Bilbo felt panic rising in him as he grappled at Thorin's now ice-cold hand. His friend's twilight blue eyes that were once so fierce and full of hope glanced up into his like a fading ghost. The callous fingers that once gripped and wielded the mighty Goblin-cleaver now struggled to curl around Bilbo's soft, little hand. Funny how such a mighty King could not suffer such meagre task, Yet, his strength had failed him, he could not.
Ice. Bilbo's eyes darted around. Ice was everywhere on this forsaken cliff, and it was drawing him in, drowning him, devouring him!
"No!" Bilbo cried as Thorin's words became a muddled slur and his King was slipping off into a land where he could not follow. He gathered Thorin into his arms and cradled his face. He could feel his eyes starting to burn and knew it had nothing to do with the wretched sun that was slowly setting in the West.
"Thorin, Thorin look at me!" his words came out in frantic rasps as he held the King's face, and Bilbo pointed blindly into the West.
"Look..." he whispered desperately, "Do you see that, Thorin? There... No, open your eyes, look up. Over there is the Shire... The Brandywine River, Bag End... and- and beyond it, there, just on the horizon... Do you see that? The Blue Mountains. Your sister will be waiting, Thorin...THORIN!"
The shameless sun cut into the ice and its mocking beauty bled into his eyes like a thousand of knives. Bilbo tore his gaze away from the shroud of mist and let a tear fall. Thorin's eyes had closed while he was looking away. The hobbit ran a thumb over the creases on the edges of Thorin's brows, and the frown lines beside his lips which he saw too often when the dwarf had made it clear he was displeased with him. Bilbo Baggins let his eyes roam the once mighty King's face, studying every feature, every curve, and every line so that they might burn into his memory and Thorin would never die.
"You know, Thorin..." he found himself speaking once again when the wind had calmed. "I wrote a little poem for you on our way here, but I never had the courage to read it to you lest you should not find it fitting." He laughed shakily, "But I guess there is nobody here on this blasted cliff to judge me now. So here, my King, this is for you..."
The wind carried his whispers, and Bilbo was not sure that even if Thorin had been awake, he would have been able to hear him.
"From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be King..."
His eyes trailed off into the wasteland of the West shrouded in mist once again as the last words left his lips. Bilbo was starting to feel the chill seeping into his bones, but he stood his ground. He would not leave Thorin by himself. No, not here.
"...Save that fancy poem of yours for some other wandering Kings you might meet on the road, master burglar. For he may one day wear a crown that remains."
"Thorin!"
The Dwarven-King smiled faintly up at him, but there was no strength left in Thorin to hold his hand, so Bilbo reached out for his instead and pressed his lips against Thorin's knuckles. The hobbit then leant down to hold his King's face as if he was Bilbo's most prized treasure he was not willing to part with.
"I made a promise to myself, Thorin, a promise," he choked out and found himself once again lost in the pools of deep blue that were Thorin's eyes, "'Don't you ever leave him, Bilbo Baggins!' - and I don't mean to...I don't mean to..."
Thorin's breathing was shallow and he went still. Bilbo held his breath, and if it wasn't for those sorrowful eyes that held a thousand silent promises still boring deeply into his, he would have thought the Dwarven-King to be lost and gone forevermore.
Thorin's lips moved to speak, but the words were so faint Bilbo could not hear.
"T-Thorin?" he leant down close to the dwarf's face, trying to make out the words.
"...-have not the strength, Master Baggins... lay down on my chest, dear friend... I shall speak to you."
"But Thorin, your wounds-"
"Bilbo..."
The icy wind swept over the frozen waterfall on the hilltop, and Bilbo had stripped off his jacket and draped it over Thorin to keep him warm. The hobbit was shivering, but the thrumming sound of the dwarf's heart against his ear told him that all was not yet lost.
They were silent for a while as they lay there in the desolation. Bilbo was on the verge of drifting away in the cold when he heard Thorin speaking up again.
"The road goes ever on and on, my dear Bilbo... Out from the little round, green door where it began..."- Bilbo smiled sadly at his words but he kept on listening.
"-There was once but one great road that lay before me," Thorin said, quietly, and Bilbo could not see his face from where he lay, but he could feel Thorin's grip on his hand tightening just a little.
"...But now so far ahead that road has gone," Thorin's whisper began to die down, "Let others follow it who can... I regret to announce that this is the end. I am going now, my dear Bilbo, and I bid you a very fond farewell...-"
Panic rose up in him once more. Bilbo hurriedly pushed himself up and pressed his forehead against the Dwarven-King's.
"Thorin no!" Bilbo choked out the words as something hot and vengeful burned its way down his cheek. "No, you will not do this to me! Not when we...- not when..."
In that moment a shadow swept across the land and Bilbo looked up. There! On the horizons! Spans of wings were sweeping over the sky above the terrains, great big shadows danced over the sky. The eagles have come! They were saved, at last!
"Look, Thorin! The eagles, the eagles are coming!" He cried with joy and looked down at his companion, hoping to see gladness filled the dwarf's face once more, hoping beyond hope that there would still be time for his friend, hoping with all his being that Thorin would stay, with him.
But the sight Bilbo was greeted had threatened to stop his heart.
Thorin was not looking up at the sky but into Bilbo's eyes. The midnight blue filled with sorrow told him what words could not carry; they whispered to him of the fresh air in the woods near the Shire where Bilbo had abandoned all he had and raced after the dwarves, they told him of the Carrock where they shared in the warmth of their friendship, they reminded Bilbo of the King he saw rallying his company out of the Lonely Mountain into war.
- And they told Bilbo that this was their last goodbye.
"...Thorin?"
There was naught but silence.
"THORIN!"
The hobbit's desperate, painful cry echoed through the plains of the Lonely Mountain, and Bilbo Baggins slumped down over the body of his King as he wept his heart dry like a little halfling that lost his way from home. His home. His home was gone.
Hours had past, and his eyes still stared unseeingly at the Dwarven-King's face. The snow was still falling amidst the desolate hilltop, and his face was too numb to feel the pain the frozen tears have brought. The sun had set, and it was so terribly cold, and there he was on the ice, alone.
Night fell, and yet the hobbit remained curled up beside his King. The stars twinkled mockingly above Erebor's strikingly beautiful night sky, but the only stars Bilbo had cared to gaze at had forever faded with the light in Thorin's eyes. Through shadows, all shall fade... And a broken whisper escaped the hobbit's lips.
"Lay down... your sweet and weary head. Night is falling, you have come to journey's end... Sleep now, and dream of the ones who came before. They are calling from across the distant shores..."