Their Mountain (Until The End) ninjamcgarrett

Summary:A year after Thorin's company retakes Erebor, Bilbo finds himself remembering the tumultuous aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies and what it meant for his relationship with Thorin. (Everybody lives and it has an incredibly fluffy and happy ending, I promise!)

The fire burned low in the grate as Bilbo finished off the last of his tea. He dipped his quill in the pot of ink on the small end table next to his chair and continued to write in the large book that lay open in his lap. The afternoon and evening had passed quietly, Thorin and his nephews tied up with council meetings, Bilbo with overseeing the reconstruction of the library with the help of Ori. Thorin had been unable to break away for dinner, so Bilbo had finished his work for the day and retired to the apartments they shared. It was late into the night now as he wrote; Kili had snuck away from the meetings not long before to let him know that Thorin was determined to finish the meeting as quickly as possible – though Kili had doubted that would be anytime soon. It had been days of meetings between the Bard and the new Master of Lake Town and the refugees who had returned to Dale to begin rebuilding it. The two cities were attempting to create trade agreements, brokered by Thorin – who was also acting as peacekeeper – and he had hoped for a resolution sometime that day or the following one.

Bilbo poured himself another cup of tea and packed his pipe. Life had been busy under the mountain since the defeat of Smaug and the Battle of the Five Armies – a year to the day now. Thorin and his company had reclaimed Erebor and set to work renovating and rebuilding the mountain as more of their people returned from Ered Luin to take up residence under King Thorin’s rule in Erebor. A tenuous peace had been reached with Thranduil and now the two races tentatively traded with one another, hoping to erase the bad blood of the past, though that was many years, if not decades, away from coming to fruition. The Bard, once he had forgiven Thorin for waking Smaug and practically razing Lake Town, had become a great ally, working with them and establishing a strong trade. The dwarves now supplied building materials and tools while the men of Lake Town sent them fresh food as the dwarves worked tirelessly to cultivate once more their gardens.

The toll of the Battle of the Five Armies had been heavy, despite the peace and, a year on, the prosperity that now was standard. Lake Town had been all but destroyed by the wrath of Smaug, only the Bard’s quick thinking and daring had saved the town. Most of the townspeople had escaped, mostly unharmed, and now were enjoying rebuilding their town while no longer under the oppressive rule of the former Master. Thranduil’s army had taken a beating as well, not from the dragon, but from the orcs and goblins during the battle. Although Bilbo suspected that Thranduil and Thorin would never trust each other fully, they had set aside their differences in the aftermath of the battle to help one another bury their dead and dispose of the enemies’ bodies together.

Thinking back on that day, Bilbo felt that familiar tug in his stomach, remembering that the dwarves had nearly lost their leader that day – that he had nearly lost his love. Bilbo remembered fighting, swinging Sting with all his might…

He was fighting for each breath, cutting down anything in his path, scrambling to stay alive. Bilbo finally found a mound of dead orcs to stand on, providing him a better angle to fight from and to see the rest of the battlefield. The dwarves were staying near one another, brothers and cousins fighting back-to-back, hacking and hewing down the endless waves of the enemy. And always, Bilbo kept Thorin in his line of sight.

The battle waged on for hours; Bilbo lost count of how many he slew, and if he were quite honest with himself, he never wanted to know how many fell under his sword that day. A shout from Thorin drew his eyes several hours through the battle and Bilbo ceased to breathe for a moment as he watched in quiet horror as Thorin fought against an Orc atop a Warg. Bilbo began running then, shoving, trying his hardest to break through the warring factions in an effort to reach Thorin. Bilbo felt ice lance down his spine as he watched in helpless dread as the enemy beat Thorin back into a defensive position. Though his little feet carried him as fast as they could, Bilbo did not reach Thorin in time.

The Orc lashed out in fury and his large sword sliced into Thorin’s body as if he hadn’t been wearing any armor. Bilbo felt a scream then, Thorin’s name, rip from his throat as he kept running, but he never saw the errant shield flying through the air and did not duck before it hit his head.

When he came to later that night, the battle was over and he was being carried rather gently in the mouth of a giant bear – Beorn, Bilbo had found out later – toward the healing tents. Beorn set him on his feet, where he wobbled, still unsteady from the knock on the head, while waving Oin and Gloin’s help off.

“Where’s Thorin?” he asked, voice raw with grief and the shouting from the battle.

Bofur came forward then, a sad look on his face. “Lad,” his voice was kind. “I – I don’t think – ” His voice broke then and he swallowed hard before continuing. “He wouldn’t want you to see him like this.”

“I don’t give a damn what that stubborn arse thinks,” Bilbo grit out, trying to keep the emotions swirling inside under control. “Take me to him.”

Bofur had simply nodded then, leading him out of the tent and down a ways toward another one. Before Bilbo could enter the tent, Bofur pulled him back, a gentle hand on his arm.

“He’s in bad shape, Bilbo; they told us he won’t last the night.”

“We’ll just see about that,” Bilbo muttered grimly, steeling himself for the worst before walking into the tent.

When he pushed the fabric aside and entered the lit space, he found Gandalf and a host of Elvish healers standing around a cot, talking in hushed tones. What lay on the cot was so much worse than what he had expected, so much worse than Carrock, so much worse than the goldlust that had colored their last few days together before the battle.

Thorin was whiter than the hottest fire Smaug had bellowed at them. The dwarf’s breathing was shallow and rapid, a rasping, grating sound issuing from his body as if each breath was a battle of its own, costing Thorin just a few more precious seconds of his life. What was left of his clothing and armor were soaked in blood, now dark and caked with dirt and the black blood of orcs and goblins. Bandages were wrapped around his chest in thick lines, already soaking through with fresh blood. Thorin’s raven-colored hair was fanned around him on the pillow under his head, making his pale skin even more startling.

Bilbo’s knees almost gave out from under him at the sight, but he forced himself to walk forward; he was a Baggins of Bag End, he would not crumble now, not after surviving the battle of the century. He drew level with the cot as the healers pulled away, giving them space. Gandalf tried to place a hand on his shoulder, probably to tell him what Bofur had already said, and Bilbo gently shrugged the hand away. Knowing that the hobbit wanted a moment with the dwarf, Gandalf quietly ushered the elves out of the tent and left them in peace.

Bilbo licked his lips, speaking softly. “Thorin?” he voiced tentatively. “Thorin, can you hear me?”

A breath escaped from Thorin’s lungs and a word rushed out with it as well.

“Sorry,” he murmured, eyes still closed, brow drawn tight against the pain of speaking.

“Sorry for what? Being an idiot and getting yourself hurt?”

A grunt that sounded suspiciously like a laugh issued from Thorin as his eyes finally flickered open, finding Bilbo’s face.

“Sorry for – nearly tossing you over the wall,” he breathed, eyes full of pain, and Bilbo knew that pain wasn’t physical in that moment.

He remembered what had occurred moments before the battle; Thorin, deranged and completely overtaken by the goldlust, had held Bilbo up by his neck over the defensive wall they had constructed in front of the gates to Erebor. He had been enraged to discover that Bilbo had concealed the Arkenstone from him and offered it to Thranduil in a peacekeeping attempt. Thorin had lost interest in tossing Bilbo over the wall however, when the orcs and goblins had come swarming down out of the hills and attacked them.

“It’s okay, really, it is,” Bilbo replied softly. “You weren’t yourself. Though, a bit more groveling wouldn’t hurt.”

“Thought – you’d want to get straight to the make-up sex instead,” Thorin said, a small smile gracing his face.

Bilbo snorted. “Please. I’d break you.” As if to prove his point, Thorin began coughing and blood appeared on his lips, eliciting a worried frown from Bilbo. “Thorin, I – I am so very sorry, about the Arkenstone, about everyt– ”

Thorin’s hand moved to tangle with Bilbo’s, silencing the hobbit’s words.

“I understand why you did it; would have done the same if I were in your hairy little feet.”

Bilbo gently brushed a lock of hair back from Thorin’s forehead then, trying to keep the serious tone out of his voice, trying to keep from breaking in front of Thorin. He did not want Thorin’s last memory of him to be one filled with tears.

“Now hang on,” he admonished softly. “Who said I have little feet?”

Thorin tried to chuckle but only groaned instead, his other hand braced against his ribs. Bilbo laid his free hand atop Thorin’s, for the first time realizing just how much blood the dwarf had lost.

“My love,” Thorin spoke at last. “I have a request of you.”

Bilbo knew then, as Thorin’s breathing became more uneven and ragged, that their time was running out. His fluency in the language of Thorin was drawing to a close, soon to become dusty and disused, only brought out in memories and dreams. He blinked, trying to hide the sheen of tears already in his eyes.

“Anything, Thorin.”

Thorin’s weak grip tightened momentarily on Bilbo’s hands, displaying a little of their old strength. “Stay with me, until – until – ”

“The end,” Bilbo finished for him. He nodded. “Okay then, together, as we started this.”

Thorin sighed, at peace, drawing Bilbo’s hands up to rest over his heart, his eyes closing in momentary relief.

“Thorin, before – before you – there’s something I want to tell you,” Bilbo spoke quickly, afraid that Fate would cheat him of these last few words.

“Yes, my Halfling?” Thorin whispered hoarsely.

“Until the end – I love you, until my last breath and we rest in the halls of the afterlife. Even then, I will still love you.”

Thorin’s throat worked, trying to find the words to voice in his final moments.

“Never, in my two hundred years, have I loved someone as fiercely as I have you.” Thorin was gasping for breath now, struggling for every second of his life. “Bilbo, my burglar, I love – you, my own, my Halfli– ”

And just like that, he was gone, no movement, no sound, eyes closed, looking as if he were carved from stone.

Bilbo’s knees gave out as he sank down beside the cot, still gripping Thorin’s hands tightly in his own.

“Help! Oh, help!” he cried to the healers just outside the tent. Tears freely streamed down his face now and Bilbo choked on his words, fighting to breathe.

“Thorin, Thorin, no,” he breathed, one hand cupping the dwarf’s face. “Don’t leave me like this. No, no, come back to me, my dwarf, my king.”

The healers surrounded them, leaving Bilbo where he was, half over Thorin’s motionless body, sobbing brokenly into the dwarf king’s dark hair, their foreheads touching. Bilbo could feel the magic as the elves began their incantations, chanting ancient words of healing and life, working to bring Thorin back to them…

The door to the sitting room opened and Bilbo startled, not expecting the noise this late at night. The figure moved forward into the light of the fire, a quiet smile on his face. Looking up at him, Bilbo blinked, trying to clear the memories of the past from before his eyes.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” the deep voice rumbled, a hint of a smile to it.

Light from the fire glinted off the crown on Thorin’s head as he leaned forward, his hands alighting atop Bilbo’s as he tenderly kissed the hobbit.

“What are you writing, my dear Halfing?” Thorin asked after a moment, tilting his head to study the book in Bilbo’s lap.

“Oh, yes, Ori had the idea a few days ago that I should write the story of our adventure. I was writing of the battle,” Bilbo replied.

He was quiet for a moment as he kissed Thorin.

“It was a year today,” Bilbo murmured against Thorin’s lips, glad for the return of his husband after a day full of council meetings that had run far too long into the night.

A deep intake of breath, strong and deep, sounded as Thorin found Bilbo’s quiet but turbulent eyes.

“Has it really been?” Thorin asked, surprise showing in his face.

Bilbo nodded, setting the book aside before letting his hands wander over Thorin’s body, seeking the warmth of his skin and the comfort found there.

“You’d think you’d remember the day you died in my arms and the elves brought you back,” Bilbo said with a soft snort.

Thorin laughed softly, one hand sliding through Bilbo’s hair, massaging at the tense muscles of the hobbit’s neck. He straddled Bilbo’s slender hips and kissed Bilbo, attempting to erase any trace of fear from the line’s of his husband’s mouth. Bilbo soon divested him of his coat and shirt before his hands roamed over Thorin’s bare chest, light fingers grazing over the silvery scars he found there.

Bilbo broke from the kiss to lean his head against Thorin’s shoulder, eyes taking in the sight of jagged scars, reminders of how close they had come to being torn apart far too soon. He traced one of the larger lines and Thorin shuddered under his touch.

“My love,” Thorin whispered against his hair. “Know this, I will never leave you. It will take an entire army straight out of the gates of Mordor to tear me away from you. You are my heart and I love you more than anything in this world.”

Bilbo pressed a gentle kiss to Thorin’s neck, a happy sigh escaping his lips as he did so. “Thorin, my soul, promise me you will never scare me like that again.”

Thorin took one of the hobbit’s hands and kissed the calluses on his palm, formed by wielding Sting during the battle and strengthened by his work to rebuild the library of Erebor. He cradled Bilbo’s hand to his face, smiling down at the love of his life.

“As long as I draw breath, I’ll try not to. No promises though; I may decide fighting another dragon is a good idea.”

Both Thorin and Bilbo laughed at their private joke as Thorin tugged Bilbo out of his shirt. The two shared a kiss that sought to erase the worry and fear from that dark night a year before. Thorin held Bilbo tenderly but securely as Bilbo clung to him for dear life, swept up in the heady mix of emotions the kiss was stirring. Neither said anything for a long while as they shared touches and glances that had become a language all their own, born out of love and devotion to one another.

Bilbo sighed happily, the twist of fear long gone from his stomach, as he arched up into Thorin’s touch, finding pleasure in the friction of their hips rubbing together.

He murmured against the dwarf’s lips, “I love you, my – ”

The door was flung open just then and as Kili yelled, “Thorin! You have to come see what Gimli did – ”

Thorin never looked up from Bilbo’s face, which was quickly turning a deep shade of red. He simply growled, “Out. Now,” at his nephew. Fili, taking the hint, grabbed Kili and yanked him out of the doorway and let the heavy door fall shut, silencing Kili’s yelps of “My eyes! Sweet Mahal, my eyes!”

Bilbo pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to stop the laughter that was bubbling up, but to no avail. Sharing his smile, Thorin stood, taking him by the hand.

“Come, my love, let us move somewhere more private.”

Leaving their clothes before the fire, Bilbo and Thorin moved into the bedroom, kicking the bedcovers out of the way as they tumbled onto the soft mattress.

“My King,” Bilbo murmured, pressing kisses to Thorin’s body. “I love you and this life I share with you.”

“My Halfling,” Thorin rumbled, his hands roaming over Bilbo’s body beneath him, drinking in every inch of it. “This is our mountain, and you are my home. I will love you until the stars fall from the sky and even then.”

“Until the end,” Bilbo said on a sigh of contentment as Thorin kissed him.