"Where's Thorin?" Bilbo asked, tugging on a medic's shoulder. He was ignored however, as the medic moved to help another injured soldier.

"Excuse me," he asked again, approaching a dwarf from Dain's army. "Can you tell me where I can find the king?"

"I'm afraid that's confidential," the dwarf said, eyes narrowing. Bilbo sighed; he should have expected such treatment from Dain's army. After all, it had taken the company several months to trust him.

"I'm his friend." He explained.

"You'll have to find someone else," the dwarf said, stepping to the side and moving away from the hobbit.

Bilbo closed his eyes tightly. He'd find the dwarf king. He had too.

"Bilbo- my lad," he heard a deep voice, most definitely Gandalf's, come from behind him, and he nearly shouted in relief.

"Gandalf-" He said, "I'm glad you're alright. I need to find Thorin."

"Ah- Thorin won't be seeing anyone at the moment." The wizard said. "He's very injured, and though I am assured he will live, he needs all the rest he can get."

"Oh-" Bilbo said, a plan already formulating in his mind. "Well could you tell me where his tent might be? I could visit him tomorrow, after he's feeling better."

"Hmm," Gandalf started, and Bilbo knew he was stretching the wizard's trust already. "It's the one at the farthest right of the camp, a little bit away from the others."

Bilbo nodded, doing his best to wear a smile as he stood and spoke with Gandalf for a time. To his relief the wizard was soon distracted by some other dwarves, and Bilbo took that as his moment to put on his magic ring, and slip away.

The tent was easy enough to find, what was difficult was getting through the front folds without being noticed. After quite a bit of uncomfortable maneuvering however, he was able to get into the king's tent.

"Fili and Kili, are they alright?" Thorin asked, and Bilbo stopped in his tracks. How did Thorin know he was there?

"Yes, they'll be fine." Balin said, and Bilbo let out a silent sigh of relief, watching as Oin pressed a dripping washcloth against Thorin's shoulder. The king hissed, but other than that showed little reaction. The hobbit felt a little sick at the sight of so much blood seeping from the wound, and immediately stepped forward to help, before realizing that he was still invisible.

"I'm glad they're alright." Thorin said. "And Bilbo?"

Balin nodded at him. "He is unharmed."

"Good," the king let his head hit the pillow he was leaned up against. "I don't think that I could ever forgive-" he gritted his teeth as Oin smeared some ointment on the deep wound.

"I-" he paused, seeming to catch up with his thoughts. "I don't want him to visit."

Bilbo frowned.

"Why not?" Balin asked.

Thorin remained quiet.

"I'm sure that Bilbo has already forgiven you-"

"It's not that." Thorin said, clenching a fist at his side where he thought that no one could see, though, Bilbo could. "Just- keep him away. Alright?"

"As you say." Balin said submissively.

The hobbit snuck away then, convincing himself that he would visit the next morning, though he never did.

Thorin stared from where he sat in the cot. The tent flap had just flickered to the left in a way he had not seen it do thus far. Shrugging it off as the wind, he continued his conversation with Balin.

"I need to gather my wits before I confront him." He said, "I went too far. I will not risk whatever fragile companionship we have left."

Balin heaved a sigh. "You've always been one for dramatics. You know that our burglar holds nothing against you."

"Regardless, I wish to take things slowly. I do not want to hurt Bilbo again…" he paused. "I do not trust myself not to."

Bilbo swore under his breath as the screw fell from his hand and clattered against the wooden floor. He reached down for it, but upon doing so, the door decided to give way, coming to smack him against the back of the head.

Giving up, he dropped his tools and went outside, hands pulled tight into fists. The sun was far too bright for his liking and the neighbor far too friendly as he approached the fuming bachelor.

"Hello Bilbo!" Ned said, grinning widely.

The hobbit nodded at him stiffly. "And ah- how are you?"

"Quite well." He said, "I was wondering, how complying would you be to join me for lunch?"

"Trust me," Bilbo said, "I'd love too. At the moment though, I'm quite busy."

Ned looked at him, confused. "Are you sure? You don't seem to be."

"Indefinitely."

"Well if you say so," Ned shrugged and continued on his way, and Bilbo fell onto his bench, searching his pocket for a pipe.

He couldn't help but remember a similar morning, one in which he was only a Baggins, a quiet hobbit with no past and no future.

He was still like that- he supposed. It suited him in a way.

The shape of the mail box seemed to call to him, and taking a breath, he got to his feet and went to open it.

Maybe, just this once…

The letters were addressed from various names for various reasons. One was from the Sackville Baggins, that he pointedly ignored, and another from his distant cousin, Drogo, announcing his engagement. The rest were of little interest to him.

He sighed. He should have expected as much.

Grey eyes scanning the road, Bilbo nodded to himself; stuffing the letters in his pocket he headed back inside.

The door could not be shut, so instead he closed it the best he could, and went to dump the letters out on the table. Before leaving however, he spotted a familiar yellow piece of paper. Pushing the plates left over from his second breakfast, he pulled it out to view. By now he had framed it, because tucking it away just seemed far too final to him.

His finger traced the edge of The Lonely Mountain, the corner of his mouth tugging down.

Balin had stopped by to visit some months ago, explaining how he was planning to retake Moria, and a party was currently camped out near The Shire, waiting for his return.

Ori had accompanied him on that day, and Bilbo delighted in the young dwarf's company. Upon seeing the portraits of Bilbo's parents on the mantle, Ori asked him about his experience in the arts. He had denied any, nevertheless they spent a good hour discussing the art of writing and painting, and by the end of it the dwarf had offered him some of his own supplies and paints, insisting that all he would need in Moria was a journal and a quill.

The elder of his two visitors had claimed that the company missed him dearly, and that he was welcome to visit them at The Lonely Mountain whenever he wished. Bilbo smiled and nodded at this, though the movement felt empty to him. Balin seemed to understand Bilbo's feelings in those moments, because he went on to say:

"Thorin is a very busy king."

The hobbit blanched. "So he is receiving my letters?"

"Yes," the dwarf said, "But you must understand, he has an entire kingdom to rebuild."

"No, I understand." Bilbo said. "He must indeed be very busy."

Balin could tell he did not mean it, though the king was not mentioned again throughout the rest of their meeting. Bilbo would send his guests off a few hours later with full bellies and good wishes, then go to his study and crumble the half written letter that lay open on his desk.

He considered himself a patient hobbit, but five years felt far too long to him for go without a single word from his friend.

He leaned against the table, putting a hand to his forehead. Perhaps he was asking too much of Thorin. Perhaps he was the one being obstinate. Balin was right, after all, Thorin was a king.

Whatever it was, Bilbo simply could not let it bother him. He decided then and there that he would head over to Ned's house with a few cakes, apologizing for the bluntness he had expressed earlier.

Though, even as he grabbed the cakes and moved towards the door, Bilbo still couldn't help but pull some papers back to cover the map.

That was a part of his life that he needed to let go.

The thought of doing so made a few tears gather in his eyes. Because- after all- how could he simply let it go? It was two years of his life spent on the road, being brave and learning more than he could ever imagine. He had made so many friends on his journey. There were so many bridges that he couldn't burn.

He set the cakes on the counter and took a breath.

He knew then that no matter how hard he tried, the adventure would always be a part of him. He would never forget the sight of a dragon, of armies clashing, of eagles flying in the sky.

And he most certainly couldn't forget Thorin, even if he tried.

And he definitely had.

Thorin found Hobbiton to be much more navigable the second time around.

Perhaps it was because he was walking in broad daylight. Perhaps it was because he was much more humble now, and more inclined to ask for directions. It might have been his acute awareness of how little time he had to spend in The Shire, or even the small maturity those five years as a king had given him.

Or perhaps it was because this time he was incredibly intent on finding Bag-end, more so than he had been even all those years ago.

He steadied himself as his hand reached out to knock against the round green door. What if Balin and the others had been wrong? What if Bilbo hadn't forgiven him? What if the hobbit had moved to a different house? Or a different street? Or even a new town?

What if he had forgotten him?

It was the last question that made Thorin hesitate, lowering his hand to his side as he took a deep breath.

Bilbo Baggins had saved his life on numerous occasions, had taught him so many things, and had been with him even deep into his own madness. The hobbit had been one of his closest- and perhaps even his best friend. Could he have forgotten him after all this time?

"No," Thorin breathed, because he had loved him back. At least- that was what he said.

Thorin would have been mad to claim that he had forgotten the burglar. There was not a day that he did not think of Bilbo. Nor was there a day that he did not hold back a physical cringe of regret as he recalled what he had done to his friend.

Friend.

The term sounded funny in his mind. Bilbo was many things to him, a friend, yes, but also an employee, a companion, a confidant. Bilbo was a kind soul and someone to confide with in his worst and best of times. Bilbo was an innocent hobbit trapped in a bizarre, harsh journey, and later stuck between his own conscience and loyalty to the dwarf king.

Bilbo was more than a friend.

"Why- who are you?"

Thorin turned sharply, having not heard someone coming up behind him. The hobbit who had addressed him was an angry looking, thin lipped woman with starkly colored clothes and furrowed brows.

"I'm a friend of Master Baggins." He said.

"Well has he come home then?" she questioned, and Thorin cocked an eyebrow. "What?"

"I was just here a few minutes ago to meet him, and he was nowhere to be seen. Might I ask- what business do you have with my cousin?"

"I'm his friend." Thorin said simply. "And you are?"

"Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, if you must know." She replied sharply. "If you want something from Bilbo, I suggest you return for it later. He's not a very reliable fellow."

With that she stuck up her nose and set off down the street. Thorin shook his head. At the very least, this was an opportunity for him to put off the meeting a little further and clear his head.

"Thank you, then." He said, though she was not there to hear it.

Bilbo found that the night breezes often left him chilled and melancholy, but he didn't care. It had been a long while since he was brave enough to walk under the stars again, to be vulnerable and viewable by all those who wished to look. The fresh air was good to his head however, and Bilbo decided it would be best to compromise and head out to the woods.

The crickets were the loudest thing in his ears, and that was well and fine with him. He had had enough of nosy neighbors and a certain cousin of his that refused to leave him alone. The silence of it all seemed to be the reason his shoulder's relaxed in those moments, and he let out a deep sigh as he leaned himself up against a tree.

The silence of the woods did however, cause him a great deal of stress. With so little to distract him from his emotional woes, Bilbo soon found himself biting his fingernails as certain thoughts seemed to replay in his head.

There were several things he could never forget, though the most prominent always seemed to be the battle. At least- what happened afterwards

"Bilbo"

The hobbit turned quickly to find Thorin Oakenshield spread out on the ground, blood covering the entirety of his torso. He wondered how much the king had lost, was it enough to kill him? It certainly looked like it.

"You're hurt," he said bluntly, kneeling beside his friend and immediately pressing his hands to his shoulder.

Thorin grunted, and Bilbo pushed harder with his shaky hands. He didn't look at the dwarf king. He couldn't bring himself to meet his eyes in those moments.

"Bilbo, are you alright?" the dwarf asked beneath him, his hand pressed weakly against the hobbit's elbow.

He let out a dry laugh. "Thorin- you're and idiot."

"I am weakening." Thorin said, his voice sounding empty. "I can feel myself going numb."

"You're just cold, is all." Bilbo reasoned, sitting back to remove his coat. He stopped when a large hand found his.

"Bilbo Baggins, I swear if you do not look at me…"

Slowly, almost shyly the hobbit turned his head and met the clear blue eyes of the dwarf king.

Thorin smiled, and Bilbo broke.

"You shouldn't be upset," he said as tears began to stream down the halfling's cheeks, "It's better this way."

"Don't you dare think I'll let you die," Bilbo's voice was hoarse, and rising in volume with each word. "You listen to me- Thorin, you're going to live."

"I don't deserve to," the king said simply, and Bilbo glared at him.

"This isn't about you Thorin." He hissed. Why was he so angry? He wasn't angry at his friend, or even himself, so who was he angry with? Why did his heart beat so violently in his ribcage that he wanted it to stop altogether?

"It doesn't matter how sad you are, or how much you've done, or who you've hurt. I don't care and I can guarantee that there is not a single soul out there that does. Regardless of what you want, or what you think you 'deserve', you're going to make it. Do you understand me?"

"Bilbo-"

"Consider it my fourteenth share." The hobbit said. "You are a king- and you cannot go back on your word. You owe me payment, and that payment is you living."

The hobbit draped his coat over the dwarf king gently, though his gaze was stern. He'd be damned if he let the king die now, after all that had happened.

Thorin squeezed his hand, and Bilbo found the strength to meet his gaze again.

"I love you."

They sat in silence for what had to have been a few minutes, staring intently at one another.

"You mean this?" The hobbit asked, "You did try to throw me off the gate, you know."

"For which I am sorry." The king said, "I am so, so sorry."

"I suppose then, Thorin Oakenshield, it would only be right if I told you the truth."

"Which is?"

Bilbo's gaze did not shy away then. "You'd be absolutely dull to think that I don't feel the same."

The dwarf's eye widened. "Truly?"

He offered a half smile, holding his hand tightly. "Truly."

Something softened in both of them then, and Bilbo's heart seemed to slow down quite a bit.

"Over here!" someone shouted in the distance. "It's the king! He's over here!"

"I will see you again?" Bilbo asked.

"I promise." Thorin answered without a moment's hesitation.

It would have been very easy for him to stay in an inn that night, Thorin thought as he stoked the small campfire he had created. However, doing so would give him a greater chance of running into Bilbo, and by that time Thorin was beginning to realize just how unprepared he was to meet the hobbit again after all this time.

A chest of gold and gems sat at his side, and Thorin put a steady hand on it, as if the wind could carry it away. It was Bilbo's fourteenth share after all, and he best not lose the one excuse he had to visit the hobbit.

In that regard, he was sure that Balin would have allowed him to visit Bilbo for whatever reason, but the aging dwarf seemed to know that there was something between them, and Thorin would rather not give him reason to be suspicious. He knew that whatever relationship that had developed between the hobbit and himself was doomed from the start. He could never marry someone outside of royalty- and besides, Bilbo deserved much more than the likes of himself.

He was there strictly for business reasons- he would tell the hobbit. Only to give the share that was owed.

Because regardless of how much he wanted to, or how much it hurt him not to, Thorin could not be with Bilbo. He could not continue to love him as he did. He owed that at least to his people, as well as the hobbit.

His thoughts were cut short by the sound of bushes rustling not far off. Cautiously, the king reached for his bow, and pulling the string back, aimed for where he thought the sound had come from, if only to scare off whatever animal had made it.

He let the arrow fly, and a yelp sounded from the bush it had landed in. Thorin got to his feet immediately, because that yelp was in no way that of an animal.

He ran in the general direction that his arrow had flown, and nearly shouted at the sight he came upon.

Standing before him was Bilbo Baggins, wearing and questioning look on his face and holding the arrow between two fingers.

"I don't know where you come from," he said, "But here in The Shire, we at least have the decency to ask before shooting someone.

Thorin laughed then, feeling an overwhelming relief that he had not hurt the burglar.

"Excuse me," the hobbit said, obviously annoyed, "Did you hear a word that I said?"

"Yes," Thorin replied, "Though I don't think you comprehend just how terrible with a bow hobbits tend to be."

The silence made him cringe. He had probably done something wrong again- though he doubted it could get worse than nearly killing the person he intended on apologizing to.

"Thorin." Bilbo whispered, his expression blank.

"It's been a long time," The king said, rubbing his hand against his neck awkwardly. "I was hoping that I would meet you under better circumstances, but it appears to not be so."

"Hm." Something in the strained tone the hobbit held made Thorin want to look away in shame. He had hurt him.

"Well, what were you doing out in the woods anyways? Do you have a place to stay?" the smaller of the two asked in a tight voice.

"I'm afraid not."

Bilbo nodded. "I expected as much. I suppose it's only polite to offer you my home for the night. I have a decent enough guest bedroom, if you're interested."

"I would be very indebted to you, Master Baggins." Thorin said, and the hobbit visibly winced at his comment. Thorin wondered why.

A/N

Hey guys! This is just a little Thilbo thing I've been wanting to do for a while. I'm guestamating around 3 chapters for this, so it's not going to be too crazy.

Let me know what you thought!

Thanks!

Quiteokayish