A/N: I apologize for the long wait, my lovelies. Unfortunately, I am going through some debilitating health issues that on most days leave completely drained. I am improving, but it is a slow process, so please be patient as I continue to get this story out to you dears.

"I See Fire" by Ed Sheeran is who you can thank for this chapter. Dear lord did it mess me up for a while, but it was such an accurate depiction of Thorin's character.

Chapter Warning: Some blood? My altering of Middle Earth history.


Far From Home
Chapter 12


The Two Kings

Thorin's heart was pounding in his head, battle drums beating at his temples. It abandoned his chest and traversed to his mind, loudly bellowing its beats ringing in his ears. It was as if a part of himself had left his body, existing outside his skin and vibrating in wrathful fury. There was a cold desolation inside him, but with every step he took, every corner he brushed passed, it felt like he was lighting his world aflame.

He was on fire. Flames dancing wraithlike atop his skin, flickering, whipping, licking the air around him.

He could not breath.

Still, one foot in front of the other, just as he had done time and time again, into battle, into war, into the desolation of his home. He had delayed time and time again, but always knew that this day would come. From the moment he saw the madness in his father's eye, the same madness he has seen in his grandfather's, mirrored in his very own haunted ones, he knew of the inevitable fall.

He turned a deaf ear to his comrades. Balin pleading with him that things could not continue as they were, Dwalin vowing his loyalty his ax to him, his nephews questioning eyes asking what to do next, Dori and Ori begging for forgiveness.

Forgiveness. Such a funny thing to grace. Who should be forgiving whom?

With a hallow growl he banished the pale-faced guards from the royal wing, leaving the corridor hollow and empty, lit by only torches mounted along the walls. The air was cold, but he went forward without hesitating, walking into the shifting shadows.

He called out to the one shadow he could name.

"Sire," responded the voice.

Nori stood leaning with is back to Thorin's chambers, like some hired mercenary guarding the door of his traveling mistress. Despite all that transpired, he maintained an air of aloofness, an all-knowing smirk stretched across his narrow face even when facing the wrath of his lord.

Unlike his brothers, there was no apology to be had from this one. No expectation of forgiveness.

Thorin had none to spare him.

"You were supposed to protect him," were the first words snarled from the king's mouth.

"I was hired to observe," were the words thrown back at him. "I went above and beyond my call for duty, my lord."

Barely able to contain his anger, Thorin twisted his fist into his spy's tunic and pushed him firmly into the door of his rooms. He watched Nori's face for any betrayal of nervousness at being cornered so by the enraged king, and when not a trace was found he shook him in an attempt to wipe away that calm, to break his subject just as he was shattering inside.

"This," he hissed lowly, "should have never happened while you were at watch."

Nori did not raise his hands up in defense, instead tilted his head to the side and with weasel eyes glittering asked slyly, "Who do you speak of, cousin?"

"There is no one else here but you and I," Thorin hissed, his clenched fists shaking.

"Precisely," Nori smiled.

Thorin was tempted to strike his kinsman when a movement was heard beyond the door, the sound of the lock turning. With unnatural swiftness, Nori slipped out of the king's hold and withdrew into the shadows, leaving Thorin standing alone, breathing heavily with perspiration over the hairs of his upper lip as the door was carefully cracked open.

"Oh," Bilbo gasped, peeking out and making the breath shudder out of Thorin's chest. "I was not expecting you." He pulled the door open, giving space for his husband.

Thorin hesitated, swallowing stone before stepping through the threshold. "Who else would call upon you at this time?" he asked lowly.

The hobbit shut the door, the king noting how the lock firmly into turned in place. His consort's hair was newly washed; the curls at his nape still dark with dampness. He had donned a delicate looking shirt, frills at the wrists, and a golden embroidered vest buttoned around his torso.

"Oh, I don't know." Walking around him, the hobbit went to the fireplace. He had a kettle boiling - tea by the smell of it. "Today has been a day of unexpected visitors."

His throat felt dry and parched, as if he had not drank for days. All the fire and fury burning about him dissipated, leaving nothing but the cold emptiness of his hallowing his chest.

He was tired.

Thorin watched the hobbit take the kettle with a cloth from the fire and take it to the small table in the center of the room. He blinked at how the two chairs had been moved so they faced the other on each side of the table. Two tea drinking cups had been set, and his consort poured steaming tea into each.

That done, Bilbo looked up at him, blue eyes dark as he assessed the king before. Seeing something that Thorin could not fathom, Bilbo Baggins sighed and finally approached him. With small but knowing fingers, he undid the clasps of his overcoat, hands careful to move his long hair away as he pulled it from the king's burdened shoulders.

Next he began to work on the mail armor, releasing the thick belt. Without lifting his tawny head, he said lowly, "I finally met that spy of yours."

Thorin clenched his jaw.

Something must have alerted the hobbit of his husband's ire for he suddenly snapped his eyes up. "Stop that," he chided, lifting the armor to Thorin's chest. Mindlessly, the king pulled it up and over, handing it to Bilbo. "We both should be thankful he was lurking about," Bilbo turned his back and put away the defensive mail.

Thankful. What has Thorin to be thankful of?

A small hobbit, his prisoner, slowly peeling him layer by layer as if trying to reach the king's core.

In the next instant he had Bilbo in his arms, holding him close and burying his nose into those tight curls. He inhaled the soap and distinct scent of his consort. His fingers gripped fragile cloth so easily torn, felt the shift of skin and flesh so easily marked and bruised. Thorin knew. He knew very well how fragile his hobbit's skin was, how much pressure it took to leave red and blue marks, how deep his blunt nails needed to dig to elicit protest from those controlled lips, what words needed to be whispered to cause those eyes to drop in bashfulness and have cheeks blush in arousal.

How close had he come to losing Bilbo Baggins?

"Are you hurt?" he asked in a mere whisper.

He felt the vibrations of a chuckle in his consort's voice when he said, "Well, I have said that your kin are as hard as mountain rock. A bruise here and there, but nothing to be alarmed about."

Thorin held Bilbo tighter, unable to lift his head. "This should have never have happened," he admitted.

Almost he protested when the hobbit pushed away from him, but there was a gentle firmness about the way he spoke and moved before him. Thorin was held still in his presence, beholden to him and his words.

Small hands took his, grave eyes caught his own. "It is time we discuss some things, my lord," the hobbit said.

Obediently, Thorin nodded his heavy head and allowed the little creature to guide him to a seat. "I was preparing for supper when they came for me," Bilbo spoke. "As you know I lived alone, and had only prepared a plate for myself. You can imagine how unexpected it was when I got that knock on my door." A cup of tea was placed in his hand, fragile glass warming his calloused palms. "I was completely unprepared to host the Thain, my town's mayor and Shire family heads. I served them tea, and they begged me to sign a marriage contract." The hobbit moved to sit opposite him, making himself comfortable and taking a sip of his tea. "They were terrified; taking your Balin's veiled threats to heart. They were too frightened to ask the questions that should have been explained from the very start: What would Erebor and the dwarves gain by marriage to a hobbit? What would make such a race known for its pride and valor so desperate that they felt the need to threaten and bully another race? Instead, they forced my hand to sign a contract I was never given a chance to read." Blue eyes glared up at him, sharp and angry, "I despised you. Cursed you in my heart every single day of my journey here. Never have I held so much anger directed at a single being before. I never imaged such strong hatred could exist."

Thorin kept his eyes trained on the dark amber of his drink, glowing in reflection of the fireplace. "Do you wish for an apology from me?" Thorin asked aloud.

Bilbo chuckled, a dark shuddering sound. "No. Nope," he gasped out. "I already know you will never allow that – not for me, nor for yourself either."

Those words made the king's hand clench around his glass.

"No," Bilbo leaned forward, placing his cup on the table and reached into the inside of his gold vest. "No, I wish for something else. Something that you can grant me."

A small folded parchment was pulled out, unraveled and placed on the table with the words facing the dwarf: " 'Marriage Contract of Thorin son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain and Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, King's Consort'." Thorin looked up sharply, "What is this?"

"Our marriage contract. I wrote it shortly after I came to Erebor. Ori showed it to me, so I memorized it, then wrote it down. A reminder of what my life would be like here with you dwarves." The hobbit tapped the parchment with his finger. "I've abided by this contract well, wouldn't you agree? I've not broken it, nor challenged it in any way, have I?"

"No," Thorin agreed, the black ink of those written words imprinted forever in his mind. "You have never given reason for us to cry falsehood."

"My lord," Bilbo's voice cut like the sharpest of knives, forcing Thorin's gaze up to meet his. "The King's Consort was attacked today, threatened with harm of a lascivious nature."

The glass in Thorin's hands shattered, spilling dark tea and small flecks of blood onto the table and contract. However, neither dwarf nor hobbit moved, both staring at each other with a horrible tension that reeked of horror and rage.

It was Bilbo who blinked first with dawning realization. "You do not doubt my word." His tone did not pose question.

"I do not," the king clenched his torn fists, glass biting into still bleeding wounds. Then slowly, like draining poison he spoke words he had never dared utter to even his closest adviser Balin. "Had I not asked for your marriage, you would have been taken by my father, King Thrain."

He saw the blood drain from Bilbo's face at his admission. He could see revulsion rise then controlled on his consort's face, though it did take a moment for the hobbit to find his voice. "You're," he cleared his throat, "being quite forthright with me tonight."

Thorin slammed a bloodied hand flat onto the contract, making the hobbit jump, fingers curling the parchment into his fist. "The contract has been broken," he spat, glaring down as his fingers forced broken shards of glass deeper into his palm. "You've been waiting all this time. That's why you memorized it, wrote it, and kept it close. You've been waiting for me to fail."

There was another heavy silence with only the sounds of the fire burning behind them and Thorin's labored breathing. So focused on his failure the king did not hear the hobbit approach until small pale hands were upon his. He looked up, spooked, but Bilbo held fast.

"One of us were eventually bound to fail," Bilbo admitted, a smile sadly pulling at his lips. "Honestly, I thought I would falter first. Some days I nearly did." He took a breath, almost like a sob. "But you made it very, very hard some days to hate you as I should. You know how I loathe your kindness."

To Thorin's amazement, the hobbit knelt at his side, gently bringing his bloodied hands to him and placing a gentle kiss to his knuckles. "Tell me, Thorin," Bilbo asked him, blue eyes glimmered like the brightest of gems. "What happened?"

And in that moment Thorin realized how hard he had fallen.


They sat together on their bed, a bowl of water to one side and three little jars of ointments on the other. Bilbo Baggins hunched over the king's mangled hands, gently cleaning them as Thorin spoke:

"It started with my grandfather, King Thror, and his war against the orcs that had taken over the Mines of Moria. For years he burned with hatred against that foul race, slowly gaining support from the other dwarf kingdoms to reclaim their lost home. My father and I stood by his side, never once questioning his desires. All of us truly believed that we would defeat our enemies.

"But we failed. My grandfather and younger brother, Frerin were slain, their heads cut from their bodies. My father, King Thrain was taken by their butchers and presumed dead. We fled, making camp to tend to our wounded and mourn the deaths of our kinsmen."

Bilbo lifted his head. "The Battle of Azanulbizar," he said.

Thorin nodded his head, shutting his heavy eyes. "I was declared king, and seeing the calamity that my grandfather had brought upon us decided to give up Moria to our enemies. Nothing was worth anymore lives of our dwarves. Nothing could replace our loss. On my order the remaining dwarf armies dispersed to their kingdoms, and I returned to Erebor to start my rule.

"One day, no more than a month after my return, a traveling wizard appeared at the gates of Erebor, and with him was my father, the rightful King of Under the Mountain. We had assumed him dead, when in actuality we abandoned him to horrific torture under the hands of the orcs. I was told that it was one of the wizard's traveling companions that stumbled upon King Thrain and initiated his rescue. It was through their brave acts that my father was returned to me.

"But my father didn't return, at least not completely. His mind had broken from weeks of torture, making it impossible for me to step down from the throne and return it to the true king. He began to swiftly call our people to battle once again, a war of vengeance that this time would not only reclaim Moria but avenge our fallen. For the first time in our history, a rift was formed: those declaring loyalty to King Thrain, wishing to follow him to war, and those who swore fealty to me."

"Two Kings Under the Mountain." Bilbo tsked as he pulled out a small sliver of glass from the web between Thorin's thumb and index finger.

"It was madness," Thorin could not mask the shakiness in his voice. "No matter how I pleaded with him, my father would not be convinced otherwise. We would go to war, whether it be within the walls of Erebor pitting brother against brother, or against a common enemy. I chose to step back. Rather than fight him and risk civil war; I joined my father in solidarity. Perhaps there would be some way I could change things by staying close to him. Perhaps he would confide in me so that at least I knew how he planned to wage this new war.

"It worked…"

Thorin shifted his hands, taking Bilbo's into his, squeezing them. "One night my father called for me and showed me one of his strategic plans: a two front war on both sides of Moria, east and west. In it he had the armies from the Blue Mountains stationed in the Shire. The land was plentiful with farms and hills, the perfect place for our armies to replenish, re-arm, and wait for instructions."

Bilbo's eyes were widening at his words, hands frozen in the dwarf kings. "They wouldn't allow it!" he argued. "There would be no way for our Thain would allow it!"

"Of course not," Thorin agreed. "That was why my father had plans to conquer the Shire and rest its leadership from your Thain. It would be child's play to seize the land, but he wished for more. To halt any attempt to revolt, we would take hostage a hobbit of prominent standing and have them bound to him through marriage contract. My father even knew of which family line this hobbit would come from. It had been planned out, detail by detail, as if it had always been a part of his agenda. Moria and the Shire would be his."

Bilbo shook his head in bewilderment. "So there truly was a threat to the Shire. Balin wasn't full of hot air." He shifted back, resuming his tending to the king's wounds.

"It was the Gray Wizard, the one who brought back my father, who advised me not to thwart my father's plan with regards to the Shire, but to shift its direction. I, not my father, would take a hobbit as consort; bind him and his lands under my rule. This hobbit had to have enough wealth and land to station some dwarves to appease King Thrain plot, yet a hobbit that was clever enough not to be completely cowed by being ripped from his home. He gave you by name 'Bilbo Baggins', made me promise not to take anyone else.

"I nearly could not convince my father otherwise. It was only when the wizard mentioned your lineage; that your mother was a direct relation to the ruling Took family, did my father finally acquiesce. Once the contact had been written, I sent out my most trusted comrades to retrieve you."

"And here we are," whispered Bilbo.

"Here we are," echoed Thorin.

He felt heavy and dry, burned out ash decayed in his mouth in the wake of outlining his failures and the failures of his father and father's father. He watched listlessly as the little hobbit finished cleaning his hands, dabbing his wounds with ointment and binding them with clean cloth. He continued to stare silently as his consort shuffled off the bed and put away the ointments, then taking the bowl of water to the bathing room.

My clever little hobbit, he thought to himself, taking a moment to admire the white expanse of Bilbo's neck as he turned his head. The golden hues of his hair took when close to the fire, the dark blue of his eyes, sapphires burning brightly with intelligence, patience and resolve.

"He was right, you know," Thorin said as the hobbit joined him again on the bed, struggling to get beneath the sheets.

"Who was right?" asked Bilbo, firm little hands maneuvering the king onto his back and under their sheets.

The king reached out a bandaged hand to encase the side of Bilbo's face, falling deeper and deeper. "The wizard," Thorin swallowed, gently guiding the hobbits face down so that his brow rested upon his own. "He told me that you were different from other hobbits. That what made you peculiar among your kin would be the very thing that made you perfect for becoming my consort."

"Bugger the wizard," Bilbo grumbled with a slight frown.

Thorin snorted at the hobbit's ill temper with regards to the wizard. He released his consort, dropping his hand over his eyes. "I am tired," he admitted.

"Then rest," hummed Bilbo.

Thorin nodded, and allowed himself to relax into an exhausted sleep, fully aware of the small beckon of warmth at his side.


End Notes: So, lots of answers were given in this chapter. It's taken a long time to get here, but hopefully your patience has won out. Thank you so much for your readership (if you have lasted this long) and I will see you all next time in Chapter 13!