Chapter Text
As a hobbit going on its first adventure, he had seen many things. Many more than any other hobbit ever had… At first, that had been intriguing, and exciting. Now, he wasn’t so very sure what to think of it anymore…
After all, what was one small hobbit in a hall full of injured dwarves, elves and humans…
With his hands still clutching at his clothes, he stared down at his grimy feet, clad with orc-blood and mud. He felt so awfully cold, and at a loss… He had survived the battle, but at what cost? So many around him had not been nearly as lucky, and it made his head toil. To hear so many of them in pain made him sick to his belly, and he’d wished to be somewhere else — anywhere else. But he couldn’t be. He dared not be.
“Laddie?” Bilbo glanced up briefly, shaken from his haze. Bofur was crouching before him, something he had not even noticed him doing. “Are ya alright?”
“I’ll… be okay.” He sniffed, trying to give Bofur one reassuring nod. It was not what he had done, for he could see Bofur’s eyes twist with pity, rather than comfort. “I need a moment.”
“If there is anything I can do,” he offered. Bilbo did not know what to say. “Come… How about we go and see a healer?”
“No. No, I won’t.”
Bofur’s brow kit together with concern. “But you’re bleeding, lad…” Bilbo absently brought his hand to his throbbing brow.
It was not enough. “Surely others are more injured.”
“Let me fetch someone. Anyone — “
“I said no,” Bilbo said stubbornly, feeling his head seize as he did. He gripped it and bent over. Bofur was immediately rubbing his back and hushing him, a sound that, frankly, only increased the pressure on his already tight skull.
He wasn’t lying, and he wasn’t trying to make it difficult on Bofur. He simply knew that there were many, many others out there that would be… quite literally dying for some aid. What was one rock to his head in comparison to…
Bilbo shook. He dared not even think of it.
To make matters even worse, his own friends had fallen victim to this battle. Luckily they had not paid with their lives, but they were severely wounded. And to add insult to that very injury, they were two of the youngest members of the company, two of the most innocent… and two he’d grown very fond of over the course of their journey.
“Ah. There you are.” Bilbo glanced up with watery eyes. Through the crowd moved a blur of grey. Bilbo had blinked hard — his vision was still a bit out of whack, but he needn’t see to know who that voice belonged to. “I’ve been worried. Bofur, I trust you have taken fine care of him.”
“I tried,” Bofur murmured silently. Again, his hand began to circle across Bilbo’s back. “How are the lads?”
This was something that drew Bilbo’s immediate attention. He was scared to listen, to hear any form of bad news… but any news was better than nothing at this point.
“They will be just fine,” Gandalf comforted them with. Bilbo had not expected to express his relief in an actual groan. “Fíli has taken quite a beating, but he has managed to keep his brother alive! Kíli will soon be feeling much better. Thorin is there with them now, to keep them calm. Only some small wounds, here and there, nothing lethal.” Gandalf leaned on his staff, grinning at the hobbit. “All thanks to you, my dear friend.”
It earned him a pat on his shoulder from Bofur, but Bilbo hardly felt any better because of it. He’d done fairly little to help, he had only come to warn them… Thorin and Dwalin had done the most, and had actually made sure Fíli and Kíli would come out alive. He dared not take responsibility nor pride for the survival of the boys. For now, he was glad they were alive, and yet he still feared deeply, so much he was trembling, even after this good news.
He was not invited to see Fíli and Kíli. Logical, he argued with himself, but he had been wishing to have a quick look, make sure they would be alright. But as long as Thorin was there with them, they would be. He would have to have faith in that. In him. Although, Bilbo had wished to see Thorin as well… He hadn’t seen him since the fight either, and… well, he would never admit it, but he had feared for him most. And even though his nephews were clearly more hurt than Thorin was, Bilbo still worried about him more than he did the boys.
That same night, he slept on the ground like everybody else. There were a few mats, but Bilbo loathed to use those. They stunk of his grandmother’s smial, dusty and stuffy, but also of ash and a bit too much like bacon, but not in a good way.
So, instead, he slumbered through a part of the night on the cold, stone floor, like he had done many nights in the Woodland Realm. It did not last, of course — with such a fierce headache and daunting nightmares, who could have expected him to sleep through the night? Not to mention that the sounds in the hall had never stilled, not for a moment, and Bilbo could not stand the sound of the others in pain for one second longer!
In the beginning of winter, no more than twelve hours since the battle, he sat outside the gates of Erebor, chilled to the bone by the low temperature, but also by the sight that stretched out before him. Smoke was still coming from Dale, even after so very long, and it would be even longer before they had cleared the fields. People were still moving about, people of all races — searching and carrying. Bilbo hugged himself, sending a blessing to Yavanna for not having taken one of his own friends.
“Master Baggins?”
Bilbo whipped his head around, never having felt so urgent before to answer a call, but hissed a moment later. He held onto his sore head, that was now spinning again. “Yes,” he ground out. “I’m here.”
A heavy step came moving over, accompanied by a small tick. “Are you hurt? Have you not been looked after?”
Wetting his lips, he glanced up again, moving his head more slowly. Thorin stood beside him, wearing no fancy, fur cloak to keep him warm, but a simple, brown rag, something possibly related to a potato sack. “A small mishap,” Bilbo decided to say. “How are Fíli and Kíli?”
“They are well.” Thorin grinned at him. “Had it not been for you — “
“It was hardly of my doing, Thorin,” he muttered irritably.
Thorin raised his brow at him, only it vanished all too soon. He sighed, dipping his head in acknowledgment. “I owe you my apologies, Bilbo… For what I have done, for the things I have said…”
Bilbo averted his gaze. He’d tried hard not to think about it, and in all honesty, he was not upset with Thorin. He did not hold his corruption against him. What had been said had been said, and what had been done, well — one might argue that Bilbo had it coming. Stealing the most valuable stone right from underneath Thorin’s nose! His wrath had not been misplaced, nor had his action been. Yes, his back still hurt a bit, but that was not what had mattered to him.
What had upset him was quite simple, in a way. At the same time, to him, it was terribly confusing.
It had started… probably somewhere during their imprisonment in Mirkwood. They had spent several days there, locked behind bars, underfed and forgotten. Bilbo had scouted all the dwarves, assured their health and safety, but he’d found himself clinging to Thorin’s cell the most. Their leader had been particularly withdrawn and silent, often huddled away in the corner, his hands in his hair or face hidden behind his knees. During the most troublesome endeavor that was the barrel ride, Bilbo had fussed most about Thorin, keeping a constant eye on him best he may. From that point on, having to watch Thorin slide through the water, dodging arrows and spears tossed in their direction, he’d felt… something new. Something that had made his stomach ticklish. While he’d first blamed it on his cold, he’d found it harder to ignore when he felt those same flutters again, and again, until they caused him to see Thorin as something more .
Then came the time he spent together with Thorin in Erebor, and those ‘feelings’ had definitely grown beyond reasonable proportions. Thorin had treated him like his most treasured possession, and while — yes, being seen as something to be owned had made him furious, at times, but having Thorin loom over him… Not with an ill mind, but with a strong desire to protect, to keep safe, to look after…
He glanced up at Thorin again. He looked so very worn, and tired… Not illogical, no… but still a sorry sight. Bilbo didn't have it in him to potentially make him feel even worse. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he told Thorin. “I did something awful, you were right to — “
“I wasn’t. And I need you not to justify my wrongdoings,” he said urgently. Bilbo sighed. “I hope to take back my words and my deeds at the gate.”
“Then so you have,” Bilbo said, smiling weakly. He could see Thorin relax, and a moment later, he grinned from one corner of his lips. “How is your foot?”
Thorin was currently wearing only one single boot. His other foot was bare but bandaged, held into the air by the support Thorin could find on his simple crutch. “Hardly worth mentioning. Óin suspects I’ll be able to walk again in less than a month.”
“That’s wonderful,” Bilbo hummed. “The boys?”
Thorin looked briefly at the rock Bilbo was sitting on. Needing to hear nothing — rather, knowing Thorin would never step over his pride and just ask, Bilbo scooted to the right. “Please, there is no need — “
“I insist. Sit.” Bilbo patted with his flat hand on the surface. Thorin hopped over a bit awkwardly, but managed to sit down.
“Fíli has caught the worst of it,” Thorin said solemnly. “He’s bruised to the bone, but he is awake, much unlike Kíli… I fear a lot for him, too. Óin suspects that any wound inflicted will set off a festering of that poison, the one that had been on the arrow. It is still in his blood and as of now, he — we are uncertain whether there is a way or not to see that resolved…”
“Oh dear,” Bilbo whispered, seeing Thorin close his eyes. “I’m so very sorry, Thorin.”
Thorin then held his hands together. “Other than that… Fíli suffers from a broken bone, one in his arm. He cannot move it for a good while. He also took a blow to his sheen, which is now awfully fragile. There are a few cuts here and there, nothing major. If we care enough for them, they should heal decently. Kíli sustained mostly flesh wounds. For now, that is nothing to be worried about. If that poison does end up being a problem, then… we’re not so very sure.”
Bilbo bowed his head slowly, looking down at his own, swinging feet. “Is there anything we can do?”
“Look after them. That is all.”
He nodded sluggishly, and then turned his head to look at Thorin. “And you?” Bilbo asked quietly. Thorin met his gaze. “What with the… gold, and war, and…”
He’d drawn a sigh from Thorin that instantly made him regret having asked that question. Thorin shrunk together, pushing his hands through his filthy, messy hair. “I’m… uncertain.”
This wasn’t what he had hoped to achieve with this conversation. Though, to be fair, he wasn’t sure what else would have happened. Or what he had supposed would happen.
“First things first. A place for us to live. I will send some men to clean the Royal Quarters, so we can seek shelter. I will see to it that you will have your own house. This, I promise.”
“My own house?” he asked. “Thorin, I’m… I’m not staying.”
Thorin looked up in shock.
“I’m leaving with Gandalf.”
“What?” Thorin breathed, clearly taken aback. “Already?”
Bilbo shrugged, looking back at the battlefield. None too soon, if you’d ask him. “Gandalf will leave when he is ready, and I’ll try to be, as well.”
“Oh...”
“Thorin, I’m sorry, but this is no place for me to stay. I will miss you, and the company, but this — this is not my home. I have grown very attached to everybody, and this journey, it has been the best thing that has ever happened to me, but this is… I don’t belong here…”
“And… there is nothing to sway your mind?” Thorin asked him quietly.
Bilbo sighed, knowing not exactly what to say. Perhaps because the truth was a touch too bitter right now.
Yes, he adored them — all of them! And he was especially fond of Thorin, and worried for Fíli and Kíli… But this was not destined to be his life, wasn’t it? No mountain could ever feel like home, not to him. Gandalf would leave soon, and while he was not entirely ready to say his farewells, he was most certainly not happy with the idea of housing himself here, beneath pillars of stone, entirely deprived of daylight and warmth.
He’d wanted to answer, but Balin was there first, suddenly not only in earshot, but also in their view. “Thorin, come, it’s the lads,” he said.
Nothing else needed saying. Thorin hopped off the stone at once and followed Balin, heeding not the wound on his foot. Bilbo made sure to follow them — he wasn’t certain what this was about, but he didn’t feel like he should remain seated to find out!
A separate chamber was kept unoccupied for Fíli and Kíli, one that was grand and, to Bilbo’s utmost delight, warm. He hadn’t felt such a heat in the mountain since Smaug was trying to have them for dinner!
“What is amiss?” Thorin asked, surging over to them. Bilbo approached slowly. They were both asleep.
“Fevers,” Óin muttered angrily, bustling about in the chamber. “Kíli’s got the highest one.”
Ignoring his wound, Thorin hurried over to Kíli’s bedside, and took his head in his hands, feeling his brow. “What can you do?” Thorin asked.
“What anyone can against a fever. Very little,” Óin complained. “And they’re not the only ones, I’ve heard several reports now, not to mention that the flu seems to be spreading like wildfire!”
“Óin, what can we do?” Thorin urged.
Óin stopped walking, frowning at Thorin. “Nothing.” The chamber fell deadly silent. “What we can do is look after them and their wounds, but that is all we can do, Thorin.” Bilbo watched with big eyes, afraid of making the littlest sound. “That is all I can do, right now. There’s many people to look after, and too little hands and knowledge to do it.”
“Then tell us what we need to know!” Thorin’s words thundered through the small room.
Everybody looked instantly wary. Bilbo could tell that it was nothing but worry, but the others didn’t look as convinced. In fact, Dwalin flashed a set of very concerned eyes.
“He’s right,” Bilbo quickly said. Even Thorin was caught off guard by it. “If it’s something like changing their bandages, we can see to it, and you can aid others. We’ll bring them somewhere safe, and the rest of us can tend to their wounds. Clean them, bandage them.”
Óin nodded very slowly for a moment, deep in thought, and then looked over to Thorin. “Very well. I’ll tell you. Give me a moment — “
“Is there not something we can do now?” Thorin prompted impatiently, following Óin’s steps, much to Óin’s displease.
“Perhaps we could prepare them a chamber. Clean out a house for them, find someone to look after them. We can house them there for the moment being, it’ll be much safer than they are here, I wager.”
“I know where,” Thorin said, shooting a couple of glances towards some of the other dwarves. Bilbo, he skipped. “Follow me. We don’t need many hands, not if we act efficiently.”
Bilbo held up his hand, scraping his throat loudly. “Excuse me, hello.” Thorin halted his pace out of the room, looking at him. “I’m a hobbit. I can clean.”
“I… did not suggest you are incapable — “
“I’d fancy a job of cleaning cobwebs over patching up injured dwarves, I hope you know,” he said. Thorin went a bit red in his face, swiftly diverting his gaze. “I have no other use here, let me help. If anyone knows how to make a home hospitable!”
“Master Baggins, with all due respect…” Bilbo hated that sentence. He folded his arms and raised his nose, knowing that, whatever would come next, would not be respectful. “You are hurt, and I wish for you not to exhaust yourself… It’s late, you should be resting.”
Bilbo’s strong composure began to sag away.
“I don’t want you to get any more hurt than you already are,” Thorin murmured, his voice muted, as though he was afraid someone would overhear. He stood very closely to him, holding onto his shoulder. “I only entrust you to look after them,” he then said. After having heard that, it was impossible for Bilbo to look even remotely tough, or offended. “I know they will be safe in your hands, and if possible, I’d keep them nowhere else but there… Would you do me this service? I promise to pay more mind to your wishes in the future — “
“No, no — don’t be absurd.” Bilbo sniffed, shifting on his feet. “I will look after them. I will. They’ll be safe.”
Thorin smiled at him, making Bilbo’s heart flutter. “Thank you,” he said.
Biting down on his lip to keep himself from smiling like a loon, he watched Thorin and some others leave the chamber. Only Óin and himself remained, and suddenly, the atmosphere was a lot less comfortable. Óin was definitely not in his best graces, and no wonder — Fíli and Kíli did not look very well.
Bilbo strode to their bedside, standing between both beds, and took a cloth from a bucket to press it on Fíli’s forehead. The boy stirred, but didn’t do much else.
“They’ll be fine,” Óin said, out of the blue. Bilbo hummed, needing not to be consoled. “As long as someone will stay with them, all should be well. They’ll be healed before Durin can dig up a Balrog!”
He had no idea what it meant, but he smiled regardless, knowing very well Óin could use any form of support right now, even if it meant showing him that he was indeed very funny! And it had not been in vain, for it had earned him Óin’s first smile since the battle.
For now, he could help out where he was needed. At some point, Kíli did wake up. As far as waking up went, of course — he was severely disoriented and exhausted, so there was hardly any reasoning to be done with him. But it did not matter. Kíli woke up, and was almost instantly at ease, seeing Bilbo hover above him. “Did we win?” Kíli whispered, his voice gravelly, and currently heavier than his uncle’s.
Bilbo shushed him, smoothing the wet rag across his hot brow. “We have,” he assured him, “And everybody is alive…”
“Even Fíli?” he asked hoarsely. “And Tauriel?”
“They are. Everybody is well… You are the odd number out,” he said with a quiet chuckle.
Kíli whined briefly, closing his eyes. “Mum‘s going to kill me…”
“She would never.” He rinsed the cloth and left it on Kíli’s brow. However, before he could move away to fetch Kíli some clean water to drink, he was held by his wrist. Kíli was holding onto it tightly, nearly pinching bruises, but Bilbo remained calm and hushed him again, turning back around. “What is it, Kíli?”
“Will you stay?” he asked miserably, his grip growing ever firmer.
Bilbo wet his lips. He did not hesitate, of course, but he wasn’t sure how to reply to it, either.
He managed to remove the bonds of Kíli’s hand by holding onto it, and bringing it back to rest on the bed, where it had been before. “Stay put, you don’t want to hurt yourself.” Kíli’s expectant eyes were still on him, and even with a smile, Bilbo didn’t manage to pry them off him. “I will,” he said, for now. “I’m not going anywhere, Kíli. Not until you feel better.”
That had done it. Kíli grinned ever so weakly, and was seemingly okay with giving in to his sleep. Bilbo sighed, but was happy that Kíli, at least, would be well.
Both of them would be, he told himself. There was no need to despair, as long as they would be looked after! Certainly there would be someone to do it! They would heal whether he was here or in the Shire, right? Someone would fend for them. Maybe… Ori! Yes, or perhaps Bofur! And surely Thorin would come and have a look, if he’d have the time!
But what if they wouldn’t? What if no one would have the time? Would they get sick? Would they die? Thorin would never let that happen, but… they were dwarves, they had more to do here than look after some others… And had Thorin not asked it of him ? That he was the only one he entrusted with his close kin. Besides, it wasn't as though Bilbo could be put to any other use in this mountain!
Looking at them now put that thought in a whole new light. There was something he could do. Something of great importance… But he wasn’t sure if he truly could. Or should.
A chuckle from Óin broke his thought. “Are you with me, laddie?”
“Yes, yes — sorry about that.” He swiftly wavered it off. “A sticky thought.”
“A troublesome one?” Óin sympathized.
Bilbo threw a glance at the boys, hearing himself let out an exasperated sigh. “The most troublesome I’ve had yet…”