Thorin -" Bilbo whispered desperately, his voice catching on the simple name that had come to mean so much to him over the course of their journey together. "Please, don't leave me. Not now; not when our lives were only just beginning. Please..."
But Thorin could only gaze back at Bilbo with hatred, a look of pure and utter rage on his face.
"Look what you've done," he whispered hoarsely, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth and down his chin to land on Bilbo's hand. "You - you did this to me; this is your fault. My hatred of you knows no bounds and has no limits. A curse upon you, Bilbo Baggins, for stealing both the heart of the mountain and mine own."
As he fell silent and his breathing slowed, his eyes turned accusingly towards the hobbit. And in that manner, Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, died.
Bilbo shot upright in bed, his heart pounding in his chest and his breathing labored; sweat soaked both his nightshirt and the sheets around him. He looked wildly about, his eyes finally falling to rest on a pair of cerulean blue orbs staring back at him.
"What were you dreaming about, little burglar?" asked Thorin kindly.
"The... battle," Bilbo gasped, eyes downcast in shame for what he still perceived to be a personal betrayal against his chosen mate, even almost a year after the fact.
"Bilbo," Thorin whispered, inching closer to his Halfling and cupping the Hobbit's chin in his hand, and thus drawing his gaze upwards so that their eyes were level. "I'm perfectly well, I promise you. Bilbo, you have nothing to feel guilty for. You acted from the heart to protect me and mine. You're a hero, Bilbo Baggins."
"I don't feel much like one," Bilbo admitted. "I don't even know now what I was thinking when I took the Arkenstone."
"You were trying to save me from myself, to prevent a massacre," Thorin crooned, having shifted closer until Bilbo was resting between his legs, the Dwarven king's arms wrapped securely around his consort's waist. He leaned back against the headboard of the bed, taking Bilbo with him; Bilbo twisted around until his head was resting over Thorin's heart, the steady beat doing much to settle his frazzled nerves as his pulse gradually slowed and the adrenaline remaining from his dream faded.
Thorin sang softly in Bilbo's ear, a familiar tune that the hobbit had first heard in the Shire: "Far over the misty mountains cold, to dungeons deep and caverns old; the pines were roaring on the height, the winds were moaning in the night; the fire was red, it flaming spread; the trees like torches blazed with light..."
Sighing contentedly, Bilbo sank further back against Thorin, a tender smile tugging at his lips as he recalled that long-ago evening he had spent holed up in his bedroom, the dwarves' haunting melody drifting down the hallway to his straining ears and effectively lulling him to sleep. But the hobbit soon grew discontent and turned around to straddle Thorin's thighs, lightly grasping the braids in his beard and tugging the dwarf-king closer for a bruising kiss.
When they drew away, a look of understanding passed between the two, and Thorin nodded his head minutely, though a touch of sadness remained in his eyes. While Bilbo knew that Thorin forgave him whole-heartedly for the Arkenstone incident, he nonetheless occasionally sank into a depression and required reassurance that Thorin still cared and hadn't cast him aside in favor of another lover and consort, one who wouldn't betray Erebor's leader for any reason, even to save his life.
Thorin pulled Bilbo to him for one last sweet kiss, probing the other's mouth with his tongue, before roughly tearing the Halfling's nightshirt from off his back, the sound of ripping material filling the tense silence that had settled over the room and its occupants. Bilbo now sat perched precariously on Thorin's lap, completely naked, while Thorin remained fully clothed. Abruptly, Thorin twisted around, flipping their positions so that Bilbo lay spread out on the bed before him. Thorin descended, then, his kisses demanding, almost punishing in their intensity as he lavished attention to every crevice of Bilbo's body, pausing to tweak the hobbit's nipples and drawing a cry from his lips that was half-pleasure, half-pain. Then again, that was the whole point of this exercise, Thorin mused - to test Bilbo's endurance as penance for his having taken the Arkenstone from its rightful owner.
Wrenching suddenly away from Bilbo, whose flushed appearance was driving the dwarf-king to distraction, Thorin quickly divested himself of his clothes and returned to the bed.
"On your hands and knees," he ordered gruffly, the first words he'd spoken since this encounter had begun.
Bilbo readily complied, though Thorin noted how he was already trembling and knew that he wouldn't last long, not that Thorin would either, for that matter. These couplings, despite the pain they inevitably brought, were always fierce and over too soon. When Bilbo had first come to Thorin with his rather-dubious - if not down-right shocking - request, Thorin had been unable to deny his mate; all he had insisted on was that they not face each other. If Thorin were to hurt Bilbo, then he refused to do so while looking in his eyes.
Taking his place behind Bilbo, Thorin carefully stretched his mate's entrance, though he took less time than he ordinarily would to prepare Bilbo to accept his considerable girth. Aligning his cock with Bilbo's tight hole, Thorin thrust in without warning. A startled cry escaped, unbidden, from Bilbo's lips, despite his best efforts to maintain a stoic silence as he always did during these couplings; he never wanted Thorin to regret agreeing to such terms as he had set. Sometimes, though, he could not prevent his sounds of discomfort. However, this was what he wanted, and he would suffer the consequences. While Thorin was always repentant for his actions, despite being at Bilbo's own behest, the hobbit merely brushed his concerns aside, repeatedly assuring him that he was fine, whether the king believed him or no.
Caught up in his thoughts, Bilbo was surprised to feel Thorin wrap a hand around his own weeping erection, the other firmly gripping his waist with enough force to leave bruises, and all while pounding into him at a relentless pace. The pain was exquisite; Bilbo relished it, even as tears coursed silently down his cheeks. He wanted more... he deserved worse than this for having betrayed Thorin, despite whatever the dwarf-king might say to the contrary. Bilbo wouldn't accept that Thorin had forgiven him until he forgave himself.
"Come for me, thief of my heart," Thorin whispered in Bilbo's ear.
With a deft twist of the dwarf-king's wrist, Bilbo came in spurts across Thorin's hand and the sheets that surrounded them. Thorin had yet to reach completion, though, and so he continued snapping his hips sharply against Bilbo's arse, the sound of flesh hitting flesh the only other sound breaking the silence, apart from their harsh pants. With a guttural cry, Thorin released his seed inside of Bilbo, collapsing against his back before sliding out of him and padding across the room to fetch a cloth to clean themselves with. Bilbo, meanwhile, had remained on his hands and knees, having yet to receive Thorin's permission to relax his aching muscles.
"At ease, Bilbo," Thorin called softly to him. The response was instantaneous, with Bilbo falling face-first into a nearby pillow, clearly exhausted. Giving his own body a perfunctory swipe of the cloth, Thorin turned his attention to Bilbo. Dipping the cloth in a bowl of lukewarm water, Thorin gently swiped the material across Bilbo's buttocks, being mindful of his still-tender hole, before carefully turning the hobbit over onto his back and cleaning his stomach and softened cock. Next, he tended to Bilbo's neck and chest, which were littered with love bites. Thorin had a perverted sense of satisfaction at seeing Bilbo undeniably marked as his, though his next thoughts were inevitably filled with shame for taking pleasure in Bilbo's pain.
Bilbo, for his part, lay unmoving and unresponsive to Thorin's ministrations. He felt hands tenderly cup his face - hands that could just as easily wield an anvil or a sword - and a tremor shot through his body, borne of both trepidation and excitement.
"My dear burglar," Thorin whispered as he reverently lowered his head to kiss Bilbo's plump lips, his hands never once ceasing to caress his face and wipe all trace of tears from his cheeks. Climbing back into bed, Thorin gathered Bilbo into his arms, holding him close as his fingers glided soothingly over Bilbo's bare skin, eliciting a shiver of desire from the hobbit in question. "Why do you insist that we do this?" asked Thorin gently after many moments of silence.
"It's hard to explain," Bilbo began hesitantly. "I'm not sure if I can put it into any words; it's more just a feeling that I get from having you take me in such a way. I know you've said that you forgive me, but I'm not sure if I can accept that until I've forgiven myself. And maybe I think that if you take me hard and fast enough times I'll eventually believe that this is for real."
Rather than respond with words, Thorin merely wound his arms further around the slighter man, clutching Bilbo tightly to his chest in an effort to infuse the single embrace with all the love that he felt for the Halfling and which he could admit to feeling since Bilbo had saved him from Azog while on the quest to reclaim Erebor. Kissing the nape of Bilbo's neck, he settled down to sleep.
"Whatever it takes, Bilbo," he whispered into the ensuing silence, "I'll prove that you have nothing to feel guilty for. I'll help you to find forgiveness, one way or another. I swear to you."
Bilbo mumbled something unintelligible, already half-asleep, and melted further into the safety of Thorin's embrace. He knew that in the coming days Thorin would spoil him more so than he already did, as would the rest of the company, who would sense that something was wrong with their burglar. What no one knew or understood was that the attention did more to help Bilbo heal and find peace than anything else might - even taking Thorin's actions in the bedroom into consideration. Bilbo's depression was only temporary, after all; being pampered made him feel valued in a way that he often forgot he needed. And, he thought, as he felt sleep pull him under, wasn't that what everyone most desired - to be wanted?