Thorin held his breath, his restless gaze locked on her fluttering eyelashes, bidding them to open with all his will. His wish was granted, and the prince was presented with one unfocused silver eye and then the other. Her charming little brow furrowed as she tried to clear her vision, and he finally remembered to breathe again.

"Thorin? You're here…"

She mumbled, her voice only a fragmentary sound. It fought to escape her lips, but it was proof that she was truly alive – thank Durin, she was alive.

"I'm here."

He reassured her, inching his chair forward so he could be even closer. He carefully brought his hand to her forehead, testing to see if the light fever she had developed had broken. The town they were resting in had no healer, but upon the travelers' arrival, they had called for the closest one, who had come as quick as he could. The medicine man conceded that Evie's condition was very grim, but that he would do his best to save her. After a few potions and another salve, this one applied daily, Thorin noticed the hobbit slowly starting to recover, but he still thought her far too pale. This was their third day in town, and he was beginning to worry for her – but now she was waking, and that became the only thing which could possibly matter to the agitated dwarf.

"Mmm," she announced, "This is not so bad…"

Thorin smiled, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "You're alive. For now, that is enough."

The hobbit's cloudy eyes narrowed, obviously confused.

"So that wasn't… I… I'm not dead?"

She asked rather incredulously, and she did not realize the truth to her words until she tried to sit up and hissed in pain at the resulting seizure starting at her wound. Perhaps this was real, after all.

"Not at the moment."

Thorin tried to joke, feeling it offbeat even as he said it. His hand lingered on her cheek for a moment, and Evie closed her eyes, turning her face into his palm and drawing comfort from his touch. The prince swallowed, his heart cracking open in his chest. He could not express to her, or even to himself, how much he wanted to sit beside her, to cradle her in his arms and care for her and make her feel at ease. Every instance of physical contact felt like an illusion, and he almost could not bear it. Being so close, but never quite close enough… Still, the sensation of her warm cheek against his prickling skin made him feel it through his entire body.

Evie breathed deeply, or as deeply as she could before her chest stung with pain and made her exhale again. Inhaling a little more carefully, she soaked in the nearness of him. There was something reassuring about the rich, natural scent of him – it reminded her of the smell of the earth in the winter, with a touch of ginger and a smoothness she couldn't describe. She wanted to wrap herself up in it, in him… Maybe that was the fever thinking for her. Whatever it was, the hobbit forced away her pain and discomfort in favor of a moment of quietude and the simple but monumental sensation of Thorin's calloused hand against her porcelain cheek. He had not yet moved it, and she sighed contentedly into his skin. The dwarf let out an indigent breath, his longing for her unspeakable. It was not something physical or contrite – he wanted her forever and always, by his side through whatever struggles lay ahead of them. He wanted to support her in her illness, to care for her in the way he could not allow himself to now. As more than a friend, or even a companion. As a husband.

The thought would not leave his mind as he sat there, gazing down at her with blue eyes full of silent feeling, and part of him didn't want it to. He should be forced to acknowledge where their mutual actions had led them. They were reaching a crossroads, and when forced to choose one path or the other, he refused to leave unrecognized the future that might still be possible for them to share together. Thorin had almost lost her – he had thought she was gone… And returning from that emotional destitution, there was no way he could deny what he felt. If he was to learn to live without Evangeline in his life, the little hobbit who had so quickly come to dominate his thoughts and his hopes for the future, it would not be for lack of his own initiative.

"I thought I was dreaming, that I was gone…"

She whispered, her lips moving against the edge of his palm. He felt the impossibility of how much he cared for her more in that moment than he ever had before – her delicacy, her vulnerability… He had always seen her so strong and so sure… And now, guarding her in her weakest moments made him feel both unbelievably invincible, as though he could take on any enemy and prove victorious, and incredibly humble.

"I kept reaching out to you, kept calling for you, but you could not feel me or hear me. I felt so lost, so alone…" She took a small breath, "I had just begun to think that you would never find me, when your hand wrapped around mine. We finally touched. It was as if I had gotten through to you at last, I- but that could not have been real…"

She corrected herself, her nose scrunching up at the very thought. It was far too impossible to be true. She reluctantly turned so she could look up at him again, her grey eyes large and sensitive.

"Perhaps it was…" Thorin mused, his fingers dusting her jawline as he finally brought his hand from her face, "We thought you were dead, but I felt your hand move in mine and –"

The next words were too hard, although he couldn't know why.

"So you did find me."

She asserted, a lovely smile gracing her full lips. There was a particular sort of sweetness decorating her fair features, an innocence that accompanied the dullness of her senses due to her injury and the medicines she had been given to heal it, which struck him deeply.

Later that night, when she was sleeping once again, he would ask himself why he said it. But in that moment, Thorin Oakenshield knew exactly why.

"Evangeline Took, I will always find you."

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"You are the reason I am alive.."

Evie explained, her curious grey eyes looking up at him with mingled awe and wonder. It had been four days since the attack, and this was the first time the hobbit had been truly lucid since they had thought her dead.

Thorin took a shallow breath, shaking his head.

"I am the reason you were injured. If I had kept a better guard –"

"Thorin."

The clemency in her voice sent him over the edge – he did not know if he could bear the potency of his feelings for her. He had never been one to retreat from a challenge; it was not the way of his people, but this… This could prove to be his downfall. Only if you let it, he reminded himself… Yet how could he resist her, the tempting lure of a paradise waiting in their future, the future he imagined every time he closed his eyes? How could he betray his deepest desires?

"I did nothing; it was your own medicines which saved your life. Your craft, and that of the healer who has been tending to you."

He protested, his fingers worrying the edges of her sheets. She watched his hands as they nervously worked at the folds of the blankets. She had never seen him like this before. There was something so vulnerable about the dwarf, as if Evie had not been the only one injured that night in the mountains.

"That is not true."

His eyes appeared even more bright and brilliant than usual, and she lost herself for a moment in his penetrating gaze, as she was too often wont to do.

"It was your hands which…" She was in the process of placing her hand on top of his when she realized the real truth in her words. "Your hands!"

She took hold of his hands, her stormy eyes wide with the exhilaration of discovery. It took her a moment to recover from the excitement of it as the hobbit apprehended that the dwarf had no idea what she had suddenly realized – but how to explain? Even as she thought of it she knew how ridiculous it was – there was no way it could be true. Even so…

"Do you know what was in the milky salve you placed on my wound?"

Thorin shook his head, his heavy brow furrowing as he waited for her elucidation. Evangeline relaxed in the bed, closing her eyes for a few seconds as she let the full understanding wash over her (and perhaps because her moment of enthusiasm had made her feel just a little faint). This was a confirmation of all she had feared and hoped for, yet it meant only great things for Durin's Folk and their future.

She recognized that it was all only a myth and that while most myth was based on truth, she doubted in this case she could be right – even so, she thought it better to tell him than not to. Maybe that was all myth was, anyway – her mother had always talked about the healing power of belief. Maybe believing was what did the trick just as much as the herbs themselves did. And even if it was the only thing the hobbit was sure of, she knew Thorin Oakenshield could do with a little more belief.

"It was athelas; I collect it in Gondor," she began, a strange calmness holding up her voice, which was a rarity for the often impulsive hobbit. "It is also called kingsfoil. Have you heard of it?"

The dwarf admitted he did not.

"It is a weed which can be used for many medicines, greatest of all to ease the pain of wounds and cleanse them. I learned to work with it from a friend who was taught by a ranger. They used to treat the Black Breath with it, although we thankfully have not had such a cause for the weed in some time. The reason I mention it now is because Gondorian lore claims that it is rendered more powerful when used by a king."

She watched his eyebrows lift, his face reflecting little understanding of the significance behind her words.

"The other potion kept my heart beating, and slowed it down as I recovered. But my wound should be far worse than it is now. I should have died back in the mountains, but I did not. I could not understand why my salve had such a particularly potent effect. But now I realize... Perhaps the legends are true, and the herb is more powerful when in the hands of a king."

Thorin breathed heavily out his nose, making a noise of dismissal in the back of his throat.

"I am no king. Not yet."

He argued, staring at the wall behind her as though it could somehow raise a voice to defend him. Evie smiled, her hand moving to curl tighter around his and grasp it feebly.

"About that, Master Dwarf, I think you are mistaken. Believe me if you will, but kingsfoil cannot lie."

Whether the myth was true or not (and even if it was, legend surrounded those of the Númenórean line in particular, and yet…), whether hopes could ever really transform into realities – Evangeline Took took great stock in belief. Without it they would all be lost – and the facts were that she had survived an injury she should not have, and that the dwarf standing sentinel beside her sickbed was most certainly a king. However those two things were true, what did it matter? If there was one thing hobbits knew well, it was the merit of a good story. And to make a good story you had to have a good hero. Evie thought she had found one, if only he would believe it too.

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Something had gone terribly wrong. She had seemed well the day before, coherent and more alert than ever, but overnight the hobbit had taken a turn for the worse. Evie's fever had developed into a sickness which wracked her whole body with pain – she shivered and moaned, sweat pouring down her pink face and her eyes watering from the delirium. The visiting healer did not know what to do; he had tried all his usual balms and nothing would calm her fever or heal her wound, which was now beyond measure of a doubt, infected.

"Shh-Shire…"

Evie moaned, one of her hands clinging to Thorin's arm and grabbing onto a broken fistful of his shirt. She tugged ineffectually at it before her hand slipped and unceremoniously fell to her side.

"Mah- My… Muth- her.."

She had mentioned once that she had learned her craft from her mother – Thorin realized that the older hobbit must be an accomplished healer. Although Evie did not look at all well enough to travel and the Shire was still many days away even by the fastest of ponies, the couple was left with few other options. She would most likely die if they did nothing, and she would probably die if he tried to move her, but the dwarf was forced to play the odds. It seemed like that was all he was doing anymore – taking a chance and praying beyond all reason or expectation that everything would be alright.

The medicine man tried to protest when Thorin began to pack up what little they had (Dwalin and Telchar had arrived three days before) and prepare Evangeline for travel, but one look from Durin's heir and he was silenced. Dwalin carried Evangeline to the stables while Thorin saddled the pony.

"You're a tough one; that much is certain," he told her, grimacing at the way she trembled in his arms. "You'll pull through."

Dwalin was not sure if she could hear him, but he hoped so. They had plenty of cause for worry, but the warrior was stalwart in his belief that she was going to live. She had to. He didn't think Thorin could survive the blow of losing her again – not to mention the others. Even he had developed a partiality for the excitable little hobbit – she had charmed her way into their lives and the experience of the last few days, constantly wondering if she was still a part of this world or not, had left them dark and grim… Dwalin had not realized just how fond he was of her until she had left them.

He carefully passed Evie to Thorin once he had mounted the pony, helping his friend situate the hobbit in front of him so he could hold her while they rode. She teetered to the side for a moment, and almost slipped before the two dwarves could secure her. All in all, things did not look good. But if there was one thing their time with Evangeline Took had taught them – it was to hope. So hope is what they clung to, and Thorin took it with him as he rode towards the Shire, leaving despair behind him and facing whatever fate lay ahead.

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Author's Note: Sorry for all the angst! I think every story needs some good drama here and there though to keep things moving (and love is pain and struggle just as often as it is joy and contentment). So now it's time for a trip to the Shire! Thank you to everyone who is still reading and enjoying my work- it's such a pleasure not only to write but to share it with you. I'm growing very fond of these characters, and to think that some of you have too makes me so very happy! Xoxo!