Chapter Text
"It won't give up, it wants me dead, and goddamn this noise inside my head" - The Becoming, Nine Inch Nails.
Standard Disclaimers! Characters/places/etc. etc. belong to Tolkien & Jackson, mistakes are mine.
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They descended from the Carrock slowly. Most of the company was tired and sore; a combination of the escape from Goblin Town and subsequent fight against Azog and his warg-riders, and a long, uncomfortable flight on the backs of the Eagles of Manwe. When they reached the base early in the afternoon, they stopped at the little river to bathe and treat their wounds; as most had any number of bruises, scratches, and minor burns.
Bilbo sighed as he leaned against the trunk of a great tree, “If my feet ever leave the ground again I shall give my head a shake, Hobbits are most certainly not meant for mountains and climbing,” he muttered to himself. Ironic, that, considering their destination. He watched impassively as the Dwarrows quickly divested themselves of clothing and waded into the river.
“’Ere Bilbo, aren’t ye gonna have a wash?” Bofur called over to him.
Bilbo blinked himself out of reverie, his mind having gone curiously blank. “Oh, yes I suppose I am,” he responded. Suddenly he was all too-aware of the layer of dirt and grime coating his – well, everything now that he thought about it. He walked to the river, nose scrunching in response to the sensation. He quickly stripped and carried his filthy clothing into the flow of the water, scrubbing as best he could before laying the garments on the bank to dry. He went back in just as Fili and Kili went gallivanting by, soaking everything and everyone within a 20-foot radius, and quickly scrubbed himself clean.
Eventually everyone made their way out of the water to lie on the soft grass and dry in the sun. Bilbo sat gingerly with his back to a tree and watched as Oin made his rounds, checking everyone’s injuries. He’d been about to doze off when he heard the heavy footsteps of the medic. “How do you fare Master Baggins?” Oin questioned as he grasped Bilbo’s face and checked his pupils.
“Nothing more serious than some bruising, I assure you,” Bilbo responded. He was stiff and sore all over, but certain that nothing had been broken. Oin pulled some ointment out of his pocket and handed it to the hobbit.
“Apply this to any bruises or burns before you dress,” he instructed. Bilbo thanked the medic and Oin nodded before walking away.
Gloin and Bombur had dug a pit and gotten a fire started. Bilbo applied the cream to the worst of his bruising, then stood up to pull his now-dry clothing back on before moving into the circle of warmth the fire was merrily giving off.
Fili and Kili wandered back into the clearing with a pair of rabbits in their clutches. “These ought to help improve supper!” Kili exclaimed with his typical enthusiasm, still present even after everything from the past few days. He watched as the brothers sat next to the fire to clean them and add the meat to the pathetically watery stew, made from what remained of their supplies.
Bilbo rifled through his pockets, fingers brushing the strange golden ring he’d taken from the tunnels, as he searched desperately for his pipe and weed. “Oh bugger, where did that pipe go! A good smoke would definitely do me good right now,” he grumbled under his breath, pulling said pipe out and inhaling deeply once it was filled and lit.
After a moment a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, causing Bilbo to startle slightly and release the smoke still held in his lungs. “Master Baggins, are you well?” Thorin asked as he came up beside Bilbo, who waved away the smoke in front of his face as he cleared his throat.
“Ahhm I – yes, I will survive I think,” Bilbo responded, with a quirk of his lips, “what of yourself, Thorin? I understand your wounds were a good deal more severe than the rest of us have suffered,” he turned partially towards the Dwarf as he asked.
Thorin’s eyebrow arched, and the hand still on Bilbo’s shoulder fell away. “I have sustained no injuries that I cannot recover from,” – at Bilbo’s stone-faced look, he continued – “I am in some pain, but I have experienced worse before. A full night’s rest and I should be much improved on the morrow,” Thorin explained quietly.
Bilbo “hmmed” in response; after all there really wasn’t anything he could offer the stoic Dwarf to reduce his discomfort. He watched as Thorin pulled out a small pouch, then made a small noise of disgust at its empty state. “Are you out of pipeweed, Thorin?” the Hobbit asked. At the answering nod, Bilbo offered up his own (much-depleted) stash. “I’m afraid my Old Toby is lighter than the more robust variety you Dwarrows seem to prefer, but it is better than nothing,” he explained.
“My thanks, Master Baggins. Indeed, I could find myself becoming accustomed to Hobbit pipeweed,” Thorin replied as he packed his pipe. They stood in companionable silence for a time, smoking and watching the activity of the camp, until Gandalf moved forward to address the Company.
“I always meant to see you all safe (if possible) over the mountains, and now by good management and good luck I have done it. Indeed we are now a good deal further east than I ever meant to come with you, for after all this is not my adventure,” the wizard began, to the loud distress of the Company, “I am not going to disappear this very instant – probably I can help you out of your present plight, for we have little food, and no baggage, and no ponies to ride; and you don’t know where you are.” There was some grumbling at this, for the wizard’s help, if it could be called that, was only ever given at the discretion of the wizard.
“You are still some miles north of the path which we should have been following, and very few people live in these parts. There is somebody I know of, who lives not far away. We must go and find him; and if all goes well at our meeting, I think I shall be off and wish you like the eagles ‘farewell wherever you fare’,” Gandalf concluded. He then turned to advise Thorin directly: “There is not enough light remaining this day to make the journey, and bears prowl the woods ahead in darkness; it would be wise to hold here and begin tomorrow.”
Thorin took a look around the makeshift camp, then agreed, for there was a small cave at the base of the Carrock that offered some small protection. “We stay here this night; eat and rest as best we can, and be ready to move at first light,” Thorin announced to the Dwarrows and Hobbit.
The remainder of the evening was spent in quiet conversation around the fire, everybody quickly succumbing to sleep after the harrowing days previous.
Bilbo was back in the burning pine tree, watching the scene unfold with a surreal sense of deja vu. Being chased off the ground by the warg pack, and leaping tree to tree as the trunks folded under the weight of the beasts. The last remaining tree leaning precariously over the precipice - it was all the same. He watched as Thorin caught sight of his greatest foe, the horror stronger this time around for the anticipation and knowledge of what was coming. Thorin storming out of the tree; charging down the pale orc in a mad quest for vengeance. Bilbo's eyes stung as he watched, the screaming inside his head - echoing the screaming of his companions - to move, to get up, to do something!
Only once Thorin was snapped up in the maw of the white warg did the spell break, and Bilbo's limbs obeyed the commands of his brain; gaining his feet on the branch, and moving back onto solid ground. He sprinted hard as Thorin hit the ground, but he seemed to be moving through molasses. Desperation grew thick in his heart and in his mind, as he watched the order of execution given by Azog as Thorin struggled to reach Orcrist.
Bilbo tore his eyes away to look down, for try as he might he seemed no closer to Thorin than he was a moment - was it only a moment? - ago. He stood ankle-deep in a thick, black liquid; orc blood. It clung to his feet and crawled its way up his shins, fastening him in place.
Behind him Bilbo could still hear the frantic shouts of the Company in the tree. The Hobbit looked over his shoulder, perhaps to apologize, only to find Gandalf missing and the Dwarrows plummeting one by one to their doom. Turning back, Bilbo choked on his own despair as he watched the goblin approaching Thorin, who was now unconscious. Tears of frustration fell as Bilbo watched the scene in front of him, now weirdly sped up. Watched the blade descend toward Thorin's unprotected neck, a spray of blood, and -
Bilbo's eyes flew open, chest heaving, heart pounding. His back shot off the ground as he sat up, wildly looking around to do a head-count: Dwalin-Balin-Fili-Kili-Dori-Nori-Ori-Oin-Gloin-Bifur-Bofur-Bombur-Thorin. All safe. Bilbo took a breath. All whole and healthy. Another breath. All still sleeping; with the exception of Dwalin sitting guard, who was polite enough to give Bilbo the illusion of privacy.
Bilbo got up and headed for the little river they had bathed in earlier, giving a nod to Dwalin as he went by. He waded in until the cold water was halfway to his knees, peering down and feeling somewhat reassured by the sight of pale skin beneath wooly hair, free of any blood. Bilbo knelt and cupped some water in his hands to splash on his face, washing away the sweat clinging to his skin and hoping to clear his mind of all remnants of the nightmare. Straightening, the Hobbit turned his eyes to the bright half-moon and tapestry of stars overhead, concentrating on just breathing.
Returning to the camp some time later, Balin - who was now on watch - offered a soft, comforting smile that Bilbo took as an invitation to sit. They sat in an easy quiet; the Dwarf keeping questions about why Bilbo was up to himself and the Hobbit not wanting to revisit the nightmare so soon, simply enjoying the warm firelight and solid presence of a friend. He remained there until the sun broke over the horizon, when the Company around him began to stir.
---
It took no time at all to get everyone ready to leave since most of their possessions were still deep below Goblintown, so Gandalf urged them on for an early start towards the Someone he knew. Bilbo walked with the Wizard near to the back of the line, and thought it quite odd that Gandalf walked with his head cocked to the side, as if he were listening intently. "Does something follow us, Gandalf?"
"Not that I can detect, though I do not wish to be caught again by the orcs and goblins that are surely on our tail. We outran them with the help of the Eagles, but only temporarily," the Wizard replied, glancing at Bilbo before resuming his trek.
Everyone was exhausted and hungry, and most of them were still hurting from various wounds. The time passed in a haze for Bilbo, who hadn't slept since entering the Misty Mountains, and there weren't any meals to mark the passage of time. They stopped a couple times for short breaks, but Gandalf pushed them as hard as he dared. Bilbo focused singularly on putting one foot in front of the other without stumbling.
The sun had dropped to the horizon when the first of the howls sounded behind them. Bilbo blinked himself back to awareness as everyone froze. The Hobbit looked behind him, back the way they came, then looked to Gandalf, who had moved to the front of the Company.
"Run!" Gandalf cried, "We are near to our destination!" They all took off at a run.
The howl behind them sounded again, closer and louder than before. Bilbo couldn't quite contain the gasp when answering howls sounded to the sides, and peered wildly through the growing gloom even though on some level he knew he would not see them coming. Bilbo's fear and desperation were mounting with every step, and he stumbled when the wargs howled yet again. A hand fisted in his collar, hauling the Hobbit back to his feet before he even hit the ground and pushed him on. "Aint no time for resting yet Bilbo!" Bofur called, his usual cheery voice strangely incongruous with the strain present on his face.
"Rest? Who needs rest? Certainly not this Hobbit!" Bilbo huffed in response, his attempt at sarcasm somewhat ruined by the gasping breaths interrupting his sentence.
Another chorus of howls seemingly right on the heels of the company cut off any further conversation, followed by barking and growling and whooping and Bilbo remembered thinking those wargs and orcs sound much too close for comfort and suddenly there was a great black blur shooting past, and the snapping of their pursuers suddenly changed, the growling becoming shrieks of pain and panic.
The Company tore through the edge of the forest and into a clearing. "There, that is our destination!" cried Gandalf, hurrying towards what appeared to be a large house surrounded by sprawling gardens. Not that any of the Company, Bilbo included, even noticed their surroundings; entirely focused on the front door of the building drawing close. None had even noticed the lack of pursuit or the sudden silence behind them. They piled through the door, those behind pushing those in front further inside. Bilbo ended up bodily shoved to the side, where he promptly dropped to his knees desperately trying to catch his breath. When he finally lifted his head again, it was to come nose to nose with a gray dog. A very tall dog that towered over him where he kneeled; if the Hobbit were standing he would have stood at the same level as the dog's eyes. He let out a frightened yelp and fell back, trying to scramble away, but the dog just sat on its haunches with its tongue lolling comically. Bilbo couldn't decide if he was imagining the amused look in its intelligent eyes.
"You're not afraid of dogs, are you Bilbo?" asked Fili, walking up to the hound and scratching it behind the ear.
"I think I've had my fill of canines recently, thank you. I'll just stay put here if you don't mind," he responded curtly. Bilbo had never had a problem with any kind of animal before, but indeed after being chased all over Yavanna's creation he wanted no part of anything remotely dog-like for the time being. Said dog turned and began to walk away, then looked back at the group of Dwarrows + Hobbit + Wizard still congregating at the door (peeking out, searching for pursuit that was no longer there), and gestured with its head as if to follow it. Fili exchanged a look with Thorin, shrugged, and followed after the dog; the rest of the company moving to do the same. Bilbo looked up when a hand appeared in front of his nose, to see Thorin standing before him.
"Come Master Hobbit, surely being hosted by dogs and sheep cannot be so bad," he remarked, as behind him various animals were moving around (some upright on two legs!) preparing a table. He pulled Bilbo to his feet, and steadied him when his shaky legs threatened to dump him back on the ground. Thorin's brow furrowed slightly as he studied the Hobbit in front of him.
"I'm fine Thorin, thank you, simply tired," Bilbo decided to head off the obvious concern in the Dwarf's eyes, placing a hand on the arm still holding him. Thorin nodded in response and led them to the table.
As they sat and ate, Gandalf explained that the house and animals belonged to a shapeshifter called Beorn, and proceeded to outline various warnings and suggestions for how not to anger the man and subsequently be ripped to shreds by a gigantic bear on a rampage.
After the fabulous supper provided by Beorn's animals Bilbo went to his straw mattress with little delay, for now that his belly was full he could hardly keep his eyes open. Indeed, the Hobbit had almost dozed off at the table, and Bofur had suggested that a plate of mashed potatoes wouldn't make for a very nice pillow. Most of the Dwarrows followed his lead, but some remained awake at the central fire to have a smoke and discuss the plan going forward. Bilbo shed his outer clothes and crawled under the wool blankets, falling asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.
---
Sleep would not remain with Bilbo for long however, for what felt to him like mere minutes later, his eyes snapped open again at the tail end of what was becoming a recurring nightmare. The pine trees, the wargs, Azog and Thorin. Exactly as it had been before. Bilbo could not have been asleep long, for he noted several Dwarrows still awake around the central hearth as he counted the Company, assuring himself everyone was present and safe. Thankfully his distress had been masked by the roaring snores of Bombur and Bifur only a few feet away, and Bilbo lay on his mattress until the familiar sawing had settled his nerves somewhat.
For a time Bilbo drifted in that strange place between sleep and awareness, until finally he rose and went to sit with the Dwarrows still awake. Thorin and Balin sat together near the fire, pipes in hand, armchairs pulled close and talking quietly. He offered a small smile to Thorin when the Dwarf looked over, silently trying to reassure at the first hints of concern brewing in his eyes. Bilbo briefly wondered what they were discussing so seriously - planning the next stage of the journey perhaps? - before moving over to where Ori, Fili and Kili sat playing a card game. He watched them play for a time and the three of them tried to explain how the game worked, before deciding it was much too complicated for him to try and pick up this late. Or early. Either way Bilbo was too tired to grasp the concept of the game.
He sat with the three young Dwarrows while they played, the company preferable to solitude in his current frame of mind, lost in his own thoughts and thinking of home. He wondered if his smial was still his, or if his nosy relatives had ransacked it yet. He wondered if his neighbour and friend, Hamfast Gamgee, was still taking care of the gardens, or if he'd given Bilbo up for dead and let the place go. He wondered about his cousin Drogo Baggins (one of the few Bagginses he actually liked), what he was up to and how he fared, whether he had made any progress with Primula Brandybuck. He wondered what the Shire would be like when (if, given how dangerous this adventure had turned out to be) he returned home. Then Bilbo snorted to himself and shook his head when he realized where that train of thought had gone. Very little ever changed in the Shire.
Bilbo jumped at the sound of chairs scraping beside him, and looked up to see Fili cleaning up the card game. "Well gents, it's been a pleasure playing -" as he gathered up his winnings: what little pipe-weed the other two had left to gamble with, "- but I'm ready to hit the hay. Sweet dreams!" and with a giant, self-satisfied grin he marched off to his bed. Kili gave an exasperated sigh, before following. Bilbo just shook his head in silent fondness.
"Are you alright, Bilbo? You look exhausted," Ori asked timidly from where he remained seated across from him. He looked over at the Dwarf as Ori studied him intently. The Hobbit held back a sigh of his own, but only just. Ori could be surprisingly persistent if he wanted to help someone, and Bilbo really didn't want to draw his attention.
"Yes, I'm alright Ori. I am a bit tired, but I don't think I could sleep just yet," The Dwarf in question raised his eyebrows and continued to hold Bilbo's gaze. "Have you ever been tired to the point of not being able to sleep? As if my body is so used to staying awake that I can't shut it down," Bilbo offered, hoping it would be enough of an explanation - excuse, a voice in the back of his mind whispered - that Ori would let it drop.
The Dwarf gave him a quizzical look, "How odd! I suppose Hobbits are different, but we Dwarrows are generally able to sleep at the drop of a hat, a product of our lifestyle I assume. When travelling or fighting battles (or so I've heard, not that I've seen much battle outside this Quest), we must catch what sleep we can, when we can, and it develops into a habit of sorts," he paused, seeming to have been struck by another thought, "Whenever I used to have trouble sleeping, though, I found that reading sometimes helped," he finished.
Bilbo blinked. "That's a good idea, Ori! My mother used to read to me as a child when I couldn't sleep. It certainly can't do me any harm, and I believe I remember seeing a few books stuffed in a corner earlier," the Hobbit said, looking to said corner, "Thank you. I won't keep you up if you wish to retire though," he said, almost as an afterthought, as he stood to go investigate the books. It really did seem to be late; Balin was now alone at the hearth, staring absent-mindedly into the flames. All the other Dwarves, and Gandalf, were fast asleep.
"Goodnight then Bilbo. Sleep well," Ori responded with a small smile and a friendly pat on the back, and he too moved off to bed. Bilbo silently moved to the pile of books in the corner and grabbed the one on top without look at it, and sat in an armchair within the circle of firelight. After making it through a few pages (which took far longer than it normally would have, as Bilbo kept re-reading passages, or would realize that he'd been staring at a word without actually reading it) the Hobbit looked up and realized he was alone; Balin had gone to his bed at some point.
Taking a deep breath, Bilbo pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, until he started seeing flashes of burning trees and the glint of steel behind his eyelids. He opened his eyes and settled for watching his companions where they slept off to the side of the great hall, propping his chin on his hand. His whole body ached, and was sluggish whenever he moved. There was a pounding at his temples and the base of his skull, and his eyes were gritty and stinging no matter how much he blinked. After realizing he was yet again staring off into space, Bilbo heaved a sigh and continued reading.
Eventually the sky began to lighten, and there was a light shuffling as Beorn's curious animals began to arrange the morning meal. Bilbo put the book aside and went out onto the porch to watch the sunrise, hoping the early-morning air (and a smoke, as he lit up his pipe) would clear some of the cobwebs from his head. As he sat, he could hear the Dwarrows inside rousing from their beds and eagerly (noisily) begin their breakfast.
"Well I guess I should go in, if I don't claim some breakfast soon there won't be a scrap left!" The Hobbit muttered to himself, and turned to go back inside, tapping out his pipe as he went.
After a small breakfast (exhaustion tended to dull his appetite), he decided his only hope of staying awake through the day was to wander outside in the summer sun, and so he spent the majority of the day enjoying Beorn's gardens.
---
Bilbo lay on his straw mattress wishing desperately for sleep. He couldn't remember ever being so tired, or having gone so long without proper sleep, but every time he closed his eyes he saw Thorin beheaded and felt the anguish of the rest of the Company falling to their deaths. He lay there staring at the ceiling, before deciding that a cup of tea would at least offer some comfort. Getting up, Bilbo went over to the dining table, where a hot pot of tea still sat from supper, and poured himself a cup before moving to sit by the fire. Dwalin and Thorin were still up, but were deep in quiet conversation and paid the Hobbit little mind. Bilbo picked up the book he had found yesterday and settled in to read, until he was interrupted by Thorin laying a hand on his shoulder.
"You should be sleeping, Master Baggins," the Dwarf remarked softly.
Bilbo realized that he'd been reading for some time, for the fire had died low and Dwalin was snoring away on his bed. He looked back at Thorin in the gloom, observing the play of shadows over his face. "I will retire shortly, I couldn't sleep, restless I suppose. Reading helps wear my mind out," Bilbo replied, equally quiet. He sincerely hoped the dark would mask the exhaustion in his face, though there would be no hiding it from his voice.
Thorin's hand disappeared from his shoulder and went to Bilbo's chin, tilting his face fully toward Thorin, who peered at the Hobbit with a critical eye. "I can't say I've ever heard of a Hobbit feeling restless. You've not been sleeping, are you ill?" the more Thorin studied him, the more concerned he appeared, until Bilbo turned away to gaze at the embers of the fire.
"I am well enough. I-" Bilbo paused, searching for something to say, "The reading seems to be helping, I will return to my bed soon."
Thorin studied him a few minutes more before replying, "Very well. We will be remaining here for a few days more, try and get what sleep you can," he bid Bilbo a goodnight, which was returned, before retiring to the little bedroom set aside for his use. Bilbo sighed and returned to his book, fully prepared to wait out the night.
---
He jerked awake with a gasp, a cry of fear desperately trying to claw its way out of his throat. Bilbo shot to his feet in agitation; breathing hard, sweating, and nearly every muscle shaking with adrenaline. He paced back and forth a few times, but the confusion and tension weren't dissipating. Eyes wide, he did his customary head-count of the Company when overcome by the nightmares. Twelve Dwarrows, one Wizard; all asleep. Bilbo crept silently towards the door separating Thorin's room, and slowly inched it open with a held breath. He slipped through the gap and looked for Thorin's form among the sheets. There was no chance of containing the gasp when he realized the bed was vacant; the Dwarf wasn't there.
"Master Baggins?" Bilbo's head shot around at the voice, to see Thorin sitting in the chair in the corner. When he registered the clear distress from the Hobbit, he rose and slowly - cautiously - moved towards him. "Bilbo? What is it? What's wrong?" Only then did Bilbo actually remember to breathe, and realized how he must appear to Thorin. The threads of his self-control were rapidly fraying and slipping between his fingers.
Thorin closed in, hands coming up to brace Bilbo's shoulders. "What's wrong, Bilbo?" he repeated softly, noting the tremors that still ran along the Hobbits frame.
"I-" Bilbo tried to respond, but his voice froze in his throat. He grasped Thorin's arm and squeezed his eyes shut against the frustrated tears trying to leak out, shaking his head. Thorin stepped forward and pulled Bilbo into his arms, holding the shaking Hobbit as he exhaled raggedly. Bilbo's arms came around Thorin's back and he held on as if his life depended on it, his face buried in the Dwarf's broad chest. Thorin stroked calming circles along his back in response to the tightening arms around his waist, and eventually the tremors began to subside.
"I keep having the same nightmare," Bilbo said, deciding he owed the Dwarf some explanation for practically breaking down in his arms in the middle of the night.
Thorin exhaled softly. "Of the battle?" he asked as Bilbo sniffled a little, getting his breathing back to normal.
Bilbo nodded, rubbing his forehead along the soft nightshirt. "I couldn't save you," he whispered, arms once again tightening around Thorin, whose bearded chin came to rest atop Bilbo's head.
"But you did save me," the Dwarf said lowly, "I am alive, and our quest is still alive, thanks to you. I must confess, Bilbo, I have not been that afraid in quite some time. When I regained consciousness, my last memory was you leaping at an enraged orc, and to not know your fate... I was terrified of the possibility that you, Child of the Kindly West, who did not even want to go on this journey, had sacrificed yourself to keep it going."
"Foolish Dwarf. If you hadn't charged in and left all sense in that tree you wouldn't have needed rescuing," Bilbo grumbled, which prompted a chuckle from above him. Now that he was certain of the Company's safety the weariness that had plagued him for days was returning. His shoulders sagged.
"When did you last sleep, Bilbo?" Thorin asked as the Hobbit leaned on him more and more.
"Hmm, well the last few nights I've probably been asleep for an hour or so before I start dreaming, but I can never get back to sleep afterward. I suppose I haven't slept through the night since before encountering the Stone Giants," Bilbo replied, lifting his head and straightening up again. He hadn't even realized he'd been leaning into Thorin's solid weight. The Dwarf's presence was... comforting. He looked up and saw Thorin's eyebrows were currently meeting his hairline.
"If you've had such trouble sleeping every night you should have told somebody! I'm sure Oin would have given you a sleeping draught," Thorin said. He started tugging Bilbo with him as he backed up.
"With what?" Bilbo asked as he stepped forward, "nearly all our supplies were lost. There was no point in worrying everyone else when there was nothing to be done. Thorin, what? I've assured myself that you are, in fact, alive, I'll go back outside and you should sleep."
Thorin kept pulling Bilbo after him, toward the bed. "While you do what, exactly? Lay out there until the nightmare comes again, then stare at the ceiling for the rest of the night? Just come here and lie with me, perhaps my presence will help. Is it not worth a try?" Thorin finished in exasperation, as Bilbo kept hesitating.
"Oh very well. I suppose I can't lose more sleep in here than I would on my own mattress," Bilbo grouched. Really though, he was grateful. He's always had trouble asking for help; more the type to go it alone and hope for the best. He climbed on the bed after Thorin, but again hesitated; not sure what the Dwarf had in mind, watching as he blew out most of the candles that had cast a dim light in the room and leaving one on the bedside table. Thorin lay on his back and motioned Bilbo forward, "Come here," he said softly.
Bilbo crawled forward and lay with his front plastered on Thorin's side, until Thorin hauled him completely on top of the Dwarf, ending up on his side. With a huff Bilbo tucked his knees up, and found himself loosely grasping Thorin's nightshirt as arms once again encircled the Hobbit.
Thorin began humming, hoping to lull Bilbo into a peaceful slumber.
Bilbo let out a soft sigh; this really was rather lovely. Even without the tunic and furs and armor, the Dwarf smelled of wood-smoke, pipe weed, and leather. Thorin's humming buzzed pleasantly in his ears, and thrummed in the chest underneath him along with the steady beat of his heart. The heavy and solid arms around him were immensely comforting, and he lay there for a time, simply enjoying the peace.
Yet still Bilbo could find no sleep.
Thorin must have noticed this; Bilbo remained tense and his breaths steady, not slowing as they should for sleep. It had been several nights of repetitive nightmares and interrupted sleep, which Bilbo had begun to subconsciously fear and avoid. "Just breathe, deep and slow," Thorin murmured. He began to sing then the tale of Durin and a time long past, softly stroking Bilbo's hip with a thumb.
The world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone,
When Durin woke and walked along.
He named he nameless hills and dales;
He drank from yet untasted wells;
He stopped and looked in Mirrormere,
And saw a crown of stars appear,
As gems upon a silver thread,
Above the shadow of his head.
The world was fair, the mountains tall,
In Elder Days before the fall
Of mighty kings in Nargothrond
And Gondolin, who now beyond
The Western Seas have passed away.
The world was fair in Durin's Day.
A King he was on carven throne
In many-pillared halls of stone
With golden roof and silver floor,
And runes of power upon the door.
The light of sun and star and moon
In shining lamps of crystal hewn
Undimmed by cloud or shade of night
There shown for ever fair and bright.
There hammer on the anvil smote,
There chisel clove, and graver wrote;
There forged was blade, and bound was hilt;
The delver mined, the mason built.
There beryl, pearl, and opal pale,
And metal wrought like fishes' mail,
Buckler and corslet, axe and sword,
And shining spears were laid in hoard.
Unwearied then were Durin's folk;
Beneath the mountain music woke:
The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,
And at the gates the trumpets rang.
The world is gray, the mountains old,
The forge's fire is ashen-cold;
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:
The darkness dwells in Durin's halls;
The shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria, in Kazad-dum.
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and windless Mirrormere;
There lies his crown in water deep.
Till Durin wakes again from sleep.
Bilbo realized at some point that Thorin had switched to Khuzdul as he continued to sing, the strange and secret language of the Dwarves. The cadence, combined with Thorin's rich voice, was a soothing backdrop to Bilbo's muddled thoughts, and he finally found himself relaxing. His eyes closed and he was not assaulted with the images he had become too-familiar with. His body relaxed as a result; muscles eased of residual tension and limbs going limp.
Bilbo hadn't even realized he had dozed off until his brain registered the noise outside the window; heavy steps, a light scratching at the outer wall and what sounded like the deep inhales of a large animal scenting. The Hobbit lifted his head slightly to look, heart rate picking up again, as the singing in his ear stopped. "It is unlikely that the wargs and orcs would have made it this far into Beorn's lands," Thorin whispered as he slid out from under Bilbo and off the bed. Bilbo sat up on the bed feeling rather dazed and confused, as Thorin went to the window and peeked out behind the curtain. He heard the Dwarf let out a slow breath. "Bears. Whether the natural sort or Beorn's kin, I do not know. I doubt that they will bother us though," he continued, watching for a few seconds more before quietly returning to the bed. Bilbo merely blinked at him, drawing a slight smile from Thorin as he climbed back in the bed, and put out the last candle - when had it burned so low? Bilbo wondered - that was still casting a weak glow.
Bilbo allowed himself to be coaxed under the sheets, lying with the length of his body against Thorin, who placed a hand over Bilbo's spine and slowly stroked down the length of the Hobbit's back. Exhaling heavily, it didn't take long for him to return to the same languid state as before, and as the weak gray light of dawn grew, Bilbo finally succumbed to a deep and undisturbed sleep.