Thorin Oakenshield had always assumed he would spend his dying breath alone. Perhaps on the field of battle surrounded by his kith and kin but still alone. Less likely he had known would be lying in his bed in the halls of the Blue Mountains. In all honesty he had known there would be no peaceful death for him much as his Grandfather's death had been at war he had believed his would be also. In his dreams it had been here outside the walls of his home of old, sometimes even inside looking down at the fields and at the newly restored town of Dale. This, this he had not imagined. Never even in fever fuelled dreams had the curly haired framed face of a Hobbit been the last face he had expected to loom large. He could hear the words above the loud pulsing noise that rang in his ears but there was so much he wanted to say, to tell Bilbo. For many years friends had been a foreign concept to him and yet when it had been offered freely to him he had thrown it back in his face. He didn't want to die with this regret added to the long list that already existed. Letting out his final few breaths he felt that regret leave as he was able to express himself one last time to as true a friend as he had ever had.