I'm back! And here's your chapter, sorry for leaving you with such a mean cliff hanger. In this chapter, Thorin finally tells Bilbo about Frerin. There's lots of feels. Tissues might be needed, as a warning.
Chapter Eight
"I'm sorry, Bilbo. I'm so so sorry," Thorin said wretchedly as he tested the ropes that bound his hands behind him around the pole as he and Bilbo sat tied back to back. They had both gained several more cuts and bruises in their recapture and Thorin found it harder and harder to breathe, his cracked ribs having been bashed mercilessly and the pole pressing uncomfortably against his raw back. On top of that, the fever he had contracted only made it all worse. It wasn't unbearable yet, thankfully not causing delirium, but it made all his wounds hurt worse.
"Don't, Thorin, please," Bilbo pleaded, turning his head to one side, though not really able to see Thorin. "It's not your fault. I was the one who insisted we rest. I didn't think they'd find us so quickly. Damn those wargs!"
Thorin was silent. He knew what would happen to them now. He would be forced to watch Bilbo die, he knew it. It would be his punishment for running. Azog had not seen them since he had given Thorin a mean, but thankfully brief, beating when they were brought back to camp, and even then he hadn't said anything, just gave the dwarf a smirk, promising only more pain and suffering. But Thorin was most afraid of what Azog had said to him before, his words echoing in his head and spreading a panic through his blood: I already see that you would willingly give yourself for his wellbeing. But would you go farther? Would you be willing to kill him to save him, if it came to that?"
Yes, that was what scared him most: the fact that Azog might force him to end Bilbo's life out of mercy. And he had no idea what he would do when put in that situation. Would he actually do it? Would he be able to, even if the alternative would cause Bilbo to suffer beyond human capability? He closed his eyes in pain, both mental and physical. He didn't even want to fathom what the Pale Orc might do to drive Thorin to such a deed.
"Thorin." He was brought back to reality as Bilbo called his name and he opened his eyes again.
"What is it, halfling?" he asked quietly.
"I think it's pretty safe to say we're…well, that we're not going to make it out of this."
"Don't," Thorin hissed, but Bilbo cut him off.
"No, you know it, Thorin, just as well as I. I am not naive, as much as you might like to think so. I know what is going to happen." Thorin couldn't help a small sad smile at the hobbit's indignant certainty.
"I never said you were," Thorin said. "At least, I never meant it."
"But since we are to die," Bilbo said and Thorin heard him swallow hard, trying to be brave, but not entirely succeeding. "I want to know why you protected me. I know I saved your life, but this goes beyond that. Maybe you just want to make sure I get to Erebor so I can find the Arkenstone for you and friendship—brotherhood—doesn't even come into it. But I don't believe that either, so I wish you would tell me, because I don't understand, and I would like to, so that I can thank you properly before I die."
"Bilbo, please," Thorin pleaded. "Will you make me suffer all the more now? Now when I will have failed again?"
"You have not failed until we are dead!" Bilbo snapped angrily. "And we aren't, not yet, so please don't talk like that. Not when there is still a smidgeon of hope!"
"You were the one who mentioned dying in the first place, need I remind you, Master Baggins," Thorin said blandly.
Bilbo huffed in annoyance, but after a moment of silence between them, he turned his head and said quietly, "This is about your brother, isn't it?"
Thorin closed his eyes, feeling his throat tighten as all the pain of the past flooded through him. He had not seen it at first, not when he had first met the hobbit at Bag End, but later, he didn't know quite when, but there it was. For whatever reason fate had, he had seen Frerin in Bilbo. It had started with him grudgingly noticing small comparisons between them, things he had shrugged off as sentimentality, but as he got to know the hobbit better, there was more to be seen. His honesty, his tendency to speak his mind even if he was out of place in saying it, and the recklessness bourn of undying loyalty. The same thing that had gotten Frerin killed. It had not been until after Azog had attacked them on the cliff and Bilbo had run to him, alone, to stand over his fallen body, that he had fully realized the likeness between his brother and the halfling. And after that, it had only been a complete mix of emotions that he had had to sort out. Most of all was anger bourn of fear at Bilbo for doing such a thing, because he could not afford to lose him too, not after he had finally realized just how much the hobbit's friendship meant to him. He realized he had become a voice of reason to him. Frerin had always been that. He might have been his baby brother, but he had always been the one to keep Thorin's feet on the ground, his rock, and for all his recklessness, he had always been wise beyond his years and sure to say when he thought something was wrong. Bilbo now did that when the other dwarves would not, and Thorin needed that more than he had realized. No, he could not lose the halfling. It would kill him.
"Thorin?" Bilbo asked, concern in his voice.
Thorin fought back the emotions surging through him and swallowed hard. "Yes," he whispered. "It is."
They were silent for a long while and finally Bilbo spoke again. "Please tell me about him?"
Thorin took a deep, shaky breath. "His name was Frerin. He was my younger brother, but he was more than that. He was my best friend, even above Dwalin who I always loved as a brother anyway. He was reckless, but kind, a bit like Kili, but wiser. He always had something to say about everything and would always tell you what he thought without a care. He…he was always there when I needed him, always, and I failed to repay him that service when it most mattered." He closed his eyes and felt them smarting, tears pricking at them behind his eyelids.
"What happened, Thorin?" Bilbo whispered, half hesitantly, half in a need to know.
"Balin told you of the battle of Azanulbizar," Thorin continued, swallowing hard. "How my grandfather was killed by Azog, and my father was lost. Frerin also died that day. I…I was caught in the fighting, surrounded by the enemy alone with no one to watch my back. I was almost finished, wounded in too many places to count, but just as I fell to my knees, he was there, crashing through the orcs and dragging me to my feet. He forced me back into the fight, told me to lead the men, and then Azog came at me, and I could do nothing more than fight him, leaving Frerin to fend for himself. I lost track of him in the fighting, and when the battle was over, I still did not know where he was. I searched with the others for the fallen, our kin, and finally found him." He choked back a sob, tears falling down his cheeks now. "He was lying there in his own blood, but he was still alive, barely. He couldn't even speak." His breath hitched, and his chest heaved as the memories of that day washed over him in a painful wave of anguish. "But he smiled at me. He smiled to tell me he was all right, that it was all right, that he was not scared. And then he died in my arms." He stopped, trembling with emotion and sobbing deeply, not even ashamed. "He forgave me for not being there. But I could not forgive myself. I never have. I left my baby brother to die. I failed in my duty to protect him. It was wrong, so wrong. He should not have died before me. He should not have!" He barely noticed he was screaming the words, did not see the orcs looking over with interest and sadistic pleasure. "You remind me of him so much, Bilbo," he finally said in a hushed voice. "So much, it hurts. That's why I protect you, because I can't stand to lose you too. It would be just like losing Frerin all over again, and that would surely kill me."
"Thorin," Bilbo whispered, his voice tight and wavering, and he lay his head back on Thorin's shoulder, the only form of comfort he could offer. The dwarf rested his head against the hobbit's, the tears still flowing down his cheeks as he fought back the sobs. They stayed like that silently for a while as they both fought with their emotions and only opened their eyes when a figure stepped over to them.
"A heartfelt moment indeed," Azog sneered at them and Thorin and Bilbo jerked around to look at him, startled. "Very touching. And now I know exactly how to cause you pain, Oakenshield," Azog chuckled and motioned to an orc to untie Bilbo.
"Azog, no," Thorin whispered, looking up pleadingly into the orc's face. "Please, I beg you."
Azog held up a hand to stop the orc, smiling in amusement. "What's this? The mighty King Under the Mountain begs me? That is so rare, I might just have to consider this with more thought. Untie Oakenshield instead." Thorin sagged in relief as the orc left Bilbo and moved to him instead. He knew by now he was only stalling the inevitable, but any bit could help. Bilbo had been right. They should not lose hope until they were dead. Every second they stalled, gave a second where the company could show up. That was his only hope now, and if he had to die to provide Bilbo enough time to escape, then so be it.
"Thorin," Bilbo pleaded, but stopped. Thorin, now untied, looked back at him and saw the worry in his eyes, the tightness in his jaw that he was clenching to make sure he didn't speak, even though Thorin knew he had much to say, much to chide him for. But he was so glad he did not. Not this time.
Thorin was thrown to his knees in front of Azog. The Pale Orc looked down at him with sadistic amusement. The orc who had untied him, placed a boot on the back of his neck to keep his head down. "Well, Oakenshield, you said you would beg for the halfling's life. Will you degrade yourself such?"
"I will do what I must," Thorin said softly. "Please do not make him suffer for your hatred of me."
The orc stepping on his neck pushed him down harder so that his face was almost pressed into the ground.
"Beg me," Azog said from above, the grin clear in his voice.
Thorin heard Bilbo give a muffled cry and rage and shame flowed through him as he gritted his teeth and spat out the foul words. "I beg you, do not hurt him."
"Who are you begging?" Azog asked mockingly, obviously enjoying himself. Bilbo cried out again, much louder—what were they doing to him? "Tell me!"
"Azog, I beg you," Thorin whispered wretchedly.
"Louder!"
"Azog, I beg you, do not hurt him!" he shouted.
Azog crouched in front of him and nodded to the orc with his foot on Thorin's neck and the pressure let up. The Pale Orc grabbed Thorin's chin and raised his face to look at him. The smile on his lips chilled Thorin to his bones and he suddenly had the horrible feeling he had made some fatal error.
"Oh, I won't hurt him, Oakenshield," Azog said mockingly, stroking the dwarf's hair with his claw in an oddly gentle manor as he leaned close and whispered into Thorin's ear. "You will."
I had this thought a while ago that maybe Frerin was a bit like Bilbo, anyway, I liked that idea a lot so that's why I decided to write this story. I think Thorin needs someone like that to tell him how things are, and I always felt that a lot of the other dwarves wouldn't tell him when he's messing up out of respect. And I think that Frerin might have had that quality, and I think Thorin really does admire Bilbo for that same quality, so I kind of ran that together into a plot.
Anyway, on to the next chapter!
