Thorin watches the commotion at the gate from his balcony. Hands tightly held together at his back, brow high and eyes unyielding, the fur of his coat ruffled by the cruel wind. He bites the inside of his cheek, revolted by his own weakness. How cowardly of him.
He feels like a fool, standing tall and watching from afar how his One leaves him.
But what could he have done? The Hobbit does not belong here, as much as Thorin wishes him to. If he would have uttered a single word about the love he has been harbouring for so long, it would have served as even more reason for Bilbo to leave. And never come back, on top of that. And plainly asking Bilbo to stay, without a proper reason, so he could come up with a plan—courting, perhaps, trying in some way—felt like a deception he could not have seen through.
He had no choice. None whatsoever. Distancing himself from Bilbo was the wise thing to do, so he would not risk giving himself away and ruin the friendship they have. He knows he might have endangered that friendship by not being at the gate today, but he could not have made it through the ordeal. He would have taken Bilbo in his arms, held on tightly, and carried him back to Erebor, probably confessing his love at the same time. His blood demands it, his heart calls for it, his mind craves it.
So, it is better this way, he lies to himself. He has been lying to himself since that fateful night in Bag End.
He is not a young Dwarf. Whatever time he has left, the time he has to spend without his One, until Mahal takes him back to his halls, is insignificant compared to the time he has spent waiting for Bilbo all his life. Assuming that heartbreak will not take him earlier than he anticipates, he has enough time to train Fíli for kingship and bring his kingdom to its former glory. It will suffice. It must be enough.
Bilbo goes through the gates, taking Thorin's heart away with him. He watches the Hobbit gain distance, until he is no more than a small dot on the horizon, disappearing into the winding road leading down to Dale. He does not know how much time passes.
"You are an idiot, Thorin Oakenshield," Balin's voice suddenly echoes on the balcony.
Thorin did not notice the intrusion, eyes still fixed on that point where he last saw Bilbo. He does not know how long he has been gazing, but he is somewhat aware of the fact that he cannot feel his face, nor his hands, on account of the cold.
Poor Bilbo. He let him leave on such harsh weather. He can only pray that the Hobbit can fend off the cold, regret filling up his guts.
"You will regret it for the rest of your life. You will fade, Thorin, do you realise that?"
"Of course I do, Balin," Thorin barks out in anger. "But he will not. He did not belong here."
"You fool. Have we not all said that he is one of us now? That he'll always have a home in Erebor? He obviously belongs here! I've offered to recreate Bag End here for him, to put together a garden for him to tend, thinking maybe I could convince him to stay if I did that. Do you know what he said? He said he hardly cares about that anymore. He didn't leave because he was homesick, Thorin, he left because he felt like he wasn't needed, because the one person who mattered most didn't ask him to stay."
Balin's yelled words are like a hard slap to his face. He is not sure if the wetness in his eyes is brought by the wind or by the tumult in his chest. If Balin is saying the truth, then…
"Fetch me my pony."
Thorin rides like he has never ridden in his entire life. He barely stopped to take his sword, not even bothering to don his armour. But he did remember to take the amber beads he keeps by his bed, tucked away safely in a velvet pouch, hidden in a drawer of his nightstand. The beads he made the first night after his recovery, the beads for which he relit the fires of Erebor's ancient forge. The beads he is so sure would never be worn.
Balin was right. He is an idiot and he will regret this for the rest of his life. He has this one last chance. Maybe, just maybe…
Bilbo is leaving anyway. The only risk would be Bilbo's potential future visits to Erebor. Two or three encounters at the most, which would be filled with heartbreak either way.
At least, if he does this, he will be able to live with himself. He will fall asleep quicker at night, he will set an example for his nephews, and he will have an excuse not to take a queen. It is the right thing to do.
Bilbo also deserves to know, does he not? If they were in reversed situations, Thorin would want to know. But he is biased, unable to think straight, so he is not truly sure he would. Bilbo might not understand the workings of the bond, its intensity, its purity and might, but he has the right to know, to make a choice. Thorin knows that the Hobbit does not have much of a choice to make, but at least it is his last cry against fate.
As about the rejection, Thorin thinks he can take it. He has dreamt of it, cursed nightmares in which he bares his heart out to Bilbo and Bilbo walks away. They have prepared him, he has lived it many times over. And Bilbo is not a cruel being, he will turn Thorin away with a modicum of respect toward him.
But Balin's words have given him hope, expectations that he now imagines could become real. He expects the upcoming rejection to hurt even more than he predicted. And yet he rides on, pushing his steed to its limits, anticipation eating him up inside. This is going to ruin him, and he knows it.
He catches up with Bilbo before they enter Dale, to his relief. The conversation that would follow should not be held so publicly. His arrival startles Bilbo's pony, consequently startling Bilbo as well, who turns his head in his direction, eyes widening when he realises who has caught up with him.
He dismounts quickly, approaching a stunned Bilbo with sure steps.
"Thorin…? What are you doing here? I thought—" the Hobbit tries to convey his surprise, overwhelmed by Thorin's unexpected arrival.
Thorin grabs Bilbo's elbows in his hands gently, searching for Bilbo's doe-like eyes. He meets them, and his heart fills with emotions he cannot truly name.
"It has come to my attention that I have not let you know my thoughts on your departure. I did not wish for you to leave. If anything, I would have very much liked to beg you to stay. But I could not, my dear Bilbo, because that would have meant to bare my heart, something that I was not ready for before. But I am now. Bilbo Baggins, I have loved you since I first saw you and I will love you until my very end. You are my One, my soulmate, and even though I am not worthy of your love, I will always yearn for it and I shall wither without it. If you were to return to Erebor, I would make every possible effort to prove to you that I could provide for you, care for you, and make you happy. I cannot let you leave without you knowing this, and if you hold even the smallest speck of affection for me, please consider returning to Erebor. You do not have to return my feelings in any measure or even say anything now, but I beg of you—"
Thorin does not get a chance to finish his plea, because a pair of lips crashes into his own, a warm, sweet mouth meeting his. He barely registers Bilbo's body pressing against him, after nearly jumping at him to reach him, lithe arms hanging tightly to his shoulders. The first brush of their lips together brings Thorin to life, making him reply ardently, his own arms searching for Bilbo's waist, circling it and lifting the Hobbit up gently, for the sake of comfort and angle.
Bilbo sighs into his mouth happily, allowing Thorin's tongue to meet his own, the mere press of lips suddenly not being enough. Thorin hums back, bring up a hand to bury it in Bilbo's soft curls, deepening the kiss. Bilbo's own hands find Thorin's neck and jaw, relishing in the warmth Thorin's pulse as they map new territory.
Their noses crash together painfully, fingers grasp what they find for purchase, breathing becomes erratic, lips melt into each other in a desperate dance.
"I love you, too—I love you so much, Thorin, so much—you have no idea…" Bilbo whispers fervently against Thorin's mouth, in between kisses.
His heart bursts wide open at the Hobbit's declaration, and he has to set Bilbo back with his feet on the ground, and take a small step back, so he could verify its sincerity. The sight awaiting him is everything he has been coveting. His Hobbit eyes him endearingly, his cheeks are flushed, lips appear to be beautifully bruised, hair mussed into a halo of curls. His heart breaks, right then and there, but for a whole different reason than it did earlier this morning.
"Do you, truly?" he asks incredulously, placing a hand on Bilbo's cheek and brushing his thumb against soft warm skin.
Bilbo leans into the touch, then, as if he is unable to keep his distance, brings his arms back around Thorin, resting his head against his chest, and he holds on tightly. "Yes, you romantic oaf," he confirms, voice muffled by the fur of the Dwarf's coat. "I've loved you for as long as you claim to have loved me."
Thorin closes his eyes, relieved by the confirmation. He cannot really believe his ears just yet. "Will you come back with me?" he whispers, placing a kiss on the crown of Bilbo's head and hugging the Hobbit back.
"I would be insane if I didn't," Bilbo replies, detaching and searching Thorin's lips with his own.
This kiss is less urgent, more languid and thorough. They explore each other's mouth like they have all the time in the world, each press of lips, each brush of tongues redefining the meaning of intimacy. Bilbo's fingers tangle themselves into Thorin's mane, blunt fingernails scraping at Thorin's scalp and making him gasp, while Thorin's own hands find their way underneath the Hobbit's coat, seeking the hot skin of his hips.
When they part, regretfully, many minutes later, Bilbo hazily smiles up at him like Thorin has just hung the moon, making Thorin's heart flutter. Then, out of nowhere, the smile disappears, and Bilbo slaps his arm with all the power his smaller body can muster.
Taken aback and frightened he might have overstepped a boundary, Thorin panics. "Bilbo…?"
"That's for almost letting me leave for good! Couldn't you have told me all these beautiful things earlier? I've been packing and crying for days, you dolt! It's gonna take me ages to unpack and settle in again…"
Thorin laughs, truly laughs, for the first time in many days. "I shall properly apologise to you when we reach Erebor, if you'll let me."
Bilbo raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "You'd better."
Overjoyed, Thorin chuckles again, lifting Bilbo up and placing him on his steed, which sadly did not get a proper chance to rest after Thorin's race here. "I'll send the ravens cancelling your arrangements of travel when we get back," he adds, taking Bilbo's hands into his own and placing a kiss upon the knuckles of each.
"Tell Balin to do that, I have plans involving you, and I will not have my soulmate run errands when I've just finally gained him."
Thorin smirks. "You possessive little thing," he says, adoringly.
Bilbo shrugs, then leans down to kiss Thorin again, innocently. "Come on, I'm freezing. Let's hurry back to the mountain," he says urgingly, pulling at Thorin's arm to encourage him to mount.
Thorin simply smiles, and takes the reins of the pony carrying Bilbo's luggage. He then mounts his own pony, Bilbo's back pressed flush against his front. Bilbo huddles into him immediately and they take off, following the road back to Erebor.
In that moment, something occurs to Thorin. "My love?" he asks tentatively. "If you have loved me all this time as well, why did you leave without telling me?"
Sensing the fact that Thorin is bothered because cannot see his One's face, Bilbo entwines his fingers with Thorin's, where they are holding the reins of the ponies, in a reassuring way.
"For the same reason you didn't tell me until now, either, I suppose?" he replies, honesty clear in his voice. "But I don't think I would have made it through my first night on the road. I would have left Dale in the middle of the night, and you would have woken up in the morning with a frantic Hobbit at your door, telling you how much he loves you. Although I probably would not have been as eloquent as you were."
Thorin plants another kiss against Bilbo's curls, and tightens his arms around the Hobbit. "I would have wrapped you in my arms and kissed you nonetheless," he replies, loving the way in which Bilbo snuggles up against him.
"Good. That's what I would have wanted you to do," Bilbo's voice is carried by the wind. "I love you. It feels so good to finally say that," he adds, like he is sharing a great secret. His fingers brush gently over Thorin's knuckles, studying them.
Thorin's happiness reaches a maximum he did not deem possible. "I love you too, ghivashel," he replies in a heartbeat.
"What does that mean?" Bilbo asks curiously, twisting his head in a try to see Thorin's face. Thorin takes advantage of it, kissing the cheek turned toward him and nuzzling it with his beard, making the Hobbit giggle.
"It means 'treasure of all treasures'. It's not even close to compiling my feelings toward you, but it's the next best term."
"Yavanna, I've never thought you could be this romantic," Bilbo says, and Thorin does not need to see his face to know that the Hobbit is blushing.
They settle into a comfortable silence, going at a small pace so that they do not strain their steed. Soon enough, Bilbo falls asleep into his arms.
When they reach the gates of Erebor, Thorin is not surprised to find Balin and his nephews waiting for him. It could have been just him returning, he realises. He thanks Mahal a thousand times over in his mind, for granting him the miracle sleeping against his chest.
At the sight of said miracle, Fíli and Kíli throw their hands up in the air, ecstatic, while Balin shakes his head, smiling at the same time. He shushes them, then gently rouses his One. "Bilbo, love?"
The Hobbit yawns, lazily opening his eyes. "Have we arrived? Oh, hi there, boys. Balin."
Frowning at the hushed sniggers coming from his nephews and giving them a silent warning, he dismounts and helps Bilbo down as well, entrusting the ponies to Balin.
In any other situation, Bilbo would have now suggested elevensies and then he would have tried coaxing the princes into helping him unpack, but this time around, Bilbo seems rather eager to make his way directly to the royal wing, for some reason.
Thorin cannot complain. He rather looks forward to finding out what his One's plans are.
If the Company are surprised to see the two of them show up for breakfast the next morning, hand in hand, they do not show it. They also pretend not to notice the stubble burns on Bilbo's jaws, or the pattern of discernible love bites adorning Thorin's throat.
But they do offer their sincere congratulations upon seeing the courtship braids neatly woven in Bilbo's hair, held together by precious amber beads.
Bilbo's luggage, as it turns out, did have to be packed anyway, because Thorin asks him to move in his wing, in the consort's rooms. At least until the wedding, after which he can decide if he wants to move in Thorin's suite. But there are a few months until May, so the consort's chambers will have to do for now. Bilbo was adamant about a May wedding. Among other things, all of which Thorin was more than happy to offer.
As about the previous night—and day, actually, because they spent almost twenty-four hours locked in together, undisturbed by the world—well, it was spent presenting Bilbo with more than just a simple reason to stay.