Chapter Text
He had passed through these same rolling hills with a much brighter outlook months before, thinking of meeting his kin once more and leading them into victorious battle - he also remembered being lost for several hours wandering between the knolls the Hobbits called homes.
How anyone could navigate such a place was beyond him.
This time, however, he made his way more slowly, taking the chance to look around at the Hobbits as they passed him by. They looked back, equally as curious, scuttling out of his way as if he were on fire. He was a sight, he knew that much, with his furs and velvets and mail - and his shoulders straightened proudly under their eyes.
The walk to the front door of Bag End seemed more a penance than a promenade; the long walk to ruin that could determine his future in more ways than one.
He’d rather be fighting Azog again.
Still, he knocked, careful not to scratch the paint - and waited. Waited for the person he had come all this way for to open the door.
A flicker of excitement bubbled in his chest, bright and warm, and he wondered just how Bilbo would react - as he had been for all the months he’d travelled. He’d pictured joy and sadness and frustration, and reveled in each one of them, each an independent emotion informing the actions of someone he cared so deeply for.
“Good afternoon,” a familiar voice said pleasantly as the round door swung open.
A beat.
A kettle whistled from the kitchen and a warm summer breeze had a bead of sweat trickling down his brow.
His Hobbit looked no different than he had the year before: with soft brown curls and eyes like lapis lazuli and an expressive mouth meant for easy smiles and laughter. For Thorin he looked like a dream.
“You’re dead!” Bilbo’s voice shattered around the knot in his throat.
“Bilb-” The door’s slam blew his hair back from his face.
A very rude dream.
“Bilbo?” He said his name again and a crack appeared in the door. “Please come out.”
“No! No I am having none of this. I am already crazy enough around here without you showing up out of the blue like a ghoul. You are dead. Deader than dead. I know because I watched to die -”
Thorin could nearly see Bilbo’s hand motions, ever expressive, as the Hobbit struggled for words.
“- And now you’re here and I just can’t have these hallucinations standing on my doorstep.”
“I am not a hallucination.” He let his rucksack drop to his elbow as the door opened wider and Bilbo’s curious face appeared around the edge.
“Not?” His bottom lip quivered and Thorin didn’t stop the apologetic smile.
“No, I’m afraid not. Though if you’d like me to leave I can-”
“No!” Bilbo was out the door in an instant, crashing into Thorin’s chest with his entire might.
Thorin wrapped his arms around him and held him tightly, curling his fingers into the silken hair at the nape of Bilbo’s neck.
“Welcome back.”
If he had been a stronger man Bilbo’s words wouldn’t have broken him.