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When there is no resounding victory in Azog’s defeat, and the line of Durin hangs in the balance, a simple Hobbit named Belladona Baggins unknowingly chooses the ending to a battle that will be told for generations to come.
Holding Thorin to her, Bella sweeps the bloodied hair from his face, shushing as he attempts to make his heartfelt last words. She does not want to hear this goodbye. Not with so much left unsaid and undone between them.
“…Farewell, Miss Baggins. Go back to your books and your armchair. Plant your trees. Watch them grow…” His bittersweet smile calls her tears to spill forth and she shakes her head, unwilling to see his life end now when everything they have fought for lies within reach, and so much still lies undeclared in her heart.
Thorin’s body shakes with coughing, and it is piteous for one of such strength to be made so frail.
“If more people valued home above gold, this world would be a merrier place…”
“It will be merrier with you in it, Thorin. Don’t give up. You’re going to live.” She shakes with the vehemence of her faith, and continues applying pressure to the wound, but there is just so much blood.
With one hand and some quick thinking, she cuts the inner lining of her jacket, and brings the cloth between the slash in his armour. Ignoring the sickening dampness of his blood, she presses down with all her weight upon the fabric covering his wound.
Countless orcs begin crawling from the ruins towards them, but Bella ignores their screams and presses her cheek to his, preferring the last sound she hears to be the breath from Thorin’s lips, for it is a comfort to approach death still believing in something.
“I am sorry, I never got to tell you…” The half-formed confession slips from her, but she cannot bring herself to say it now, at the end of all things. Just as his gaze falls far away, the skies darken, and the eagles arrive with shrieking cries to set upon the orcs. Bella signals to them with shouts, hoping Thorin can still hear her voice.
“The eagles are here! Thorin! The eagles will take us!”
And when an eagle finally spots her, she is scooped up along with Thorin in its claws.
“Take us to Gandalf!” She shouts over the roar of the wind. “To the wizard!”
They land on the fringes of Dale as the orcs scatter in retreat, and at her frantic insistence, Gandalf takes Thorin from her, laying him down upon the cold earth before holding his hands over Thorin’s face. She looks on as Gandalf mutters incantations with a grim determination.
“He is alive, but only just.” He says between chants.
At this, Bella near collapses with relief, but she steadies herself with both hands on her knees. Gandalf, however, is quick to deter any false hope.
“I can make you no promises, he may be beyond any help I can give.”
Her mouth twitches, an unsubtle tell of her distress, but she has learned not to place all her bets on their wandering wizard.
“What about the elves?” She asks, though Gandalf can sense by her flashing eyes and Took-ish set of her jaw that either he will have to ask Thranduil, or she will do it herself.
They send for the Elven king, and in promising away white gems as the last of her share in the treasure, Bella secures three elf healers to tend to Thorin and his nephews. The Elf King hands over the Arkenstone, but she pays it no more than a cursory glance as Gandalf pockets it, almost wishing it had been destroyed in the fighting, but without it, Thorin could not be crowned King – if he lives.
The rest of the Company meet them at the ruined entrance to the mountain. A red-haired elf and her sullen blonde companion join them, holding Kíli between them, and Dwalin brings Fíli. Bella’s heart aches to see them carried over the threshold by a unified force of Elves and Dwarves. She thinks there could be a poetic turn of phrase to be made of it, were she not so fatigued.
“To the sick halls!” Dwalin cries, leading the way for the wounded.
Bella tries to keep up with them as they race through the long corridors, but it is too much for her short legs and weary body. Her foot slips on something wet, probably blood, and she hits the ground with such force that her vision swims in and out of focus.
Disorientated and breathless, she tries to push off the floor, but all her energy is spent. She can only watch, dazed, as Thorin’s limp body is carried away before the encroaching darkness takes her.
~ * ~
Awareness unfurls when a warm light falls across Bella’s eyelids.
Morning sunshine through her window is an accustomed comfort, a gentle reminder to begin the day, though her limbs, still heavy with sleep, protest the notion of waking.
She is so very tired; perhaps she’d been late to bed? No matter. She will gladly make the most of a lay in, for they have been a rarity of late – though she cannot recall why.
From this gap in her memory, tendrils of alertness emerge like fish weaving beneath the surface of her mind, urging her toward something she is not yet lucid enough to remember... Whatever it is, it can wait.
Snuggling down into her feather bed, Bella relinquishes her wits, longing to slip back into the weightlessness of sleep, however, the light will not let her. It pulses unpleasantly, and she presses her face into the pillows to hide from it.
“You’ve slept long enough, Belladonna Baggins.” Says a familiar, irksome voice.
Absently, her mind supplies the image of a grey hat first, and then comes the weathered face beneath it – Gandalf! All her memories break upon her like a flash flood, and at the forefront of her mind is Thorin, just as she had seen him last, still and lifeless as he was carried away.
She bolts upright, only to recoil from the bright light emitting from Gandalf’s staff.
“Be still, you are safe inside the walls of Erebor.” The wizard assures her while snuffing out his light like a candle’s flame. He gives her a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim stone-hewn room with high walls that disappear up into pitch black above. Certainly not her cosy, sun-drenched smial.
It takes her longer to find her voice, rough with disuse, she must force the words from her lips.
“Thorin, is he…”
“All three of Durin's heirs are alive and well,” Gandalf says, resting a hand upon hers, he enjoys the visible relief that washes over her face.
"In fact, they have become quite the nuisances while waiting for you to wake." He mutters, bushy brows hanging over his eyes like grey storm clouds.
At this, Bella tips her head to the side in confusion. How could Thorin be improved in so little time after sustaining such lethal stab wounds?
"H-he's recovered already? Why didn’t you wake me sooner!"
"My dear, you have been asleep for near five days from exhaustion. And after all you have been through of late, I am not surprised." Gandalf says gently, perhaps even with a hint of shame for having been unable to spare her from such a state.
"Five days is plenty of time for the healers to do their work, and dwarves have a remarkable resilience, making them able to endure far more than Hobbits... Physically speaking." He adds with a knowing look.
Bella considers this while stretching her legs under the blankets, finding no lingering weariness in her body. To think that Thorin, as injured as he’d been, now waited upon her to wake, she cannot help but be embarrassed by her delicateness.
"I'll never live it down, taking so long to recover after doing so little." She says, suddenly bashful as she fiddles with the tassels of her blanket. Gandalf scoffs loudly, creating an echo in the oversized room.
"It never ceases to amaze me how little credit Hobbits give to their achievements." He shakes his head, but the wizard's smile is brimming with pride.
"It is by your brave actions that Thorin lives. And it is not something the Dwarves of Erebor will ever forget. Along with the return of this…” From the depths of his sleeves, Gandalf retrieves the luminous Arkenstone.
“I thought it best that you be the one to give it to him.” Gandalf says, tactful in not making mention of why, though Bella remembers. The uncomfortable burden of smuggling the stone out from under Thorin’s nose, and his subsequent anger at her betrayal are unhealed wounds upon her heart.
She knows it had been the right thing to do, but even with a pardon as he lay dying, Bella is not sure what Thorin or the rest of the Company think of her now.
“If I give the Arkenstone to Thorin, will he be… as he was?”
She recalls all too well his gold-drunk rage and incoherency, Thorin even confiding in her as he’d accused his own kin of stealing from him…
“You mean the dragon sickness. No, my dear. I am happy to say with certainty, that in the removing of the stone from the mountain, the curse was lifted from the line of Durin.” The wizard replies with a cheerful smile before abruptly changing tone.
“And thus, I must inform you that the King under the Mountain requests your presence at the earliest convenience. For the sake of all who have suffered his impatience the last few days, please do not keep Thorin waiting.” With that, he deposits the stone upon her blanket and gets to his feet in a swish of grey robes.
“I shall be waiting outside.” The door closes behind him.
Now alone with her thoughts, she can hear the rushing of her pulse at the prospect of seeing Thorin again. Had he been worried for her?
Don’t be a fool. Of course he would want to see you when you hold in your possession his right to rule. Once he has the Arkenstone, he will no longer have need of you.
Ignoring her inner critic (who sounds too much like Lobelia), she cannot help but stoke embers of excitement.
What will Thorin Oakenshield be like now, having finally won back his kingdom? Will he be distant to her from rank and duty, or does the guarded dwarf that had grown fond of her company still lie hidden under the crown…
It is childish to indulge in such fantasy, but she is sure she had not imagined the lingering looks or his enjoyment in their witty exchanges (oft times arguments). Then, there was the sleeping arrangements to consider.
On multiple occasions in making camp, Thorin had placed his bedroll beside hers, just an arm’s reach away – “For your protection” had been his reasoning.
She had spent those nights lying awake, all too aware of his proximity and her growing infatuation. Whenever he slept uncovered by blankets, she’d study his face; her eyes tracing the sharp lines of his cheeks and nose, handsomely tinted by the flickering firelight. Sometimes, he would roll closer to her in his sleep, and she could not help but imagine how it would feel to be woken by him pressing up against her, warm breath and coarse beard against the pointed tip of her ear…
Bella huffs with frustration as she throws off the blanket, cursing Thorin for being so diverting before rushing to ready herself.
Someone must have dressed her in the cream coloured night dress, patterned with dwarven designs, for it is not her own undergarment she wears. Her eyes dart about suspiciously for her belongings, and she spies her own clothes sitting washed and neatly folded upon the stool at the end of her bed alongside Sting.
She hurriedly searches the pockets of her jacket for what had been stored inside, and Bella is both relieved and surprised to find the magic ring is still there, but more importantly, the acorn tucked snugly into the inner pocket.
Whoever had washed her clothes must have been either very pure-hearted or entirely oblivious to not have taken the ring for themselves, but she silently thanks them all the same. She had plans to keep the ring, if only as a reminder of her triumph of wit over Gollum. Truth be told, it unsettles her in much the same way as the Arkenstone had, both touched by unnatural allure. She gladly puts the ring away, choosing instead to examine the acorn in the palm of her hand.
It is a plain little thing, not unlike herself, she thinks.
“A poor prize to take back to the Shire,” Thorin had said. She begs to differ, for it had brought a smile to his face. Thorin’s joy at discovering her trivial acorn had been a brief glimmer of hope in the depths of his dragon sickness that she had clung to like a lifeline, proof that the Thorin she knew was not lost.
She sighs as she fastens the drawstrings of her blouse, recalling how she had almost told him then how the idea of returning home warmed her heart less and less, and that leaving him behind grew more distasteful to her with each day. Regardless, the moment had passed, and then war had come upon them, and now the war was won. The quest, done. The Dwarf King and the simple Hobbit woman must go their own ways.
She will plant her acorn as a reminder that it had all been real. A testament to the fact that, one April morning, she had left her smial and traversed Middle-Earth to rob a dragon for a Kingdom of Dwarves. She had been an eagle flier, riddle maker, barrel rider, and at the end of it all, fallen for the wandering Prince of Durin.
If the years are kind, and the acorn grows to a tree that one day stands tall in her garden, Bella will sit beneath its branches and recall the fond gleam in Thorin eyes as he’d beheld her and her humble acorn. Bella is truly content with such a prize, for in seeing a whole mountain’s hoard of treasure, the only thing she would choose to take from Erebor is the one thing she cannot have.
Enough daydreaming, he’s waiting, she chides herself. Putting an end to her quiet yearning, Bella looks to the wash basin and jug of water and wonders just how quickly she can make herself presentable for an audience with the King of the Seven Dwarf kingdoms.
~ * ~
As promised, she finds Gandalf waiting in the corridor outside her room.
“We do not have far to walk. You have been given a room in the Royal Quarters not far from Thorin’s chambers.” He explains, but before she can wonder why such unnecessary grandeur is being wasted upon her, he places a hand upon her shoulder.
“I’m afraid I cannot accompany you inside; it’s against tradition. But Fíli and Kíli will be there.”
“Oh, that’s good.” She says, though she cannot fathom why Gandalf looks as worried as he had when greeting Beorn the morning after invading the skinchanger’s home. Just what is this meeting about?
They come to a stop before two enormous golden doors, and before them stand Dwalin and Balin. Both give her an encouraging nod, but before they can collect her, Gandalf leans down to whisper some parting advice.
“Remember, any decision will be yours alone to make. Thorin may be King but you can still refuse him.”
“Refuse him what? The Arkenstone?” She hisses back, unsure why Gandalf would even suggest such a thing if the curse had been broken.
“No. He will ask for a great deal more than that.” He says despairingly but does not elaborate, and all of a sudden, she begins to feel sick with worry. What could Thorin possibly want if not the stone?
“Do not be alarmed. Thorin is not as he was before. But I’m afraid you may find yourself in an entirely different kind of trouble.”
“And what kind would that be?”
“Dwarvish.” He says with finality, and upon delivering his cryptic remark, he straightens to full height leaving Bella frowning up at him as he steers her towards the two dwarves.
“It’s good to see you, lass.” Comes Balin’s heartfelt greeting as he guides her forward. “Come now, let’s not keep him waiting any longer.”
“Balin, what’s all this about?” She whispers, though its Dwalin’s somewhat ominous reply that she receives in response.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Growing ever more nervous by the second, Bella looks about over her shoulder to find Gandalf has already gone. The golden doors swing open revealing yet another cavernous room, only this one is decorated in ancient tapestries, trophies, and weapons befitting the splendour of a dwarven king. At the far end of the hall are the wide steps leading to the bedchamber, but waiting in the centre of the room, is Thorin.
Dressed in his inky black royal regalia, he cuts a rather handsome figure against all the grey stone. As do his nephews, each coming to stand either side of their uncle, adorned in princely gold and silver. Bella looks between them, grateful for their healthy complexions and the hearty grins of the boys, but it is the tentative smile on Thorin’s face that draws her attention most.
Balin brings them to a stop a respectable three paces away before stepping forward.
“Presenting Mistress Belladonna Baggins of the Shire.” Balin announces unnecessarily in a jarring formal fashion, bowing so low that his white beard sweeps the floor. When Dwalin does the same, Bella shuffles anxiously, unsure if she should also bow at the waist like a dwarf, or curtsey as is custom for her people.
She settles on the latter, with a straight-backed dip as one leg folds behind her. Her honeyed curls spill over her shoulders as she bows her head, and she does not see how Thorin’s eyes greedily follow their tumbling path past her collar bone and lower still.
“It is pleasing to see you in good health, Miss Baggins.” Thorin greets her with stiff formality, though she notices the way his hands fold in front of him before he corrects himself.
Having become quite adept at deciphering the body language of dwarves, Bella can read the obviousness in which Thorin displays his nerves. This is clearly not how either of them would wish to reunite, and yet she wonders why he cannot just decide as King not to follow such rules. Still, she recognises the importance of good graces, and replies in kind.
“And I am glad too to see you all here safe and recovered.” She bobs her head politely, indulging their formalities but still allowing the sentiment to shine through in her glistening eyes, near moved to tears at the sight of them, fresh faced and alive.
“Indeed, though it is more than our welfare that I wish to discuss with you.” Thorin says with a conflicted look, brows pressing together in a serious expression as he finally leads the meeting towards its purpose.
“The quest of our Company is completed. I had intended to uphold what was promised in contract as reward… only I came to discover you had bargained away your portion in payment for our care.” Thorin shakes his head, no longer surprised by her selflessness, though Bella misunderstands his meaning, thinking instead that he is talking about her bartering of the Arkenstone.
“Oh... Forgive me, I did not mean to presume I still had a share to offer. Let me return it to you…” She reaches into her jacket and reveals the Arkenstone to a chorus of gasps at its beauty.
She studies Thorin carefully as he steps toward her outstretched hand, watching the way his grey eyes glitter with the light of the wondrous stone, his mouth open in awe of its radiance. It still captivates all who look upon it but gone are the haunting shadows it had cast over him once before.
“I know in taking it from the mountain I have caused you much grief, but Gandalf says the curse of the dragon sickness is now lifted. I-I hope that in returning it to you whole and purified, that we can properly make amends of our friendship.” Bella offers in a wavering voice, forcing herself not to fidget from discomfort.
Thorin approaches, close enough to reach out and take the stone from her, but instead, he cradles her hand with his own calloused pair, and the heat that passes between them sends a delighted shiver all the way from her toes to the tips of her ears. He looks down at Bella with unbridled joy and tenderness in his silver eyes.
“Make amends? I am relieved to hear you wish this after my regretful deeds at the gate. It is clear now that you only ever acted in our best interests, and I was too fool to see.”
To this, Bella makes a dismissive snort.
“You were not yourself, Thorin, and now you are. There is nothing to forgive.” Bella says simply, astounding him by how easily she has forgiven him. Were she a dwarrowdam, he knows she would have never again looked his way, let alone agreed to speak with him – yet another reason to be grateful for her softer Hobbit nature.
Thorin’s chest lifts as he draws a long breath in.
“Well then, forgive me now, for I wish to ask for far more from you than friendship.”
Her eyes widening in surprise, Bella can only watch as Thorin gives a signalling nod to Fíli and he steps forward.
“‘Tis by dwarvish custom that as his next of kin, I have the pleasure of announcing to you, Miss Baggins, that Thorin, son of Thráin, wishes to court you.”
Fíli looks on with delight as Bella’s face expresses a flurry of emotions in response. The stone-walled room seems to fall away until all she can see is Thorin, who, despite his best efforts to appear otherwise, looks endearingly unsure as he awaits her answer. He speaks to break the silence.
“It is traditional among dwarves that a courting gift be given to your intended, to be accepted or denied, but I can think of no fair match to all you have gifted me.” Thorin lowers his gaze as if shamed, looking purposely to the Arkenstone in her hand. Meanwhile, the sensation of his thumb gently caressing the back of her hand focuses her attention on what he says next.
“My gift to you is not strictly speaking material – indeed, it is far from what you deserve, but it is all I have to give: The treasure hoard of Erebor. The King’s Jewel. My willing heart, my able hands. All are yours, should you wish to claim them.”
Bella cannot control the tears that spill out from under her lashes. Never in her most wishful dreams had she ever thought he would return her affections. Certainly not once he became king. It is too much for her to fathom in one moment, yet somehow, Bella finds the words to answer him, a little breathless as she fights to control her happy tears.
“And how would one traditionally accept such a gift?”
Thorin’s voice is deepened with fondness and smiles in tentative hope as he answers, “A simple yes will suffice.”
With a delighted peal of laughter, Bella obliges.
“Yes, Thorin. Yes, a thousand times, yes!”
With that, he steps forward to take her in his arms just as she tucks herself against his broad chest. Ever since that day on the carrock when he had first held her, she has wished for nothing else but to know again the solid comfort of his arms. She breathes in the polished metal and wood-smoke tang of his scent just as he places a chaste kiss atop her curls.
Fíli then chooses to awkwardly clear his throat.
“We would begin negotiations, if you are both willing?” He asks with an enquiring brow raise, full of cheekiness. Beside him, Kíli chuckles while procuring what looks to be an official looking parchment scroll from his tunic.
“Yes, yes. Let us formalise the agreement.” Thorin’s deep voice rumbles against her ear before she pulls back from him.
“An agreement? Will this be another contract for me to sign?” She teases, growing bolder in her giddy happiness.
“But of course,” Thorin hums contently, tucking her against his side as they turn towards his nephews, enjoying the softness of her smile and the warmth of her body against his with an eagerness that reminds him of just how long he has waited for this moment; to have all he has ever wished for, and more.
“We dwarves are fiercely protective of that which we desire. And when it comes to you, ibinê, I would be a fool not to bind us together in all the ways I can.”
~ * ~