Chapter 2

It couldn't be.

Bilbo tried once, twice—he was unable to draw in breath. Thorin was here, standing under an impossible tree in the middle of the Shire, not buried beneath the Lonely Mountain in a stone tomb.

The last time he had seen him had been the funeral. His face had been so pale, cleaned of blood and dirt, the wound on his forehead a faint red line. Thorin had looked eerily peaceful with his eyes closed and the Arkenstone upon his breast.

The dwarf standing before him was entirely different. Thorin's face was slightly flushed with vitality, his vibrant eyes open and attentive. Gone was the cut on his brow and the hole in his chest that had taken his life. He was wearing the same armor and fur coat he'd worn the first time they'd met.

"Bilbo."

His voice was calm, smooth and deep as ever, as he took a few steps forward. A gentle happiness lit up his gaze, though it was tinged with a bit of concern as well.

Perhaps that was because Bilbo could still not find within him the ability to breathe. He stood frozen, watching with wide eyes as Thorin neared him, until he was so close that he could have reached out and touched him if he'd wanted to. He most certainly did, but the part of him that wasn't suspended in shock worried that if he moved, the spell would be broken and he would be left alone on the hilltop.

"Bilbo, are you well?" Thorin was the one to reach out first, his hand gently brushing against his arm—

Bilbo barely registered the weak pressure of Thorin's gloved hand against his arm. His gaze was focused on the dark blood welling up from beneath his fingers. There was far too much of it, spilling out over his rent armor and staining Thorin's beard as he coughed it up. They had to get a healer, quickly.

"I wish to part from you in friendship."

"No." Bilbo nearly gasped the word out, his hands still pressed over the wound in Thorin's chest. "No you're not going anywhere. You're going to live."

"I would take back my words and my deeds at the gate. You did what only a true friend would do. Forgive me...I was too blind to see." He drew in a rattling breath, his voice ragged. "I'm so sorry that I have led you into such peril."

"No, no, I'm glad to have shared in all your perils, Thorin—each and every one of them. It's far more than any Baggins deserves." They were running out of time. There was too much he had yet to say and too little time to say it. Bilbo struggled through his next words, feeling as though his own heart would stop as Thorin coughed up more blood. "Please, don't go. I…"

"Farewell—"

"Bilbo!"

Thorin was clasping both of his arms now, firmly but not enough to hurt. His touch was bracing, and Bilbo was finally able to take a shuddering breath as summer sunlight overtook the icy memory that had wrapped itself around his vision.

His next exhale managed to escape in the form of a word. "How—" He tried again. "How are you here? Y-You're supposed to be…" Even after all these months, he still could not bring himself to say it.

His breaths were coming faster, shallower now, and none of them quite filled his lungs the way they should have. Bilbo glanced up at the sunlit leaves above them, his vision blurry. Was he going mad?

Thorin moved one hand to his face, grounding him once more. "Breathe, Bilbo. It's all right. Just breathe. Slowly, now."

And slowly, he did. After a few minutes, Bilbo's head cleared. He felt the numbness that had frozen his limbs begin to recede, and was able to reach up and wipe the tears from his eyes.

Shame ignited on his cheeks. Thorin was here, somehow, and the first thing he had done upon meeting him again was dissolve into a teary-eyed mess. He might as well have fainted like he had that first night, during the party in Bag End.

Pull yourself together. "Sorry about that." He cleared his throat. "It's just. You know. A bit of a shock."

"You owe me no apologies, Bilbo." Thorin's gaze was soft as he looked into Bilbo's eyes. One of Thorin's hands was still resting on his jaw, the other loosely grasping his shoulder.

If Thorin could touch him, then that meant Bilbo could do the same. He reached out, tentatively, unsure where to put his hands, and rested them on his chest, just below his shoulders. The fur of his coat was soft, and beneath it, Bilbo could feel the warmth radiating from his body. It was all there, just below his fingertips, and so achingly real.

He leaned forward then, whether from exhaustion or the undeniable pull Thorin had on him, he wasn't sure, and pressed his forehead against his chest. Thorin wrapped his arms around Bilbo's shoulders and pulled him closer. His chin came to rest on the crown of his head.

Bilbo felt as though he might cry again, though sorrow no longer had the same grip around his heart as it once had. No, it was the aching familiarity of being this close to Thorin, to have in his grasp what he had thought was lost forever, that renewed the tears in his eyes.

For how long they stood like that, Bilbo had no idea. But eventually the questions burning in the back of his mind grew painfully insistent, and so he gathered himself the best he could and pulled back.

"We need to talk."

Thorin nodded, his expression sobering, and Bilbo led the way back into his home. He walked into the kitchen, hoping a cup of tea would set him to rights. "Sorry about the mess. I'm still trying to get everything back in order."

He busied himself with heating up the water, half-afraid that when he turned around, there would be no one there. When he reached into the cabinet to grab a mug, he paused. "Er, would you like some as well? Tea?"

"No, thank you." Thorin stood with his arms crossed, surveying the room.

"Are you sure? I could make you something to eat." Bilbo gestured to the basket of food on the windowsill. "I'm sure you must be tired from...h-however you got here."

"I don't need anything to eat or drink. I'm dead."

He nearly flinched at that. Thorin looked so utterly calm as he spoke, something that Bilbo could not even begin to understand.

It took him a moment to find his voice again. "Well, then. All right." He turned back to the tea, needing something to do with his hands. "I suppose I don't have to worry about any more dwarves raiding my pantry, if that's the case." The shakiness in his voice betrayed any attempt at humor.

"What happened to your home?" Thorin asked. "It was not this...barren last I saw it."

"Oh. Well, I was gone for so long that everyone in Hobbiton eventually assumed I was dead and decided to auction off my things. I actually came back in the middle of it. Managed to save these." He held up a handful of silver spoons.

"They stole your possessions?" His eyes narrowed.

"I forgot to lock my front door." Bilbo shrugged. "Sort of left in a hurry that day."

"Who was responsible for this?"

"Well…" He paused, noting Thorin's clenched fists. "Grubb and Burrowes ran the auction. But I have a sneaking suspicion as to who set it up." He glanced back at the silverware on his counter.

"Whoever is behind this will sorely regret their actions," Thorin said, his voice slipping into the tone he would use right before commanding the rest of the Company to draw their weapons.

"That—That won't be necessary," Bilbo said, suddenly grateful for the lack of a sword at Thorin's hip. "I'll go around and ask for my things back. Might have to pay for some of it, but I'll get it all back eventually."

A fraction of the anger in Thorin's gaze melted. "You should not have to buy back what was already yours."

"No." He took a sip of his tea. "You're quite right about that. But sometimes you have to make do."

At this, Thorin relaxed and nodded. He understood—possibly better than Bilbo ever would. It wasn't as if a dragon had barged into Bag End and stolen all his armchairs and silverware.

Even so, it bothered him to think that Thorin would be unhappy about the state of his house. Just because he couldn't offer him tea or a hot meal didn't mean he could be a bad host. Before Bilbo could stop himself, he said, "If it pleases you, then I will go and get some of my furniture back today."

Thorin raised an eyebrow, and Bilbo tried not to blush at his choice of words.

"That is, after I've had something to eat." He walked over to his basket of food and pulled out the ingredients for a quick meal. "I won't be able to take back much of anything on an empty stomach."

"If I recall correctly, you faced down a dragon with nothing but two meals a day under your belt." Thorin stepped closer, humor glinting in his eyes. "And hobbits are accustomed to six, are they not?"

"Seven, actually." Bilbo began digging around for a knife. "And facing down a dragon is nothing compared to what I have to put up with from some of my cousins. Lobelia in particular is a real piece of work."

"I'm sure it's nothing you won't be able to handle."

Bilbo looked up, saw the gentle smile Thorin was giving him, and blushed for real this time.

When he had first returned to the Shire, he had felt all bent out of shape, twisted up and unable to reconcile the hollowness within. But now he felt himself standing a little straighter, filled up and emboldened by the joy and contentment that had been replenished with Thorin's presence.

Even without most of his furniture, Bag End didn't feel quite so empty anymore.

They set off a little after noon. The sun was at its zenith, and Bilbo could feel its heat on the back of his neck.

"So, how did you get here, exactly?" he asked as they began walking down the path.

"I don't know the exact details," Thorin replied. "I was summoned from the Halls of Mandos. The next thing I remember is sitting beneath that tree." He nodded back towards the oak on top of Bilbo's house.

"I see." It was a rather vague explanation, and it seemed Thorin didn't know much more than Bilbo did about the situation. But he wasn't inclined to question it further—Thorin was with him, and he was happy enough to simply accept that.

"So, where are we going first?"

"I figured I might as well get the worst over with today," Bilbo said with a grimace. "We're going to Lobelia's house. I'll try to figure out how many of my belongings she has, and then see how much I can leave with. She's not going to give any of it up without a fight."

"I never imagined hobbits as being…" Thorin tilted his head, as though trying to find the right word.

"We can be just as greedy and spiteful and dishonest as other races. Though we are less inclined to pick up steel weapons when those issues come to a head."

Thorin scowled. "Instead they resort to robbery."

"In extreme cases," Bilbo said with a slight smile. "Words are the weapon of choice for most hobbits. And sometimes they can do more damage than a sword or a battle axe."

A little ways down the road, two hobbit lasses were walking in the opposite direction. Bilbo eyed them apprehensively as they approached, unsure what their reaction would be to a dwarf walking with him, but they paid them no mind, carrying on with their chatter as they drew nearer.

He relaxed, tucking his hands into his jacket. Perhaps it was expected of him by now, to be associating with dwarves. His calm turned to shock, however, as one of the lasses passed by him, and in the process walked through Thorin.

Both of them stopped talking and turned as he let out a sharp gasp. But when he cleared his throat and turned away, they resumed their conversation and moved on. Bilbo, however, stayed rooted to the spot, remembering distantly how Hamfast hadn't seemed to realize that the tree above his house had grown there overnight. Whatever was happening here, he seemed to be the only one noticing that anything was different, and that didn't sit well with him.

Thorin watched his expression, his posture relaxed, but the look in his eyes betrayed that he too had noticed what had occurred.

Feeling as though the ground beneath him had just violently shifted, Bilbo reached out for Thorin's arm, as though to steady himself. The fabric of his sleeve was pliant in his grasp, and beneath it, he could feel the warmth of his skin. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "How come I'm the only one who can see and touch you?"

"Because I am here for you, and no one else." Thorin searched his face for a moment longer, then said, "You're wondering if you've gone mad."

Bilbo nodded, the movement stiff and disjointed. His head was starting to hurt.

"Trust yourself, Bilbo." Thorin laid his hand over Bilbo's, calloused fingers running over his skin. "I know for a fact that I am here with you, in spirit if nothing else. But only you can decide what to trust."

That was the crux of the issue. Was it magic or madness that had returned Thorin to him? If it was the former, then Bilbo would be sure to ask Gandalf the next time he saw him what exactly was in the soil around Beorn's house that produced such swift-growing acorns. If it was the latter...well. He could be hallucinating about worse things.

Whatever it was, it would do no good to stand and worry over it.

"Come on," he said, sliding his hand from beneath Thorin's with no small amount of reluctance. "We'll try and figure this out later, but first I have to go get some of my furniture back."

"Lead on, then." Thorin gave him a slight, encouraging smile, and fell into stride next to him as they began walking again.

No, this was not bad at all, Bilbo concluded. He felt lighter and happier than he had in months, thanks to the presence of the dwarf beside him.

If this was madness, then he'd be quite content with losing his mind altogether.

Hey everyone! I was so thrilled with the response I received for the first chapter. Thanks so much for the favorites/follows and thanks to PLEASE, Anno1701, Thilbo4Ever, Griffind, and MissCallaLilly for the kind reviews. It really made my day.

So what do you guys think? Is there some magic at work, or is Bilbo just going crazy?

Next chapter we will get a Lobelia vs Bilbo showdown over some silverware (place your bets now, folks).

Thanks for reading this chapter, and I hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you thought, it puts a smile on my face :) Until next time!