Chapter Text
Snow and ash fell on him as he lay in the ruins of the battlefield, staring up at the sky, waiting for death to claim him.
He heard feet running towards him, and then a face he’d almost given up hope of seeing again came into view.
“Bilbo,” he rasped, even as Bilbo crouched down next to him, trying to tend his injuries.
“Don’t move,” Bilbo insisted, “lie still.” He grimaced as he looked at Thorin’s injuries.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he managed, clasping Bilbo’s arm even as he tried to tend to Thorin’s wounds. “I wish to part with you in friendship.” And so much more, that he would now take to the grave.
Bilbo stared at him, trying to smile. “You’re not going anywhere, Thorin. You’re going to live.” They both knew that was a lie.
“I would take back what I said at the gate,” he gasped, even as his mouth slowly filled with blood. “You did what only a true friend would do.” There was so much pain in Bilbo’s eyes, but he would do what he could to fix it, before he left. “Forgive me,” he gasped out, even as Bilbo tried to deny the obvious. “I was too blind to see…” I have loved you for so long, I never knew, “Forgive me,” for my actions, for never speaking the words, for having these feelings you so clearly could never return- “I have led you into such peril-“ I nearly got you killed for my greed-
“I’m glad to have shared in your perils, Thorin,” Bilbo insisted, clasping Thorin’s hand tighter, even as the world faded. “Each and every one of them.”
Thorin smiled up at him.
At least here, in his final moments, he could be with the one he loved.
“Farewell, master burglar,” he whispered. “Go back to your books, and your armchair. Plant your trees. Watch them grow.
“If more people valued home over gold, this world would be a merrier place.”
“No, no no no Thorin! Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare! ”
The world slipped away around him, darkness consuming him.
There was light.
Faint light, far away and distant, like stars.
He blinked, and found that his neck was sore.
And only his neck.
His neck was arched.
He was staring up at the night sky.
He frowned, shifting a bit, and found himself standing on a path, surrounded by green grass and rolling hills.
The stars were shining above him, and in front of him, he saw a round green door.
Bag End.
What-
How-
He looked down, finding himself in his old traveling gear, his oaken shield still in his possession.
These are not the halls of my fathers.
What kind of sorcery was this?
The same mark was on the door, that had told him this was the house.
He was uninjured.
He was uninjured.
There was laughter coming from inside the house, and Thorin frowned.
Was this… death?
Or was it a chance to do things better?
Had he been sent back?
Impossible.
But here he stood.
And was he the only one sent back? Or were the others also here once more?
Only one way to find out.
He raised his hand, knocking slowly, schooling his expression.
Perhaps… perhaps this was simply a memory?
The door swung open, revealing- “Gandalf,” he nodded, remembering the last night before their adventure, and-
His feet were already moving, stepping into Bilbo’s home, and he saw Bilbo, staring at him, eyes wide, and his heart ached.
Bilbo’s hands grasped around his wrists as he dangled him over the ramparts, his wide eyes staring up at him in fear.
There was none of that fear in his eyes now.
“Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of the company, Thorin Oakenshield.”
Gandalf doesn’t remember then. I have to act as I did before. I can make a plan in solitude later.
“So,” he began, “This is the hobbit.” He crossed his arms to hide the shaking of his hands. What had he said before? “Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?”
“What- no, no I don’t fight-“ Bilbo spluttered, and Thorin paused, taking a moment to really look at him.
To see him as he hadn’t seen him before.
He was gentle. Well rounded from times of plenty, comfortable, in a way Thorin hadn’t seen since-
Well.
Since this night.
The road had been hard, and he’d always told himself that once they retook Erebor, he’d ensure his hobbit ate well once more.
Instead he’d almost killed him.
He needed to speak again. He remembered what he’d said before, but…
He couldn’t push the words out of his mouth.
Couldn’t insult Bilbo like that.
He cleared his throat. “He certainly doesn’t look like a burglar,” he finally managed.
“Why I- have you met terribly many of them?” Bilbo asked, affronted. “What good burglar looks like one?”
He was straying off script.
This wasn’t what he’d said before.
He needed a plan.
Someone had set food aside for him, despite him being late. That was kind of them.
He suspected Bilbo.
“What news from the meeting in Ered Luin?” Balin asked, the others gathered round the table. “Did they all come?”
Thorin nodded. “Aye, they all came.” He continued talking, but his mind was submerged.
He felt like he was trapped under the gold sickness once more, barely hearing the words coming out his mouth until Bilbo spoke up again.
“You’re going on a quest?” he asked, and Thorin turned his attention back to him.
How little had he known of how Bilbo would make him feel, back when this all started.
How horribly had he treated the young hobbit, who had only valued home and good company over gold and violence.
He looked at the map as Gandalf laid it out before them, but his attention was still on Bilbo.
The hobbit had gone to get light, and Thorin had to stop himself from staring after him.
He didn’t know.
He couldn’t know.
This was not the Bilbo who had fought to free him from the madness of the gold, who had freed him from the elven dungeons, and had held him as he died.
This was not the same hobbit who had learned to know him better than any other he’d met before. Who had seen him as Thorin, instead of the dwarven king reclaiming his homeland.
As they talked, it was hard to keep his focus as his head spun.
If I have been sent back, then I can change things. I can ensure that this time, victory is ours.
This time, my sister-sons will not die.
This time, I will not fail.
Bilbo still passed out when they talked about Smaug.
How much he had changed, in such a short period of time.
Bilbo would soon be the hobbit that faced down a dragon and lived to tell of it.
As Gandalf spoke with Bilbo, Thorin stood in the hallway with Balin. “What do you think?” he asked, and Balin glanced over at him, surprised.
“Of Master Baggins? He seems… jumpy. When he first opened the door, he stared at me like- well, like he’d seen a ghost. But he recovered quickly enough. And he does make excellent food.”
Thorin snorted. “…I would not fault anyone for turning back now,” he whispered, so quiet only Balin would hear him. “This is going to be a dangerous quest.”
“We already knew that,” Balin pointed out. “There’s no shame in giving up now. Are you having second thoughts, lad?”
Thorin shook his head. “…There is no choice. Not for me. There never has been.”
Bilbo walked past them, heading towards his room, and Balin sighed. “It seems, we have lost our burglar.”
Thorin tilted his head. “…Somehow, I don’t think so. Leave the contract for him. We’ll see if he decides to show up or not.”
Once everyone else had gone to bed, Thorin took a moment.
He wasn’t dead.
Or, if he was, the halls of his fathers were gone completely, replaced with this strange afterlife.
But he doubted it.
And if he wasn’t dead, and this was the quest once more… he had to make sure nothing changed.
In battle, two simple seconds could be the difference between life and death, and they had narrowly escaped death far too many times.
Better to avoid battle where possible, and stick to the quest as he remembered it.
It was his fault they’d failed, after all. His madness that had prevented them from being ready for the armies that marched on them.
So. His plan was simple.
Avoid the battles where possible, stay to the same course where it was unavoidable, and once they got to the mountain, refuse to fall into madness, so that he could rally the armies and defeat Azog before Fili and Kili were killed by him.
And, in all of that, figure out how to make up for his failings the last time around.
Simple.
They were just setting out onto the main road when he heard it.
“Wait! Stop! Wait up!”
He hid his smirk as he pulled his pony back, turning to watch Bilbo come running up, clutching the contract and waving it triumphantly. “I’ve signed it,” he announced, handing it to Balin who inspected it.
Thorin took a moment to look at Bilbo, committing this version of him to memory.
He was still round, with his healthy stomach and soft features. But there was a sharp glimmer to his gaze that Thorin hadn’t noticed the first time.
The Bilbo he’d come to know on the path was still in there, he just hadn’t had a chance to find himself yet.
“Everything appears to be in order,” Balin finally declared, “Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield.”
There was much laughter from the others, and Thorin couldn’t stop his grin. “Give him a pony,” he declared, catching the crestfallen look on Bilbo’s face as he turned around.
It didn’t take long for the sneezing to begin, and Thorin shook his head, remembering the poor hobbit’s allergies.
He glanced behind, just once, disguising it as a look over his entire company, to see Bilbo blowing his nose in a handkerchief.
He needed to be careful.
The quest would be long, and he needed to pull his attention to the entire company.
He couldn’t let his thoughts be consumed by one Hobbit. Even one he owned an apology to.
If he did this properly, then he’d never commit the honorless act that he needed to apologize for to begin with.