This is the last chapter of this story in the series. I hope you like it!
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's eyes grew heavier with each passing moment. He was trying very hard to stay awake, for Tauriel's sake. She was steadfast in her conviction that he would saved as soon as Thorin arrived, but he was far less optimistic.
A final, tingling shock prickled the back of his neck, forcing it up and forward. Bilbo held back a pained sob and let his eyelids slip half closed when he felt his neck crack and elongate further. He glanced to either side of him, observing with mild fascination as his fingers spread with loud creaks and grew ever longer, completing their transformation to small offshoot branches, and deep green leaves began to bud where his fingernails once were. His arms, too, had fully transfigured into lateral branches, and soon enough, his head and neck would form the crown.
Bilbo blinked ever more slowly, his eyes reopening less and less with each movement. His head nodded a few times and jerked back up, though it was barely noticeable.
He was so weak and tired. He wanted it to be over. He was ready.
"BILBO! BILBO, NO!"
His eyes opened to tiny slits. His vision was blurred, and growing dimmer, but he would recognize that silhouette anywhere. He forced his head up just a fraction, and smiled at the dwarf running towards him.
"Thor... in..."
Bilbo exhaled as his head dropped down. Any thoughts he might have had vanished when the sleep finally claimed him.
He closed his eyes, and his mind faded away.
Bilbo knew that he would not wake in the pastures of Yavanna immediately. Even though Eredhomë had taken over his body, it was alive, for the time being. She was still taking strength and life from it to sustain herself, but eventually, they would fully integrate. From then on, she would receive her nutrients from the earth and sun, as all trees did.
He imagined that he'd simply sleep until then, knowing nothing, but he seemed to have passed into a dream of some sort. There was light all around him, but it was soft and colorful, like the setting sun. He was seated on the ground in an enclosed space similar to a cage, like those in Mirkwood.
Large, thick tree roots and interwoven branches surrounded him on all sides, and when he looked further, he saw that they continued on in every direction. It reminded him of a woodland labyrinth, like the Old Forest back in the Shire, but it had a far more wholesome feel to it. Those directly around him appeared to serve as "bars" for his enclosure.
Bilbo pushed himself to his feet and approached a set of roots. He reached out and set a hand on the nearest one. He wondered if he was supposed to wait or if he might find a way out of the small space to move around.
As though to answer his internal inquiry, the root he was touching and the one next to it shifted aside, creating an opening large enough for him to squeeze through. He hesitated for some time, but ultimately decided that he was meant to take the path.
Bilbo straightened his (surprisingly intact) clothes, took a deep breath, and ducked under the opening. Then he straightened and took a long look around. It was difficult to tell with so many branches twisting overhead, but the light was stronger in one direction. With no other option or inkling of what he should do, he headed towards it.
He labored through the dense growth, climbing and crawling his way forward, following the terrain as it curved up and down, his gaze ever fixed on the light. There was no sound, save for those he made, and the air was still with expectation. It was so strange; under normal circumstances, he would think that he should grow ever more tired as he went on, but the opposite seemed to be true. Though he wasn't really making any progress that he could see, he felt himself become stronger with each step, and his heart lightened. He had felt this way before, when he had spoken to Lady Yavanna and Eredhomë in the dream.
He knew then that if he kept going, he would soon step over the bounds between life and death, and enter the ever green pastures of the Vala.
"Bil...! ...lbo!"
The hobbit paused just as he was about to stoop beneath a massive root. He waited, almost sure that he had heard something. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes darting back and forth along the darkening way behind him, but there was nothing. No other sound disturbed the quiet, and with a shrug, he continued on his way.
He bent down to crawl under the root and then picked his way down a slope.
"Bilbo...!"
He stopped again and looked around. He thought he'd heard someone shouting his name, but how could such a thing be possible? He chastised himself for imagining that it was Thorin's voice and went on.
It wasn't long before he heard the voice a final time, this time nearer and stronger than ever before.
"BILBO!"
He tilted his head up and spun in a slow circle, searching for the source of the noise. "...Thorin?" he marveled.
Loud, running footsteps and the creak of bending branches drew his attention towards the high, curved shoots overhead. Bilbo's mouth fell open when the dwarf king appeared, awkwardly climbing down and jumping from branch to branch where he could. He was wearing the same clothes as those he'd had at Ravenhill, with the addition of a heavy coat that was similar to the one he'd worn when they'd first met. No trace of wound or weariness could be seen on him, though dread twisted his handsome features. Bilbo stared up at him when he paused to catch his breath.
Deep, blue eyes lit up and a relieved smile curled his lips. "Bilbo! Thank Mahal! I've found you!" Thorin resumed the arduous trek down to his level.
"Thorin? What are you doing here? Better yet... how did you get here?" Bilbo unconsciously took a small step back when Thorin hopped down and barreled over to him.
Thorin stopped when he was less than a few feet away. He panted for a moment more, took one big breath, and blew it out heavily. Then he shook his head. "That doesn't matter right now."
Bilbo huffed and frowned. "Why are you here?" he whispered.
Thorin stuck a hand in the outer pocket of his coat. From its depths, he produced a white stone, shaped and polished into the likeness of an Ambrosia flower.
The stone was glowing unnaturally, and Bilbo recognized it at once. "Is that... the Arkenstone?"
"It is," Thorin confirmed. "And it's yours, along with my heart, if you'd still have it."
Bilbo made no move to take the offered flower. "I... I don't understand. How can it be? I'm not your One. You don't love me..."
"I never said that," he interrupted with a growl. "I never said either of those things. You didn't give me a chance to explain. And then..." Thorin looked away. "... the dragon sickness..."
Bilbo crossed his arms and thought back to that night in Laketown, when he confessed his love. With a start, he realized that Thorin was telling the truth. He didn't actually say that he didn't love him. Bilbo had jumped to that conclusion himself when Thorin hesitated, and continued to believe it when there was no effort made to correct him.
Bilbo turned his gaze back to the stone flower in Thorin's hand. He recognized the shape as an Ambrosia at once, and while not the most beautiful of plants, his vision grew misty with tears when he recalled the flower lore of his youth. Mutual love or "your love is reciprocated".
"Thorin..."
His dwarf offered a small smile, though the rest of his expression betrayed his anxiousness. "I've been working on this," he gestured to the Arkenstone meaningfully, "for the last few weeks while I've been confined to bedrest, and Ori researched flowers and their meanings for me. But you know I've no use for riddles, so let me say it plainly."
Thorin closed the distance between them. He took one of Bilbo's hands in his free one, and then got down on one knee. "I love you, Bilbo. You ARE my One, but I was too blind to see it. I know that I have no right to ask you for forgiveness, let alone your love, after all the ways I've wronged you, but I would never be content if I did not do all in my power to make amends and earn the privilege to call you mine. Tell me... is there any hope for us? Do you love me still?"
Bilbo stared at him silently, searching his eyes for any deceit, or some sign that he himself was hallucinating all of this. But there was none to be found, and the warmth of Thorin's hand holding his was far too pleasant to be the product of his own imagination.
At last, Bilbo smiled and shook his head, allowing a few tears slip past his guard. He gave Thorin's hand a tug. "Get up, you insufferable dwarf." He laughed at the pout on his face when he complied, but Bilbo was quick to lay his fears to rest. He tightened his grip on their joined hands and reached for the flower with the other.
He half watched Thorin's eyes widen as he received the gift. He turned it over and over, awed by the beauty of the object he once despised. "I can't believe you carved up the Arkenstone. I know how much you treasure this."
Thorin brought their joined hands up to rest over his own armored chest, where his heart was, and wrapped his other arm around Bilbo's waist to pull him close. "It's just a stone," he said. "You are my real treasure, and I was a fool to ever believe otherwise." With that, Thorin tilted his head and pressed his lips to Bilbo's.
He froze for a fraction of a second, hardly daring to accept that this was happening. But he wasn't willing to let this opportunity pass, dream or otherwise. He closed his eyes and kissed him back, matching Thorin's desperation and fervor.
After far too short a time, he reluctantly backed away, grinning at the low growl from Thorin. Bilbo let go of his hand so that he could reach up and place it at the back of his neck, to press their foreheads together.
"I love you too, Thorin. I always have and I always will. But," and he pulled back again, "what now?"
Thorin's expression bore the same determination that first influenced Bilbo to join the quest, the same stubbornness that saw them through the worst the world could throw at them. "Gandalf told me that I must recite a vow, in order to bring you back from this place, but he did not know the words. Tell me what they are. I will make this, and any other vow I must, to keep you by my side."
Bilbo lowered his head and closed his eyes. "Thorin, I don't know if it'll work. As far as I know, it's never been done so late."
"It will; it has to."
He bit his lip. "But... what will happen to Eredhomë if it does work?"
Thorin took both of his hands, the Ambrosia Arkenstone held between them. "There is no way to know for certain. But she is the one who brought me here."
"Really?"
He nodded. "Yes. Bilbo, I know there are risks, but she is willing to take them. And I will not let you go. I will defy any power that would take you away from me."
He chuckled, and couldn't stop the silly grin on his lips. "So dramatic..." he teased. He tipped his body back just a tad, that he might try to read Thorin better. "Are you sure that this is what you want? I must warn you that you'll never be rid of me, if this should actually work; I'm far too stubborn to be driven away. I don't have much to offer, and I can't imagine what your people will think of me..."
Thorin raised their joined hands and mouthed chaste, but firm kisses to Bilbo's fingers curled around the flower. "I care not what others will think. And I've already said that I will not part from you, not for all the gold in the world. We will return to Erebor, and be together always. This I swear."
Bilbo stood on his toes and kissed him, but still did not let it linger. "If you're certain, then I guess there's nothing for it but to try. Some part of me still believes that this is just a dream, a vision to comfort me in my final moments, but I don't mind. If this is the last thing I experience before the end, then I count myself lucky indeed."
Thorin clenched his jaw and glared at him. "Do not say such things! This is not a dream, and you are not going to die! You've saved me many times over the course of our journey; it is my turn to save you. Now tell me of the vow."
Bilbo nodded, appropriately chastised by Thorin's panicked tone. "Very well." He stepped back a little more, but did not let go. "The vow is meant to be spoken together, as normally it is recited by two hobbits, each with a seed to transplant. As you are a dwarf, I do not know if that is necessary. But just in case, I'll teach you the words, and then we'll say it as one."
Thorin grunted his acknowledgment.
It was simple enough, but it took him quite a few tries before he could repeat the whole verse without any mistakes. Bilbo blamed it on the usual disregard dwarves had for growing things; such concepts were naturally foreign to him. But Thorin was willing to learn so that they could be together, and the knowledge was rather humbling. He calmed Thorin's frustrations with soft kisses, and eventually, he could say it without any help.
"Are you ready?" Bilbo asked after he got it right for the third time in a row.
Thorin compressed his hands more firmly and nodded.
Bilbo took a deep breath; Thorin mirrored him and then they recited together:
"The seed of your heart, I will tend with care
I will nurture it always; through toil and despair
I will root to you, and you to me
and love deeper and higher than the tallest tree
I will be for you both soil and sun
and grow with you, together as one
This gift of Yavanna, I receive now with grace
And pray for her blessings upon this place
From this day forth, until I enter her bliss
I hereby vow, and seal with a kiss."
They smiled at one another and leaned in, following the instructions of the final line. Thorin let go of Bilbo's hands so that he could hold him instead, one hand pressing against the small of his back while the other enveloped his shoulders. This time, it was a long while before Thorin released him, and Bilbo positively melted against him. But eventually, Thorin broke the last lengthy kiss in favor of grazing his lips against Bilbo's forehead as he held him close.
Bilbo opened his eyes and stared blankly at his dwarf's strong chest, unwilling to reveal that he felt nothing to indicate that the spell had worked. It didn't take long for Thorin to come to the same conclusion, as he grew tense and looked around.
"Nothing's happening…" he hissed.
Bilbo sighed and pressed himself closer, his shorter arms encircling as much of Thorin's waist as possible. He hadn't had much hope, but he didn't have the heart to curb his beloved's resolve.
"Why is nothing happening?" Thorin tilted his head back to look up, his face grim and furious. "You said this would save him! You said you'd let him go!" he bellowed.
"Thorin..."
He wrenched himself free from Bilbo's grasp and walked around, spinning at times and circling the area, like a predator in search of prey. He continued to look up, but Bilbo did not know the reason. "Where are you? We had a deal! You promised!"
Bilbo's lips twitched in a half smile, and he rolled his eyes at Thorin's outburst. With a shake of his head, he started after him, intending to embrace him, but he only managed a few steps.
A hot flare of pain shot through his chest, and when he blinked, he saw flashes of a strange vision. In one instance, he was watching him pace around, slamming his fists against a tremendous root in his rage, and in the next second, he saw only the top of Thorin's head, leaning against Bilbo's chest; he was somehow standing over him.
Bilbo choked on air and stumbled. He clenched the layers of fabric on his torso, as though he could reach inside his rib cage and steady his rapidly beating heart. He dropped the Arkenstone, and it bounced on the ground and slid towards Thorin.
His dwarf ceased his tirade when he noticed the gift land near his foot. He bent down to pick it up, and only then did he see Bilbo's predicament.
"Bilbo?" He pocketed the flower and rushed back to his side. "Bilbo, are you alright?"
Bilbo gasped and groaned and swayed on his feet, trying to find his bearings, but held up a hand to ward Thorin away. The pain ceased to be a series of disconnected jolts, and instead became a continuous surge of wrenching, twisting pressure. It grew more intense with every breath he took. He felt as though there was a hand wrapped around his heart that was trying to crush it between its vice-like grip.
He could hardly make sense of that alone, but something in his brain decided to complicate things further. His head throbbed and tormented him with flashes of hallucinations that rivaled those he battled in Mirkwood. He saw Thorin here in this space, reaching for him, and then he was falling away in a completely different landscape, and his nephews were bracing him on either side. One second he was screaming Bilbo's name, and the next he was silent and faint.
Bilbo was alone in the darkness, surrounded by trees. No... there was light all around and his friends were gathered near. Thorin had vanished... Thorin was waking. He'd never see Tauriel again, but wait... She was there all along; she never left his side.
Bilbo moaned, one hand tearing at his curls and the other fisted his shirt.
The agony that gripped his upper body reached its peak with an almighty burst of searing heat, and Bilbo screamed at the top of his lungs, eyes wide and wet. His head lolled back and his arms fell to his sides. His entire body shuddered and went rigid. It was like his flesh was being torn from his bones, and his heart was being ripped out of his chest.
He had no idea how long it went on; it felt like an eternity. But then the pain vanished as suddenly as it began, and the consuming fire coursing through him was replaced with biting cold. He collapsed to the ground, instinctively curling himself as small as possible to preserve what little heat he had.
Bilbo clenched his eyes shut. He was sweating but his teeth chattered. It was only for a moment though, for something warm and heavy was draped over his nearly naked form.
"Bilbo?"
It took a few tries, but eventually, he managed to force his eyes half open. A dark but familiar figure was hovering over him, and a firm hand touched his shoulder. "T-Thorin?" he whispered.
The lines of Thorin's brow creased with worry, but his mouth curved in a small smile that spoke of utter relief. "Bilbo... my Ghivashel." Ever so carefully, he maneuvered Bilbo so that he was holding him in his lap, taking great care to keep him bundled in the fur-lined coat that had been used to cover him.
Bilbo sighed as he was snugly wrapped in his dwarf's arms, his head resting against Thorin's chest. He was exhausted and confused beyond belief, but he was content where he was and possessed little strength to resist. He felt Thorin kiss the top of his head and then rest his bearded chin on it.
Their moment of peace was short lived. He had no idea what triggered it, but a resounding cheer startled him back to full consciousness. It was then that he realized that the entire Company was gathered round, along with Tauriel, Gandalf, and Bard. All of them were grinning or laughing; some of them were clapping, and a few even let out a few catcalls and wolf whistles (Fili and Kili).
Bilbo blinked up those at surrounding him blearily, blushing but smiling. His gaze lingered on the faces of each of his dear friends, and he silently thanked Yavanna that he could still be here with them.
"I am not the only one you should thank…"
He sat up a little straighter, though it took great effort, and pondered the words that only he seemed to have heard. He pulled away from Thorin, ignoring his grumbling protests, to look around.
Everything appeared the same as when last he saw it (he did not know how much time had passed), save that the winter sun now shone brightly overhead and his companions were all accounted for and mostly healed. He was still on top of the cliff overlooking Erebor and Dale.
When he gave his surroundings a second sweep, he spotted small clusters of debris. Upon closer examination, he realized that they were the splintered remains of a tree.
"Oh no…" Bilbo picked up a nearby piece of a branch. He turned it over and clutched it tenderly, as though it were made of glass. "I… I can't feel her. What have we done?"
He should have known that this would happen. It was always a risky business moving plants, regardless of whether it was a normal, everyday sapling from a pot or those grown in the hearts of hobbits. They may have trouble taking root in their new locations or be unable to adequately adapt to a less controlled environment.
Bilbo should have been more diligent in weighing the risks of uprooting Eredhomë; her roots had been too deep and tightly wound within him for there not to be dire consequences. But he had been so happy to see Thorin and learn of his true feelings, and perhaps there had been some fear he would not acknowledge, that he had been willing to ignore the possibility of loss.
He bowed his head and tears gathered in his eyes. He felt Thorin's arms encircle his waist, but he stayed still, frozen with a grief that his dwarves would not understand.
A long hand with slender fingers covered his. Bilbo sniffed and lifted his eyes to see Tauriel kneeling before him, a small smile on her lips and pity in her expression. "All is not lost, Bilbo. Look." She inclined her head to draw his attention to something behind her.
Bilbo threaded his arms through the sleeves of Thorin's coat, and laced a tie closed to protect his modesty. He kept one hand on the folds of the furs to keep warm, and crawled around her, seeking whatever it was she wanted him to see. He gasped at what he found.
Rising from the ground amidst the fragmented remains of their roots was a single green shoot, with the barest hint of tiny bud sprouting at the top. It was so small, and oh-so-fragile, but it... she... had survived beyond hope. They both had.
Bilbo rubbed his eyes with a fist and laughed quietly, unable to believe his luck. Though perhaps, in the end, it wasn't luck at all, but the will of a force greater than himself.
Now that they were no longer joined, she wouldn't survive if left here in such a weakened state. He would need to place her in another vessel, a pot or vase if he could find one, until spring at least. Bilbo let go of the coat and proceeded to dig around the little one with his hands. His fingers began to bleed from trying to force their way into the cold, hard ground; he wasn't making much progress without proper tools.
A second set of hands, much larger than his own, joined his in their work, and Bilbo looked up to find Thorin concentrating on the task at hand. Their eyes met and the dwarf graced him with a fond smile. Bilbo did the same, and then they both resumed digging.
Working together, they dug deep enough to remove their little sapling from the ground, along with a little clump of dirt still covering the roots. Bilbo cradled her in the palms of cupped hands, his fear for her life waring with relief.
Thorin stood and proceeded to help the weary hobbit do the same. He took hold of Bilbo's wrists, mindful of disturbing the plant, and pulled gently. He wobbled on his feet, but Thorin clasped him by the shoulders to steady him.
Bilbo closed his eyes and waited for the dizziness to pass. He did not reopen them until he felt calloused fingers trail along his clavicle and up to his neck, the hand resting there so that a thumb could trace his jaw.
He wanted to tell Thorin that he was okay, but no words came, nor any expression of reassurance. Everything was too uncertain. He could scarcely believe what happened, and somehow still doubted that Thorin truly loved him. He worried for Eredhomë, and he wondered what he should do, now that he was not yet fated to die.
Thorin moved his hand to cup Bilbo's chin, tilting it up so that he could look into his hazel eyes. "Come Bilbo. Let me take you home. There we will plant and grow this little one together." He let go of his face and reached for the coat pocket, retrieving the flower-shaped Arkenstone. "By the blessings of Yavanna and Mahal, stone and seed will be as one, and Erebor will be both green and great, beyond any other kingdom of dwarves."
Then Thorin smirked and dipped his head to whisper in Bilbo's ear. "And I will make you truly mine, Ghivashel, now and always. Never again will I allow you to part from me."
Bilbo shivered at the suggestive tone, but overall felt a comforting warmth overwhelm him. He had set out to help this dwarf reclaim his home, but love, and perhaps a measure of grace from the Valar, guided him to find one as well, in the heart of a king and beside his friends. And when he was swept up in the arms of said king and passionately kissed, to the enthusiastic applause of his new family, he reflected that every moment of anguish and indecision had been well worth it.
And it seemed, by the flicker of light in the palms of his hands, Eredhomë agreed.
Some final notes:
I know that I've left a lot of unanswered questions but most of them will be addressed in the companion piece, "The Gift of Mahal", which, as you might guess, will retell this story from Thorin's perspective. Hopefully that'll be something to look forward to.
I also mentioned in the first chapter that the inspiration for this story came from a second source that I didn't yet want to reveal so as not to give anything away. Maybe some of you have guessed, but if not, then I'll tell you now: the idea was inspired by the last episode of the anime "Wolf's Rain". If you're seen it, you'll understand. If not, Youtube it. It's a great series.
Thank you everyone for reading, reviewing, and for your encouragement! I love you all; your comments are very much appreciated and never fail to make my day.
Until next time, my lovelies!