A Shot in the Dark (Thilbo - Bagginshield)

Chapter 19

Thorin knelt on one bent knee in front of (his) the throne with something unseen in his hands. He seemed to be whispering a string of unbroken Khuzdûl in what almost sounded like a prayer. Bilbo patiently waited until the Dwarf finished speaking before finally making his presence known.

"Thorin?"

The king's wide shoulders and back visibly tensed before relaxing. He slowly got to his feet and turned around to face the Hobbit. He smiled politely, but Bilbo saw that his brows were slanted, and his eyes shadowed by something he could not place.

"Bilbo. I did not hear your approach."

"Hobbits are very good at being quiet when it suits us," he explained, moving closer to the royal Dwarf. "What are you doing?"

"Huh? Oh, it was just... I was apologizing to my grandfather and father," the warrior explained, waving a hand at the throne behind him. In his other hand, Bilbo realized he held the key to the secret door.

"What do you have to apologize for?" he wondered.

"I... I could not protect them," Thorin admitted, closing his eyes and grimacing. "At the Battle of Azanulbizar, my grandfather died at Azog's hands. Then, my father, he... Gandalf found him before he died. He had been tortured to the point where he could not even recall his own name. They were my kings and kin, and I could not save either of them."

"Oh, Thorin," Bilbo sighed, feeling torn between laughing and crying. He knew that Thorin carried guilt and grief in his heart over the fates of his family, but he had not imagined that it would be so great. How much more would his king take onto himself until he realized that some things were not his responsibility? That some things could not be changed no matter how many tears you spilled, or how zealously you wished it?

"It's not your fault that they died," the Hobbit said, and when Thorin began to protest, he reached up with one hand to cover the Dwarf's mouth.

"Don't interrupt me," he ordered, raising his voice. "Just be quiet and listen for a moment. Your grandfather died in a battle that he chose to participate in. Your father died after being captured by an evil that we cannot begin to understand. Neither situation was something you could have predicted let alone changed. So, stop blaming yourself for what happened. I highly doubt that your kings would want you to spend the rest of your life believing you failed them when it was you who managed to reclaim Erebor."

Thorin sighed and tapped at the hand that obscured his mouth. When Bilbo finally released him, he sighed again and rolled his eyes.

"You are ridiculously stubborn and annoyingly logical," the king grumbled, but his eyes had softened into a pale robin blue. "But thank you for your words. They have, oddly enough, made me feel better."

The burglar grinned. "We Hobbits are rather good at that too. Common sense, I mean. Oh, and cooking. We are very good at that too."

"And eating," added the Dwarf, his mouth quirking up into a half smile that was unfairly handsome. "You're rather good at that too."

"Yes, well, what good is cooking if you don't eat well?" he pointed out, tossing his head back so that his hair wasn't in his eyes anymore.

Thorin watched him before nodding to the Hobbit's head. "Your hair has grown quite a bit these past months."

"Yes, I am aware of that. It keeps falling into my face," Bilbo grumbled, shaking his head and making the curls bounce back into his eyes. "See? I keep meaning to cut it but every time I ask someone for scissors, no one seems to have a pair. I think it's a conspiracy."

Thorin did not laugh at his joke as he had intended. Instead, the king did something much, much worse. Without a word, Thorin reached out to push his hair back behind one of his pointed ears. Bilbo froze and stared at the Dwarf as that large hand skimmed his cheekbone, and then the tip of his ear before dropping back to his side.