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lotr_sesaTitle: Back To The Moment The Very Start
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mahmfic
Author:monkiainen
Pairing: Thorin/Bilbo
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Aftermath of battle, injuries gained in a battle, dealing with the injuries, depression, angst
Disclaimer: None of the characters used in this story belong to me; they are property of Tolkien estate.
Summary: Thorin survives the Battle of Five Armies with a greater cost anyone could have imagined.
Notes:mahmfic, you asked for a fic dealing with disabilities and medical issues. The information on epilepsy I used when I was writing this fic is based on the theory I've learned at nursing school. I have no firsthand experience interacting with people with epilepsy, so I apologize if there are any factual errors or anything wonky in my fic. That being said, I hope you like what I've come up with.
The battle was over. They had won, but with a great cost. Many dwarves and elves and men had lost their lives, but even more orcs and wargs had met their end’s meet during the vicious battle. There was no joy to be seen in the winning side, for the casualties and inflicted damages were too harsh, clouding any possible spark of happiness there could be.
There were large tents for tending the wounded ones; the ones that still could be helped. Those who had no chance of surviving were given a fast and painless death, to honor their deeds as warriors. It was silent, too silent, for everyone was holding their breath what would become of Thorin II Oakenshield. It was a miracle the dwarven king was still alive, after having his skull almost crashed by an orcish battle axe. Many of a lesser dwarf would have died instantly on the impact, but not Thorin. After four days he was still breathing, even though he hadn’t yet gained consciousness. There was no telling if he would ever wake up, and if he did, would he still be able to perform his duties as a king.
A small, lonely figure was regularly seen sitting by the king’s bed. The halfling - hobbit - had refused to leave Thorin’s side no matter what. Óin had given up trying to make Bilbo sleep longer than few hours at a time – he had no heart to deny the hobbit the possible last moments with his mate.
Week after the battle Thorin finally opened his eyes. For a moment he had no idea where he was or what had happened, and who the small person sitting by his bed was. Then darkness took over again, and Thorin fell asleep, completely oblivious of the relief his companions were feeling. Their relief was short-lived, for everyone knew Thorin still had a long road to recovery. Óin had his doubts, but chose to keep them for himself for the time being. No need to distress everyone before the true extent of Thorin’s injuries was all counted for.
Little by little, day by day, Thorin stayed awake a bit longer every time he opened his eyes. It looked like a miracle had happened, and for a moment the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain were hopeful that their king would return to the throne one day. But, oh, the fates were cruel and unkind, for one evening during his daily talks with Bilbo Thorin started convulsing uncontrollably. His limbs were flailing erratically; a trickle of blood was running down on his chin after Thorin had bitten his tongue; his bladder had emptied itself on his sickbed, a strong smell of urine masking the smell of fear Bilbo was feeling for his partner. Óin ran to the scene, but there was nothing he could do to stop the convulsions. It was just as he had afraid, but hoped it wouldn’t be the case with Thorin.
Much later, when Thorin had somewhat regained his normal state, an emergency meeting was held in his tent. Óin explained to everyone with a heavy heart that such convulsions were common to one suffering from a serious head injury. There was no stopping the convulsions, nor preventing them: they would happen from time to time, and one day the convulsions would be lethal. The silence following Óin’s words was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
After that fateful day Thorin seemed to have lost all the hope. He refused to eat or sleep, which in turn increased the probability of the convulsions. Those were very dark times for everyone around Thorin, and for a moment it seemed like the once proud dwarven king was slowly withering away.
It was Dwalin, to everyone’s surprise, who came up with a solution. As much as it pained him to see his oldest and dearest friend to be removed from the throne after so many years of fighting for it, it was clear to everyone Thorin couldn’t rule Erebor the way it was supposed to be ruled. Fíli was already raised as a Thorin’s heir and thus could take the throne, along with his brother and with the help of their mother and rest of the company. But Thorin couldn’t stay at Erebor, no. It would only remain him of the dwarf he could not be anymore. There were talks of Thorin moving into Blue Mountains, or even to Laketown, but neither of the ideas gained much support.
It was all so simple in the end. Thorin would travel with Bilbo to the Shire, a place far away from battles and distress and dwarves. There was not a more peaceful place on earth where Thorin could spend the remaining years of his life. He might not have as many years left as a dwarf of his age would normally have, but at least he could spend them somewhat content with Bilbo. Thorin, at first, vehemently declined, for he did not want to become a burden to his dear hobbit. Words and caresses were exchanged, desperate kisses were given and taken, and yet Thorin refused to change his mind. It would not do for dwarven king to exploit his more tender lover with such a heavy responsibilities.
Upon hearing this, Bilbo finally had enough. Had he not showed throughout their journey how much he was willing to do for Thorin’s sake? Had he not ventured into the dragon’s lair, without knowing he would ever make it back? Had he not fought side by side the dwarfs, even after Thorin himself had banished him from Erebor under false accusations? If Thorin couldn’t see it then he was a bigger fool than Bilbo had originally thought. With those words, Bilbo stormed out from Thorin’s tent, leaving a very thoughtful king behind.
Eventually Balin had Bilbo and Thorin settle their argument. Thorin begged for forgiveness, for in his despair he had failed to notice Bilbo’s efforts for what they were: actions based on unconditional love. Bilbo, understandably, was a bit mistrustful at first, for he had experienced firsthand the mood swings Thorin was prone to these days. Yet, they were able to settle a day to start their long travel to the Shire, accompanied by Dwalin, Bofur, Ori, Óin and Gandalf.
The travel was long and hard. More often than not they had to stop to give Thorin a chance to recover from the convulsions rattling his body from time to time. There were days when Thorin resembled his old self, without a single episode of his illness. There were days when his body was constantly suffering from his illness, making everyone in the company wondering if this was the last of Thorin. It was a very tired, yet relieved company who arrived in the Shire on a bright summer’s day.
Farewells were given and encouraging words were exchanged before Bilbo and Thorin were left at peace. There were talks of letters and frequent visits, even though it was yet unclear if Thorin would even see the next winter.
Generations later there were stories told to the hobbitlings about a lone dwarf and his loyal hobbit partner. The stories would tell that the hobbit and the dwarf were taken away by the elves; other stories said they had lived their lives peacefully in the Shire till the end of time. What was certain was that every year during the month of Solmath an old wearing grey (and later white) robes would pay a visit to Bag’s End, shooting colourful fireworks in the sky.
Recipient:
mahmficAuthor:
monkiainenPairing: Thorin/Bilbo
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Aftermath of battle, injuries gained in a battle, dealing with the injuries, depression, angst
Disclaimer: None of the characters used in this story belong to me; they are property of Tolkien estate.
Summary: Thorin survives the Battle of Five Armies with a greater cost anyone could have imagined.
Notes:
mahmfic, you asked for a fic dealing with disabilities and medical issues. The information on epilepsy I used when I was writing this fic is based on the theory I've learned at nursing school. I have no firsthand experience interacting with people with epilepsy, so I apologize if there are any factual errors or anything wonky in my fic. That being said, I hope you like what I've come up with.The battle was over. They had won, but with a great cost. Many dwarves and elves and men had lost their lives, but even more orcs and wargs had met their end’s meet during the vicious battle. There was no joy to be seen in the winning side, for the casualties and inflicted damages were too harsh, clouding any possible spark of happiness there could be.
There were large tents for tending the wounded ones; the ones that still could be helped. Those who had no chance of surviving were given a fast and painless death, to honor their deeds as warriors. It was silent, too silent, for everyone was holding their breath what would become of Thorin II Oakenshield. It was a miracle the dwarven king was still alive, after having his skull almost crashed by an orcish battle axe. Many of a lesser dwarf would have died instantly on the impact, but not Thorin. After four days he was still breathing, even though he hadn’t yet gained consciousness. There was no telling if he would ever wake up, and if he did, would he still be able to perform his duties as a king.
A small, lonely figure was regularly seen sitting by the king’s bed. The halfling - hobbit - had refused to leave Thorin’s side no matter what. Óin had given up trying to make Bilbo sleep longer than few hours at a time – he had no heart to deny the hobbit the possible last moments with his mate.
Week after the battle Thorin finally opened his eyes. For a moment he had no idea where he was or what had happened, and who the small person sitting by his bed was. Then darkness took over again, and Thorin fell asleep, completely oblivious of the relief his companions were feeling. Their relief was short-lived, for everyone knew Thorin still had a long road to recovery. Óin had his doubts, but chose to keep them for himself for the time being. No need to distress everyone before the true extent of Thorin’s injuries was all counted for.
Little by little, day by day, Thorin stayed awake a bit longer every time he opened his eyes. It looked like a miracle had happened, and for a moment the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain were hopeful that their king would return to the throne one day. But, oh, the fates were cruel and unkind, for one evening during his daily talks with Bilbo Thorin started convulsing uncontrollably. His limbs were flailing erratically; a trickle of blood was running down on his chin after Thorin had bitten his tongue; his bladder had emptied itself on his sickbed, a strong smell of urine masking the smell of fear Bilbo was feeling for his partner. Óin ran to the scene, but there was nothing he could do to stop the convulsions. It was just as he had afraid, but hoped it wouldn’t be the case with Thorin.
Much later, when Thorin had somewhat regained his normal state, an emergency meeting was held in his tent. Óin explained to everyone with a heavy heart that such convulsions were common to one suffering from a serious head injury. There was no stopping the convulsions, nor preventing them: they would happen from time to time, and one day the convulsions would be lethal. The silence following Óin’s words was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
After that fateful day Thorin seemed to have lost all the hope. He refused to eat or sleep, which in turn increased the probability of the convulsions. Those were very dark times for everyone around Thorin, and for a moment it seemed like the once proud dwarven king was slowly withering away.
It was Dwalin, to everyone’s surprise, who came up with a solution. As much as it pained him to see his oldest and dearest friend to be removed from the throne after so many years of fighting for it, it was clear to everyone Thorin couldn’t rule Erebor the way it was supposed to be ruled. Fíli was already raised as a Thorin’s heir and thus could take the throne, along with his brother and with the help of their mother and rest of the company. But Thorin couldn’t stay at Erebor, no. It would only remain him of the dwarf he could not be anymore. There were talks of Thorin moving into Blue Mountains, or even to Laketown, but neither of the ideas gained much support.
It was all so simple in the end. Thorin would travel with Bilbo to the Shire, a place far away from battles and distress and dwarves. There was not a more peaceful place on earth where Thorin could spend the remaining years of his life. He might not have as many years left as a dwarf of his age would normally have, but at least he could spend them somewhat content with Bilbo. Thorin, at first, vehemently declined, for he did not want to become a burden to his dear hobbit. Words and caresses were exchanged, desperate kisses were given and taken, and yet Thorin refused to change his mind. It would not do for dwarven king to exploit his more tender lover with such a heavy responsibilities.
Upon hearing this, Bilbo finally had enough. Had he not showed throughout their journey how much he was willing to do for Thorin’s sake? Had he not ventured into the dragon’s lair, without knowing he would ever make it back? Had he not fought side by side the dwarfs, even after Thorin himself had banished him from Erebor under false accusations? If Thorin couldn’t see it then he was a bigger fool than Bilbo had originally thought. With those words, Bilbo stormed out from Thorin’s tent, leaving a very thoughtful king behind.
Eventually Balin had Bilbo and Thorin settle their argument. Thorin begged for forgiveness, for in his despair he had failed to notice Bilbo’s efforts for what they were: actions based on unconditional love. Bilbo, understandably, was a bit mistrustful at first, for he had experienced firsthand the mood swings Thorin was prone to these days. Yet, they were able to settle a day to start their long travel to the Shire, accompanied by Dwalin, Bofur, Ori, Óin and Gandalf.
The travel was long and hard. More often than not they had to stop to give Thorin a chance to recover from the convulsions rattling his body from time to time. There were days when Thorin resembled his old self, without a single episode of his illness. There were days when his body was constantly suffering from his illness, making everyone in the company wondering if this was the last of Thorin. It was a very tired, yet relieved company who arrived in the Shire on a bright summer’s day.
Farewells were given and encouraging words were exchanged before Bilbo and Thorin were left at peace. There were talks of letters and frequent visits, even though it was yet unclear if Thorin would even see the next winter.
Generations later there were stories told to the hobbitlings about a lone dwarf and his loyal hobbit partner. The stories would tell that the hobbit and the dwarf were taken away by the elves; other stories said they had lived their lives peacefully in the Shire till the end of time. What was certain was that every year during the month of Solmath an old wearing grey (and later white) robes would pay a visit to Bag’s End, shooting colourful fireworks in the sky.
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Date: 2014-12-25 08:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-27 12:35 am (UTC)Thank you for reading and commenting :)
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Date: 2014-12-25 10:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-27 12:37 am (UTC)Thank you for reading and commenting :)
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Date: 2014-12-31 11:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-01-07 04:40 pm (UTC)