What's Mine is Yours orphan_account

Summary:Thorin loves Bilbo, knows he is his one, but knows that love can't be returned. As a result he begins to draw away from his love, who is not content to let him go so easily.

It had been simple at first, so very simple. The burglar was a setback, a disaster and a weight upon the rest of them- he wasn’t even a real burglar. The cheer in his step did nothing to help and his need for linen handkerchiefs and his misery at having lost the brass buttons on his blue vest did nothing to make Thorin think any better of him. Of course the hapless hobbit had wormed his way through the thick armour which covered his chest, slowly but surely, but it only took some harsh words and a glare or thrice to make him leave once more. But that had been before.

The night was young and although the journey had been long, the morale was still high and even Bilbo had joined the company in a spontaneous burst of singing. He knew few of the words, but as the night continued it mattered less and less. Songs were sung of home, of beauty and of ale, songs of love and songs of old. They sang together and drank what little they had together against the roaring fire which had reached its peak.

They sang for a long time, for so long that eventually there was a long pause where they had to think of what other songs they knew, having exhausted all the favourites. It was then in that silence that Bilbo began to sing. A song about a simple life, but a happy life. A song about the Shire, about the Tooks, the Brandybucks, the Proudfeet, Bolgers and Grubbs, of Hornblowers and Burrowses and a life Thorin found he simply didn’t know. Though his lack of knowledge did nothing to quell the want he felt for it.

It was impossible not to listen as he sang of days in the sun and nights tucked away, safe from all who come and go in the early hours of the morning and safe from the Wargs, Trolls and Demons of the world. Then the tune changed suddenly, and it was a song about adventures, of dwarves and travels and hiking a great many miles to retrieve gold greater than the metal in its chambers. It was then Thorin realized this was not a song of the Shire, but a song of Bilbo’s own making, which did not dampen it in the slightest but rather made it even more beautiful than it had been before.

It was then that Thorin caught his eyes, so soft in the night, from across the fire and the smile was once more back on the hobbit’s face, a slightly flushed face from the close approximation to the burning logs which separated them. It was hard not to be engrossed in the every move made of the hobbit who had finished his sweet tune and was watching with merriment as the other dwarves, feeling inspired, began another round of ‘Doltri the daft dwarf’.

Rather than singing himself, he watched the others begin another verse and enjoyed the warmth the fire gave. He had not noticed, for hobbits are renowned for their silent feet when they wish, that Bilbo had moved from across the camp to sit beside him. It wasn’t until he began to hum the tune he’d sang before that Thorin even noticed he’d moved at all.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he said. “I almost missed you,” he continued, not waiting for a reply. “I don’t know what I did that made you quite so unimpressed with me Thorin, but at least where I am from it is polite to inform the offendee when they have offended so they may at least know what it was they did. I’ve been thinking it over for days, and I just don’t know. I don’t understand- and I don’t think you want me to so I shall stop trying to.”

Another verse of Doltri began and unable to find anything to say, Thorin let the familiar words fall from his tongue in more of a grumble than a tune.

Doltri you fool,Don’t be so cruel,You know the lass loves you,Don’t let her fall,

Dwarf women are fine and fair,Worth all the jewels in a dragon’s lair,You’d be a fool Doltri,Not to care,

Doltri you fool,She’s worth your jewel,What’s yours is hers,Don’t be so cruel,

Dwarves loved once and they loved with the same passion they carried for their gold, their wares and their kin. There were the stories of those who fell in love to a love which was not requited, as the lover of Doltri did, and lived their lives forever yearning for the one who would complete their souls. No one knew if the lover of Doltri, or even Doltri for that matter, had existed. But that wasn’t the moral of the story. Thorin had been unable to continue, unable to sing the next verses knowing what they entailed.

Doltri’s lover, unable to bear the pain,

Curled her thick hair,So pretty and fair,Around her neck a number of times,Because Doltri did not care,

Thorin remembered the moment very clearly when he had realized he was born to the same fate. He had watched as Bilbo had laughed amongst the others and felt the angry snarl of jealousy curl inside his gut. He’d felt like shouting at him, screaming, telling him with no uncertainty he wished he had never met the half Baggins and half Took he loved, loved like a candle burning at both ends. It would not have been a lie either, for though the great King under the mountain liked to pretend he did not cave to fate’s whims and as much as he claimed to think little of ‘soul mates’ he knew that Bilbo was his. Had he never met him, he never would have known and that had to be an easier path than the sickness spreading through him as each day passed.

The few days he had been given to enjoy what he could not have for the rest of his life, were glorious. Fear took him when he realized that without hesitation, he would give up all the gold in Erebor for the love of the hobbit beside him and although he had kissed him, touched him and caressed him, that love was doomed, for what love could a hobbit possess for him? And what could he give when they reached Erebor, if they ever did? If by chance they survived how could he ask to have a hobbit sit beside him on his throne?

Thorin saw the way that Kíli looked at his brother, saw the agony and pure joy which somehow co-existed on his face as his brother would smile or laugh. There would be no hope for either of them, for he had seen Fíli look the same, if either would take the throne. It was his duty, his burden. The thought was broken by the soft voice to his left.

“You think very little of me Thorin Oakenshield.” It was untrue, so very untrue, but the words would not form to tell him so, so he stayed in silence. “But I… It is not a mutual feeling and I want you to know that. I… I wish you wouldn’t...leave me so,” the last part was muttered under his breath but loud enough so that despite the new song the others had begun, it was still audible. Even after he had caused so much pain, his love did not hate him as he wished. As Bilbo rose to his feet, a hand reached up and pulled him back down. He fell ungracefully and ended up sprawled across the dwarf’s legs but no complaint came from him. The same could not be said from Bilbo. “What on earth are you doing? I was- you just- why did you- is this some sort of joke to you?” Anger suited Bilbo little, but the fire in his eyes was strong and irresistible.

“No, I do not think your feelings a game.”

“Then what exactly are you trying to pull here- oh king? I gave you all that I had, and it was not worth your might- what more can I give to you?” Thorin flinched. He remembered that argument clearly. Bilbo had been getting too close; it began to hurt too much, so when his ‘friend’ had casually called him Thorin as did the other members of the company he had snapped. So many things he had not meant had been said, he had belittled his love so deeply the pained expression that crossed the hobbit’s had hurt him more than his words had his love. His very unrequited love’s.

“I am not deceiving you.” Another lie.

“I don’t believe you,” he said.

“Just as well. You had better go, I did not mean to pull your arm as I did.”

“I don’t believe you.” he said.

“I do not care for your company Mr Baggins, I wish for you to leave!”

“I don’t believe you.” he said. He meant it too.

A few days before he could honestly say he had never felt happier, despite the wind rain and hail not even seed cake and a cosy chair could compare to the pure joy he felt. For Thorin Oakenshield, the great Thorin, had returned his muttered affection in the dead of the night. Had kissed him softly beside the embers of a fire and had whispered of his love, his desire and his longing into his ear as he held and kissed him.

For all that is said about the intelligence of a hobbit, though there is little said about it at all, they are vastly more intellectual than they are given credit for. Ever since the feeling had begun in him he had known it was a burden he would carry silently no matter the cost, for a dwarf to love a hobbit was unheard of as it was, never mind for a king. Bilbo took little joy in kidding or fooling himself and he knew all that dwarves found attractive was not possessed by his own body. His frame was too slender, his hair far too short and light, his stature too small and his cheeks to soft and bare for any dwarf to love- never mind a dwarf such as Thorin. In an odd way, that was ok. He could deal with the knowledge he would never had that odd love returned. It seemed enough that he could simply please him for as long as possible, to enjoy his affection for as long as it lasted without his love being returned. There was no doubt it would probably kill him later, but for then he was satisfied.

Though he did not expect his love to be returned, the sharp pain which accompanied each bark, insult and roll of the eye did not leave. Every time it looked as if he was about to be told he was loved and cherished a wall slammed down before him and he would find his heart broken all over again.And yet, for all of that, he still pushed. The hope, a foolish hope the part of him that was a Baggins hated, was not yet dead. Indeed, it set itself alight when a chocked sob left Thorin’s chapped lips and he shook his head.

It was a then or never situation and Bilbo took it.

“I… I don’t expect you to… to understand or to reciprocate or even to appreciate this. I don’t and I want you to know that and this may lose me everything, but knowing you know is far better than walking alone wondering why it is you shun me so. If you do wish to be offended by myself, at least let me give you a valid reason to do so. I… I feel like Doltri’s lover. Your lover… and it won’t fade Tho- king. It won’t and I’ve tried to make it, but I doubt it ever will fade. My eternal apologies for… for loving you… I may be a hobbit, but you shall always be my king.”

“Bilbo Baggins, don’t you dare move another step.”

“I want to try and make it back to Rivendell before we have journeyed too far for me to return.”

“Do not... do not leave me. Do not leave me my love for I was wrong. I could see no way for a love to be returned and I could see no future, but I was blind. I have been wrong about you before my dear Bilbo and you would think I would have learnt my lesson by this point, and yet it seems I am still unable to do so.”

“I-” He turned and was greeted with it. It was a smile. A small smile and it was greatly overshadowed by the mist in his eyes and the rigid way he held his shoulders, but it was more than enough. Thorin Oakenshield could not help the smile, could not have dimmed it for the price of Erebor. Whilst he had managed to successfully hold back the tears, he was Thorin Durin after all, Bilbo was less fortunate as the thick tears left his eyes and trailed down to meet the ground.

In the background, the company were still singing and even Gandalf had joined in on a line or two, the excitement beginning to fade and weariness setting in. None of them looked over to the thicket in which the two sat, though they were only just across the fire. Perhaps Gandalf had noticed the way Thorin tucked the hobbit into his furs and kissed his forehead so softly, as if it would break, and wiped the tears away as briskly as possible for fear of them, but the wise wizard did not say a word if he did.

Dwarves love once so desperately and strongly that it can consume everything else. It can conquer hurdles that would cause others to pause and falter and can break barriers as strong as the difference between a Baggins and a Durin. Some dwarves were left to the fate of Doltri’s lover. Some however, through circumstance or chance or fate were allowed to bask in it, as unconventional as it was.

There was no doubt in Thorin’s mind that Bilbo was his one, and no doubt in his love’s that the feeling was mutual. He kissed him softly, allowing himself to move his lips as slowly as he liked knowing these kisses were not limited. There was no need to rush, no need to kiss him as if he never would again, because they had forever. Even if it was not forever on land, it would certainly before forever in soul. Bilbo's fingers crept up into his hair and tightened around one of the braids, a sweet noise leaving his mouth as the kiss intensified. There was a natural pause, and Thorin pulled away slightly to take in the beautiful creature before him, smiling to himself that the hobbit was his and his alone. That the hobbit loved him with the same roaring passion he felt and that no matter what, he would always be there. A thought dawned on him, and it almost made him laugh that if he hadn't been confronted by his love, they would not only not be sat together so close they could merge beings, but this euphoric feeling of being complete would simply not exist.

“If it weren’t for your belief, or for your anger I am not sure which, we would not be sitting here now… I wish I had your courage Bilbo Baggins.” It didn't seem like enough and the words to convey how he felt were not easy to his tongue, but it mattered so very little when he heard the reply.

“You do. You always have, for what’s mine, is yours.”