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“Thorin, please!” Bilbo cried out. “Just listen to me!” He reached out to grasp Thorin’s arm, but Thorin jerked out of the way. Bilbo fell back to the ground, arms shaking and breath raspy from half choked sobs.
The tip of Thorin’s sword was now bare inches from his throat. The steel blade had not touched his skin, yet it felt like an iron vice had clenched round him and he was helpless in its grasp. Thorin stood immobile above him, face darker than he could ever recall.
“I never meant to hurt you,” he whispered. He had never meant for any of this to happen. Never meant to steal the Arkenstone, to betray his beloved’s trust, to see the hate in those piercing blue eyes. What had happened to his dreams of living happily with Thorin? Of kisses, warm hugs and silly smiles? When did they get destroyed? When did they turn to broken shadows of what might have been?
“Thorin,” Bilbo gasped out and looked desperately for a glimmer of anything within Thorin’s face, anything to give him a slim amount of hope. Yet Thorin remained immobile, cold as the stone beneath his feet. Bilbo stared into his eyes, but they had turned to ice and no longer reflected the life they once shone.
“Will you say nothing?” Please say something, anything. I can’t handle this Thorin. I can’t give up on you.
Thorin continued to stare at Bilbo, but his ice never broke and the hate was never lessened. The hard steel of the sword remained at his throat, the physical representation of his betrayal.
Can’t you see this is breaking me? I’ve never felt so small and overwhelmed, I can’t handle it. I love you, but I don’t think you are here anymore.
“Please,” he whispered, “won’t you say something?” Don’t make me give up on you. I tried so hard, but I couldn’t get to you. I would have followed you anywhere, but I don’t know where you’ve gone.
Thorin’s eyes flickered and the sword tip slowly dropped. Bilbo searched desperately for a sign, for anything, in Thorin’s face that would show the dwarf he knew. But there was nothing there. Just empty coldness. Thorin turned his back to Bilbo and walked away, back to the mountain. He never said a word.
Bilbo was numb, body frozen stiff. So this is it? This is the end? It had seemed their love could conquer anything, but it hadn’t. Tears slowly streamed down his face, tracking paths across his face which had once been held beloved, but they did not matter.
Thorin had left. He was gone.
He had followed Thorin across the world, given up his own home to return Thorin to his, and protected him with sword and body. His entire person had changed simply by meeting Thorin, by learning to love him. They had each grown together. But this was the end.
The dwarf Bilbo had fallen in love with was no more. The Thorin Bilbo knew was gone. He hadn’t wanted to give up on him, hadn’t wanted to say good-bye, but there wasn’t a choice any longer. He hadn’t been able to save him.
I would have followed you anywhere. I would have loved you, always.
Bilbo clenched his hands and allowed the flood of tears to pour forth, no longer attempting to control the pain now coursing through him.
Good-bye.