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Chapter Text

They ride swiftly across the plains between the Greenwood and Erebor. Gandalf explains that there is another forest just to the northeast of Erebor where the dwarves do their hunting, as they are not allowed to in the Greenwood. Bilbo senses there may be bad blood between the elves and dwarves but he’s not entirely sure why.

Their journey is without incident. They pass over a small river that leads to Lake-town, Gandalf explains, and approach the gates of Erebor shortly after. It has grown dark by the time they arrive but Bilbo can still see the magnificent gates. They are dark in color, green limestone, he thinks, and he stares in awe up at them as they approach.

There are pine trees here and berry bushes, and the river runs out from underneath Erebor. It’s beautiful and smells of fresh water and grass and Bilbo grins as he sees fireflies dancing along the river and over the bridge, lit by massive torches on each corner.

It isn’t hard to see why Thorin loves Erebor and he has yet to see the glory inside of the mountain.

There are two massive stone sentinels guarding the gates of Erebor, dwarves in armor, and Bilbo is shocked by how large the statues are. Gandalf merely chuckles, as if this is nothing, and Bilbo suspects he may be right. They cross the bridge, four very real dwarves guarding one end of it, who don’t say anything as they pass.

When they are close to the shut gates, however, someone from above shouts, “Halt! Who goes there?”

“It is I,” Gandalf says importantly. “Gandalf the Grey! I seek council within the mountain!”

“And who travels with Gandalf the Grey?”

Gandalf looks expectantly at Bilbo and he sits up straight in his saddle. “O-Oh! It is… I, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, Gandalf’s traveling companion!”

There is silence for a moment before suddenly one half of the great gates begins to slide open. Bilbo stares in wonder as Erebor opens up to them.

They ride slowly inside the brightly lit mountain and Bilbo gazes around, his mouth open in awe.

They’re in a great hall, filled with magnificent green marble, gold streaks splashed throughout it. The walls are dark granite, diamonds and emeralds shining within them, never hewn. Pillars follow the hallway, reaching up into the darkness of the mountain, where there are many bridges and walkways and balconies above.

To the sides of the gates are what looks like soldiers’ barracks and a few armed dwarves approach them.

Bilbo gulps at the sight of one. He’s very tall and very bald, with a chunk of ear missing, and tattoos across the top of his head.

“Tharkûn,” he grumbles. “I see you decided to take your time.”

“I had equally pressing matters to the west and to the south before I could journey here,” Gandalf says as he gets off of his horse and hands the reins to another guard. “Some of which concerns the matter here.”

Bilbo would scowl, but he’s afraid that might make him a suspicious person. Of course the dwarves had written to Gandalf about Thorin - why wouldn’t they? Though he does wonder just who this dwarf is that he even knows about Thorin.

“And who is the halfling?”

Bilbo huffs as he slides off of his pony. “I’m a hobbit, rather,” he says flatly as he looks at the dwarf. “I’m Bilbo Baggins. Gandalf’s traveling companion.”

“We are in need of Balin’s council,” Gandalf says. “About the matter at hand.”

The dwarf raises a bushy eyebrow. “What does the halfling have to do with it?”

“Everything.”

The dwarf frowns as he looks at Bilbo with a new light in his eyes. He nods jerkily and gestures for them to follow. “My brother is in council meetings until later this evening. I can inform him you’re here and you can stay up until four, or I can wait until the morning.”

Bilbo would like to meet Balin as quickly as possible but he keeps his mouth shut.

“It might be more wise to meet with Balin tonight,” Gandalf says, much to Bilbo’s surprise.

Bilbo blinks as he hurries behind them toward a massive, black-stoned staircase with gold bannisters. “Brother? You’re Balin’s brother?”

“Aye, that I am,” the dwarf says. “Dwalin, at your service.”

“We should both like some tea and dinner to tide us over while we await Balin,” Gandalf says.

Dwalin rolls his eyes. “Aye, you’ll have it,” he mutters as he swiftly walks up the stairs.

Bilbo glances behind him, sorry to see Myrtle go, and hopes they will take good care of her. He nearly trips over his own feet and looks forward again, marveling at his surroundings.

They ascend staircase after staircase and go down brilliantly decorated hallways, with plush red and gold carpets down some, and blue and silver down others. There are marble and metal statues of dwarves and beautifully sewn tapestries along the way, showing Erebor’s history. Bilbo suspects that, while they walk for a long while, Erebor is far more massive than what he has seen.

Dwalin leads them into a huge receiving room with sofas and armchairs and dining tables. Two hearths are at either end of the room and Bilbo gapes as he looks around. It’s a room fit for a king, he thinks, and he wonders if all of the mountain looks this way.

They seat themselves at one of the dining tables as Dwalin mutters about ordering food and drink. It isn’t long before a fresh pot of tea and a large serving pot of beef stew, with hearty sourdough bread and a small barrel of ale are set before them by servants, who bow repeatedly to Gandalf as they back out of the room. Bilbo suspects they must be near one of the many kitchens of Erebor he assumes there are.

“You’re very well known here,” he comments as he serves himself stew. It has a large amount of meat and potatoes in it, but only a few carrots, which doesn’t entirely surprise Bilbo.

“I’ve been coming to Erebor since it was founded,” Gandalf says as he pours himself a small cup of tea and a large tankard of ale. “Every king has been in need of council from the Grey Wizard at some point.”

“And they wrote to you about Thorin,” Bilbo says mildly.

“They did.”

“So it wasn’t really a rumor, but the truth out of the dwarves’ very mouths.”

Gandalf huffs and takes a large drink of ale. “Dwarves often embellish. I listened to more rumors coming from outside of the mountain and your own tale before I truly believed them.”

Bilbo grumbles as he eats, deciding not to comment on the fickle way of wizards. He’ll drive himself mad trying to convince himself Gandalf might be someone he’s not.

They eat and drink ravenously, until there is nothing but crumbs left. Bilbo sips on ale after he’s done with his tea and asks Gandalf questions about Erebor. Gandalf answers them easily, more truthful than he normally is, and Bilbo opens his mouth to ask more about Thorin. But the doors to the room burst open and a blond dwarf stumbles in.

“It’s about time!” he cries as he looks at Gandalf. “What on earth took you so long?”

“Ah, hello, Prince Frerin,” Gandalf says as he stands and bows.

Bilbo’s heart skips a few beats as he gapes at the Prince of Erebor. He leaps from his chair and bows as well, but Frerin doesn’t seem to notice him.

“Didn’t think it was so pressing, did you?” Frerin demands.

He’s very handsome, with bright blue eyes and wavy blond hair, some braids adorning it. He’s got a beard, though it isn’t as long as some of the dwarves Bilbo has seen so far, and is braided artfully.

“I had equally pressing matters to attend to,” Gandalf says grumpily. He gestures widely at Bilbo. “This is Bilbo Baggins, my traveling companion, and someone you will want to meet.”

Frerin looks at Bilbo and blinks before he smiles shortly. “Master Baggins,” he greets as he bows his head. “What might you have to do with this?”

“Oh, a great deal,” Gandalf says quickly. “When will Balin be here?”

Frerin glares suspiciously between Gandalf and Bilbo before he rolls his eyes. “Soon enough. Is there more ale?”

Bilbo hurries to pour a tankard for Frerin and bows as he gives it to him. Frerin begins to laugh joyfully, the tension lines around his eyes easing.

“There’s no need,” he says with a smile. “To be formal, that is. If you’re a friend of Gandalf’s, you’re a friend of mine.”

Bilbo blushes and coughs. “Oh, erm, thank you very much,” he says.

He doesn’t think now is the time to mention Thorin - he doesn’t know how Frerin knows about Thorin other than Balin informing the prince about the dragon that had recently been in the treasury. And if Frerin is the prince, that means his father is king.

What do the royals think about Thorin?

“Now, about my bro—”

Frerin is interrupted by the doors banging open again. A dwarf slips inside, black-haired and blue-eyed, beautiful. Her beard is braided as artfully as Frerin’s, but her eyes hold far more anger and concern as she walks up to the table.

“Where have you been?” she hisses at Gandalf.

“Tending to other pressing concerns,” Frerin recites and holds up his mug. “Sit, dear sister. If you’re here, Balin must surely be on his way.”

“He is,” the other dwarf says stiffly, her eyes holding a strangely familiar fire inside of them. She sits at the table and folds her hands together, looking at Bilbo. “You are the halfling that is somehow involved in this mess.”

“Hobbit, rather,” Bilbo says weakly, a bit intimidated by her. “My name is Bilbo Baggins.”

“Dis,” she says shortly. “Explain to me what is going on.”

Bilbo opens his mouth, but just then the door opens again, quietly this time, and a white-haired dwarf sweeps in, Dwalin behind him. Bilbo knows this is Balin from what Thorin had said about him and he quickly stands again so he might bow.

“Finally,” Balin says as he looks at Gandalf, but it is said with relief and not anger. “I trust your journey was safe?”

“Very,” Gandalf says. He gestures at Bilbo. “Bilbo Baggins, meet Balin, the royal advisor to the king.”

“Oh!” Bilbo says and awkwardly bows. “Erm… it’s, it’s good to meet you. All of you.” He cringes as they merely raise their eyebrows at him.

“You as well, laddie,” Balin says as he eyes Bilbo curiously. “My brother seems to think you play a large part in this.”

Bilbo glances at Gandalf, who merely nods at him. They all take their places at the table and Bilbo sighs, his hands trembling. He folds them together in his lap and look between the dwarves and Gandalf.

“Is… is Thorin familiar to all of you?”

There is silence for a long moment, with only a small cough from Gandalf, before Dis begins to scowl.

“He is our brother, so I should think so,” she says icily.

“Your… your brother,” Bilbo says faintly as he gapes between her and Frerin. “Thorin is a prince?”

“A prince?” Frerin asks, laughing. “He might wish for it sometimes. Bilbo, he is our king.”

Bilbo sits very still, looking between each of the dwarves’ faces. They are all staring expectantly at him, as if he should have known this, and Bilbo slowly turns to Gandalf. Gandalf looks at him and raises his eyebrows.

“Did Thorin not tell you?”

“Did Thorin not— oh!” Bilbo cries, thrusting his finger at Gandalf’s nose. “You! What more secrets are you keeping from me?! I’ll have you know that if I find out one more, I’ll take that staff of yours and—”

“Gentlemen,” Balin says mildly. “Am I to understand that you have spoken with Thorin?” he asks Bilbo.

Bilbo scowls at Gandalf for a while before he turns to Balin. He takes in a deep breath to calm himself. “Yes,” he says. “For a few days now.”

They gape at him. “You’ve seen him?” Frerin asks, hushed. “We’ve heard reports he’s in the Greenwood. A dragon has been spotted there, but… but Balin told us Thorin forbade anyone going after him.”

Bilbo isn’t entirely surprised to hear it. He sighs and wipes his palms off on his trousers. “Yes, he’s there,” he says quietly. “I’ve journeyed from the Shire to Erebor to find Thorin.”

“Why?” Dis asks.

“Because he’s my…” Bilbo trails off and swallows dryly. “He’s my companion.”

They frown at him and Gandalf clears his throat. “Hobbits are very unique,” he says. “They have companion marks.”

Balin makes a low noise. “Truly?”

“Yes,” Gandalf says with a smile. “As the books of old once spoke of.” Bilbo gapes at Gandalf and he waves his hand dismissively. “Only a few books have the information and they are believed to be more of a fanciful tale than fact.”

“What on earth is a companion mark?” Frerin asks.

“It’s… it’s a mark hobbits receive when we come of age,” Bilbo says. “It shows up on our bodies, as if someone has inked it into our very skin. The Valar, we like to think. When I came of age at thirty-three, I didn’t get one, but… but on the day of my fiftieth birthday, September 22nd, I did finally receive one, very late. The companion mark is always an animal. A, a dog or a rabbit, goats and birds and the like. Once you have it, you are led by a longing in your heart to the animal, and it to you. Mine… well, mine is a dragon.”

The dwarves gape at him and between each other. Only Balin looks unsurprised, peering with interest at Bilbo, a knowing sort of glint in his eyes. Bilbo quickly looks down at the table as the dwarves begin to speak at once.

“I’ve never heard of anything like it—”

“It’s impossible—”

“A bunch of horseshi—”

“It is true!” Gandalf roars suddenly and the dwarves quickly shut their mouths. He scowls at them before turning to Bilbo, gesturing. “Show them, my dear boy. They will believe what they see.”

Bilbo’s rather tired of taking off his shirt these days but he understands the need for it. He stands and takes off his jacket and unbuttons his shirt. He carefully pulls it off and counts to three before he turns around and shows the dwarves his back.

Frerin and Dis gasp, while Dwalin curses.

“It is as I saw him,” Balin says somberly.

Bilbo pulls his clothes back on and sits down, his heart racing as he looks between the dwarves. They talk amongst themselves, asking Balin and Gandalf questions, and Bilbo simply tries to breathe.

Thorin is a king. He hates that Gandalf and Thorin didn’t bother to tell him, knowing full well he would find out on his own. He’s angry and hurt but, and he is annoyed with this, he also understands it. If more people were to know that Thorin is truly a dwarf king, they may try to hunt him down and kill him. And Thorin… well, Bilbo thinks Thorin might not have told him out of the shame of it. A mighty dwarf king, reduced to that of a beast, in his mind, because of a curse.

Bilbo feels hopeless suddenly. Surely if Thorin’s family knows what has happened to him, they have been searching for a way to break the curse? But they haven’t mentioned it, nor have they gone after Thorin. His heart feels as if it has cracked in two and Bilbo slumps back against his chair.

“Are you alright, laddie?”

The table has gone eerily silent and Bilbo blinks as he looks up at the dwarves. Frerin and Balin look concerned, Dwalin impassive, and there is a strangeness to Dis that he can’t place.

“Oh, erm… I’m fine,” he says quietly.

“Aye,” Balin says kindly, “but you aren’t. Tell us what’s on your mind.”

Bilbo takes a drink of his ale before setting the cup aside. “You’ve known where Thorin is for months,” he says slowly. “And you’ve been waiting for Gandalf. You… you haven’t found a cure yet.”

Dis looks away.

“We are still looking,” Frerin says quietly.

“Aye, we are,” Balin agrees.”But you are right. We have yet to find a cure for Thorin’s sickness.”

Bilbo frowns. “Sickness?”

“Is he still…?” Frerin asks.

“Sick?” Bilbo asks. “Erm… well, he’s certainly still cursed. He hasn’t said anything about… about being sick.”

They look upset by that news and Bilbo sits up straighter. “What do you mean by sickness?”

“The dragon sickness,” Dis says very quietly. “It runs in the line of Durin. Thorin has been afflicted with it for nearly two years now.” She sniffs. “We’ve never seen it… like this before.”

“It has never manifested as an actual dragon before,” Balin clarifies.

Bilbo feels ill and brushes a bit of sweat off of his forehead. “How did he get sick? And why would he call it a curse?”

“He never believed he was sick, laddie,” Balin says, with a glance at Frerin and Dis. Dwalin is quiet, staring off at the wall, but the siblings nod. “Dragon sickness is a sickness of the mind. Thorin’s grandfather, King Thror, began to show signs of it in his later days. He collected gold and treasures, not to spend or to make the mountain greater, but to grow his own hoard. One treasury became another, until an entire district was overrun with it.” He sighs. “He spent all of his time with the treasure, the sickness growing within him, until there was no more of Thror left. He never believed he had the affliction and would listen to no one.”

Bilbo’s heart is thumping painfully and he bites his lip as he looks between the dwarves. “What happened to him?”

“The dragon came,” Dwalin says angrily.

Bilbo gasps and Balin nods.

“Aye, laddie, a dragon. It entered the mountain and went to the treasury. It killed Thror, as Thorin attempted to help him escape,” he says, an undercurrent of old pain in his voice. “Thorin found an old spear his grandfather had collected and only managed to kill the dragon before it killed him as well.”

“Oh my,” Bilbo whispers. He thinks that he hardly knows Thorin at all, even if he is beginning to feel like an old friend. He can only imagine the pain Thorin has endured, but… “Why then?” he asks. “Why has he become sick with it as well?”

“None of us are completely free of it,” Frerin says tiredly. “We’re all susceptible. But Thorin was Thror’s favorite. He spent more time with him than anyone.”

“But that means he saw the sickness better than anyone!” Bilbo says. “Wouldn’t he have noticed the signs?”

“He did,” Dis says flatly. “And he ignored them, just as our grandfather did. He ignored us, just as our grandfather did. He believed he was above it, that we couldn’t or wouldn’t see his vision for Erebor. That stone poisoned his mind.”

A white, shimmering stone, clutched tightly in a dwarven hand.

Bilbo shakes the image from his mind. “He… he did mention that a stone would bring his home glory.”

“That stone will bring us nothing but ruin,” Dwalin snaps.

“Aye,” Frerin agrees. “We locked it in the deepest vault we have the moment we knew Thorin was gone. It should never see the light of day again. Thorin and our grandfather both were obsessed with it.”

“But… but maybe…” Bilbo trails off with a frown.

“Go on,” Balin says as he gestures kindly.

“Maybe the stone should be destroyed. Maybe it’ll help Thorin.”

“None but the king can decide that,” Gandalf says softly. “And the king is in no fit state currently to decide it.”

Bilbo feels immensely sorry for Thorin all over again. He isn’t cursed. He’s sick, something he couldn’t necessarily control, Bilbo thinks, considering it runs in his family. Perhaps he could have noticed the signs but then who is Bilbo or anyone else to judge what happens in someone else’s mind?

He rubs his hands over his face as he thinks. “Thorin has been very kind to me, mostly,” he says and looks up as the dwarves look at him again. “I’ve seen and heard things that haven’t been who I think he really is. But… but he seems to be coming out of it, I think. At least a bit,” he says hurriedly as they perk up. “He stopped being as angry, anyway, and opened up to me in some ways.”

Dis and Balin eye Bilbo curiously which brings a bit of heat to his cheeks.

“You said that companion marks are always animals,” Balin says. “But they aren’t always animals that are truly someone else?”

“Most certainly not,” Bilbo says. “They’re only ever just animals. Intelligent animals, kind, that live to be as old as we are. But… but we never have dragons. And we never have dragons that are someone else. My mark is very unusual. I believe I’m meant to help Thorin, rather than Thorin being meant to help guide me.”

They’re quiet as the digest Bilbo’s words and he looks at Gandalf, who pats his shoulder. Bilbo may be angry with him, but he is glad of the comfort now.

“Do you have any ideas, Bilbo?” Dis asks softly. “Anything at all?”

“I’m sorry,” Bilbo says miserably. “I came here thinking I might find something in your library. Thorin told me it was a curse and… I assumed that was all it was. I don’t know how to help him.”

“You said that he’s been opening up,” Frerin says. “That he hasn’t been as angry. Maybe it’s just… you that can help him.”

Bilbo gapes at him. “Just me? That’s… that’s quite something to expect of me, though,” he says. “I’ve done nothing but speak with him!”

“You haven’t treated him as if he’s a king,” Dis says. “Or as if he’s a sick king.” She lowers her eyes, sounding ashamed. “You haven’t ostracized him like I have.”

“Like we have,” Frerin mumbles as he lays his hand over his sister’s.

Bilbo looks between them. They do look very much alike, even with such different colored hair, but they share the same sorrow on their faces. He wonders if Thorin might look that way, if only he could hear their conversation. Or perhaps he’d be angry. He feels close to Thorin but he’s still woefully ignorant on who Thorin really is. Especially not clouded by dragon sickness.

“We have the chance to make it better,” Balin says. “We can help Thorin go back to being the dwarf we know so well. I think Master Baggins here is the key to it.”

“I’m— what now?”

“You do have Thorin inked into your skin,” Dis says mildly and with a fleeting, knowing smile.

Bilbo blushes and hides it behind his ale as he takes a hearty sip of it. He wipes his mouth off and ignores the fact that everyone but Dwalin is looking at him in much the same way.

Dwalin seems angry at the very world.

“But I don’t know how to help him,” Bilbo protests. “How do we know that I even have so far?”

“Has he tried to have you killed?” Balin asks. Once Bilbo has shaken his head dubiously, he asks, “Has he tried to kill you? Maim you? Punish you for questioning him?” Bilbo shakes his head again and Balin holds his hands out. “Then you’ve done better than us so far, laddie.”

Bilbo feels faint. “He’s… to you all…” he trails off as the dwarves look shamefully away. “I’m sorry. But I still don’t…”

“There is a cure in love,” Gandalf says softly. When Bilbo gapes at him, he smiles. “And friendship. Disease of the mind can often be cured with these things alone.”

“What if… what if I go to him and tell him he’s got dragon sickness and he doesn’t want anything more to do with me?”

“That may well be the case,” Balin says seriously. “But we won’t know unless you try. Considering he’s a dragon, however, and not fond of certain wizards,” he says, glaring at Gandalf, “then I would ask you to exercise caution. If Thorin seems unstable and like he may hurt you, you must not be near him.”

“Gandalf said he wasn’t dangerous to me,” Bilbo says, his voice small.

“He isn’t inherently, merely by being your companion,” Gandalf says, “but he is a danger to himself and therefore you as well.”

Bilbo swallows dryly and thinks Gandalf could have mentioned that before. “So I’m supposed to… what? Try and speak him out of the dragon sickness?”

“Show him humanity,” Dis says. “Show him who you are, so that he might show you who he is.”

“He’s going to want to know what Balin and I discussed,” Bilbo says. “If there was a cure or not. I won’t lie to him and tell him there isn’t. He deserves to know what he’s going through, doesn’t he?”

They look conflicted, gazing between each other, and Bilbo looks at Gandalf. He looks troubled himself and Bilbo frowns.

“I won’t lie to him.”

“Bilbo, it might be for the best to not discuss dragon sickness until he’s in a better frame of mind,” Frerin says with concern.

“He’s not been angry in a few days. He’s even started speaking,” Bilbo says hurriedly. “I think he’s already on the road to recovery.”

“He… couldn’t speak?” Dis asks in confusion.

“Oh, well,” Bilbo says. “He could, but only in my mind. Today he started speaking as we do.”

“Aye, that is how it was with me,” Balin says. He grimaces as the others look at him. “He asked me not to speak of him at all.”

Dis and Frerin sigh. “He’s ashamed of what he has become but not the reason for it,” Frerin says.

“He’s very adamant someone cursed him,” Bilbo says. “He wouldn’t hear it when I suggested the stone may have had a part in it.”

“When Thorin finds himself again, he’ll want it destroyed. It’ll be the first thing he asks for when he returns,” Dwalin says firmly. “He’ll come back, whether it’s on his own or with Master Baggins’ help.”

“Without Bilbo’s help you may never see him again,” Gandalf snaps. “Don’t discount how important Bilbo is on this journey to recovery.”

Bilbo’s beginning to feel overwhelmed. There is so much new information in his mind now and he’s having a hard time processing it. Thorin, a king, his family royalty… dragon sickness and corrupt stones. The role he must play in it, without a clue what to truly do to help Thorin.

And… what if Thorin decides he doesn’t want help?

“I think we may need to call it an evening,” Gandalf says as he peers at Bilbo. “It’s been a rather long journey with little rest for us both.”

Balin nods and everyone stands from the table. “Of course,” he says with a smile in Bilbo’s direction. “You can have the room you’ve always had.” He gestures at Bilbo. “Follow me, lad, and we’ll get you situated for the evening.”

Bilbo finishes his ale and stands on wooden legs. He hurries after Balin, but a hand on his shoulder stops him. He looks at Dis and Frerin and his heart lurches to see the plea on their faces.

“Don’t give up on him,” Frerin says. “Please.”

“You may not be his only hope but you are his best one, as of now,” Dis says. “We don’t mean to pressure you… but he is our brother. Our king.”

Bilbo bites his lip and nods. “Of course. I understand,” he says as his shoulders sag with the weight of the world. “I’ll do my best to help him. I promise.” He gives a short wave and hurries after Balin again, not particularly sure he can handle anymore conversation this evening.

He already knows he’s going to be up all night thinking over everything. He wishes to run back to Thorin as quickly as possibly and yet, he fears it. If Thorin doesn’t take kindly to Bilbo attempting to help him with dragon sickness, what can he do? A person can only change themselves. No one can do it for them, even if they are dealing with a sickness of the mind. They must want help and Bilbo fears that Thorin won’t.

Balin leads him out of the receiving room with a pat to his shoulder. They walk down another hall before they enter another massive room, guarded by four dwarves. Bilbo suspects it’s the royal halls and is far too exhausted to get worked up about it. He merely says goodbye to Gandalf and follows Balin down another hall to a large set of doors. Balin ushers him inside.

Bilbo looks around at the splendor, the opulence of gold and marble, of rich fabrics, of numerous pieces of expertly carved furniture and decides he simply cannot take it in.

“You alright, laddie?” Balin asks gently.

“Oh,” Bilbo sighs, “I suppose we’ll see in the morning, if I can sleep.”

Balin chuckles and nods. “I wish you and myself luck in the matter of sleep,” he says and walks out of the room. “Good night, Bilbo.”

“Good night,” Bilbo says faintly as he watches Balin close the doors.

He gazes around the room before he chooses one of the three doors inside of it. It leads to a spacious washroom and he gets himself ready for bed. Deciding he’ll explore in the morning, if he feels like it then, he goes to the giant four poster bed and buries himself under the blankets.

He squeezes his eyes shut. “Thorin?”

There is no answer.

——

Morning comes far too early for Bilbo and he lies awake in bed, staring up at the dark stone ceiling. A few lanterns are lit still, offering a pale light, but he knows it must be starting to get light outside. It’s disturbing to not have a window and Bilbo wonders how dwarves do it. He supposes they are more creatures of the earth than the sun.

As he’s contemplating finding someone for breakfast, his door creaks open and Bilbo gasps, sitting up. A servant walks inside and bows to Bilbo without saying anything. He lights the fire and more lanterns until it’s bright in the room.

“Master Balin thought you might wake early,” he says with a brief smile as he bows again and backs to the doorway.

“Erm,” Bilbo says as he holds up his hand. “Who might I speak with about a spot of breakfast?”

“Me, Master Baggins,” the servant says. “The sun’s only just rising but the kitchens are open all day and night. Anything you might fancy? Not sure what hobbits eat, I’m afraid, sir.”

Bilbo smiles a little. “I imagine we eat just the same things you do,” he says. “Though I could use a rather large breakfast, I think. If I’m allowed.”

“You’re a royal guest, sir,” the dwarf says. “You’re allowed anything.” He bows out of the room.

That’s a bit much for Bilbo but he decides he’s not having a particularly good couple of days and that he’ll splurge on his needs. He goes about his morning business and finds his pack lying on the table in front of the hearth. He dresses in fresh clothes and by the time he’s done, there’s a short knock on the door. The same dwarf from before comes in, pushing a metal cart with a great many covered plates on it, as well as a steaming pot of tea and pitcher of orange juice.

Bilbo gapes. “O-Oh, that’s… goodness,” he says. “Thank you very much. What’s, erm… what’s your name?”

“Skofor, sir,” the dwarf says with a smile. He takes the cart to the dining table and lays out the many dishes, uncovering them as he goes.

Bilbo stops at his side and looks at the meal with an appreciative eye. It’s large enough that he might not be able to eat it all himself but he’ll certainly give it his all.

There are three types of sausage, flat patties and fried links, and gigantic grilled breakfast sausages. Both thickly cut and thinly crisped bacons, scrambled and over medium and poached eggs, red potatoes with herbs, hash browns cooked to a fine crisp. There are pancakes, even, with berry compote and cream, and a large dish of softened butter on the side.

“Master Balin thought you might like these as well,” Skofor says as he uncovers a dish filled with strawberries, cherries, and honeydew melon.

“Good gracious,” Bilbo says. He swallows dryly and looks at Skofor. “Have… have you eaten yet?”

Skofor blinks in surprise. “Not yet,” he says carefully. “But I’ll have a break soon enough to do so.”

“Perfect! You can dine with me. So I don’t eat it all myself. There is plenty, after all,” Bilbo says as he gestures. “Won’t you sit?”

“Master Baggins, sir, I don’t think that I’m allowed.”

“Well, I am,” Bilbo says confidently. “Allowed anything, as you have already told me, and I’d appreciate a bit of company in this very large, lonesome room.”

Skofor looks between breakfast and Bilbo, clearly having a conflict with himself, before he suddenly grins. “Thank you, sir, thank you! I’d be honored to join you.”

They seat themselves and after Bilbo has gestured grandly for Skofor to begin, they serve themselves. Bilbo loads up his plate and ensures that Skofor does the same. They split the juice but Skofor denies the tea, not particularly to any surprise of Bilbo’s.

Bilbo tries not to pry too much but he does ask Skofor questions about his work. He’s young, Bilbo thinks, his brown beard not as long as others’. He says he’s been working in the royal halls since he became of age, as his father and his father before him did. And from the way he speaks of the work, Bilbo suspects that he’s fairly treated and paid well. It makes him glad to hear it.

He’s heard of the greedy ways of dwarves all his life but those that he has met are kind and funny. The only greediness Bilbo has heard of is King Thror and he was very ill. Bilbo thinks the world doesn’t treat dwarves as kindly as it should.

Skofor mentions that the king has been on a diplomatic mission in the west for many months. He sounds as if he believes it and Bilbo wonders how it can be that a full-sized dragon such as Thorin was able to escape the mountain without anyone noticing.

They finish their breakfast and idly chat for a while about life in Erebor and the Shire and Bilbo finds that he quite likes Skofor. He’s a smart young lad, bright and cheerful.

Someone that may be a good friend someday, if Bilbo were to… well, best not to think about that.

There’s a knock at the door, however, and Skofor leaps from his chair as if it was set on fire.

“I’ve been neglecting my duties,” he mutters apologetically.

“That’s my fault,” Bilbo says. “You can answer the door, if you’d like.”

Skofor hurries to it and opens it. “Prince Fili! Prince Kili!” he says to the dwarves on the other side and bows as he gestures them inside.

Bilbo stands and feels his heart skip a few beats. More princes. These must be Thorin’s nephews. The first dwarf that enters is as blond as Frerin is, with the same blue eyes, but Dis’s nose. He’s handsome and walks in with a bit of a strut as he gazes around the room. His eyes fall on Bilbo and brighten.

“Master Baggins!”

The second dwarf is brown-haired with a pointier nose and more scruff than beard. His hair is wild compared to his brother’s and he looks dressed as if he might go on a hunt, rather than to a council meeting.

“Master Baggins!” he too cheers and they hurry up to him.

“Thank you, Skofor!” Bilbo calls as the servant edges out of the room. He grins briefly at Bilbo before he hurries away, the door closing behind him.

“Erm, hello,” Bilbo says as he looks between the brothers. “You’re… Fili?” he hazards a guess at the blond.

“That I am,” Fili says with a wide grin. “And this is my brother, Kili. We’ve heard so much about you!”

“Really,” Bilbo says with a nervous laugh. “I’ve been here for such a short while.”

“Mum came to see us last night,” Kili says easily. “She said you’re our new hope to getting Uncle Thorin back.”

Bilbo has a brief recollection of Thorin telling him to only speak with Balin about everything and thinks that he has failed mightily at that.

“Ah,” he says uncomfortably. “Well, I’m certainly going to try.”

Kili picks up a piece of bacon and nibbles on it as he watches Bilbo curiously. “Mum said you were destined to. That you’ve got some sort of mark, like, like a tattoo, that led you to Uncle.”

“I do,” Bilbo says slowly.

“How interesting.”

Fili smirks. “He wants to know if we can see it.”

Bilbo eyes the brothers. They seem very young, with such short beards, and from the way they speak. Thorin had spoken of their mischief making, but he had assured Bilbo, in a warm tone, that they were sweet boys who only caused some of his grey hairs.

“It’s rather rude to ask someone you’ve known for one minute to take off their shirt,” Bilbo says mildly.

“Depends on the situation, really,” Fili says breezily. Kili snickers.

Bilbo huffs. “Perhaps before I leave, I will,” he says and ignores their crestfallen gazes. “Are you here for a reason or to pester me to see my mark?”

“Both, of course,” Kili says. “Mum meant to invite you to breakfast but you’ve already had it. She’ll still want to see you though. She says you aren’t likely to stay here for very long before going back to Uncle Thorin.”

“He’s really a dragon then,” Fili says quietly with a frown.

“Yes,” Bilbo says. “Did you not believe it?”

“The mountain was put on lock down one night,” Fili says with a sigh. “We were told there was a dragon spotted nearby. It wasn’t until the morning that Mum told us what really had happened. That Thorin… became a dragon in the treasury and Balin locked the mountain down to sneak him out. It’s not something that’s easy to believe, honestly.”

“Aye,” Kili says as his shoulders slump. “But since he hasn’t been back, we’ve come to terms with it. We’re trying not to lose hope but you’re our first good news about this.”

Bilbo’s heart picks up pace. He’s strongly feeling the pressure, he thinks, and it makes him feel faint. “I truly will try,” he says. “I’d like nothing more than to help Thorin. I’m growing fond of him.”

“Are you?” Fili asks lightly and with a nudge to his brother’s shoulder. “You certainly look it.”

Bilbo blushes and coughs as he picks up his tea cup to take a sip. “Well, he is inked on my back, I think I’m supposed to be fond of him,” he mumbles.

“Of course,” Kili says as he winks. “What sort of dragon is Uncle Thorin?”

And that’s how Bilbo finds himself seated at the dining table again, explaining how he came to meet Thorin, more condensed than he had to the others. He tells them what Thorin looks like and they gape in awe at him. It makes his heart ache, to know Thorin has chosen solitude, when he has a family that loves and cares for him very much, a family that is doing their best to find a way to help him.

His nephews clearly idolize him and there is no hiding the pain in their eyes when they speak about their uncle. They tell Bilbo that he’s a good sort, brave and kind, courageous and welcoming, and that he helped raise them after their father passed away.

It makes Bilbo’s heart soar to hear it and his fingertips itch with the longing to go back to Thorin. To see him, to touch him, even if it’s to look into his amber eyes or feel his smooth scales. He wishes to be near Thorin again and something tells him that Thorin being his companion isn’t entirely the reason why.

Fili and Kili say nothing more about it, however, and he enjoys conversation with them. They’re funny, kind, and seem genuinely interested in Bilbo and the Shire. The farthest west they’ve gone is to the Greenwood and they both didn’t seem to enjoy that at all. Bilbo tells them that they’re welcome anytime to Bag End, if they ever happen to be in the west, and they grin sweetly in return.

They leave the room after a while and go the family dining room, as Kili calls it, where Dis and Frerin are. They’ve finished their breakfast by then and have a good laugh when Fili and Kili tell them that Bilbo had eaten half the kitchens the moment he had woken up.

There is no talk about Thorin over tea and Bilbo feels relieved. Oh, he could certainly talk about Thorin all day and night, but not his predicament. He’s still got to work that out himself and they seem to realize that, as they leave him alone.

For a while anyway, he suspects.

They offer to show him around the mountain and he refuses to blush at the smiles they give him when he asks to be shown where Thorin likes to go most. Where he feels most at home.

They show him a great balcony off of yet another receiving room and though it’s high up, Bilbo immensely enjoys it. He can look south and see the wide open world. Plains and mountains, the Greenwood to his right, sloping hills to his left. It’s all cast in the beautiful morning light, a clear, cloudless day. He breathes in the fresh mountain air and something feels… right, in his heart. Something is settling there, in Erebor, something warm and comforting.

It feels like being at home.

The library is next and Bilbo isn’t entirely surprised that Thorin enjoys to read. Frerin teases that he likes the dry, boring books more than the fun and interesting ones. Dis mentions that he read all of those ones to Fili and Kili when they were younger and is more interested in history nowadays. It explains Thorin’s love of telling Bilbo of his ancestors and the great line of Durin’s histories.

It’s a journey through the mountain but Dis and Frerin insist on showing him Thorin’s workshop. He is a blacksmith, they explain, when he isn’t busy being a king. It’s a hobby he learned at a young age and is passionate about. Bilbo wonders why Thorin hadn’t mentioned it, but then… they haven’t spent all that long together, no matter what his heart has to say about the matter.

The forge isn’t huge by any means but it’s a comfortable space. There are swords and axes on the walls and tools on work tables. There are shelves of daggers and arrows and Bilbo feels his heart welling with something frighteningly like love. Thorin is a person, just like anyone else, with an entire life outside of the cave. He has passions and desires and deserves to be home.

They go back to the royal halls and Frerin says he must be off to a council meeting. Dis and Bilbo say goodbye and Dis turns to Bilbo.

“There is one more place I would like to show you,” she says with a smile.

“Please,” Bilbo says and follows her as she sets off down the hall.

They reach the end of it, where there are two large wooden doors, carved with runes and a crown of stars. Bilbo knows instantly what this room is and feels his heart begin to race.

Dis pushes the doors open and gestures for Bilbo to go inside.

It’s a huge room, with stone pillars carved ornately throughout it, and there are sapphires in the walls and floors that were never hewn. It’s a sitting room, mostly, with a private dining table in an alcove, and grand sofas and armchairs in front of two hearths. There are bearskin rugs on the floor that feel wonderfully soft under Bilbo’s feet. Different swords line the walls, along with portraits of majestic dwarves, and tapestries depicting many different moments in Erebor’s history.

But it’s the small things Bilbo notices most, like a pair of boots in front of another opened door, or a mug on the table that isn’t made of silver or gold, but wood, carved by hand and obviously well used.

He looks into the opened door and sees a study inside, with a large desk sitting in the middle of it. It’s another warm room but Bilbo suspects Thorin might spend far too much time in it. There are papers strewn across the desk, dots of ink on some, as if Thorin had left quickly one night and never returned.

There are bookshelves here and an endless amount of books. It’s Thorin’s own personal library and Bilbo’s heart constricts. He feels and sees Thorin everywhere he looks.

He doesn’t go into the bedroom. It feels wrong somehow, the ultimate private space a person might have, and he wonders if Thorin might be the one to show him it one day.

He tries to quickly forget that line of thought.

Dis doesn’t say anything when he returns to her. She’s been standing at the door watching him and she merely smiles and touches his arm before they leave Thorin’s rooms.

“Will you leave tomorrow?” she asks as they walk leisurely down the hall.

“Yes, I think so,” he says. “I don’t like leaving him by himself.”

“No,” Dis agrees with a smile. “You care greatly for my brother.”

“I think it comes with my mark,” Bilbo says, his cheeks warm. “But, erm, yes… I do.”

She’s quiet. “Tell him his family misses him. Tell him we await his return.”

Bilbo’s sigh is shaky. “Of course,” he murmurs.

The rest of his day is spent being visited by the Durin family now and then and he finds that he’s rather fond of them as well by evening. They make him feel as if he belongs, in the way that Thorin makes him feel as if he belongs.

Belonging is foreign to him.

He sleeps soundly that evening and takes breakfast with everyone in the morning, including Gandalf, Balin and Dwalin. There is no more pressure from anyone and when he packs up his belongings and follows them to the gates, he feels relieved. They’ve said their piece and he knows what he must do now.

It’s emotional, saying goodbye, and there are tears in Dis’s eyes when she hugs Bilbo. Frerin gives him a mighty clap on the shoulder and Dwalin grunts something that sounds like go back to him, laddie.

Balin shakes his hand and Fili and Kili engulf him in a hug, fairly lifting him off of his feet. Kili mentions that Bilbo never showed them his mark but he promises to do so once he has returned with Thorin. Thorin the dwarf, Thorin the king.

And Gandalf and he ride off soon after, waving goodbye. Bilbo looks forward and at the Greenwood in the distance and smiles.

——

They reach the forest as night falls. Bilbo leaves Myrtle with Gandalf and pats her nose goodbye. It’s growing dark but the dwarves had given him a torch when he had mentioned the darkness of the cave and he lights it to find his way back. He’s sure he could find his way back easily enough without it. The pull in his heart is so very strong.

Bilbo walks through the forest until he reaches the meadow. He smiles and sighs in relief to see the glow of fire inside the cave. He hurries to it and as he approaches the mouth of the cave, he sees amber eyes peering out at him.

“Bilbo,” Thorin says warmly as he meets Bilbo there.

“Hello, Thorin,” Bilbo says, his heart racing. He’s immensely relieved and happy to be back, even if he thinks he has a gargantuan effort ahead of him.

They move into the cave and settle themselves at the fire. Bilbo keeps up a stream of conversation, telling Thorin of his first impression of Erebor, and how very lovely it had been. He doesn’t tell Thorin of all that he had seen, but just enough for Bilbo to detect the warmth in Thorin’s heart.

“Gandalf and I ate supper. Delicious stew and a very good sourdough bread,” Bilbo says conversationally as he pulls out a loaf of the same kind of bread from his pack. He cuts off a slice and wraps it back up in the towel before he begins to munch on it. “And then Gandalf and I met with Balin.”

There’s some apprehension in the air now and Bilbo wonders how to proceed.

“Was he surprised by everything?”

“He’d actually heard of companion marks before,” Bilbo says with a smile. “So not entirely.”

“And… did he know of a way to break the curse?”

“He said they’ve been looking,” Bilbo says slowly. “But they haven’t found anything promising.”

He feels immense disappointment and some anger and hurries on, “They rather think that I’m the one meant to help you. As I told you the day we met.”

“How can you help me?” Thorin asks, somewhat petulantly. “You don’t know how to break curses. A kiss or killing a dark lord are not apt here, as you said.”

“Well, yes,” Bilbo says. “But I still think that I’m your best hope. You’re my mark for a reason, Thorin.” He swallows, sure that mentioning dragon sickness now would be a mistake. “Balin will continue looking and Gandalf will continue to wrack his brain while you and I work together.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something,” Bilbo says. “We’ll figure it out, Thorin.”

They speak no more of it that night but Bilbo feels the anxiousness in Thorin’s heart. Bilbo doesn’t admonish him for not telling the truth about who he is and Thorin doesn’t apologize. Bilbo doesn’t tell Thorin many things that night himself and it seems to be an unspoken agreement that they won’t discuss it.

Their sleep is fitful but morning dawns bright and early.

Bilbo begins his mission. To show Thorin humanity and kindness, friendship and… warmth.

Love.

He speaks with Thorin about the Shire and the walking holidays he’s taken. He tells Thorin about his love of Rivendell and ignores how Thorin huffs and puffs about it. He tells Thorin of his love of everything that grows and that he would like to show Thorin his garden one day.

And Thorin tells Bilbo more of Erebor, of his own journeys across Middle Earth. He had gone to Gondor when he was a young lad and Bilbo marvels at his description of the white city.

Their days are spent like this. Talking to one another, opening up and sharing their lives, who they are.

Bilbo bathes in the stream and eats what Thorin hunts and visits Gandalf occasionally. It’s not hard to tell him that Thorin is a warm person but there are still signs of dragon sickness. Bilbo can feel the anger in Thorin’s heart and some days he snaps at Bilbo in the most unexpected ways. He might demand that Bilbo do more to help break the curse and accuse him of dallying and Bilbo feels on edge.

It feels wrong to not tell Thorin what he has come to learn about dragon sickness. He makes the mistake of musing aloud about the stone potentially being harmful one day and it results in their first true argument. Thorin yells and roars until Bilbo threatens to leave him. Thorin merely turns and leaves himself, flying off into the sunset, and doesn’t return until morning.

It’s frightening.

But after another few days, Bilbo makes his final mistake.

They’re discussing blacksmithing, as Thorin has finally opened up to Bilbo about it, and Bilbo laughs as Thorin tells him of his first few works and how poorly done they were.

“Your sister said you were the best at it that she’d ever seen.”

There’s a sudden, icy feeling in his heart and it constricts painfully, making him wince. He rubs his chest as Thorin remains quiet for a moment.

“You spoke with my sister?”

It’s asked very softly and Bilbo pauses, his heart skipping a beat. He looks up at Thorin and opens his mouth, then closes it. Blast his running mouth. He clears his throat and nods.

“Well… yes,” he says slowly. “She heard I was in the mountain and wanted to meet me. We spoke about you, a little, just about smithing and food—”

“You’re lying.”

It’s hissed in an inhuman way and Bilbo’s stomach lurches.

“When Balin heard why I was there, he told your sister. Of course she wanted to meet me, Thorin.”

“I forbade you from speaking with my family,” Thorin says, anger in every word, his eyes narrowed, his pupils a thin slit, even in the lower light of the cave.

Bilbo thinks he must tread carefully. “They miss you, Thorin. They asked me to help you where they can’t,” he says. “That’s all.”

“You spoke with all of them,” Thorin says with a cold laugh. “Did they tell you I was mad?”

“Of course they didn’t,” Bilbo says and frowns. “They wouldn’t think so.”

“That’s a lie,” Thorin snaps, a growl in his voice. “It goes both ways, Master Baggins. I can feel when you are lying to me.”

Bilbo takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “I didn’t want you to be upset with me,” he says. “Your family wants nothing but the best for you. They… they understand what you’re going through, I think, but they are sorry for how they’ve treated you.”

“Understand what I am going through? I am cursed!” Thorin roars, his voice echoing through the cave and causing Bilbo to jump. “How can they understand? No! They told you I have the dragon sickness, something they have accused me of having for years!”

Bilbo’s heart is thumping wildly and he carefully stands and holds his hands up. “Thorin, please—”

“Enough!” Thorin yells. “You believe them, do you not? I can feel it in your heart. You believe I am sick, that I have a sickness of the mind, you believe they are right!”

“They saw it, Thorin, they saw it as well as you did,” Bilbo says, stumbling over his words. “They saw it in your grandfather.”

“I am not my grandfather!” Thorin shouts, a true roar, his voice warped and beastly. “They heard my vision for Erebor and thought it was too ambitious and that I must be dragon mad!” He begins to pace the cave and shakes the ground as he does. As Bilbo attempts to backtrack, Thorin’s eyes turn toward him, flashing brilliantly in the firelight. “You. You are consorting with them.”

“Consorting?” Bilbo repeats. “I’m not consorting with anyone, Thorin. I’m trying to help you! You… you weren’t cursed. There is no curse. This is dragon sickness, Thorin!”

“LIES!” Thorin screeches and the ground trembles. “You are as blind as they are!”

“Thorin, please, just listen to me,” Bilbo says hurriedly. “Please. Listen to yourself. I’m your own companion, I’m here to help. Dragon sickness has turned you into a dragon. Once you are yourself, you’ll go back to being a dwarf!”

“I am not ill,” Thorin hisses dangerously. He lowers his head closer to Bilbo, something wild in his eyes. “And I will not hear it. I will not hear it from a halfling who has met my family once and believed their lies. I will not hear it!”

Bilbo looks at Thorin. Truly looks at him.

There is madness in his eyes and Bilbo’s heart feels as if it is breaking in two. “Let me help you,” he pleads. “Please, Thorin, you’re so much more than this.”

“Do not speak to me of who I am,” Thorin growls. “You know nothing! You are merely a spy for them! A rat! You cannot break my curse!”

Bilbo watches Thorin, a crushing weight in his chest. “I can help you,” he says, even if he doesn’t believe it. “Let me help you!”

“I do not want your help!” Thorin says. “Shire rat! I do not want you! You, who only thinks of your warm hearth, you who did not want to come to me to begin with! You, who would rather be in Erebor with my treacherous family than here with me!”

“Thorin—”

“Go! I do not want you here! You are the same as them! Go back to the Shire! Leave me in peace!”

Bilbo’s eyes sting. He looks at Thorin, at his heaving chest, at the madness in his eyes and feels the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I can’t help you,” he whispers, a terrible realization.

“You never could,” Thorin says coldly. “Leave. Go home, halfling. Never come here again. I am no companion of yours.”

It’s an immense, all encompassing hurt that lays over his heart to hear those words. Bilbo takes a step back at the sheer force of it, tears in his eyes. He turns away from Thorin and quickly packs his belongings. He’s trembling from head to toe and he can hear Thorin’s chest heaving and smell smoke in the air.

He looks at Thorin once more and Thorin snarls, baring his teeth.

“Go!”

And Bilbo does, running out of the cave, through the meadow and into the trees, without looking back.

——

Gandalf is disturbed by the news of what has happened when Bilbo stumbles into the camp to tell him. He frowns powerfully and mutters to himself for a while. Bilbo thinks it’s over, that this has all been for naught, until Gandalf tells him to let Thorin sleep on it for a day or two.

Somehow Bilbo thinks it won’t be nearly enough. His heart aches in a way it never has and he’s frightened for himself. Could this really be love? If it is, he’s not entirely sure he wants it. It’s painful, taking his breath away, and makes it impossible for him to sleep that night. He stares up at the stars and tries not to think about Thorin’s soothing breaths that he normally falls asleep to.

Or Thorin’s voice in his ear, singing a song of Durin, low and hauntingly beautiful.

There is silence except for the occasional rustle of leaves or a stick cracking in the forest. He’s acutely aware of all of the noises around him and his heart beats painfully all night long in fear.

It’s even harder the next day. He doesn’t eat anything and ignores Gandalf’s attempts to get him to have at least one slice of bread. Gandalf peers at him with concern but he doesn’t offer any comforts. He doesn’t know if it will be alright and Bilbo thinks that, for once, he could use the false comfort.

It’s not until late afternoon before Bilbo decides to go back to the cave. Gandalf comes with him and that makes the pain in Bilbo’s heart unbearable, to know that Gandalf is worried for his safety. He waits at the end of the meadow as Bilbo cautiously approaches the cave.

It’s empty.

There is no fresh firewood, no fresh food, no Thorin.

“Perhaps he’s off hunting,” Gandalf says quietly when Bilbo comes back to him.

Bilbo knows that isn’t it and he think Gandalf does too.

They wait for three days, staying in Gandalf’s camp, only venturing into the meadow a few times a day. Thorin is never there and the world feels just a little bit colder, despite the coming hot months. Bilbo’s heart feels empty with each passing day and, on the fourth morning, when Thorin still hasn’t returned, he looks at Gandalf.

“I want to go home.”

Gandalf looks immensely sorry but he doesn’t say anything. He merely nods and grasps Bilbo’s shoulder tightly.

They set off an hour later, heading south. Bilbo doesn’t look back at Erebor and tries not to think about the Durin family. He has failed them and he is too much of a coward to go back and tell them. He’ll write them once he’s in the Greenwood but he can’t face their sorrow. Their potential anger, even, for scaring Thorin away.

For being such a fool.

They arrive at the palace of the Greenwood two days later and Legolas hurries to greet them at the gates. He frowns as he looks at Bilbo, then away, downcast.

Come, mellon nin, is all he says and they enter the palace.

Bilbo locks himself away in the same room he’d had before and writes a letter. He’s properly apologetic, he thinks, but it’s not enough. His honesty is glaring on the pages and he hates that he is baring his heart to them. But still… it’s not enough. He was unable to return their brother to them. Their king.

He eats little after sending the letter and ignores Gandalf and Legolas’s calls to join feasts. It isn’t until his third day that someone knocks on his door and he answers, prepared to tell whoever has come to disturb him off.

Thranduil stands there and Bilbo gapes up at him.

“Erm… Your Majesty,” he says awkwardly and steps aside to let Thranduil enter. He sweeps into the room and gazes around at the mess on the small desk in the corner of the room and Bilbo’s untidy bed. Finally, he looks at Bilbo again.

“You have tasted the bitterness of love.”

Bilbo’s heart fractures just a little bit more and he looks at the desk as he tries to tidy up.

“I suppose I have,” he says. “What can I do for you, my king?”

Thranduil is silent for a while. He walks to the bed and sits down, one leg gracefully crossing the other. It’s a little comical looking, as the bed is dwarf-sized and he is the tallest elf Bilbo has seen. But he finds he can’t even smile at the image.

“There is still hope for Thorin,” Thranduil says quietly, in that slow way of his.

Bilbo looks quickly at him, his mouth hanging open, and blinks a little. “But… how do you know?”

“There is always hope,” he says. “Even for dwarves.”

“Do you know of a way?” Bilbo asks, ignoring the barb.

Thranduil peers at him, his head tilted to the side. “Love is a powerful cure for many things,” he says. “But it can take time.”

“He’s gone,” Bilbo says miserably. “How can he know how I feel, the love that I feel, if he isn’t around to see it?” He doesn’t see the point hiding any of it - Thorin, his mark, his love. What does it matter now?

“He has already seen it. One day he will even realize it.”

Bilbo sniffles. “I don’t think so,” he says quietly. “I failed him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he never thought of me again.”

“Do not give up so easily,” Thranduil says with a faint smile. “Love, while felt quickly, grows as time goes on. And, as they say… absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

Bilbo doesn’t particularly believe in that. He’s never loved anyone, but he thinks that absence will make love disappear. He will no doubt love Thorin for the rest of his life but Thorin must hate him now. Thorin’s love, if there is any, will diminish.

“I don’t think I’ll see him again,” he says. “But I’ll always hope that he returns to himself. That he returns to his family.”

“He will. One day,” Thranduil says as he stands. “Wait for him.”

He bows his head and sweeps out of the room as quickly as he had come.

Bilbo looks at his closed door, not feeling much better. He’ll wait until his dying day for Thorin, but… he thinks it will be a life full of an everlasting pain doing so. Perhaps his comeuppance for what he has done to Thorin.

They leave the Greenwood the next day and begin the journey home.

——

Bilbo doesn’t pick any new summer flowers. He merely watches the landscapes pass them by, great valleys and mountain ranges. Gandalf and he don’t speak very much and Bilbo thinks that the journey might take forever.

But it doesn’t. They pass over the Anduin and through the Misty Mountains with little hindrances. It grows hot and Bilbo feels mildly ill every day, a nausea he can’t get rid of. He wonders if it’s a broken heart and, for the first time, regrets getting his mark.

It would have been easier without it. His adventure certainly was quite different than the great tales.

Lord Elrond looks at Bilbo with sorrow in his eyes as they arrive in Rivendell but he asks no questions. They are treated as old friends, with warmth and a sense of belonging. Bilbo thinks that, since Erebor cannot be, Rivendell could be home. But he must get back to the Shire for now. It’s something to think of for another day.

His pain doesn’t lessen the closer he gets to home. It feels as if it only gets worse, the longing within him nearly unbearable some days. He can feel the pull trying to take him back east, trying to take him back to Thorin, but he ignores it. It grows cold and heavy in his chest and feels as if he is carrying an additional weight that was never there before.

He sees Lord Elrond and Gandalf whispering at dinners but he ignores them in favor of many glasses of wine.

They leave Rivendell after a few days and Bilbo says goodbye with some regrets. He knows he is poor company and that the elves are truly very kind but he isn’t particularly sure how to be glad of friendship right now. He isn’t particularly sure how to be glad of anything.

They ride to Bree but only stop for luncheon. Bilbo is eager to get back home and he tells Gandalf so. They make the final ride to the Shire.

The rolling green hills are a balm for Bilbo’s heart and he gazes around, relieved and ill all at once. He is home, where he truly belongs, no matter what his fanciful thoughts have to say about the matter. They ride into Hobbiton and the smell of baking bread and sweet flowers and pipeweed smoke draws tears to Bilbo’s eyes.

He’s home, yes, and there is relief in that, but he finds that there is a hatred in his heart, a hatred that is his own and not Thorin’s.

He can feel Thorin, faintly. Their connection has been broken in many ways but there is anger and heartbreak that isn’t entirely his own in his chest. He thinks that will fade in time as well.

As they ride to the top of the hill, he sees hobbits shake their heads at him and ignores them. What do they know, anyway, of adventure and of a companion mark that has led to a special sort of love? What do they know of anything? Of Bilbo?

Bag End is clean and tidy, no new layers of dust, and his garden looks brilliant. Hamfast has been keeping up with everything and Bilbo reminds himself that he must give him gold and baked treats, if he can find it within himself to bake anything at all.

Gandalf stays for two days, helping Bilbo to get used to being home again, and chases everyone off who comes to knock at his door. But Bilbo hears their whispers outside.

Missus Sackville-Baggins says he’s odder than ever and the Shire was a better place without him.

Mister Smallburrow says that’s what an adventure will do to you, make you odder than before. It’s why we don’t go on them, see.

Mister Gamgee shouts you leave Mister Bilbo alone and mind your own business. He’s done nothin’ to you and he doesn’t want any visitors, especially none that gossip at his door!

It takes Bilbo three days after Gandalf has left before he decides to visit Hamfast. Ham and Bell have left food at Bilbo’s door and though he can barely get through it, it’s enough to keep him going. He cannot stomach a trip to the market and they seem to realize as much. He owes the Gamgee family so much and finally, after moping through his days, he decides it’s time to thank them.

Hamfast and Bell welcome him in with open arms. Their children are suspiciously quiet in front of him and well-behaved, far more than usual, and Bilbo suspects that their parents have told them to be this way around him. He decides to tell them a tale of a dragon merely to see them grin and laugh again. It hurts to speak of Thorin but Bilbo warps the tale into something else and watches as the children begin to play a game of hobbits and dragons once he’s done.

He takes tea with Bell and Hamfast in their kitchen. They don’t push him or ask him many questions but he can’t stand to be treated so delicately.

So he tells them.

He tells them of his journey across Middle Earth, of meeting elves, of seeing mountains and incredible forests. He tells them of meeting his companion and watches their shock as he tells them who Thorin really was. They believe him, he can see, with no question, and he wonders what he has done to deserve such wonderful friends. They listen to his heartache, to his longing, but they don’t judge him for what he has done to Thorin.

Hamfast is adamant that Bilbo has done nothing wrong, that he meant the best, but Bilbo knows it’s his fault Thorin had disappeared.

“You may yet see him again,” Hamfast says. “One day.”

“There is always hope, Bilbo,” Bell whispers as she grasps his hand.

Bilbo has heard the words before and still can’t bring himself to believe them.

Hamfast and Bell don’t wish to take his gold but Bilbo insists on it. He has taken them away from their children to maintain his smial, after all, and when he reminds him of this they reluctantly take it. They are both much more eager to receive a pie or two when Bilbo promises to bring them some.

He goes home, feeling a bit lighter, but only enough that he finds his appetite slowly coming back.

Sleep is still fitful, full of nightmares and scales black as night, amber eyes, wings that blot out the sun.

His days creep by, filled with exhaustion and memories. He bakes when he can and gifts pies and scones and breads to Hamfast and his family. He gardens and smokes his pipe on the smoking bench and tries not to think of the east.

Of vast mountain ranges, of a lonely peak, of dwarves and elves and dragons.

That’s behind him now and, one day, he knows it won’t feel real. It’s already starting to feel that way, he thinks, when he sits down with the intention of writing down some of his tale. But it’s too fresh, an open wound that he doesn’t want to fester.

He merely tries to get through his days without any tears.

Three weeks after Bilbo has been home, he hears a disruption outside, and thinks there must be a party in the Party Field. One he wasn’t invited to, naturally, but that doesn’t surprise him. There are still whispers of his oddness, especially in the market now that Bilbo has been forced to go. He tries not to think about it but the idea of parading shirtless for all to see his mark does amuse him some days.

The disruption gets louder and closer and Bilbo frowns from the sitting room. There is some strange screaming outside and his stomach churns uncomfortably. It doesn’t feel quite right.

It’s voices, he realizes after a while, an argument. There are multiple people shouting and it sounds as if they’re coming up the hill. He quickly stands and goes to his window, peeking outside. He groans.

There’s a small mob outside being led by Fortinbras and Lobelia, who is dressed obnoxiously in pink and white with a delicate blue parasol swinging above her head.

They’ve likely come to run him out of Hobbiton at last.

He moves to the wall, out of sight of the windows, and closes his eyes tightly as he hears them enter his garden.

“Quiet down!” Fortinbras hollers.

There’s a polite knock at his door.

Fortinbras is the Thain of the Shire and he lives in Tuckborough. It’s a fourteen mile journey and doesn’t bode well for Bilbo that he’s made it.

“Bilbo Baggins! I know you’re in there!” Lobelia shrieks. “It’s just like you, to bring this sort of oddness to the Shire!”

Bilbo frowns and wonders what Lobelia thinks he’s done now. Perhaps a wolf has wandered too close to their borders, dragged in by his odd aura. He giggles a little at the thought.

“I’ll handle this,” Fortinbras’s voice says, annoyed. “Bilbo? Are you in there, lad? There’s something you should see. Urgently.”

“Our lives are in your hands!” Lobelia yells. Very dramatically, in Bilbo’s opinion.

“Alright, you clucking hens!” Hamfast’s voice appears at the door, loud and angry. “Mister Bilbo will help us if we just ask! It’s not his fault that he’s here!” He harrumphs and knocks lightly. “Mister Bilbo, you’ve got a… visitor.”

Bilbo’s heart begins to race, his pulse beating painfully in his neck, and his hands tremble.

A visitor.

It’s not his fault that he’s here!

He who?

Bilbo feels an immense disappointment. Of course it must be Gandalf. The hobbits of the Shire certainly aren’t fond of wizards and it’s always Bilbo’s fault whenever Gandalf comes traversing through. They’ve never gathered at his door because of it but he supposes he’s pushed them to the brink with his little adventure.

He sighs as he straightens out his waistcoat and goes to the door. He unlocks and opens it, looking at the crowd on his doorstep. Hamfast and Fortinbras look apologetic but Lobelia is sneering more hatefully than usual. And she’s carrying a carving knife.

Perhaps she’s finally come to murder him. He always thought it would be in his sleep.

“What is it?” he asks tiredly. “Has Gandalf come ‘round again?”

“Gandalf! If only that wizard were here!” Lobelia shrieks.

Fortinbras holds up his hand for quiet. “It’s not Gandalf,” he says mildly. “He’s… larger. He came to Tuckborough first but we… well, escorted him here.”

Bilbo swallows dryly as he gapes between them, then at Hamfast. Ham is holding his hat to his chest and he nods at Bilbo, something gleaming in his eyes.

“He says he’s your companion,” Lobelia says somewhat hysterically. “A beast! A dragon, Bilbo! You’re attracting dragons now!”

“He is my companion mark,” Bilbo says faintly as he grabs on to his doorframe in an attempt to not collapse.

They all gasp and turn pale, excluding Hamfast, who beams at Bilbo.

“A speaking dragon?!” Lobelia shouts. “He can’t be a companion mark! He’s promised not to eat us for now but if you don’t go tell him to leave and never come back, he may just change his mind!”

“He won’t eat anyone unless I ask him to,” Bilbo says mildly. “Think on that for a while, Lobelia.”

There are scandalized gasps this time but Bilbo ignores them as he pushes his way into the mob, closing his door behind him. He feels very close to panicking, his heart racing, and an odd tingling shooting up his spine. And now that he thinks about it, the pull is stronger than it has been in some weeks. The longing… yes, there it is, wrapped cozily around his heart.

He wonders how long it has been there, hiding underneath his sorrow.

But… why would Thorin be here? It boggles his mind. Has Thorin come to take his revenge on Bilbo?

“He was awful polite,” Hamfast says as he comes to stand at Bilbo’s side. He looks apprehensive but there’s a secret smile on his lips that makes Bilbo’s heart beat in a different way.

“He wasn’t angry?”

“Not even a bit, Mister Bilbo,” Hamfast says lowly.

“If you don’t do anything about that dragon, I will send for the Rangers!” Lobelia says from somewhere behind him.

Bilbo ignores her. “Where is he, Ham?”

“Er… not far,” Hamfast says. He points across the village.

There, at the end of the road into Hobbiton, stands a dragon.

Bilbo gasps as he sets eyes on Thorin for the first time in a few very long months. He’s huge and shining magnificently in the sun, a rainbow of colors dashed across his black scales. Bilbo can’t see his amber eyes but he suspects they are looking in his direction.

He’s beautiful. He’s perfect. He’s Bilbo’s, in another life.

“Stay here,” he orders his fellow hobbits without looking at them. “He’s my companion and this is between us.”

“Companions can’t talk,” Lobelia whines.

Bilbo sets off down the lane, his legs feeling like Aunt Mira’s gelatin, and his hands shaking wildly at his sides. He stares at Thorin as he crosses the village and when he’s close enough, he finally sees Thorin’s brilliantly amber eyes. They are gazing steadily at him and Bilbo feels as if his heart may well burst out of his chest.

He stands on one side of the hedge, while Thorin looms over the other.

“Hello, Thorin,” he says very quietly.

Thorin stares down at him, his eyes strangely soft, strangely human.

“Bilbo,” he murmurs.

They don’t say anything for another moment and just when Bilbo is about to ask Thorin why he is here, Thorin says, “I lost you.”

Bilbo’s heart skips a beat. “Thorin…”

“Bilbo, please, listen to me,” Thorin says as he leans his neck down, moving closer to Bilbo. “I lost you. I chased you away… I let you leave. I have made many mistakes in my life, but none such as this.”

Bilbo sniffs. His eyes sting. “I chased you away.”

“You did no such thing,” Thorin rumbles. “It was not your fault. I refused to listen to you when you tried to talk sense into me. When… you told me the truth, of what I had become. Forgive me, Bilbo, I was too blind to see.”

“It’s alright,” Bilbo says breathlessly. Thorin looks unsure and Bilbo reaches out until Thorin’s eyes soften further and he leans in. He nudges the end of his nose against Bilbo’s hand and Bilbo inhales sharply to feel his smooth scales, something he never thought he would feel again. “You’re here,” he whispers.

“I wish to never part from you again,” Thorin says forcefully. “Forgive me for not coming sooner.”

“Where did you go?” Bilbo asks in a small voice. “I stayed there for days but you never returned.”

“I flew east,” Thorin says and sounds incredibly pained. “I flew until I couldn’t anymore. Until I reached a black sea that I have never read about. I stayed on its shores, lost… lost in my madness. I stayed there, hearing voices, yours, mine, my family’s. I could hear what you said… that I was much more than this. I could hear my sister tell me I was becoming my grandfather.” His eyes close. “And myself, most of all, denying that I was him, when I am exactly as he was.”

Bilbo runs both of his hands along Thorin’s nose as he gazes up at him. “You aren’t your grandfather,” he says. “You’re Thorin.”

Thorin chuckles as he looks at Bilbo. “I’m sorry that I forgot that,” he says. “I’m sorry that it took me this long to remember.” He sighs shakily. “I looked at my reflection in the sea and saw a dragon looking back. The proof of my illness. I wish not to be ill anymore, Bilbo. I wish not to be ill or parted from you… I wish to stay with you, in your arms, as myself.”

He closes his eyes.

“I wish to be Thorin once again.”

Bilbo wraps his arms as well as he can around Thorin’s nose and clings to him, pressing his cheek against his warm scales. He sniffs and squeezes his eyes shut. “You’re Thorin,” he repeats. “You’re my Thorin. My companion and… and my friend. My love.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin whispers. “Ghivashel.”

Bilbo presses his lips to Thorin’s snout and gently kisses him.

And suddenly, there is no Thorin in his arms. Bilbo gasps as he staggers a step forward, opening his eyes wide. There’s a strange black cloud surrounding him and his heart and stomach lurch together.

“Thorin!”

“Bilbo?”

Bilbo’s heart shutters as he looks through the cloud, which is dissipating in a swift breeze. And there, standing on the other side of the hedge, stands a figure.

A dwarf.

He’s dressed in a furred coat, his long black hair streaked with silver swaying in a breeze. He sways where he stands, nearly stumbling, but he looks down at his hands. He turns them over for a time before he looks up and at Bilbo through the now clear air. There is awe on his face.

Bilbo slowly approaches him, every inch of him light as air. He stops in front of the dwarf and lifts his hands, pressing them to the dwarf’s bearded cheeks. There is a long, neat braid on his chin, ended with a silver bead that has a crown of seven stars. Bilbo looks into his eyes, blue as the sky.

“Thorin,” he whispers thickly, tears in his eyes. “My Thorin.”

Thorin reaches up and holds Bilbo’s wrists, his eyes searching Bilbo’s. They’re shining with tears of his own and a soft, wounded noise leaves his throat. He surges forward, pressing his forehead to Bilbo’s. “My Bilbo,” he says, his voice breaking.

They breathe each other’s air until Bilbo can’t stand not looking into Thorin’s eyes. He pulls back and when Thorin looks at him, there are fresh tear tracks on his cheeks and his eyes are red-rimmed. Bilbo brushes the tears away and smiles.

“You’re beautiful, Thorin,” he says. “Positively lovely.”

Thorin chuckles wetly. “As are you,” he says. “You were wrong, before.”

Bilbo frowns.

“A kiss was just what I needed.”

Bilbo laughs and throws his arms around Thorin’s middle. “If only I had done it before!” he says as he clings to him. To his dwarf.

“I think I needed to be ready first,” Thorin says as he hugs Bilbo tightly in return. He noses at his hair, his hands squeezing Bilbo’s sides. “I needed to see.”

“What do you see now?”

“The world,” Thorin says into Bilbo’s ear. “Brighter and sharper than before. Life… more precious than ever. And you, ghivashel… you.”

Bilbo looks at Thorin then, into his eyes, and smiles. “Welcome back to the world, Thorin. To life. Welcome back home, to me,” he says and leans in.

Thorin meets him halfway and they kiss and it is so easy, as natural as breathing. Bilbo’s arms sneak around Thorin’s neck and he holds on to him for all he is worth. And Thorin kisses him in front of all to see, with longing and passion and a fierce love.

They don’t separate for a while, but when they do, Bilbo takes up Thorin’s hand. He leads him through the village and smiles at anyone that gapes at them. Some hobbits are shaking their heads, as they are wont to do, and Bilbo feels… giddy. He laughs freely and Thorin laughs at his side, without knowing the reason why.

They walk up the hill, where the mob still is, and they stare at Thorin in shock and with a great amount of suspicion.

“Don’t worry, Lobelia,” Bilbo says as he passes her and walks through his garden. “He’s only a dragon when he wants to be!”

And he takes Thorin inside and they both forget the outside world for a time.

They make love that night, a desperate need shared between them, and Bilbo thinks that… he may not have a companion in the traditional sense, but he has a companion all the same. A lover, someone to help guide him in life, a best friend. Thorin is what Bilbo needs him to be and they are what each other needs… what each other wants.

They have much to speak of but tonight it’s the slide of skin on skin and a sweet bliss Bilbo has never known. Thorin kisses him like a man drowning and Bilbo merely holds on, hoping that his love is poured into every small movement, every loving sigh, every mark left on pale skin.

And he thinks… destiny. I’ve finally found it. My path, my place, my part in this wide world. And it’s at his side.

——

They don’t speak on matters more serious than what to make for dinner for three days. The world doesn’t exist outside of Bag End, as far as they’re concerned, but eventually food stocks run low and Bilbo thinks they must come back to the real world. Bliss and peace, that’s the Shire, he thinks, but the real world is out there, another home, far to the east of there.

Bilbo and Thorin leave the smial once Thorin’s clothes have been cleaned and dried, as he has no others, and go to the marketplace. They make quite a spectacle and Bilbo hears the whispers.

Mister Goodchild says there’s that dragon we saw. More of a dwarf now, but I’ve got my eye on him.

Missus Lightfoot whispers look at them, holding hands the way they are, Mister Bilbo has finally found someone as odd as him.

Missus Sandyman says always knew he’d end up the most strange of us all… with a dwarf! What would his father think?

And Bilbo laughs, because he knows his father would approve of the journey his companion mark took him on. It was his path, after all, and all hobbits are supposed to follow on their paths, no exceptions.

Oddness, while frowned upon, has many benefits.

“Alright, you lot! That’s enough!” Hamfast says. “Mind your own!”

Bilbo smiles as he steps up to Bell’s cart. “Good morning,” he says mildly as Ham and Bell look at Thorin with something near glee.

“Good mornin’, Mister Bilbo,” Hamfast says. He’s nearly bouncing in excitement as he thrusts his hand out to Thorin. “Hello, Thorin, sir! We’ve heard a great deal about you!”

Thorin shakes Hamfast’s hand with a small smile. “As I have heard of you,” he says. “Thank you for everything you have done… for Bilbo and I both.”

Hamfast turns pink but he positively beams. “My pleasure, o’course,” he says. Then louder, “Mister Bilbo’s the finest friend any hobbit could hope to have!”

Bilbo blushes and coughs a little as he looks over the pastries in Bell’s cart.

“Aye,” Thorin murmurs as he gazes fondly at Bilbo. “The finest friend a dwarf could hope to have as well.”

“Oh, stop,” Bilbo mutters, but he finds he can’t stop smiling. “Thank you both. We’ll take two mince pies, Bell.”

She grins as she packs them up and winks. “You two make for a fine couple,” she says. “No finer in the Shire… except perhaps Ham and I.”

Bilbo chuckles, his cheeks still warm. “I’ll gladly follow in your steps,” he says as he takes the pies and adds them to the basket hanging on Thorin’s arm. “Will you come around for tea soon?”

They make plans for tea and Hamfast heartily shakes Thorin’s hand once more before they move on. They finish their shopping and head to Bag End with groceries for the week and Bilbo thinks… it’s time, isn’t it?

Thorin is quiet as they put away groceries and Bilbo wonders if he’s had a similar thought. They’ve avoided the topic thus far but it must be discussed, no matter how nervous it makes Bilbo.

“Thorin—”

“Bilbo—”

They chuckle and Thorin gestures for Bilbo to continue.

“Well, erm… maybe we should sit down,” he says. “I’ll make some tea.”

Thorin goes to the sitting room as Bilbo makes tea and sets biscuits on a serving tray. He takes it into the sitting room and sits across from Thorin in his father’s armchair. He looks at Thorin, who happens to be caught in a ray of sunlight, reflecting a rainbow of colors along his black hair, the silver streaks shining white. His eyes are enchantingly blue and he looks so very… Thorin.

His dwarf, his love, his companion… his king, he thinks.

They sip their tea and Bilbo nibbles on a biscuit as he gathers his thoughts. Thorin waits patiently, merely gazing at him with the same softness in his eyes that he’s always had, and Bilbo’s heart flutters.

“We need to speak about Erebor,” Bilbo says finally.

Thorin bows his head. “Aye, that we do,” he says quietly.

“You have to return.”

“I do.”

“When… do you think you will?”

Thorin doesn’t answer for a while. There’s a smile on his lips, though, and he edges forward in the chair and holds his hand out to Bilbo. Bilbo takes it, his hand small in Thorin’s larger one, and Thorin’s thumb rubs over his own.

“When you agree to be my husband,” he says, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Whether that be now or years from now… I will stay with you, until you are ready to return to Erebor, as my consort.”

Bilbo’s fingertips tingle and he breathes shallowly as he watches Thorin. He breathes out heavily as he squeezes Thorin’s hand. “Well,” he says, “we may be journeying back to Erebor very soon then.”

Thorin looks stunned and stares at Bilbo for a while, and doesn’t seem to be breathing. “Truly?” he finally asks with a great, trembling sigh.

“Of course,” Bilbo says. “But I thought we might get married here first. Perhaps on September 22nd. It’s a very lucky day, in my opinion.”

There are tears in Thorin’s eyes and he grins painfully wide, his gaze full of love, of longing, and Bilbo meets him halfway there as they surge toward each other. It’s not hard to become lost in each other’s touch but eventually Bilbo does pull away, laughing as he clutches the front of Thorin’s shirt.

“A lucky day, indeed,” Thorin says warmly, a bit out of breath. “A perfect day to get married.” He rubs Bilbo’s thigh. “When would you like to return to Erebor? The following spring?”

“Might as well leave in March,” Bilbo says dryly. “A good month to start an adventure, I think.”

Thorin chuckles and nods. “Very well,” he says. “I have a stone to destroy as soon as we return.”

Bilbo’s heart soars and he smiles as he squeezes Thorin’s hand.

“I must write my family. What should I say?”

“Hmm,” Bilbo hums, smiling mischievously at Thorin, “I think I know just the thing.”

——

To Dis, Frerin, Fili and Kili,

We’re coming home. Await our arrival in May.

Love,

Bilbo and Thorin

——

Thorin fits in well in the Shire. He’s very good at chasing away the naysayers and an entire fortnight goes by before Bilbo sees Lobelia again. She keeps her distance and Bilbo thinks it’s a marvelous change. There aren’t anymore whispers about his oddness that he hears and he is endlessly thankful to Thorin and Hamfast, who he suspects has a good deal to do with it.

They enjoy the coming fall with many treats, apple strudels and blackberry pies, and Thorin grows rounder around the middle. It’s a good look on him, even if Bilbo is sure it’ll be gone by the time they reach Erebor. He’ll simply have to continue cooking for Thorin in the kitchens there.

Their wedding is beautiful, themed with bluebells and white roses. Half of the Shire turns up to watch Bilbo marry a dwarf that was once a dragon and Bilbo isn’t entirely surprised when Thorin becomes the center of attention. He’s more than happy to not be the center of things for once and though Thorin seems overwhelmed, he enjoys himself. He plays with the children of Hobbiton and tells everyone a tale of a dragon and a hobbit. He drinks and dances and keeps Bilbo by his side through all of it.

They spend their night as husband and husband locked away in Bag End’s master bedroom and don’t bother coming out until the next afternoon.

Winter comes and goes with white flurries and days spent curled in front of the hearth, wrapped around each other, cocooned in thick blankets.

Time moves at the right pace, Bilbo thinks, not too quickly or slowly.

Spring dawns a few days before the first of March, pink and white and yellow flowers springing up from the snow, and the birds come out to sing, heralding a new season.

They buy a cart and two ponies and the day that they arrive, Bilbo has tears in his eyes.

They aren’t of sorrow, however, and Thorin seems to understand as much, as he merely smiles and kisses Bilbo’s temple.

He’s saying goodbye to Bag End, which will go to Hamfast, as well as all of the properties he owns. Bag End is meant for a large family after all, and it’s a shame that it was never filled with one. Now its halls will know numerous generations and Bilbo’s heart is gladdened to know it.

Bilbo writes his will and very pointedly leaves nothing to Lobelia.

And then the day comes that all of the belongings he has decided to take with him are packed on the cart and the ponies are readied, fed and watered for the beginning of their long journey.

Hamfast and Bell meet Bilbo at the top of the hill and they embrace each other for a long while.

Hamfast is crying and Bilbo feels rather like doing so himself but he just manages to hold it in. He pats Hamfast’s shoulder and kisses Bell’s cheek and climbs into the cart as Thorin says his own goodbyes.

It isn’t for forever, Bilbo knows. One day he will come to the Shire to visit, to see Ham and his family, to see his numerous cousins. But for now, he looks east and feels something right settle in his heart.

He’s going home.

Their journey is long but uneventful. Lord Elrond smiles warmly when they visit and gifts them two very interesting swords, and the owners of the inns Bilbo had stayed at with Gandalf cheer to see him again, and the elves of the Greenwood sing their joyous songs to welcome them.

Thranduil arches his eyebrows at Bilbo and lifts his wine goblet during a feast.

And Bilbo raises his in return and thinks he will never lose hope again.

He will never be parted from Thorin again and his heart thumps steadily in his chest at the thought, filled with the warmth of love and comfort of happiness.

And soon they are before Erebor, a magnificent peak, shining brightly above them in the evening sunlight. It is cast in pinks and purples and Bilbo closes his eyes, holding the memory of it close, so that he may never forget it.

Dis, Frerin, Fili and Kili await them on the bridge. Balin and Dwalin are just behind them and they all wear a warm smile.

Dis engulfs her brother in a hug and looks up at him when she has pulled back, her hand on his cheek. “Welcome home,” she says and embraces Bilbo next. “Both of you.”

He looks at her and the rest of the line of Durin and smiles. “I am home,” he says softly.

“We are,” Thorin murmurs as he takes up Bilbo’s hand and kisses the back of it.

“Yes,” Bilbo says and looks up at the Lonely Mountain towering above him. “We’ve followed the long path to get here and now we’ve arrived.”

And it is a life filled with adventure, and love, and a companionship that lasts through this life and the great beyond.