Notes: This story is for Anoriell :) Hope you like it as much as I do xxx

The battle was over. Lives had been lost and families were grieving. And yet, there was still much cheer and laughter to be found not only in the dwarven encampment, but also amongst men and elves. His kin hailed Thorin as he walked through the camp, having just returned from a meeting with Gandalf, Bard and Thranduil. To them he was the great Thorin Oakenshield who had restored their ancestral home. They didn't know how much of his achievement had only been accomplished thanks to a small hobbit of the Shire. His hobbit. Even though he was undeserving of calling Bilbo this. How could he, after all he had done to the halfling? And after all that had transpired due to his actions.

He still remembered the moment he had first realised that he loved Bilbo. It had been the night when his nephews had burst into the camp, babbling inanely about trolls and ponies and Bilbo. The hobbit had gone into the troll camp to retrieve their ponies, and Thorin's heart nearly stopped. He hadn't acted on his feelings, quite the contrary. He had started to treat Bilbo in an even more despicable way than before, if that had been possible. Then on the mountain pass...he hadn't even stopped to think about the consequences before he threw himself off the ledge to save the hobbit. Only afterwards he had screwed up so badly that Bilbo had almost left them. But he hadn't. He had reappeared after the whole Goblintown incident and had given that little speech about how he would help them to reclaim their home. Then Azog had happened, and there was no way to deny his feelings any longer.

Bilbo had felt so warm and real in his arms, there on the Carrock. And later, during the night, Thorin had found out just how soft the hobbit's lips truly were; not that he had been wondering about that for weeks already. Somehow, by some miracle, Bilbo returned his feelings and they had consumed their bond during their brief rest in the house of the Shape-shifter. And the Company had embraced this new development. More than that. Apparently bets had been placed not on the if, but the when they would finally get their act together and acknowledge their feelings for one another. And while for Bilbo this was reason to nearly faint again, Thorin only felt a strange sense of pride. The other dwarves approved of his chosen mate; and beyond that, they loved Bilbo and respected him.

By the time they reached the mountain Bilbo had placed a Braid of Promise into Thorin's hair and was wearing one in his hair as well. He should have known then that something bad was going to happen. He didn't deserve this happiness. But it wasn't him who had to pay the greatest price, it was his beloved hobbit. The gold within Erebor began to whisper to Thorin, and he craved it, more than he craved the halfling's touch...or so he thought. Even that was nothing in comparison to his lust to possess the Arkenstone, and thinking back on it now nearly made Thorin heave. Tears were stinging his eyes when he revisited the next memory. His hands around Bilbo's neck, dangling him over the abyss... His hands that had worshipped the hobbit's body before, hands that had touched his face reverently. He stared down at them now as he walked, unable to comprehend how he could have done what he had.

The moment he had spoken the words of banishment, something within him snapped. Screamed at him. And somehow the veil over his eyes and heart suddenly lifted and he realised what he was doing. Longed to take back those words; longed to hold his hobbit again in his arms, never to let go. But he couldn't. Just like he couldn't give in to the demands of men and elves. His accursed pride... Gandalf had been right. His pride was his downfall and it was now costing him the most precious thing in his entire life. It took Bilbo's love away from him. And his pride brought the battle on them.

The battle was over, but the Company was still whole...for now. One of them was fighting for his life, and if he lost that fight, Thorin did not know if he would be able to go on. It was still blurry in his mind, the things that had happened on the battlefield. He remembered Azog, and Fíli and Kíli standing in front of Thorin to protect their uncle and king, with their lives if need be. And they had come dangerously close to losing them. But somehow, arrows aimed at Kíli vanished before they could pierce the young dwarf, and the blow that would have split Fíli's skull impacted with something else. Then, at the end, when Azog was standing over him, his army slain, his warg destroyed, and he raised his mace for the killing blow... Something unseen took the brunt of the attack, giving Thorin a chance to grope for Orcrist and pierce the orc's chest. And then it was Fíli and Kíli, holding one of the blond's swords, who beheaded their old enemy together.

That had been when he heard the whispered "Thorin". Bilbo, that was Bilbo's voice. He searched the ground until he found a hand, invisible though it was. Fingers closing around the hobbit's ring, he pulled it off and Bilbo came into view. There were the arrows intended for Kíli, and evidence of all the other hits he had taken for both Fíli and the dwarven king. Azog's mace had shredded Bilbo's vest and shirt, revealing the mithril shirt beneath. There was blood in the corner of Bilbo's mouth, and Thorin's heart froze. "No, Bilbo no. Dear Aulë, please..."

Thorin could still see that weak little smile that lit up Bilbo's face then as he asked, "We won?" It were Fíli and Kíli who nodded and Bilbo sighed. "I'm sorry I couldn't," he swallowed, speaking becoming more and more difficult by the looks of it, "help you any more than that. And I am sorry..." Thorin had leaned over him then, kissing the dirtied and bloodied forehead. Bilbo's eyes watered and he whispered, "I love you, my King, I will always..." Then he fell silent.

But something else had begun whispering to him. "I can bring him back. All you have to do is use me, Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain." The ring! He nearly cast it from him then. Instead, he kept it and vowed to take it to Gandalf as soon...as soon as Bilbo had been taken care of.

And now, two days after the battle, he had finally done so. The wizard had been unwilling to touch the ring, but instead had sent for Lord Elrond. Thorin couldn't even bring himself to complain about more elves descending on them. He had then presented Gandalf with the Arkenstone that Bard had returned to Thorin the moment he heard of Bilbo's injuries. "Take this, too. It means nothing to me now, and it never should have." The wizard nodded and even Thranduil smiled at the dwarf wistfully. "You shall both receive the gold you asked for before, and more. I would give you the entire treasure if..." If it would make Bilbo whole again.

Both Bard and Thranduil had vowed to restore the relations their people had once had with Erebor and Thorin left them to debate the reconstruction of Dale. He had somewhere else he longed to be. Gandalf had tried his best, but even his magic hadn't been able to wake the hobbit. He had been smiling sadly, a warm hand on the dwarf's shoulder when Thorin was about to leave. "Have faith, King Thorin. Hobbits are stronger and more resilient than the other races, even though they may not seem to be."

It was thus that Thorin found himself walking through the camp, cheers erupting around him while he was lost in thought. Finally he reached the tent Bilbo had been taken to and where he now lay on a cot, furs beneath him and warm blankets covering his body. He looked heartbreakingly small and once more Thorin cursed himself for his idiocy. The hobbit should have been save in Erebor, in his arms, not lying here fighting for his life. The battlefield had been no place for Bilbo, and yet, he had defended the ones he loved in a way Thorin hadn't been able to. Óin looked up from where he sat next to the cot, and shook his head. No change. Thorin's nephews sat on the halfling's other side, Kíli stroking the hobbit's auburn curls while Fíli held Bilbo's hand. When they noticed Thorin, they motioned to Óin. "We'll be just outside." Kíli attempted a smile, but it was strained. He worried, and not only for Bilbo but Thorin as well. His younger nephew was far more perceptive than Thorin had ever given him credit for.

The king stared after them until they were gone and the tent flaps had closed behind them. Then, and only then did he approach the hobbit. He eyed the three chairs and finally moved the one Óin had vacated away from the cot, kneeling on the ground instead. He grasped for Bilbo's hand, so small in his dwarven one. How he longed for the fingers to move, for the hand to reach out to him, even if only to strike him for what he had done to Bilbo. He would deserve it, and more. And he would welcome it. Anything would be better than this. Even if the hobbit decided to leave, to return to his beloved Shire...at least he would be alive and well. And Thorin would nurse his bleeding heart until the day he died.

He leaned closer to kiss the back of that small hobbit hand, and then turned it over to kiss the palm just as gently. "I was a fool, Bilbo Baggins. To tear you away from your comfortable life back in your little hobbit hole. We may not have succeeded and probably would all be dead by now, but I'd rather the dragon had burnt me to cinder than to see you like this. I did this. I broke every promise I made to you, my betrothed." He could feel the tears begin to fall, but he cared not. He was the most wretched dwarf and didn't deserve to be king. Didn't deserve to be of the line of Durin. For he had broken the heart of the purest and kindest soul in Middle-earth. And despite it all, Bilbo had saved him in battle. Again. "You should have let me die, Bilbo. I don't deserve life, and I don't want it if it's life without you."

He looked up through a sheen of tears then. Looked at Bilbo's face and willed those eyes to open. Longed to see the grey pools, even if they gazed at him in hatred. His eyes then shifted to the braid. The hobbit hadn't removed it and somehow that gave Thorin hope. He, too, still wore Bilbo's braid, and would for the rest of his days, however many of them there would be. "If...if you leave me, I will follow you." Fíli would be a worthy king; a better, wiser king than he could ever be. His nephew would never have acted the way he had.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tears spilling from them freely now and he leaned his forehead against Bilbo's hand. "I need you with me, my love, now more than ever." His voice was little more than a whisper as he continued, "I love you, my brave hobbit. You are the missing part of my soul, the one the Valar have intended for me. You are my Arkenstone." His living, breathing Arkenstone. He no longer understood how he could allow the gold sickness to take over his mind and heart when he had the hobbit by his side. But it hadn't been only him. All the dwarves had fallen under the spell of the accursed gold, safe his nephews and young Ori. And Balin.

Balin, who had not spoken to him ever since he sent Bilbo away...except to call him a fool unworthy of kingship. And as he had come to his senses, his nephews had simply nodded, clearly sharing their mentors opinion. As they should have.

"Please, Bilbo. Come back to me. So I may beg you to forgive me." And he would...beg, that was. His pride had caused this and he would no longer allow it free reign, at least not where the hobbit was concerned. "I long to hear the sound of your voice, calling me your stubborn dwarf before..." Before Bilbo would throw his arms around the dwarf and kiss him. Oh, how he longed for that. Nuzzling into the hand in his grasp, he allowed the last wall to shatter and gave himself over to his pain and grief.

---

That voice, it was warm again, it was his Thorin once more that spoke to him. But he knew it was but a dream. Thorin had banished him. And even though he had looked so worried on the battlefield, Bilbo knew he wasn't forgiven. He had stolen that which the dwarf desired most, more than him. And he had been willing to pay for that with his life, as long as he could give it protecting the dwarven king. He had; oh, he had. He knew Thorin was well, somehow he knew. As were his nephews. And that thought gave the hobbit peace.

Something warm touched his hand, held it and before long he could feel...wetness?...against his skin. That was odd. And then that voice was back, whispering to him. Saying he was loved, was missed. Asking him for forgiveness. That gave him pause. Why would Thorin... Then he heard the voice mention how he, Bilbo, had always called Thorin a stubborn dwarf and...

He opened his eyes. He was in a small tent, canvassed walls all around him. And he could feel lips brushing his skin, felt hot tears fall on his hand, and he lowered his gaze to find Thorin kneeling by his side, clutching at his hand and clearly falling to pieces. Thorin. Strong and willful Thorin. His Thorin. Was he crying like that for him? Could it be possible that he had been forgiven?

His throat tightened, and he knew he wouldn't be able to speak. But he could move his fingers at least. When he did, it nearly made Thorin jump. Tearshot eyes met his gaze and Thorin began to shake. "Bilbo?" The dwarf's normally so powerful voice was small, almost timid. "Bilbo." Not a question this time, more an affirmation. "You've come back to me..." The hobbit blinked. Surely he had misheard. But then Thorin continued, "Forgive me. I cannot...I cannot express how sorry I am for what I did. Sending you away was the most horrific act I ever committed in my life and I will spend eternity atoning for it. If you will allow it. Please, Bilbo..."

The hobbit gasped as tears escaped his eyes. He tried to speak, but could only cough. In seconds, a glass of water was pressed to his lips and he drank it down greedily. Thorin had supported his head with a hand while holding the glass with another and was now pulling back. No. He wouldn't let the dwarf do that. He grasped the withdrawing hand and held it to his cheek. "Thorin..." That was better. His voice was still raspy, but at least he could talk. "You weren't yourself. I knew it, I always knew it. And I also knew there would be repercussions. But I had to try and prevent bloodshed. I had to do something to protect the ones I love, even if that meant incurring your wrath." He coughed again, but continued, voice growing stronger. "It is why I tried to find you during the battle."

"You nearly died saving us...saving me. I didn't deserve that." Hurt and guilt were obvious in those sapphire orbs then, along with something Bilbo hadn't dared hope to see again. Love. Thorin was his again. And that realisation took the hobbit's breath away. Turning his head, he placed a kiss onto the dwarf's wrist and heard the soft gasp. "My hobbit...my love." His chest tightened, heart bursting with love. "You...you were right. About the gold. Even about the Arkenstone. It tainted my mind and clouded my judgement. It made me drive you away and I can only beg you to...to take me back."

Bilbo smiled through his tears, "You still wear your braid..."

"As do you..." Thorin's voice was so hopeful now, his face so open Bilbo was convinced for a second that he was only dreaming. But the hand against his cheek was warm and real and alive, as was the thumb that brushed away his tears.

"How could I not?" That was little more than a whisper. "I'm still yours, just like I still love you." And then he smiled, remembering something that voice had said. "My stubborn dwarf." Thorin laughed at that, and Bilbo joined in, and they held each other for the longest time before, at last, their lips met. And when they broke apart with need of air, the hobbit glanced up at his dwarf, a smile on his face. "You said that I came back to you." Thorin nodded. "But so did you...you have come back to me. My beloved, and ever so headstrong and stubborn dwarf."