Fic: "Defiled," (3/3) The Hobbit, Bilbo/Thorin, R
I'm definitely writing a sequel fic for this 'verse. This ending isn't really an end. It's kind of just the beginning.
Defiled (3/3)
Author:
_beetle_
Fandom: The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey AU
Pairing: Bilbo/Thorin UST, allusions to Azog/Bilbo
Rating: R, Mentions of NON-CON
Word Count: Approx. 2750
Disclaimer: JRR is probably spinning in his grave at what I'm doing to his beloved Hobbit.
Notes/Warnings: Mentions of NON-CON. Spoiler-ish, but only if you squint. AU, because I took major liberties with the fight scene at the end of the movie and the end of the book, basically wondering what would happen if the Eagles hadn't shown up so quickly, what would have happened if the other dwarves hadn't gotten to Bilbo and Thorin in time, and what would have happened had Erebor been retaken. Previous installments are here.
Summary: Written for the
hobbit_kink prompt: Azog the Defiler finally catches up with the group. He decides to torture Thorin a little but more by, well, defiling his precious halfling and making him watch. Whether Thorin rescues Bilbo or fails is entirely up to author.
The last thing Thorin wants is one of the others slipping and somehow saying something that brought back Bilbo's memory, so after securing his portion and Bilbo's of their meager lunch. Thorin goes back to the elm, under which Gandalf is sitting tailor-style next to Bilbo, who looks so distressed, Thorin is certain Gandalf has gone ahead and told him. . . .
But then Bilbo turns those righteously indignant blue eyes on Thorin with such a look of relief, Thorin realizes he still doesn't know-doesn't remember-and that this must be something else.
“What is it, Mister Baggins?”
Bilbo blushes. “Not only does Gandalf keep putting me off about the whereabouts of my trousers, but he refuses to let me go and clean up before lunch!” He throws up his hands and glares at Gandalf, who looks at Thorin.
“I felt it best, in light of our . . . discussion, for a bath to wait. I believe that some of Mister Baggins' . . . wounds might be a bit shocking to him, and also best discovered after a meal.”
Thorin frowns, confused for a moment, then his eyes widen in understanding. And in that moment he knows that they could never have kept the knowledge of what happened to Bilbo a secret from him. Not with the extent and location of Bilbo's . . . injuries.
In fact, unless Gandalf is a better healer than he thinks, Bilbo should still be in some pain now, simply sitting. . . .
Thorin clears his throat and shoves both haunches of rabbit at Bilbo, his own appetite suddenly gone. “Eat. We can discuss the trousers and a bath, afterwards,” Thorin says gruffly, kneeling then adopting tailor-style, himself. Bilbo heaves a put-upon sigh.
“That's what Gandalf said,” Bilbo huffs, holding up his haunches of rabbit. He sighs again and takes a tentative sniff of the left one. “I feel like a complete savage, I'll have you know . . . not washing up before lunch.”
Thorin and Gandalf exchange a glance again, then turn carefully mild gazes to Bilbo, who's taken a bite of the haunch.
For a few minutes, he eats without speaking, neither slowly nor quickly, not meeting either Thorin's gaze or Gandalf's. But as he chews, his face grows redder and redder, till it's practically maroon.
“Are you two going to watch me eat both of these?” he finally asks, looking up at them, confused and upset. “Why're you staring at me? Why aren't we eating with the rest of the company? And for Haven's sake, where are my trousers?”
This last is asked in a low hiss. Thorin and Gandalf share another glance, this one intercepted by Bilbo, who really looks suspicious, now. “What aren't you telling me? What's going on?”
“Finish your lunch. Then, if you're still so curious-“ Thorin begins tersely, but Bilbo makes a sweeping gesture with one hand and haunch.
“But I'm curious now!” he says, loudly enough, that Thorin can feel the gazes of the others on them, but all he has eyes for is the now-angry hobbit glaring at him. He's never seen Bilbo angry and it is quite an . . . affecting site. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes bright, and his face set in an attentive frown. “All I ask is that you treat me like a member of the company, and keep me apprised of the situation! Especially when it involves my trousers!”
“Bilbo,” Gandalf starts placatingly, but Bilbo will not be placated. He leans forward, wincing, and placing the rabbit haunches reluctantly on the cloak covering his legs.
“Does this have something to do with what happened after I hit my head?” he asks, his voice gone low again. “Why doesn't my head ache at all? Where's the lump? And why-?” Bilbo lowers his voice even more. “Why do I ache in . . . unusual places?”
Thorin can feel Gandalf's gaze on him, but he doesn't look away from Bilbo. “I'll tell him, wizard,” he mumbles before Gandalf can say anything. “It is . . . my fault. The least I owe him is to be the one to tell him.”
And surprisingly, Gandalf doesn't gainsay him.
Thorin takes a deep breath and lets it out heavily. Bilbo frowns, looking half-resigned and half-reluctant. “Is it . . . that bad?”
Thorin shakes his head. “It is . . . not good.”
“So not good that-I've forgotten it entirely?” Bilbo snorts. “That's ridiculous. I have a particularly long memory for bad things that happen to me. Not that there've been many, but the things that have happened, I remember with complete clarity.”
“Not this,” Thorin says hesitantly, rubbing his forehead. “Not . . . what Azog did to you.”
Bilbo's brow furrows. “Azog . . . you mean the orc from Balin's story-er, about you? The orc you killed?”
Thorin winces. “Azog survived. Without that arm, but somehow, he survived.” He pauses, looking into Bilbo's confused blue eyes. “He was leading the party of orcs and wargs that ambushed us. I was wounded in the fight with him.”
“Oh, dear-that's-horrible!” Bilbo's confusion is replaced with warm concern, and it's all directed at Thorin. He even reaches out and covers Thorin's hand with his own, briefly. The contact makes them both shiver, though Thorin is certain it's for different reasons. “I'm so sorry . . . did he-is he dead, now?”
Thorin sighs again. “I do not know. The Eagles may have dispatched him, but . . . in my heart . . . I believe he still lives,” he says grimly, wishing he could lie to spare Bilbo future worry, but unable to tell anything but the truth, now that he's started telling it.
“You said he-Azog-did something to me,” Bilbo prods, snapping Thorin out of his brooding, and Thorin looks up, into those worried, dreading eyes, and he sees that Gandalf is right. Somewhere, under the surface of his mind, Bilbo remembers. He knows. Or at least he suspects.
And as he's already proven, he's braver than Thorin, because instead of running from that truth and wanting to hide from it, he's making his way toward it.
“What did he do, Thorin?” Bilbo asks quietly. Thorin hangs his head for a moment, then looks up, meeting Bilbo's eyes again. If the hobbit's going to be brave enough to face what happened to him, Thorin will be brave enough to, as Gandalf had said, help him face it.
Thorin reaches out and places his rough hand on Bilbo's softer one. The hobbit flinches, but holds still, his trusting eyes never leaving Thorin's.
“I have known many brave people in my time, Bilbo Baggins,” Thorin says somberly, holding Bilbo's gaze even though it pains him. “Many people who've sacrificed limbs and lives not only to do good, but to prevent evil. I count you among the very bravest . . . among the ones who've sacrificed the most. Your heart is the purest I have ever had the honor of coming across, and an honor it is be your comrade.”
Bilbo blinks in surprise, then smiles a little, glancing at Gandalf. “Am I dying? He's being far too kind to me.”
“No, Bilbo, you will live a very long life,” Gandalf says kindly. “Very long, indeed.”
“Then what's all this about my bravery and my pure heart?” Bilbo looks at Thorin again, his smile turned self-deprecating and wry. “A few hours ago, you couldn't stomach the sight of me. What's changed?”
“You saved my life,” Thorin states simply but intensely squeezing Bilbo's hand in his own. “You risked yourself-put yourself between myself and Azog's wrath when I had fallen, and because you did so-“ the backs of Thorin's eyes are stinging again, and this time, tears fall. Bilbo certainly looks alarmed, now. He even reaches out to brush those tears away, his grubby-slightly greasy, now-but gentle fingers doing their level best to catch every tear. “Because you did so, and because I was unable to stand, let alone lift my sword . . . Azog was able to . . . violate you.”
Bilbo sits back, his hand falling from Thorin's face, his eyes wide. “V-violate me . . . what do you mean, violate me?” His voice is small and trembling. Horrified. Thorin misses the cool, soft brush of those fingers.
“Azog . . . forced himself upon you,” Thorin whispers, finally bowing his head, unable to bear the look of shattered innocence in the hobbit's wide eyes. “It was my fault. I was unable to stop him. Unable to make him suffer for what he'd done . . . and for that, I'm sorrier than words can convey.”
More tears-this time of frustration and rage-roll unbidden out of Thorin's eyes, and he buries his face in his hands.
Gandalf's heavy hand settles on his shoulder, but what surprises him, what causes him to break down in earnest, his shoulders slumping, is the small, gentle hand that hesitantly lands on his head like a frightened bird.
“It's not your fault,” Bilbo says in that shaking voice. “After all, you weren't the one doing the . . . violating.” Bilbo laughs a little, but there's no mirth in it whatsoever. “I guess now I know why he's called 'the Defiler.'” Another of those mirthless laughs, that stops as suddenly as if Bilbo's throat's been cut. “But why did he do . . . that to me? Why not just kill me?”
And Bilbo certainly sounds as if he'd have preferred that. Another stone that weighs heavily on Thorin's already burdened heart.
He wipes his face, sniffing, and looks up, careful not to dislodge Bilbo's hand. The hobbit's face is chalk-white, but his eyes are dry and intent on Thorin. He tries to smile, but it's the most ghastly grimace Thorin's ever seen. “Why am I still alive?”
Rage sweeps through Thorin once more, and he silently vows that he will live to see Azog fall, no matter how long it takes. “He wanted me to witness someone I . . . care for suffer before he killed us both.”
Bilbo sighs, blinking back tears now, his hand falling away from Thorin's head. “You . . . you care for me?”
“Even when I didn't want to,” Thorin admits, still unwilling to lie-not after all Bilbo has been through for him. “I was wounded and you came to my defense-you've saved my life-all our lives-when we were caught by those trolls . . . you stuck by us after the goblin attack, even when you could have escaped-you've continually stood by this company, have been the heart of it since you came running after us, contract in hand. . . .”
Thorin shakes his head. “I care for you, very much, Bilbo Baggins,” he says, looking into Bilbo's stunned, shining eyes. “More than is wise.”
“I . . . care for you, too.” Bilbo looks down at Thorin's large hand enclosing his own and shivers again. “S-so much so that if the price of your life was buying time by being . . . v-violated . . . then that's a price I'm willing to pay.”
“Don't say that!” Thorin croaks out harshly, reaching out now to brush away Bilbo's falling tears. But they fall faster than he can catch. Another thing he fails at. “Rather I had died a thousand times than you be touched by him once!”
Bilbo smiles again, and this time, it's almost a real one. “Thorin . . . I don't even remember what happened. And I don't want to remember.” The hobbit turns grim, pleading eyes on Gandalf. Thorin had completely forgotten the wizard's presence, and finds himself looking at Gandalf for reassurance, as well. “I don't have to remember, do I, Gandalf?”
Sighing, Gandalf takes off his hat and places it on the ground next to his thigh. “I believe it would be better for you, in the long term, if you do remember. And as soon as possible. But there is no way to force the memories to return before they will. Even if there were, I'm sure that someone as wise in the ways of healing as, say, Lord Elrond would counsel against that.”
Thorin lets out a breath in deep relief, turning back to Bilbo. “Then we would be wise to let those memories stay beneath the surface for the time being. Indeed, we can do nothing to resurrect them if they wish to remain buried.”
“I-I agree,” Bilbo says tentatively, turning his hand in Thorin's, so he's holding it, as well as being held. He looks at Thorin and shrugs. “What's done is done. There's no going back, now. And . . . you're alive,” he murrmurs wonderingly. This time, the smile is real. “I saved you.”
Thorin nods. “Yes, you did.” And before he can stop himself, he's tugging Bilbo closer, till the hobbit is close enough to embrace. Bilbo stiffens, gasping slightly. But after a few seconds, he relaxes in Thorin's arms. He's so small and soft and fragile-seeming, that Thorin wants nothing more than to keep him like this forever . . . safe in his arms.
Closing his eyes, he imagines never having had a chance to hold Bilbo thus. Imagines what it would have been like if Bilbo had been taken away from him-if Azog's knives had gotten a chance to work their evil purpose.
Azog. . . .
I will kill him for you, Thorin promises Bilbo silently, his face buried in the hobbit's limp curls. Despite everything that's happened, his hair still smells sweet, like new grass. His death will not be quick, and it will not be painless.
When Bilbo starts to sit back, Thorin quickly lets him go, noticing the fierce flush on the hobbit's face. His smile is the same hopeful, hapless one that Thorin's used to seeing. There is also, in it, the same sweetness and innocence that had first enchanted him all those weeks ago, despite his best efforts to remain unaffected by it and its wearer.
It's as if, in this state of forgetfulness, Bilbo is untouched and unchanged.
Thorin, his heart beating faster for no reason he can name, feels his own depressed spirits start to lift. He reaches out and brushes the hobbit's soft, smooth cheek with the backs of his fingers, pleased when this time, Bilbo doesn't flinch away or stiffen.
“When Erebor is ours, you will never again want for safety or security,” he vows solemnly. “Never again will you be wearied by strife or hunger or endless marching. Never again will danger touch you. I will look after you till the end of my days. This, I swear.”
Bilbo's smile takes on that quizzical cast Thorin is also used to seeing. “B-but why? Is it because you feel . . . I don't know, indebted to me because of what happened?” Now, the smile fades. “Or is it because you feel sorry for me, now that I'm . . . damaged goods?”
“You are not damaged good, Bilbo Baggins.” Thorin's gaze is fierce, even when Bilbo shoots him an incredulous look. “You are . . . my friend. Dearer to me than the wealth of my people and more precious than the Arkenstone, itself.”
Bilbo's eyes widen, and Thorin can also feel Gandalf's sudden, piercing gaze upon him. It causes him to color, and wonder if he's again, said too much. But the way Bilbo's looking at him-those trusting, shining eyes making Thorin feel more torn and helpless than he ever has-makes him wonder if, indeed, he's said enough.
Then he shakes his head, clearing it of silly, pointless thoughts, and trying on a smile of his own. “My friend,” he says, and Bilbo's smile turns almost wry.
“And you're . . . mine. My friend,” he adds hastily, laughing a little, and looking down at his lap. “My friend.” He picks up the haunch he'd been dining on and takes a bite, making a face. “Forgive me, but I'm not especially hungry, anymore . . . would it be possible for me to wash up, now. I feel rather in need of a bath.”
“Of course,” both Thorin and Gandalf say, getting to their feet-Gandalf donning his hat once more. Thorin meanwhile offers Bilbo his hand, his eyes steady on Bilbo's and vice versa.
But there's no hesitation this time, no flinch. Bilbo reaches out and takes it.
Continued in: Dawn of a New Age
Defiled (3/3)
Author:
_beetle_
Fandom: The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey AU
Pairing: Bilbo/Thorin UST, allusions to Azog/Bilbo
Rating: R, Mentions of NON-CON
Word Count: Approx. 2750
Disclaimer: JRR is probably spinning in his grave at what I'm doing to his beloved Hobbit.
Notes/Warnings: Mentions of NON-CON. Spoiler-ish, but only if you squint. AU, because I took major liberties with the fight scene at the end of the movie and the end of the book, basically wondering what would happen if the Eagles hadn't shown up so quickly, what would have happened if the other dwarves hadn't gotten to Bilbo and Thorin in time, and what would have happened had Erebor been retaken. Previous installments are here.
Summary: Written for the
hobbit_kink prompt: Azog the Defiler finally catches up with the group. He decides to torture Thorin a little but more by, well, defiling his precious halfling and making him watch. Whether Thorin rescues Bilbo or fails is entirely up to author.
The last thing Thorin wants is one of the others slipping and somehow saying something that brought back Bilbo's memory, so after securing his portion and Bilbo's of their meager lunch. Thorin goes back to the elm, under which Gandalf is sitting tailor-style next to Bilbo, who looks so distressed, Thorin is certain Gandalf has gone ahead and told him. . . .
But then Bilbo turns those righteously indignant blue eyes on Thorin with such a look of relief, Thorin realizes he still doesn't know-doesn't remember-and that this must be something else.
“What is it, Mister Baggins?”
Bilbo blushes. “Not only does Gandalf keep putting me off about the whereabouts of my trousers, but he refuses to let me go and clean up before lunch!” He throws up his hands and glares at Gandalf, who looks at Thorin.
“I felt it best, in light of our . . . discussion, for a bath to wait. I believe that some of Mister Baggins' . . . wounds might be a bit shocking to him, and also best discovered after a meal.”
Thorin frowns, confused for a moment, then his eyes widen in understanding. And in that moment he knows that they could never have kept the knowledge of what happened to Bilbo a secret from him. Not with the extent and location of Bilbo's . . . injuries.
In fact, unless Gandalf is a better healer than he thinks, Bilbo should still be in some pain now, simply sitting. . . .
Thorin clears his throat and shoves both haunches of rabbit at Bilbo, his own appetite suddenly gone. “Eat. We can discuss the trousers and a bath, afterwards,” Thorin says gruffly, kneeling then adopting tailor-style, himself. Bilbo heaves a put-upon sigh.
“That's what Gandalf said,” Bilbo huffs, holding up his haunches of rabbit. He sighs again and takes a tentative sniff of the left one. “I feel like a complete savage, I'll have you know . . . not washing up before lunch.”
Thorin and Gandalf exchange a glance again, then turn carefully mild gazes to Bilbo, who's taken a bite of the haunch.
For a few minutes, he eats without speaking, neither slowly nor quickly, not meeting either Thorin's gaze or Gandalf's. But as he chews, his face grows redder and redder, till it's practically maroon.
“Are you two going to watch me eat both of these?” he finally asks, looking up at them, confused and upset. “Why're you staring at me? Why aren't we eating with the rest of the company? And for Haven's sake, where are my trousers?”
This last is asked in a low hiss. Thorin and Gandalf share another glance, this one intercepted by Bilbo, who really looks suspicious, now. “What aren't you telling me? What's going on?”
“Finish your lunch. Then, if you're still so curious-“ Thorin begins tersely, but Bilbo makes a sweeping gesture with one hand and haunch.
“But I'm curious now!” he says, loudly enough, that Thorin can feel the gazes of the others on them, but all he has eyes for is the now-angry hobbit glaring at him. He's never seen Bilbo angry and it is quite an . . . affecting site. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes bright, and his face set in an attentive frown. “All I ask is that you treat me like a member of the company, and keep me apprised of the situation! Especially when it involves my trousers!”
“Bilbo,” Gandalf starts placatingly, but Bilbo will not be placated. He leans forward, wincing, and placing the rabbit haunches reluctantly on the cloak covering his legs.
“Does this have something to do with what happened after I hit my head?” he asks, his voice gone low again. “Why doesn't my head ache at all? Where's the lump? And why-?” Bilbo lowers his voice even more. “Why do I ache in . . . unusual places?”
Thorin can feel Gandalf's gaze on him, but he doesn't look away from Bilbo. “I'll tell him, wizard,” he mumbles before Gandalf can say anything. “It is . . . my fault. The least I owe him is to be the one to tell him.”
And surprisingly, Gandalf doesn't gainsay him.
Thorin takes a deep breath and lets it out heavily. Bilbo frowns, looking half-resigned and half-reluctant. “Is it . . . that bad?”
Thorin shakes his head. “It is . . . not good.”
“So not good that-I've forgotten it entirely?” Bilbo snorts. “That's ridiculous. I have a particularly long memory for bad things that happen to me. Not that there've been many, but the things that have happened, I remember with complete clarity.”
“Not this,” Thorin says hesitantly, rubbing his forehead. “Not . . . what Azog did to you.”
Bilbo's brow furrows. “Azog . . . you mean the orc from Balin's story-er, about you? The orc you killed?”
Thorin winces. “Azog survived. Without that arm, but somehow, he survived.” He pauses, looking into Bilbo's confused blue eyes. “He was leading the party of orcs and wargs that ambushed us. I was wounded in the fight with him.”
“Oh, dear-that's-horrible!” Bilbo's confusion is replaced with warm concern, and it's all directed at Thorin. He even reaches out and covers Thorin's hand with his own, briefly. The contact makes them both shiver, though Thorin is certain it's for different reasons. “I'm so sorry . . . did he-is he dead, now?”
Thorin sighs again. “I do not know. The Eagles may have dispatched him, but . . . in my heart . . . I believe he still lives,” he says grimly, wishing he could lie to spare Bilbo future worry, but unable to tell anything but the truth, now that he's started telling it.
“You said he-Azog-did something to me,” Bilbo prods, snapping Thorin out of his brooding, and Thorin looks up, into those worried, dreading eyes, and he sees that Gandalf is right. Somewhere, under the surface of his mind, Bilbo remembers. He knows. Or at least he suspects.
And as he's already proven, he's braver than Thorin, because instead of running from that truth and wanting to hide from it, he's making his way toward it.
“What did he do, Thorin?” Bilbo asks quietly. Thorin hangs his head for a moment, then looks up, meeting Bilbo's eyes again. If the hobbit's going to be brave enough to face what happened to him, Thorin will be brave enough to, as Gandalf had said, help him face it.
Thorin reaches out and places his rough hand on Bilbo's softer one. The hobbit flinches, but holds still, his trusting eyes never leaving Thorin's.
“I have known many brave people in my time, Bilbo Baggins,” Thorin says somberly, holding Bilbo's gaze even though it pains him. “Many people who've sacrificed limbs and lives not only to do good, but to prevent evil. I count you among the very bravest . . . among the ones who've sacrificed the most. Your heart is the purest I have ever had the honor of coming across, and an honor it is be your comrade.”
Bilbo blinks in surprise, then smiles a little, glancing at Gandalf. “Am I dying? He's being far too kind to me.”
“No, Bilbo, you will live a very long life,” Gandalf says kindly. “Very long, indeed.”
“Then what's all this about my bravery and my pure heart?” Bilbo looks at Thorin again, his smile turned self-deprecating and wry. “A few hours ago, you couldn't stomach the sight of me. What's changed?”
“You saved my life,” Thorin states simply but intensely squeezing Bilbo's hand in his own. “You risked yourself-put yourself between myself and Azog's wrath when I had fallen, and because you did so-“ the backs of Thorin's eyes are stinging again, and this time, tears fall. Bilbo certainly looks alarmed, now. He even reaches out to brush those tears away, his grubby-slightly greasy, now-but gentle fingers doing their level best to catch every tear. “Because you did so, and because I was unable to stand, let alone lift my sword . . . Azog was able to . . . violate you.”
Bilbo sits back, his hand falling from Thorin's face, his eyes wide. “V-violate me . . . what do you mean, violate me?” His voice is small and trembling. Horrified. Thorin misses the cool, soft brush of those fingers.
“Azog . . . forced himself upon you,” Thorin whispers, finally bowing his head, unable to bear the look of shattered innocence in the hobbit's wide eyes. “It was my fault. I was unable to stop him. Unable to make him suffer for what he'd done . . . and for that, I'm sorrier than words can convey.”
More tears-this time of frustration and rage-roll unbidden out of Thorin's eyes, and he buries his face in his hands.
Gandalf's heavy hand settles on his shoulder, but what surprises him, what causes him to break down in earnest, his shoulders slumping, is the small, gentle hand that hesitantly lands on his head like a frightened bird.
“It's not your fault,” Bilbo says in that shaking voice. “After all, you weren't the one doing the . . . violating.” Bilbo laughs a little, but there's no mirth in it whatsoever. “I guess now I know why he's called 'the Defiler.'” Another of those mirthless laughs, that stops as suddenly as if Bilbo's throat's been cut. “But why did he do . . . that to me? Why not just kill me?”
And Bilbo certainly sounds as if he'd have preferred that. Another stone that weighs heavily on Thorin's already burdened heart.
He wipes his face, sniffing, and looks up, careful not to dislodge Bilbo's hand. The hobbit's face is chalk-white, but his eyes are dry and intent on Thorin. He tries to smile, but it's the most ghastly grimace Thorin's ever seen. “Why am I still alive?”
Rage sweeps through Thorin once more, and he silently vows that he will live to see Azog fall, no matter how long it takes. “He wanted me to witness someone I . . . care for suffer before he killed us both.”
Bilbo sighs, blinking back tears now, his hand falling away from Thorin's head. “You . . . you care for me?”
“Even when I didn't want to,” Thorin admits, still unwilling to lie-not after all Bilbo has been through for him. “I was wounded and you came to my defense-you've saved my life-all our lives-when we were caught by those trolls . . . you stuck by us after the goblin attack, even when you could have escaped-you've continually stood by this company, have been the heart of it since you came running after us, contract in hand. . . .”
Thorin shakes his head. “I care for you, very much, Bilbo Baggins,” he says, looking into Bilbo's stunned, shining eyes. “More than is wise.”
“I . . . care for you, too.” Bilbo looks down at Thorin's large hand enclosing his own and shivers again. “S-so much so that if the price of your life was buying time by being . . . v-violated . . . then that's a price I'm willing to pay.”
“Don't say that!” Thorin croaks out harshly, reaching out now to brush away Bilbo's falling tears. But they fall faster than he can catch. Another thing he fails at. “Rather I had died a thousand times than you be touched by him once!”
Bilbo smiles again, and this time, it's almost a real one. “Thorin . . . I don't even remember what happened. And I don't want to remember.” The hobbit turns grim, pleading eyes on Gandalf. Thorin had completely forgotten the wizard's presence, and finds himself looking at Gandalf for reassurance, as well. “I don't have to remember, do I, Gandalf?”
Sighing, Gandalf takes off his hat and places it on the ground next to his thigh. “I believe it would be better for you, in the long term, if you do remember. And as soon as possible. But there is no way to force the memories to return before they will. Even if there were, I'm sure that someone as wise in the ways of healing as, say, Lord Elrond would counsel against that.”
Thorin lets out a breath in deep relief, turning back to Bilbo. “Then we would be wise to let those memories stay beneath the surface for the time being. Indeed, we can do nothing to resurrect them if they wish to remain buried.”
“I-I agree,” Bilbo says tentatively, turning his hand in Thorin's, so he's holding it, as well as being held. He looks at Thorin and shrugs. “What's done is done. There's no going back, now. And . . . you're alive,” he murrmurs wonderingly. This time, the smile is real. “I saved you.”
Thorin nods. “Yes, you did.” And before he can stop himself, he's tugging Bilbo closer, till the hobbit is close enough to embrace. Bilbo stiffens, gasping slightly. But after a few seconds, he relaxes in Thorin's arms. He's so small and soft and fragile-seeming, that Thorin wants nothing more than to keep him like this forever . . . safe in his arms.
Closing his eyes, he imagines never having had a chance to hold Bilbo thus. Imagines what it would have been like if Bilbo had been taken away from him-if Azog's knives had gotten a chance to work their evil purpose.
Azog. . . .
I will kill him for you, Thorin promises Bilbo silently, his face buried in the hobbit's limp curls. Despite everything that's happened, his hair still smells sweet, like new grass. His death will not be quick, and it will not be painless.
When Bilbo starts to sit back, Thorin quickly lets him go, noticing the fierce flush on the hobbit's face. His smile is the same hopeful, hapless one that Thorin's used to seeing. There is also, in it, the same sweetness and innocence that had first enchanted him all those weeks ago, despite his best efforts to remain unaffected by it and its wearer.
It's as if, in this state of forgetfulness, Bilbo is untouched and unchanged.
Thorin, his heart beating faster for no reason he can name, feels his own depressed spirits start to lift. He reaches out and brushes the hobbit's soft, smooth cheek with the backs of his fingers, pleased when this time, Bilbo doesn't flinch away or stiffen.
“When Erebor is ours, you will never again want for safety or security,” he vows solemnly. “Never again will you be wearied by strife or hunger or endless marching. Never again will danger touch you. I will look after you till the end of my days. This, I swear.”
Bilbo's smile takes on that quizzical cast Thorin is also used to seeing. “B-but why? Is it because you feel . . . I don't know, indebted to me because of what happened?” Now, the smile fades. “Or is it because you feel sorry for me, now that I'm . . . damaged goods?”
“You are not damaged good, Bilbo Baggins.” Thorin's gaze is fierce, even when Bilbo shoots him an incredulous look. “You are . . . my friend. Dearer to me than the wealth of my people and more precious than the Arkenstone, itself.”
Bilbo's eyes widen, and Thorin can also feel Gandalf's sudden, piercing gaze upon him. It causes him to color, and wonder if he's again, said too much. But the way Bilbo's looking at him-those trusting, shining eyes making Thorin feel more torn and helpless than he ever has-makes him wonder if, indeed, he's said enough.
Then he shakes his head, clearing it of silly, pointless thoughts, and trying on a smile of his own. “My friend,” he says, and Bilbo's smile turns almost wry.
“And you're . . . mine. My friend,” he adds hastily, laughing a little, and looking down at his lap. “My friend.” He picks up the haunch he'd been dining on and takes a bite, making a face. “Forgive me, but I'm not especially hungry, anymore . . . would it be possible for me to wash up, now. I feel rather in need of a bath.”
“Of course,” both Thorin and Gandalf say, getting to their feet-Gandalf donning his hat once more. Thorin meanwhile offers Bilbo his hand, his eyes steady on Bilbo's and vice versa.
But there's no hesitation this time, no flinch. Bilbo reaches out and takes it.
Continued in: Dawn of a New Age