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Rating: General Audiences
Archive Warning: None Apply
Category: M/M
Fandoms: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Relationship: Thorin Oakenshield/Bilbo Baggins
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Oakenshield
Additional Tags: Body Horror, Possession, Canonical Character Death, Urban Fantasy, Sentient Gotham City, Unreliable Narrator
Collections: Thorin's Spring Forge
Language: English
Published: 2024-04-24
Words: 5,159
Chapters: 1/1
Summary:
After the Battle of Erebor, Thorin cannot help but run from his shame of succumbing to the Gold Madness. Bilbo convinces him to join him on the journey back west, back to the Shire. Once there, the hobbits seem to have misinterpreted their friendship as something... else.
Thorin knew his greatest downfall was his pride, just as much as it was his greatest strength. His pride of himself, his people, his legacy would keep him going far past others would've turned back. It drove him through great hardships just as much as it drove him to cruel actions and the betrayal of self.
He wouldn't have been a prideful king, but a king with nothing but pride in him and that was a dangerous thing.
After everything, after the battle, after he had nearly killed his nephews who were all but in name his sons, he did not have the strength to pick up that crown.
Looking up into the cavernous halls carved with the hands of his forefathers, he could feel nothing but a sense of dread. That disease of mind that had driven Thror to insanity would keep nipping at his heels too, he could sense it. It would always be there as long as their coffers were full, waiting until he let his guard down in a moment of weakness and swallow him whole once more.
He hoped Fili would be a better king than him. Unlike Kili, he had more of his father's Broadbeam looks and personality which Thorin hoped meant he would be more immune to the gold sickness. With Kili as his right hand as well, as Frerin had been meant to be his, they would be good rulers.
They would be the ones to revive their people, bring them peace and prosperity. Thorin knew his time was over. He'd done his best to provide for his people when they were naught but refugees in the blue mountains and had nearly sacrificed himself on this quest to reclaim their homeland.
He had succeeded but at great cost to himself.
Shame suffused him. He knew that he could not bear to live amongst his kind anymore, forever known as the king who had given up his crown, the king who wouldn't part with his gold to save his kin, let alone his people.
Yes, it was pride that was Thorin's greatest burden. He resolved himself to being an exile, living amongst the humans for the rest of his life. He traded his kingly clothes for those of a traveler, ones that he knew better than those he had donned in the heights of madness. He had a sword on his back, not Orcrist but a plain one from the armory. There was no donkey or mule to buy in Dale, everything remaining was bare bones necessity, needed to survive the back-breaking spring in hopes of being prepared for another cold winter.
Thorin didn't know where he was headed when he set off on his way, only knowing he couldn't stay. Fili was on the mend, although his eye was lost and Kili had gained a dashing scar across his cheek. After a brief and gruff exchange with Balin and Dwalin, Thorin kissed his nephews one last goodbye and slipped a letter underneath their pillows.
He couldn't face them as he left them, removing his taint from them. He doubted he'd ever see them again. They would be caught up in the important duties of a king, tied to the mountain and Thorin would be… somewhere, but never here again.
With those cold thoughts on his mind, he trudged through the early morning misty, a veritable wall of damp air that soaked through his woolen layers to chill his skin. he heard the panting of someone coming upon him.
Stilling, he placed a handle on the hilt of his sword, struggling to make the pursuer out in the thick fog. Moments passed and the stranger's sounds echoed closer. He began to draw his sword out of the sheath, the metal singing as it was drawn out.
"Thorin!" came a very familiar voice, carrying a tone of indignation, "Are you truly drawing your sword at me?"
Out of the mist, came the frumpy, harried shape of Bilbo Baggins. He was dressed entirely the same as when last saw him, barring a new coat in deep blue, but Thorin saw him in new light now. The mist blurred his vision, softening the shape of him. his soft, curly hair ended indistinguishably, a darker brown color in the low light. A worried press to his brows, his clean shaven face, the rounder upturned nose, his soft face–features he would never see on another dwarf. No, there are no sharp noses, intricate braidings, square jaw in his face but it is still so lovely. After a long time living amongst men, even the different features of the halflings seem so foreign though their races seem similar in height.
Bilbo cocked his head to one side, losing the annoyed tightness to his lips as the moments passed and Thorin failed to reply.
"Thorin?"
The figure half hidden in the morning mist came closer, drawing Thorin out of his reverie.
"My apologies, my friend," he reassured both Bilbo and himself, that he was not about to attack him, not again. "I find my eyes do not see as well as they used to. I did not realize that it was you approaching and thought that an enemy drew near."
"Well in that case, I suppose I can forgive you," he sniffed, nose twitching like a rabbit as he stuck it up in the air with a haughty pose.
"Thank you." he left the words hanging in the air, quiet and still.
"Well, anyways..." Bilbo scuffed his foot, creeping closer, "Where are you heading? I still need to get back to the Shire and I thought traveling with a friend would be nicer than going alone."
Thorin didn't know where he was going, not yet, but protecting Bilbo along his journey would be a way to show his remorse towards how he past treated him.
"Sure, my friend. I would be glad to have you along."
One last journey with Bilbo...
When Thorin had mentioned the rational route of cutting through Mirkwood and traveling down the Anduin rather than try to traverse the Misty Mountains through their winter-laden snow capped peaks, Bilbo had shook his head at that, saying he needed to be back ,"At the very latest on the day after he had left the Shire."
Thorin needed a moment to stare at him, agog. "You expect us to make this entire journey in two months?"
"Yes, I need to get back home in two months. It'll be a tight deadline but I'm sure that we can travel faster than a full company, especially since we won't be trapped in an elven king's prison, hm?" Bilbo absentmindedly scanned the map with his finger, not even looking up. Like his estimate was anything close to rational!
Thorin could feel himself begin to fume, that involuntary eyebrow twitch and a set to his jaw that was strong enough to ground rocks into a fine powdery dust. That stubbornness, that anger that always lived so close to the surface of his skin began to heat, like a forge fire being stoked.
No. No, he was over this, he had sworn to himself that never again would he fall prey to his vices. It was with great effort that he forced himself away, taking a few steps forward and to turn his head to gaze at the river.
He wanted to shake Bilbo, tell him that the path would be too icy and treacherous, that they would freeze to death, starve to death. It was a fool's plan! But...
Retaking Erebor, fighting a dragon... was it not a fool's plan too? And had not Bilbo followed him into it, not knowing of what future he faced although it spelled nearly certain doom.
"Alright," he sighed, "I suppose if we must get back to the Shire so soon, that is our only viable route."
Their packs were placed strategically before the entrance into the little alcove to block the wind. Thorin took a few packets of the ground iron, and as it was moved from the box, it began to heat up with movement.
"Here," he handed them to Bilbo. Bilbo was sitting, unwrapping rags from his feet. The bottoms were pink and torn from previous days of hard travel over ice and snow but it didn't appear actively bleeding.
"Can you move them?" Thorin crouched, grasping one with his hand to transfer his warmth.
Bilbo gave his toes a wiggle, "They feel a little numb but not too bad, all things considering."
"Good," He nodded, standing up and beginning to undress. Their outermost layers were embedded with little chips of ice that would melt with their body heat, making them wet and colder once again.
Bilbo silently passed his own outer layers, as Thorin hung them up on makeshift hooks in craggy rock. As he turned from his task, Bilbo had already made their beds for the night. Unlike their first trip, they did not have the luxury of sleeping apart in separate bed rolls. It was far too cold for that and there was no feasible way to start a fire. Body warmth was the only rational solution.
Thorin slipped under the blankets, already warm from the iron packets, settling facing away from Bilbo. Slowly as he began to drift off, he could feel an icy cold foot settle against his calf and then another. It was unpleasant but he didn't move his legs away. He'd take a little cold so long Bilbo kept all his toes.
If there was one thing Thorin would admit about Bilbo was that he was a skilled forager when not trying to provide for an entire troupe of dwarves. Even with the supplies Elrond had graciously given them, Bilbo supplied all their meals with some spring tuber or berry or herb.
"Tell me, what do you think I should plant once I get home? I got all my crops planned out already, and I'm sure Hamfast has been taking care of that in my absence but I don't know what I should do for my front porch..."
"What about pansies?" Thorin didn't pause in his whittling as he carved a brush from the green wood.
"Pansies?" Bilbo paused in his mending.
"Why not? We used to have pansies in front of our home back in Ered Luin. They'd spring up year after year no matter how hard you trampled them."
Bilbo hummed at that, looking down at the pair of pants in his lap, "Hm... why not plant some pansies."
It was a bright, sunny spring day when the pair finally crested that final hill and laid their eyes upon Bag End... which was surrounded by a rather large crowd.
"That--that--that impertinent earth-vexing contriver!" Bilbo swore loudly before taking off in a dead sprint, yelling "Lobeliaaaa!"
Thorin stood there, watching as Bilbo inserted himself into the crowd, yelling and pointing and getting into a verbal row with a ruddy hobbitdam with a sour, irritating face. As he stood upon his vantage point, he noticed that the crowd reacted in equal parts delight and vexation to Bilbo's arrival. There were some hobbits who turned to one another, smiling and slapping each other on the back as they glanced over at Bilbo and then at him. Others haughtily stuck their noses up in the air when Bilbo had rushed in or crouched down in the crowd, disappearing from his sight.
The white fluttering of sheets drew his attention as to what the crowd was standing around. As he made his way down towards Bag End, he saw that all of Bilbo's belongings had been spirited out of his home and that they now lay in droves around his yard, the crowd milling loosely around this... this yard sale !
Was this why Bilbo had been so insistent to return to the shire so soon despite the danger? He clearly did not want his home and belongings to be pillaged and ransacked by his neighbors and family when they presumed him dead after he had gone off to recover another peoples' home from their own draconic thief.
He remembered what Bilbo had once mentioned off-hand, at the start of their journey. 'A year and a lay, at the latest.' Was this the custom of the hobbits? To presume that any person missing beyond a year and a day was dead? And if so, why had Bilbo not confided in him that he feared losing his home? Thorin felt a pang in his chest at the thought, Bag End was not so mighty as Erebor but it was someone's home nonetheless--Bilbo's home.
And that was why he had run down, Thorin realized, his dragon was here, trying to bring Bilbo's belongings into her hoard. Hm, he began striding down, readying to face Bilbo's dragon(s).
Although hobbits and dwarrow were not so different in size from each other as men and dwarrow, Thorin could loom a bit over the hobbits and he used this to advantage as he came across a rotund fellow, stacking fine china in his childrens' arms.
"I would suggest you put down Mr. Baggins belongings and leave, whomever you are, filthy relative or avaricious neighbor," He intoned lowly, plucking the plates out of the childrens' hands. The little ones blinked with their big eyes and scattered at his low brow, disappearing in the crowd.
"Excuse me!" He squawked, looking like an overly rotund child with nary a chin hair on his face, "These are mine!
Thorin quirked an imperious brow, a gesture he had perfected after many years of raising Fili and Kili. "Speak truthfully now. I do not tolerate thieves well, if at all."
They were amassing a crowd now, nosy little halflings watching them verbally scuffle as Thorin tied the fine china in the muslin linens that had also been laid out for the damned vultures to pick over.
"Who are you to make such demands! This is a hobbit business and you are no hobbit! Who are you to the Baggins bachelor to interfere in a stranger's business!"
"An old friend of his, who has risked my life for Bilbo and he has done the same for me. We've traveled great swathes of Arda together, battled monsters and seen each other through great tragedy. The better question is who are you to Bilbo Baggins?"
The crowd descended into a flurry of whispers and shuffling at that, a recurring mutter of "A year and a day! How traditional! How romantic!" That Thorin stoically ignored. What were these air-headed halflings babbling about?
"Well--well--! I never--!" The repugnant neighbor-cousin spluttered before turning as red as Bilbo's famed tomatoes and stomping away.
The crowd parted to let him pass, delight and interest alight in their faces, busybodies who clearly had nothing better to do than try to pawn off a living man's belongings.
"If there is anything missing," he addressed the crowd, "and do not try to claim it is borrowed or owed as Bilbo is clearly still alive and capable of sorting out his own affair, I will personally reclaim it for him. You will not enjoy such a process. This is my only warning."
With an imperious glare, Thorin turned from the rabble and towards where smug Bilbo withstood a screeching Lobelia and a ring of white-haired hobbits who were clearly nodding in Bilbo's favor. Ah, it seemed that Bilbo had his own dragon well in hand.
Thorin turned back to where furniture and belongings were slowly being carried back into Bag End. Good, that ought to be enough to defer these little thieves.
That first night in Bag End is cold, when Bag End is still all overturned from the fraudulent and the hearth hasn't been stoked for so long. The heating pipes must be rusty and the bed is dusty. Thorin tries to sleep, a thin blanket pulled over him. Bilbo had tried to find where his quilts had gone but after searching until the witching hour, they went to bed with what he had.
At least he had found the pillows. Goose-feather, soft and plush.
Half-asleep, Thorin heard the click of a door opening. There were no footsteps to alert him to Bilbo walking but this was normal. He was their Burglar after all. A gentle weight was draped over his body and a tender hand brushed the hair from his face before he retreated back, just as unobtrusive with the quiet click of the doorknob.
Thorin could see why Bilbo had oft griped about leaving the comforts of his homes. It was very different from true dwarven homes but Thorin found that he liked it very much regardless of strange architectural choices. He did not understand the hobbits' obsession with making all hallways and doors and windows round, other than internally speculating that hobbits built warrens in the old ages before they had settled down.
Though he was taller than most of the hallways, his inborn dwarven sense of when to duck came in useful, a trait that had been honed for generations from working, living and breathing stone. Unlike many of his race, Thorin had spent far less time under the safe sanctuary of stone, that instinct had never left him.
Many of his race would feel uncomfortable so close to the surface, with only wood and loam protecting them but Thorin did not. He had spent most of life living in wooden houses like Men, working as craftsmen to provide for clan and kin. Unlike the common folk, he could not simply leave behind his house and swear allegiance to another.
It was a much finer house than one he had lived in for most of his adult life. The rooms were filled with lavish things like desks, books and plush rugs. Ut seemed excessive to him, after a lifetime of living frugally. Thorin could sit in a plush armchair with morning light streaming in, smoking a pipe and drinking tea and not worry that he had to work, whether the next job would pay well.
It was a soothing balm to simply tend to garden with Bilbo in the afternoon, occasionally fixing the leaky pipes in Bag End, to assist Bilbo in menial kitchen tasks and to sit in as Bilbo's family filed in day after day for tea time.
It was gentle and yet Thorin couldn't stand it.
He did not deserve gentle. He did not deserve quiet mornings, lazy afternoons, playful dinners. He was exiled, he reminded himself firmly. He left Erebor, he left his position as dwarven royalty. He was Thorin of no name, no clan, no kin now.
It would be best to leave Bag End, to let Bilbo move and live his life. The family kept chattering about planning the wedding party soon. Thorin was neither blind nor deaf to realize that Bilbo had a lass waiting for him.
It was a cool evening when Bilbo had seen the half-built kit that Thorin was slowly putting together.
"Don't tell me you're leaving me."
Thorin jerked his head up, startled, as Bilbo looked at him mournfully, tears in his eyes. He had been fixing a lopsided stool, trying to subtly delay the inevitable.
"Bilbo, I don't wish to impose on you any further." Thorin dropped his eyes, looking down at his hands, unable to stand the sight of such distress.
"You're not an imposition, Thorin. there is nothing you have done or taken that I have not freely given. Please, old friend... do stay. I worry about where you shall go." Bilbo stepped into his space, slipping his slighter, softer hand into his rough, calloused one.
"Do not worry so much about me," Thorin tightened his jaw, "You have an impending marriage to worry about. You wouldn't want an old, dwarven bachelor lingering around once you get married. I'm sure your wife would not be pleased with that."
"Wife? What wife?" Bilbo drew back, confusion coloring his tone.
"The one your relatives have planned for you?" Thorin was now perplexed himself, "All that they have been talking about is your wedding party. Surely, you have noticed?"
"Oh, those old busybodies!" Bilbo clicked his tongue, "They're such bothers sometimes! Don't mind what they say, they've always been trying to insert their noses into my business. they can't force a wedding party on me!"
"Still, you're getting married soon Bilbo. It would be best if I leave soon." Thorin was utterly at a loss now. Wouldn't a man want his home to be unoccupied while he adjusted into newlywed life?
There was a long pause as Thorin and Bilbo just stared at one another, both floundering in this ambiguity.
"Oh. Oooh, I see now." Bilbo shook his head before giving Thorin a soft smile, "Thorin, I'm not getting married. My relatives are just... overeager and misinterpreting some things, is all. There is no wife or betrothed waiting for me."
"Still..." Thorin tried to argue, before Bilbo cut him off,
"Thorin, I know you wanted to leave behind dwarrowkind of the rest your life but that doesn't mean you need to leave hobbitkind. Please stay with me, here in Bag End. I worry that if you leave, I will never see or hear from you again and you will die alone, with no one by your side. I know what happened at Erebor haunts you...'' Bilbo squeezed their still clasped hands together, "But that doesn't mean that you need to leave behind everyone and everything that reminds you of it. I know you wish to fade into obscurity but you don't leave me behind to do that, Thorin. We hobbits are an insular bunch, while the rumors do fly hot in the Shire, we do not share much with outsiders. you don't' need to leave bag end... you don't need to leave me, please."
"I don't deserve this Bilbo," Thorin could barely get it past the tightness in his throat, Bilbo pulled tight against him as he turned his face into his midsection to hide his tears.
"Sometimes, it is not about what we deserve Thorin, it's about what we need. A-and I need you right now, alright? I-i don't know what I'll do if it's just me alone in Bag End again. I ca-can't imagine it if you left." Bilbo cupped a hand around the back of skill, head bowed as he whispered the words into his hair.
It was a long while that they simply stood there, holding each other, hiding from each other but at last realizing that perhaps they were both a little more broken than they expected.
Night had fallen when they stepped apart. under the cover of darkness, Thorin admitted, "Alright. I'll stay."
Midsummmer was nigh and with it, came all the beloved festivals and parties of the hobbit people. They were the people of the land, of crops and celebration. It was only fitting that they threw parties and contests to measure the quantity and quality of food grown. Bilbo had been fretting over his prize-winning tomatoes for weeks, worried that a year without his care had degraded this quality.
Thorin had assured him that everything would be fine, that everything he grew and made was delicious but alas, his fears would not be soothed.
Thorin was hanging on the outskirts of the crowd, a mug of beer in his hand. While he missed some things from his culture, the hobbits were by and large, amazing chefs and connoisseurs of good food and drink. He doubted he could find such a fine beer in the Dain's halls.
"Thorin! Thorin, my good man!" A golden-haired hobbit called, a splashing cistern of ale in his own hand. Thorin watched curiously as the hobbit approached. Most of the hobbits didn't try to talk with him without Bilbo nearby, unless they were inquiring after services or little hobbitlings who had a thousand and one questions.
"Thorin! Yavanna's blessing be upon you! It's good to meet the fellow Bilbo's finally settled down! No wonder he never went for the lasses we threw at him!" The hobbit laughed, babbling and already half-drunk. "The family's so glad to know that he's no longer all alone in Bag End."
Thorin raised a brow, confused as to what this unknown cousin was speaking about, "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, master...?"
"Iolo Chubb!"
"Well me then, Master Chubb. I am afrai-'' The hobbit cut him off with a hearty laugh.
"Oh just call me Iolo! We're family now! Too many Chubbs here to be calling us all Master Chubbs! Can you imagine? Calling us all Master Chubbs at the next Yule party? It'd be too confusing!" The hobbit chortled.
Well, clearly he was far drunker than he appeared if he thought there was a relation between himself and Thorin.
"Mister Thorin! Mister Thorin!" A little voice cried out as Thorin sat talking with the old smith from Whitewell.
"Ah, hello," Thorin said, watching two little lasses run up. He recognized one of them as Mahonia, one of the bolder neighborhood children that wasn't afraid to come knocking on Bag End's door and with a shyer lass he had also seen around.
"Here!" she thrust out braided crowns that were dripping petals from how many flowers had been stuffed in, "These are for you and Bilbo!"
"Mhm," the shyer child mumbled, "'ts for blessings for your garden ."
"One day," Mahonia declared boldly, "I'm going to find a pard-ner-ship like you and Bilbo!"
"Well, Yavanna bless you with that,'' Thorin said, having gotten used to being confused with all the obfuscation hobbits did and said, but also finding the passion the little girls displayed to be endearing. "It might take you a very long time before you meet such a person."
"That's okay! I'll wait forever!"
"Well," Thorin smiled at that, placing the larger crowns on his head, trailing yellow and purple onto his hair. "I hope you don't have to. Forever is a long time."
"Well, maybe not forever...." Mahonia backtracked, nose twitching like a bunny rabbit, "Mister Thorin, how old were you when you first met Mister Bilbo?"
"Around a hundred and fifty years old."
"Woah..." they looked at each other, shocked.
"You're like, super super old!" Mahonia declared, "I don't want to be a hundred and fifty to meet my Bilbo! I'll be like a prune by then!"
Thorin laughed at that, a booming sound that shook his whole bodyl. "I'm afraid such things are outside of our control, Mahonia, though I doubt Yavanna will make you wait that long."
"You think so?"
"I know so," he assured, "And I know that Bilbo will enjoy this flower crown you have made. Thank you, children."
"Yer welcome!" they chirruped, before running off.
"Daffodil, heliotrope and hollyhocks, huh?" the old smith chuckled after the two children had left, there for the whole interaction, "A good blessing for your garden indeed."
"Mm, Bilbo will be overjoyed. He really wants his pumpkins to do better next year."
"Here," He placed the flower crown on Bilbo's head from behind his armchair, who looked up at him startled from reading.
"What...?" He placed his book down among his lap, reaching up to grab at the crown. Once Thorin moved past him and into view, reaching to pour himself a cup of tea from the pot, Bilbo paused.
"Oh," He blushed pink, "Where did you get these?"
"Little Mahonia and her friend gave them to me. Mentioned something about these being good for a garden."
Bilbo turned a deep red at that, started stammering about leaving the cooking fire before rushing out. But still with the flower crown on, Thorin noticed.
"Bilbo," Thorin asked one evening as they smoked their pipes on the porch. "There's something I have noticed."
"Is it the tea? I did change to a different vendor recently. Theodard says he gets his from Nobottle, same farm as my old tea seller but there's something not quite the same with it. It's just not as strong as Ol' Tomba sold."
"No, it's not the tea. It's just these little comments that your family and the neighbors and frankly everyone in the shire keeps making." Thorin said, pausing to take a puff of his pipe and blow rings with it.
"...What about it?" Bilbo reluctantly bit the bait.
"Are we... married?"
"well, no... but it's just a good as. You see there's a long standing tradition in the Shire that to get married, you and your partner disappear for a few days or week, without saying a word to anyone, before reappearing and proclaiming that you're now spouses. It comes from ancient times, back when my people were still nomadic. It's not very common nowadays but it's considered quite romantic to do such a thing. There's an old tale of two lovers who traveled the world in a year and a day to prove their love to one another before they came back to their families as spouses, bonded beyond life and death."
"I've tried to tell my family that that's not how Dwarvish marriage customs are, that we're just good friends is all! The only people who can say we're married is us, Thorin, so don't worry about that!"
"I am not worried about that." Thorin took another puff of his pipe. "Although I do have another question."
"What about?"
"Would you want to get married to me truthfully?"
Dear Uncle Thorin, Once King Under The Mountain
We are so glad to hear from you! We were worried for you, once Balin told us you had left. Kili was quite sure that you were going to try to retake Moria all alone since there is no one around you to stop you. We were glad to know that you had left with Bilbo who at the very least, might have curbed some of your more daring ideas. Though, I argue that Bilbo might be twice as brassy as you since it seems he was the one to marry you first!
Firstly, we must offer our royal congratulations to you Thorin Baggins and invite you to Erebor to get married in the Dwarrow way since you're already married in the eyes of the Hobbits. I can't believe (Me especially -Killi) that marriage custom for Hobbits is just to disappear for a few days and then show up again, claiming you're married! Preposterous! When we heard about this, we couldn't stop laughing! I can't imagine what they must've been thinking when Bilbo showed up with a Dwarvish husband!
Do visit us soon dear uncle, we have missed you dearly and could use your advice! (And Bilbo's! -Kili) See to it that you visit sooner rather than later or we will be sending out Dwalin after you! Also mother sends her love along. be sure to expect a letter from her soon!
Your beloved nephews,
Fili, King Under The Mountain, and Kili, the Right Hand, sons of Dis