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Chapter Text

The dwarves of Erebor charging into the battlefield was both a relief for Bilbo and awoke a new anxiety. A handful of dwarves only only do so much physically, but they inspired Dain’s men to pause their retreat and begin fighting with a new sort of vigor. Which was good; Bilbo’s anxiety did not stem from whether or not the dwarves could make a dent on the battlefield.

No, Bilbo was worried because Thorin had just stepped out of the mountain where he was safe and onto the battlefield with Azog. Azog who had brought all the forces he possibly could with the sole purpose of killing Thorin and his nephews. 

It didn’t help that Thorin was stubborn. Too stubborn for his own good. Bilbo knew that the moment Thorin had figured out where Azog was posted, he would take his company straight to his enemy. Practically walking into a trap at that point. 

The army of men had rejoined the battle. Things seemed to be looking up for the combined forces of Dwarves, Elves, and Men alike, but Bilbo knew better than to assume anything. 

It seemed as if Bilbo was right, not moments before the company of Erebor joined with Dain’s men, Thorin and his nephews, along with Dwalin, had found goats to carry them up the mountain and were headed straight for the signaling machines where Bilbo had last seen Azog.

“He’s taking his best warriors to cut off the head of the snake!” Gandalf shouted, encouraged by the turning of the tide.  Bilbo sent a prayer to whoever might be listening that they would succeed. 

That prayer must have not reached the right ears. Legolas and Tauriel brought news of another army, one of Azog’s, headed straight towards the battlefield. And much to Bilbo’s dismay and horror, they were coming from the north, the same direction Thorin had gone to fight Azog.

The crude fortress Azog's men had thrown together was abandoned when Thorin arrived.

“He must have fed!” Kili said, the undertone of relief noticeable to all present. 

“No,” Thorin said. “Fili, take your brother, scout the towers. Stay out of sight and keep out of trouble. Come right back here and tell us everything.” The instructions were simple and nonnegotiable. Not that either brothers would argue with him; they trusted Thorin.

Bilbo was the one to volunteer to go to Thorin and warn him of the coming army. Thranduil had elected to retreat instead, not risking his men in further bloodshed. Bilbo couldn’t blame the Elven king; so many lives had been lost.  

Galdalf was against Bilbo being the one to meet Thorin, claiming that Bilbo would be seen and killed.

“They won’t see me,” Bilbo insisted, running his fingers over the cold metal of the ring in his pocket, determined to be the one to go, but also not quite ready to let Gandalf in on his little secret. There were more important matters than a silly little ring with powers.

“I won’t allow it,” Gandalf huffed.

“I’m not asking you to allow it.”

It didn’t take long for Bilbo to locate Thorin, slipping off the ring right before stepping out into the open. 

“Thorin-”

“Bilbo!” Thorin’s face and voice was one full of shock. He went to say something but Bilbo cut him off, deciding that what he had to say was more important than whatever weak apology was on the tip of Thorin’s tongue. 

“We have to leave. Azog is sending another army headed straight for here from the north. The watchtower is completely surrounded. If you go up there, you will die.”

Dwalin protested that they stand their ground but Thorin understood what Bilbo was saying.

“They have set up a trap and I have just sent my nephews in there! We need to get them out right away.” 

“Are you sure? This could be our best chance to kill Azog,” Dwalin said. Bilbo stood to the side hesitantly; he hadn’t realized that the brothers were already inside the watchtower. 

“Yes, we will have our chance another day. For now, we focus on living.” 

The timing couldn’t have been any worse because as those words left Thorin’s mouth, there, at the top of the tower, stood Azog, holding Fili in the air.  Despite everything that Azog said not being in the common tongue, Bilbo understood exactly what was about to happen next.

Fili was falling. Kili was climbing the stairs, suddenly out of hiding. Thorin was running to stop Kili. Dwalin turned to Bilbo for a half second before running to reach Fili. 

Bilbo decided to follow Thorin. There wasn’t much Bilbo would do for Fili and Dwalin couldn’t. And Dwalin could get Fili to safety faster without Bilbo slowing them down.

It wasn’t far to the watchtower but Bilbo had to run on ice and that wasn’t exactly an easy thing to do with his bare hobbit feet. When he finally made it, Thorin was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Azog. 

“Kili!” Bilbo shouted, looking for the young prince.

“He’s here!” A shout came from just around the corner. Bilbo recognized the voice as the She-elf from Thrandiul’s kingdom. He thought her name was Tauriel? It didn’t matter right now.

When we rounded the corner, Tauriel was sitting on the ground, holding Kili in her arms. Kili looked passed out, Bilbo sent a prayer that he was just passed out and not dead. The She-elf looked pretty banged up as well, covered in cuts, bruises already forming.

“He’s bleeding a lot. I fear losing him,” Tauriel said, a crack in her voice and her face wet with tears. 

“Dwalin just took his brother down the mountain,” Bilbo said. “Follow him, get Kili somewhere safe. I imagine if you manage to get him to the gates of Erebor, you’ll find things you need inside. Tell Dwalin I sent you.” 

Tauriel wouldn’t move, just staring at Bilbo and cradling Kili. 

“You must hurry, if there’s any chance of saving him, you risk losing it the longer you wait.” 

That seemed to spur her into action. Bilbo helped her up and watched her scoop the dwarvish prince in her arms.

“What about you?” She asked Bilbo. “It is not safe here for a halfling. You should come with us.”

“I need to find Thorin. I need to make sure he is ok.” 

She nodded, understanding completely. Bilbo guessed she knew exactly what he was thinking and feeling, that she was in a very similar situation as him.

“I wish you luck, Master Hobbit. Come back to the mountain safely.”

He watched her begin her trip down towards Erebor for a second before turning around and beginning his search for Thorin. Bilbo decided to slip on the ring; he wasn’t really in the mood to fight anyone unless he absolutely had to. The goal was to get Thorin out.

He was on the ice, standing opposite Azog the Defiler. Bilbo could see them clearly. Azog had some sort of mace on a chain, practically the size of Thorin’s head. Out of the corner of his eyes, Bilbo can see the second wave of orc soldiers flood the battlefield. Bilbo began to climb down towards the ice, hoping that he could drag Thorin out of there before Thorin’s stubborn ass got himself killed.

Azog charged towards Thorin, swinging his mace. Thorin ducks and uses the moment to step behind the pale orc and slash. Suddenly, Azog was turning around to once again meet Thorin, sending the mace straight down. Once again, Thorin manages to dodge, but the mace meets the ice with such force that it begins to crack all around the two enemies’ feet. The pause between them is just half a second, both assessing the ice for their next move.

Azog attacks again, succeeding in breaking the ice this time. A dozen or so large pieces of ice thick as stone float beside each other. Thorin and Azog stand on one particularly big one, opposite of each other. Another strike from Azog, another dodge from Thorin. To Bilbo’s surprise, Thorin has kept to his defense this entire time. Thorin finds himself behind Azog once more and slashes, once more. 

Bilbo is close to the ice at this point, having spent the last few minutes climbing down as quietly as possible and watching the battle from over his shoulder whenever he took a moment. 

Azog’s mace is caught in the ice and he stumbles, while attempting to utilize his bladed arm against Thorin. 

Suddenly, all three’s eyes are drawn towards the battlefield, where another group has joined. Not one of orcish nature though, it was the Eagles, summoned by Gandalf. To Azog’s horror, and quite honestly, Bilbo’s glee, the Eagles began picking enemies off the battlefield and dropping them from deadly heights. Two Eagles seem to have riders, one being Radigast, Gandalf’s fellow wizard. And the other being Beorn, the skinchanger who had saved the companies lives earlier in their adventure by allowing them to seek shelter in his home. 

Beorn was dropped onto the battlefield, where he caused his own sort of chaos, picking enemies off as a bear. The tide was turning in Thorin’s favor. 

While Azog’s attention was diverted, Thorin dropped his sword. The clash of metal on ice drew his opponent’s attention. Thorin kept eye contact with Azog as he grabbed the mace, yanked it out of the ice, and threw it towards Azog. His opponent caught it, not registering what exactly Thorin was doing. And that was when Thorin stepped off of the ice piece that the two had been standing on. Immediately, it started to tip, dropping the Pale Orc into the freezing water. Azog tried to grab onto something but the ice was smooth and wet. He went under and the ice righted itself. 

Bilbo’s feet hit the freezing ice and he took off his ring, thinking this was all over. He began to run to Thorin, who hadn’t looked up from the ice. Just as Bilbo was about to call the Dwarf’s name, something speared through the ice and straight into Thorin’s foot. Thorin let out a cry of pain and fell on his knee, just as Azog shot into the air, out of the ice. He had stabbed Thorin using his blade arm, using his underwater position to drift until Thorin was right on top of him. 

Thorin was on the ground now, Azog towering over him. He’s barely able to grab Orcrist, his sword, from where it was lying right next to him and use it to keep Azog from spearing his chest straight through. 

Bilbo was running full speed, as full speed as his hobbit feet could take him on the slippery ice. By the time he had finally reached the two, Azog was pushing nearly his entire weight onto his blade arm, aiming for Thorin’s heart.

Bilbo shoved, hard. Azog hadn’t seen him coming and had no balance, so he toppled, falling off of Thorin. Thorin, who also hadn’t seen Bilbo, scrambled to his feet. 

Bilbo had hoped that Azog falling onto the cracked ice would send the Mordor orc back under, but no such luck. Azog hit the ice with a smack and the ice made a slight crack sound but he stayed on top. 

Bilbo unsheathed Sting, ready to act as support to Thorin, should he need it. He took a step back, understanding that this was Thorin’s battle, and that this should be Thorin’s victory.

Azog growled. “The halfling shall die for that. He has been nothing but a thorn in my side,” were along the lines of what the orc said. 

Thorin stepped in front of Bilbo, in a sort of protective manner. Azog growled and charged, barrelling into the dwarf and knocking him into Bilbo. The two went tumbling down. All the air was knocked out of Bilbo and somewhere on the way down, he had dropped Sting.

He took half a second to breath and pushed himself up onto his elbows. Next to him, he saw Thorin scrambling up.

The pain was delayed, when Azog’s bladed hand ran through his side. He felt the impact but his brain wouldn’t register how much it hurt until the blade was ripped away from him and he started bleeding. A grunt escaped him followed by a sigh as he let his head meet the ice. It was painful, so painful. He couldn’t focus on anything except the sensation of the pain. Vaguely, he heard a scream of anger. Thorin. Vaguely, he watched Thorin spear Azog through the chest, surprising the orc who was standing over Bilbo still. Vaguely, he heard Thorin run over to him.

Thorin was cradling his head, holding him.

“Stay with me, Bilbo” 

Bilbo tried to laugh but it turned out more of a wet, painful cough. He tasted copper.

“Bilbo, lie still.” 

“Thank you Thorin, for the adventure.”

“No, stay with me. You cannot leave just yet. I owe you so much. You are a true friend. I take back my words at the gate. Please, stay with me a few minutes longer.” 

Bilbo raised his right hand to point up at the sky. The movement caused a wave of pain to shoot through his body but he ignored it. 

“The Eagles, they're coming.” Thorin looked.

“They’re coming to grab us. We’re going to get you somewhere safe. We’re going to get you help. The finest healer amongst our ranks.” 

“You did it Thorin. You took back your home.” 

“I should have never brought you along. All this peril I put you through.” Bilbo’s vision was spotty, but he thought he saw tears running down Thorin’s face. He tried to wipe them away but his coordination was off and he ended up just sort of brushing his hand against Thorin’s hair. 

“No, I’m glad I shared in your perils, each and every one of them. It is more than I deserve.” 

Bilbo couldn’t focus on Thorin, the act took too much energy. Instead he watched the sky. The spots grew bigger, darker. The blue of the sky and brown of the Eagles blurred together. 

Bilbo felt tired. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. He found himself at peace.

Chapter Text

Bilbo’s blood was Thorin’s on hands. Thorin had taken off his coat and was holding it against the sword wound, praying and praying for the bleeding to slow. It didn’t.

It was also figuratively on Thorin’s hands. Thorin blamed himself for anything that happened to Bilbo. The hobbit had done so much to protect Thorin, from fighting Mirkwood spiders to defending his honor to the people of Laketown. And now he had saved Thorin’s life one last time and it was looking to cost him his own life. 

Bilbo’s eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. Thorin didn’t know what to do. His friend had already lost so much blood and Thorin couldn’t move him by himself. 

A shadow passing over them reminded Thorin of the Eagles and he flagged one down, the giant creature picking Bilbo up gently with its talons, Thorin climbing on to stay close to the unconscious hobbit. He kept looking down, watching. Bilbo was so small; Thorin couldn’t help but worry that he’d slip out of the Eagles grasp. But they made it without a single incident and Thorin was met at the gates of Erebor with a dozen dwarves and several men. 

“Get me Oin!” Thorin shouted, holding Bilbo, practically cradling him in his arms.

Nori, who was the closest to Thorin in the moment, blanched at the sight of Bilbo and the amount of blood on the two. 

“He’s with the princes!” someone shouted in the crowd. 

“Damn it get me that blasted dwarf this is an emergency!” Thorin shoved through the crowd into the halls and was met with Balin, who led him to the room they were using as a sort of infirmary. 

Both the princes had brought in earlier and lay sleeping, already wrapped up in bandages. 

Thorin remembered the mythril that he had given Bilbo earlier, before everything had gone south. How had Bilbo been hurt? Unless Bilbo had taken off the armor after Thorin almost threw him off the ramparts, he should have been safe.

As Oin began tearing away at Bilbo’s outer layers, Thorin realized that the priceless armor had gotten caught in the hobbit’s many layers of jackets and therefore he wasn’t actually wearing the armor correctly. Thorin knew that Bilbo was never much of a fighter, given Hobbit culture, and that even on the journey to the Lonely Mountain, there was only so much time to train Bilbo how to hold his own on a battlefield. But Thorin never expected the hobbit to find a way to wear chainmail wrong. He would train Bilbo in fighting properly as soon as Bilbo was fully recovered, if Bilbo fully recovered.

Thorin was shoved away from the cot where Bilbo lay, giving more space for Oin to work. Balin quietly stood next to Thorin and they watched for several minutes in silence.

“What happened to the two of you?” Balin asked.

“Our blasted burglar saved my life,” Thorin said, hovering over Oin as he worked. 

“And Azog?”

“Dead. Finally fucking dead. For good this time.” Balin nodded.   

As Oin finished up and demanded Bilbo left to rest, Thorin began to look around at all the cots. So many dwarves and men lay, unconscious or laying in pain. Several elves also sat, cleaning up their own scrapes and wounds, though they were mostly isolated away from the others, helping their own and receiving no help from any dwarvish healers that passed by them.

A red-headed elf that Thorin vaguely recognized seemed to be ignoring the separation of the two races, offering herbs and fresh bandages to anyone she came within a few feet of. She seemed to be doing several things at once, keeping herself busy, unbothered by the glares that were being sent her way by nearly every dwarvish soldier she approached or walked slightly too close to. He realized that she kept circling back to where the two princes lay, changing Kili’s cold compress every few minutes, checking his temperature, wringing her hands when nothing changed in the last few minutes.

Balin noticed what Thorin was watching. 

“She brought him down from the mountain and hasn’t left his side for more than five minutes. She worries.”

“Why would a Mirkwood elf care about the wellbeing of a dwarven prince?”

“Bofir claims that she saved his life back in laketown. And that her companion, the prince Legolas, kept the orc soldiers from hurting them or the people of laketown. If it were not for those two elves, we would have lost our princes long before the battle.” Balin watched Thorin’s reaction, knowing that accepting the fact that he and his family are technically indebted to the Elves would not be something Thorin took easily. But Thorin just grunted and turned back to check on Bilbo. Balin wondered what Thorin would say when he decided to deal with the elven situation but would not push it at this particular moment. 

Oin was suddenly in Thorin’s personal space, demanding to treat the king’s wounds. Thorin was limping and carrying Bilbo had forced him to put weight on his hurt foot. He looked ready to fall to the ground from the amount of blood that had soaked through his boot and Oin kept shoving him down until Thorin was sitting. 

His foot was wrapped up and he was directed to avoid using it unless assisted. Someone made him a crude sort of crutch and he was given a private room to rest. It seemed as if everyone was given similar instructions; the air and energy of the halls of Erebor was one of sombor quietness and restfulness, the only people up and doing anything being the healers.

 Bilbo faded in and out of consciousness over the next several days. Much to the dismay of Oin, and even more so in Thorin’s case. Fili and Kili, though very weak and still bedridden, were awake and recovering, but Bilbo was not truly awake for more than a few seconds at a time. Every passing day felt like a nail in the coffin and Thorin didn’t know what to do.

Gandalf agreed to stay in Erebor until Bilbo was better, since the dwarven healers knew little about hobbits and what medicines would work on a halfling. The elves knew a little more on what might work for Bilbo, but a majority of the woodland elves had never met a halfling. 

At one point, Tauriel left Kili’s side to help Oin when Bilbo’s fever had risen to a scary point. 

“Aren’t halflings people of the earth?” Tauriel asked Thorin. Gandalf was the first to respond.

“Indeed, I do believe you’re right.” 

Thorin remembered how Bilbo had sensed that Mirkwood was sick, long before the effects had hit the dwarves. And how the hobbit seemed to flourish in Beorn’s garden. 

“Do you think he’d fare better somewhere with more vegetation?” Tauriel continued. “I can have him escorted back to the forest and our elven healers would watch over him.” 

“No,” Thorin said immediately, fighting the growl that was hidden behind the answer. “Your forest is sick, Bilbo knew this and I do not believe a sick forest would help his situation any better than the rocks of Erebor would.” Thorin did not include the fact that despite how grateful he was for this elf, he was completely ready to let go of his bitterness and give them complete control in Bilbo’s health and safety. His hobbit stayed where Thorin could protect him. 

“Do you have a better suggestion, Thorin Oakenshield?” Gandalf questioned.

“We try to use more herb based elvish medicines if you think that will do any good. But he stays in Erebor. We can find him a room closer to outdoors, where he can soak in sunlight or whatever might work best for his condition. It is my duty to oversee his recovery. I owe him my life.” 

Tauriel nodded and turned to send for more elven medicines. Gandalf stood there for another minute, watching Thorin stand next to Bilbo’s cot.

“He would fare better under elven watch.”

“It is pointless pushing this. You of all people should know that. Besides, if one particular place were to be best for him, it would be his home. With his books and garden and hills. But that is far too dangerous of a journey in his current state.”

“You worry about him.”

“Of course I worry, he has not left my side once during this entire adventure. I would be a poor friend to send him away without ensuring his safe recovery.”

“What a friend you are indeed, Master Dwarf.” Thorin pretended not to hear Gandalf, not wanting to think about what the wizard was implying. 

“Besides, he was stabbed through. That is a physical wound. I am not so sure that a change in scenery would do much to change his state.”  

Thorin turned to leave, not wanting Gandalf to stay anything cryptic or press Thorin into talking more about the entire situation. Thorin did not want to think about it more than he had to. He just wanted Bilbo to get better and for Thorin to have a chance to repay Bilbo for literally everything.

It was the middle of the night when Thorin was awoken with news that Bilbo was up. He ran towards the room they had set aside for Bilbo’s recovery closer to the front gates. Wearing nothing but a single white tunic, black sleep pants, and boots that he had thrown on as quickly as possible and had accidently put on the wrong feet but in too much of a rush to fix his mistake. 

Bilbo was sitting up in bed, cushioned by half a dozen pillows. The entire company was crowded at the foot of the bed; apparently Thorin had been the last one to arrive.   

Bilbo looked up and met Thorin’s eyes. He had been smiling when Thorin entered the room but the corners of his mouth dropped when the two had made eye contact. Balin must have seen the split second interaction because soon he was shuffling and shoving the company out the door, despite the protests of Oin, who wanted to perform a full check up to make sure Bilbo was ok. But in a matter of seconds, Thorin stood alone on the other side of the room as Bilbo looked anywhere except at the dwarf. 

“Your actions seem to indicate that you have little value for your life,” Thorin said, causing Bilbo to finally look back at him. Thorin’s arms were crossed and Bilbo couldn’t help but remember the dismissive and bitter dwarf he had met at Bag End.

“Of course I value it,” Bilbo protested.  

“Several times during our journey, you have run head first into danger, uncaring of the fact that you, Master Hobbit, are no fighter. You could barely hold a sword and you tackled Azog on the cliff. On the battlefield, you did the exact same thing, which landed you nearly in the ground. Not to mention that you returned to Erebor against Gandalf’s advice before the battle. Your actions do not match your words.”

“I saved your life! And have done it several times throughout this trip, need I remind you.” 

“I am forever in your debt for that, but you should not value my life over your own.”

“We both made it out just fine in the end. We got back your home, defeated both a dragon and the Pale Orc. I see no point to continue this conversation as we cannot change the past,” Bilbo huffed, ticked off. 

Thorin watched the hobbit steam for a second before he decided that Bilbo was right. In the end, everyone was alive and safe.

Bilbo’s shoulders dropped, the halfing having let go of his frustration from a moment ago.

“I don’t want you to be ‘forever in my debt’. I saved your life because I could not bear to see you die, not because I wish to hold any sort of power over you.” 

Thorin had no clue how to respond. Obviously he knew that Bilbo’s selflessness was just that, selflessness. It was not some sort of selfishness in disguise. Bilbo had no hero complex and no desire to humble Thorin in any sort of demeaning way. 

“Well, then, I am forever grateful for the future you have given me. And I wish to show you my gratitude in every way possible.” Thorin knew that it meant the same thing as what he had said before, but the choice of words better fit what he was trying to convey.

Bilbo nodded and smiled. His fingers fidgeted with the tassels on one of the pillows on the bed.

“We were all worried about you,” Thorin started. “You hobbits are very different from dwarves or elves and we were worried that our medicines were only making you worse. We are glad to see you recovering. I am grateful to see you recovering. Though I will say that this entire situation would have been avoided if you were not so useless on the battlefield and could properly wear the mythril I gifted you.” 

Bilbo looked shocked and a little embarrassed. The tips of his pointed ears, peeking out from under his curls, turned a bright red. “Oh well, I-”

Thorin interrupted him. “I will have to teach you how to fight in a much more proper sense, once you’re in a better state.”

“Oh, well, thank you,” Bilbo said. 

“As long as you’re safe.”

Rebuilding Erebor and Laketown had been quite a challenge. The halls of gold had been sealed out, Dwalin overseeing the process. Just enough hold and wealth had been taken out to fund the rebuilding process. The Elves had gathered their claim to the treasure and with Bilbo overseeing the meetings, Thorin had managed to strike up an alliance with both Thranduil and Bard. The King under the Mountain was not too pleased about working with the elves but Bilbo and Balin both had insisted it was best for their kingdom.

Fili, who had a full recovery, was eager to rebuild Erebor, shadowing Thorin during important leadership and Kingly responsibilities, taking his next in line duties more seriously now that he had survived his brush with death. Thorin was incredibly proud of his nephew and tried his best to set a good example, though his stubbornness and temper did not go away overnight and there were several incidents where Bilbo had to do some diplomatic damage control. 

Kili’s recovery was not as smooth as his older brothers. The younger dwarf had had multiple brushes with death too close for comfort within such a short span of time, it ended up quite taxing on his body. Tauriel, the elf, claimed that his nervous system was traumatized and would never fully heal, and she seemed to be correct as Kili would often experience random, violent waves of pain. On top of that, he had gained a permanent limp, caused from being shot in the leg. In between the limp and the pain bursts, Oin had advised that the young prince used a crutch or cane. It had taken a long while for Kili to accept, but he had the support of his family, Bilbo, and Tauriel.

Which was a whole other thing that Thorin was having to adjust to. The permanent presence of the elf in his kingdom. Kili had pleaded her case with Thorin, admitting to loving her in front of the entire company. Thorin had never seen his nephew like this and agreed that they could court and that she would have a room in the halls of Erebor for when she stayed. Tauriel had expressed her gratitude several times and would make trips between Mirkwood and Erebor regularly. As per their alliance with the Mirkwood elves, her official title was ambassador, and she carried it with honor. 

And then there was Bilbo. Beautiful, loyal Bilbo. Though Thorin would never vocalize those words. Bilbo, who had decided to stay a little longer before going home, partly because of how drawn out his recovery was, partly because he wanted to see his mission to its full completion and help the dwarves rebuild their homes and lives there. 

Gandalf had offered to escort Bilbo home but the hobbit had declined. Thorin had been so sure that Bilbo would be aching to go back to his comforts of his home and had been pleasantly surprised to find out that Bilbo had not gone. Instead he paid for some of his things from home to be brought to him and his house to be given to family. Thorin couldn’t remember the names, all he remembered was that Bilbo had thrown a fit at the idea of some family named the Sackville-Baggins trying to take his home and insisted that it be written down that it would not be given to them. 

Thorin also had finally accepted that Bilbo was his One. He just didn’t know how to bring up that subject to Bilbo. It was such a vulnerable subject. And Thorin was not known for talking about his emotions. He barely knew how to express them properly when he did care to show them. It was something that he would have been willing to repress for the rest of his life, if it wasn’t for the fact that he saw Bilbo literally every single day.

In the few months Bilbo had been learning how to fight and defend himself, he had made incredible progress. Thorin worked with him one on one, an excuse to spend time alone with his hobbit, undisturbed by all the dwarves who wanted the king to oversee something or sign something else, or talk to someone. He enjoyed those quiet but lively moments he shared with his one. 

First Bilbo had learned how to properly hold a sword, and keep his stance strong. Then he learned how to defend himself, working on dodging and parrying attacks. Thorin said a good defense was more important for the Hobbit since he wasn’t much of a fighter but still needed to protect himself. 

When Bilbo finally got good enough at his defense and offense, Thorin would just use their moments to spar with Bilbo, allowing Bilbo to learn by doing and grow better with practice. Thorin was proud of how quickly Bilbo caught onto little things, like how to watch your opponent for signs on what their next move would be. Being the resident burglar, Thorin was not surprised when Bilbo was a natural at stepping out of Thorin’s line of sight and attacking Thorin’s blind spots. 

One afternoon, Thorin had called Bilbo for an impromptu sparring match as an excuse to hide from some ambassadors from some far dwarven kingdom that wanted to open up the halls of gold and use the wealth of Erebor. Thorin didn’t have the energy to deal with that and decided nothing would take his mind off of it quite like spending time with Bilbo. 

The weather was warming up and the two had decided to work outdoors today. Bilbo seemed to soak up this sun, his hair practically glowing and his smile indicating how much the weather seemed to brighten Bilbo’s mood. Thorin took one look at him outside and felt like he was falling in love all over again, with butterflies in his stomach and everything, the whole package. If it wasn’t for the fact that he would never admit his feelings, he could have proposed to Bilbo on the spot. 

The spar was lively and they were joking around, trading insults, and laughing. Bilbo seemed to have an extra spring in his step and before Thorin even registered that Bilbo was not in front of him, the hobbit had side stepped and moved behind Thorin, only to trip the dwarf, knocking him onto his back. Thorin went down with an “oof”, getting the wind knocked out of him slightly. Bilbo stood right above him, smirking, ready to call the match. Thorin matched his smirk and grabbed Bilbo’s leg, pulling him down on top of Thorin.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Bilbo cried. Thorin laughed. 

Bilbo was supporting himself on his hands, staring down at Thorin, still technically on top of the dwarf. His curls had grown over the months and they fell in his face slightly. Thorin couldn’t resist, reaching up to brush them away and look at Bilbo’s full face. 

Bilbo froze and Thorin pulled away like he had been bitten. He tried to scramble up but he didn’t want to shove Bilbo, and was effectively trapped in this position until Bilbo moved. 

But Bilbo didn’t move, he just stared at Thorin. 

“Sorry, I do not know what came over me-” Thorin began but then Bilbo cupped his cheek.

“Thorin…” Bilbo’s words trailed off. The adoration in his voice was so strong though that Thorin couldn’t pretend to ignore it.

“Bilbo.” The tone matched the way Bilbo had said Thorin’s name.

“I’d like to kiss you,” Bilbo whispered. 

“You do not have to ask permission, not ever.”

Their lips met, hesitantly. Just a brush. Thorin thought Bilbo was going to pull away but instead Bilbo kissed him again, with just a little more determination. Soon Thorin’s fingers were laced through Bilbo’s hair and both of Bilbo’s hands were holding the sides of Thorin’s face, thumbs brushing back and forth.

They broke apart a minute later, needing breath. Bilbo scrambled up awkwardly, realizing that he had basically been laying on the dwarven king. Thorin followed him up and stood next to him, grabbing his hand and lacing his calloused fingers through Bilbo’s much softer ones. 

“If you would, I’d like to call you my One,” Thorin admitted. He couldn’t believe he was saying that out loud but the interaction had been enough to convince Thorin that he was doing the right thing and that everything would be ok.

“I’d like to be your One, if it would be acceptable.” 

Thorin nodded and kissed Bilbo’s forehead. A gentle brush of his bearded face against Bilbo’s soft one. 

“Stay here forever, in Erebor. We’ll make it as perfect for you as possible. I’ll find a place for a garden, we’ll send for the finest books for you to read. Please stay.” 

“I love you Thorin. Of course I’ll stay.” 

“Work by my side, as a consort. You already do so much, take on so many stresses for this kingdom.”

“I would love to. Let me share it with you.”

Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, king under the Mountain, was a king who had stories written about him and his kin for years and years to come. The perils he faced, as a young boy, his kingdom destroyed by fire, and as a prince without a home, made for many tales. But for many young dwarven children, the stories of Thorin and Bilbo, the Hobbit who was the King’s one, who shared in so many of his perils, who reclaimed Erebor, were a favorite and regarded as some of the most important histories of the Durin folk. Their memories and legacies in the hall of Erebor outliving nearly everyone who ever knew them personally.