Please understand me.
I never meant to hurt you, but this was the only way we could prevent a war.
I needed to hide the Arkenstone for all our sakes!
Bilbo Baggins wished he could've said those words in a way that would help his dear friend listen to him, and not glare in his direction like their ties were severed. His friend gave off a sullen look to everybody, but this was different. It was one thing for the King of the Mountain to be distrustful, but it was another to have his heart shatter in front of thousands by the one whom he valued most.
Bilbo could only imagine what that must've felt like, but he had run out of options. Truly, he tried to pull the King out of his madness sooner. The hobbit saw it himself; he had escaped the possession before. Talking with him at great length seemed to do the trick, unfortunately, he was not as fond of the others in their group to fully resist the temptation of power. It had to be this way, or he'd submit himself and his friends to bloodshed. If there was anything the hobbit was not, it was a coward who'd give up when there was still time. But now, there was not a crumb of time left to dawdle on, and he could only plead silently, hoping his companion would forgive his actions.
The Mountain King was beside himself. He digested Bilbo's words but was unable to filter them like he wanted to. He tried separating the disturbing confession from the charming individual that had delivered them. What Bilbo told him had to be a lie; the hobbit who had trusted to follow him through treacherous crusades surely wouldn't turn his back on him now and steal the Arkenstone. What's more, he wouldn't dare hand off that stone to his enemies, one of which refused to take part in supporting the dwarves in their time of need.
If this was real, then the King feared it would mean everything they shared was under a façade. The dwarf had to remain an impenetrable warrior in front of his foes, so they do not make him out to be a fool struck by emotion. Yet he recalled the memories of the friendship he had built with the hobbit anyway; how he first encountered him and his bumbling words. Nobody evoked such a feeling in the dwarf like frustration and infatuation all at once.
He remembered growing warm at the sight of Bilbo chasing their group to tag along on their adventure. That sensation was too foreign to understand for himself, so he pushed them aside. He did a good job at it too, until that damn thief had the nerve to steal his heart during their fight with the Pale Orc. The new ruler had seen many battles, yet not one had a hobbit with no combat experience run headfirst into defending him- not for glory or acknowledgment, but simply because it was in his nature. That couldn't be someone who'd commit all that just to cheat him in the end.
There were a lot of things the long-haired dwarf refused to say, including how dashing his short companion was even amid chaos. Bilbo looked at him with those soft green eyes, and tousled brown hair. His mouth opened just slightly so oxygen could enter down his throat. It felt like instinct for the King to want to grab ahold of the thief and pry his lips further apart so his tongue could enter. They could wrap themselves in each other and shoo off the world as they did. But duty lies above silly affections. There would be more like Bilbo soon when he solidified his reign. Better than Bilbo even; they would come running down the hills begging for his hand and presenting their bellies where his children can form. Dwarves would be more than happy to please their King. The ruler held that future in his head and narrowed his glare at the one who stole his Arkenstone.
The hobbit was an enemy. He lied to him and twisted his purpose for living. He was meant to reawaken the dwarf kingdom and repopulate so another desecration would never occur again. He had to be strong, like his grandfather, and end those who posed a threat to their community.
The King ordered to have the hobbit sent over the edge of the wall, and the scene that played after was viewed like a hawk from above. Bilbo and the others had horror stricken over their faces, stupefied by this vicious decree. Nobody wanted to go through with it, so he needed to enact his mission alone. He grabbed Bilbo, and dragged him to the edge, pressuring him to go over. But their eyes made contact again, and a cold shrill raked the King's body. Like snakes had slithered underneath his clothing and hissed in his ear, flicking their devious forked tongues along the outer layer.
"...What have you done to me?" the King growled at Bilbo, yanking him away from the edge, which brought equal shock to witnesses. He analyzed the hobbit's features, trying to see what it was about him that was so special. He was only a small, insignificant being who'd prefer to be cozying up with a book by the fire than deal with all of this. He'd be a weak, fearful hobbit hiding in a hole from all the fighting if he hadn't met him. It was because of his need to gain back his homeland that was the reason for this pathetic fool risking his life for a goal that served no interest to him at all.
The King released Bilbo with a loud grunt and stepped back, looking around at his legacy. His teammates, family, the armies up ahead, all their eyes were weary of him. His vision was slurring to a limit he could not withstand. So, with a hand on his head, the King retreated into the darkness of his home.
Soon, he found himself alone in a grand hall, with memories growing more foe than friend in this state. The words of all he encountered tormented him endlessly, overlapping one another to drill their thoughts into him. He tried to walk, to maintain his composure, but they wouldn't allow it. All their insults on his character were overwhelming. His head weaved back and forth like a boulder balancing over a stick. His hand went from his head to his chest, laying over it in desperation to be broken free of this torture.
"Thorin!" Bilbo came to his aid, rushing to lay a hand on his back. The King hadn't realized he was kneeling on the ground, huffing with sweat perspiring on his forehead. "Breathe slowly. That's it..." This couldn't be real. The hobbit was merely a voice that had morphed into a physical presence to trick him.
"Quiet!" he ordered, "I'm tired of hearing it."
Bilbo tightened his lips in compliance but brooded with impatience. The armies could only be held off for so long. "How dare you come here, after all you've done," Thorin descended deeper into the ground. Bilbo could not see the dwarf's face but could picture it distorted in a shape of rage. The hobbit opened his mouth to say something, but halted himself, trying to comply with his partner's request to stay quiet. "Your intentions are not pure..."
Thorin's attempt on Bilbo's life was nothing personal; it was the entity that possessed his soul who wished his demise. Bilbo knew and took pity of the King who curled in fear, but this talk of not having pure intentions shook him.
Their interactions have not always been led with innocence on Bilbo's part. There have been many times where Bilbo needed to calm himself before speaking with the dwarf, so he would not expose himself as a degenerate. Though the King was paranoid, it's possible some of his beliefs stemmed from reality.
"Why would you do this? ...ANSWER ME!"
Bilbo jutted his hand away, "I did it for us."
"Why?"
The hobbit balled his fists, befuddled at this question. He already told him why on the balcony. This felt like a means to get a new confession; offering a second chance to redeem himself or else Thorin would really go through with his fatal order. With every glimmer of hope, it's been shot down right after. Bilbo desperately wanted this time to be the final one, and end in peace, but he couldn't lie.
The dark-haired dwarf slowly got up from the ground, his back away from his partner. "Tell me why you did it," Thorin said lightly, as if he returned to his normal self. Bilbo couldn't trust in it, for it felt less like him breaking free of the curse and more like a bubbling volcano waiting to erupt.
"You discredit me by withholding again?!" the dwarf turned around to see his friend standing firm against him. Thorin refused to wipe away a tear that had dropped from his eye, so Bilbo could see the consequences of his actions.
Bilbo didn't flinch when he was grabbed by his shoulders, "SPEAK, DAMMIT!" Thorin shook him, more tears blinding him, "Why did you bewitch me?!" The thief did not know of the crime he had committed to earn this reaction, and he was left even more stunned.
"What are you on about?"
"It's your fault. It must be!" Thorin carried on, spittle crashing on Bilbo's forehead, "It's never hurt so much. My chest is sore, my limbs aching, my loins are-"
"You're delirious, Thorin," Bilbo said swiftly, "Casting spells on you is not an ability I possess. I would appreciate it if you don't believe such wild theories-".
The dwarf King enveloped the hobbit in his burly arms, squeezing him tightly to where any extra force could potentially snap a bone. Bilbo shuddered as the dwarf's hot breath exhaled onto his ear, followed by a whimper.
"You fooled me into loving you," Thorin groaned, "I can't allow such distraction. No matter how much it hurts..."
Bilbo understood the King's dilemma and almost smiled in his caress because of it. Despite its lack of charm, Thorin's confession released a weight from Bilbo's spirit. The inner conflict of one's mind and heart is something the hobbit knew all too well. The question could've been reversed if he had enough air to speak it.
The dwarf's body grew heavier; as his arms lost their strong hold, Bilbo hurried to place him down on the floor. Thorin was left sat up, legs spread apart, and hands planted behind him, gasping for more air. His cheeks were reddening with heat and more sweat beaded his skin. His chest heaved while he searched for gulps of air.
"You're overheating!" the thief kneeled beside Thorin and assisted in disrobing his garb. He remained in his trousers, but his chest was bare and expanding wider with every breath he took. The brown-haired hobbit looked away while Thorin regained composure, because he was ashamed for viewing his friend's body like a tempting platter. His collarbone was prominent and sturdy, unfractured after years of battle. Pecs unshaven, dark curls seasoning his fair skin. Scars circled around Thorin, but it invited Bilbo to rub them delicately and plant kisses to prove they can still be cherished through disfigurement.
