I'd like to hear more about the "song of the mountains" please!!
Ah yes, the reverse of There and Back Yet Again!
Instead of Bilbo, Thorin goes back in time directly after his death, and he's the only one with memories intact.
Not as ~original~ as some other ideas, but fun nonetheless! I've always enjoyed writing from Thorin's pov.
I'm tempted to also rename it 'The Way We Fell'
There is of course, a bunch of canon divergence stuff that happens, and it becomes increasingly divergent from the original quest as it goes on but alas! spoilers means I cannot say a word.
Thorin learns what love is really about in this fic. He's selfish, brash, hot-headed and desperately in love with Bilbo Baggins. I wanted to write about him being in love without the premise of soulmates/Dwarven Ones.
Knocking on that round door was exhilarating. Terrifying. More so when he heard the noises in the house hush, as if his presence was a disturbance to the joy in Bag End. He felt like it was. Heād done such terrible things to his kin and friends when theyād last interacted, not that theyād remember such things.Ā
Thorin remembered, and that was the most draining thing in the world.
The door opened, and he looked away, trying to buy a few measly seconds to hide his nerves and control himself. Heād be careful this time. Thorin cleared his throat, his voice catching on a burning raspy note as he suppressed every possible emotion he had.
Thorin nearly fell to his knees upon seeing Bilboās face.Ā
Those soft, innocent eyes of someone who had yet to be haunted by the perils of their journey. It was unfair, selfish of him to want- need to pull the hobbit into all this again. Yet he would have no other.
No other except Bilbo Baggins.
He stepped in, eyeing as Bilbo stared up at him in awe, nearly shrinking at the power of his presence in the smial. Thorin stamped down the urge to snap at him to knock it off, to come and give him a hug and never let go. A foolish thought, one he was barely able to fight back becoming reality. āYou are Bilbo Baggins?ā He neednāt ask, but he did anyways.
āY-yes. I am Bilbo Baggins! A pleasure to meet you Misterā¦?ā
The walls and fortifications he carefully built in anticipation for this were already straining, on the edge to crumble. The loss of what could have been dug sharp claws into the still raw wound of the ramparts, what heād nearly done to his burglar, his friend, his hobbit, all because Thorin was never as strong as he appeared. āThorin Oakenshield, at your service.ā The words tumbled out easily, but to resist dropping to one knee in front of him and bow with the upmost of respect was far more difficult than heād willingly admit.
Thorinās company looked at him expectantly, but he could not bring himself to care about them at the moment. Bilbo was healthy, happy, smiling, if not a bit nervous, and Thorin barely held back from lunging at him. Instead he paced around the hobbit, eyeing him up and down, appearing to size him up to deem him worthy or not of joining them. Of course he was worthy. Bilbo had always been worthy.
Thorin wanted to ingrain every possible part of Bilbo to memory, drinking in his appearance with an uncouth desperation. Melancholy and loneliness hit him sharper now that Bilbo was right here and Thorin could not do anything to indicate his longing. This was far more cruel than an afterlife. This was torture.
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