Bilbo picked his way through rows of wounded. Though he spoke with Thorin once or thrice since the dwarf was well enough to hold a conversation, each time he lacked the courage to do what he must. He had to give Thorin the Arkenstone. It weighed heavily in his pocket, making him tremble and sweat whenever he thought of it. The stone belonged to the king, but still Bilbo hesitated. Surely possessing it would not affect Thorin now that he'd shaken free of his madness?
For days, the hobbit fought with himself over the matter. Fíli had believed in Thorin. Thorin came back. This was promising, yet what if Thorin was not completely free? After all, madness is not something instantly cured. Bilbo had a feeling that Thorin's path to recovery was lengthy indeed, which stayed his hand the first two times he tried to relinquish the stone. In the end, it was on behalf of Fíli that Bilbo gathered his courage and resolve. Weeks prior, before leaving Thranduil's camp, the dwarf prince instructed the hobbit to keep the stone hidden unless his plan succeeded. If Thorin was restored, Bilbo must return the symbol of power to the dwarves of Erebor.
And there, a few feet away hunched the restored Oakenshield, head in his hands as Fíli continued to sleep. Pull yourself together, Baggins. Bilbo nodded crisply and cleared his throat. Thorin raised his head, eyes softening.
"What can I do for you, Bilbo?"
"I would have a word with you, if I may."
Thorin's brows lifted, his hand sweeping a gesture of consent.
"I...he asked me to give you this," Bilbo said, nodding toward Fíli. He pulled the wrapped stone from his pocket, hand shaking as the weight shifted to Thorin's palm. Please don't let this have been a mistake, he thought desperately.
Thorin dared not breathe as he unwrapped what he knew in his heart to be the Arkenstone. His lips parted in awe, his eyes not quite believing in spite of themselves. More beautiful than he remembered, it glowed from within. A thousand colors exploded in prisms of light.
"Thorin?"
He blinked. Bilbo watched him fearfully, and Thorin's heart sank a little. Bilbo was right to worry what this stone might do to him, but Thorin glanced at his nephew, chest aching. To think what might have happened had he not come to his senses. He wrapped the stone back up and set it on the cot near Fíli's hand. Bilbo relaxed considerably, and Thorin offered him a warm smile.
"You have done us a great service, Bilbo. Many in fact, and I owe you an apology."
"I'm sorry?" Bilbo stammered, and Thorin leaned forward, his face serious.
"No, Bilbo. I'm sorry. I treated you as an outsider. I begrudged you your safe and comfortable life. I did not believe you had any place among us. In my madness, I believed you guilty of stealing the Arkenstone."
Bilbo seemed to shrink a little under each word. Thorin wasn't finished.
"But I was wrong."
Bilbo straightened in surprise.
Thorin smiled. "What a remarkable creature you are, Bilbo. For a hobbit who has never left the Shire, you proved to be one of the most valuable members of our Company, saved us on more than one occasion and had the courage to defy a mad king to help bring peace."
The hobbit huffed a sigh and shifted from foot to foot, not quite sure how to react. "Think nothing of it," he stammered.
"I'll do no such thing," Thorin replied firmly. "Think you that such behaviour has so little value? The amount of loyalty and honor you have demonstrated rivals that of any dwarf in the Company. You had many opportunities to turn around and go back to your life, and I'm ashamed to say I would not have been sorry to see you go. I never understood your love for the elves, and how many times could you have chosen that love over loyalty to us? Life among them surely would have been less difficult for you. You have shown me that hobbits are most hardy folk - something I never believed possible. You fought not for your share of the treasure. Instead, you selflessly helped take back a home that is not your own. And I think," Thorin's gaze drifted to Fíli's battered form as he finished, "that if more people valued home above gold, this world would be a merrier place."
Bilbo's nose twitched suspiciously, but if Thorin noticed, he had the grace to overlook it.
"No amount of wealth would be enough to repay the debt we owe you, Bilbo Baggins," Thorin continued, extending his hand. "But I offer you friendship and my everlasting gratitude."
The hobbit gaped as the dwarf king extended a hand. He took it, finding his voice again as they shook hands.
"I most heartily accept both."
Fíli later recalled waking repeatedly only to collapse back into sleep's embrace. Hovering faces appeared - each a welcome sight after the horror and uncertainty of battle. A voice hummed ballads and cheerful tunes alike, each song weaving into dreams unmarred by terror or death. Bits of food and medicine found their way between his cracked lips. Gentle hands changed the dressing on his wounds, and cool compresses brought relief to burning flesh. Ancient words filled his ears, some in the language of his fathers, others in a tongue he failed to recognize.
Heavy. Head thick with pain and exhaustion, limbs buzzing like nests of hornets. Unable to stir. How long? How many days had he slept away? Was it weeks?
No control...no command of his own body.
Open! he demanded of his eyes.
Wake! he begged his mind as hazy, pleasant dreams beckoned him back the furthest reaches of slumber.
"Peace," soothed a voice. Cool fingers pressed on his brow, chasing the fire from his blood. "I think we can agree you've slept long enough, Master Dwarf."
Gone. Whatever unbreachable wall bound him in slumber fell away, and at long last Fíli woke. His eyesight blurred, colors and shapes melting together and spinning away. He squinted, forcing his vision to focus. Torches burned low nearby. Fíli winced as stinging pain flared along the left side of his face. Groaning, he tried to lift a hand to his cheek and found it trapped beneath something heavy. Turning his head proved to be a terrible idea, but he spied a mess of dark hair.
"Kíli," he murmured in recognition.
"Fíli?" Thorin leaned into view from his other side, eyes red. "You gave us quite the scare."
Fíli swallowed thickly, suddenly thirsty. "Sorry," he rasped.
Thorin noted the rawness and reached for a flask of water, holding it to Fíli's lips. "Drink."
The latter did so without complaint. After a few careful sips, Thorin eased the flask away and cleared his throat. Fíli searched his uncle's face. A storm gathered in his expression, building pressure behind his eyes and filling them with moisture. Thorin inhaled deeply and shook his head.
"I have made countless mistakes in my time. But none were so grave as my actions towards you."
"Uncle, you don't have to-"
Thorin held up a hand. Fíli closed his mouth.
"I do, Fíli, for both our sakes. No amount of words or deeds can eliminate or repair the damage I have caused..."
He trailed off, eloquence eluding him as guilt and grief squeezed his throat with steely hands. He attempted to clear it once. Twice. Fíli waited, a frown folding his brow. Recovering his voice, Thorin continued.
"I betrayed your trust, spurning your loyalty and morals, and I disregarded everything I taught you for the sake of something which proved to be as worthless as a broken promise. I do not deserve such compassion as you have shown me. I am not worthy of your loyalty nor that of our people."
Fíli held his breath as Thorin pulled a fist-sized pouch from the folds of his tunic and tipped the precious object inside onto his nephew's hand. The Arkenstone shone with the light of a thousand stars, its depths as mystifying and wonderous as the heavens themselves.
"You are the leader our kin deserve," Thorin said.
The bedridden prince stared at his uncle. Thorin's eyes bore none of the obsession which ruled him only a short time ago. He found only respect, love and understanding. Fíli smiled and pressed the stone back into Thorin's hands.
"Perhaps one day that will be true," he replied, "but I still have much to learn, Uncle. Today our people need Thorin Oakenshield."
Thorin bowed, pressing his forehead to Fíli's. "I do not deserve your forgiveness," he insisted.
"I don't think forgiveness is something to be earned," Fíli whispered, already worn out and drifting off. "It is a gift."
A hand smoothed the hair away from his forehead, and a hushed 'thank you' was the last he heard before falling asleep.
"Nearly there, my lady! Dale lies just ahead, and beyond her rises Erebor."
Dís froze, shading her eyes against a winter sun as she followed the line of Elrohir's pointing finger. After a lifetime of waiting, she stood parted from her homeland by naught but the crest of a hill. Her feet refused to carry her a step further, sending roots deep in the ground. Her heart quailed, terrified of what she would see.
Weeks earlier, word reached Rivendell of the great battle before the gates of Erebor. Unfortunately, the message failed to detail the news Dís desperately needed to hear. What of her family? Victory belonged to the dwarves, but the raven who delivered the message did so with great formality and could not answer her questions concerning her sons. Elrond understood her unease and arranged for an escort to accompany her to the mountain. The elf lord's twin sons volunteered to guide her, and she found it impossible to refuse.
The journey was remarkably uneventful and passed quickly. Rest and meals were few and farther between the nearer the mountain loomed, and the Company would later gape at Dís' account of having passed through Mirkwood in less than a fortnight. Perhaps Elrohir and Elladan's presence kept the darkness and disease of the forest at bay, though she could never say for certain. Her thoughts were for her sons, leaving little to no room at all for the landscape around her until she stood at last on the hill overlooking Dale. Gathering courage and hiking her pack higher on her shoulder, Dís feet finally carried her over the hill.
Kíli grimaced and rubbed the stiffness from his thigh. Gritting his teeth, he limped on. The front gate wasn't far from Óin's makeshift infirmary, but Kíli's leg pained him all the same. It didn't matter. He'd suffer the same and worse a thousand times over for his mother's sake. He spotted Elrond's sons first. They were hard to miss, to be honest, but he heard Dís before he saw her, her voice carrying over the other dwarves as she greeted relatives she hadn't seen in decades.
"Mum!"
She froze mid sentence, eyes locking with his. Kíli all but fell into her arms, breathing in the familiar smells caught in her curls. She sighed, holding him close and running a hand through his hair. Laughter caught in her throat, overwhelmed as she was.
"Welcome home," he murmured.
She exhaled shakily and shuddered as she contemplated how empty Erebor would be if the future Elrond had seen came to pass. Pushing the awful thought away, Dís took Kíli's hand in her own. He read the unspoken question in her eyes and turned on his heel, leading her by the hand to where his brother waited.
A/N: Sorry for the delay everyone! It was a bit unexpected, and I honestly thought I would have this story finished by February, but a lot has been going on lately. There's one more chapter, but I want to take a moment now to thank you all for sticking around and waiting so patiently for me to update. Bless you!