Thorin now stared at the round, green door before him, mind racing. Bilbo…..Bilbo had looked so old. He understood that hobbits aged fast than dwarves and somewhere in his mind he had understood that his hobbit was dying, but he hadn't thought that part of the cause was age. Now….gods, now Bilbo looked like one light breeze would break him. His once smooth skin that Thorin had taken great pleasure in was now wrinkled and brittle. He was so thin Thorin could see his bones. His golden hair was now as white as snow with streaks of grey here and there. But what had hurt the most was those eyes. They had once been so bright, so full of life. They told Thorin everything he'd ever needed to know about Bilbo. They were so open, so easy to read. Thorin could tell when Bilbo was sad, when he was going to kill Thorin, when Bilbo was the happiest being in Arda. Now…..now they were empty, bottomless pits, no emotion, no hope left in them. And it was his fault.
Thorin wasn't going to deny it, had no right to. He and he alone had banished Bilbo. He and Bilbo had started something on their adventure and he had thrown it back in Bilbo's face like it was nothing. It had been everything, had been the whole world to Thorin. He hadn't wanted his kingdom, hadn't want the crown, had wanted nothing more than Bilbo. But he had lost the right to it long ago, to a life with Bilbo and here he was being reminded of that all over again. He had picked a stupid stone over Bilbo, over that sweet, innocent hobbit who had risked everything for him. He'd picked a mountain over a creature who only wanted to make Thorin happy. He had thrown Bilbo from his sight and forbidden him from ever seeing Erebor again. He had been a monster and it had taken Dwalin, Dis and Fili punching him to make him see sense. By then, in Thorin's mind, it had been too late. Bilbo deserved better. He deserved someone who would love him as he deserved. He needed someone who would be there no matter what. He needed someone who would pick him first no matter what. Thorin had not been expecting Bilbo to still love him after all this time. To be dying because of this love. Oh, if only he had known!
Thorin took a deep breath and stepped in through the front gate. Walking up those steps to that round, green door felt like and eternity. The metal of the handle felt as cold as ice under his sweaty palm. There was no turning back now, though. Thorin knew he wouldn't forgive himself and his company behind him would more than likely stone him before he could get too far. He turned the handle and found the door unlocked. The crying had stopped. Well, the keening had. Thorin could hear, just barely, sobs from the other side of the door. He pushed the door open, peering into the gloom. Years and years ago, he remembered this same door opening. The entrance had been cheerful, bright, full of energy. Not, it reflected the being living within. It was dead, lifeless.
He stepped in, pushing the door closed behind him as his eyes found the little hobbit not far away, curled in on himself, shaking and sobbing his heart out. Oh, those horrible noises. It was all Thorin's fault and he would never forgive himself.
"Oh, my dear hobbit," Thorin breathed, falling to his knees by Bilbo, gently reaching out and resting a hand on Bilbo's thin, small shoulder. Bilbo flinched under his touch and desperate eyes turned to meet his.
"What…how…why are you here?" Bilbo's voice was raspy now with age. It was a hollow reminder of younger years, when it could laugh without a whim or crack as harshly as a whip.
"I am here because I am a fool, Bilbo. A heartless, bitter fool. I promised I would never hurt you and look at what I've done," Thorin murmured, forcing his tears to stay where they were. "Can you ever forgive me?"
"For….forgive you?" Bilbo blinked before forcing himself to sit up, back against the wall. More surprisingly, he pulled Thorin's hand into his lap, his two small hands clinging to it as any desperate man would cling to hope, "There is nothing to forgive."
"But there is, Bilbo. So much to forgive. I cast you from my side, destroyed your heart and forced you to live like this for so long. I have made you suffer as one never should. You are dying," at that, Thorin's voice finally cracked and swallowed hard, blinking furiously. "And it is my fault. Oh, Bilbo. Oh, my dear Bilbo. What have I done?"
"Thorin," Bilbo whispered, tears streaming down his face, his grip tightening on Thorin's hand. "Oh, Thorin, no. No, this is not your fault. It is all mine. If I hadn't."
"No, no Bilbo. No. Don't start. Don't you dare start. You are more than important to me than any bloody stone," Thorin pulled Bilbo to him then, feeling how truly small his hobbit was now, how frail, how brittle he was as Thorin held him close. Wrapped his arms around him, trying to protect him, to save him, "I fell to the gold sickness over a stone. Over something that could be used to feed my people. Over nothing. I choose nothing over you. You who has always loved me, no matter what I did to you. You, the most faithful, the most loyal creature I know. And I am killing you."
"You are not," Bilbo clung to Thorin's coat, pressing his face into Thorin's shoulder. "You are not killing me."
"You are fading, Bilbo. I know what that means. I know what will happen," Thorin buried his face in Bilbo's curls. "We should have been together this whole time. I shouldn't have let you go."
"Don't let me go now, please," Bilbo whispered. "I don't want to be alone when…when…"
"I am not leaving you, none of us are. We will not abandon you ever again," Thorin promised. But it was more than that, because it came from his entire heart, from his entire soul, from his entire being. For as long as it took, Thorin would be there. No matter how much it hurt in the end, Thorin wasn't going to leave Bilbo. Ever.