Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, or The Silmarillion. They belong to the incomparable J.R.R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his universe.
Bilbo cursed his own weakness under his breath and rubbed his closed eyes with his coat sleeve, glad that Gandalf had retreated back to his seat for the time being. He had promised himself that he wouldn't cry anymore, that he had fully accepted Thorin's complete rejection of not only his love, but also, thanks the Arkenstone debacle, of his friendship. They had almost reconciled at Ravenhill, when Thorin believed he was going to die, but it was not complete. If he had been sincere in his words, wouldn't he have sent word to Bilbo by now?
Instead, he was left to draw his own conclusions. Consequently, he had spent these last few weeks rationalizing the inevitable outcome, listing every conceivable reason why it only made perfect sense for Thorin to spurn his heart. By the time he'd finished thinking it through, he had convinced himself that there were far more reasons for Thorin to hate him rather than love him.
Such knowledge did nothing to ease the pain. Neither did reassurances from any of his friends. Thorin was the only one who could heal the hurt, if he had a mind to, that is.
Bilbo's eyes snapped open when his entire upper body suddenly grew hot, and the glow from his plant pulsed with a stronger light. He looked down at it, and his lips parted in a soft gasp in response to the contracting pressure that had enveloped his torso. It felt like he was being squeezed from the inside out, but the sensation was not unpleasant at all. In fact, he had the distinct feeling that he was being hugged.
Bilbo's face relaxed, and he let a few more tears slip past his guard. "Thank you..." he whispered. To Gandalf, he said, "It won't be long now. I think she's likely to come with the dawn."
"You've been referring to it as 'she' for a while now. Might I ask why you came to do so?" the wizard said.
"I met her... in a dream. And I also met... the Green Lady." He heard Gandalf rustling around and glanced up to see his reaction.
"You met Lady Yavanna?" Gandalf sounded as though he wasn't sure if he should believe him.
Bilbo nodded gravely. "She was the one who told me how to help Thorin. She also made sure to let me know what would happen to me if I did."
Gandalf lowered his eyes. "I see. I had wondered if you truly understood the consequences of your choice." He lifted his head again and smiled. "Not that I ever doubted you for a moment. It simply serves to remind me that hobbits really are the most remarkable creatures."
Bilbo blushed a little and shrugged. "I think you're overstating it a bit, Gandalf. Honestly, how could I do anything less? How could anyone?"
"You might be surprised," he told Bilbo. "It may not be uncommon for someone to risk their life for another, but to help someone knowing the full cost..."
"I... I just wanted to save him. For his own sake, and mine, but also for everyone else. The company... his nephews... they NEED him. Erebor needs him," Bilbo insisted, nearly glaring. He took a quick, sharp breath and huffed. "My fate was already sealed. At least this way, it'll all mean something..."
Gandalf didn't protest, and Bilbo did not elaborate.
Bilbo tilted his head back to see the sky. The horizon was just beginning to lighten in the distance, and the stars were fading.
He inhaled, filling his lungs completely. Then he exhaled and closed his eyes.
At first it was pitch black, so much so that he wondered if his eyes were still closed.
His head hurt beyond belief. He vaguely remembered feeling a sharp blow, and then darkness followed, all-consuming like the bliss of a dreamless sleep. Was he dreaming now?
He blinked once... then twice, trying to find something, anything to focus on.
The next time he blinked, he was blinded by an explosion of light. Bilbo shut his eyes tightly, scrunching his face, and waited, gradually aware of his body becoming accustomed to his unknown surroundings.
The first thing he noticed was that the atmosphere was warm, pleasantly so. It reminded him of a sunny spring day in the Shire, when he would sit in his garden and enjoy the peace of a quiet morning. The air smelled fresh and clean, like after the rain, with the faintest hint of lilac and honeysuckle drifting in the breeze. And whatever he was laying on was soft and cool. Bilbo chanced opening his eyes again, and found that his vision was clear.
He pushed himself to his feet and found that he was in an unending pasture of flowers, the likes of which he had never seen or even imagined. His humble little heart, that loved all things that grew, knew that such a place could not possibly exist east of the sea. Therefore, there was only one likely explanation.
"Am I... dead?" Bilbo inquired aloud.
He didn't expect an answer, so he was appropriately startled when one was offered. "No, my child, you are not. But your beloved soon will be, if you do not act."
Bilbo twisted his head and spun around, trying to locate the source of the voice. There was no one initially, but a second pass revealed the presence of tall woman, standing still as though she had been there the whole time and was simply waiting for him to notice her.
The hobbit gasped and jerked so violently that he fell hard on his bottom. He winced, and felt inclined to whine at the sudden intrusion, but he stifled the urge when he heard the lady's soft laughter, like the echo of a birdsong in a quiet forest. He saw her bare feet draw near to him, and his gaze followed the limbs upward.
The woman was dressed in an elegant, silk gown in hues of green and brown, which nicely complimented her sun-kissed skin. Her form and face was elvish in appearance, but with an otherworldly quality, both beautiful and terrible to behold, so much so that Bilbo felt naked and small in her presence. She had curly, nut-brown hair that flowed freely down to her waist, and eyes the color of emeralds glistening in the sun. She wore few other ornaments, save for a golden band upon her finger and a crown of bright, happy flowers upon her head.
"Yavanna Kementári..." Bilbo scrambled to kneel before her and bowed his head. He needed no formal introduction to know the Lady's identity. Though he had never seen her before, and descriptions were scarce, he knew her the same way that he knew that the sky was blue and grass was green. The knowledge was an instinctual part that no hobbit had ever had to formally learn; it was simply ingrained into their very being, a core piece of who they were.
There was a gentle weight on his head, and long fingers threaded through his curls. He lifted his chin and flushed when he met the fond gaze of the Vala crouched before him.
"Fear not, my child," she said, her voice low and musical. "I appear before you to render counsel in this dark hour, that the life of the one you love might be spared."
The all-consuming awe that had gripped Bilbo and rendered him immobile vanished as her words sunk in. "Thorin? Is he okay?"
"He is fading..." said another voice, this one sounding much younger.
Yavanna removed her hand so that Bilbo could look up around her at the newcomer.
Hiding behind her was what appeared to be a hobbit-like child, possibly close in age to a tween. Her little hands, which looked much like the branches of a sapling, greyish brown but smooth, were curled over one of Yavanna's shoulders. A round, curious face framed by mossy, raven locks peered at him from behind the Lady's thick tresses, and big, bulging eyes met his. One of them was a familiar icy blue, while the other was hazel, flecked with green and gold.
Just as it was with Yavanna, Bilbo knew her at once, and loved her. "My Eredhomë..." he whispered.
Hearing her name, the child giggled and leapt at him. She tried to sit in his lap and wrap her long, branch-like arms around him, but there was no bend in her limbs, and she had to content herself simply to be close. "Papa!" she squealed.
Bilbo could hardly believe his eyes. He was looking at his very own plant, alive and growing because of his love for Thorin. In a sense, she was his child, or rather their child, the only one that could ever be between two males of differing races.
He knew that the seeds planted in them by Yavanna were unlike any other, endowed with magic as only the Vala could bestow, but he had no idea that they were, or at least could be, sentient. But the proof was in her ability to speak, her hobbitish appearance, and an intelligent but sharp gaze that reminded him of another.
"Thorin..." he mumbled, shaking away his momentary lapse in focus. "You said that he was fading?" He glanced back and forth between Yavanna and Eredhomë.
The child nodded, which was quite an accomplishment considering that she barely had a neck. "I feel him, as surely as I feel you. He's leaving us." Her eyes shone with frightened tears. "I don't want him to go! I won't let him!" she wailed.
Bilbo could feel the blood leave his own face, and his hands shook. It couldn't be! Not after everything they'd been through! He hadn't had the chance to apologize for stealing the Arkenstone yet. He knew what end awaited him, but he'd prayed to Yavanna that all of his friends, and especially his beloved Thorin, would survive the day, that he might make amends and bid them a proper farewell.
"Fear not, my child," Yavanna said again. "I have heard your prayers, and have come to tell you how you may yet save Aulë's son."
"Really? How?" Bilbo asked eagerly.
Yavanna smiled and set both of her hands on his plant's shoulders to pull her close. "Your little one is the key," she said. "She was nurtured by your love for Thorin. His life helped give her life. She can give some of it back, if you both so choose."
"How?" he wondered.
"If she can reach him before his spirit leaves his body, to pass into the halls of his fathers, she can root him to life, for a time. She can keep him among the living, if she can convince him to remain and fight to stay alive. Should he choose to do so, she can aid him until a healer sees to it that his body is stabilized and not in peril of shutting down completely. Once he is no longer in critical danger, he may safely recover and remain in the world of the living."
Bilbo searched Eredhomë's eyes. He knew it would not be as easy as the Lady made it sound. Simplicity was rarely involved when lives hung in the balance. "What are the risks?"
Yavanna's smile faltered in a flash. "She is young yet, inexperienced and unable to fully control herself. If she does not spend her energy wisely, she would save him still, but would inevitably perish in the process. What's more, Thorin may refuse her aid, if death seems preferable to him."
"He wouldn't do that," Bilbo assured them both. "I don't think there's a worry there. He won't abandon his family or his kingdom, not as long as there's a chance." He crossed his arms and frowned. "The bigger problem is keeping you safe," he said to his "child". "I want to save him, more than anything, but I can't ask you to risk your life, little one."
"But I must! I love him too!" Eredhomë insisted. She bounced on her knobby, rooted feet and waved her hands.
Yavanna held her hand out to Bilbo. He stared at it for a moment, absently noticing the rich stain of soil under her nails, before he understood what she wanted. He uncrossed his arms and set his small hand in hers.
"Neither of them need perish," she said softly. "She will expend some of her life for him, but she can recover it... by taking more of yours." Her words were heavy with an implication that Bilbo did not need explained.
Bilbo took a deep, shaky breath and then slowly nodded. "What must I do?"
Yavanna did not seem the slightest bit surprised by his decision. Even so, she asked him, "Are you certain? You will have no way of knowing how much time you have left, but it will not be long. It may not be enough for your beloved to declare himself and recite the vows."
Bilbo burst out laughing. It was hardly the proper thing to do in the presence of a Vala, but he couldn't stop himself. He laughed so hard that tears began to run down his face, but he could not be sure if they were of mirth or bitter sorrow. He only stopped when Yavanna's grip on on his hand tightened and his plant began to prod him with a thin finger.
"Sorry... sorry!" He gasped to catch his breath and wiped his eyes. "It's just... that's not really something I need to worry about." He bowed his head, but put on a brave smile for Eredhomë. "Thorin would never recite the vow anyway, so time isn't really important. The end will be same, regardless of whether it's tomorrow or a season from now. Frankly, it's a bit of a relief to know that it'll be sooner rather than later. And this way, we'll be able to accomplish the most good. Nothing will be wasted." He lifted his chin and gave his little one a playful wink, "Might make for a good tale someday. Sounds pretty good, don't you think so?"
His grin faded when he saw the way both of them were watching them, mirroring the sadness that he was trying so hard not to show.
Yavanna placed her other hand on top of his, surrounding it with a tender warmth that reminded him painfully of his mother. "Oh my poor child... how it grieves me that Aulë's children are so like to him, so slow to speak the the truth in their hearts."
Bilbo's brow crinkled as he tilted his head. "Pardon?"
Eredhomë tugged on his sleeve. "We must hurry!" she implored.
"Oh, right!" He agreed and hurried to stand, and Yavanna released him. "What now? What do we do?"
The Queen of the earth stood as well, towering over him. "Bring her," she gestured at the flora, "to Thorin. She will do the rest. So long as you remain strong and keep her from working too quickly, you will succeed."
Bilbo glanced down when Eredhomë placed her hand in his and shook his arm. "Come on! Let's go!"
He squeezed her wooden fingers and made to run, though to where, he did not know. But he froze and blushed when his face was held fast between Yavanna's hands.
A single tear rolled down her ruddy cheek, but her lips were turned up. "Cenuvanyel rato..." she whispered. Then she tipped his head low enough to kiss him on the forehead.
Bilbo closed his eyes, and for a moment, everything was dark again.
It was the pain in his skull that brought him back to consciousness. The throbbing, which had dimmed in the "dream", until he no longer noticed it, returned with a vengeance. He grimaced and forced his lids open, though they narrowed to dim the harsh, winter light that assailed them. Giant shadows wheeled overhead, and he only half registered his own lips parting to murmur, "The Eagles are coming..."
He shook his head to try to dislodge the fog in his mind, and a hot spike in his chest flared, aiding his efforts to come back to himself. He groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, his body shaking with cold, pain, and exhaustion when he forced himself up .
"T-Thorin..." he coughed, barely above a whisper. He picked up Sting and glanced around, moaning at the additional pain caused by the movement. "Thorin!"
He stumbled towards the edge of a stony precipice, and saw the dwarf standing on the frozen river in the distance, overlooking the valley between Erebor and Dale. Thorin's back was towards him, and he was slouching; his shoulders shrugged at regular intervals while his neck craned back and forth, watching the remnants of the great battle. He tried to take a step, but it proved to be too much, for he stiffened and fell to lie on his back.
"THORIN!" Heedless of any potential enemies nearby and forgetting his own wounds, Bilbo picked a path down a broken set of stairs and rushed to his side.
He collapsed to his knees beside the bloody and bruised dwarf. Thorin coughed and somehow managed to turn his head at the sound of his approach. "Bilbo..."
Bilbo shushed him and searched Thorin's body for the worst of his wounds. "Don't move! Don't move; lie still," he commanded, his hands already reaching for the crimson stain on Thorin's abdomen. He choked and gagged, horrified at the sight of so much blood.
"I'm glad you're here," Thorin gasped.
"Shh... shh-shh!" Bilbo steeled his nerves and proprietary to begin the task of peeling back the sticky layers of Thorin's clothes.
"I... I wish to part from you in... in friendship." Thorin seemed strangely despondent when he uttered the last word.
"No, no!" Bilbo turned to look him in the eyes. "You're not going anywhere, Thorin," he insisted. "You're going to live." He turned his attention back to finding the grievous injury. "We can't both die for this quest." It felt strange to say such a thing out loud, and he was surprised at the venom in his voice.
Thorin sputtered, but Bilbo couldn't be sure if it was because of his words or because of the blood in his own mouth. "I would take back... my words and my deeds at the gate," he continued, heedless of Bilbo's assurances. "And I..."
"No! Just... just shut up, Thorin! Save your strength! You are not going to die. I will not allow it." He finally pulled back the last strip of cloth covering the fatal blow and immediately pressed his palm over it. "You're going to be okay. We're going to save you."
The heavy thud of stampeding feet drew his gaze away for a second. Dwalin, Fili, Kili, and two elves, Tauriel and Legolas (a stray memory supplied the names) ran over to join them.
"UNCLE!" Both of the younger dwarves, likewise gravely injured and leaning on each other for support, fell on his other side. The elves and Dwalin hovered behind, probably unsure of their place or how to help.
"He's going to be okay," Bilbo assured them. He kept his one hand on the wound while the other tugged the glove free from Thorin's palm. He let the dwarf's limb fall limp so that he could reach up and undo the buttons on his own coat as well as the other shirts beneath. "I can keep him alive, but we need to get him to a healer, and fast." He glared up at the others, hoping they'd catch on. "Well? What are you waiting for? Someone go find Oin... or Gandalf... anyone!"
No one moved. Fili and Kili were clearly holding back sobs as they both held onto Thorin's other hand, Dwalin stood up straight in a salute, and Tauriel and Legolas bowed their heads.
"Someone do something!" Bilbo shouted, irritated that no one seemed to be listening. He released a frustrated scream and wrenched his coat and shirt open. All eyes fell on his chest.
Eredhomë glowed proudly, her light spilling over to illuminate Bilbo's face. She was as large as jewel now, and her roots and branches were extending all across Bilbo's torso.
Nearly everyone's mouths fell open, and even Thorin's eyes widened, though his breaths were becoming progressively shallower.
"Ann hernya Yavanna..." Legolas murmured.
Bilbo ignored them and took Thorin's ungloved hand again. He guided it to rest over his heart, to touch their Eredhomë. He leaned over him and looked into his deep, blue eyes, nodding silent reassurances. Then Bilbo closed his, and turned his face towards the sky. He began to chant, quietly at first, but gaining in strength and volume with each repeat. "Ai, Yavanna Kementári! Menno o nin na hon, i eliad annen annin. Hon leitho ngurth... Menno o nin na hon, i eliad annen annin. Hon leitho ngurth... " Each time, the plant pulsed with a much stronger light, the golden rays enveloping both Bilbo and Thorin.
Bilbo did his best to stay focused. He was partially aware of the voices around him, some arguing, while others grew distant as their owners scattered. He hoped that his actions had spurred them to move, to follow his commands to find a healer. Yavanna had only said that they could keep Thorin alive; it was up to others to mend him.
Bilbo continued to speak, but his gaze fell back to Thorin. The wounded king was still awake and alive, watching in awe. He didn't know whether it was because of Eredhomë's magic or simply Thorin's own natural allure, but he ceased to notice anything around him, save for a warm light, Thorin's eyes, and his own voice. His small hand tightened its grip on Thorin's on his heart.
He had no sense of time or place. He felt a tugging sensation from his chest, as though some massive force had gripped his upper body and was trying to pull him forward, but he held fast. Fatigue gradually began to wear on him, but he fought it with everything he had. He was certain that each wave of weariness was the natural effect of Eredhomë drawing strength and life from him, so that she could pour her own into Thorin.
He had no idea how long he kept at it. He was so very tired, but until he had some sign that Thorin was stable, he could not cease. At some point, Thorin had closed his eyes, but his breathing had eased. He'd likely fallen asleep.
Bilbo was finally brought back to his senses by a heavy hand on his shoulder. He looked up to find Gandalf looking down at him, his gaze glassy and all too knowing.
The hobbit blinked slowly; his nose twitched. His eyes, which were dry and itchy, darted around to take in his surroundings.
They were still in the exact same spot, on Ravenhill, but someone had put up a temporary shelter around them. Blankets had been maneuvered to cover Thorin's body, and another was draped around Bilbo's shoulders. His palm had been moved from Thorin's wound, so that a healer could treat it along with any others.
"Gandalf?" Bilbo whispered. He coughed; his throat was also dry and hoarse.
"It's alright, my dear hobbit," the wizard said. "Oin, Lord Thranduil, and I myself have seen to Thorin's wounds. He will live." His fingers gripped Bilbo tighter. "You can rest now."
Bilbo wanted to resist; he wanted to stay by Thorin's side and determine the truth for himself. But now that he was no longer captive to his self-induced trance, and his plant had ceased to draw energy from him, he realized that he had little strength left. He could barely keep his eyes open, and every inch of his body seemed stiff and heavy.
He gave a shaky nod, and allowed Gandalf to pull him to his feet. The hand on his shoulder tried to guide him to the exit, but he had only taken a few steps before his knees gave out. He fell to the ground, his arms coming up just in time to brace him a little from a more painful impact.
"Bilbo!"
His body melted, arms flopping down at his sides uselessly, and his mind faded to darkness. He thought he heard Gandalf asking him a question, pleading in some way, but he didn't catch what it was. He was just so very tired, enough that he wouldn't mind if he never woke up.
Elvish phrases (Again, I would like to reiterate that I am still doing a lot of research on Tolkien's languages, so if I've made any errors, PLEASE let me know):
Eredhomë - seed of love
Yavanna Kementári - Yavanna means "Giver of Fruits" while Kementári means "Queen of the Earth". As far as I'm aware, Tolkien never explicitly says that Yavanna had anything to do with the creation of hobbits, but most fandoms seem to say that she is at least held in high regard by them.
Cenuvanyel rato - I will see you soon
Ann hernya Yavanna - gift of the Lady Yavanna
Ai, Yavanna Kementári! Menno o nin na hon, i eliad annen annin. Hon leitho ngurth - Ah, Yavanna Kementári, May the blessing that was given to me, be sent from me to him. May he be released from death; This is the same general incantation used by Tauriel and Arwen on Kili and Frodo respectively in the movies. Normally, this would be attributed solely to elves, but since Bilbo's using a specific gift touched by the Valar, I feel that it's appropriate to borrow it.
Thanks for reading!