Chapter 25: To the Very End

Bilbo couldn't breathe.

The dry, ashy air of Mordor wasn't helping much. Every rattling breath he took reminded him of how thirsty he was, and how far he still had to go.

But the discomforts his body experienced were mere details at the moment. It was the ring that had all of his focus.

He had been forced to put it back on in order to sneak past the orcs and into Mordor. It had seemed simple enough, as he had used it plenty of times before for that same purpose. After he had cleared the mountains, there had been no sign of orc patrols or guards, which meant he was free to take off the ring.

That was, unfortunately, easier said than done.

When Bilbo had finally mustered the will to take it off, a wave of fatigue had caused him to nearly collapse. Between that, and the ensuing waves of dizziness and nausea that had followed, it had been all he could do to slide the ring back on and hope for the best. That had immediately abated his illness.

Bilbo knew he could not travel all the way to the volcano while wearing the ring. That would only increase its hold on him. He still didn't know if he had it in him to destroy it.

Every time he closed his eyes, he could see Holly's pale face, the fear and hurt in her eyes when he had tried to push her away. He told himself he had said those horrible things so she wouldn't follow him, so no one else would get hurt for his sake. But he knew he had acted, at least in part, out of fear that one of the group would try to take the ring from him.

Which she did.

Holly had seen right through him—had tried to warn him that the ring was influencing him. She had been trying to help him.

And then she tried to take it. She would have said anything to gain your trust.

Bilbo shuddered. For a moment, the fear in her eyes had vanished, replaced by a dark, unfamiliar greed. Perhaps her words had been intended as nothing more than a distraction.

But regardless of what Holly had felt in that moment, or what she knew about the ring, Bilbo could not deny the feeling of wrongness that persisted whenever he had the ring on. He had known about this feeling, and ignored it, for years.

Bilbo knew he had to take the ring off, and make for the volcano before it was too late. He placed two fingers on the gold band wrapped around his finger and shuddered in anticipation of the sickness he knew he would feel. His breathing grew shallow as dread pooled heavily in his gut.

He couldn't take it off—if he did, he wouldn't be able to move—

It was getting harder to breathe.

"That should be sufficient."

Léonere barely registered the sound of Annatar's voice. The pounding in his head nearly drowned out all other sounds around him. It was all he could do to focus on gathering more magical energy. How long he had been at it was beyond his knowledge—the dense, charcoal-colored clouds above completely blocked out the sky.

"Léonere. You can stop now."

He finally lowered his shaking arms with a gasp. The magic circle beneath his feet glowed with a soft blue light, and was much brighter now than it had been before. He sat (or rather, fell) down and grabbed his waterskin. The last few drops at the bottom were warm as they slid down his throat.

"My, my. I am impressed." Annatar walked closer and inspected the circle, his posture erect as always. Léonere wondered if the man ever grew tired. "And it only took you about twenty years."

"What?"

"You grew quite an impressive beard in that time."

Léonere's hand flew to his chin, but it was clean-shaven. He looked up to see Annatar smirking down at him. He let out a rusty chuckle and tossed the empty waterskin to the side. "What's next?"

"You should rest, now. Even great mages need to gather their strength."

There was no need to tell him twice. Léonere rested his elbows on his knees and dragged his hands across his sweaty face. His head buzzed with thirst and exhaustion.

"Oh. You might want to take a look at this."

A low rumble sounded in the distance. This was nothing out of the ordinary—thunder was all too common in the skies of Mordor. It took a great deal of effort for Léonere to lift his head to look at his companion. "What is it?"

Annatar was standing at the edge of the tower, looking out at the desolate land. He half-turned towards him and asked, "Have you ever seen the eruption of a volcano before?"

Another rumble sounded, this one a little louder. Léonere dragged himself to his feet and staggered to the edge of the tower. The mountain looked the same as it did the last time he'd looked southwest—glowing red-hot at its peak and belching grey-black smoke.

"How do you know it's about to erupt?"

Annatar ignored him, choosing instead to watch the volcano. Before he could repeat his question, a sharp movement in the corner of his eye distracted him.

A plume of light gray smoke erupted from the tip of the volcano and billowed out into an enormous cloud. Moment later, a sharp cracking noise, not unlike the spell Léonere had used to defeat the bandits, made him flinch.

"Incredible, isn't it?" Annatar's eyes were still fixed on the volcano. "The power of the earth so rarely reveals itself."

"It's...terrifying." Léonere straightened up. Gray clouds of ash were tumbling down the mountainside, reminding him of an avalanche he had seen in the mountains to the north. "Will it affect us?"

"We're too high for the dust to reach us," Annatar said irreverently. Not that he ever showed concern, anyway. "Rest up. We don't have forever."

Léonere lowered himself again with a sigh. He sat against a mostly intact section of the tower wall and leaned his head back to gaze at the gray-red sky. He would welcome a departure from this place. The thought that someone had taken the time to build a tower and live here was largely irrational to him.

At the edge of the tower, Annatar watched the eruption, the light of the volcano's peak reflected in his eyes.

The caragor was fast, and traversed Mordor's rocky terrain with ease. Thorin knew he would have little trouble reaching his destination—the only problem was, he didn't know where exactly he had to go.

He and Torvin had been riding for about fifteen minutes, but his worry had drawn out the time to seem like hours. He knit his brows together. There had been no sign of Bilbo, and it was possible that they could have passed him without even knowing it.

Thorin slowed to a halt, and signalled for Torvin to do the same.

"No luck?" Tovin sat up and scanned the area. A low rumble shook the ground, and both caragors shifted uneasily.

"I have no idea where he is," Thorin said. Despair weighed on his voice more than he'd intended, and he took a couple breaths to calm himself.

"Like looking for a needle in a haystack. A large, craggy haystack."

The earth gave another low growl. Thorin frowned and looked towards the volcano. He knew that was Bilbo's destination—perhaps it would be best to head there and hope they crossed paths eventually.

A gray cloud issued from the peak, followed by a crashing noise similar to thunder.

"Now, that is not good." Torvin turned his caragor away from the mountain as the cloud poured down the sides, a hint of anxiety entering his voice. "We gotta haul ass."

"What is that?"

"Ash. It'll sweep down here and choke everything in its path. Not that anything down here is worth choking, anyway. Except us."

Bilbo would be caught in the haze. Thorin scanned the landscape again, desperate for any sign of movement or life. "I cannot leave him."

"You stay here, you'll die."

Thorin shook his head and turned to the other dwarf. "Go, then. You've given me more than enough help. But I cannot flee and leave my friend to die here."

Torvin turned to look at the stretch of barren rock in front of him, then turned back to Thorin. "All right, ya crazy bastard. Let's go find your friend."

"Thank you," he said, and meant it. The dwarf barely knew him, but he was risking his life to help him. Thorin would not forget his aid—even if the dwarf did seem slightly insane.

They turned their mounts north and spurred them on towards the approaching storm.

When Bilbo finally came to his senses, he wondered why the earth was shaking. The tremors stopped after a few moments, and he registered with no small amount of relief that the world was not shrouded in wispy distortions as it was when he had the ring on. A brief inspection revealed that it was safely stowed away in his pocket.

Another tremor caused the earth to shudder beneath him. When it ended, Bilbo stood on shaky legs. He took several breaths to quell the nausea in his gut. His mouth was parched, and he wished he had brought supplies—or at least a waterskin—into Mordor. As it was, he had lost his pack when he had fallen into the river. There was nothing to be done for it, other than to drop the ring into the volcano and leave Mordor as quickly as possible.

Bilbo tilted his head up to look at the mountain, and stared at the plumes of white smoke pouring down from the peak. He winced as a sharp bang! echoed around the jagged hollow where he was standing.

"That doesn't look good," Bilbo said to himself, and winced at how hoarse his voice sounded. Hopefully the smoke would dissipate by the time he reached the volcano. Either way, there was no sense in turning back now.

Some of the fatigue had left his limbs, so Bilbo started walking. The gravel was slippery under his feet, and more than once he stumbled while trying to climb a rocky incline.

This would be so much easier with the ring. You'd be able to go faster—run, even. You wouldn't feel thirsty anymore…

Bilbo shook off the intrusive thoughts. He needed to stay focused. With one final heave, he pushed himself up and continued on. As he walked, his footsteps grew steadier, and he felt his breathing return to normal.

Perhaps he would be able to make it after all. He looked up at the mountain and was surprised to find that the cloud rushing down the mountainside had not dispersed at all. In fact, it appeared to have grown in size.

Bilbo pulled himself up onto a ridge and paused. Climbing the mountain was looking more dangerous by the moment, but he couldn't turn back now. He didn't know how long he would be able to resist the ring.

The next best thing to do was to find shelter. He would have to press on, and hope there was a cave or two somewhere close by.

Unfortunately, there was no such cave to be found. Bilbo spent the next few minutes climbing and searching, all while trying to ignore the looming cloud that was growing closer by the minute. The terrain below the mountain was craggy and uneven, but not so uneven that the dry rock yielded a practical place to hide.

The already dim sky was growing darker. Bilbo looked up and bit back a groan as he saw the billowing gray cloud looming above, mere moments from swallowing him whole.

"Bilbo!"

He turned, and froze at the sight of two figures mounted on what looked like a pair of large wargs. It was too dark and they were too far away for Bilbo to recognize the riders by sight, but the voice that had called out to him was unmistakable.

Bilbo took a step forwards, opening his mouth to respond, but a wave of ash smothered his words, and the world around him turned dark.

Thorin coughed up dust as the thick substance swirled around him. He blinked against the specks pelting his eyes and fought to keep his balance as the caragor stirred uneasily. He urged the beast forward, desperate to reach Bilbo, but the creature had other ideas and threw him off before he could steady himself.

He cursed and brought one arm up to shield his face against the onslaught of ash. A small stone flew past his ear and pelted against the rocky ground, followed by more stones of various sizes.

It was nearly impossible to breathe with the thickness of ash in the air. Thorin pulled up his shirt to cover his mouth and pushed himself to his feet. He needed to get to Bilbo.

It was impossible to see as well, but there was nothing to be done for that, so Thorin struggled onward, using his stone sense as a guide.

The cloud was so thick, and the noise of the rushing dust and pelting rocks was so loud that Thorin would not have found Bilbo at all had their arms not brushed against each other. His free hand shot out to grab him, and he pulled him over to a low outcropping of rock, where they could catch their bearings.

They could not stay out here. It was getting harder to breathe, and Thorin could feel himself getting light-headed. He could sense a hollow area in the earth beneath their feet. He pulled the both of them down the hill, praying that there was an entrance to the cave, and that he would be able to find it in time.

The entrance was a mere gap in the side of a small rock face, small enough to easily pass unnoticed but just large enough to allow them to squeeze through. Once they were far enough away from the entrance and had access to fresh air, Thorin dropped his shirt from his face and took deep breaths. Gradually, his head began to clear.

Next to him, Bilbo leaned over and let out a rattling cough. He spat a few times to get rid of the ash in his mouth and gasped for air.

Thorin put a hand on his shoulder, listening carefully to his breathing. "Are you all right?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Bilbo nodded and wiped his mouth. As soon as he straightened up, Thorin leaned down and pressed their foreheads together. At the moment, words could not convey the relief he felt. They had only barely made it.

For a minute, they stayed like that, the only sound in the cramped space of the cave being their mingled breathing and the faint echo of rocks battering the ground outside.

"How did you find me?" Bilbo asked, his voice raspy. He had both hands resting on Thorin's shoulders, and Thorin could feel the faint tremors passing through his fingertips.

He pulled back. There was barely any light in the cave, but from what he could see, they were both covered in a layer of ash.

He turned to the entrance. When the shroud had hit, he had lost sight of Torvin. He hoped the dwarf had made it out safely.

"It was mere chance, it seems," Thorin said, turning back to Bilbo. "Though I went through a great deal of trouble getting inside Mordor so I could search for you. Which would not have been necessary had you not run off on your own."

"I'm sorry." Bilbo drew back, his tone stiffening. "But this is something I need to do on my own. I...I can't let anyone else get hurt on my account."

He knew all too well the guilt associated with seeing one's allies hurt. But he also knew that the risk of injury to protect another was nothing compared to the risk of losing them.

"You almost died out there. I would never forgive myself if I let something happen to you."

Even in the dim light, Thorin could see the pain on Bilbo's face as he said, "You have to let me do this alone. You were right—the ring must be destroyed, no matter what. And if I am the one to do it, then I d-don't want anyone else risking their lives. This is my burden, and mine alone." He had moved away from the wall and positioned himself at the end of the cave opposite the entrance.

Thorin shook his head. "I will not forsake you. I know you would stand by my side if I were in your position. You gave up your life of peace and left your home to help me reclaim mine. Even when I fell into the clutches of madness, you did everything in your power to keep myself and my kin safe. You have my heart, amrâlimê. The burden you carry is as much mine as it is yours."

He reached out for him, but Bilbo stepped out of reach. Thorin tried not to flinch as he lowered his hand. Was Bilbo afraid of him?

When he finally spoke, Bilbo's voice was low. "Would you try and take it from me?"

"What?" Even as the words left his lips, Thorin felt dread and terror slide down his neck. The same question had plagued the back of his mind ever since he had learned of Bilbo's possession of the ring. He pushed the idea to the back of his mind during the day, but at night it haunted his dreams.

They still had not found a cure for his sickness.

"This."

Thorin sucked in a sharp breath as Bilbo withdrew the ring from his pocket and held it out in his palm. His voice had lost some of its steadiness as he repeated, "Would you take it from me?"

The smooth gold band seemed to glow in the darkness of the cavern. If not for the power imbued within, it would have been worthless next to the treasure Thorin possessed in Erebor.

He could not deny that he wanted it with every fiber of his being. Of its own accord, one of his hands reached out once more. If he decided to take it, Bilbo would not be able to stop him.

The ring could cure his sickness. It would make him a great ruler—not only of Erebor, but of all the other dwarven realms, even those that had been lost. With it, he would have the power to reclaim the wealth and strength and history his people had once possessed. The deaths of his grandfather, his father, and his brother would finally have meaning.

The future of his people was mere inches from his fingertips, resting in the palm of a halfling who could not stop him from taking it.

Bilbo's palm was soft, but slightly calloused from wielding his short sword. He had lifted that sword in defense of Thorin's life more than once. He had fought off orcs and wargs and spiders with less training than most new recruits in the Royal Guard. He had lifted that hand countless times to gesture animatedly while telling one of his stories. That was the hand that had rested on Thorin's shoulder in a heartfelt attempt to relieve the burdens that rested upon it, that had cupped his cheek when they had kissed for the first time—that now held the object that could destroy them both.

Thorin shoved his hand forward and closed Bilbo's fingers around the ring. Tremors raked up his spine and wavered his breath. His ears were ringing. But beneath it all he could feel the same breathless clarity he had experienced the moment he had tossed his crown to the floor two years ago and shaken off the burden of the gold sickness for the first time.

Bilbo thrust the ring back into his pocket, his hands just as unsteady as Thorin's. His eyes were wide, but instead of fear they were full of relief and something else Thorin couldn't quite name.

"It is your burden," Thorin said. "But I will guard you with my life and see it through with you. To the very end."

"To the very end," Bilbo said, and reached out to pull him close.

Thorin welcomed his embrace, the warmth of his body helping to steady him. They were nearly at the end of their journey. Though they had yet to destroy the ring and make it safely home, a part of him felt as though a battle had already been won.

Whatever lay ahead, he already had a victory behind him to bolster his courage.

I know one of the actors (probably Andy Serkis) described possession of the ring as an addiction, so I tried to describe Bilbo's struggle in a similar manner. Thankfully none of it is from personal experience; I went off of what I've seen in documentaries/accounts.

Also fun fact: while I was writing the scene where Bilbo and Thorin are running through the ash clouds, I felt a little like I was breathing in the ash myself. Has anyone else had an experience like that, where you physically felt as though you were in the story?

Torvin's not gonna make another appearance in this fic, but rest assured, he's kicking ass somewhere in Nurn.

That final scene with Bilbo and Thorin was one of the most intense things I've ever written. Obviously nowhere near as Iconic as the "I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you" scene, but I'm still proud of it. I hope you all found it realistic; I think Thorin has grown enough as a character to be able to resist the ring (and maybe the gold sickness too~)

Anyway, this note is getting ridiculously long, so I'll just wrap it up by saying thank you to everyone who has supported this story so far, or just silently read along. Feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you thought; it means a lot to me.