A Shot in the dark (Bagginshield)

Chapter Two

Bilbo found that he could not breathe.

Every second seemed to turn into an hour as Gandalf stood and headed to the front door with the Dwarves following. He could only watch from his chair as they disappeared around the corner, and listened as the door was opened and greetings were exchanged. When his ears caught the sound of a familiar baritone, he found his breath suddenly returning to him in quick gasps.

He's here. He's here, he's here, he's here, he's here, he's here, he's here —

Suddenly, Bilbo found that did not want to face Thorin again after all. He did not want to face the Dwarf that had lingered in his thoughts and heart for decades. He did not want to remember the days he spent mourning—wishing with every inch of his being that Thorin had survived that final battle. He did not want to remember how much his heart had ached; how many times he had lost himself in memories and daydreams of what could have been.

I can't do this. I can't. How did I ever think I could face him again? he wondered, rising to his feet and heading out of the room. I have to leave. I have to get out of here before they come back. I have to—

His thoughts were cut off as he collided with something large and solid. The impact sent him stumbling back; tripping over his feet and almost falling if not for the hands that latched onto his biceps. They wrapped around his arms like iron vines and hoisted him straight up so that his feet just barely graced the floor.

Without thinking, his eyes went to his savior's face, and he found himself facing Thorin Oakenshield for the first time in eighty years.

—Thorin's body is as cold as ice in death. His face has been cleaned of the blood and gore, and his hair has been brushed back neatly from his face. In the dim candlelight, his pale skin looks waxy and fake. He never stirs, never moves, and the realization that he will never see that face smile again hits him with a brutal force that brings him to his knees—

"So this is the Hobbit," commented Thorin, tilting his head to the side and regarding him with narrowed blue eyes. "He—

—"If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world," Thorin gasps, blood leaking from his pale lips as he struggles to draw breath still. "But, sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell…"—

"—grocer than a burglar," finished the king, glancing to his left to raise a brow at Gandalf.

"And you are very rude for a king," Bilbo said before he could stop himself.

Thorin paused and the air suddenly became very still. "Excuse me?"

"I said that you are very rude for a king. I have invited you and your companions into my home, and have provided food and shelter for the night. A king should know to treat such a host with gratitude instead of mockery," he said without pausing to think. If he stopped to think for even a second then he would remember, and if he remembered then Bilbo knew he would not be able to keep up his façade any longer.

Thorin slowly turned his gaze back to him. His face looked as if it had been carved from stone for it was so serious and still. Only his eyes blazed out as bright as blue flames. Dwarves by nature were intense and passionate beings, but Thorin always took it to another level. He was a Dwarf who could feel so much that it consumed his entire being. That intensity had always made itself known most through those fever bright eyes of his.

I had forgotten how intimidating his stare could be, Bilbo thought to himself absently.

"You are correct. I thank you for the hospitality you have provided for us," Thorin finally said, surprising the Hobbit. The Dwarf released him and he took a few steps back the moment his feet touched the floor again.