Chapter Text
“Here you go,” Bilbo said, passing the parcel through the bars to Thorin. The dwarf gratefully accepted, unwrapping it to reveal a loaf of bread, a couple of carrots, and an apple. Thorin made a face, quickly hidden, and set it aside.
Bilbo settled down next to the door to Thorin’s cell, pulling his knees up to his chest, off his feet for the first time that day. The great, galumphing elves were far off at the moment, their guard rounds not taking them by the dwarves for at least another hour, and he enjoyed the relative comfort of the stone floor compared to sneaking around invisible with his heart in his throat.
Thorin had taken out the carrot with a sigh and bit into it, settling on his side of the door so their shoulders touched. He chewed half-heartedly, and after a moment his free hand slipped between the bars and wrapped around Bilbo’s. Neither looked down or acknowledged this, but Bilbo’s hand tightened around Thorin’s.
“Are they still not feeding you well?” Bilbo said sympathetically as Thorin chewed. At least he could steal from the storerooms and stew pots more or less whatever he chose, but the dwarves were slaves to the whims of the elven guards, and Thorin in particular had asked Bilbo to steal extra food for him whenever possible.
“They feed us well enough. At least, none of us know any want,” Thorin said, taking another vicious bite of the carrot and chewing as if it had personally offended him. “No meat as of yet, but there is no shortage of greens," he added, in a tone that suggested ‘greens’ could be substituted for something far less savory.
“Well, as far as I can tell, elves don’t even eat meat,” Bilbo said, his brow furrowing. “They may not have any around.”
Thorin snorted, and tossed aside the remaining stem of the carrot. “Thranduil and his court have a passion for hunting. I should know, I went with them often enough in my youth.”
“But I thought…” Bilbo said, trailing off.
"Elves eat meat just like the rest of us, Master Baggins,” Thorin sighed. “This sudden love of vegetables is simply a joke against Durin’s Folk, just as it was in Rivendell.”
Well, that certainly did it. As much respect as Bilbo might have for Lord Elrond, his overall opinion about Elves was sinking like a stone in the face of their woodland cousins. It was one thing to imprison his friends, but there was no need to be rude about it.
Thorin’s thumb traced idly over Bilbo’s knuckles, then with a grimace he leaned forward, picking up the apple from the heap of food Bilbo had brought him, taking a half-hearted bite out of the side.
“Why are you making that face?” Bilbo said curiously, eying Thorin’s desultory expression as he munched. You would have thought the dwarf was being subjected to thumbscrews with every bite, an expression so peculiar to Bilbo for the sheer fact he had never seen it on a hobbit. No matter the time of day, or even if he had just eaten a feast, a hobbit would accept and gladly eat an apple like that one with every sign of relish. Bilbo eyed the white meat of the fruit, not seeing anything wrong with it, not even a bruise to mar the shiny surface. “Is there something wrong with it?”
Thorin sighed, sinking down further against the wall of his prison and taking the apple from his lips half-eaten, holding it idly in his left hand, draped over his knee while his right stayed intertwined with Bilbo’s. “I do not wish to be selfish. You’re risking life and limb to bring us information, and to find a method of our escape, and all I can do is wait here in impotence,” Thorin kicked out at the bars of his prison, which rattled but, unsurprisingly, held fast. “The least I can do is offer you aid in this form, should disaster strike.”
Bilbo jaw dropped, then closed as his brow furrowed and he cocked his head to the side. “By… eating an apple?”
“The fifth this day,” Thorin said with a look of disgust, as if he wished to do nothing more than chuck the offending fruit across the room, or preferably at a passing elf’s head. “I’m beginning to hate the sight of them.”
“Give it here then, I’ll finish it if it’s such a chore,” Bilbo said, to which Thorin gladly acquiesced, passing the apple through the bars, and Bilbo finished it in short order. The lack of handkerchief meant licking the juices off his hands, but there was no helping it. Thorin stared strangely at the display, only looking away when Bilbo sucked at his fingers, the dwarf’s ears gone bright red beneath the folds of his hair.
“I don’t know how you do that,” Thorin said, after clearing his throat, his voice oddly hoarse. “The mere thought of another bite makes me ill.”
Bilbo looked at him. “Then why precisely are you even trying? It’s going to be at least a few more days before I get us out of here, Thorin, there’s no need to make yourself sick.”
“What else can I do? My only hope is to offer you some healing in return, this is the only way I can lend any aid at all,” Thorin said, frowning down at his hands, and then at the loaf of bread still waiting to be consumed.
“Healing in return…? Oh, oh! Oh, Thorin, no, no no no!” Bilbo dissolved into helpless giggles, clutching his side and Thorin’s hand as he puffed and wheezed. “Oh no! It doesn’t work that way!”
Thorin had gone very stiff and indignant at Bilbo’s outburst, but the severity of his expression fell, melting into confusion as he said, “It does not?”
“No, my dear, not at all! You’re not a hobbit! How on earth could you be expected to lend any of it back, my goodness, the very idea is preposterous!” Bilbo clapped a hand over his mouth at Thorin’s affronted expression.
“I merely thought…” Thorin began as Bilbo’s laughter fell to quiet snickering. He frowned. “Is it so absurd to assume that the bond between us may lend aid in either direction, or that I may try to help you however I can?”
At this Bilbo did sober, wiping a hand over his face and taking with it his grin. “No, no of course not. Indeed, I’m very grateful and touched, truly. There hasn’t been a soul bond between a hobbit and a member of another race in ages, probably not since my Took ancestor and his fairy wife, an elf of course. But I can assure you, we’re well aware of the implications. No, I’m afraid only hobbits have this particular gift. Can you imagine? You’d make yourselves sick trying to keep up with us, our whole lives are built around our little magics! As far as I can tell, you dwarves hardly burn up your food at all, going for days without eating as you do.”
“So I have been forcing down Thranduil’s rabbit food for no reason?” Thorin growled.
Bilbo offered a wan half-smile. “Well, surely it can’t hurt to keep your own strength up, but no, my dear, it wouldn’t do anything at all.”
Thorin humphed, but nevertheless looked a trifle relieved as he set the loaf of bread aside for later. For a long moment they sat there in silence, listening to the echoes of the underground vaults, the slow drip of distant water and the rushing of the river far below. He only stirred when Bilbo leaned closer, pressing his curly head to the bars and his body as close as it could to where Thorin sat, hands clenching tighter around one another.
“Thank you. It was a lovely thought,” Bilbo murmured. “I will get us out of here, Thorin, I promise.” With that, Bilbo hefted himself to his feet, looking out into the half-lit corridors of the Elvenking’s hall. Back turned, he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, fingering the golden ring.
“Stay safe,” Thorin said quietly behind him. Bilbo nodded, not daring to look back as he rounded the corner, slipping his ring on as soon as he was out of sight.
As such, Bilbo did not see Thorin’s expression tighten with worry and strain, or the moment he pulled his knees up to his chest, looking at the loaf of bread beside him and away, back to the shadowed halls that swallowed his kurdel.