Chapter 2 - Gain

A silent cry remains trapped behind sealed lips, lodging itself somewhere in his throat and effectively choking him. Images of the Hobbit brandishing that fancy elven blade pollute the back of his lids and he is caught in a world of 'what ifs', powerless to escape the dreadful knowledge that no untrained warrior could have survived such an encounter, no matter the element of surprise. And if by Mahal's grace Bilbo had, then Azog the Defiler still remained astride his four-legged albino, war pack and riders at his command. They would rip the halfling to shreds, hardly leaving anything for the vultures.

Foolish burglar!

Thorin endures the painful torture as parts of his body seem to be pulling themselves apart before somehow putting themselves back together again. Unmade only to be remade as broken bones are welded with imaginary fire and hammer while tissues and muscles are magically re-knitted into something whole. And though death’s echo yet lingers, barely out of reach, he knows that by some fortunate miracle, he will live. Apparently, he still has a part to play in the Valar’s grand scheme of things. Perhaps given this second chance, he can right some of the wrongs he has unfairly dealt. At the very least, he can try.

Blinking his way back to awareness, the first thing he sees is a greyish blur until his eyes are able to focus. Then he recognizes the grey robes and the grey pointed hat, along with a glimpse of a familiar half-smile. An exhale of relief and a soft curling of lips buried deep in yet more layers of grey. The wizard had worried.

"The halfling ..." Thorin's voice is weak, even to his own ears. Full consciousness has returned, trepidation hot on its heels. He must know. Even if the answer frightens him more than his earlier failure.

But Gandalf's words are reassuring. "It's alright. Bilbo is here." His tone is sure. "He is quite safe."

Safe? Bilbo is not safe. He will never be safe. Not so long as he travels with Thorin and his company. A bleak fact but true all the same - something he is having trouble to accept as it dawns on him that he is not yet ready to part ways with the Hobbit. For a moment, he gives in to his anger, frustration over the situation swirling within him, giving him enough strength to somehow twist his body to the side and push himself to his knees. Hands are quickly at his sides, aiding him until he finally stands. He shakes off any further assistance from his kin, ignoring the sharp spasms of pain still racking his body. "You!" And there stands Bilbo, but a few feet away, wariness writ across his face. "What were you doing?" Bilbo is alive, unscathed and oh! so beautiful. The sudden easing of anxiety at seeing their burglar thusly provokes a new churning in his gut and Thorin reacts in the only manner he knows how ... harsh and unrelenting. He castigates Bilbo, accusing him of nearly getting himself killed. "Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild?" He steps closer to the Hobbit and Bilbo, bless his soul, does not retreat. He stands his ground in the face of Thorin's diatribe, though he averts his eyes, unable to hold the dwarf's gaze. "That you had no place amongst us ..."

Bilbo swallows, the movement of his Adam's apple catching Thorin's eye and he pauses. The churning settles and a warmth burgeons forth, spreading up and across, both inside and out, soothing his aches and calming his worn spirit. He looks at Bilbo and it is as if he sees him for the first time. Or perhaps he is only now seeing him with eyes that can finally perceive reality as it should be, without the distorted notions of a blind fool. The overwhelming feeling wrests any possible breath from him and he moves forward, nearly faltering as he closes the distance between them, half-collapsing against the Hobbit, pulling him close and holding him tight against him. "I've never been so wrong in all my life." The verity behind his words hurt but uttering them, admitting to them, frees him as well. He buries deeper into those fetching curls, his hands clenching at that damnable corduroy jacket. And he smiles. The first honest and full-blown smile to grace his lips in a long time.

He wants to kiss that mop of unruly hair but before he goes and does something so foolish, he pulls back, reluctantly allowing a bit of space between them. "And I'm sorry I doubted you." He looks properly contrite.

Bilbo is quick to reply, politely dismissing Thorin's apology. "No, I ... I would've doubted me too. I'm not a hero. Or a warrior." He spares a quick glance towards Gandalf. "Or even a burglar."

Thorin is still smiling and watching the Hobbit - his Hobbit -, affection plain in his eyes. And then he sees it, just when his gaze shifts further up and beyond Bilbo's shoulder.

"Is that ... what I think it is?" Bilbo notices it too and follows Thorin to the edge of the crag.

"Erebor," the wizard confirms and what a sweet sound it is to the dwarf's nearly disbelieving ears.

"Our home," Thorin all but whispers, his left hand reaching down, fingers bumping against Bilbo's. He holds his breath for a moment, daring to hope. He does not wait long before he feels small fingers lacing with his own, squeezing encouragingly. His smile broadens and he squeezes back, his chest near to bursting with tenderness and more besides. "We'll take it as a sign. A good omen." It is meant as a reply to Gandalf's comment about the thrush flying towards his mountain but as he and Bilbo exchange a look, the words suddenly take on a whole new meaning.

"You're right. I do believe the worst is behind us." Bilbo's optimism, along with the sight of their intended goal, is exactly what the company needs and Thorin can practically hear the collective sigh behind him as their wearied spirits suddenly find a reprieve and an unexpected lift.

Still watching his Hobbit, Thorin lets out a throaty chuckle when Bilbo averts his gaze once more and softly admits to skepticism regarding his own capability of actually sneaking past a dragon and possibly stealing from under his nose. Then Bilbo looks up again and Thorin marvels at the glimmer of light found in his eyes; it lends the dwarven King faith - enough to see him through whatever awaits them. Enough to give voice to unacknowledged feelings.

"My dear Bilbo, after effectively burgling my heart, anything else should be child's play to you."