Discovering Mr Baggins

by Eareniel

A.K.A. The Quest for Erebor: The story of a Hobbit, told through the eyes of the dwarves.

14. Thorin

Chapter 14 - Thorin

Chapter summary: Like most dwarves, Thorin had spent his life dreaming about finding his One.

How ironic that he should find such a soul in the twilight of his life, long after he had given up on hope, and in the most unlikely of people that the Fates could have chosen for him – a halfling, a dainty little scholar who had never held a sword in his life and was more at home in a kitchen than on a battlefield.

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A/N: I apologise for the slight delay in posting, but this chapter has grown into gigantic proportions (18K!) and I didn't have anything written in advance for it, so it took me longer to put it together than I had planned.

This is the romance part of the fic – the "story behind the story", if you wish. While the story itself fills in the blanks in the book, this chapter fills in the blanks in the story. This is all the stuff that went on behind the scenes that the other dwarves weren't privy to. I hope you will like it :)

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Countless books and songs had been written about dwarves finding their One – about the moment of recognition, the flying sparks and the connection one felt when they finally met the other half of their soul. The tales had always described it as something glorious – a moment of shared wonder between the two parties, in which they gazed upon each other and marvelled at what they had found.

Thorin had heard all the tales a thousand times and even though he scoffed at some them because he found them overblown and needlessly dramatic, he couldn't help but envy the dwarves in those stories a little. Their lives weren't always easy and some of them died in tragic ways, but while they lived, they were happy.

In his nearly two hundred years of life, Thorin had had the opportunity to meet almost every dwarf in Middle-Earth, but no one had ever caught his eye. As years passed, he was slowly forced to face the unpleasant reality – there was no one like that for him. Some dwarves simply weren't destined to find a mate and he was one of them.

And so he gave up on foolish dreams, comforted by the knowledge that the line of Durin would continue with his sister-sons. Instead he turned towards his work – he focused on his duty as a king, took pride in his work and found fulfilment in his service to his people. Love was for the young and hopeful. At his age he was neither.

He was lost in thought as he climbed the hill in Hobbiton, his mind going over plans for the quest to retake Erebor, and so he was completely unprepared when the moment finally happened to him.

The round green door opened before him, spilling warm light onto the porch outside and when Thorin raised his head to look at the person opening the door, his breath caught in his throat. Lighting flew through his veins in a jolt of awareness that shook him down to his core, his thoughts scattered, and for a moment he could do nothing but stare at the creature in the doorway.

The Halfling was nearly a head shorter than him, with honey-brown curls and an irritated expression on his face. Even though he was slight of built and had a generally unassuming air about him, there was a sharpness in his gaze that was at odds with the deceptively innocent face. Those clever eyes studied him with an intensity that was almost unnerving and Thorin found himself returning that gaze, unable to tear his eyes away.

Thorin had no idea what he had said to the hobbit. He only knew that his voice had been hoarse when he had finally spoken, his equilibrium taken away by the immediacy of the meeting and by the fire coursing in his veins. If he could guess, it probably wasn't anything flattering, judging by the speed with which the hobbit's expression changed from awed to annoyed.

Even years later, he still vividly remembered the evening in Bag-End.

He had been sitting at the head of the table while Gandalf explained something important about the map but Thorin barely heard a word because the hobbit chose that moment to lean over his shoulder, standing so close that Thorin could almost feel the warmth of his body. He smelled faintly of soap and grass and freshly-baked bread and it took all of Thorin's willpower not to turn his head and bury his face into Bilbo's shirt, his mind going blank at the hobbit's proximity. The fact that the halfling had absolutely no idea what he was doing to him made the whole situation that much worse.

For that moment, the hobbit's presence made him forget all about the quest and Erebor, filling his mind instead with images of blue eyes and golden curls and homemade apple pies. It took Thorin a while to gather his wits and he was glad that Gandalf had taken over most of the explanations, because his first impulse was to tell everyone that there will be no quest because he had already found his home. No doubt, that wouldn't have been received well.

The halfling's fainting had been a blessing, allowing Thorin to put his thoughts in order while Gandalf carried the hobbit away and revived him. The distance helped him clear his mind a little but the hunger remained, gnawing persistently in his chest.

Thorin had kept his distance from the hobbit for the rest of the evening, his entire body thrumming just from being in the same house with him. After the third time he had to remind himself that he really could not to go to the hobbit's room, he decided to join the rest of the dwarves in the sitting room instead and sing. He put all his hope into the song, coaxing the hobbit to overcome his reluctance and join their adventure.

As they rode away from Hobbiton the next morning, leaving the hobbit to sleep in his home, Thorin comforted himself with the thought that at least the halfling would be safe. A part of him was disappointed that the hobbit had refused to go with them, but mostly he was relieved – at least this way he would have several months to figure out what he should do about his own situation. The separation wouldn't be pleasant, but it was still a better option than having the hobbit constantly around, facing danger.

Of course Bilbo Baggins had to go and prove all his expectations wrong.

°O°O°O°

It wasn't until Thorin woke up the next morning, feeling more or less like himself again, that he fully realized what had happened. His chosen mate was a hobbit, of all people. Mahal help him.

Thorin spent the following days surreptitiously watching the halfling, trying to learn more about him and so far he wasn't very impressed by what he discovered. The hobbit was meek and whiny and complained all the time. His timidity bordered on spinelessness and he couldn't seem to finish a sentence without stammering at least once. His permanent fussing soon started to get on Thorin's nerves and when the halfling began to grumble about the rain yet again, it was all Thorin could do to prevent himself from snapping at him in frustration.

This was supposed to be his perfect mate? The other half of his soul? This squeaky little mouse?

Thorin couldn't help but wonder what he had done to make the gods punish him like this. Not only was the hobbit completely unsuited to Thorin's way of life, their characters were woefully incompatible as well. So far he hadn't seen anything that would convince him of the hobbit's worth and he was beginning to doubt his own memory. Maybe it had been all a hallucination and the moment on the doorstep was just a product of too much mead and his imagination.

But no, no matter how much he tried to deny it, the attraction was still there, despite all of his objections. His blood still sang whenever the hobbit ventured near and his fingers itched to touch, his mind filling with images of full lips and soft skin until he felt like he was slowly going mad.

He didn't like anything about him, for Mahal's sake, so why couldn't he stop thinking about him?

"It's not that bad, you know," Balin said a few days later, nearly causing Thorin to jump out of his skin. Thorin had sat down on a rock some distance from the others, trying to occupy his mind with something that wasn't related to Bilbo bloody Baggins, but now he stood up slowly to face his friend, keeping his expression carefully neutral.

"What are you talking about?"

Balin gave him a look. "The hobbit, of course. You shouldn't be so harsh on him. Most people would be over the moon that they have finally found someone."

"I'm not most people," Thorin muttered and nearly missed Balin's look of exasperation. He sighed. "But a Halfling, Balin? That's almost as bad as having no one at all."

"Nonsense," Balin replied. "I'm sure you will learn to like him. He's quite clever, you know. You should not dismiss him without giving him a chance first."

Thorin grimaced.

"Nobody from the line of Durin has ever had someone from a different race for a mate. What does this say about me?"

"That you make your own destiny," Balin said mildly. "That you take what you are given and make the most of it. You have always been good at that. I'm sure this will be no different."

Thorin's scowl deepened and he turned away, not in the mood for a lecture. He barely made three steps before Balin spoke again.

"You shouldn't be so surprised that he doesn't like you, you know, with the way you treat him," the old dwarf said behind him, causing Thorin to turn back. "You called him a green grocer to his face when you first met him."

Thorin shot him a startled look. "Did I? I don't remember what I said to him."

"No, of course you don't." Despite his disapproving words, there was a hint of humour in Balin's voice. "If it's any consolation, you were being your usual charming self, so nobody noticed anything amiss."

"Thank Mahal," Thorin breathed. "It's bad enough that you know about this. If the others found out..."

"They will," Balin warned them. "They may not be the paragons of cleverness, but they will figure it out eventually." He gave Thorin one last look before he departed, going back to the camp.

Thorin's eyes slid over the assembled dwarves until they landed on the hobbit, who was chatting away with Bombur. He tore his gaze away with a scowl and went back to sit on the rock, watching the darkening sky.

Having the others gossip about his private life was the last thing he needed right now.

°O°O°O°

It didn't take Thorin long to discover that between the two of them, he was the only one who felt the pull. The hobbit seemed to be entirely unaffected by Thorin's presence, his reactions to the dwarf varying between wariness and annoyance. While Thorin felt the attraction like a physical thing, the hobbit remained blissfully oblivious about Thorin's struggle.

Thorin found himself quickly frustrated with his situation, his mood growing darker with each passing day, until even his nephews started to give him a wide berth. Even though he knew that it would be easier to avoid the hobbit as much as he could, there was a part of him that protested against the thought and drove him to seek the halfling out, usually with dismal results.

"What were you doing?" he snapped at the soaking hobbit as he dragged him out of the river. "You could have drowned, you idiot!"

"What do you care?" the hobbit shot back, trying to pull his arm out of Thorin's iron grip. Thorin didn't let go until they were standing back at the shore.

"You didn't have to do that," the hobbit muttered irritably, rubbing his arm where Thorin had held him. "I could have climbed out of the water on my own."

"Why didn't you go with the others?" Thorin asked.

The hobbit gave him an annoyed look. "Because I like my privacy."

"There's no such thing as privacy out here on the road," Thorin told him and was taken aback by the flash of anger in those eyes. This was the first time since they had met him that the halfling had shown true anger and by Mahal, he looked glorious with his eyes flashing like that. Thorin took a step closer without even realising it, his gaze focused on the way the hobbit's wet shirt clung to his skin. The halfling stood his ground, his chin raised in defiance.

Thorin had no idea what either one of them said after that, his brain too muddled, but their row ended with the hobbit storming off and Thorin taking a long, cold bath in the river.

°O°O°O°

He honestly hadn't meant to spy on the halfling's private conversation with Bombur. He had gone for a walk in the forest before dinner that night, hoping to clear his mind a bit. Then those two came and started talking not far from the place where he was sitting, making it impossible for him to leave without making them aware of his presence. Thorin had intended to simply keep still and wait for them to return back to the camp, but when the hobbit started badmouthing him, he couldn't help but retaliate.

"So, I am rude, am I?"

The halfling looked up sharply when Thorin spoke, his face going pale.

"I beg you pardon?" There was a slight tremor of nervousness in his voice, but his gaze was steady when his eyes met Thorin's.

"I couldn't help but overhear part of your conversation with Bombur," Thorin said. "Is that what you really think of me?"

The halfling visibly hesitated, weighing his answer. In the end he seemed to decide that honesty was the best policy.

"Why would I lie to Bombur?" he asked quietly. He didn't wait for Thorin's reply, hurrying to catch up with the red-haired dwarf, who was waiting for him on the edge of the forest. Thorin stared after him, disappointment flooding him like a bitter wave.

So it was true. The hobbit really didn't care about him.

If only Thorin could say the same.

°O°O°O°

Balin had seen through him right away, of course - but then Balin had always been far too perceptive. None of the others seemed to notice Thorin's unease around the hobbit, mistaking it for scorn, and he was only too glad for that. He wasn't in the mood to deal with their smirks and knowing looks. What surprised him though was the fact that the wizard hadn't seen through his facade. Even in Rivendell, he took Thorin's jealousy for contempt, going as far as to laud Bilbo's qualities on several different occasions, hoping to convince Thorin of the hobbit's worth.

As if he needed to, Thorin thought with a snort as he watched the hobbit talk to the elves. Over the several days they had spent in Rivendell he had relaxed from his uptight manner and the change was a wonder to behold. While with the dwarves he was always a bit reserved, uncomfortable with their antics, he seemed to positively glow under all the attention that the tree-shaggers were giving him.

Bilbo spent his days chatting with the elves, who seemed to be genuinely charmed by him. At first Thorin had thought that they were merely humouring the hobbit, pretending to laugh at his jokes only to ridicule him behind his back, but as he watched, he had to admit that the hobbit really was charming and witty – he had just never bothered to show those qualities around the Company.

It wasn't easy for Thorin to admit it, even to himself, but he now had to concede that he might have judged the hobbit too hastily. He had been so disturbed by his strong reaction to the hobbit that he had let his old prejudices blind him and make him unwilling to listen to reason. Bilbo wasn't the dim-witted weakling Thorin had taken him for at first, no – he was actually quite interesting.

Now that he had an appreciative audience, the hobbit flourished like a flower in sunlight, the full force of his personality coming through in his dealings with the elves and Thorin found himself intrigued. What else was he hiding? What other secrets did he have tucked behind those far-too-knowing eyes?

It was a shock to hear Bilbo sing, even though it shouldn't have been, really.

Thorin had caught the hobbit humming several times before when he'd been gathering herbs in the woods, but he had always fallen silent when Thorin had ventured near. That evening however, he let voice fly free, his face shining with joy as he sang for the elves. Thorin had decided not to come inside the music hall – if he had, the others would only need to take a single look on his face to know of his predicament. Instead he had opted to remain in the shadows, seeing but unseen.

During a ballad about the love of a human and an elf (Thorin didn't bother to recall their names), Bilbo's eyes found his, sending a jolt of awareness through his body. The hobbit had looked surprised to see him there at first, but soon a small smile found its way on his face and he held Thorin's gaze for several stanzas before his attention got diverted by Elrond's daughter.

Thorin remained standing by the door for the rest of the evening, but Bilbo didn't look at him again.

°O°O°O°

Thorin had no idea why he had hugged Bilbo on that rock.

He only knew that he had been half dead at that moment, mangled from the warg's teeth and hurting in more places than he cared to count, and the hobbit had been so close, miraculously unharmed even after challenging Azog himself.

And so Thorin had hugged him, soaking up the warmth and the faint smell of grass that seemed to cling to Bilbo's skin even when he was dirty and charred from the fire. The hobbit's hands were a bit hesitant when they wrapped around his waist, mindful of his injuries, but he was smiling and Thorin had finally felt peace after so many months of restlessness.

The Companions were all exhausted and fell asleep as soon as the sun set, but Thorin lay awake for a bit longer, watching the stars and marvelling at the fact that they had survived. Bilbo had saved his life. Even after the way Thorin had treated him and their countless arguments, Bilbo had still risked his life to save Thorin's. Thorin didn't know what it meant, but it gave him hope for the future.

For the next few days he watched the interaction between Bilbo and the rest of the group, trying to come up with the best way to approach the hobbit. Even though he tried his best not to be affected, he still felt a little envious of the easy camaraderie that the hobbit had with the other dwarves. They joked and laughed and shared stories while Thorin sat in a corner, watching them wistfully and when he approached, their eyes always grew wary, their postures a little less open.

Thorin supposed it was his own fault. He had never made much effort to become part of the group, his status as the leader always keeping him at a distance from the others. He had never been good at dealing with others on a more personal level, so it was no wonder that he had no idea how to make close friends, much less how to court someone.

His conversation with Dwalin had been a complete disaster, but at least he had managed to convince his friend to give the halfling lessons in sword-fighting.

He was still feeling a bit jittery when he came back into the house to tell the hobbit of his decision, only to find him missing. He sent Kíli to search for him while he sat down with Óin, giving into the old dwarf's request to check his wounds. Kíli had a strange expression on his face when he came back from the garden but didn't share the reason for it.

"Bilbo is by the brook in the back garden," he said and scuttled away to whisper something to Fíli that made them both burst out laughing.

Thorin ignored their antics and went out to search for Bilbo, who was indeed sitting by the brook, just like Kíli had said. Only, he wasn't alone.

Bilbo was sitting on the grass with Bofur, the two of them chatting amiably as they basked in the sun. Even though their manner was perfectly friendly, Thorin still felt the stab of jealousy that flared through his veins at the sight of his mate sitting half naked with another man. Thorin felt his heartbeat pick up as took in the picture before him.

The hobbit truly wasn't wearing much – his careful layers of clothing had been cast away for the washing, leaving him only in a pair of short white pants that barely reached his knees. Thorin was torn between feasting his eyes on all the naked skin and turning his eyes away in respect of the hobbit's modesty. Before he could decide however, Bofur spotted him, hastily standing up and handing Bilbo his clothes. The dwarf gave Thorin a small bow and backed away as fast as he could.

Thorin let him be, turning his attention to the hobbit instead. Bilbo was still sitting on the grass, watching Thorin with a frown.

"Thorin?" he asked tentatively. "Are you feeling well?"

Thorin realised with a jolt that he'd been staring at the hobbit's collar bones and hastily raised his eyes back to the hobbit's face. Apparently it hadn't been quick enough, because Bilbo stood up, taking a few steps towards Thorin.

"I think you should sit down for a bit. You look a bit pale."

"What?" Thorin pulled himself from his reverie. "No, I am quite well, thank you."

He clenched his hands into fists at his sides, his fingers itching with the urge to touch. The hobbit's skin was golden in the soft light of the morning sun and it was all Thorin could do to stop himself from reaching forward and running his fingertips over it to find out if it was truly as silky smooth as it looked. It would be so easy – the hobbit stood less than three feet away from him. Thorin would only need to take a single step forward to be close enough to touch.

Thorin did none of those things, because the look in Bilbo's eyes stopped him before he could so much as raise a hand. Bilbo didn't look afraid or repulsed, or even seductive – no, he looked concerned. There was not a trace of love or lust in those eyes, only honest concern for Thorin's well-being and it was more sobering that if he had flinched away in disgust from Thorin's touch.

It was that look that brought Thorin back to reality – they weren't a pair of lovers having a clandestine rendezvous by the river – just two awkward acquaintances who happened to be travelling together. There was no romance going on between them – that was all in Thorin's head, conjured up by vengeful gods who found enjoyment in toying with the minds of mortals.

At that moment, Thorin felt shame. Shame for his lack of control, for his inability to hold a conversation with that hobbit that would not end with one of them stomping off, for his ignorance about the matters of love. He closed his eyes, took several deep breaths and wished he could just disappear somewhere for a few minutes.

A soft touch on his shoulder made him open his eyes again. Bilbo stood before him, one of his hands laid carefully on Thorin's left shoulder.

"Come and sit down for a bit before you faint. Those wounds from the warg were bad and you still haven't healed. You shouldn't be straining yourself too much."

Feeling too dazed to protest, Thorin let the hobbit lead him towards the river and help him sit down. Bilbo plopped down next to him, leaving a foot of space between them. He was still watching Thorin with a concerned frown, but Thorin kept his eyes studiously averted, finding a sudden fascination with the trees around them.

"I am gratified to see you unharmed," Thorin said finally in a desperate attempt to break the awkward silence that had fallen. "There aren't many who would be willing to face down Azog."

Bilbo shrugged. "You were in danger. I couldn't just let them cut off your head."

Thorin gave him a small smile. "And you have my gratitude for that."

The hobbit smiled back, still tentative but honest enough.

"However," Thorin continued, "I am afraid that I cannot in good conscience let you continue this journey without giving you some means to protect yourself. All the members of the Company can hold their own against an armed opponent. You have a sword, so you should learn how to use it. There may come a time when luck won't be enough to help you survive."

Bilbo shot him a look. "What if I don't want to fight?"

"You do not have a choice in this matter," Thorin said. "The road ahead is still long and dangerous and I refuse to be responsible if you get hurt."

"You didn't seem to care until now," Bilbo said, his open expression closing down into the more familiar frosty politeness with which he had been treating Thorin for the past two months. "Why is it suddenly an issue?"

"That is none of your concern," Thorin bit out, a little sharper than he had intended and could have cursed himself when the hobbit pulled back, all traces of friendliness gone from is face.

"Oh look! My clothes have dried," Bilbo announced archly, jumping up to gather his garments. Thorin stood up as well, mindful of his injuries, and watched the hobbit pull his clothes on with sharp, annoyed movements.

"It would ease my heart to know that you are not completely vulnerable," Thorin tried again, but Bilbo pointedly ignored him, lacing up his trousers. "In any way, I have already arranged your lessons with Dwalin."

That got Bilbo's attention. He straightened up with a look of horror.

"Dwalin? No. Absolutely not. I'll just ask Fíli or Kíli."

"You will learn from Dwalin and that's my final word," Thorin said. He then turned away and started walking back, ignoring the angry muttering behind him. He knew that he was doing what was best for Bilbo, but that didn't prevent him from feeling bad about their exchange. That had gone as badly as it could have. How on earth were they supposed to get married if they couldn't hold a conversation that didn't dissolve into a fight?

Whoever had thought that they were a good match couldn't have been more wrong.

°O°O°O°

The hobbit was ignoring him.

There was no other word for it. Bilbo hadn't spoken a word to him since that morning by the river. He still answered Thorin when they talked in a group setting, but made obvious effort to avoid ever talking to Thorin in private. He still acted the same with everyone else – warm and friendly, willing to share in their jokes and stories, but when Thorin ventured near, his face closed down and his back straightened, as if he was waiting for Thorin to insult him again.

And so Thorin kept his distance, watching Bilbo from afar while the frustration slowly bubbled under his skin. He was supposed to be wooing him, for Mahal's sake! They should be having long talks by the fire and secret meetings beneath the trees, not this frosty silence. Only, Thorin had no idea how to go about that. Every attempt he had made thus far to talk to the hobbit had always ended in a disaster.

Romance had never been a matter Thorin had taken much interest in. He had never met anyone whom he would be willing to court and the few lovers he'd had over the years had always pursued him, not the other way around. As a king, he had always had plenty of people vying for (and in most cases failing to receive) his favour, so there had never been any need for him to learn how to charm someone.

He refused to ask Balin for advice - the old dwarf was already watching his behaviour with a disappointed frown, and Dwalin was completely out of question – if anything, Dwalin was even worse at these matters than Thorin himself, so there would be no point in asking him. He could try talking to Glóin, but the ginger dwarf had never been known for his secrecy and Thorin didn't trust any of the others with this. This left him in a stalemate – a most boring, frustrating stalemate.

"Have I ever told you about the time I got drunk and ran naked through the Craftsmen's District?" Bofur's voice brought Thorin out of his reverie. They were sitting by the fire on yet another evening in the forest, trying their best to ignore the ever-present eyes in the darkness. It seemed that Bofur had taken it upon himself to provide that evening's entertainment.

The others shook their heads, leaning forward in anticipation. Bofur grinned.

"Aye, it was a bet with some of the lads from the pub. They bet that I wouldn't be able to run from the gate to the bakery without getting caught. I'd had a few pints by the time I got to it, so it seemed like a marvellous idea."

"And did you? Get caught?" Bilbo asked, amusement clear in his eyes.

"Nah," Bofur shook his head. "It was already after midnight and the guards at the gate were sleepy, so I shuck off my clothes behind the pub and just ran. Unfortunately I got spotted by one of the Night Watchmen, who started chasing me."

"What happened?" Kíli asked eagerly. Bofur's grin widened even further.

"Well, there was a nifty little pigpen nearby. I took a small detour."

"You hid in a pigpen?" Glóin asked, incredulous.

"Aye." Bofur nodded. "The pigs were real friendly, let me stay for a while without making a fuss. Unfortunately it was dark, the pen hadn't been cleaned properly and my coordination wasn't at its best."

That prompted a round of horrified laughter from them all, their faces scrunching up in disgust.

"It was just a hand, mind you," Bofur assured them. "I didn't actually sit down in it. But still, it smelled horrible. I managed to get to the bakery eventually and win the bet, but no matter how much I scrubbed my hands, I still smelled like pig dung for weeks afterwards."

They all roared in laughter, the hobbit's voice joining in the merriment. Bilbo had long stopped being offended by the crude dwarvish humour and while they still had to coax him to get some good stories out of him, he was now more than happy to laugh at their jokes.

"And what about you, Bilbo?" Bofur threw an arm around the hobbit's shoulders. "Any interesting stories you would like to share with us?"

Bilbo pretended reluctance for a moment, lowering his eyes bashfully before a playful grin appeared on his face.

"Well, there was that one time at the Green Dragon..."

Thorin watched the arm around Bilbo's shoulders with narrowed eyes, feeling a stab of jealousy at the familiar way with which the other dwarves treated the hobbit. There was always someone touching him – a pat on the shoulder, a slap on the back, a hand on the upper arm. Bilbo was a tactile creature by nature and seemed to enjoy the friendliness, so he usually returned the touches with a smile, pleased by the affection the others were showing him.

Bilbo touched everyone – everyone that is, except for Thorin.

Thorin followed Bilbo's movements with his eyes, studying the hobbit's hands, and wondered what it would feel like to have those hands tangled in his hair or brushing across his skin. They were small, clever hands, tanned deep golden from the sun, those delicate fingers so unlike his own. They would surely feel nice braiding his hair...if Thorin ever managed to get the hobbit to like him first.

The touches between Bilbo and the dwarves were always perfectly friendly, but that knowledge didn't make Thorin envy the others any less. They got to bask in Bilbo's attention, listen to his stories and share his secrets while he sat in a corner, feeling angry with his own incompetence. At night they all slept close together, unnerved by the unseen creatures in the dark and Bilbo always slept right in the middle of the group, tucked between Kíli and Bofur. Thorin could sometimes hear them whispering long into the night, but he never got to hear what they were saying.

After being forced to watch yet another evening of Bilbo and Bofur giggling together, Thorin snapped. He gave Bofur the midnight watch and waited for the rest of the Company to fall asleep before he walked over to the tree where the dwarf sat, his face illuminated by the last glowing embers from the fire.

"What are your intentions towards the hobbit?" Thorin asked without preamble. Bofur's eyebrows shot up at the unexpected question.

"Purely friendly, if you must know, but I don't see how that's any of your business." He cocked his head, giving Thorin a contemplative look. "You know, you haven't made any sort of official claim yet, so you have no right to be jealous of anyone."

Thorin clenched his hands into fists, torn between the desire to confess his troubles and the impulse to tell the dwarf to mind his own business. Bofur seemed to understand his dilemma, though, his expression softening a bit when he saw Thorin's tense posture.

"Look," he said, "I understand that what you're going through isn't easy, but you shouldn't treat him like dirt just because he's not throwing himself in your arms at your beck and call. You can't expect him to just miraculously know about your intentions if you don't tell him anything."

"What am I supposed to do, then?" Thorin gritted out, feeling irritated that he had to stoop so low that he was asking Bofur for advice. Still, the cat was out of the bag already and the dwarf was close to Bilbo, so he might know something that could help Thorin.

"Talking would be a good start," Bofur said. "I haven't seen you speak more than three words to him since we set out. It's no wonder he doesn't know what you want from him if you never tell him. Anyway, if you want him to spend his time with you, you should try doing something besides glaring from a distance. That only makes him think that you hate him."

"I don't," Thorin blurted out before he could think better.

"I know," Bofur looked like he desperately wanted to turn his eyes skywards, "but Bilbo doesn't." He sighed. "Talk to him. Any attempt is better than nothing."

°O°O°O°

And so it began.

Their first few conversations had been painfully awkward, the hobbit watching him with wary eyes as they exchanged stilted lines about the forest and the journey, but it slowly got better. It only took several days for the hobbit to stop tensing up whenever Thorin came near and his expression lost some of its guarded apprehension. Still, even though they talked, there was never the same air of effortless camaraderie between them that Bilbo had with the others. Instead there was tension – a strange undercurrent in the air that Thorin did not know how to dispel.

His efforts were cut short by his arrest at the hands of the elves. While he'd been relieved to hear that everyone had survived the spider attack, he couldn't help but despair a little, because September was already passing in the world outside and several dozen miles still lay between them and the mountain. If they didn't get to the mountain on time, their whole quest would have been for nothing.

The days in the cell seemed to go on forever. He was in the deepest dungeon, so few guards ever passed his door and there was nothing to entertain him for long stretches of time. Bilbo didn't visit very often. Thorin tried not to take it too personally, because he knew that running from dwarf to dwarf had to be exhausting, but he still couldn't help but wish that Bilbo would come to see him more often.

"Any progress?" Thorin asked when Bilbo appeared at his door for the third time. He had risen from his bed at the first sign of the hobbit's approach and now stood at the door, watching Bilbo through the bars.

The hobbit shook his head wearily, leaning on the wall beside the door.

"I have made a map of the palace for Nori and we have been trying to come up with a plan, but so far we haven't discovered anything that would work. Don't lose hope," he said when he saw Thorin's frown. "There are still some parts of the palace that I haven't explored yet. I will find us a way out."

"We will all be deeply in your debt if you do," Thorin said.

Before he could think better of it, he gave into the impulse and reached for Bilbo's hand. He lifted it gently from its place on the bar and held it in his own, marvelling at how small it was. The hobbit tensed a bit when Thorin touched him, but didn't pull his hand back. When Thorin lifted his gaze to look at him, Bilbo's eyes were flickering between their clasped hands and Thorin's face with a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

"Truly, where would we be without you?" Thorin dropped his voice into a murmur and was gratified to see Bilbo's eyes widen a fraction when he ran his thumb over the hobbit's knuckles.

"Dead, most likely," Bilbo finally found his voice, but instead of dry like he had probably intended, his answer came out a bit breathy. His eyes flickered to their hands again. "Thorin you don't have to-"

"What if I wish to?" Thorin gave him an intent look, willing Bilbo to understand. Judging by the hobbit's soft intake of breath a second later, he did.

"Oh," he said softly, looking like he'd just had a revelation of some sort. "I thought you didn't like me."

"No." Thorin shook his head. "Please do not think that. It was not my intention to give you that impression."

Bilbo took a step closer to the bars, studying Thorin's face.

"I did not know that. You are not easy to read for me." He lowered his gaze to the ground. "This is all a bit sudden. I will need some time to think about this before I can give you an answer."

"Of course," Thorin said, trying not to feel disappointed. "Take as much time as you wish."

Bilbo remained close for a little longer before he gently pulled his hand from Thorin's grasp.

"I should go. The guards will be coming here soon. I'll let you know the moment I find out anything."

He turned to leave, but before he could disappear, Thorin called after him: "Bilbo!"

"Yes?" The hobbit looked back, clearly surprised by Thorin's use of his given name.

"Please think about it," Thorin told him.

"As if I could forget," Thorin heard Bilbo mutter under his breath before he spoke up. "I will, but let's get out of here first. This is not a good time or place for such matters." He put on his magic ring and disappeared, leaving without a sound.

"When is it ever?" Thorin muttered and went to sit back on his bed.

°O°O°O°

He didn't find about the full extent of Bilbo's heroics until Lake-town. Bilbo had been surprisingly humble when he had told him about his involvement with the spiders in Thranduil's dungeon, so it wasn't until the dwarves had sat down with Thorin and told him about the spiders and the magic ring that he had learned the whole story. It was very telling that even Dwalin looked impressed, calling Bilbo a worthy warrior.

It seemed that the dwarves had started to look up to the hobbit as the leader of the company in Thorin's absence, so from then on Thorin made it a point to include Bilbo in all his decisions, consulting him about ideas for the journey. Bilbo took his new elevation in status in stride, and his newfound confidence from the forest didn't leave him since.

As much as he disliked the sight of Kíli touching Bilbo's hair so intimately, Thorin had to admit that the idea with the hair clasp had been ingenious. He had never paid much attention to the hobbit's ears before but now they were fully on display and despite their elvish look, Thorin found them quite attractive. He soon discovered that when Bilbo blushed, the crimson from the cheeks spread over his ears as well, turning them a most delightful shade of red.

It was rather adorable, but then, almost everything about the hobbit was endearing in one way or another - from his curly hair to his horribly impractical way of dressing to his hairy toes. Bilbo was a study in paradoxes – mild-mannered but fierce, patient but temperamental, clever and well-read but strangely ignorant about the uglier aspect of the world. He could kill an orc in the blink of an eye and yet his eyes still remained innocent, untouched by the evils of the world. It intrigued Thorin to no end and he couldn't wait to learn more about him.

Luckily for Thorin, Bilbo's surprise birthday party proved a perfect opportunity for that. The hobbit had walked in with Fíli and Kíli, halting in his tracks when he discovered the dwarves waiting for him in the dining room. His moment of surprise gave Thorin a chance to study him in his new clothes and memorise the look of wonder on Bilbo's face when he learnt that his friends had thrown him a birthday party.

Thorin made an oath to himself to try and make the hobbit look like that as often as possible in the future.

While the others fussed over him, Thorin held back, watching from a corner. He absently noted that the colour of the jacket made the blue in Bilbo's eyes stand out, making him look even more handsome than he already did. He waited until the others were busy with the gems before he stepped forward and led the hobbit to the corner where they wouldn't be overheard.

"Thank you," Thorin told him.

"What for?" Bilbo asked, looking a bit unsure.

"For all you have done for us," Thorin said. "You saved them from the spiders, got us all out of prison and still found the energy to get everyone a present. You do more for us than we ever asked of you and I am fully aware of it. I would not want you to think that your efforts are unappreciated."

His mind briefly flashed toward the morning by the river where he had managed to make his thanks sound more like a censure of the hobbit's shortcomings. That hadn't been one of his finer moments.

The hobbit studied him face for a moment before he nodded slightly, accepting the gesture.

"Is that what this is?" he asked, looking around at the room. "A thank-you feast?"

Thorin smiled slightly.

"Yes, among other things. Everyone was quite distressed when they heard that you had missed your birthday, so they decided to throw a feast in your honour. I hope it's to your liking."

Bilbo smiled, looking back at the squabbling dwarves.

"It is, very much. I didn't expect it."

"It was supposed to be a surprise. Our friends will be happy to hear that they had succeeded." He gave the hobbit an appreciative once-over, letting his eyes linger just a little longer than would be strictly polite. "You bought yourself new clothes."

"I did," Bilbo nodded. "They are a bit different from what I'm used to, but nice enough. Us hobbits tend to lean more towards earthly colours like crimson, brown, green and yellow, so wearing blue is a bit strange for me."

"It suits you," Thorin told him and was pleased when the hobbit ducked his head, blushing.

"There's enough money in that pouch for all of you to buy new clothes," Bilbo said finally. "I meant it when I said that the gems were for all of you."

"I will consider it," Thorin said, shooting a glance towards the table, where the rest of the dwarves were still bent over the gems, arguing over the best pieces. "It would be nice to not look like a beggar when we arrive to the mountain." He gave the hobbit a look, lowering his voice. "Have you given any thought to the matter that we spoke about in the elvish caves?"

Bilbo's blush deepened, but he didn't lower his eyes. "I will consider it," he said, echoing Thorin's words. There was a spark of playfulness in his eyes that gave Thorin hope that maybe his pursuit wasn't a completely lost cause. Thorin's smile widened.

"Please do. I will await your answer, whenever you choose to give it."

"You could wait for a long time," Bilbo warned him.

"I have waited for almost two hundred years, Master Burglar," Thorin told him and watched the spark of awareness light up in Bilbo's eyes when he understood the implication. "Waiting a little longer will not kill me."

Before the hobbit could recover from his shock, Thorin gave him a small bow and walked back to the table. He might buy those clothes after all.

°O°O°O°

If Thorin was completely honest with himself (and he always tried to be), he had been hesitant about making his interest known to the hobbit for a long time. It hadn't been fear of rejection that had held him back so much as it had been pride - the small nagging voice in the back of his mind reminding him that his kinsmen would never accept a Halfling as the King's Consort.

All his life, he had always put duty first, giving it priority over any personal matters. When Erebor fell, he had gathered up his courage and stepped up as the leader of their newly-homeless nation despite being barely more than a lad, because his father and grandfather had been too weighted down by despair to make any decisions about their people. At the battle of Azanulbizar he had managed to suppress his own grief long enough to rally their dwindling forces and drive the orcs back into the mines.

To make a choice for himself that could potentially alienate him from his people was a highly risky step for Thorin, especially since he was soon going to be the King Under the Mountain. The reward that was supposedly waiting for him at the end of his endeavour (eternal love of a perfect mate) seemed more like a fairytale story than a real possibility and Thorin had never been one to give into idle dreams.

Balin had been the one to finally convince him that Bilbo was worth the risk.

His old friend came to him during one of the evenings after they left the Lake-town behind and sat down beside him. Thorin followed Balin's gaze and they both watched from afar as Bilbo chatted with the Lake-men, making them laugh at one of his remarks. The rest of the Company mostly avoided the men and spoke to them only when it was absolutely necessary, but Bilbo seemed to enjoy talking to them.

"He's very charming, isn't he?" Balin said, watching the hobbit fondly.

"You already know what I think about him, Balin," Thorin muttered.

"Indeed, I do." Balin's gaze was way too knowing. "I also know that despite your regard for him, you do not give him enough credit. You must know that nobody in the Company would oppose it if you started to court him."

"No, not the Company," Thorin sighed, seeing the truth of Balin's words. The Companions all liked Bilbo and would be probably delighted if Thorin chose him. "But what about the others? Dáin and his people? Our kin from Blue Mountains? They would never accept him."

"You may be surprised," Balin said. "He has already proved himself several times over to be a worthy companion. And – even if he hadn't already showed his bravery in battle – you forget his other qualities."

"Which ones?"

"He is clever, discreet and very, very loyal. He has a good heart, but enough cunning to keep others from taking advantage of his generosity. And he has charm. Look at them," Balin nodded towards the boatmen. "They have willingly agreed to supply us with enough food to last us for months. While we were shut in the house, he sweet-talked half the town into giving us their provisions.

"Not to mention the elves. A few words in elvish and a bat of his baby blues and he had all the elves in Rivendell eating out of his hand. Beorn adored him as well. I wonder if his charm would work on Thranduil."

Thorin gave him a look. "What's your point?"

"I'm just saying, he would make a wonderful diplomat at your court. He would help you improve relations with all the neighbouring nations. I bet that with enough persuasion, he could even convince the elves to support your claim to the throne. Even if he weren't a warrior, he would still be an enormous asset for you, especially since your manners tend to be less than charming when you're forced to deal with foreign delegations."

Thorin scowled, but couldn't dispute the truth of that remark. Balin laid a hand on Thorin's arm.

"You shouldn't hesitate to make your interest known to him."

Thorin sighed.

"What if my interest isn't reciprocated?"

Balin gave him a grin.

"Oh, I think it's very much reciprocated, you're just too intimidating. He will never approach you first, so you'll have to prove your legendary bravery and be the one to ask him."

Thorin's gaze wandered back to the hobbit, who was chatting away with Bombur as they gutted the fish, before he turned back to Balin.

"Do you really think it could work, Balin?" he asked quietly, letting his friend see all his doubt and hesitation. The old dwarf smiled.

"I think it could work wonderfully. The gods know what they are doing. Give him a chance."

Thorin sighed, feeling the force of destiny gathering up behind him like a wave.

"Yes," he whispered. "I think I will."

°O°O°O°

Wooing Bilbo wasn't as hard as Thorin had feared. Now that they were finally on friendly terms, their talks became much more pleasant. As they got closer to the mountain with each passing day, Thorin found himself sharing stories from his youth, tales of his childhood exploits in the lands around the river. Bilbo listened with a smile, his eyes roaming over the mountainside as he tried to imagine the way it had looked in ages long past.

In return Bilbo told him about his life in the Shire, his travels and dealings with annoying relatives. The last topic became particularly popular with Fíli and Kíli and they would often ask him to describe Lobelia's visits in Bag-End, giggling whenever he arrived to the part with stolen silver spoons. Thorin looked on with gladness, feeling pleased that Bilbo had such a good relationship with his nephews.

Bilbo's evening tales provided entertainment for the entire company and even though Thorin couldn't care less about the elves in those stories, he couldn't deny that some of those tales were fascinating. The hobbit usually tended to favour grand legends involving battles and heroic deeds, so it was quite surprising when he took a detour from the elves and men of old and told the dwarves about the battle in the Shire.

"That was quite the story you told there," Thorin told Bilbo afterwards, coming to sit beside him.

Bilbo was sitting on a large rock some distance from the fire, gazing at the stars. It was dark already, but the moon was three quarters full, giving off enough light for them to see each other.

Bilbo gave him a playful smile. "You didn't expect me to have such a heroic ancestor, did you?"

Thorin shook his head.

"I admit that I have never heard of Bandobras Took before, but he certainly wouldn't have been out of place among dwarves. However, that is not what I meant." He gave the hobbit a look. "Why did you tell it the way you did?"

Bilbo didn't even pretend confusion at the question. He gave a small sigh, lowering his gaze to the ground.

"Because I don't want Kíli to feel bad about him not getting to be a king. He has such a wonderful relationship with his brother and it would be a shame to have it soured by squabbles over the crown."

"Kíli doesn't want to be a king," Thorin said.

"That's good to hear." Bilbo turned to look at him. "I wouldn't want him to feel like somebody less worthy just because he doesn't have a title. He should know that he doesn't have to prove anything to anyone."

Thorin had a strong suspicion that they weren't talking about Kíli anymore.

"It is not so simple," he said quietly. "There are obligations, duties, expectations..." He fell silent when a small hand landed on one of his own, squeezing gently.

"Who are you doing this for, Thorin, really?" Bilbo asked, cocking his head to the side. "Is it your people, who have considered you their king for more than a hundred years now? Or is it you, because you feel that you have something to prove to yourself?"

Bilbo's gaze suggested that he already knew the answer. The only question was – did Thorin?

Bilbo gave him an understanding smile and withdrew his hand to lay it briefly on Thorin's shoulder before stood up and he walked back to the fire, leaving Thorin to his thoughts.

Thorin sat there for a long time that night.

°O°O°O°

Thorin had never questioned his decision to go on the quest during the course of their journey. Erebor was part of their legacy and it was only right that they should get it back.

Indeed, he had never questioned that decision before - not until they were standing in front of the open door to Erebor and Bilbo announced that he was going inside to take a look at the mountain.

While Thorin rationally knew that this was what they had hired him for, he still couldn't help but curse himself for his choice to take the hobbit with them in the first place. What if something happened to him? What if the dragon ate him? Before he could stop him however, Bilbo was already gone, lost somewhere in the depths of the mountain. There was nothing left for them to do but wait.

The hobbit's first venture into the mountain ended in roaring success and even thought they had been dismayed to learn that the dragon was still alive and well inside, nothing could diminish their joy from the cup Bilbo had brought them. His second journey had been a lot more dangerous and they all tensed when they heard the dragon awaken inside.

The hour that followed – an hour of uncertainty, fear and heart stopping terror when they heard the dragon's roar – had been one of the longest in Thorin's life. The minutes seemed to stretch forever until Bilbo finally emerged, charred and a bit woozy from the fumes, but otherwise unharmed. He had stumbled out of the door and fallen right into Thorin's arms, his legs going weak, and Thorin had never been so glad to see anyone in his life.

When Bilbo offered to visit the dragon's lair for the third time, Thorin couldn't bear it any longer. He had planned to approach Bilbo with an offer after he was crowned, but with death almost at their fingertips such plans now seemed downright ridiculous. While the others remained sitting near the destroyed entrance to the secret tunnel, too afraid to go any further, Thorin took a torch and followed Bilbo down the corridor.

"Master Baggins," he said when Bilbo turned to walk out of the tunnel. The hobbit looked at him expectantly. Thorin tried again. "Bilbo, I..." Words failed him.

What did one say in such a situation? There could be a dragon right around the corner, waiting for the hobbit to come back. How disappointing would it be if their last moment together was filled with nothing but awkward silence?

Before his courage could fail him as well, Thorin swooped down and planted a short kiss on Bilbo's mouth. He pulled back right after, prepared or an angry outburst or shocked sputtering, but received neither. Instead he saw...hope? Bilbo gave him a long, searching look before he slowly tilted his face up, his eyes meeting Thorin's in a hesitant invitation.

This time Thorin approached him with more caution, leaning down slowly until their lips met again. It was just a gentle brush of lips, sweet in its chasteness, but it still made Thorin's blood sing with delight and he closed his eyes, enjoying the sensations.

This. This was homecoming. No mountain or jewels, no matter how splendid in their majesty, could ever compare to this feeling. This sense of belonging, of completion was unlike anything he had ever felt before and he realised that he could happily spend the rest of his life kissing Bilbo Baggins.

Bilbo kissed a little timidly at first, as if he couldn't quite believe that this was really happening, but soon grew bolder, sliding his hands up to grip Thorin's shoulders. Thorin mentally thanked himself that he'd had the presence of mind to put the torch in the holder before he had started the conversation, because it now left his hands free to wrap them around Bilbo's waist and pull the hobbit closer. Soon he forgot all about torches and dragons, losing himself in the kiss.

Thorin nipped on the hobbit's plump lower lip, enjoying Bilbo's little shiver of pleasure, and when the mouth beneath his opened in invitation, he dove right in. There was so much to explore and so little time. It had been decades since Thorin had done any of this, but apparently he wasn't doing so badly, because Bilbo seemed to be positively melting under his touch. Thorin deepened the kiss a little more and Bilbo groaned into his mouth, burying his fingers in Thorin's hair.

A distant sound from the tunnel finally pulled them out of their daze, reminding them of their situation. Thorin ended the kiss with a few smaller pecks against Bilbo's lips before he finally pulled back and couldn't help but feel quite pleased when he saw the hobbit's glazed eyes and kiss-swollen lips. Bilbo leaned back against the wall behind him, breathing deeply for a moment before he finally snapped out of his haze.

"Right. Dragon," he said, his eyes still on Thorin. "I should probably-" he gestured vaguely in the general direction of the treasure hall.

"Oh, yes. You should go," Thorin said, his voice sounding unconvincing even to himself.

"Right," Bilbo said again, but didn't move. "Will you wish me luck?"

"Good luck," Thorin whispered. Neither of them moved.

"Erm, you are still-" Bilbo's eyes slid down, where Thorin's arms were still wrapped around his waist.

"Oh," Thorin said, letting him go. They stood there looking at each other for a moment longer, their bodies just a few inches apart, neither of them knowing what to say.

Bilbo solved the dilemma by leaning forward and giving Thorin one last long, lingering kiss before he finally stepped away and disappeared into the darkness. Thorin remained behind, staring after the hobbit in silent wonder.

Then his eyes fell on that hoard and all was lost.

°O°O°O°

Waking from the gold-fever was a slow and painful process.

Thorin sat on the stairs of the treasury, feeling sick to his stomach. The torch he had brought with him had burned out long ago but he didn't care, lost in his own mind.

What had he done?

The memories came back to him bit by bit, the fog in his mind receding slowly to reveal the full extent of his madness. While before he had existed in a dreamy haze, now everything was razor sharp, the events of the past few weeks hitting him like a wave - his joy at discovering the treasure, his obsession with the jewels, his blindness to anything that wasn't gold. He had forgotten about Bilbo, about his family, cast away everything he had worked for his entire life - and all for a few pieces of treasure.

The memory of his outburst on the wall cut him like a knife and he buried his face in his hands, taking in a shuddering breath to prevent himself from throwing up. He had threatened to kill Bilbo, the one person he had sworn to protect and cherish. Thorin remembered the look in Bilbo's eyes when he had held him over the wall - all the fear and sadness and betrayal, so much betrayal – and squeezed his eyes shut, desperately wishing that there was some way that would allow him to turn back time and undo the events of the past few weeks.

But no amount of futile wishes could erase the horrible reality of his actions. He had publically threatened to kill his mate, committing one of the gravest crimes a dwarf can do. In one fell swoop he had lost his honour, his claim on the throne of Erebor and Bilbo's trust. There was no way Bilbo would ever forgive him for this. There was no excuse for what he had done. None.

It would be easy to blame the gold for his madness, but he knew better than that. The treasure may have started it, but the greed had been his alone.

His gaze briefly flashed to the dagger on his belt, a stray thought crossing his mind, but he turned his eyes away a heartbeat later. No. That would be far too easy. Simple solutions like this were for cowards and Thorin Oakenshield was no coward. If he killed himself now, he would die in disgrace. His actions would bring shame to the entire line of Durin and he would never be allowed to enter Mahal's Halls, forever condemned to wander an eternal darkness.

Besides, a quick death would be far too merciful a punishment for his crime. No - he would stand up and face the world and live the rest of his life with the knowledge of what he had done.

Thorin got to his feet slowly, leaning against the wall for support when his legs threatened to give out. He was still exhausted from the sleepless night and his head felt like splitting in two, but his mind was finally clear. He should go and see how the others were faring. He was sure they would have some choice words prepared for him, words he more than deserved.

Thorin gave the gold pile behind him one last disgusted glance before he turned and left the hall.

What was done was done. Now he would have to live with the consequences.

°O°O°O°

Thorin lay on his back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Bilbo slept on the cot a few feet away, teetering between life and death. He had been like that for three days now – neither dead nor living, his breath slow and barely audible in the silence of the tent. Thorin sighed in frustration, turning his head to look at the hobbit. Óin had ordered him to bed a few hours ago, but Thorin wasn't in the mood for sleep.

How could he sleep when Bilbo was dying? What did it matter that Thorin wasn't healing properly? Any breath could be Bilbo's last. Why was he lying on the bed when he should be at Bilbo's side?

Óin had already left for the night and the rest of the dwarves rarely visited in the evenings, so he was on his own. Thorin sat up with great effort, ignoring the various aches that flared up at the movement, and lowered his legs to the floor, testing their steadiness. They held, so he stood up carefully and managed to cross the distance between his and Bilbo's bed, sinking to his knees at the hobbit's side. A few of his wounds twinged unpleasantly at the movement but he paid them no mind, his eyes glued to Bilbo's face.

The hobbit looked the same as ever, still and peaceful in his slumber, his skin burning hot like a furnace when Thorin ran his fingertips over Bilbo's cheek. He would give anything to see those eyes open again and look at him with affection. To see Bilbo awake again, happy and full of life. Thorin took one of Bilbo's hands in his own and brought it to his lips, bowing his head.

"Come back, Bilbo," he whispered. "Please, come back to me."

He had spent more time praying in those last three days than he had in his entire life. He had never been particularly religious before, but now he put his entire being into the prayer, pleading for Bilbo's life. The hobbit didn't deserve to die like this.

Even after all that had happened, all that Thorin had done, Bilbo had still come back to save his life. Everything after that had happened so fast that Thorin hadn't had the chance to thank him for it, or to apologise for his actions at the wall.

And now I may never get one, Thorin thought as he gazed on the hobbit's sleeping face. Bilbo had seemed open to reconciliation when he had come to the tent, giving Thorin hope that he might be able to atone for his actions after all. How ironic would it be if he lost Bilbo again, right after he had got him back?

"I am sorry," he told the sleeping hobbit, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. "I am sorry for threatening you." Bilbo didn't react in any way, but Thorin didn't mind, shifting a little closer to the bed.

"I am sorry for attacking you. You were doing the right thing, but I was too blinded by madness to see the wisdom of your actions. I should have treated you better. I didn't give you enough credit when you deserved it, because I let my pride and old prejudices overrule my common sense..."

Thorin talked for what felt like hours, apologising for all the wrong he had ever done him, whispering shameful confessions into the falling darkness. There was no one around to hear him, no one to judge him for his weakness, so he could admit his faults aloud, if only to ease his own conscience. He was so wrapped up in his monologue that he almost missed it when the hobbit's fingers moved in his hold.

He raised his head just in time to see Bilbo's eyes blink open slowly and focus on him with some difficulty.

"Thorin?" Bilbo's voice was quiet and raspy from disuse, but Thorin thought it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

"Welcome back," Thorin told him, squeezing gently the hand in his grip. He knew there were tears in his eyes but couldn't bring himself to care, too relieved to see the hobbit awake.

He released Bilbo's hand when the hobbit weakly tugged on it and was preparing to pull back if Bilbo said that he didn't wish to see him, so the soft touch on his cheek took him by surprise. Bilbo's fingers brushed against his face in a light caress, tracing the line of his jaw. Thorin looked up in astonishment and found Bilbo watching him, his eyes tired but alert.

"Did you mean it?" Bilbo asked, studying Thorin's voice carefully. When he saw the dwarf's confusion, he continued: "I heard your words. I was already gone from this place, hovering in a strange dreamlike state somewhere on the edge of life when I heard your voice, calling me back." He gave Thorin a look. "Did you mean what you said?"

Thorin nodded, his throat tight. It took him several attempts before he could speak.

"Every word."

A soft smile spread over Bilbo's face. "I think the Valar heard your prayers."

Before Thorin could say anything to that, Balin walked in.

"I'm so happy to see you awake," he told Bilbo.

"It's good to be back," the hobbit replied with a smile. Balin turned to Thorin.

"You should get back to your chair. The others will be here any moment."

"Of course they will," Thorin muttered, but there was no bite in it. He was fully aware that the Companions had been worried sick over Bilbo's fever, so he could hardly begrudge them for wanting to see him.

The visit was full of joy and laughter, everyone happy that Bilbo had woken up. Kíli almost smothered the hobbit in his excitement but Bilbo didn't mind, smiling at them all indulgently. They all did their best to talk Bilbo's ear off and would have probably stayed there all night if Bilbo hadn't started to yawn. Óin shooed them out when Bilbo's eyelids grew heavy and shot a look at Thorin before he left as well, probably to give them a little more privacy.

Thorin raised himself from the armchair with some difficulty and sat down on the edge of the bed, drinking in the sight of Bilbo alive and well.

"I have many amends to make to you," he told the hobbit.

Bilbo raised his hand, pressing it against Thorin's cheek.

"You could start your atonement by giving me a kiss," he said, a hint of playfulness in his tone. "The last one was very nice."

"You have just woken up!" Thorin protested, but his eyes still flickered down to the hobbit's lips. It had been weeks since their little moment in the corridor, but it felt like years to Thorin. "You are still weak," Thorin murmured, but was already leaning forward.

Bilbo's smile widened.

"A kiss won't kill me," he whispered against Thorin's lips before he lifted his head and gave Thorin a soft peck. "And even if it did, it would be a most beautiful death."

He leaned forward for another kiss but Thorin pulled back, burying his face in Bilbo's shoulder.

"Please don't joke about that," he said in a strained voice, squeezing his eyes shut. He took several deep breaths, trying to block the image from his mind. He felt a small hand touch the back of his head.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo said quietly. "That was insensitive of me."

"No," Thorin said, pulling back. "You have nothing to apologise for." He sat up slowly, turning his back towards the hobbit. "You should get some rest."

When he looked at Bilbo again, the hobbit was asleep.

°O°O°O°

The days in the healing tent passed much more pleasantly after that. Now that he no longer had to worry about Bilbo's life, Thorin spent a lot of his time asleep, healing from his own plentiful injuries. To Óin's great displeasure he had managed to aggravate some of his wounds during his vigil at Bilbo's bedside, so the old healer confined him to his bed, forbidding him to so much as sit up.

With nothing else to occupy them, Thorin and Bilbo talked. The conversations were a little awkward at first, neither of them knowing quite how to act, but as the hours passed they both relaxed and Thorin soon found himself sharing more stories from his youth, amusing Bilbo with anecdotes about his sister.

They both carefully avoided the topic of the Arkenstone, their new-found peace still too fragile to venture into the heavier topics. Thorin was aware that they would have to discuss it eventually, but for now he was content to simply lie back, let the hobbit's voice wash over him and enjoy the fact that they were able to hold this conversation at all.

The box with the Arkenstone still lay where Thranduil had put it several days ago but neither of them paid it much attention. Thorin realised with a surprise that he no longer felt drawn to the stone. While before the pull had been almost unbearable, making him unable to think of anything else, now he barely noticed that the stone was even there.

While his days were mostly peaceful, his nights were anything but.

The gold fever might have disappeared, but his subconscious was more than eager to remind him of the days he had spent under its thrall. In his dreams he kept walking the marble corridors of Erebor, looking for something he couldn't find. Sometimes there was gold pouring on him in waves from all sides and when he tried to escape, it buried him alive. Other times he walked out of the mountain with a crown on his head only to find that the entire company had died in a battle, their lifeless bodies lying at the gate like a mockery.

In one such dream he was running across the battlefield towards a hill where Bilbo stood facing Azog. Thorin ran as fast as he could, but it felt like he was running through mud, all his limbs too heavy and uncooperative. Before Thorin could help him or even shout a warning, the orc swept his arm forward and ran the hobbit through.

Thorin woke up drenched in sweat, panting harshly, the last vestiges of dream still clinging to him, the image of Bilbo lying dead burned into his eyelids. He vaguely realized that there were someone's hands on him and a voice calling his name.

"Thorin! Thorin!"

It took him almost a minute to tear through the haze of confusion and return to reality. When he did, he saw Bilbo sitting on the edge of his bed, his hands grasping Thorin's shoulder, eyes wide in alarm. There wasn't much light in the tent, only the bare whisper of light from the torches, but he could still see that the hobbit looked concerned.

"Thorin," Bilbo whispered urgently. "Wake up. It's all right, everything's fine."

"You were dead," Thorin muttered, barely aware that he was even speaking. "You were dead and there was nothing I could do-" He was stopped mid-sentence by gentle hands that cupped his head on both sides, forcing him to look up.

"I'm here," Bilbo said firmly, gazing into his eyes. "I'm alive. It's all right." He only had to pull a little to make Thorin slump forward and bury his face in the hobbit's shoulder. Bilbo's arms went around him, the solid weight of them comforting. "I'm here," Bilbo repeated once more.

"I saw you die," Thorin muttered, not caring that his voice broke at the last word. "I saw you-"

"Shhhh." Bilbo said gently, running his hands over Thorin's hair. "It was just a dream. I'm all right."

Thorin wrapped his own arms around Bilbo's waist, pressing himself closer to the warmth that the hobbit offered. Bilbo's hands kept carding through his hair, calming him down. Thorin felt his breathing gradually slow down, the last remnants of the nightmare floating away. The shirt under his face felt wet when he brushed his cheek over it and he belatedly realized that he had been crying.

He was all prepared to apologise for it, feeling embarrassed by his outburst, but Bilbo's face held no judgement when he pulled back – only quiet support and understanding. Instead of saying anything, Thorin simply leaned forward and touched his forehead to Bilbo's, closing his eyes.

They stayed like that for a moment before they got interrupted by Bilbo's yawn. The hobbit pulled back a little, giving Thorin an apologetic smile.

"I should go back to my bed before I fall asleep here."

He moved away, intending to slide down from the bed, but Thorin laid a hand on his shoulder.

"You could stay here, if you wish." He could hardly believe his boldness in asking that, but Bilbo didn't seem scandalised. The hobbit gave Thorin a searching look before he sat back down with a small smile.

"I think I would like that. Move aside a bit."

After a bit of jostling they managed to find a comfortable position, with Bilbo tucked into Thorin's side, his head pillowed on the dwarf's shoulder. He laid his free hand on Thorin's chest, murmured a "goodnight" and was soon out like a light. Thorin lay awake for a moment longer, running his hand over Bilbo's curls and marvelling at the closeness. Finally he wrapped an arm around Bilbo's shoulders and fell asleep as well, enjoying a blissfully dreamless night.

That was the first night they slept in the same bed but it certainly wasn't the last.

°O°O°O°

"You should be attending the negotiations," Balin told him with a disapproving frown a few days later. Bilbo was gone from the tent, eating a dinner with Bard and Thranduil, so the two of them could talk in private. "They have already started talking about dividing the treasure, but they still need you to give them your permission."

"No, they don't," Thorin said, turning away from him. "Fíli is there in my place and he is more than capable of handling the talks."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Balin said. "How long are you going to keep punishing yourself for something that wasn't your fault?"

"How many times do we have to talk about this?" Thorin muttered.

"Until you come to your senses," Balin was starting to sound annoyed. "Thorin you can't give up now. Not after everything you have done to reclaim the mountain."

"What's going on?" a new voice asked from the doorway. Bilbo walked into the tent, his eyes flickering between Thorin and Balin.

"Thorin is being unreasonable," Balin said before Thorin could answer. Thorin shot him a glare, but the old dwarf ignored him. Bilbo just sighed.

"Is he?"

"He refuses to accept the position that rightfully belongs to him."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here," Thorin ground out. Balin gave him a long-suffering look.

"Either you explain this to him yourself or I will," he warned Thorin. "He has a right to know."

"Right to know what?" Bilbo asked, puzzled. Thorin sighed.

"Very well, I will tell him. Leave us," he told Balin. "This is a matter better discussed in private."

Balin gave him a nod and walked out, closing the flap behind him. Thorin walked to his bed and pulled the pouch with his severed braid from under the pillow.

"Our bonds are sacred to dwarfs," Thorin began slowly, keeping his back to Bilbo. "When I raised my hand against you on the wall, I committed a grave crime. I should have protected you and cherished you, but instead I almost killed you." He waited for the tightness in his throat to pass before he continued. "In doing so, I lost my honour and my right to wear my braids." He turned back to Bilbo, unwrapping the fabric to show him the strand of hair. "Kíli has already explained to you what our braids mean, hasn't he?"

Bilbo nodded, but still looked confused.

"I still don't understand why it's a problem. Why don't you simply make a new braid?"

Thorin turned his head to the side, staring at the floor. "It's not so simple."

"Then explain it to me," Bilbo implored, taking a step closer. "Make me understand."

Thorin looked back at him, trying to find the right words to explain the problem. Bilbo stood before him, waiting patiently. As he gazed at the hobbit, Thorin suddenly thought that Bilbo looked older somehow, much older than he used to, even though his face was still the same. It was the eyes, he decided finally, Bilbo's eyes had something old in them – much like Gandalf, he had the look of someone who had watched centuries pass by. The hobbit hadn't looked like that before he had entered Erebor, so it must have been the dragon's doing.

It gave him hope that maybe Bilbo would be able to understand after all.

"I cannot be a king without my braids," he told the hobbit.

"So how do you get them back?" Bilbo asked. Before Thorin could answer, his eyes lit up with something like understanding. "I have to be the one to give them to you, don't I?"

Thorin nodded but made no move to hand the braid to Bilbo. The hobbit took a step closer.

"Thorin what is the real problem here? You must know that I have forgiven you already."

Thorin closed his eyes with a sigh, taking several deep breaths, but he opened them again when he felt a palm press against his chest. He looked down into Bilbo's eyes and saw nothing but compassion and understanding.

"I don't think I can be a king," he confessed finally. "Not after everything that happened."

"You're already a king," Bilbo said softly. "Your people look up to you."

"But how do I know that the madness won't come back?" Thorin said. "How can I be a king of an entire nation when I don't have control over my own mind? What if the fever returns and I hurt you again? What I did to you was unforgivable."

He made to turn away but the hands on his shoulders were firm, keeping in him in place with surprising strength.

"Look at me," Bilbo said and waited until Thorin met his gaze. "I don't blame you for what happened. You weren't yourself when you did it." When Thorin opened his mouth to protest, Bilbo silenced him with a look. "Yes, I will be the first one to admit that what you did was horrible, but you cannot lay the entire blame on yourself. The gold-fever had taken over your mind, stripping you of your control. Besides," he grimaced, "I provoked you. Some of the things I said to you had been harsh."

"I needed to hear them," Thorin said.

"Yes, you probably did," Bilbo nodded, "but that doesn't change the fact that my delivery was less than tactful." He sighed when he saw Thorin's unhappy expression. "If it helps, I wasn't quite myself when it happened, either, so I am hardly one to throw stones."

"I threatened you-" Thorin began, intent on making Bilbo understand, but the hobbit cut him off.

"And I stole the most valuable pieces of the entire treasure when I left Erebor," Bilbo said. He took a step back and reached for his bag, putting it on the bed. Thorin watched in amazement as Bilbo pulled out a number of precious gems and exquisite pieces of artistry. Bilbo threw him a look. "I had no idea that I had even done it until I woke up several days later and discovered half of Erebor's treasury in my backpack. Are you going to blame me for this?"

"Of course not," Thorin said quickly. "You didn't know what you were doing."

"And you did?" Bilbo gave him a sharp look. Thorin was all prepared to protest, but the look in Bilbo's eyes stopped him. "You should stop blaming yourself for something that wasn't your fault, Thorin," Bilbo said gently.

Thorin hesitated for another moment before he nodded, giving in. He sank to his knees in front of the hobbit and lifted the braid with both hands as an offering. Bilbo took the braid, running his thumb over the bead.

"What do I do with this?"

"You remove the bead and make me a new braid with it."

Bilbo laid the braid on the bed and untangled the hair from the bead carefully before he walked back to Thorin. Taking Thorin's head between his hands, he bent forward and gave the kneeling dwarf a soft kiss on the forehead.

"I forgive you," he said, brushing a thumb over Thorin's temple. He held eye contact to make sure Thorin knew that he truly meant ever word. "Now you only have to forgive yourself."

Thorin closed his eyes when he felt the hobbit's fingers slide through his hair. Bilbo was careful, his touch light as he chose the strands right next to the place where Thorin's old braid used to be. His fingers were skilled and nimble, so it only took him a few minutes to weave the bead into a new braid. Thorin waited for him to finish his work before he reached up and wrapped his arms around the hobbit's middle, burying his face into the soft hollow under Bilbo's breastbone.

"Thank you," he whispered into the fabric of Bilbo's shirt. Bilbo just ran his hands over Thorin's hair, his touch like a silent blessing. They stayed that way for a few minutes before Thorin straightened, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He leaned down and gave Bilbo a kiss that the hobbit happily returned. "Thank you."

"Will you join us for the talks tomorrow?" Bilbo asked some time later, when they finally managed to separate for air.

"I will," Thorin promised. He ran his fingertips down the side of Bilbo's throat and felt a thrill of delight when the hobbit shivered under his touch.

"Fíli will be so relieved to hear it," Bilbo said, his fingers tightening on Thorin's shoulder when Thorin's lips found a soft spot beneath Bilbo's ear. "He hates the negotiations."

"I do not look forward to it, either, but it has to be done."

Bilbo pulled back a little to see Thorin's face. "You will accept the crown, then?"

Thorin nodded. Bilbo gave him a radiant smile.

"I think you're going to be a good king," he said with conviction.

"I will do my best."

°O°O°O°

Bilbo was leaving.

The words kept echoing in his mind as he gazed at the hobbit, who was standing by the wooden table, looking unhappy. Thorin barely paid attention to the other dwarves as they left, his focus turned to Bilbo. He didn't even bother to check if they were in the room alone, just crossed the distance and pulled the hobbit into a kiss.

Bilbo responded at once by burying his hands in Thorin's hair and pulling him closer, until they were pressed together from head to toe. Thorin closed his eyes and poured all his desperation into the kiss, tangling them so close together that they could barely breathe. He pulled back a moment later, panting harshly, and leaned his forehead against Bilbo's to gather his thoughts a little.

"You're leaving," he breathed against Bilbo's lips.

"I have to," Bilbo replied, looking unhappy. He raised his hand and laid on on the side of Thorin's neck, his thumb making small circles over the hollow under Thorin's ear. "I need to do this for myself, Thorin. If I want to be happy here, I need to find some peace first."

"How bad is it?" Thorin asked, trying to understand. Bilbo sighed.

"I still dream of gold at night. I spend hours revisiting the hoard and counting treasure, and sometimes when they discuss the reparations I have to bite my tongue because I want to yell at them that all that gold is mine and they have no right to take it."

"Why did you never tell me?" Thorin asked softly, trying not to feel hurt. Bilbo ran a gentle palm over his cheek, his fingertips brushing the wrinkles at the corners of Thorin's eyes.

"Because you have plenty of your own nightmares already. I didn't want to add to them."

"I still would have liked to know," Thorin said with a frown.

"I know." Bilbo gave him a kiss. "I'm sorry."

"While I'm not happy to see you go, I can hardly hold it against you," Thorin said finally, though it cost him a lot of effort.

"Thank you," Bilbo said with a small smile. "We still have a few days, you know. We should make the most out of them."

As he looked at the hobbit in his arms, an idea suddenly occurred to Thorin - a mad and highly scandalous idea. He knew that Bilbo probably hadn't meant his remark like that, but now that he had thought about it, the possibility proved impossible to resist.

"Come with me," he told Bilbo.

A small frown appeared on the hobbit's face.

"Come where? What are we going to do?"

Thorin looked him straight into the eye, letting all his desire and frustration suffuse his gaze.

"Anything he want," he said and let the implication hang in the air. It took only a second for Bilbo to catch on, his eyes growing wide before a small smile appeared on his face.

"I think I would like that," he said and leaned up to kiss Thorin again. They pulled apart a moment later when a distant sound from the corridor reminded them that they were in a public hall.

"Not here," Thorin said and started walking. Bilbo fell into step with him, a small blush on his face as they passed several dwarves on the way.

"Isn't this whole idea a bit inappropriate?" he gave Thorin a side glance as they climbed the stairs.

Thorin smirked. "It is extremely inappropriate, but I find that I do not care."

Bilbo returned the grin. "That's good to know."

It didn't take them long to reach the royal quarters. Dáin's dwarves had done their best to clear out the dust and make them habitable before the coronation, so they only needed to shoo out one confused servant to have the rooms to themselves. The dwarf took one look at them and left without a single word, closing the door behind him. The gossip about them would be all over Erebor by tomorrow morning, but Thorin couldn't bring himself to care.

He pulled Bilbo close and kissed him, the world of possibilities opening up in his mind. For once in his life he forgot all about duty and obligations and let himself do something purely for the pleasure of it. They hadn't been able to do much in the tent, since the walls made of fabric didn't offer much privacy and anyone could walk in at any time, but now, with the door locked and no one to disturb them, Thorin was finally able to do everything he had been dreaming about for months.

He spent hours worshipping Bilbo's body, learning all the places that made him gasp and moan, memorising every inch of skin. Everything that he couldn't say with words, he said with his hands and lips, willing the hobbit to understand. Bilbo was far from shy and responded with enthusiasm, exploring without a trace of shame. Afternoon passed and evening came and they barely noticed, too wrapped up in each other to pay attention to anything else.

It was already dark when they stopped, too worn out to do more than kiss and cuddle. They ended up tangled together in the middle of the sheets, the glowing embers in the fireplace giving off just enough heat to prevent them from feeling cold. Bilbo ended up lying half on top of Thorin, his curls just brushing against the dwarf's beard. Thorin had his arms wrapped around Bilbo's back, running the fingertips of one hand up and down the hobbit's spine.

"Promise me you will come back," Thorin murmured into Bilbo's hair. Bilbo pressed a kiss over Thorin's heart before he raised his head, giving the dwarf a smile.

"I will come back, Thorin, I promise. I'll be back before you know it."

Thorin watched him for a moment longer before he sat up, making a decision. Bilbo sat us as well and watched in confusion as Thorin reached into his hair and started unbrading one of his braids.

"I should have done this weeks ago, but I never found the right time for it," Thorin said as he untangled a bead from one of his braids. He offered the bead to Bilbo, keeping his gaze open. "Will you do me the honour of accepting this?"

"What is it?" Bilbo's gaze flickered between the bead and Thorin's face.

"A courting bead. It marks the start of a courtship that will eventually lead to marriage. Balin can explain all about it if you ask him."

"Haven't we been courting for a while already?" Bilbo cocked his head to the side, a hint of amusement playing around his lips.

"We have," Thorin admitted. "This just makes it official."

Bilbo gave him another look before he reached for the bead, cradling it in his hand.

"Yes," he told Thorin with a smile, "I accept."

Thorin let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and smiled back, feeling relieved beyond words. Bilbo's smile widened at Thorin's reaction and leaned forward for a kiss that Thorin was more than happy to return. Before things could get steamy again, Bilbo pulled back, raising the bead up to see it better in the faint light from the fireplace.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"I will braid it into your hair," Thorin told him and took the bead back from him.

It was no wonder Kíli had loved combing Bilbo's hair so much, Thorin thought as he weaved the bead into Bilbo's hair. It was so soft and smooth to the touch. He spent a good while running his hands through the curls, marvelling at the texture that was so unlike his own. Bilbo held patiently, his eyes half-closed in pleasure at the contact. He straightened up when Thorin finished braiding his hair, a small frown on his face.

"Shouldn't I be doing something for you, too? How do these things normally work?"

Thorin ran his fingers through the hair on Bilbo's nape, unable to stop himself from touching.

"If you were a dwarf, you would simply give me one of your own beads in return, but since you do not wear any, we will have to think of an alternative solution."

He had expected a number of reactions to his statement, but certainly not laughter. The hobbit's eyes suddenly widened as if he had remembered something and he started giggling, torn between embarrassment and hilarity. Thorin just looked on in confusion.

"What is so amusing about courting beads?" he asked the hobbit. Bilbo laughed for a moment longer before he finally managed to calm down enough to be able to speak.

"You know," Bilbo gave Thorin a look, his eyes dancing with mirth, "I think I have one in my backpack."

°O°O°O°

A year and a half had never felt so long.

The first winter was bad – the cavernous halls of the dwarven city offered little refuge from the cold and there was barely enough food to go around, but they managed to survive it, somehow. The Lake-men went to work planting fields in spring, so there was hope that my mid-summer they might finally have enough food for everyone.

Beorn's people sent them honey and flour and even the wood-elves contributed some of their supplies, to the never-ending astonishment of the dwarves. The biggest surprise, however, came in May. A small caravan appeared on the western horizon and when it came nearer, they saw that it was headed by elves – a dozen elves from Rivendell rode on tall horses, leading several carts of goods between them.

"What is all this?" Thorin asked in astonishment. He had just finished visiting Dale with Fíli when he heard the news of the caravan and so he had come forth with Bard to wait for them.

A tall blond elf dismounted from his horse and came forward, giving the two kings a small bow.

"Lord Elrond sends his greetings to both Dale and Erebor and wishes you many years of peace and prosperity."

"How did you know what we needed?" Bard asked. The elf smiled.

"Bilbo Elf-Friend stopped in Rivendell on his way home and presented your case in a most compelling fashion. Lord Elrond decided to grant his wish." He gave Thorin a look. "We have never had particularly good relations with the dwarves, but we hold the hobbit in high esteem."

"He's an Elf-Friend?" Fíli asked, incredulous. He had heard enough tales from Bilbo to know how rarely bestowed that title was. "What on earth did he do to earn that title?"

The blond elf shrugged.

"It was King Thranduil who named him one. We only recognised that fact."

Thorin remembered Bilbo's magical backpack and Thranduil's dreamy look when he had left Erebor and only had to smile.

The elves stayed for two days, watching the rebuilding and dealing out advice before they departed again, heading back to Rivendell. Most of the orcs of the North had perished in the Battle of Five armies, so the roads in the Eastern Wilderness had once again become safe for travellers after more than a century and the trade in the north could resume once more.

The restoration progressed slowly, but more dwarfs kept arriving every day to help with the efforts. The mountain was soon bustling with life once more, the workers and craftsmen hurrying back and forth. Thorin had his hands full, going wherever he was needed and directing the work. His days were long and exhausting and he rarely got a moment to himself, but it felt incredibly rewarding to see Erebor slowly come back to life.

Still, even though he was always surrounded by people, Thorin couldn't help but feel a little lonely. Without Bilbo there, his bed suddenly too big and his quarters too quiet. He got into the habit of fingering the bead on his right braid, using the solidity of the precious metal to remind himself that it hadn't all been a dream and that he really had mate who would come back to him if he waited long enough.

Summer passed and another winter and still they heard no news from the Blue Mountains. July had already began when the ravens finally reported a dwarvish caravan approaching from the north and it was all Thorin could do to prevent himself from taking a horse and riding out to meet them. They arrived a week later and as he walked to meet them at the gate Thorin had to remind himself that it was undignified for a king to run.

He didn't see Bilbo at first, only a gaggle of dwarves, ponies and baggage, but as he came closer, he spotted a familiar curly-haired figure standing next to his sister. It seemed that Bilbo was helping organise the caravan, giving the dwarves directions on how to split the baggage. Thorin stopped a few feet away and just watched him for a minute, drinking in the sight.

Bilbo still looked the same as when he had left, only his hair was longer, much longer. It reached down to his shoulder blades, falling over his shoulders in a gentle cascade of curls. Kíli's clasp was still in his hair and Thorin was pleased to see that he was wearing both of his beads, his two braids identical to the ones that Thorin himself wore.

Before Thorin could call to him, Dís noticed Thorin's presence and came forth to hug him, with Kíli trailing after her. Thorin greeted them both but his eyes still kept straying to Bilbo, who had finally finished his business with the dwarves and was now walking towards him as fast as he could. Thorin turned away from Kíli and caught him in his arms, burying his face in Bilbo's hair. The hobbit wrapped his arms tight around Thorin's neck and held on, giving a small laugh of sheer joy.

They finally pulled apart when Dís delicately cleared her throat behind them, but Thorin didn't pay her much attention, his eyes fixed on Bilbo, who was alive and well and finally back in his arms. Thorin would have kissed him right there and then but Dís coughed again, so he had to content himself with the embrace.

He had spent months preparing his speech to welcome Bilbo back but when he finally opened his mouth, the first thing that came out was: "You didn't cut your hair."

From the corner of his eye he could see Dís smirking at him, probably already planning all the ways she was going to make fun of him for his lack of eloquence, but he couldn't bring himself to care because Bilbo was smiling.

"I have grown quite fond of it," he said, tugging at his braid.

Thorin hugged him again, running his hand over the mane of hair as he held him close.

"You came back," he breathed against Bilbo's ear. He felt the hobbit's smile against his cheek.

"Of course I did," Bilbo replied and pulled back a little, his gaze flickering toward the mountain before he looked back at Thorin. "It's good to be home."

"Welcome back," Thorin said with a smile. His eyes flickered to his sister and nephews, who were all hiding grins, before he made his decision. He could see them later, but if he didn't kiss Bilbo in the next five minutes, he was going to explode. He stepped back from the hobbit to maintain an illusion of propriety, but from the whispers around him, it probably didn't help much. He was aware that he was staring at the hobbit like a starving man at a feast, but found himself unable to school his expression into something more suitable for a public place.

"I should give you a tour of the mountain," he said, his voice a little rough around the edges and was gratified to see those eyes darken with desire. Bilbo licked his lips, swallowing once before he found his voice.

"I think that's a wonderful idea." He grabbed Thorin's hand. "If you'll excuse us," he nodded to Dís and started up the stairs, Thorin hot on his heels.

"Tour of his bedroom, more like," he heard Kíli mutter behind him, but decided to ignore it. He had more important matters to attend to.

The walk to his quarters had never been so long. They walked fast, carefully not looking at each other, but it took of Thorin's self control not to grab him and kiss him right in the middle of the entrance hall. He would feel foolish for being so eager, if he didn't see the same hunger mirrored in Bilbo's eyes. When the door to Thorin's quarters finally came into sight, he could have wept with joy. The door barely clicked shut behind them when they reached for each other, their lips meeting in a passionate kiss.

Thorin pulled him closer and deepened the kiss, finally quenching the hunger that had been gnawing at his insides for more than a year. Something deep inside him slotted into place, filling his entire being with a feeling of overwhelming rightness and he sighed in contentment, marvelling at the fact that he would be able to spend the rest of his life enjoying this.

Later, much later, when they were both pleasantly tired and Bilbo lay on his chest, panting softly in the aftermath of their activities, Thorin finally decided to ask the question that had been plaguing him since the start of their journey.

"There is one thing that I never found out," he said, running his palm up and down Bilbo's back in slow, leisurely strokes.

"Hm?" Bilbo murmured sleepily.

"Why did you join us on the quest?" Thorin asked. "You had no reason to help us and you seemed greatly reluctant to associate with us in any way. Why did you come with us?"

Bilbo raised his head and propped his chin on Thorin's chest.

"I hope you're not expecting some grand and noble reason, because there isn't one." At Thorin's questioning gaze he continued. "I was bored. Horribly, incredibly bored, and I wanted to have an adventure." He sighed. "I had spent all my youth dreaming about daring deeds and faraway lands, but when the opportunity came, I was far too settled in my ways to take it."

He crossed his forearms under his chin, moving his head to see Thorin better. "You know, I was all prepared to turn you down and send you away empty handed when you first presented me with the offer."

"What made you change your mind?" Thorin gave the hobbit a curious look.

"I heard you sing." Bilbo smiled, his eyes going a little dreamy at the memory. "Your voice was the most beautiful thing I have ever heard and it proved impossible to resist the invitation when it was presented in such a manner." He gave Thorin a playful look. "I wonder that so few dwarves were willing to go with you. You could overthrow kingdoms with that voice."

Thorin chuckled. "I am afraid that it doesn't work like that."

"That's too bad." Bilbo said, running a languid hand over the planes of Thorin's chest. "You would be the king of the world."

"Being the King of Erebor is more than enough for me to handle, thank you very much." He pressed a palm against Bilbo's cheek, running his thumb over the cheekbone. "I'm glad that you decided to come with us."

Bilbo gave him a smile.

"So am I, Thorin. So am I."

The End

---

A/N: This story is finally finished! Thank you so much to everyone who has read and liked this story. Your continuing support made my work on this story so much more enjoyable and I appreciated every bit of feedback that I got.

The writing process for this story was an incredibly rewarding experience and a huge learning opportunity (so many POVs!), but very exhausting and time consuming as well and I need to take some time off after this. I may post a few shorter stories if the inspiration hits, but please don't expect me to write anything of this scope for a while.

There will be a sequel to this story written eventually, because Thranduil at Thorin's wedding is not a thing to be missed, but for now I'm taking several weeks off to finally start working on my Masters Thesis.

Thank you again for reading, working on this has been an honour.