Chapter 13 – Forgiven
"We're not staying here for the memorial," Isembold announced at breakfast one morning. Bilbo gave him a startled look.
"You're leaving?"
The young hobbit shrugged.
"I think we have stayed here long enough. Since we had nothing to do with the battle, there's no point in us attending the ceremony. Gandalf has promised to take us home."
"Thranduil has promised to grant you safe passage through Mirkwood," Bilbo told him.
"He would be a fool not to, after all the wine he's bought from us," Fortinbras said.
"Indeed." Bilbo hid his amused smile behind his teacup. "When are you planning to leave?"
"In two days. We want to get to Beorn's before the winter sets in. Gandalf said that you spent the winter there as well, the last time you travelled from here."
Bilbo could almost feel the curious glances on him.
"Yes, I did," he said. "I stayed there until spring, and then another month in Rivendell. It was almost Midsummer when I finally arrived back to the Shire and found half of my relatives at Bag-End, squabbling over my possessions. It took me days before I convinced them that I was really back and several months before I hunted down all my misplaced tableware."
"That's awful," Dori said, indignant. "What sort of relatives are they to treat you like that?"
Bilbo shrugged.
"I had been away for a long time. Most of them thought I was dead. It must have been quite the surprise when I came back." He chuckled. "I don't think Lobelia Sackville-Baggins ever forgave me for not getting eaten by the dragon."
"No, she didn't," Isembold said with a grin. "She even went to the Tháin to complain about you. He booted her out of the hall, much to the enjoyment of the entire Tuckborough, and told her in a very ungentleman-like manner just what he thought about her actions. She almost hit him with her umbrella and had to be dragged away by two of the Shiriffs. It was so much fun to watch."
"I bet," Bilbo said with a satisfied smile. "I am so sorry that I missed that. Serves her right for all the silver spoons she stole from me over the years."
"And now you'll never have to deal with her again," Ori pointed out. Bilbo poured himself another cup of tea.
"You're right. Now that's a pleasant thought. I doubt she would travel across half the Middle-Earth just to harass me."
"No wonder you were so eager to come with us," quipped Bofur. "Even a dragon would be preferable to dealing with that woman."
"I'm afraid you're right," Bilbo nodded sombrely. "I dealt with one dragon only to come home and find another one in my home, hoarding my family silver." He broke into a grin. "You know, Gandalf," he addressed the wizard. "I still think you chose the wrong hobbit for your adventure. You should have taken Lobelia instead. She would have frightened the dragon into compliance."
"I would not be surprised if she did," the wizard muttered, much to the amusement of the dwarves. "No, my dear Bilbo, I was quite confident in my choice when I chose you as the fourteenth companion. The fact that you are sitting here today only proves me right."
"In that case, I will have to admit you were right and bow to your superior wisdom."
"You would be wise to do so," Gandalf said with a perfectly straight face. Only his eyes belied his amusement, twinkling merrily. The dwarves laughed at his remark and raised their goblets in a cheer.
Bilbo, however, didn't forget the original topic of the conversation that had started the whole debacle and made it a point for the next two days to spend as much time with his cousins as possible. Their arrival to Erebor might have been unexpected, but Bilbo found that he had enjoyed their company nonetheless and would be sorry to see them leave.
As he soon found out, he wouldn't be the only one. Gimli did not take the news of their departure well and spent half a day grumbling before he was willing to rejoin the company again. The three of them had become fast friends in those three weeks that the Tooks had spent in the mountain and the young dwarf wasn't pleased to lose his favourite partners in crime.
The day of their departure dawned cold and bright. There was no snow yet, but a slight chill was in the air as the Company gathered in front of Erebor's enormous gate to say farewell to Gandalf and the hobbits. As the dwarves puttered around the ponies, Gandalf drew Bilbo to the side, giving him a piercing look.
"Are you certain the ring is at Bag-End?"
Bilbo fought the urge to roll his eyes. The wizard's obsession with a single golden ring was becoming most peculiar.
"Yes, Gandalf, the ring is in the Shire," Bilbo said. "I can't tell you which cabinet I put it in, but my cousin Drogo should be able to find it for you, if you ask him nicely. I already left him a letter explaining briefly what the ring is when I left the Shire, but you can still take this note to him." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small envelope, handing it to the wizard. "If you give him this, he will be happy to help you. Just try not to frighten him too much, please," he added with a grin. "I am rather fond of him and would be sorry to hear that you scared him to death."
Gandalf harrumphed, giving him a stern glance. Bilbo's grin grew.
"I shall be around in a year or two," the wizard said. "Watching you deal with the dwarves here is too amusing for me to pass up."
"I thought you've had enough of dwarves after our journey," Bilbo couldn't help but point out, reminding them both of one of the wizard's tantrums.
To his credit, Gandalf didn't seem fazed by the reminder. Instead the corners of his mouth twitched as he looked back at the unruly group at the top of the stairs.
"I like them well enough, in small doses," Gandalf said. Bilbo laughed.
"Just like hobbits?"
"Indeed." Gandalf nodded.
"Well, you are about to have a heavy dose of hobbit company," Bilbo said, watching his cousins fool around. "I hope you are prepared."
"One can never be prepared for hobbits," Gandalf said just as the two hobbits in question made their way over to them, giving Bilbo identical looks of accusation.
"I thought you came to say goodbye to us and instead you are huddled in the corner with the wizard, ignoring us," Fortinbras said. "One would almost think you didn't like us at all."
Gandalf gave them an amused smile and walked away to talk to Thorin and Balin.
"Of course I like you," Bilbo reassured them. "Gandalf just got into one of his secretive moods and wanted to talk to me." He opened his arms with a smile and they both stepped forward for a big group hug. Bilbo suddenly realized that they were both a little taller than him and wondered when that had happened.
They stood like that for a while, quietly saying goodbye. The dwarves kept a polite distance to give them some privacy, which Bilbo appreciated. When the two finally stepped back from him, they both looked a little teary eyed.
"We're going to miss you so much," Fortinbras said. "Shire won't be the same without you."
Bilbo gave them a smile.
"I think you will get by just fine without me. When you come home, you will have enough tales to keep the neighbours entertained for months."
"And they won't believe even half of it."
"Precisely," Bilbo nodded, feeling relieved when the threat of tears disappeared entirely, to be replaced by smiles. "Have a safe journey."
"I suppose we can come here again, if you give us enough warning in advance," Isembold said. "We wouldn't want to miss it for the world."
"Miss what?" Bilbo asked, puzzled.
"Your wedding of course."
Before Bilbo could inform them that he did not know about any wedding, they turned and walked away to rejoin the group waiting by the ponies. It felt wrong to ask about the remark in front of the dwarves, so Bilbo kept silent, joining in the waving when the three travellers mounted their horses and set out on the journey back to the Shire
The matter was still weighing on his mind when he walked back to his quarters to clear out the room that the hobbits had occupied during their stay. What wedding? He could not come with any plausible explanation for why they might have thought that. In the end he decided that Kíli had probably played a prank on them and since they were ignorant of dwarvish customs, they had taken it at face value.
He personally didn't find the joke very tasteful, especially considering that Kíli knew the full truth of what had happened between him and Thorin, but since the hobbits were already gone, there was no reason to confront the dwarf about it. It had all been a misunderstanding anyway, he thought, so there was no point in obsessing over it.
°O°O°O°
Two days before the memorial Bilbo woke up soaked with sweat, the vision of orc hoards and dead elves and a stone field covered in blood burning like a brand on the inside of his eyelids. His hand was shaking when he reached to pull back the curtains on the window and it took him a good while before the light of the rising sun finally dispelled the last remnants of his nightmare.
All the preparations for the memorial were starting to bring unpleasant memories back for him – memories that he thought he had forgotten long ago. For several days now, he had been waking up in the middle of the night with the smell of blood filling his throat, looking around frantically to make sure that he was not back on the battlefield, watching the dwarves and elves fall one after the other under the onslaught of the orcs.
The bad dreams had started even before the Tooks had left, but the presence of the hobbits had provided a welcome distraction for him, lightening his days with their mischief and helping him forget about his dreams. Now that the hobbits had gone and the anniversary of the battle approached, the nightmares had become stronger, occupying his thoughts even during the day.
The memory of his newest nightmare was still fresh in his mind as he went through his morning routine and when he saw the dwarves decorating the mountain on his way to the breakfast, he felt a little sick to his stomach. The battle had been one of the most horrifying things he had ever seen in his life. Why the dwarves and elves and men around him felt that the deaths of thousands were something glorious to be celebrated was still beyond his understanding.
He spoke little at breakfast and ate next to nothing and was glad when he could escape from the dining hall and go hide in his quarters under the pretence of working on the tapestry. There he locked the door for the first time since his arrival to the mountain and went to huddle under a blanket on his bed, unwilling to face the world.
Somebody knocked on his door a few times during the day, but he pretended that he wasn't home. He managed to fall asleep sometime during the afternoon, the fatigue from the past few sleepless nights helping him sleep without nightmares for once. He woke up after dinner, feeling famished but in a slightly better mood and went to procure some dinner from the kitchens.
A distant sound of music reached him as he walked through the nearly empty halls and he took a moment to appreciate the irony that while the dwarves were celebrating victory and the restoration of their kingdom, he was reminded of death threats and fear and the horrors of the battle. He wondered if any of the dwarves ever had trouble sleeping, or if it was just him who had such a bad reaction to the event.
Luck was with him for most of his journey, as he didn't meet many people on his way to the dinner, which gave him hope that he might be able to sneak into the kitchens unnoticed and avoid talking to anyone. However, when he arrived to the dining hall, he found the Company still there, talking at the table long after the dinner time had passed. They all looked up when he entered and several of them rose to greet him when he entered.
"Bilbo! Where have you been all day?" Kíli and Ori ambushed him. He tried his best to smile at them.
"I wasn't feeling well." He noticed the concerned gazes of the dwarves and hastened to reassure them. "Don't worry, it's nothing bad. I just had a bit of a headache and wanted to sleep. I will be fine after a bit of rest."
Bilbo sat down at the table and took the plate that Bombur handed him, feeling a wave of gratefulness that his friends had been thoughtful enough to leave him a portion of the dinner. He used the meal as an excuse to avoid conversation and pretended not to notice the curious looks that the dwarves were still sending his way.
He excused himself the moment he finished chewing his last mouthful and with a murmured apology fled the dining hall, going back to his quarters. His door was almost in sight when he heard the sound of hurried footsteps behind him, the sound of heavy boots echoing around the stone corridor. Bilbo didn't have to turn to know that it was Thorin – he could already recognize those footsteps anywhere.
Normally he would be delighted to have the dwarf's company, but tonight he was feeling anything but sociable and Thorin was the last person he wanted to see. Bilbo had avoided the king's gaze all dinner, but from the determined look on the dwarf's face when he rounded the corner Bilbo figured that he wouldn't be able to do so now. He was briefly tempted to just turn around and flee, propriety be damned, but in the end decided to stand his ground, thinking that he owed his friend that much.
Thorin caught up with him a moment later, his eyes scanning Bilbo's face as he came closer.
"I will not keep you long, if you are feeling unwell," he said. "I simply wanted to know if there is anything I can do to ease your present state."
Bilbo looked up into that painfully earnest face and suddenly felt a great urge to confess all his troubles to Thorin. How good would it be if he could simply cross those few feet between them and press himself close, and let Thorin soothe him with those large hands of his. But Bilbo had already rejected that offer once, closing that door between them forever. He suppressed the urge to sigh.
"No," he told Thorin as honestly as he could, "there's nothing you can do." He lowered his eyes to the ground to avoid the dwarf's searching gaze. "Thank you for your concern, but it's just a headache. I think I'll go lie down again."
He turned to walk away, but before he could leave, Thorin laid a gentle hand on his arm, making him turn around.
"Bilbo."
Bilbo looked up at the sound of his given name.
"It is not my place to pry, but even I can see that something is bothering you," Thorin said, still looking concerned. "If you do not want to talk to me about it, why don't you confide in one of your closer friends? I am sure Kíli or Bofur would be more than happy to hear you out."
Bilbo sighed.
"I'm not sure if a dwarf would be able to understand." When Thorin kept looking at him, he elaborated. "I have been having dreams these past few days. Nightmares. All the preparations for the memorial have been bringing back bad memories."
Comprehension dawned on Thorin and he took a step back like he'd been struck, the open expression on his face shutting down.
"Oh."
Bilbo nodded sadly.
"Yes, among other things. I am trying to deal with it on my own terms, but it will be a few days still before I feel brave enough to face the world again."
"I understand," Thorin said quietly. "Take as much time as you need. I apologise for bothering you."
He gave Bilbo a small bow and walked away, his shoulders painfully straight.
Bilbo couldn't help but feel like he had just kicked a puppy. It hadn't been his intention to cause Thorin pain, but he hadn't wanted to lie to him either. It was true that the infamous scene at the wall sometimes starred in his dreams as well, serving as a terrible interlude between the ubiquitous orcs and the scenes of his friends' deaths that his fantasy sometimes conjured up for him.
His mind was a jumble of confusion when he came back to his rooms. As much as he would have liked to pretend to Thorin that everything was fine, that was not the case. They might have made peace and even managed to become friends, but the history still hung between them like the proverbial Oliphant in the room.
They had never breached the subject of the Arkenstone during their evenings together in Bilbo's quarters. Through a mutual silent agreement, both of them had decided never to mention it to avoid spoiling their time together. Now Bilbo wondered whether they should have. They might tiptoe around the subject, but no amount of pretention would ever undo the fact that the scene had happened and they had both paid the price for it. As Bilbo's new nightmares proved, at least one of them was still paying for it, in one way or another.
Will they be ever able to truly have peace, or will they always live in this terrible state of remembrance? Bilbo wondered, remembering the way Thorin's face had briefly flashed with pain when he had mentioned his nightmares.
There was only one way to find out, but he wasn't feeling brave enough to try it.
°O°O°O°
He woke up the next morning well-rested, but no closer to a solution than he had been the previous night. Dawn was just starting to break over the horizon, so Bilbo hurried to the kitchens to get some food before everyone else woke up and started questioning him. He carried an armful of food to his quarters and locked the door again.
There was an important decision for him to make and he didn't want to be disturbed by concerned well-wishers. As he polished off a full plate of scones, he tried to come up with a way to approach Thorin about the issue. However, even after he had already drank half a pot of tea, the answer was no closer than it had been before.
It seemed incredibly petty to confront the dwarf directly, especially since it was a topic that they had already made peace about. On the other hand, if he simply let the matter be, they would forever stay at an impasse. Something had to change.
His ruminations were proving to be unproductive, so he decided to do something useful with his time instead. All the thinking had brought on a headache and he knew from experience that he had always been able to resolve his issues better when his hands were busy. Since the door to his quarters was safely warded against intruders, he could finally work on his birthday present for Thorin without fear of discovery.
Bilbo cleared the clutter from the table and took out the swath of blue fabric from a cupboard, spreading it on the wooden surface. He had planned to start working on the cloak for more than a week now, but with the constant stream of visitors in his living room there hadn't been a chance to do much besides sketch the embroidery patterns.
He wanted to keep his present to Thorin a secret for as long as possible – a feat which was proving rather difficult to do here in Erebor. There was always someone stopping by for a chat and since most of his friends had fairly unpredictable schedules, there was no way to tell when a visitor might decide to come by.
Today was a bit different, though. Bilbo thought that Thorin must have told the others to leave him alone, because nobody knocked on his door the whole morning. Bilbo found himself grateful for the reprieve, because the peace allowed him to sort out his thoughts, which had been lately tangled in a jumble of confusion.
The rich blue fabric that he had bought on his afternoon in Dale slowly started gaining shape under his hands and when he pulled back an hour later to survey his work, he was pleased to see that he had managed to cut it well and none of the edges were crooked. Ruffling through the sketches in his desk drawer, Bilbo pulled out the few drawings that he had carefully hidden away from curious eyes. Thorin's birthday might be more than a month away, but that still barely gave him enough time to create the pattern he wanted.
For several hours Bilbo lost himself in the rhythm of the thread and needle. The motion was strangely soothing and it was gratifying to see the pattern start to emerge against the background. As he worked, a familiar though started nagging on his mind. He had managed to successfully ignore the topic of his regard for Thorin until now, but the cloth in his hand brought back the issue in full force, its existence forcing him to finally give the matter his full attention.
He was attracted to Thorin. He could no longer deny that fact – especially not when it kept staring him right in the face. The dwarf had won him over with his honesty, kindness and those beautiful blue eyes that could make him feel like he was melting on the inside when they looked at him.
The five years of separation had erased nearly all of the unsavoury character traits that Bilbo had found so off-putting before. Long gone was the arrogance and rudeness that had been present in Thorin's every word and action when they had travelled together. It was true that Thorin was still rather proud, but Bilbo did not begrudge for him that in the slightest. With Erebor restored and prosperous, Thorin had a lot to be proud off. Bilbo was well aware that it would be rather hypocritical of him to criticise Thorin for his pride when he himself had a habit of congratulating himself on his cleverness.
He had planned to ignore his feelings until they went away, but Thorin's constant presence made that impossible. It was quickly becoming apparent that the passing of the time was making Bilbo's feelings stronger, not weaker, and he was aware that it wouldn't be long before he won't be able to hide them anymore. If not earlier, they will become painfully obvious to everyone when he finally gave the king a cloak so alike his own.
Bilbo knew that the cloak would be a dead giveaway, but somehow couldn't bring himself to care. He had spent weeks now in this uncomfortable state of hyper-awareness, furtively watching Thorin at the dinner table and admiring him when he played his harp, and he was becoming tired of it. Unrequited love was an exhausting business and the uncertainty of the situation was slowly wearing on his nerves.
The idea of confessing everything to Thorin had crossed his mind before, but he had always brushed it off as complete madness – it would be the height of bad taste to walk up to the dwarf and confess his undying love to him after he had rejected him so thoroughly five years prior. The smartest thing would be to do nothing and wait for his feelings to go away; leave the matter to resolve itself on its own, instead of risking their newly-formed friendship over an unwelcome confession.
Despite knowing that he would be better off ignoring the problem entirely, he figured that it wouldn't be fair to Thorin if he kept acting strange around him without explanation. Bilbo had always valued honesty, even when it was unpleasant to hear. Deception was for cowards and he was no coward. Therefore he decided that if no other solution presented itself by the time Thorin's birthday came along, he would approach the dwarf then, even though it was more than likely that he would be rejected. He figured that he owed Thorin that much, since it had been him who had approached Bilbo the last time.
However, he could hardly come to Thorin with a declaration when they couldn't even say two words to each other without one of them getting hurt. The past still hung between them like a storm cloud, casting a shadow on their interactions. If only there was a way to give them both peace, Bilbo thought, looking out of his window at the afternoon sun.
°O°O°O°
As the evening came closer, Bilbo grew restless in his quarters. He had spent the whole day shut in his rooms, but still wasn't any closer to a solution of how to approach the topic of their problematic past than he had been in the morning. Finally he gave in to an impulse and as the sun began to set on the anniversary of that terrible scene at the wall, he made his way to the gate and out onto the stairs.
Bilbo stopped near the top of the stairs, just a few steps away from the place where Thorin had threatened to kill him five years ago, and spent long moments standing there, gazing at the blood-red wheel of the setting sun. The memories hit him like a running horse and he couldn't help but relive some of the fear and horror he had felt five years ago.
He was so lost in thought that he completely missed Thorin's approach.
The dwarf's arrival made him jump a foot in the air and back off several steps without thinking. Thorin watched his retreat with sad eyes.
"You are afraid of me," he said quietly. To Bilbo's relief he didn't try to approach him, but remained standing where he was.
"I am, a little bit," Bilbo admitted. "I'm sorry for starting like that, but you took me by surprise. I didn't expect you to come here, of all places."
"I come here every year on this date," Thorin said. "It gives me a reminder of things that I never should have done." He took a careful step forward, his eyes watching for Bilbo's reaction. "I am sorry for what I did to you that day. Of all the things I have done in my life, this is the action that I regret the most. That, and the banishment. I never should have sent you away."
Bilbo gave a resigned shake of his head.
"I think I would have left anyway, eventually. The battle was too much for me to handle. It took me months before I stopped having nightmares about it." Remembering the dwarf's apology, he gave him a small smile. "Thank you for the apology. I know you said it to me before, but I'm still glad to hear it."
"A hundred apologies would not be enough to compensate you for my actions," Thorin shook his head, his eyes full of pain. "To see you afraid of me even five years later is enough to prove that. I had hoped for forgiveness from you, but I see now that it was foolish of me to expect it."
He turned away, gazing at the horizon. His normally proud posture was slumped and he seemed to huddle in on himself. Bilbo had never seen him look so defeated. This remorseful creature was a far cry from the arrogant king who had hurled insults in his face as he held him by the neck over the edge of the wall.
As Bilbo watched the slumped figure before him, he felt the last remnants of his old fear dissipate, bit by bit. This was Thorin, who came to his quarters every evening to play harp for him. Thorin, who liked poppy seed cakes and admired Bilbo's drawings and laughed at his jokes. Thorin, who had spent the weeks since his arrival treating him like he was made of glass, or something precious that would break if he touched it.
Bilbo had spent five years waiting for an apology. It seemed that Thorin had spent them waiting for forgiveness. Bilbo thought it was only fair that they both get what they deserve. He took a few steps forward and raised his hand to touch Thorin's shoulder gently.
"I forgive you."
Thorin turned, the disbelief clear in his eyes.
"What?" his voice trailed off, as if he was not sure he had heard right.
"I forgive you," Bilbo repeated. "You have been nothing but good to me since I came here and I don't want you to live with the blame anymore." He felt something in his throat constrict, but kept his eyes firmly fixed on Thorin's. "I forgive you."
Thorin's eyes mirrored a mixture of wonder and disbelief.
"Thank you," he said, the gratitude echoed in every word. Now that he had gotten his wish, he suddenly looked uncharacteristically self-conscious. Bilbo hesitated for a second before he gave into the impulse, propriety be damned. He stepped forward slowly, wrapping his arms around Thorin's waist and buried his head in Thorin's winter coat. Thorin stood frozen for a moment before his arms rose slowly, wrapping around Bilbo's back in a careful embrace.
"I don't want to be afraid of you," Bilbo murmured into Thorin's shoulder.
"I am sorry," Thorin muttered into his hair.
"I know," Bilbo said. The arms around him tightened in response, bringing a sense of peace and belonging that he hadn't felt since his early years in the Shire.
Bilbo had no idea how long they had stood there, wrapped in each other's warmth, but when he finally stepped back the sun was almost hidden behind the western horizon and the air was cold enough to turn their breath into white mist.
The look in Thorin's eyes made Bilbo's breath catch in his throat.
"Thank you," Thorin said again, the gratitude as heartfelt as it had been the first time. Bilbo gave him a genuine smile.
"You're welcome. I think we both needed this."
Only then did Bilbo realize that he had just spent Valar know how long hugging Erebor's king in plain view of the gates. He quickly turned around to check if anyone had seen them, but the stairs to Erebor were empty, not a dwarf in sight. He breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to find Thorin looking at him with something like amusement.
Was he that easy to read? Bilbo hoped not. It wouldn't bode well for him if everything he felt could be seen on his face. He decided to get rid of the awkwardness.
"Let's go back into the mountain," he told the dwarf. "Unless you would like to stay here a little longer? I can leave you alone to think, if you wish."
Thorin shook his head.
"No, let us return. The day is almost over and the temperature is far from comfortable."
They walked back into the mountain, passing the suspiciously blank-faced guards at the gate and didn't stop until they were near the corridor leading to Bilbo's quarters.
There Bilbo turned to Thorin, feeling something like hope bloom in his chest.
"Would you be willing to play the harp for me tonight? I can make you a nice hot cup of tea to drive out the cold."
Thorin gave him a genuine smile.
"I would be happy to come for a visit."
With his mood better than it had been for days, Bilbo made his way back to his quarters, where he quickly tidied up, putting the unfinished cloak away. The full force of what had just transpired didn't hit him until he was putting together a tea tray and he stopped in the middle of his kitchen, giving a soft laugh of disbelief.
He and Thorin had finally made peace with the events of five years ago. Bilbo had spent all day trying to come up with a way to approach the dwarf, unable to find a solution, but in the end it had all been so simple. An honest apology, a gesture of forgiveness, and the world had righted itself again, their old sorrows floating away on the wings of the sharp eastern wind. The memory of the hug they had shared made his smile grow wider, giving him hope that maybe his confession wouldn't be as unwelcome as he had thought.
Once more the music of Thorin's harp filled Bilbo's chambers, the dwarf's contented smile warming Bilbo down to the bone. The sound of the harp stayed with him the whole night and carried over into his dreams, driving the shadows away.
In the end everything had turned out better than he could have hoped, Bilbo thought as he lay down that night. Maybe the dreaded memorial tomorrow wouldn't be so bad, either.
To be continued...
AN: I had already written most of the ending to the story when I realized that the issues between them hadn't been quite resolved. Thorin's first apology had always felt like a formality to me – something that had to be said to allow the story to move forward, but it never seemed heartfelt enough. In my mind, these two needed a closure of the past before they could move forward.
I had always thought that the battle of Erebor and Thorin's death (and Kíli's and Fíli's) must have been a terrible blow for Bilbo. In the LOTR cannon, it had taken him over fifty (!) years, before he could bring himself to start writing about his adventure. Despite having all his friends in Erebor, he never went to visit them again in all those years. He mentioned to Gandalf that he had wanted to visit Erebor again, but never could bring himself to do it. Poor Bilbo. Just writing this makes me sad for him.
Therefore, to me it didn't seem so farfetched that his stay in Erebor could bring bad memories for him. Thorin may have survived, but the battle still happened. The next chapter will be the battle memorial, which, while still a sober affair, won't be as dark as this. After that it's all rainbows and butterflies again :)
Next chapter will be posted tomorrow, on October 6.