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Thorin stood on the battlements, his arm held to his chest by the cloth sling. The air was turning cold, and crisp and would soon bring the snow that would bury the mountain side. The snow would make travel near impossible for anyone trying to come - or leave - until spring, and it was what drove him up to the battlements in the first place.
Leaving. Bilbo was leaving. It’d been weeks since the war - the Battle of the Five Armies, as the histories would call it - and since Thorin and his nephews had lain at death’s door. He’d only woken days prior, a few days after Fili and Kili, just to find out that Bilbo would be leaving. They’d hardly spoken since he woke, Thorin restricted to his bed, and Bilbo constantly running around the mountain, tending to the injured - never Thorin, least of all while he was awake - and insuring there’d be no more fighting.
Gandalf sat atop a cart at the gates of the mountain with Bilbo standing off to the side, the rest of the company gathered around him. They’d thrown him a party the night before, with ale, good food, good company, and song. They all expressed their distaste, and anger, at Bilbo’s decision to leave but in the end once they realized they couldn’t change his mind, made sure to send him off with nothing but joy in his heart when he’d think back on his friends.
Thorin hadn’t shown up, had thought better than to ruin the joyous occasion, and stuck to his rooms fiddling with the golden band that usually sat deep within his pocket. He had fashioned it in Laketown, after finding some old golden trinkets lying around the stalls. He’d asked Bilbo then about Hobbit courting customs, but their conversation had been short and distracted - what with Bilbo’s cold. But from what he had gathered, there were flower and rings exchanged, which wasn’t too different from Dwarvish customs, in the end - gifts made of precious metals and then the rings.
So, Thorin had started working. He’d found the gold, and some engraving tools, and started shaping. The thick ring of gold had taken shape quickly, but the etched flowers had taken painstakingly long hours, leaving his fingers cramped and raw. It had been decades since he’d done something so small and intricate, but well worth it for the reaction he’d hoped to see on Bilbo’s face.
Only it’d never come. The Gold-Sickness had ensnared his heart and mind as soon as they set foot on the mountain side, and by the time the dragon had been vanquished, the ring had become just another piece of his treasure hoard. The Gold-Sickness had been brutal, as though he was trapped behind a pane of glass in his own mind - able to see everything he did, but unable to stop the abhorrent actions. Having to watch himself nearly throw Bilbo over the ramparts still kept him awake long into the nights, and often woke him up sick when he did manage to get some rest.
So the ring stayed nestled into the pocket of his coat, forever to remain. He didn’t deserve to give it to Bilbo, let alone make the hobbit feel pressured to accepting it. It would stay within the mountain, to be returned to the stone alongside him when he was called to the Halls of Waiting, and would tell the tale of his beloved and how Thorin had not deserved his affections after his betrayal. Songs would be sung about Bilbo Baggins, how he had won the heart of the King Under the Mountain, and would tell of his bravery and loyal heart.
A sharp wind blew, dragging pieces of his hair from behind his shoulder and across his face, and woke Thorin from his musing with a shiver, drawing his attention back to the small crowd below. Bilbo was ringing his hands in front of himself, speaking low enough that Thorin couldn’t hear the words, but knew that they were his farewells to the company, and his heart lurched in his chest - knowing that if nothing else, he should be down there to wish him well on his travels, if not to give his regret over his actions again. But he didn’t move. He didn’t deserve to speak to him once more before letting him go, this was his repentance for everything, every cruel word and action ever expressed towards Bilbo, and he would bear it alone.
Fili was the last to approach the cart, a bundle of what appeared to be blankets and warm clothes in his arms to be used during Bilbo’s journey home. After he placed the bundle down into the sheltered cart, Fili leaned on his brother, and together they hobbled over towards the hobbit, bending down slightly and gripping him tight into a dual hug. They’d always had a soft spot for Bilbo, ever since he managed to outwit the trolls, and they’d miss him terribly.
After a few moments more of goodbyes and teary eyes, Bilbo climbed into the cart alongside Gandalf and waved to his friends, his eyes roaming the gates of Erebor one last time. He thought he saw the shadow of a figure standing atop the battlements, but the sun was shining brightly in his eyes, and he dismissed the idea with a shake of his head and a trembling smile to his friends. “Remember tea is at Four, and you’re all invited next time you’re in the Shire! No need to knock!” he called out one last time as Gandalf nudged the horses along.
Thorin watched the cart slowly pull away from the mountain, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. His company had yet to move, standing and watching the cart from the gates, and in that moment Thorin felt truly alone and had no one to blame but himself.
“I was the one who had it all, I was the master of my fate.” Thorin mumbled, starting to sing, his eyes never straying from the cart. “I never needed anybody in my life, I learned the truth too late.”
“I'll never shake away the pain,
I close my eyes but he's still there.
I let him steal into my melancholy heart.
It's more than I can bear.”
He let his feet carry him further out onto the battlements, closer to the edge as he watched the cart get further and further away.
“Now I know he'll never leave me
Even as he runs away
He will still torment me, calm me, hurt me
Move me, come what may.”
“Wasting in my lonely tower
Waiting by an open door
I'll fool myself he'll walk right in
And be with me for evermore.”
Thorin let his fingers trail gently over the railing, scraping gently over the broken stone. His arm and ribs were beginning to throb, but he couldn’t pull away from what would be his last sight of Bilbo. The sun was starting to set and cast the sky in shades of reds, orange, purples and blues.
“I rage against the trials of love
I curse the fading of the light
Though he's already flown so far beyond my reach
he's never out of sight”
By now Bilbo’s cart had made it to the edge of the valley, and Thorin knew that soon he’d be inside the forest and long beyond view.
Now I know he'll never leave me
Even as he fades from view
He will still inspire me, be a part of
Everything I do.”
He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, pushing himself off the railing and turning away from the where he’d last seen Bilbo, and stood with his back to the battlements. He needed to make his way back inside his rooms before Oin came to check up on him and found him out of bed again but he couldn’t make his feet move, they were as weary and as heavy as his heart.
“Wasting in my lonely tower, waiting by an open door.” Thorin slowly shuffled his way down the hall, his voice low and echoing around the mountain. “I'll fool myself he'll walk right in. And as the long, long nights begin.” He stopped before the big carven doors that sheltered the royal chambers, and let his eyes slip closed again, tilting his head back and letting a breath shudder out of his lungs before he whispered the last line. “I'll think of all that might have been, waiting here for evermore.”
As he pushed open the doors and made his way inside, letting them quietly swing closed behind him, his eyes instantly travelled around his room searching for his coat that held the ring inside its pocket. The spot where the coat used to hang on the back of his chair was empty, and Thorin felt the last bit of his heart break. The only thing he had to remind him of Bilbo was gone.