The Journey

One Last Chance

It became no better. Rough nights among the gold had given Bilbo dark circles under his eyes as well as the dark bruises, and he grimly decided that it was time to act.
     One last time, he decided to talk to Thorin before enacting his plan. Striking up his courage and steeling his nerves, he passed down the empty halls, abandoning the few moments of solitude he had gained, walking deeper and deeper into the mountain to where the treasure lay.
Pausing in the doorway, the gold stretched across the floor, deeper than a man was tall, as far as the eye could see, and in the middle of it, dressed in a rich robe with a gold crown upon his head, slowly pacing, was Thorin. At first he did not notice as the hobbit crossed towards him, but suddenly, he whirled around and ran towards him.
"Where have you been?" he asked commandingly, "I sent everyone out to look for you!"
"I was—I was just—" Bilbo stammered, but Thorin ignored him, pulling him in and sliding a firm hand around his waist, gripping him tightly.
"Never mind, you are here now," Thorin said, leading him controllingly away from the door. "You cannot wander off. There are enemies lurking around every corner."
Bilbo's heart twisted as it always did now when he saw Thorin's face, clouded and searching, brows furrowed. How he wished for it to brighten again, for the mouth to turn upwards in a smile, but he pushed his feelings aside and cautiously proceeded.
"There are no enemies here, only friends," he corrected, but Thorin did not hear him.
"The Lake-men, the Elves," Thorin grumbled, "they want the gold."
Bilbo took a deep breath. "Thorin, we bargained with the men of Lake-town; we owe them something. Now, the Elf-King I can understand, but there are only fourteen of us and hundreds of them. Would you let your company die over a few gems?" he paused, Thorin saying nothing. "Please, Thorin," he pleaded, clutching at his arm, "give them their share."
"No!" Thorin said forcefully, causing Bilbo to jump back, "I will not give up a single coin!" He rounded on him, the hobbit shrinking back. "This treasure is mine—it belonged to my father and his father before that. It is my birthright—and I will defend it from anyone who dares take it from me!"
"Defend it with what?" Bilbo said desperately, "We fight for you, not for your gold. I love you, not the jewels." His frustration finally bubbled forth. "Something is happening inside you, and it's not right. You are obsessed with this treasure—this gold—it's not right!"
"I must defend my own! I must protect it!" Thorin shouted, his face creased with rage.
"And that's something else! You are not protecting, you are obsessing! Every night in your sleep you talk about gold and will not leave this room. And me! You also have changed towards me. You are obsessive—possessive—about me! I cannot find a minute to myself and you are always calling for me to stay near you!"
"Because I love you," Thorin said forcefully, crossing towards him and seizing his hands.
"But you don't," Bilbo said, his voice breaking, "you don't love me anymore. You just want me. I'm no longer a person to you, Thorin, I'm just a thing; another coin, another jewel, for you to possess."
"No," Thorin growled, "you are more than that." He kissed him, but it was aggressive, angry, lustful. Bilbo pulled away.
"That's exactly what I'm talking about," he said, his voice trembling. "You don't love me anymore."
Thorin stood, unmoving, for a moment. Then something flashed behind his eyes and his gaze hardened as he looked upon the small hobbit shaking before him, pain etched into every line in his face.
"You are right," Thorin said finally, advancing forward, "I do not love you anymore. You have betrayed me. This is what is important to me now," he growled, sweeping his arms out across the mountains of gold, "This is what I love—this is where my heart will lie! Now get out of my sight!" he roared, Bilbo stumbling back from his angry strides, eyes wide with terror.
Something seemed to crash within him. He gasped for breath, then whirled around and stumbled out of the hall. The emotions he had held back now flooded forth, and it was all he could do to stagger down the hallway and rush down the corridors, half blinded by tears, not stopping until he reached the outside air, the cold wind biting at his wet cheeks as he sagged against the stone wall and down to the floor, arms over his face, weeping. He did not know how long he sat there, but as his sobs turned to hiccups and he stared out across the winter landscape with bleary eyes, Balin stepped out the door.
"Ah, there you are, laddie," he said warmly, but stopped at the sight of the small hobbit's face. "What is it?"
Bilbo tried to smile, wiping his nose and standing quickly. "Oh, it's nothing," he said, his voice hoarse. He turned away, but Balin stepped up next to him.
"Ah, it's more than nothing if it makes you like that," the older dwarf said kindly. "Now, what's wrong?"
"It's Thorin," Bilbo said, wiping his eyes, "I don't know what's happened to him. He does not care about anything or anyone anymore—not even me."
Balin nodded knowingly. "These days have become rather trying for you, laddie, I can tell."
Bilbo nodded, no words left. Another tear ran down his cheek, but he wiped it away, sniffed and shook himself. "Well, I guess all we can do is stand by him, even if he doesn't stand behind us."
It hurt Balin to see the hobbit suffering so, eyes full of repressed pain, but the sight of Bilbo standing there in his tattered clothes, grimly awaiting the future, struck hope into himself as well. "We'll get through it, laddie, don't let Thorin get you down. He still loves you—the real way—I am sure of that."
Bilbo nodded again resignedly. "Thank you," he said steadily, then turned back into the halls of stone, Balin following behind him. He knew what he needed to do.