Chapter Text
Bilbo blinked as his eyes once again adjusted to the change in light and his ears twitched under the sudden onslaught of sound. It was as if he’d just emerged from being underwater, where all light and sound are dimmer, to the surface where everything was clearer.
He couldn’t help but feel intimidated as he found himself in a room full of dwarves in what appeared to be an entrance hall, with many tunnels leading off to the left and right of the great circular room. Feeling a bud of hope spring in his chest, Bilbo watched the dwarves bustle by, they were all too absorbed in their own business to notice that one of their members was not like them.
He knew it was unlikely that he’d find Thorin or one of the company here, but he couldn’t help but look and hope that he would see one of them.
Despite it all, Bilbo had made it into the halls of the dead and into the halls of Aulё. And whilst there was an ever present threat that he may still be forcibly removed and sent back to Yavanna’s pastures, he couldn’t help but think that if the valar had let him get this far, they may not be entirely opposed to him going just a little bit further.
Now that he was here, he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. All of his planning and discussions with Gandalf had been how to get to this point. From here, he was supposed to find the King himself. And he couldn’t say how much time had passed between his leaving and arriving, he could only hope that he had enough.
Feeling brave, he approached a tall dwarf who was stood reading some papers off to one-side.
“I beg your parden, sir,” Bilbo began, grabbing the dwarf’s attention who, in Bilbo’s opinion, should have looked more surprised at having found a hobbit wandering his halls, but Bilbo continued on, “I was wondering if you might tell me where I can find the Durins.”
The dwarf raised his grizzled eyebrows, “You seek the line of Durin?”
Bilbo nodded, “Yes, I am a friend of many of their family. Do you know where they reside?”
To Bilbo’s relief, he nodded, “Take that tunnel in the middle there. That will take you to the halls of Kings. From there, look for the Durin family crest above the archways and you’ll find their resting halls.”
“Thank you,” Bilbo breathed, wasting no time in hurrying towards the tunnel which the kindly dwarf had pointed him to.
With his increased activity, he saw that he got some stares and mutterings as he passed, but so long as they didn’t disturb him and let him pass, he didn’t care what they said or thought of him.
It was when he was about halfway through the tunnel that he felt the first pang of discomfort in his hip. Pausing, Bilbo rubbed the spot gently and then gazed down at his hands. He gasped and what he saw, his hands were no longer as youthful as they had been at the start of his journey, the skin was looser and wrinkled as it had been a couple decades after his adventure.
Time was catching up with him.
Ignoring the pain, Bilbo pushed on, forever keeping an eye out for the symbols that he would recognise as belonging to the Durins. At the end of the tunnel, he found himself in a room which split into seven, one for each of the seven fathers of the dwarves.
From his memories, Bilbo recalled the symbol which had been spread throughout the halls of Erebor. Seven stars stretched over a helm, below which sat a hammer and an anvil. Balin had told him what it meant during the dark days of Thorin’s goldsickness, when there was little to do other than study the new home in which he’d found himself.
It was quieter here, fewer dwarves were passing through and the reduced crowd helped to calm Bilbo’s nerves as he searched for the symbol above the curved archways. Each archway was inlaid with precious ores, many of which he couldn’t identify as being any more than being red or green, but others he could clearly identify as gold, silver or mithril.
The thought of the precious metal brought Bilbo’s hand to his chest where his mithril shirt now lay against his breast. Frodo had returned the item to him shortly before his departure, saying that he would have no need of it in Yavanna’s care. He’d almost forgotten he had it, light as it was, and it filled him with a sense of pride that he would be seeing Thorin again with the last gift the King had given him.
Scanning the room, a small smile lighted his features as he found the symbol above an archway to his left.
With hope and curious excitement lightening his footsteps, Bilbo hurried down the tunnel. At the back of his mind, with the hope was also a slight fear. What would he say to Thorin? He fully intended to confess his feelings at long last, but what if they weren’t reciprocated? He felt like a young hobbit with his first crush, dithering with the excitement of love but also the fear that it may be short lived.
Whatever happened, he had to remind himself that it was enough to simply be reunited with the stubborn dwarf, even if they could be no more than friends. Their bittersweet farewell had done little to offer him comfort.
He slowed as he reached a large rectangular chamber, gasping at the beauty of the room that even he could appreciate. Tapestries hung around the walls and great stone carvings ran up the huge stone pillars that supported the ceiling. Coming to the first pillar, he could see that the carvings depicted great historical events of the Durin’s past.
Even though he was largely unfamiliar with Dwarven history, even he could see that the first tapestry told the story of Aulё making the seven fathers, and then threatening to destroy them all after Eru had expressed his displeasure of their existence. From then on, after Mahal had spared their lives, the history became murkier for Bilbo and it was a regret of his that he had not learned the history of a race he had come to love.
But, Mahal willing, he may have the time to learn it yet.
“Is that…” a familiar voice said behind him.
“Bilbo!” another voice called and Bilbo turned just in time to see two figures barrelling towards him. He barely had time to breathe before he was pulled into a bone crushing hug, the two young dwarves clinging tightly to either side of him.
Wrapping his arms around the two princes in turn, Bilbo muttered, “It’s nice to see you again boys,” against the swell of emotion in his chest. They stood there for a moment, delighting in their reunion. Dwarves around them smiled as they passed, but gave them as much privacy as they could in a scene that they were entirely too familiar with now.
Bilbo sniffed as Fili and Kili finally extracted themselves from his side, still staying very close.
And then Kili’s face split into a childish grin, “Just wait until everyone finds out you’re here! We never thought we’d see you again, how on earth did you get pass the dragon?”
Chuckling, Bilbo winked at the young dwarf, “I’ll tell you later,” he promised, fully intending to tell his whole story to them later, but first he wanted to be reunited with his companions.
“Shall I let you boys lead on?” he said questionably to them both and Fili clasped his shoulder companionably.
“I think everyone’s currently having dinner in the great hall, we best go and surprise them,” he said, leading Bilbo down the tunnel where they’d come from. “We’d sneaked off to steal some of uncle’s throwing knives but that can wait.”
Something started in Bilbo to hear such a casual reference to Thorin and his heart quickened in anticipation of meeting him again. He thought it odd that Thorin would have throwing knives, but then maybe he had taken to learning new weapons in their time apart.
The great hall was even larger than Smaug’s chamber had been, and far better smelling besides. The rich smells of meat, and gravy and spices made Bilbo’s stomach growl, reminding him that he had barely eaten since the start of his venture.
“They’re round this way,” Kili said happily, tugging on Bilbo’s arm as he led the hobbit towards a long table set towards the edge of the hall.
Bilbo saw them all before they did. The company were sat there, just as he remembered them, if not a little bit younger, especially Balin whose hair was as dark as Dwalin’s striking mohawk. His cheeks ached from the intensity of his smile as he couldn’t help but beam at their antics. Bofur was throwing food towards Bombur’s mouth, missing on one occasion, much to the displeasure of Bifur who made a show of forking the chunk of meat and taking it for himself.
They all looked so happy. A joy so infectious that Bilbo couldn’t help but feel it spread unto himself. A few unfamiliar faces sat with them and they could only be what Bilbo guessed were the company’s family. And a pang of disappointment set through him as Bilbo realised Thorin was not among them, but the king could be anywhere. Bilbo just had to be patient a little longer.
Without further ado, Fili loudly cleared his throat to try and draw the attention of his fellows, but they were all so absorbed in their eating they did not hear him.
Helping in the only way he could think, Kili released Bilbo’s arm and jumped onto the table, kicking food in all directions but managing to get the attention of the dwarves.
“Listen up you beardless wits,” Kili teased, receiving a few mocking jokes back at his own state of facial hair. “A dear friend of ours, has come home!” he shouted, waving his arms in the direction of Bilbo, who was still stood beaming at them all.
Jaws dropped as eyes were laid on the hobbit before him. The shocked silence was short lived as many cries of “Bilbo!” and “Our hobbit has returned!” rang through the hall. The dwarves had quickly removed themselves from the table and were now in the process of hugging the life out of said hobbit.
Bilbo couldn’t help the tears which streamed down his face at having been reunited with his dearest friends.
It was all a blur of beards and hugs and near misses as Dwalin decided to try and knock their foreheads together, to which Bilbo did his best to avoid without offence.
And he couldn’t help but laugh when Bofur reached him and cried out, “I’m so glad yeh weren’t incinerated!” before pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.
Bilbo did his best to pat the dwarf’s back, mumbling, “me too,” through his tears.
As the initial excitement calmed down, he found himself surrounded by his friends, some as equally tearful as he was, others just beaming at their burglar. Kili had since removed himself from the table and was now standing by his brother and another dwarf whom Bilbo did not know.
It reminded Bilbo of when he’d returned to them just after their flight through the goblin tunnels, when he’d made his choice to stay and help, and not run away from his chance of doing some good in the world.
There was just one person missing, one person who he had walked this almighty way to see.
It was then he dared to ask them, “Where’s Thorin?” half expecting the dwarf to appear behind him or to push through the crowd and ask what had gotten everyone so excited. What he didn’t expect was for the company’s smiles to falter and become replaced by a sadness that Bilbo was not comfortable with.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice quiet, but he knew they had heard him.
Balin was the first to step forward, “Come and sit down laddie, I expect you’re tired after your journey and we have much to discuss.”
Bewildered and now very worried, Bilbo followed Balin to the seats at the end of the table, the company filling in around them as they now resumed their eating with less fervour. Fili and Kili sat either side of him as the unfamiliar dwarf and Balin sat across from them.
Wordlessly, Balin passed Bilbo a plate of food which he cautiously picked at, eyeing the dwarves suspiciously as he tried to find an answer to their behaviour.
“I don’t understand,” Bilbo said, “Where is Thorin?” he repeated, this time with more desperation.
Fili and Kili looked ramose beside him and Balin looked as though he was about to speak, but could not find the words.
The unknown dwarf next to Balin finally provided an answer, “His soul did not pass through,” he said sadly.
“What do you mean?” Bilbo asked him, “Who are you?” he asked, now finding something familiar about the dwarf’s deep blue eyes.
“My name is Frerin,” the dwarf answered and it clicked within Bilbo. It had been this dwarf that Fili and Kili had been talking about, not Thorin. If it wasn’t for the dwarf’s blonde hair and beard, he would have been a spitting image of Thorin.
Frerin continued, “What do you understand about dwarven ones?” he asked.
“Not much,” Bilbo answered, “But I don’t understand what this has to do with Thorin’s soul!”
“You will,” Frerin answered, “Some dwarves are only born with half of a soul. The other half exists in the breast of another being in middle-earth. We did not know my brother had one until his soul failed to pass through. I always did wonder why he spurred my attempts to match him with someone, I had just assumed he was not interested at all.”
Kili added, “We didn’t know he’d died until some dwarves passed on and gave us the news.”
The words whirled in Bilbo’s head and made him feel sick to his stomach. He didn’t care so much that Thorin had a one who was clearly not him, it was that Thorin’s soul was now Eru knows where and the hope that Bilbo had of finally making his peace was now dying within him.
Seeing his distress, Frerin continued, “It is not that his soul is lost entirely, part of it rests here in this kingdom. However he will not awaken until his one passes on too and acknowledges the bond. Since I assume they never said it in life, they will have to do it in death.”
Putting his head in his hands, Bilbo asked, “So his soul is lost until his one find him?”
Fili answered, “Our father still sleeps in the halls of waiting. His soul is waiting for our mother to pass on, and until she does, he will not awaken.”
Balin said, “But whilst we can be certain of his eventual awakening, we cannot be certain of Thorin’s. We can only hope his one was aware of the bond so that they may find each other. If not, he will never awaken.”
The words did nothing to offer the comfort Bilbo had sought after. “Is it possible for me to see him?”
The prince’s looked to Balin, unsure of their own answer. “I would think so laddie if you wanted to, but what you will find is but a sleeping shade of the dwarf you knew.”
Standing, Bilbo said, “I still need to see. I came all this way to make my peace but if this is all I can get, I will take it.”
Nodding, Balin, gestured at the prince’s, “The boys can take you if they’re willing. I have been to that place far too often.”
“We’ll take him,” Kili agreed, the three princes standing with the hobbit to lead him out of the hall. As Bilbo passed, many of the company gave him sympathetic pats which Bilbo did his best to return with smiles.
They walked in silence for the most part, the joy of his return having worn thin under the weight of this ill news.
Confusion and pain dominated Bilbo’s heart. Gandalf had led him to believe that he would be able to see Thorin again. Was this all he had meant? Or perhaps the wizard had simply not known of Thorin’s condition. If that was the case, then Bilbo had no-one to blame in the matter, it was entirely his prerogative.
They led him through many halls and corridors, past many dwarves who nodded their heads in respect of the prince’s that escorted him.
It became even quieter and more empty the further they led him, and it was not long before they came to a very long corridor which Bilbo couldn’t see the end of. On either side, Bilbo could see countless wooden doors, above which was inscribed a tablet in Khuzdul that Bilbo couldn’t read but what he assumed were names.
Taking a torch from the sconce next to them, Frerin led them on until they came to a door on their right.
“You don’t have to go inside if you don’t want to,” Frerin reminded him, “No-one would judge you for not wanting to see him in this way.”
“I need to,” Bilbo repeated, moving in front of the door. When his companions did not follow him, he threw a questioning look at them.
Fili said softly, “We’ll give you some privacy.”
Bilbo nodded his thanks, turning the door handle to enter the final room on his long journey. He closed it behind him before he fully took in the sight before him, unsure of how he was going to react.
The room was small and simple, cold grey stone ran along the walls and a torch flickered in a sconce beside him, casting an eerie light upon them. In the centre of the room was a great stone table, on which lay the body of the King Bilbo had loved.
He was transported then, back to the final time he’d seen Thorin, on the day of the funeral. He’d looked just like this, except he no longer had Orcrist nor the Arkenstone. And instead of the royal garb he had been dressed in, he now wore a deep blue tunic and simple trousers and boots.
Sighing, Bilbo made his way around the table towards the dwarf, keeping his footsteps slow and quiet, as though all the dead could hear him.
“We do make a sorry pair,” Bilbo said sadly, with the barest hint of humour which died as he came to a standstill by his friend.
Unable to stop himself, Bilbo continued on, “I thought many times what I would say to you when next we met, but I never quite imagined our next meeting being like this,” tears began to roll down his cheeks and he made no effort to stop them, he simply accepted them, as he had accepted his love for Thorin all those years ago.
“I suppose,” Bilbo started shakily, “All there is to say are the words I should have said when we were on that Eru-forsaken ice and you insisted on leaving me.” Swallowing hard, Bilbo allowed the words to flow out of him, “That I love you Thorin,” a chocked laugh escaped him at having finally said it out loud, “and I know I’m not your ‘one’ or anything more than a friend to you, but part of me always wished that some affection had lain in your heart for me. As my heart had reached out to you.”
Taking a moment to wipe some of the stinging tears from his eyes, Bilbo added on, “I will say farewell to you my friend, one last time and send a prayer to Mahal for you that your one, whomever they may be, finds you soon, so that you may be free and I may hug my friend again.”
Biting back a sob, Bilbo did his best to dry his face as he took another step closer to his friend, “Goodbye Thorin,” he said softly, gently pressing a kiss to the dwarf’s forehead, and then before he could stop himself, to the dwarf’s lukewarm lips. And finally, in the traditional farewell of hobbits, Bilbo took one of Thorin’s heavy hands in both of his, lifting it to his lips so that he may kiss the back of Thorin’s hand.
Sniffling, Bilbo made to put Thorin’s hand back where it was, resting against his stomach when he felt the fingers twitch between his.
At first he thought it a trick, a delusion of his mind created by his grief. But then the hand moved again, returning the grip Bilbo had on it. Barely allowing any hope to bud within him, Bilbo followed the dwarf’s arm to his shoulder and finally to his face.
A small gasp escaped him as he watched Thorin slowly blink his eyes open, tiredly coming to meet Bilbo’s fearful ones.
“Bilbo…” he said hoarsely, a small smile spreading across his cheeks.
“Thorin,” Bilbo answered, unsure what to say. He didn’t know what this meant, he didn’t know what any of it means anymore.
“My Bilbo,” Thorin said, his voice becoming clearer as his other hand reached up to cradle Bilbo’s cheek. Bilbo instinctively leaned into the hand, not truly believing that any of this could be real. His eyes shut under the pleasant warmth that began to fill him.
But he could not resist opening his eyes again, making sure that Thorin was not simply another apparition that would escape him again. When he found Thorin was still there and smiling at him fondly, Bilbo felt tears slip down his cheeks again.
He must look a right mess, but he couldn’t find himself to care at that moment. “I thought I’d lost you,” Bilbo sobbed, coming forward to press his cheek against the dwarf’s chest. The slow thrum of Thorin’s beating heart helped to reassure him that he was here. His soul had returned.
Bilbo felt Thorin’s arms come around him and a soft kiss being pressed into his hair. “And I you,” Thorin answered, emotion leaking into the dwarf’s voice.
Realising that Thorin was probably uncomfortable lying there with Bilbo half on top of him, Bilbo slowly extracted himself, allowing the king to come into a sitting position. With their hands entwined, Thorin urged Bilbo to come and sit with him, tucking the hobbit into his side where he fit all too well.
“I don’t understand,” Bilbo repeated, unable to be more eloquent than that.
“Understand what?” Thorin asked, nuzzling into Bilbo’s hair.
“I thought…” Bilbo started, “Well, Frerin told me that you would not awaken unless your one came to you.”
Sighing, Thorin moved so that he could stare into Bilbo’s eyes, “That’s right,” he said, and before Bilbo could protest, he continued, “and for the longest time, I thought I never would waken. For I know who my one was and if what they said about the halls of the dead were true, I knew it would not be simple for my one to find me.”
When Bilbo continued to frown, Thorin smiled gently, “You are my one, Bilbo. I was going to tell you after the battle, but I did not want to leave you with the burden of my love at the end when nothing could grow from it.”
Bilbo could only sit there stricken and without any words as Thorin filled the silence with his words, “I have been wondering in the darkness with the hope you may come to me one day. And just when I had nearly given up, I heard your voice call to me and bring me home.”
Unable to sit there and listen to the words of his love when he could offer none of his own, Bilbo instead cupped Thorin’s cheeks and brought their lips together. And when Thorin returned it with equal fervour, a completeness settled within him, filling his chest and making his heart sing.
As they pulled apart for breath, Thorin kept their foreheads connected and a singular finger curled under his chin to draw their eyes together.
“It is with bad news that I come to you,” Bilbo then said, no longer being able to hold it from the dwarf any more. Thorin frowned at him, eyes filling with worry. “I have not passed on Thorin,” Bilbo explained, “This body of mine, is withering, even now I am getting older and before long I will return to the state I was when I left middle-earth.”
Thorin continued to look confused, “But you look no older than the day we parted,” Thorin said and Bilbo wished then that he had a mirror of some kind. But looking down at his hands, he could see that they had again returned to the youthful state they had been the moment Galadriel had blessed him.
“How…”
Thorin calmed his queries with a kiss to his nose, “Perhaps it is a gift from the valar, now that our souls are no longer rendered apart,” he said, and when Bilbo continued to look worried, he continued, “Or maybe this is a dream. Your dream, my dream, it does not matter. So long as no-one dares to wake us.”
Bilbo couldn’t help but smile, “I think I could live with that,” he said, smiling as he tilted his head to draw Thorin into another kiss.
He’d done what he’d set out to do and more. Now that all was left for them was to continue for the rest of their days with their souls firmly entwined.
For now that they had found and completed each other, none, not even death, was strong enough to render them apart.