Warning: This is a lot darker than I usually write, but it was a special request from a friend.

Needless to say, I do not own anything related to The Hobbit, Lord of The Rings, any of J.R.R. Tolkien's works, or Peter Jackson's versions.

Until Spring

Thorin did not remember the descriptions of the Halls of Waiting to be so similar to the stone of Erebor. He turned his head, expecting to find his father at his side but only a large chair sat by the bed, holding a sleeping hobbit curled up tight against the chill. The king did not know what to think, flashing first from the assumption that the halfling had also perished in the battle to wondering if such a creature could join him in his father's halls. Wanting more of an answer than silence, the dwarf tried to push himself upright in bed but a shock of pain through his side and arm made him gasp and his vision blur.

As he squeezed his eyes shut in a desperate bid to remain conscious, soft hands gently touched his face, soothing the grimace there. Thorin snapped his eyes open to take in the concerned face of the Shireling. "Am I dreaming?"

"Not hardly. I would think dreams to not hurt so much."

The dwarf wanted to laugh at that surprising bit of logic, but he settled on relaxing back into the furs. "So we won?"

"Yes. You are King Under the Mountain now."

Thorin did not want the halfling to move away again and he caught one small hand in his. "A king that understands the wisdom of the counsel of others."

Bilbo looked like he was ready to flee the room under the dwarf's intense gaze but he settled for gently retrieving his hand. "I will summon the healers. I know the others will be glad to hear you are awake."

Exhaustion washed over the dwarf and he conceded that if he had not entered the halls of the dead, he might as well make the most of living.

Recovery was swift for the dwarf after he had passed the worst nights, refusing to remain abed as soon as he could support himself again. He strove to rebuild the mountain, calling back his people scattered to the remaining kingdoms and to renew peaceful relations with the men of Dale. Even as busy as he was, Thorin kept his eyes on Bilbo. The hobbit spoke of returning to the Shire but had yet to make any kind of preparation a month later.

The dwarf desperately wanted the halfling to be at his side to offer insight and counsel, but whenever he tried to track down the burglar, he was always gone before he got there. On rare occasions, Thorin would eat with the rest of the company and the burglar would sidle in. But if the king approached, he would mutter some excuse and be gone again.

It was Balin that noticed the way Thorin would look around for the halfling and once he spotted his small form, his eyes did not wander far. Winter had truly begun when the old dwarf approached his king and asked for a moment of time. Despite the chamber being empty, Balin leaned around the younger dwarf and waved cheerily.

"Hello Bilbo." Thorin whipped around to look at the burglar, but there was no one in sight.

"I thought as much." Balin nodded sagely, thumbs tucked into his belt. "I don't know what happened between you two, but it needs to be solved quick."

"He can't leave, it's almost winter." Thorin cursed his mouth when the older dwarf arched an eyebrow.

"Bilbo isn't leaving yet, but he is nervous."

"Nervous? Why? Are the Iron Hills dwarves speaking behind his back? Or the Firebeards?"

"Nothing like that. He is afraid you will send him away."

"But I forgave him. The business of the Arkenstone is done."

"You forgave him on your deathbed, which you are far from now."

"I would not take back my words now that I am well."

"The hobbit is less sure of that."

"How am I to show him when he runs from me before I can speak?"

The gray haired dwarf shrugged and gave the king a look he didn't understand before leaving the room. Thorin sat on his throne and scowled into the slowly awakening halls. Hammers hardly wrung in the depths and torches cast sporadic shadows across stone and metal. No one disturbed the king as he wondered how to prove himself to the halfling.

It took three days for the king to convince the youngest dwarf of the company of his intentions towards the hobbit before Ori would tell him where Bilbo spent his time. Thorin had completely forgotten about the great library housed in the oldest section of mountain halls but once he saw it, he was not surprised that the gentle halfling had taken shelter there. It was peaceful and still between the great shelves of mouldering books and scrolls. Thorin made a note to visit the library more often and to ensure Ori had whatever he needed to protect the ancient tomes of history.

Thorin passed quietly between empty chairs and tables freshly cleared of dust. At the very back of the large room burned a lamp, gently illuminating a small figure curled up in a chair much too large for him. A tome rested on the halfling's knee but his curly head was lax, resting against his shoulder, asleep and snoring softly. For a long time, Thorin just looked at the hobbit. He had been proven wrong so many times by the small creature and knew he did not deserve his forgiveness, let alone his love. Not for the first time, the dwarf cursed Thranduil and his blasted curiosity for the poison it placed in their newly found closeness.

Bilbo sighed and the book slipped from his lap. Before it could hit the floor, the king caught it and set it on the table out of harm's way. The contented sigh the halfling let out made the dwarf's heart ache as he recalled the cold words he had said and all the times he had pulled away, even if it was to spare the burglar the discomfort of another's touch. It was too much for the king to resist as he barely touched the hobbit's curly hair, so unlike his own. The soft strands shone in the sun and glowed in torch light, curling with no regard for Bilbo's wishes.

It reminded the dwarf of spun gold and he suddenly realized he had no wish for cold metal or dead stones if he could not have this treasure. He wanted to pull the halfling into his lap and embrace the smaller creature, whispering stories of his people in his finely tapered ear. He wanted to see the Shireling read books and pour over scrolls, a smile tugging at his eyes or nibbling his lip in concentration. Thorin wished for nothing more than the permission to kiss those lips and sooth away his frown when the details of battle were too much for his simple desires.

And at the thought of desires, the king remembered how flawless and smooth the hobbit's skin was in Thranduil's dungeon, how round the globes of his ass and the flush of his cock. The dwarf wished to bring pleasure to his small form to wash away all memory of pain and sadness. The sounds he knew would fall from the halfling's lips would be like honey, sweet and only for his ears alone.

But if Bilbo wished it, he would let him go, send him with an army of dwarves for his protection and would keep lookouts on the Shire. There was nothing he would not give for the halfling should he wish it. But first he would assuage the hobbit's fears of rejection and let him make his own choice.

Bilbo woke slowly from his nap, reaching for the book he had left on his lap but his fingers brushed hair rather than the rough parchment. His blue eyes shot open and found none other than Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, on his knees with his head resting gently in his lap. When the halfling's fingers tangled in his hair, Thorin slowly opened his eyes. the burglar looked shocked to see the dwarf and his eyes reminded him of sunny sky's before spring rains.

"What are you doing here?" Despite being alone, the Shireling whispered.

"I've been looking for you for some time."

"I haven't been hiding."

Thorin was relieved that the hand in his long hair had not withdrawn. '"But you would not let me near."

"One cannot be pushed away if they stay far apart to begin with."

The king closed his eyes at the hurt in the hobbit's voice. "I would beg your forgiveness. I still wish to take back my words at the gate."

Bilbo's eyes softened and he stroked the dark mane slightly. "You have said so before."

"And I mean no less truth now that I am whole."

Balin had been right when he said the halfling feared he had changed his mind. As it was, the Shireling considered the words carefully before speaking. "I am afraid that we are too different."

Though Thorin had decided to allow the hobbit his choice, he never said the words aloud and so changed them slightly. He caught the smaller creature's hand in his and brought it to his cheek, nuzzling into the warm palm. "Winter is here. Let me show you we are not so different you and I"

"Until spring then."

"Until spring." The dwarf agreed.