So Ends This Day tirsynni

Summary:

Where Bilbo makes it up to Ravenhill in time, or where he prevents Thorin from being a white guy in a horror movie.

His lungs no longer so much as burned as they screamed in his chest, his heart a bouncing rock against his ribcage, and Hobbits weren't made for this. Hobbits weren't made for running up mountains and saving Dwarves and dodging Orcs. This was insane and absolutely ridiculous but he hadn't spent all this time saving those equally insane and ridiculous Dwarves to let them die now.

In the distance, Bilbo heard his Dwarves. He recognized Thorin's voice anymore, be it droll or brave or lost in dragon sickness. He hobbled over rocks and skidded over stones and Thorin's voice grew louder, clearer, even as everything else seemed so lost. Was Thorin talking about splitting up? No, no, that would be the absolute worst possible plan. His legs felt as flimsy and frail as the shadowy world around him. Bilbo tried to run faster but only stumbled. Were the voices fading? Was he going to lose them?

"Wait!" he howled. The force of the shout shook his shaky balance and he tripped on the steps. Pain ricocheted through his kneecaps. Cursing, he stumbled back to his feet. "Wait!" The voices were fading. He couldn't hear them anymore and drat his short Hobbit legs!

He saw them, shades not as dark as the orcs but not the pillars of glowing white like the Elves. They were grey, as ordinary and flimsy as the landscape, and his Dwarves weren't moving. Good, darling boys. He ripped off his ring and stumbled, almost falling again. "Wait!" he wheezed, and now all eyes were on him. Oh. Good. What he wanted. Good boys. He tripped over his own feet and then Thorin was there, catching his elbows. Fili and Kili crowded around him, studying him, and Dwalin stood at Thorin's shoulder. His boys...

Bilbo shook his head. Not now. Instead, the explanation about Bolg's forces poured out of him. With each word, the Dwarves' faces grew grimmer and grimmer. Thorin didn't let go of Bilbo, much to his relief -- his legs felt like overcooked noodles – but his eyes drifted to his nephews.

"No separation," he murmured. Thorin shook his head in odd mimicry of Bilbo. When he spoke again, his voice rose loud and clear. "No separation. It's a trap. We will regroup with the others."

Dwalin looked sharply at Thorin. Fili frowned, dark and solemn, but Kili smiled hopefully. Bilbo just felt worn and terrified. If Thorin wanted to leave, let them leave. There was something there in Thorin's words, something big, but big things were not in his caring. The lives of the Dwarves before him were what he cared about, in the bright sheen of Kili's eyes and the lines of Fili's face which reminded him so much of Thorin, in Thorin's protective hands and Dwalin's subtle worry. Let them regroup and then worry about those big matters.

"Are you sure?" Dwalin asked. Thorin tightened his grip on Bilbo but turned his attention to Dwalin. Bilbo tuned them out and focused on Fili pressing against his shoulder. The Dwarf looked so much older than the charming lad who had knocked on his door so long ago. All of them did.

"Are you all right?" Fili whispered in his ear. "Uncle didn't hurt you?"

"You're all right, truly?" Kili whispered in his other ear. Whereas Fili sounded grim, Kili sounded young, hopeful and fearful in the same breath.

"Y-yes, of course." Bilbo nodded quickly and then stopped when his legs moved with his head. More stable, though, oh yes. Ready to run back down Ravenhill. "Yes, yes, quite fine." He looked back to where Dwalin and Thorin were quietly talking. "But we should decide now."

Not the best way to address a King but Bilbo would worry about such things when they were off Ravenhill. Thorin's eyes met his and they were soft, so soft, even in the midst of the dragon sickness (except after Bard revealed the Arkenstone but he would shake over that later). This was his King who stood before him. Regardless of Thorin's path, he would fight to save him. Mayhap a Hobbit wasn't the best of warriors but no one could fault his loyalty.

Whatever Thorin found in Bilbo's eyes seemed to satisfy him, as well. He nodded and released Bilbo. "Back to the battle. We'll –"

"Bilbo, your sword!" Kili called. Bilbo yanked it out and the bright blue glow stole his breath away.

Too late.

With a curse in Khuzdul, Thorin yanked out his weapon and the other three followed suit in a clang of metal and rush of leather. When the orcs came over the rocks, battle cries from both sides split the air.

Hobbits weren't the best with swords or bows and were more like to hurt themselves than others if they tried to use an axe. Bilbo learned that he could use Sting quite well under cover of the Ring, like one of the murderous burglars in the stories told around campfires, but that wasn't helpful right now.

Instead, Bilbo reached down, grabbed a heavy stone, and launched it between an orc's eyes.

The phrase "Kill two birds with one stone," as bloodthirsty as it was, was excellent for Hobbits. The journey had taught him and the Dwarves that his eyesight was far keener than theirs and his aim level with Kili's. He lacked the bulging muscles of the Dwarves but he was still strong, and the journey had made him even stronger.

The orc running for Kili fell to the ground with a chunk of stone shattering his nose. Another orc charging behind Dwalin fell in the same way.

Orc after orc fell, stones many and heavy and ready by Bilbo's feet.

Bilbo never saw the orc which hit him, too focused on an orc charging after Thorin.

xoxoxox

Both Azog and Bolg fell that day, Azog under Thorin's blade, Bolg under the elf prince's. The red-headed elf maiden – Tauriel, and Thorin feared by the besotted look in his nephew's eyes that he would need to remember that – helped Kili just as much as Kili helped her walk. The elf prince had left, and Dwalin helped support Fili. They were all alive. Impossibly, miraculously, they were all alive.

Now where was his burglar?

Thorin led the march back down Ravenhill, ignoring his own limp and the blood streaming down one thigh. He heard his nephews whispering behind him, heard Bilbo's name. Truly, the hobbit was more a burglar than a grocer and more than cunning enough to slip away from bumbling orcs. The clever Master Baggins had somehow slipped past all of them to warn Thorin and his kin, had he not?

Clever and loyal and where had he seen Bilbo last? Before Azog...

The bodies of the orcs were scattered like so many rocks, if far uglier in comparison. He forced himself to look for a smaller body amidst the larger ones even as he prayed to Mahal. How close had he himself came to dashing Bilbo's body against the rocks? Repaying his courage with madness and death? What would he have done if Gandalf had not stayed his hand? Would he have done it? Even lost in the shadows of the dragon sickness, his Hobbit had remained a light, always calling to him, uncaring of the peril into which Thorin had dragged him.

Dwalin remained silent behind him, but Thorin felt his eyes. More bodies, bloody and cold, and would they even see Bilbo if he was trapped under one?

They were almost back where the battle began. How had they moved so far? Come so far?

"Bilbo!" Fili shouted. It echoed through the icy stones, the fear within it like icicle shards in the air.

Thorin charged forward, uncaring of how his wounded leg faltered, only caring about the Hobbit's body small and still against a tumble of stones. Blood and dirt streaked his pale face and he was only sleeping. The battle had been hard and the road there even harder and despite his courage and strength this was no place for a Hobbit, a Hobbit too good to follow a faithless King.

Thorin heard curses and cries behind him but didn't stop until he threw himself beside Bilbo. The Hobbit never moved.

"Bilbo, Bilbo..." He touched Bilbo's face and the skin felt cool under his bruised palm. With his thumb, he tried to brush away some of the blood and smeared it instead.

So pale, so still... Kili sobbed behind him but his Hobbit wasn't dead. "No," Thorin whispered and he whispered it against Bilbo's throat. Was he breathing? He had to be all right...to survive such toil and betrayal.

"Thorin..." A sigh, little more. "The eagles...the eagles are coming..."

"Master Boggins!"

"Master Boggins!"

"...Boggins?"

"Ah, Master Bilbo..."

Tears blurred Thorin's sight as he looked up and met Bilbo's tired gaze. "Master Bilbo," he said, and Bilbo smiled at him.

"The eagles," Bilbo murmured, looking up. Thorin looked up, too, to see the golden creatures swooping through the sky. Thorin laughed, exhausted and overwhelmed and utterly confident.

Mahal had blessed them this day.

"The eagles," Bilbo repeated drowsily, and Thorin pressed his forehead gently against Bilbo's, mindful of the bruises and blood.

"They came," Thorin finished.

xoxoxox

Months ago, Gandalf had advised Thorin to bring the gentlehobbit Bilbo Baggins on his quest to reclaim his homeland, and he had not regretted it since. Been worried? Oh yes. Been fearful? Indeed. Terrified? Certainly after the Misty Mountains when no one knew the whereabouts of his burglar and again when Thorin, in his madness, readied to throw Bilbo to his death.

Would Thorin have actually done it? Gandalf still didn't know.

Yet Gandalf didn't regret convincing Thorin to pull Bilbo into this adventure. His presence taught Thorin to see courage and loyalty beyond his race and kin. More than that, Bilbo's loyalty to Thorin helped open the eyes of Thrandruil that there had to be something worthy in the Dwarven King.

Truly, Gandalf never felt regret until he saw Thorin carrying Bilbo's body toward the sick tents.

"No," someone whispered, and it took Gandalf a moment to realize that the word came from Bard and not him. Not once but twice Bilbo had shown Bard his strength and courage.

Seeing Bilbo, still and silent, Gandalf wondered if that courage came with too high a price.

"My poor Bilbo," he whispered, even as he rushed forward.

Bilbo's bloody forehead rested against Thorin's shoulder. Thorin swayed as he walked, one leg dragging a bit behind him, but his head remained high. Kili, Fili, Dwalin, and a female Elf limped along with him, and more of the Company flocked to them as they walked.

Worn, wounded, weary...but not grieving. None of them were grieving. Hope lent speed to Gandalf's tired steps.

No madness or goldlust touched Thorin's eyes when he looked at Gandalf. He nodded solemnly first to the Wizard and then to Bard. "It would seem, Master Gandalf, that your burglar did not need my protection so much as I needed his."

As if knowing of whom they spoke, Bilbo stirred before settling again against Thorin. More tears tinged Gandalf's laugh than he would have appreciated, but here and now, he knew none would judge him.

"Indeed," Gandalf agreed, voice choked. He coughed and drew himself up. "I have learned that it is never good to underestimate a Hobbit."

Thorin spoke to Bard and Gandalf knew it was important, that he should pay attention, be ready to smooth ruffled feathers as necessary... Instead, he reached out and swept some bloody curls from Bilbo's forehead. Bilbo stirred and blinked up at him.

"Ah...hallo, Gandalf."

Gandalf smiled. "Hello, Master Baggins."

xoxoxox

Balin watched thoughtfully as Dwarf mingled with Man mingled with Elf. Together, they gathered their dead, sharing in their grief even as they celebrated their triumph. He watched as Thorin, Thrandruil, and Bard sat quietly together, discussing their next steps even as Bilbo dozed against Thorin's side. Absently, Thorin wrapped an arm around Bilbo, pulling him closer.

Smiling, Balin looked down at the Arkenstone in his hands. It was time to bury it, along with the rest of the dead things.

It was time for a new reign to begin.