Chapter Text
It was one of those long and dark winter nights, one of those that made it hard to believe that they had all made it; That they all were alive. The sun had only made her presence known for a few hours and had barley moved away from behind the heavy clouds that rolled over the mountain. Something that had rendered the intricate system of mirrors and crystals that usually reflected the sun down into the deepest corners of the lonely mountain near useless. Trapping everyone within in a deep, endless night, since torches and gas lamps could only do so much.
Thorin was still clinging to his life by a thread, the royal chambers converted into a makeshift infirmary to grant Thorin and his nephews some privacy. Until now he hadn’t woken up, not even had he stirred in all but a month after the victory. The occasional furrowed brow, hiss or deep sigh when being moved or prodded was all they got from him until now.
Today just as Bilbo reapplied the cold compress, Thorin finally stirred. He blinked few times, letting his glossed over eyes wander the dimly lit room before they settled on Bilbos worried face.
“What a lovely delusion… Now that the maker is calling me to him I am blessed with seeing you again. Even if it is just before my inner eye, an illusion made up by my battered heart.” His voice barley more than a strained whisper.
Bilbo froze, the cold compress still in his hands. His mind lagging for a moment until it caught up; Thorin was awake, finally.
“I’m here Thorin, and you are alive. As am I” Bilbo fought against the tears threatening to fall, trying hard to sound reassuring as he set down the cold compress onto the dwarfs forehead.
It seemed as if Thorin wasn’t listening, teetering too much on the edge of consciousness. His eyes still cloudy and babbling something barley coherent. But all centred around him having passed on, hoping that Bilbo hadn’t succumbed to that fate, and that the hobbit in front of him was an illusion; It had to be, he was sure.
Unsure of how to handle the situation, Bilbo took Thorins hand and pressed his palm against his chest in desperation, hoping Thorin might be able to feel his heartbeat; Hoping it would convince the Dwarf that they are alive.
“Do you feel it Thorin? Please believe me” He failed to keep the tears from spilling, silently sobbing as he pressed Thorins hand stronger against his chest.
“It’s… beating…” There seemed to be a moment of clarity in Thorins eyes.
Carefully he pull Bilbo closer while trying to sit up, the latter failed due to the still not healed wounds on Thorins torso. Bilbo however moved with him willingly until he had to climb onto the mattress.
“Please come close, I want to listen to it, I want to feel that its real…”
The strain Thorin had put on his body was audible by his laboured breath and how his voice was but a faint whisper. Not wanting him to exert himself even more Bilbo followed his plea, he fully climbed onto the bed and settled in a slightly seated position against the headboard of Thorins bed. Opening the his arms for the king to use himself as a pillow and Thorin followed the invitation as eagerly as his body allowed.
Bilbo nearly deflated as Thorin settled his head on his chest, he was aware that the dwarrow king couldn’t be a lightweight, but he was a lot heavier than expected. It didn’t take long for him to find a comfortable position for both of them, his ear pressed into the now exposed skin, intently listening to Bilbos beating heart.
Meanwhile Bilbo started to run a hand through Thorins hair, something that under normal circumstances would have been a faux pas of immense gravity; The hair and beard, after all, was sacred and not to be touched by anyone except family and partners. Yet here he was, raking his fingers through raven locks, in an desperate attempt to detangle the mess accumulated over the last weeks; Revelling in the low hum that occasionally felt from Thorins lips. And so it came to no ones surprise when that was how he had fallen asleep, propped up against the headboard, Thorins head on his chest and one hand still buried in raven locks while the other held onto Thorins arm. Which in turn was wrapped around Bilbos middle to keep him close.
<——>
Thorin was the first to wake that next morning, every so slowly rising from where he’d rested his head. Confused as his pain addled brain still believed that he’d passed over into the halls of his maker, so shocked to see Bilbo just peacefully sleeping that he didn’t know he was crying until Bilbo stirred; Woken by the steady fall of tears onto his exposed chest.
“Thorin…?” He croaked: “Oh, but why are you crying?” Bilbo scrambled to sit up more upright, cupping Thorins face in his hands: “Please don’t cry, all is well… or are you in pain?”
Thorin tried, he truly did, but no word wanted to leave his lips; For he just sat there and wept openly, like he hadn’t done since he was but a wee pebble. This however only caused Bilbo to panic, thinking something must be terribly wrong, a torn stitch maybe. Only to realise why Thorin was crying in the first place after deciphering some of the babbling in between heaving breaths, somewhere hidden between those full body sobs where statements like ‘you are here’, ‘I thought I lost you’ and ‘I am not dead’.
Bilbo took pity on him and took Thorins hand to again press it against his chest, right above his beating heart.
“Yes Thorin. We are alive”