Chapter Text
Thorin's head felt empty. Or filled with butter and cotton. Maybe both. Both seemed about right.
He'd had a fever, they said.
Still had it, actually. Fallen into a coma. Infection had started in his leg. Might have to cut it. Fever. Almost died.
Bilbo.
Bilbo and Bofur.
Fairly sure he had asked for them. Several times.
Missed them.
Missed both of them.
Asked for them.
“Bombur say they've left,” Balin told him. “Together.”
Together.
Of course. Bilbo hated him. Bofur never wanted him. Left. Together. Better.
Not better.
Yelled. Demanded. Ordered. Bring them back. His. Could not leave. His. Both. His.
Fever.
Leg. Bad state. Cut it. Pain. Fever.
No news of them. Bilbo and Bofur. Bofur and Bilbo. His. Must come back. His. His. His.
Both of them.
His.
“They've been found,” Balin said. “In the human town. That man, Bard, is bringing them back.”
Good.
Bard, bad. Thief. Stole Bilbo. Stole Arkenstone. Thief.
Back. Both of them. Back to him. Soon. His.
The fever lowered after a few days. It was still difficult to think. It was even harder to speak. Everything felt bright and noisy, and he slept most of the time. Thorin hated it, hated being so weak and useless. Hated knowing that both his nephews were in a critical state, perhaps even dying, and it was his fault. Hated that so many lives had been lost, that might have been saved if he hadn't been so stubborn. Hated that Bilbo and Bofur no longer wanted him, and had try to run away from him.
That hurt the most, if he were to be honest. The rest were his errors as a King, and he had long ago learned to accept he would always fail his people, no matter how hard he tried. But his two lovers leaving meant he had also failed as a dwarf. And that was something new.
Thorin rather regretted having asked for their return, during his feverish times. At the same time, he was fairly sure he had shouted a great deal of nonsense at that time, and he was rather surprised that only this particular order had been obeyed. He suspected Gandalf had something to do with it, meddlesome wizard that he was, but Thorin was determined that this time the old fool's plan would not succeed. He was a proud dwarf, but he knew how to accept he had been rejected. He would tell the first dwarf he'd see that things had changed, that his two lovers (friends, he'd have to say friends) were to be left alone and allowed to go wherever they wanted.
But the next dwarf was Dwalin, and he had Bofur and Bilbo with him. They were holding each other's hand, like scared children, and it worried Thorin. He hadn't always done right by them, but certainly he didn't deserve to be looked at like some sort of horrifying ghost, did he? Or maybe their fear had more to do with the fact that Dwalin looked ready to skin them alive, if only anyone would be so kind as to give the order.
“Leave us alone,” Thorin ordered. “Make sure we are not disturbed.
His old friend grimaced, clearly unhappy that this was not the order he wanted, but he left all the same. As soon as Dwalin was gone, Bilbo left Bofur's side and ran to Thorin, grabbing his hand and holding it tight.
“We thought you were dead!” the hobbit exclaimed before the dwarf could say a thing. “You had no pulse, I checked twice, and I couldn't see you breathe, and you had gone limp, and we left because we thought you were dead!”
“Not quite yet, my little burglar, though Oin says it's not for lack of trying.”
“We shouldn't have left,” Bilbo whispered, horrified. “It was not right. But I... I couldn't stand it, you being dead, and just the idea of them burying you... I couldn't stand it, I couldn't stay a single day more in that blasted mountain without you.”
“And Bofur followed you, of course.”
Thorin's gaze went from his hobbit to the other dwarf who still stood a respectable distance from his bed. The king wanted to call him to himself, to feel him close and hold his hand just as he was touching Bilbo's, but he dared not. Bofur had just learned that he'd once again have to share Bilbo's love, it would have been cruel to ask him to fake affection for Thorin now. But the hobbit had no such qualms, and he motioned for the toymaker to come nearer.
“We're not leaving again,” Bilbo solemny declared, holding both their hands. “This time you are stuck with us, Thorin Oakenshield.”
“Until the end,” Bofur sighed with a small smile.
“Until the end,” Thorin repeated.
And he knew it was selfish, but he was glad that the two of them were once again his.
The following days passed rather nicely, all things considered. Thorin's wound were slowly healing, and he was required to rest a lot, which he found absolutely unbearable and boring, but there was nothing to be done about it. Bilbo and Bofur had been horrified to discover their lover had lost one leg after it had become infected, and had decided to take as good a care of him as could ever be. They barely left him alone a single moment, having asked for beddings to be installed for them, close to him. It was Bilbo who was the most present of the two, but only because it was easier for Bofur to carry anything they could need and to talk to the other dwarves.
It had hurt Thorin's pride at first to lie in bed when there was so much to do to rebuild Erebor. But spending time with his lovers without fear of being discovered or attacked wasn't so bad. Bilbo had turned out to be a true mother hen, intent on fattening Thorin until he deemed him healthy again. The hobbit sent Bofur down to the kitchens almost everyday, with new recipes that he was remembering, and Bombur was more than glad to try them.
“I'll soon be as fat as a troll,” Thorin complained once when he saw the size of his place. “And I do not approve to have so much food wasted on me when others could going hungry.”
“It's not wasted if you actually eat it, Thorin Oakenshield,” Bilbo reminded him, “and you are given neither more nor less than anyone else in the mountain. Now finish what's here, or we're not telling you what news we have from Fili.”
That was all the motivation the king needed. The fate of his nephew was his greatest cause of guilt these days, and he regretted more than ever that he had dragged them in such a dangerous quest. That they had insisted, and had made it clear that they would follow him with or without his consent was of little importance; as their uncle, he should have been able to protect them, even from the foolishness of their youth.
“Fili is better than anyone would have dared to hope,” Bilbo cheerfully announced once the plate was empty. “What's left of his arm is healing nicely, and they think his eye might be saved after all. It will take a few week, and he probably won't see as well as before, but that's still good news. And he doesn't seem to mind too much, anyway. The little fiend is showing off his scars to his healer every time he can, I've heard.”
“Can't blame him,” Bofur chuckled. “I've seen the lass, she's as pretty as a diamond, and were I not otherwise engaged, I might have hurt meself just to have her care for me.”
“And what of Kili?” Thorin asked. “Any news from him?”
Bilbo and Bofur's smiles disappeared.
“Still nothing,” Bofur sighed sadly. “Ori... well, the lad is more than half in love with him. Says he's going to heal him. Make him better. Swears there's improvement. But it's... I've seen the wound, my king, and it as ugly as Bifur's ever was, except my cousin woke after a day, and it's been ten for Kili. Ye should not have too much hope for the boy.”
As he said that, the toymaker caressed the king's hand soothingly. The gesture must have been unconscious: as soon as Thorin moved, trying to properly take his lover's hand in his, Bofur withdrew and took a few steps away from the bed.
It made Bilbo frown.
This sort of things had become usual for them, sadly. It pained Thorin that the distance between them seemed to have grown since the battle. That night, when Bofur had agreed to remain with him as he waited for dawn, he had thought that, maybe, there was hope for him to really become Bofur's lover, rather than the dwarf with whom he was forced to share Bilbo. But now the toymaker openly avoided him, refusing even to be touched, as if any contact with Thorin burned him.
Still, the king had promised himself that, as soon as he was well again, he'd find a way to properly court and seduce Bofur. But for now, he had to accept that he was just being tolerated for Bilbo's sake.
Two weeks after the battle, Thorin grew too restless and had to be allowed to sit and work, at last. His healers entirely disapproved, and Oin promised that it was a terrible decision, but it was that or having to deal with a very grumpy king. Thorin had felt vaguely insulted when Bilbo had presented it that way to Oin, and even more so when the old dwarf had looked at him, and nodded with an air of resignation.
He wasn't that difficult to deal with, really.
But he had too much to do to stay offended very long. There were reports to read and hear, orders to give, disputes to settle, homes to find for those of Dain's people who had decided to remain, and food for the winter to be bought. Thorin, thank the Creator, was helped in all this by Balin, who was his voice in public, and by Bofur, who acted as his ears and eyes, inspecting everything that needed to be inspected, checking everything that needed to be checked. He even dared a few comments of his own, now and then, which pleased Thorin more than he would have admitted. Seeing Bofur work so hard for the sake of his kingdom touched him deeply, even though he was almost sure the other dwarf was just using it as an excuse to stay away from him. And with that bitter-sweet thought in head, he'd go back to reading treaties.
“You work too hard,” Bilbo complained one night, as the king was finished a letter for the Master of Esgaroth. “You are still healing, and I suggested you occupied yourself so you'd not go mad, that's all. I didn't think you'd try to take care of the entire kingdom by yourself just yet. You are supposed to be resting, Thorin Oakenshield. I do not want Bofur and me to have to go into mourning. Again.”
“I'm still amazed that it's somehow my fault if you thought me dead.”
“You were being over dramatic, though I suppose I should be used to it by now, and you made me come to ask for my forgiveness, what was I supposed to think? That reminds me, I've been meaning to ask you something for a while now...”
“Yes?”
“Why just me? You were dying, or so you thought. Why only ask for me, why not Bofur too?”
“Because I did not think he would want to see me,” Thorin explained, surprised it needed to be said. Surely, Bilbo had to have noticed the way Bofur never wanted to be alone with him, and how all their conversations were strictly professional, or about their friends at best. Thorin cared for the other dwarf as much as for the hobbit, but he knew perfectly well that Bofur only stayed for Bilbo.
Bilbo who was now looking at the king with that annoyed frown that often appeared on his beardless face these days, whenever he looked at his lovers.
“If he had not wanted to see you,” the hobbit said slowly, as if talking to a young child, “then he would not have come to see you, not even after I asked him to. And I only had to ask because you didn't. And may I remind you that he chose to stay with you for the battle, rather than to follow me? Think about that, will you?”
A more reasonable dwarf would have thought that the hobbit had made a fair point. Thorin was anything but reasonable, and so he prepared to make a lengthy explanation concerning the importance of fidelity to a king for dwarves, and how even for the sake of a lover you couldn't betray one you had sworn to serve, no matter what it cost you. Bilbo was only saved from this lesson by the doors opening, and Bofur barging in, half breathless. It had the two of them worried for a moment, until they saw the look of pure joy on his face.
“He's awake!” Bofur panted, running to Thorin's side and taking his hand. “Kili is awake! Ori says he's as well as anyone can be after a wound like that, if not better than he ought to be!”
“He's... are you sure?”
“Didn't see him myself, but I heard Ori say he'd talked to him and all. Balin is seeing him right now, and if he's fine they take him with the other wounded, that he may get proper care. Not that Ori didn't do a good job of it. Who'd have thought! Small lad like that, and he did better than Oin. I take back all I said about him refusing the truth, that boy is a wonder!”
Bofur was so taken by his enthusiasm that, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he leant toward Thorin and kissed him soundly on the mouth.
Not that Thorin complained.
It was terribly nice, really. Bofur's lips were rougher than Bilbo's, and his moustache felt nice against Thorin's beard, and the king wouldn't have minded to stay like that a while longer, but all too soon it was over.
Bofur stepped back, looking pale and horrified. “I'm sorry! I didn't mean... I'd never have...”
That had Thorin frowning. He should have expected it, of course. It had only been the meaningless act of a moment of joy too great to be contained, nothing more. And no matter how nice it had been, how much he wanted it again, it would not be wise to ask for more, and...
“Could we PLEASE not do that again?” Bilbo whined loudly. “I swear, sometimes I don't even know what I see in the two of you, you're just so thick.”
The two dwarves stared at him.
“What do you...”
“YOU IDIOTS ARE IN LOVE,” the hobbit yelled. “So much so that Dwalin asked me if I was not worried, and if I'd want a room of my own now. Dwalin. Dwalin, of all people, has noticed it, and yet you both act as if... as if you were teenagers with a crush, and you seem to both think that the other is here because of. Well. Me. Which is stupid. So stop being stupid, and kiss now, and tell each other how much you care for one another, or I swear I'm going back to the Shire, and alone this time.”
“This is ridiculous,” Thorin protested. “I'd have noticed if Bofur had shown any interest in me.”
“Aye,” the other dwarf agreed. “Our Thorin isn't the most subtle of dwarves, is he? I'd have seen it, if there had been something.”
Bilbo threw them a dark look.
“Idiots. Both of you. I'm starting to see why you needed Gandalf's help in the first place, I'm fairly sure the entire company had a full brain even when put together. Thorin, if you must know, it's clear to everyone that Bofur stayed with you because he wanted to stay with you, not out of some misplaced sense of duty as you probably believe, and he grieved you as much as me, if not more. And you, Bofur, I can't believe you haven't noticed how Thorin has used every single occasion he had in the past few days to touch you. He wasn't even subtle about it, if you must know, which bring me back to my conclusion that dwarves are thick.”
Thorin frowned, and tried to protest, but with one look Bilbo shut him up.
“Oh no you don't, Thorin, son of Thrain. You do not talk to me right now. I don't want to hear either of you. I can't even see you right now. So I'm going out to see Bombur, because I could do with some tea and a few biscuits, and when I come back, I rather expect the two of you to have settled things, is that clear?”
How one so small could be so terrifying when angry, it was beyond either dwarf. When Bilbo made for the door they did not try to stop him, though they both jumped when the hobbit managed to slam the heavy door behind him. Hobbits certainly were full of surprises.
“Ye don't have to pretend, ye know,” Bofur mumbled after a long silence, looking away. “I can live with it, and I'll talk to him and make sure he doesn't bother you 'bout it.”
“Was it true, then?”
Bofur turned toward Thorin, and there it was again, that sad smile that the king hated for how fake it was.
“I've never known Bilbo to lie, have ye? 'Course it's true. I'd have left him to ye otherwise, and been glad to know he was happy, but I... liked ye too. And you suggested we did... this.” Bofur made a vague gesture between them and the place where the hobbit had been not long before. “Stupid of me to have agreed. But I'm not a very bright dwarf, Bilbo's right about that.”
“Then we are both stupid,” Thorin answered. “Do you really think I'm one to sacrifice myself and agree to have a lover I don't want?”
“For his sake, maybe.”
“You are an idiot, then. But it appears I still love you, and so I do not mind. Now come here, that I may kiss you as our little hobbit ordered. I do not know about you, but I certainly don't want to take the risk of angering him again.”
Bofur eyed him suspiciously.
“Ye're not having me on, are ye?”
“Come closer, and you'll see soon enough,” Thorin answered with a smile.
Bofur hesitated, still unsure that this wasn't some sort of elaborated prank, and the other dwarf regretted he could not stand up and join him to prove just how serious he was. But Bofur, had last, came to sit next to him on the bed.
Thorin did not lose a minute to join their mouths again, his hands cupping the other dwarf's cheeks and caressing his moustache before slipping to the back of his neck. Bofur was tense at first, but he soon relaxed and kissed back with enthusiasm, his own hands on the king's back, pulling him closer.
“Still thinking I am making a sacrifice for Bilbo's sake?” Thorin asked when they pulled away.
“Ye might be. I'll need a bit more convincing, I think. If ye don't mind.”
And, really, Thorin didn't mind at all.
When Bilbo came back with tea and biscuits, half an hour later, the two dwarves were still kissing and talking nonsense. The hobbit was immediately invited to join them, and he happily complied.
And all was well.
The End