Notes: First of all, major tissue warning, you will need them as I needed them when I wrote this. Secondly, while this is a story containing major character deaths, it still has a happy ending, I promise.

This is based on a prompt by the most lovely Anoriell and, because I'm mean like that, it is now her birthday fic. So, Happy Birthday, sweetie, and I hope you like it (as much as that book *whistles*).

Translation of Khuzdul: Âzyungel - love of love (greatest love).

The catacombs were cold and empty. 'Fitting,' Bilbo thought. He had felt no warmth ever since the day of the battle. The day when his life had ended in a small tent on the edge of the battlefield. The day Thorin Oakenshield had passed from this world and went to the Halls of Waiting to sit proudly beside his fathers. He had achieved the impossible. He had reclaimed their lost homeland of Erebor. And if he had been taken by the gold sickness, in the end, he had been himself once more. He had been the dwarf Bilbo had...

Tears fell from his eyes as he remembered the last words Thorin had spoken to him. Words of sorrow and fear. A whispered apology, the request for forgiveness...forgiveness that had been granted long before the dwarven king had stopped raging on the high wall. Bilbo had known what he would incur if he took the Arkenstone, but he did it anyway to maybe...hopefully...prevent bloodshed. He had failed. Though not the way he had feared. Thorin's desire for the stone had been great enough for him to agree to the exchange. Gold for his treasured heirloom. And the promise of help in the rebuilding of Dale. But the moment Thorin laid hands on the stone again, something shifted in him, and he caught Bilbo's eyes in confusion and all but ran from the gates, the jewel forgotten in its wooden box.

For three days, no one saw hair or hide of the king, though Bilbo did see a lot of the Company of dwarves. Fíli and Kíli worried about their uncle, but assured Bilbo that he would come around and begged the hobbit not to give up hope. "Don't you dare take out the braid!" Kíli cried one night. "Now that the gold no longer calls to him...he will want to..." And Bilbo assured the young dwarf that he wouldn't, that he couldn't. And every night Bilbo prayed to the Valar and especially Aulë to return his king to him.

And then, on the fourth morning, Thorin came to him. Carrying a familiar wooden box, the dwarven king entered the small tent Bilbo called his home. Thorin's eyes were downcast, and he looked as if he hadn't known any sleep for nights. "Bilbo," he had whispered, unable to meet the hobbit's gaze, his voice broken and filled with so much self-loathing that it took Bilbo's breath away. And just as the hobbit made to cross over to the dwarf, to reach out to touch Thorin's face, even to kiss those lips he had longed for during recent nights, an alarm went up through the camp. And whatever future they might have had, ended then and there.

Aulë had heard Bilbo's plea, but had only given him a short reprieve before tearing Thorin away from him forever. And he had not only claimed the king, but his nephews as well. Bilbo's heart had turned to stone upon hearing of Fíli and Kíli's passing, but it utterly splintered when Thorin closed his eyes for the last time. His last words were haunting Bilbo's every waking moment, and also hounded him in his dreams. Especially that last whisper, âzyungel, was an ever present reminder that he had been loved, that Thorin had been his in the end. He wandered aimlessly around the halls of Erebor, somehow avoiding certain death by catching himself just in time before he tumbled off one of the walkways and stairs. He knew not what kept him alive, but he was certain it was not his own self-preservation. That had died with Thorin. He longed for death's sweet embrace, longed for the pain in his chest to finally stop.

The remainder of the Company had rallied around him, knowing his pain only too well. But no kind word, no gentle embrace, nothing could reach the hobbit now. He was broken. As if he, too, had found his end on the field of battle. And he had, part of him had. The very part that made him who he had been, what he had been. He was hollow now, a mere shell. And as the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months, even the mighty warrior Dwalin had to admit that their hobbit was but a shadow of his former self. And he reacted to this revelation the way he always did, he got drunk and eventually, when he could blame his emotional talk on the liquor, he confided in his brother. Who assured him that all of this was Aulë's will and that soon they would understand their Maker's plans...

The catacombs were cold, but Bilbo didn't feel it. Not anymore. Not after spending his days here for so long, and even some nights. He had watched on as Thorin's likeness took shape, witnessed the last hammer stroke on the stonemason's chisel. And then he had stared at that face he had known so well, the face he had mapped with his hands and lips. And he longed to touch, even though he knew it was but cold marble. The statue, lifesize, was all he had left of his beloved. He knew it was beyond unhealthy, but he still craved to be near it. It was as if when he was close to it, the pain subsided a bit and he felt as if somehow he was closer to his beloved again.

But on this day, even that wasn't enough. For today King Dáin had been crowned. King Dáin. It hadn't been the dwarf from the Iron Hills that Bilbo was seeing. He had only seen Thorin. For him it had been Thorin walking to the throne, and it had been Thorin taking the crown from Balin's hands, and it had also been Thorin who opened his mouth to address his people. But it hadn't been his beloved's voice. Nor his eyes or face or... He did not care if he caused a stir what he ran from the hall and to the only place he knew as a safe haven. Thorin's tomb.

Tears were streaming down his face by the time he reached it and he dropped to his knees in front of the statue. "It should have been you, Thorin, it should only ever have been you." He sobbed, his broken heart beating raggedly in his burning chest. It felt as if his soul was on fire. Not the all-consuming fire of passion that Thorin had been able to kindle within the hobbit with the gentlest touch. No this was an inferno that would turn him to ash before long. And he would let it. Too long had he tried, and trying had become too hard to bear. Even setting one foot in front of the other was turning into a difficult feat. Or drawing breath.

"Forgive me, my beloved King. Forgive me for taking your jewel, for breaking your heart by betraying you. I did not mean to anger you, I only wanted to help." He ran his fingers over the stone boot; tenderly, reverently. "I still feel your touch, my love, and yearn to be by your side again. And yet I know that it can never be. That I am undeserving of your presence. You have taken all that was good in my life with you. All the joy and laughter and warmth. And the love. Oh Thorin. I never knew a love like yours could exist. That someone could ever love so fiercely and passionately. And I know when you went away, I had it once more. Your love. I always did, didn't I?" There was no answer, there could be none and yet in his heart he knew he was right.

"I...I miss you so," he whispered against the marble. "I miss your smile, that beautiful smile that you bestowed so readily upon me after the Carrock. Even before we admitted our feelings to one another. I miss you eyes; they truly were windows to your soul. To a soul that made my own sing with such joy and happiness." His eyes were bloodshot from crying, but the tears wouldn't stop. "And I miss the sound of your voice, the way you would say my name...and how you would moan it in the throes of passion." He could almost hear it now, could almost see Thorin hovering above him; eyes sparkling, breathing rapidly. Words of love and adoration falling from his lips as he was claiming the hobbit...body, heart and soul.

"I don't think... Thorin, I don't think I can go on. I can't continue like this, not without you." His heart, shattered into a million pieces, was bleeding and he knew that before long, he would bleed out. He raised his eyes to the stony face, barely seeing it through the sheen of tears. "I only long to be with you again. Oh Aulë, please. I know I'm just a foolish hobbit who dared to hope, dared to dream... But I love him. I can't be in a world without his warmth and love, a world without his scorn and greed. I would gladly take his hatred if it meant he would return. Even if he were to banish me again. I...I love him."

He slumped over then and lay there, at the foot of the statue. Until he heard the first loud crack. He sat up, startled, and listened to the second, third, forth until the sound became thunderous and part of him feared the whole mountain might come down on his head. Feared it, and yearned for it at the same time. And then he heard it, the voice. Thorin's voice. "My burglar, my beloved hobbit..." In shock, Bilbo reached for the statue again, but the boot was no longer made of stone, but of sturdy leather. Oh no, he had finally lost his mind. There was no other explanation to seeing the statue come to life, to it stepping down from its pedestal, to seeing his dwarf through the tears.

But he didn't care if he was crazy, not when strong arms encircled his waist and those eyes were boring into his soul. "Thorin?" he asked eventually. And the dwarf, the dwarf that couldn't possibly be kneeling in front of him, he smiled and leaned closer to rest his forehead against Bilbo's. He was warm and real and alive, and new tears spilled from the hobbit's eyes. He reached out timidly to touch, afraid Thorin might disappear. But he didn't. The skin under his fingers was as soft as he remembered and the beard still tickled his fingertips. "You've come for me." Bilbo knew suddenly that Thorin hadn't come back to life, it was he who would be joining the dwarf.

"Aulë heard your plea, and mine. You weren't the only one yearning for this, âzyungel." And then he pulled back, but not far. Only far enough to angle his face, to cup Bilbo's, and then they were kissing and there were no more tears, there would be none ever again. There was only the feeling of their lips sliding together, of Thorin's tongue begging to be allowed entry...

Once they had broken apart, Thorin drew him into an embrace, holding him tenderly. "Forgive me, my hobbit. For causing you such pain. Allow me to heal at least some of it." There was a tenderness to the dwarf's voice that Bilbo had never known before, his love palpable in every word. "I could see every tear you cried over me, could hear each and every word you spoke. And I pleaded with the Maker, begged him to give me a chance to make you smile again. It was granted, at long last. Will you allow me? Will you take my hand and follow?"

There was but one answer. "As long as you never leave me, as long as you don't go where I can't follow again..." His hand searched and found Thorin's, and he linked their fingers together. "I cannot live in this world, Thorin. For it has lost everything worth living for. Take me with you."

The cracking sounded louder this time and he could feel everything shift around him, safe for Thorin. The dwarf was still holding him and he closed his eyes, burying his face against that broad chest. And then the noise stopped, was replaced by birdsong and crickets chirping happily. "Open your eyes, beloved. Open your eyes and see." And Bilbo did. They were on a rolling hill, the grass beneath them warm and the sun shining merrily above. There was a city, an elven city, a few leagues away and he could just about make out the sounds of laughter and merrymaking that drifted across to them. "Valinor, my hobbit. We are in Valinor." And then he laughed as he pulled Bilbo to his feet and they walked hand in hand towards the shining walls and the two figures that were coming to meet them, one blond and the other dark of hair.

---

It was Balin who found him. Lying at the foot of Thorin's statue, a smile on his face. The old dwarf had known this would happen, and soon. Bilbo's grief had been too fierce, had been all-consuming. Balin dropped to his knees by the hobbit's side, gently stroking his unruly hair. "I hope you are with him again, my friend. I hope the Valar are granting you the happiness they withheld in this life. You deserve nothing less, both of you." He turned his gaze to the marble face then, "Take care of him, King under the Mountain, for he loves you more than life itself. And I will see you when my time comes." And then they would begin another adventure, one without dragons or jewels. The Company would be one again and all their pains would be wiped away.

The day their beloved burglar was laid to rest by his king's side, the ten remaining members of Thorin's Company smiled despite their tears. Bilbo was beyond any suffering now and somehow they knew that he was where he'd desired to be. And when Gandalf joined them afterwards, he said that the hobbit had found his way home. And that he had taken with him his magic ring. None of the dwarves understood the significance of this, but they were glad anyway for their wizard smiled as he raised his mug in a toast, "To Bilbo! And to Aulë as well." There was a twinkle in Gandalf's eyes as if he knew something they didn't.

And across the sea, four companions sat on the docks, gazing at the water and the smallest of them whispered, "I won't be needing this anymore." And he smiled as he took a small golden ring from his pocket and threw it into the sea. But before it hit the water, it was caught by an unseen hand and taken to the peak of Mount Taniquetil, where it remained until the end of time.