#Bilbo's reached the friendship level where he unlocks Thorin's tragic backstory

[anosrepasi]

Chapter 15: Such Great Heights

Read it on AO3 Start from Chapter 1 The carrock looms before them and for a second Thorin hesitates in his decision, acutely aware that Bilbo is not the same kind of god as his nephews are and might not look at the spot with the same appreciation. “It’s a bit of a climb, but you can see the whole city from the top- I understand if you’d rather-”

Bilbo’s already walking forward, more like leaping, as he starts to tackle the first handholds, “See you at the top, your majesty. Don’t take too long.”

Thorin barks out a laugh, before also tackling the wall. He’s made equal progress with the other god in seconds and allows himself to leisurely pause his climb for a second, “Brash of you to assume you could beat me up to the top when I’ve climbed this wall thousands of times and this is your first attempt.”

Bilbo doesn’t slow down but lets out his own echoing laugh, “I can most certainly beat you to the top, Thorin.”

Thorin leaned in, scaling up a few more feet but making no real effort to get ahead of Bilbo. “And how do you propose that’ll happen, Master Gardener?”

“One, I tend to get underestimated. Which is a mistake,” Bilbo leans away from the wall, using one hand to point a finger in the air as he speaks and Thorin’s eyes follow the motion momentarily, as Bilbo raises a second finger. “Two. I cheat. See you at the top!”

With Bilbo’s exclamation, thick vines erupt from around them from the rock and start pushing up at a rapid speed. Bilbo grabs onto one and Thorin watches as within seconds Bilbo is suddenly towering far above him as he’s carried by the growing vines up the side of the tower. He gives a small wave with his free hand and his face splits into a large grin as he waves.

Well if cheating is on the table.

Thorin closes his eye and walks, letting go of the carrock wall and picturing the smooth surface of the top and opens his eyes to find himself effortlessly seeing the view he had just been picturing, and a rather put out Bilbo freeing himself from the embrace of the vines that had brought him to the top. Thorin merely smiles, “You probably shouldn’t have said anything about cheating, you might have caught me by surprise enough not to cheat myself.”

“I had you for a second there.” Bilbo retorts, though his voice only carries amusement. “The look on your face was a good consolation prize.”

“I’ll concede that.” Thorin says settling at the edge of the rock and looking out at the city, “I have to ask, you didn’t just compromise the structure of the tower for a race though, did you?”

“I promise any vegetation I add to your realm will strengthen it, not weaken it. Especially given that we are currently standing on said structural elements.” Bilbo settled into the spot next to Thorin and finally took in the view, Thorin could tell by the way the other god stilled and the almost-inaudible sharp inhale.

“That’s quite a view.”

Thorin laughed again, and Bilbo’s smile is small but present, “I’m glad you find it impressive, as much fun as the journey up here is, the result is usually the bigger draw.”

“And here I thought you were just having me climb a tower as some weird initiation as official guest to Erebor.”

Thorin chuckles but he can also see the logic in Bilbo’s words, “It’s true you’re one of a small number to be brought here, even before I would be incredibly selective about who knew about this spot and used it as my hideaway from my siblings when I was younger.”

“So this is where the god of death goes when he needs an escape? Lucky me.”

Something catches in Thorin’s throat and he finds himself speaking without thinking about it, the truth slipping easily from him, “Not the ‘God of Death,’ just Thorin. When I first took on the role, this is one of the few places I could consider mine, not my Grandfather’s.”

Bilbo catches the shift and his smile fades slightly, “Ah. You also inherited your calling?”

He could say yes. He could say yes and know that Bilbo wouldn’t press it further after the other god’s own confession about his mother and his calling. And yet that feels like it would be a disservice to them both. Bilbo was open with his past and had shared it easily, regardless of the sadness attached to his memories. Thorin would be lesser to not give his companion the same truth. “No. The tale is a lot more complicated than that.”

“Do you want to share it?”

Thorin inhales slowly, pausing in this moment to decide if he wants to continue or take the offered out that Bilbo is giving him. He exhales and the decision is clear. What matters more is figuring out where to begin his explanation. The beginning doesn’t matter much, all of it good intentions and happy memories that could do nothing to change the results.

“They were going to force Frerin to be King.”

Bilbo’s attention is as sharp as a blade and Thorin does not let himself waver, using the focus to push the words from his mouth like a dance rather than a winding confession. 

“My grandfather first held the title for the God of Death. When he started fading, my father was poised to take it on and we didn’t think much of it, as a family. We had long suspected that my grandfather would not be the only ‘king’ and my Father had never had a strong calling, even after all the centuries had passed and he had children of his own who were of age.” Thorin can remember all of them clearly if he wants to, his father and mother, grandfather and grandmother. The way they had held vigil at his grandfather’s bedside when he first began to fade. But those memories were far to close to the ones that had followed. 

“Then Erebor was attacked and it was just Frerin, Dis and me.”

Ah. Here was where eloquence leaves him entirely.

“Dis was far too young but Elrond and Thranduil insisted that Erebor needed a king and Frerin hadn’t had his calling yet so they wanted him to rule and I- I just looked at him after everything we had been through and all we had lost and he looked terrified. I told them in no uncertain terms they could not force that upon him and if Erebor needed a king so swiftly to crown me and be done with it.”

Bilbo’s eyebrows had scrunched up as he was listening but now his expression widened as comprehension clicked into place. “You had a different calling- That’s why they wanted Frerin to take on the role.”

Thorin nods, not willing to say it out loud. It was uncommon but understandable for a god to inherit their calling and title from a fading god. It was something else bordering on unnatural to renounce a calling, no matter the circumstances. He steadies his gaze on the horizon and forces himself to not watch Bilbo’s reaction.

His decision has brought him satisfaction and regret in equal measure, but those are known by him alone. But he knows what this story looks like to the outside observer, to those who were not in the room. How easy it is to simply label him renouncer, or greedy, ambitious, wrong. How no one else seemed to see the litany of small transgressions against them. How no one else reacted when Frerin went pale and looked like he couldn’t breathe when Elrond declared he would need to inherit the calling. How Dis was taken under care in the Eternal Realm and her brothers would not see her until she had grown up away from them. How they expected him to just nod along to it and give his blessing to have his brother’s fate sacrificed for their order and balance.

How he turned their plans on their heads and instead of Frerin’s fate being thrust upon him by Thranduil and Elrond, Thorin had to take responsibility for it along with everything else he said that day.

Bilbo’s voice is small in the volume of the distance between him and Thorin is snapped back into the awareness there is a witness to his story other than his own recollections. “You renounced your calling, so Frerin wouldn’t have to become something he wasn’t meant for.”

“No, I still dictated his fate that day. We had been attacked and the city had been almost destroyed, we couldn’t remain exposed without some sort of gate to protect the city. I elected Frerin as the gatekeeper.”Suddenly there’s a weight and a warmth on his arm and Thorin startles as he recognizes Bilbo’s hand reaching out and crossing the distance between them. The Gardener’s voice is heavy, “That must have been an unimaginable sacrifice.”There’s a clarity to his next confession that makes it even easier to share than his last. “My first calling was as the God of Duty. Who would I be if I could not take on a loss that would be passed to someone else if I did not carry it?”Bilbo is silent besides him, his hand still resting on Thorin’s arm ask he speaks again after a pause. “I’m starting to believe that’s just a quality of “Thorin,” regardless of calling or titles.”Thorin breathes in sharply but Bilbo continues, reaching for Thorin’s hand and flipping it over so Thorin’s palm is cupped up towards the sky. “I know the opinion of a planting god means very little in the grand scheme of things, nor does it come with the same weight as that of a more relevant god but I have been honored to call myself a guest of your realm and can think of no other god I would be as proud to call a friend- especially now knowing the true depth of your dedication to your people and your kin.” Bilbo drops a small object into Thorin’s palm and closes Thorin’s fingers around it before withdrawing his hand. Each motion feels tinged with intention, like a promise from his hand to Thorin’s. “It’s not much, but if you ever need a gardener, it’d be my pleasure to be of assistance.”

Bilbo makes a motion to stand and Thorin opens his hand to uncover a simple acorn, one taken from the oak tree growing in his hall. The acorn is completely engulfed from view when he closes his hand, as small as it is, and has no indication of being anything more than a seed, but it feels like a precious gem in his palm.

Thorin’s voice betrays him and is no where to be found.

He does not turn to look at his guest, but he can sense Bilbo standing at his back- but whether he is looking down at Thorin or once more looking out to the city, he cannot say. Bilbo’s voice is sweet, calm and deep like the tea he serves. “I should start heading down though, I’d still like to say a proper goodbye to a few people on my way back.”

A hand falls once again on his shoulder, squeezing for just a moment before flitting away, and the voice above him continues, easy and light, “I rather look forward to seeing Frerin again and giving him my regards as well. The way to the docks is easy enough to follow.”

There’s a pause, quiet then followed by a statement made as confidently as the previous, “You’ve had a lot on your shoulders today, as the King of Erebor. It’d be a shame to take that back on without giving yourself a chance to sit and enjoy the view as Thorin for a while. Stay, I’m in no danger of getting lost without your escort.”

Thorin closes his eyes, taking a controlled breath as Bilbo begins to step away back towards the tower ledge. “Bilbo.”

The footsteps stop.

“Thank you- For everything.”

There’s a little huff and Thorin tampers down on the urge to turn, to look back one last time. His pride keeps him rooted in his spot, the view of the city blurred. Bilbo’s parting words are even softer than his previous statements, and tinged with a tone that can only be described as warm. “Of course. I think I’ve become rather fond of you Durins, and your people- you’ve rather grown on me. I hope- I’d like to hope we’ll see each other before too long, reason regardless.”

The footsteps resume and Thorin merely sits and listens as he hears the tower creak with the growth of roots and vines that safely deposit the gardener at the base of the tower. He watches him amble away confidently, one last wave in Thorin’s direction before plunging into the crowd and being lost through the blur of distance and what Thorin will now acknowledge as tears.

Thorin wipes at his face and lets out a mix of a laugh and a sob. Bilbo had been talking about the heaviness of his title but here suddenly he was aware of a weight much heavier, one that Thorin had not noticed wrapped around his neck until he had spoken it out loud and acknowledged its existence. Only to then have it crumble around him like shadows pulling away from a light.

He had not known- he had not realized.

How many centuries had he lived with this weight on him? How many new stones had been added through the years with Elrond’s quiet caution, Thranduil’s sharp contempt, and the combined grief of his siblings? The whispers of the eternal realms subjects, the veiled insults and superstitions that he had to wear like a cloak in the eyes of the other deities.

And then his nephews found a unassuming gardener who’s first reaction was to offer a hand in friendship and empathy, rather than pull away or cower.

What a simple thing. 

What a precious and unfathomable thing.

Thorin pulls the acorn close and cradles it to his chest. His sobs come in waves, as if they’ve been waiting since that day and with every small tragedy that had followed in its wake. Its unseemly, and raw, and painful and it belongs to Thorin and Thorin alone. Not his title, not his history, not anyone but himself in that moment.

As his tears taper off he lays back against the rock, staring up into the shifting purple sky as his breath hitches and calms- the acorn still clutched to his chest like a precious treasure.

His chest feels lighter than it has in eons, like the air around him has thinned to the implication of breath. And yet he is so tired, anchored to the ground.

What a immeasurable and priceless gift to be given.