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The battle had been a blur. Bilbo had been racing around, desperately trying to reach Thorin. Climbing through the mountains, feeling the chill creeping in through the robe that was almost in tatters. He’d been one step behind the entire time as Thorin fought off the Orc chieftain and his lackeys.
By the time he caught up to Thorin, he was too late.
He’d made it just in time to see the blade slice clean through Thorin’s chest in the Orc Chieftain’s last act. No amount of shock could have prevented the guttural scream that tore itself from Bilbo’s throat.
Losing all common sense to check his surroundings, he rushed forward towards Thorin – the one he’d been seeking this whole time to ensure his well-being.
“Thorin!” he choked out. It was a wretched sound.
“You came back,” seemed to be the only thing Thorin could muster. His hand weakly reached to cup Bilbo’s cheek. He cradled it like it was the whole world to him – one that was going to be torn away.
Biblo pressed into his touch, his own hands trying desperately to apply pressure to the wound. “You’re going to be fine. Just hang in there, please.”
But it seemed Thorin wasn’t listening. “I am sorry, Bilbo,” he murmured. “For everything. You are a good hobbit. A rubbish burglar, perhaps. But an honourable hobbit I have been lucky enough to come to cherish.”
If Bilbo didn’t know any better, he would have thought that sounded something like love.
“Don’t talk like that.” He adjusted the placement of his hands. “Don’t sound like you’re saying goodbye.”
Thorin managed a weak smile. “It’s not goodbye,” he said kindly. “Just simply until we meet again.”
That was when the rest of life thread snapped.
Bilbo barely even processed the feeling of Thorin’s hand going limp, and barely processed the tears that leaked from his face and fell onto the corpse of what used to be Thorin. It didn’t matter that they won the battle, because Bilbo had lost.
He had lost everything.
Everything that mattered.
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Bilbo can’t stop his chest from heaving. It feels like the world is spinning the moment his eyes snap open. It is the same nightmare again – the one that had plagued him every night since Thorin had been wheeled into the infirmary and then into the King’s chambers after miraculously surviving.
It had been a year now since the battle had ended. A year since Thorin had taken up his rightful place at the throne, and Bilbo decided to stay until he was sure everything would be alright.
Bilbo had come a long way since being a prudish grouch who refused to leave the comfort of his home. He still missed his books and his armchair and his own bed. But Thorin’s presence had all but made up for it. Their dynamic had grown to be something more. An understanding of the horrors they had faced together – a trust that seemed to extend to unspoken volumes.
And the nature and the rebuilding of the lost kingdom were additions that Bilbo also cherished.
But there was something on Bilbo’s mind. It had been following him around for weeks, ever since that damn raven had arrived with a note from Gandalf.
He reached under his pillow, feeling the bed shift as Thorinmoved in his sleep. Grasping the parchment, he brought it and smoothed it on his knees. His eyes trace over the words he’d spent the past few weeks reviewing so much that he knew them by heart at this point. But the coarse feel of the torn parchment reminded him that the offer was real and not something Bilbo’s mind conjured up.
Gandalf’s offer to help Bilbo journey home to the Shire.
Home. His home. The Shire. Back to the place where Bilbo began.
It should have been such an easy decision. Everything Bilbo needed was in his home – his books, his armchair, his fireplace, his clutter in the kitchen, and most of all, the quiet of solitude. It had been so hard to leave, and all Bilbo had dreamt about most of his journey was going back to it.
And yet, Bilbo found that some part of him did not want to leave the kingdom and the people he’d come to know. It made no sense. And Gandalf would be there tomorrow, awaiting an answer.
As of now, Bilbo had no answer to give him.
How was he supposed to make that decision?
The rustling of sheets brought Bilbo back to present to find that Thorin was furiously rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
“Good, you’re up,” Thorin rumbled, voice still thick with traces of sleep. “Dress quickly. I have something that I want to show you.”
The two of them left the room minutes later, cloaked in robes and capes. It fought off the early-morning chill that was trying to wiggle its way into their bones.
Thorin guided Bilbo through the many tunnels that had become warm with familiarity and light over the past year. Bilbo could almost guess where they were until Thorin took a left when he should’ve taken a right. It led them down a corridor that Bilbo had never been down before, yet Thorin seemed to know exactly where they were going.
The walls all seemed to blur together until they arrived in front of a door that Bilbo’s breath caught at.
Oak.
The door was made of the most beautiful oak Bilbo had ever seen, and precisely carved into it was none other than an acorn. Smooth and varnished in a way that reminded Bilbo of home.
Thorin caught Bilbo’s gaze and chuckled, a deep sound that tickled Bilbo’sears. “There’s even more. Don’t get lost staring at the door now.” Thorin pushed open the door, and it swung open slowly like it was made of gold. “Go ahead. Go inside.”
Bilbo stepped inside, and immediately his hands flew to his mouth to suppress a gasp.
The room was of immaculate taste. A stone fireplace that had had marble sculpted into a mantel depicting the feats of their quest. A dark pine bookshelf sat next to it, overflowing with hundreds of books. Art of different landmarks around the world hung on the walls, framing the window that had been created within the chamber. In the centre of it, two plush, burgundy armchairs sat on top of a rather soft-looking bearskin rug. The room smelled faintly of elderberries and was the cosiest within this stone kingdom that Bilbo had ever felt.
“It’s lovely,” Bilbo said breathlessly. “Why did you make this?”
“For you,” Thorin told him, then he took him by the hand to guide him over to the armchairs. “So that when you look up from whatever you decide to do in here, you won’t have to look far to be reminded of my love and the fact that I’m still here.” At Bilbo’s stunned look, Thorin plunged on. “If you’ll have me. If you’ll stay.”
And it was in that moment that Bilbo knew the answer to the question that had been consuming his mind for weeks on end. Bilbo reached up and wiped a stray tear from his eye. “For the rest of my life, yes.”
Thorin leaned in and kissed him gently, albeit somewhat hesitantly.
Bilbo kissed him back, in no way hesitant.
Gandalf would enter the gates of the kingdom tomorrow, and Bilbo would have an answer to give him.
He didn’t need to journey home. He was already there.