Bilbo Baggins Will Destroy the Ring and Find His Husband Again!

Thorin Wakes Up and Is Surprised to Find Out He's Not Dead

Thorin Oakenshield wheezed as he stared at the face of his dear hobbit. It was better this way, he told himself. How could he live knowing he had almost killed his Amrâlimê, the light of his life? It would be dishonorable. If he had a beard left, he would cut it for his actions.
"Don't leave me, Thorin." Bilbo sobbed and he tried to muster up a smile for him but it was too late. He took his last breath and let darkness take him.
He woke up screaming for his 'Ibin. He sat up and vomited, hanging his head off the side of his bed. He couldn't grasp where he was. It looked like his old room, the one in the Lonely Mountains. Where were his ancestors? His Grandfather? His Mother? They should be greeting him, welcoming him into Aulë's Halls.
"Brother! Are you alright?" His door was flung open to reveal Frerin. He stared at him and rubbed his eyes. Frerin looked so young! He couldn't be more than fifteen, his beard barley whiskers.
"Frerin, why do you look like that? Where is our Maker?" Frerin gave him a worried look before whispering something to someone out in the hall.
"Nadad, are you okay? I think you must have had a dream. Are you ill?" He laid his hand on his forehead and Thorin marveled at how real it felt. He hadn't seen his baby brother in over one hundred years and he could feel tears falling down his face.
"Mahal, I'm so happy to see you!" He swept him into a hug and ignored his surprised look.
"Boys, what's wrong?" His mother came barreling in, an axe in each hand. She took everything in before setting them down.
"'Amdel! Thorin is sick! He's been acting weird and now he's asking where our Maker is!" His mother sent Frerin away and called a servant in to clean up his mess.
"What's wrong, my son?" He couldn't help his bitter laugh.
"I am dead and I did such a terrible job, even Aulë will not greet me." It was odd that the Maker's halls looked like Erebor. He had no right to the mountain and it left a bad taste in his mouth that he would rest here until the end of the world. Perhaps this was his punishment? A well deserved one, if that was the case.
"Thorin, what are you talking about? Did you spar with Dwalin before bed? You know that gives you night terrors!" He furrowed his eyebrows. He stopped fighting with Dwalin at night after the Desolation. He had his people to look after and mouths to feed, there was no time to duel with him.
He looked closer at his mother and saw her marriage beads. She had sold them on his thirtieth birthday to buy him new boots. He hadn't seen them in years. He frantically looked around his room and scrambled out of his bed. Everything was the same as he remembered. His old gem kit lay on his desk and his first bracelet he had forged himself lay proudly on his shelf. Ignoring his mother's calls, he left his room and looked around. Guards were stationed outside his room and they bowed when he walked by. He walked even faster and found himself outside the throne room.
"Open the door, Thorin." He chanted to himself. He slowly pushed the doors open and froze at the sight before him. The Arkenstone was mounted in the throne, exactly like it was before Smaug came. His grandfather had been so proud when they found it. The Heart of the Mountain, he called it.
"My Prince?" Dwalin looked like he had just woken up, his hair braided tightly against his head. He couldn't help his panicked laughter at the sight of his old friend. Dwalin hadn't had so much hair since they were pebbles!
"My Prince?" He repeated and Thorin frowned. His people never addressed him by his title, he wouldn't allow it. He was a King without a crown. What was the use of formalities when his people were starving? How would a title help a sickly child? It wouldn't and he saw no use for such frivolous behavior.
"Dwalin, what year is it?" He felt a sinking in his stomach as his friend answered.
"It's the year 2066, my Prince." He felt his eyes roll into the back of his head and he fainted.

~~~~~~

Thorin hadn't left his room in a week. He had gone back somehow. He was in his twentieth year. Smaug had not yet taken his home. His people were not yet homeless, living off the scraps of others. His Khîê hadn't even been born yet. His heart stuttered at the thought of Bilbo. He was such a fool. How could he atone for his sins when his beloved wouldn't even remember him? Perhaps it would be better to not seek him out. He had done nothing to earn his One's love. His door was thrown open, pulling him out of his depressing thoughts.
"Nadad! Please come out! Everyone is worried." His sister cried out as she stormed into his room. He had forgotten how loud she used to be. She would crack the floors with her stomps. She had learned to be quiet when they lived in the wildness. One wrong move and they would be forsaken. Dís was only ten years old now, her braids swinging around her face. She had gone through a phase where she would only wear two braids and she would put dozens of claps and beads twined around them.
"Nadad, what did you do to your face?" Her eyes were glued to his chin, where there used to be some sparse hair growing. He had taken a razor and shaved them off. He would not grow a beard. Not until he could forgive himself for all of his many mistakes.
"Don't worry, pebble. Now come here. Nadad wants a hug." She gave him an odd look but let him scoop her up. He knew he had been rather mean around this age before, convinced he was an adult. How wrong he was, Smaug had shown him that.
"Everyone is trying to pretend they aren't afraid. They whisper that you're starting to act like grandfather." She said, her face buried in his hair.
"Hmmm I see. If I start hoarding jewels, I give you permission to hit me over the head, okay? Someone has to make me see reason." He joked and was rewarded with her peals of laughter. Older Dís had lost this carefree attitude and he was suddenly filled with determination. He would not make the same mistakes twice. His people would be safe and he would keep his family together.
"Now pebble, I need help braiding my hair. Would you help this poor dwarf?" She giggled and replied.
"Of course nadad! I've learned two new braiding techniques from father!" As his sister yanked a comb through his hair, he began to plan out a strategy that would help him keep his home.