Bilbo set his jaw and clutched his bags tighter, refusing to turn around. There was a great many things he wanted to say to Thorin, most of them less than cordial. He knew, however, that he shouldn’t address a King in such a way. A King. A King Under The Mountain. That is who Thorin was now- not his friend. Certainly nothing more than that. That he could ever even entertain notions of-…

Perish the thought entirely.

"I may go where I please," Bilbo says simply, his voice curt and falsely polite. "A King you may be now, Thorin, and for that I congratulate you. But I do not owe you my allegiance."

If he had sense enough, he would have left following that statement. There was nothing more to be said, after all. Thorin had hurt him in a way that was too complex to explain further and he refused to have the same done to him again. 

But even so, he took a breath and added out of his dangerous curiosity,

"You have your stone. Your throne, your kingdom. Our contract is broken. I see nothing more to be gained from a burglar."

It was more of a question than a statement, of course, one that Bilbo regretted having asked long after it settled between them.

             It had taken all of Thorin’s strength to force those words from his own throat —— 

                “Don’t go.”

                                    — Pathetic, he knew, and selfish. Bilbo could go wherever he pleased, and where he pleased was the Shire. Of course it was the Shire. It was his home, a home that Bilbo loved just as much as Thorin loved Erebor, and for far better reasons. And, even if Bilbo had nowhere to go, nowhere to set his heart, he was still better off far away from here, from Erebor, from Thorin. Always had been, more than likely, but especially now, especially——

Instinct took over, and Thorin’s hand slid into his pocket. The stone. That at least Bilbo was right about — Thorin did have his stone, for all that it was cold and lifeless in his hand where he had tucked it into his pocket. Thorin could not explain the grasp it had on his heart, could not explain how it had driven him to madness, madness enough to cast out the hobbit who had saved his life, the friend he had learned to love —

        — That thought did not last long, tromped out by every inhibition Thorin had ever garnered. Wrong to have such thoughts. Wrong to think of himself, and yet —

Thorin bowed his head, pulling his hand from his pocket (leaving the stone within it) and raking his fingers through his hair. He could not bring himself to look at Bilbo again, could not bear to see the back of his head and know he was seeing it only because Bilbo would not show him his face.

       ” I was not asking you as a king, Bilbo —          if I may even call you that, anymore.           I was asking you as a friend. Or —          Or as someone who would be your friend once more,          if you would give me the chance to. “

Thorin paused for a long moment, then shook his head, slowly. 

He could feel it in his veins, he could feel the presence of the dragon. A shiver worked its way up and down his spine, he really didn't want to face the creature, he even had the urge to cover his eyes sometimes-- which wouldn't help at all.

John was looking for some smaller animals like rabbits, slightly away from Lake-town somewhere on the mountain landscape to pursue his job as a hunter, but he just couldn't catch anything; everything seemed quiet edgy today.

A sigh left his lips as he looked up to the higher mountains surrounding him. He could simply go back home, but he knew the people needed something to eat and he himself the money.

        --Screw that. He would give it another try later.

Back in Lake-town his first place to go was a small tavern. John had developed the bad habit of drinking when he was stressed or felt frustrated, so there was that. It kind of kept him calm and when he was drunk enough he always started to babble about how much he missed the mainland but didn't want to go back either. 

9: Hand over a flower as a gift.