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Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
It was as if a small gong kept going on inside Bilbo’s head. It had been ringing for quite some time, only at first he’d been able to tell himself it was because he wasn’t home yet, or because his furniture had been gone, but…
Now he was home, back in Bag End, and everything had been returned to how it’d been before he left. As if he’d never gone anywhere in the first place.
The only evidence that anything had happened were tucked away in his mother’s glory box, out of sight, out of…
Wrong.
-
Thorin came awake with a start and reflexively reached out for Bilbo. When his hand found only cold sheet there was a moment of panic before he remembered.
Then there was just grief.
-
It was a perfectly lovely day to feel absolutely dreadful, and Bilbo was taking full advantage of it.
The sun was shining, the birds were singing, bees were happily buzzing from flower to flower, in the distance he could hear his neighbours laughing, and Bilbo gritted his teeth to stop himself from screaming at them all to just stop, stop.
Throwing down the small garden spade he’s been holding Bilbo squared his shoulders and marched back inside Bag End, slamming the door shut behind himself.
-
It was easy to keep busy during the days, and almost impossible during the nights, leading to Thorin’s days becoming longer and longer.
“You’re pushing yourself to hard,” Dwalin informed him. “You don’t have to do everything yourself.”
Ironic, wasn’t it? Considering that Thorin was alone.
-
He tried to write, thinking that it might help, but Bilbo couldn’t concentrate on it for more than a few minutes at the time.
Wrong.
He was home. It was what he’d wanted. Why he’d- why he’d left. Everything was as it should be. He had his books and his arm chair. His garden. He had what he wanted.
Wrong.
So why did he feel enough of a liar that he avoided his own gaze in the mirror?
-
The rebuilding had gone better than anyone had dared hope.
Every day more and more Dwarfs came to reclaim their birth right.
Their alliance with the Men of Dale grew steadily stronger, and a more tentative one with Mirkwood had also begun to flourish.
Thorin was proud, and grateful beyond what words could express, and absolutely miserable.
-
It was in the middle of the night when the solution finally occurred to him. It was so simple that Bilbo wanted to smack himself for not thinking of it sooner.
Bubbling with giddy laughter he ran to his window and threw it open; the shutters banging against the outer wall.
The air was fresh and smelt of the approaching summer and dew and Bilbo sucked in a huge lungful.
“I’m going back!” he shouted out into the darkness. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m going back!”
“Go to sleep!” Someone shouted back, and Bilbo collapsed down on the floor, shoulders shaking as mad giggles claimed his body.
“I’m going back,” he whispered to himself once he’d calmed enough to do so. “I’ve been such a fool. Thorin, I’m coming back.”
And if he still felt like the weight of Erebor hung much to heavily over his head he could always live in Dale. He should have thought about that right from the start. He'd even planted his acorn in Dale. It was the obvious solution and he was embarrassed he hadn't thought about it before.
-
“Balin,” Thorin said. “I must leave.”
He had expected Balin to ask him where he was going, expected to have to explain himself, had not expected for Balin to merely nod slowly and smile.
“Yes, I think you have to.”
-
He needed to prepare himself better this time, which meant that he could not simply rush off the following morning even though he’d very much liked to do so.
“Good to see you smiling again,” Hobson said as Bilbo traded him for a slim but sturdy length of rope.
Bilbo’s cheeks were aching with his smile, and he was not sure if he could stop even if he wanted to, so he merely grinned a little brighter still.
-
It took much longer than Thorin had expected before he could leave, but he would not let his private desires come before the well-being of Erebor and her people.
Finally the day came when Fíli was crowned, Thorin placing the crown on his head with Dís standing at his right and Kíli at his left.
And with that last act Thorin was no longer King. He was free.
-
Bilbo wasn’t sure if it was chance or fate that had caused his path to first cross with Thorin’s.
It had been due to Gandalf’s meddling, and Bilbo had never been sure how to categorise Wizards.
In the end it didn’t much matter either way, Bilbo was just thankful it had happened at all.
And if Gandalf just happened to wander by and offer Bilbo to fly to Erebor with the help of those Eagle friends of his he would also be appropriately thankful, but unsurprisingly there was not even the hint of grey on the day Bilbo left Hobbiton, and he reached Rivendell still without seeing hide or hair of him.
But as he’d also not seen as much as a hint of Orcs or other unpleasantness Bilbo was willing to count it as a fair trade.
Curling up to sleep on an actual bed, if an overly large one, made him think of Bag End. He hoped the Gamgees had made themselves at home by now. He hoped they’d be happy there.
-
The Mirkwood had been a far more pleasant journey this time. That said, the forest still made Thorin’s skin crawl and he much preferred the unforgiving paths of the Misty Mountains to the secretive shadows and strange noises of the Elven woods.
Standing at the top of a mountain peak Thorin took once last look behind himself before he continued towards his future. Towards Bilbo.
The wind was bitingly cold but Thorin still felt warm inside as he imagined the look on his Hobbit’s face when Bilbo found him standing outside his round door. Would it still be green? Would the mark still be there?
For a moment Thorin’s resolve wavered. What if Bilbo wished to forget? What if-
But no, he would not let thoughts like that bother him. He knew Bilbo’s heart. And he knew the small warmness of Bilbo’s hand clutching his own cold one, one steady point of brightness in the grey as Thorin had drifted in and out of unconsciousness.
If Bilbo had not given up on him then he never would, Thorin was sure of it.
-
Bilbo rather felt he was in a spot of trouble. He was dawdling, because he really did not look forward to braving the paths over the Misty Mountains, but he had to, unless he fancied making a colossal detour down south.
“On you go then,” he murmured to himself as he forced himself to pack up his camp. “You’ve done it twice before.”
More or less. One time from the other side accompanied by Gandalf. The first time hadn’t entirely been a completed venture, but surely he couldn’t run into Stone Giants and Goblins again.
What were the odds of-
Bilbo’s mind blanked and his jaw dropped; aiming for his knees it would seem, when he caught sight of a small figure making its way across the moorland on the opposite side of the river.
He’d know that Dwarf anywhere. But how?
Shock stilled Bilbo’s legs and tongue for long enough that he feared it would be too late when he finally found the breath he needed.
“Thorin!”
There was no sign that Thorin had heard him and Bilbo’s heart sank but he didn’t allow the cold feeling in his stomach to rule him. It was never too late. He’d gone running after Thorin before, and he would always be prepared for one more time.
Leaving his pack on the ground, his bedroll half unrolled, the remains of breakfast lying next to the fire he thankfully had already extinguished, Bilbo ran.
“Thorin!”
-
Thorin’s heart felt lighter than in a long long time. With every step that brought him closer to the Shire and Bilbo it was as if another burden fell from his chest. If this kept up he would be floating by the time he arrived to Bag End.
The thought made him smile and he allowed himself to lose himself in musings of what would happen when he was reunited with Bilbo.
However, he should have known by now that Bilbo would always manage to surprise him.
-
Thorin’s legs were entirely too long.
Bilbo had quickly figured out that he would only have enough breath for either running or shouting, and since Thorin appeared to have left his ears in Erebor the Hobbit had opted for the former.
Mixed in with the almost overwhelming happiness Bilbo was beginning to sprout tendrils of annoyance. What if he’d been a… warg, or something? Would Thorin not have seen or heard it chasing after him?
Feeling as if Thorin should be able to hear him on his strained breathing alone Bilbo continued dashing over the small clumps of heather and yellow-brown grass covering the ground.
-
The sound of rapid footsteps alerted Thorin to the fact that he wasn’t alone.
Hand on the hilt of his sword he spun around, eyes narrowing as he tried to spot what had-
The surprise was almost enough to land him on his arse. It couldn’t be- it simply was not possible that it could be-
“Bilbo?”
He had to be seeing things.
Except-
“Bilbo!”
-
Oh praise the stars, Thorin had finally spotted him.
Despite desperately wanting to collapse in a small puddle on the ground Bilbo made himself keep going. It wasn’t far now.
-
Feeling as if his legs had turned into rock Thorin nevertheless made himself move.
“Bilbo,” he breathed, his entire world coalescing into that one name.
-
When they came together it was with enough force to almost knock them both to the ground.
Bilbo flung himself into Thorin’s arms, and Thorin caught him, rocking backwards as to not lose his balance.
“You’re here,” Thorin murmured, pulling Bilbo’s smaller form even tighter against himself. “How can this be? Bilbo.”
Panting, entirely out of breath, all Bilbo could do was try and burrow closer against Thorin. Thorin who was not even supposed to be here. He was supposed to be in Erebor, supposed to be a ridiculously handsome and impressive king. He wasn’t supposed to be out wandering in the wilderness. Oh what if he would have gotten lost?
Bilbo’s hands clutched at Thorin’s coat, fingers digging into the fur until his knuckles were white.
“Thorin,” he finally managed. “What are you- why are you-“ He needed an explanation as for why Thorin was out here. He needed-
“Bilbo,” Thorin said, as if that explained anything and then he bent his head to take Bilbo’s mouth in a kiss. And well, Bilbo needed that too, so he made his fingers let go of Thorin’s coat so he could twine them into his hair instead, holding on just as tightly.
Still feeling as if he couldn’t believe his eyes Thorin’s hands roamed over Bilbo’s body, caressing and stroking and just touching, familiarising himself with what he had no chance to ever forget.
“I was going to you,” Bilbo explained between kissing, and Thorin echoed him.
“I was coming to you.” And his heart soared at Bilbo’s laugh.
“We’re a right pair aren’t we?” his Hobbit asked, smiling up at him, looking like the most beautiful thing Thorin had ever seen with his sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks.
“We are,” Thorin agreed, leaning down to press their foreheads together.
Bilbo hummed happily, his arms wrapping around as much of Thorin as they could hold. “So what now? I was coming to stay with you-“
“And I with you,” Thorin reminded. “Fíli is King now-“
Hiding a giggle against Thorin’s chest Bilbo shook his head. “And I’ve given Bag End away. We really are a pair.” He pulled back and rocked up on his toes to press a kiss to the side of Thorin’s mouth.
“The next time I’m being ridiculous please just sit on me until I come to my senses. I was miserable in Bag End. Without you, it wasn’t home.”
“Or I will just follow you right from the start,” Thorin promised. “Erebor was not worth losing you.”
“You didn’t lose me,” Bilbo murmured. “We’re here now, aren’t we?” He looked around. “Albeit, here is a little more… in the middle of nowhere, than I would have preferred.”
Thorin huffed. “Indeed.”
“Rivendell would be roughly halfway between Erebor and Hobbiton, wouldn’t it?” Bilbo teased, knowing Thorin would never agree to live with Elves.
Emotions flickered over Thorin's face before he huffed again, lips quirking up into a small smile. “If you wish to live there, I will follow you," Thorin said, reaching up to cup Bilbo's cheek.
“You'd live in Rivendell with me?” Bilbo asked, eyes round with surprise.
“If that is your wish.” Thorin’s thumb caressed Bilbo’s cheek. “I only wish to be where you are.”
“Oh,” Bilbo said, eloquently, before he surged up to claim another kiss, this one not nearly as innocent as the last one. When he pulled back he was smugly pleased with the dazed expression on Thorin’s face.
“How about we go and collect my things,” Bilbo said, slipping his hand into Thorin’s. “And then we’ll see where we end up?”
Thorin squeezed his hand and nodded, and together they wandered off.