👋🏻👋🏻👋🏻 so for the endless WIPs - how about “late for the love of my life”? 👀
totally unrelated but the title reminds me of the song “cleopatra” by the lumineers lol
100% where I got the title from! It was between that and just titling it 'In My Arms' (By Will Killen) But I found the lumineers title far more fitting!
Fun fact I made up this fic idea earlier today, so that's fun! :]
Summary:
Eighteen years after the quest to reclaim the Lonely Mountain, Bilbo is called to Erebor to help aid in making Fili the ruler of Erebor, as he’s come of age. Confused as to why this concerns him in any regard, Bilbo travels back to Erebor, only to discover he’d been married to Thorin posthumously, per the requests of Thorin Oakenshield himself. Bilbo now has to handle that knowledge on top of suddenly discovering he is the consort of Erebor all the while dealing with a world he’s grown quite unfamiliar with. Needless to say, old wounds are reopened.
They reopen further when he discovers there may just be a way to get the rightful king of Erebor back.
Snippet: (rough and needs editing lmao)
“So he never told you what sleeping together meant?”
“I didn’t know it meant anything other than us being caught up with emotions.” Bilbo sighed. “So then after that he…?”
“No. It was after you’d left us at the ramparts he requested a contract drawn up.” Balin explained, unrolling the scroll. “Here it is.”
“So what did sleeping with him do?”
“It made you azlâf. Betrothed.” Balin placed the contract on the desk, sliding it over so the hobbit could read.
“That’s a bit of an important thing to not explain.” Bilbo’s tone dripped with bitterness.
“I’m sorry.”
He felt sick as he picked up the contract. So much for a calm, quiet life of being alone. It seemed Thorin was determined to pester him, however hard he’d tried to forget about their short-lived, unspoken relationship. Every year that passed gradually eased the suffering as Bilbo carefully wove his way around shutting out the loss. He had been so very close to pretending he’d hardly left the Shire for longer than a trip to Rivendell. It was easy to forget when he was home. Where no one questioned him, and no one cared. But here? In Erebor?
The signature at the bottom, the perfect cursive of the name he both loved and hated mocked him. What a terrible fool he was, to think he could push Thorin out. Old memories threatened to surface from the depths of his mind, tightening his throat until he could no longer breathe. If only he hadn’t meant something to Thorin. What was he trying to pull with a stunt like this? Was it purposeful? Was he trying to force the hobbit to relive that day? The day Thorin slipped away before his very eyes, leaving those damn words lingering on his lips, ones he’d been so very cruel to spout in the very last breath? "How dare you." Bilbo whispered to the signature, holding back the tears blurring his vision.
