As Thorin slammed the door of Bilbo's home behind him he wanted nothing more than to sink to the floor against it and cry. Oh, how he wanted to. But he did not allow himself to do it. Not there. Not where all it would take for Bilbo to continue his tirade—No, he mentally corrected himself, NOT Bilbo, the thing-that-looks-like-Bilbo. Bilbo would never have said that to me. He told me himself that he knows how much I loved Fíli and Kíli. He wants me to make peace with their mother. He would never have told me that I . . . that I murdered them.
At that last thought tears came unbidden to his eyes and Thorin wiped them away angrily but they would not be stopped. He had restrained them for too long and now that his composure had weakened they intended to fall until they were done. Realizing this, he wiped them away once more and took off at a run for the clearing that he had taken Bilbo to on the day that Bilbo and Dwalin had come to blows. He barely made it before the wracking sobs claimed him.
There, alone in the forest, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thror wept.
He wept for his nephews, his painfully young nephews, taken before their time in a violent battle that they should never have been involved in had he have been a better uncle and known that there are more important things in this life than gold and jewels and vengeance. He wept for the lives that they would never have a chance to lead: the love they would never find, the children they would never have, all the wonders and pains of life that he had robbed them of in his quest to reclaim a kingdom that they had no need to retake.
He wept for his sister, his poor baby sister, who had been forced to outlive her sons and see them placed beneath the stone. He wept that she would never again be greeted at the door by the strong arms of her golden-haired eldest and the warm smile of his counterpart, her dark-haired youngest. He wept that she had been denied her right to see them wed. To see the joy and pride in their faces as they looked at their mates and, perhaps, presented her with her grandchildren. He had denied her that pleasure. Because of him, she would never see her boys again. Even though she would never been able to see them again, Thorin was grateful that she had been spared the sight of their broken bodies. He hadn't. He had seen them fall and took the memory of it as his just punishment for leading them to their deaths.
Surprisingly, he even wept for Bilbo. Even though it had been Bilbo's body that had been used against him, it had not been Bilbo's soul that had made the attack. It had been another consciousness possessing his dear, sweet mate. Bilbo was as much a victim of the madness as Thorin was. Thorin had witnessed the remorse that Bilbo felt—remorse that bordered on depression at times—at the actions that the madness—the Ring—committed in his body. He could not help but weep for Bilbo, caught in the middle of a struggle that he did not even fully understand just because he had picked up a bit of gold in a cave.
Thorin felt regret swallow him as he wondered if all the times that Bilbo had used the Ring during their quest had accelerated his descent into madness. Had the reclaiming of Erebor happened not only at the cost of Fíli and Kíli's lives but also at the cost of Bilbo's sanity? Even if Bilbo hadn't meant it—and may never even have thought it since there was another consciousness inside his body—he had been right when he had said that everything bad that had ever happened to him could be attributed to Thorin. Just like with Fíli and Kíli, had he not have wanted to retake the mountain, Bilbo would never have left the Shire. He would have remained safe in Bag End and would never have ever even found the damn Ring in the first place.
Yes, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Bilbo's whispered in his mind, that's true. But if he'd remained here he never would have found you either. Thorin scoffed at the idea that he was worth what Bilbo was now going through and with a soft smile, a memory floated to the surface. A memory of when Bilbo had answered that very question.
ooOO88OOoo
They had been in Lake Town, alone in their bed in the room that they had been given. Bilbo had been shaking in the throes of a fever from the cold that he had gotten while rescuing them from the dungeons of the Elf King and Thorin held Bilbo close as the hobbit simultaneously shivered and burned—his fever alarmingly high despite the potion that Óin had given him and his breathing far too shallow and too rapid.
"Please," Thorin whispered into Bilbo's hair. "Please don't die. Not like this, not when we're so close to our goal. Please don't leave me."
"That . . . that would be quite uncourteous of me . . . would-wouldn't it?" Bilbo panted, his voice nearly lost in his labored breathing. "To . . . to come all this way with you only to . . . only to die at the . . . at the very foot of the mountain and . . . and force you to return and bring another worthless hobbit across Middle Earth." He gave a weak laugh there at the end that turned into a brutal coughing fit that left his throat aching and had a moan rising from his lips.
"You are not worthless, Bilbo," Thorin promised trying to soothe the hobbit into going back to sleep. He hadn't meant to wake him and listening to Bilbo try to talk was painful. At end of each lungful of air Bilbo had to pause and take a couple of shallow breaths before he could continue. It would be better for them both if he would just allow sleep to take him.
"And it is not just the inconvenience your death would cause this quest that makes me implore you not to die," Thorin promised, worried that Bilbo might actually believe that he thought that despite everything that had already passed between them. "I . . . I would miss you, Bilbo Baggins. This is no secret to you but I feel that it needs said: I . . . I love you. Finding you was like finding a part of myself that I did not know was missing. I did not know that I was incomplete until you had already completed me. For you to die now, so soon after . . . I am not sure that I could survive that, Bilbo. I want you to remain by my side forever, not be stripped away from me by illness." He felt it when Bilbo tried to embrace him more tightly, but his limbs were too weak from the fever burning through his body and his grip was little more than the natural weight of his hands.
"It will take more than a . . . than a fever to take me from you, Thorin," Bilbo promised quietly, his voice fading even further as he began to drift out of lucidity once more, appeased by Thorin's declaration. "I am sturdier than I look . . . and nearly as stubborn as you dwarves. I'll survive this, you'll see."
"I sincerely hope that you are correct," Thorin said pressing a kiss to Bilbo's forehead and feeling worry rise in him more strongly than ever as the contact nearly burned him. He was beginning to lose hope that Bilbo would survive. He hadn't even begun to sweat yet. His fever was still climbing and already Thorin had felt forges that were less warm than the hobbit in his arms. Even if Bilbo did survive it was possible that his mind would be damaged by the harms the fever wrought on his body.
"I usually am," Bilbo replied cheekily, a small smile on his face as he rested against Thorin with his eyes closed.
"I will never agree to that, my dear hobbit. Your ego needs no inflation," Thorin replied with the ghost of a laugh. Bilbo gave another small laugh that once more led to a fit of wracking coughs that Thorin wondered if would ever stop and left Bilbo gasping for air once they did pass. It had taken Bilbo sitting up to stop them, but they did pass.
"I am sorry for all of this," Thorin sighed as he helped his hobbit lay down once more.
"Whatever for?" Bilbo asked. "You didn't get me sick. I'm the one that was . . . foolish enough to ride . . . down a cold river on barrels. And I'm the fool that keeps . . . keeps laughing at what you say despite . . . despite knowing what it will do to me."
"No," Thorin clarified. "For ever bringing you on this expedition in the first place. You should have been able to remain in your nice, warm home. Not been forced to follow us across Middle Earth and been threatened by all manner of creatures therein. It is almost ironic that of all the things that could have killed you a fever is coming the closest. I hate that I had any kind of a hand in it."
"Don't," Bilbo whispered cuddling closer to Thorin. "I don't regret that I followed you. Don't regret inviting me."
"How can you not!?" Thorin demanded incredulously. "How many times have you nearly died?"
"I could ask you the same," Bilbo replied, cracking open an eye and attempting to look at the blurry dwarf above him. "But even if . . . even if I die here or . . . or in the mountain . . . it was worth it."
"Was your thirst for adventure truly so great that your death will not upset you," Thorin asked in surprise. "You told me that you are only halfway through your lifespan. Would you really be content to die at this very moment? Do you have no regrets about coming with us?"
"I would not be content, no," Bilbo argued. "But I would have no regrets. I do not regret coming . . . coming with you, Thorin. If I hadn't . . . well, what good . . . what good is a long life without love? If I were to die right now . . . I would die content in the knowledge that . . . that I had been well loved. The time I have spent with you . . . it is worth an early death. I love you. Even though you are a stubborn and . . . and arrogant dwarf at times. I can never regret coming since it . . . since it enabled me to find you."
Thorin was shocked for a moment. Bilbo had just as good as said that his love was worth dying for. He was humbled by the admission. Bilbo loved him enough to be willing to die for him. Few people were fortunate enough to find one that cared for them so deeply, even among his own people. Once more he prayed to the Maker that Bilbo would survive this. He could not bear to be responsible for the death of one that could love so purely. Bilbo had to survive.
It was only a few hours later that Bilbo began to sweat as his fever broke. Thorin sat up with him all night, waking him periodically to have him drink a glass of water. Just before dawn, the sweating stopped. Bilbo's skin had returned to its normal temperature, slightly cooler than Thorin's own, and he slept peacefully. Thorin pressed his lips against Bilbo's cool forehead and thanked Mahal that Bilbo had survived and made a vow that he would do everything in his power to be worthy of Bilbo's devotion for the rest of their days. He knew what it was that he had found and had no intention of losing it.
ooOO88OOoo
He sighed as it occurred to him that he had broken that vow. Not even a month later he had proved himself decidedly unworthy of Bilbo's devotion by turning on him over a stone and attempting to thrown him to his death. But even that had not been enough to cause Bilbo to hate him. Rather than curse his name and memory for all eternity, Bilbo had mourned him. For sixty years. For sixty years Bilbo had mourned him and taken no other lover. Bilbo was still devoted to him after all that time. Despite all the pain that Thorin had put Bilbo through, the hobbit still loved him.
Gandalf had told him that was why the Ring was so cruel towards him. The Ring had held Bilbo's heart for sixty years because Bilbo had no need for it any more. With Thorin dead, no one else had a claim to it and the Ring had met no resistance in claiming it. Bilbo was still capable of being fond of others, but the soul-consuming love that he had for Thorin . . . he could give that to no others since he had hidden his heart away, safely ensconced it in the fortress of the Ring. When Thorin had returned, Bilbo had reclaimed his heart and freely returned it to Thorin. That had been what had triggered the madness. Thorin's return had driven his mate to madness. Thorin had told Bilbo numerous times that the madness was not his fault and it had been the truth.
In fact, Bilbo truly had nothing to do with the madness. It was not a battle that he was truly involved in, he was the prize and the stakes. The combatants were actually Thorin and the Ring, poor Bilbo was merely caught in the middle of yet another war that he was dragged into by Thorin. All of his confusion and pain . . . it was Thorin's fault as surely as if he were the one that was attacking Bilbo once more. He knew that it would be easier for Bilbo—the bouts of madness fewer—if he would stay away until the time Gandalf decided to take the Ring from him but he could not bring himself to leave Bilbo to suffer through this alone. He would not lose Bilbo to the Ring.
With a sigh, Thorin stood and wiped the tears from his cheeks and began the long walk to the forge. He wished that he knew the countryside well enough to avoid the market but that was not the case. Steeling his nerves for the inevitable crowds that would press in on him with questions, he entered town. He had been correct. Despite the fact that he knew that his eyes were still red from his tears—or perhaps because of it—the hobbits in the market still came near him, though their questions that day were gentler than they had been in previous days, and their smiles warmer as they grew accustomed to his presence in their market.
He had feared that they would ask about Bilbo's whereabouts. He wasn't sure that he could answer that question politely, but he needn't have worried because no one did. They seemed to realize that it was something that Thorin did not wish to discuss and after a few polite questions about his own health they allowed him to continue on his way.
"Can't hold you up too much, Mr. Thorin," a she-hobbit with a wee babe in her arms said with a smile. "After all, I would hate to come between royalty and a goal, even if that goal is just to fix the pot I took to Tom this morning. Give my regards to Mr. Bilbo when you see him." He promised her that he would even if he had no idea how to do so as he had no idea who she was, and made his way towards the forge.
Once there he walked through the door without bothering to call out. Tom had his back to the door, working carefully on something on the anvil. Thorin watched him, shocked at the about of force the hobbit was capable of generating with each blow and waiting for him to pause in his work before speaking so as not to risk startling him into damaging his current project in his shock. When Tom set down the hammer and picked up his tongs to place the pan into the fire to reheat, Thorin spoke.
"I am sorry that I am late today, Master Tom," Thorin said quietly. "There was . . . there was something that came up urgently and delayed me. It will not happen again."
"I wondered if you were coming today or if something had happened in the market," Tom said with a laugh. "I wasn't sure that they would let you through after what you and Mr. Bilbo let slip yesterday. Meaning no offence, Mr. Bil . . ." Tom trailed off as he turned to face the door and saw that there was no Bilbo in sight. Only Thorin. As he took in the dwarf's red-rimmed eyes and sad expression he knew immediately what the "something urgent" had been. They had had a spat.
"Begging your pardon, Your Majesty," Tom said with a sad sigh, "but you look terrible. Are you sure that you feel up to working today. Wouldn't you rather go home and sort out whatever it is that happened so urgently?" Thorin gave a small mirthless laugh that the hobbit smith had figured out what had passed between him and his mate that morning—or near enough.
"No, Master Tom," Thorin sighed. "I would rather work for a bit and clear my head before I return home. It may save us both a few harsh words and undue heartache. And, please, I have no throne or crown. There is no need to address me so formally. I would appreciate it if you would use my name. 'Thorin' will suffice or 'Mister Thorin' if you must, but just know that even when I did have a crown my own people tended to just refer to me by my name."
"I can do that," Tom replied with a warm smile. "If that is what you wish, 'Thorin' you shall be. If you will drop the 'Master,' that is. 'Tom' will do just fine. I'm only a simple hobbit blacksmith after all. Titles like that are for finer folks that me." Thorin's smile was warmer this time. If this was how hobbits behaved he knew that he could truly be happy here. They truly were a kind folk and he finally understood why Gandalf was so fond of them.
"I can do that as well," Thorin agreed. "But allow me to tell you this, Tom. I have met many fine folks that are less deserving of their titles, and the respect that comes from them, than you. I have met kings that are less noble than "a simple hobbit blacksmith.""
"Thank you," Tom said blushing a fiery crimson at the compliment. "And, if I may be so bold as to say so, you are the most polite dwarf that I have ever met."
"Am I the only dwarf you have ever met?" Thorin asked with a laugh.
Tom shrugged in response. "Perhaps you are," Tom replied cryptically. "But that would make you the politest, wouldn't it?"
"It would," Thorin agreed. For nothing more than a 'simple hobbit blacksmith' Tom had a sharp mind. Thorin was beginning to wonder if that was also not a trait that was singular to Bilbo but rather a trait inherent to his race. At the thought of Bilbo a pang of remorse washed through him followed by a burst of fury at what his mate was going through.
"Would you like to finish that pan or would you prefer I take over?" Thorin asked suddenly feeling the urge to hit something and thinking that it would be best to channel his rage into something productive. Seeming to sense the dwarf's mood once more, Tom gestured at the forge.
"I will let you take over, Thorin," Tom said. "I'll be back at dusk to help you close up." The dwarf nodded and turned to the forge, stripping off his outer garments as he walked and glaring at the pot in the bed of coals with fury burning in his blue eyes and a single-minded determination on his face that made Tom instantly glad that he was not Bilbo Baggins. He had only known Thorin for a few short days but even in that time he had come to realize that he was not a dwarf to be trifled with. He wasn't sure what had passed between Bilbo and the dwarf but he was sure of one thing; Bilbo had better hope that Thorin vented some of his anger on the anvil or Tom was unsure of Bilbo's odds of surviving the night.
"I'll just leave you to it, shall I?" Tom said before beating a hasty retreat from the livid dwarf and hoping that his forge would be in one piece when he returned that night.
Thorin sighed as Tom fled. He had heard the fear in the hobbit's voice and felt remorse for having been the cause of it. But then thoughts of Bilbo floated through his mind once more and he turned to the pot that was now on the anvil and began the process of repairing the break in the side of it. If his hammer fell with a bit too much ferocity . . . well, it would not show in the finished work and none ever needed to know. As he worked, he allowed all that had happened that day to flow through his mind and came to a decision: no matter what Gandalf had originally intended, they would separate Bilbo from the Ring that night, even if he had to beat the wizard bloody to convince him of the necessity of the action.
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Well . . . it's a new chapter :) I tried to give you all a little fluff to balance out the angst. I hope you enjoyed it!
As always, thank you to all of you that have favorited or added this one to your alerts.
And an extra special thank you to those of you that reviewed!
Guest: I'm glad that I could make your day a little brighter :) And I'm glad that you are loving the dark turn :) and I am glad that you are so excited about this. That is one of the highest praises you can give me! Thank you so much! I hope that you continue to be excited :)
Maria: Aloud, really?! I'm glad that I could provide entertainment at your picnic and hope that you all continue to be into it. Thank you so much for the compliment!
Becca: I'm sorry that it has taken such a sad turn :( I tried to give you a bit of insight into why he stays in this chapter, maybe it will help. And his age does catch up to him after the Ring is gone but it is not near as quick as most people think. There were actually nearly twenty years between Bilbo's birthday and when they met back up in Rivendell so . . . it will catch up with him just not instantly. :) And Thank you so much! I am glad that you are still with me even if you don't see how this can end well :)
Well, that's all for now so please leave me a review if you have time and/or feel so inclined. I would LOVE to know what you thought of it (especially if there was something that you hated)
Stickdonkeys