This whole plot started out as a fluff piece.
I accidentally turned it into horrible angst.
I'm not sorry.

Silver and blue shining on metal danced around him, the brush of a calloused hand against his cheek, a rumbling voice that shifted between honey and dragon fire, and suddenly he was drowning, swept away in a sea of glittering gold. He was sinking, entombed in riches. Then there was a light, soft at first, growing until it blotted out all else, blinding in it's glory and brilliance. For a moment, he was content, he was warm, he was hopeful.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

There was no wound, no pain, but there was blood. So much blood. Smeared on his hands, on his face, everything. A scream tore from his throat.

Bilbo sat up so quickly, he nearly passed out, a pain against his skull nearly dragging him back into blackness. For several moments, all he could do was press his head against his knees and breathe as the world spun around him. The images of his dream, vision, nightmare, whatever it had been, began to fade, replaced slowly by the memories they represented.

The hobbit's arms tightened on his knees, holding back a sob that threatened to escape from his throat.

"What have I done..." he croaked.

He had tried so hard to do what was right, to make the choice that would save everyone, no matter the personal cost. He had paid dearly and he had failed.

"Take him if you wish him to live; and no friendship of mine goes with him."

Thorin's eyes cut him more than his words, more than any wound. Those clear blue orbs had looked upon him in doubt, in wonder, in love, but never before in such blind hate. Bilbo's legs were weak beneath him under that gaze and he felt tears prick at his eyes.

"Go down now to your friends! Or I will throw you down."

Bilbo opened his mouth, desperate to explain himself, hoping to get the King Under the Mountain to understand. He looked upon Thorin, searching his face, before he closed his mouth and lowered his head in resignation.

Before, the king's eyes were two toned in emotion, showing the face he put on and, if one looked closely enough, the emotions he concealed. Now, Thorin's eyes held only rage and greed for the treasure lost to his family so long ago, his precious Arkenstone.

"Then my answer matters naught." Bilbo whispered, the lump in his throat making it almost impossible to speak. The hobbit took a cautious step forward, his eyes on the stone at Thorin's feet. Hands trembling, he slid a too large silver and blue band from his finger and placed it carefully on the ground before him. The ring had represented a promise from the King, a proposal of a shared life together. Now it was only a torn fantasy. Bilbo never had given his answer, he had never even admitted to loving Thorin, could never bring himself to say the words. Now he never would.

The King Under the Mountain only looked on at his actions, blue eyes blazing with a rage more burning than dragon fire.

Bilbo had tried to save the lives of his companions, the humans of Laketown, even the elves of Mirkwood. Knowing that Thorin would never forgive him, he had stolen the Arkenstone out of Erebor and into the hands of those the Dwarf King proclaimed as enemies. He had done it to prevent war, to stop more lives from being lost. As he stood, he looked across the battlefield and wanted nothing more than to weep at how naïve he had been. There were so many bodies scattered across the fields, blood seemed to run in rivers down the slopes of the Lonely Mountain.

His chest constricted, his breathing hitching violently as he succumbed to his grief. Never before had he felt so small, so useless against the world. Tears burned on his cheeks as he sunk back to the ground, curling into as tight a ball as he could. He was of no use to anyone...

It was several more hours before Bilbo was discovered, cold and pale in his misery, by one of the human soldiers. The hobbit spoke little to the man as he was carried toward Dale. Several times, he tried to bring up the success of the battle, how Dale and Erebor would once more be prosperous thanks to his help, but Bilbo only felt sick.

"Bilbo Baggins!"

The hobbit turned his head to find a familiar, grey clad figure hurrying toward him, a smile bright against his face. The man from Dale gently set him down on his feet, patting him lightly on the shoulder before he departed the pair.

"Gandalf..." At the sight of the old wizard, Bilbo felt his mood brighten slightly. "All this blood... I was wondering if anyone survived..."

The wizard clasped Bilbo's shoulder firmly with one hand. "Many have survived my friend." He assured the hobbit.

"Many... But not all. The company...?" Bilbo asked. His friends... He wasn't sure if they hated him for his betrayal, but he hoped that they had at least survived.

"That... Can wait until later." Gandalf replied, his expression darkening. "You are called for and time is short."

Bilbo felt bile rise in his throat at the words, at the contained urgency in the wizard's words. "What has happened?"

"I think it best you come see." Gandalf sighed, placing a hand on Bilbo's back and guiding him forward toward a tent nearby.

As Bilbo entered the tent alone, he was struck almost immediately by the strong scent of blood. His eyes passed across the space, fearfully seeking the source. He saw discarded cloth soaked in blood, armor rent nearly in half and spattered with red and black blood, a battered and war stained axe, and he was terrified. He knew who lay upon the cot in the room before he looked upon the shattered body.

"No..." He choked on the denial, nearly falling as he crossed the room, his legs suddenly failing him. "Not him... No..."

Bilbo collapsed to his knees next to the King's body. He grasped for that big hand, calloused and scared and stained in his own blood. It was so cold... "This isn't what I wanted...!"

Thorin's hand curled into the touch and his eyes opened, bearing down on the hobbit. "My little Burglar..." he whispered, his voice soft and broken.

"No... Don't, please... I don't deserve..." Bilbo sobbed, head shaking even as the fallen King's hand cupped his cheek. The touch was so gentle, so familiar... "I betrayed you..."

"Hush." Thorin said, hand clenching at the blood soaked bandages on his chest. He let out several horrible, wet coughs, his face paling even further. "I have little time, but I refuse to fade until I have... Until I have mended the wrong I did to you..."

Bilbo saw tears drip down the dwarf's cheek. Without thinking, he reached up and wiped one away as gently as he could. Thorin turned his head and placed the softest of kisses upon his palm as he did. It was all the hobbit could do to bite back a sob.

"I am sorry... So sorry... The gold... The jewels... The Arkenstone..." Thorin gave a weak laugh, bathed in regret. "What good do they do me while I lay here dying? What good are they in life compared to you? I had... Forgotten that. I do not ask for you forgiveness... I don't deserve it. I only wish you to know, before I pass, that I will always love you..."

With a pained grunt, Thorin raised up the hand Bilbo was not holding, dragging it with difficulty over the horrible wounds covered his chest. He pushed a small object into the hobbit's hand. "It will always be yours." He murmured.

Bilbo gazed at the familiar blue and silver ring in his palm, his body shaking with renewed grief. He clenched his eyes shut for a moment against the sight, even as Thorin's hand reached out to brush his cheek.

"I love you, Thorin..." Bilbo said finally, and he meant it. Forcing himself to look upon the dying King, he knew he had loved Thorin for a long time. Maybe he had only denied it to himself for fear of being hurt. Something had always seemed to hold him back from admitting his fondness to the dwarf King. He had wondered if perhaps his heart was merely made of stone, if he was incapable of love toward this dwarf. Or perhaps he always knew something like this would happen and he had tried to protect himself. But not admitting his love, even to himself, hadn't stopped this horrible pain, hadn't stopped the bliss from merely being in his presence all these weeks. "A-And... My answer is yes. It has always been yes... I want to bind myself to you Thorin..."

Those perfect blue eyes looked upon him, full of love and hope. The King Under the Mountain no longer seemed troubled, by his impending death or otherwise. "Describe it to me..."

"...Describe what, my love?"

"Our life together. What will it be like?" Thorin asked, his smile stretching across his split and bloodied lip. "Perhaps I will return to the Shire with you. A nice quiet life..."

"Nice and quiet." Bilbo agreed, his voice cracking. "W-When we get there, we'll have to deal with my relatives though, but I'm sure you'd love to scare them off, wouldn't you? Bag End would be perfect for us. The bed is spacious and soft, we wouldn't want for good food or drink. It's not very dwarven though, but we could redecorate a bit. A little home improvement could be fun..."

"I could be a grocer perhaps..." Thorin said, voice weak, but eyes twinkling with humor.

"I think that'd be perfect..."

Bilbo spoke for a long time about their future together, clinging to the perfect vision. Thorin listened attentively until his eyes drifted closed and he drew his final breath. He passed with a tender smile, his fingers entwined with his burglar's. And Bilbo wept, clinging to his lost hope as he continued to weave their future together on his words alone.

Okay, so lucky for you guys, it doesn't end here.

I made a sequel titled "Tomorrow Starts With You."

Enjoy. :3