Chapter Text
“But where does he put it all?” Ori said, voicing what every dwarf at Elrond’s table had been thinking when Bilbo put away as much food as six dwarves combined, including Bombur. Granted, it was mostly greens, but Bofur had been counting for them and the sheer number of plates should have been enough to choke a horse.
“It’s not natural,” Dori muttered. “It should be coming out his ears.” As he spoke, Bilbo gratefully accepted another platter.
“Can’t heal myself otherwise,” Bilbo muttered after swallowing. “You do know it’s rude to speak about someone behind their back?”
“’Twas hardly behind your back, you just couldn’t hear us over the munching,” Bofur said, with stunned admiration. No sooner had Bilbo accepted the plate than it was cleaned.
Bilbo seemed to consider this, nodding as he finished chewing and swallowed the final bite. “I noticed you all don’t heal as easily, Kili still has that scrape from the run in with the trolls. I just assumed you hadn’t eaten enough.”
“And would eating change anything?” Bofur said.
“See, that’s what I didn't put together at first,” Bilbo said, twirling his fork and eyeing another plate, but the conversation seemed to have distracted him somewhat from his gorging. “I’d heard that other races weren’t like us, but it’s quite another thing to see it in practice. Hobbits eat some seven meals a day.” This was greeted by a chorus of disbelieving exclamations from the dwarves. “It’s how we go around barefoot, and why we’ve not been overrun by enemies or plague. A well-fed hobbit heals,” Bilbo snapped his fingers, “just like that. Actually I’ve been feeling a bit under the weather lately what with how I’ve been starving on this trip. Had I known I would have packed what was left of my larder.” The last was accompanied by a not entirely good-natured glare.
“Is that some sort of hobbit magic?” Bofur exclaimed.
“Of a sort. We’ve got a bit of it, you know, mostly to do with hiding from Big Folk. Not that we need any special skill when they come stomping around and deafening themselves,” as Bilbo spoke he plucked some of the leftovers from Ori’s plate beside him, munching idly and speak between swallows. “I suppose this is just part of it. We’d never last a year if we were as fragile as you lot are.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever heard a dwarf referred to as ‘fragile’,” Balin chuckled. “Tell me, lad, is there any chance of sharing some of this talent of yours? It’d be quite useful to be able to pull an injured comrade out of a scrape.”
Bilbo did the most peculiar thing then. He made a rather strangled sound at the back of his throat and blushed, to the roots of his hair. “I-well, I mean that is… it’s not something one talks about in polite company!”
Now the dwarves were interested, crowding in closer around their furiously blushing burglar. Even Dwalin and Thorin perked up from their conversation, leaning in. “Well, now you have to explain it!” Bofur said.
From the unhappy look on Bilbo’s face, he had realized this too. “It’s not something we can control, precisely. All… well, most hobbits have a second person they can heal. Some even more, though that’s considered quite scandalous and mostly rumor. You’ll laugh when you hear and… oh this is terribly embarrassing…” The hobbit fretted, touching the tips of his fingers together. His food lay forgotten, which was a marvel of itself.
“If you don’t want to tell us…” Balin began, but Bilbo waved him off.
“No, no, I’m sure I’ll get no peace at all from this lot if I don’t. Alright,” Bilbo took a deep breath. “Hobbits who are…married. Or in love. Or just… friends, and… oh blast! Look, when a hobbit is very close to another person,” Bilbo said, changing his pitch as if he were speaking to small and slightly dim children, “when they love each other very much, sometimes their healing works on one another. Or not. It can be one sided, which is very sad, but there’s nothing to be done for it and people get on with their lives.”
“Oh, so your kurdel,” Balin said, leaning back with all evidence that he was satisfied. “Well, that’s useful. Quite useful indeed! But I don’t understand why you were so embarrassed about it?”
Bilbo blinked. “Kurdel?”
“Your heart.” Everyone in the Company looked up, Bilbo nearly starting from his seat at the unexpected voice and saw Thorin, his expression giving away nothing as he watched the burglar.
Balin made a frustrated noise. “Thorin, it’s not right to be translating… Bah, I suppose it’s my own fault. Master Baggins, we dwarves also have a version of what you speak, so it does not seem strange to us at all that hobbits may too have a kurdel, or a soul mate as many call it, and that there are some benefits to the arrangement is not strange either. A great deal passes between kurdel that is not clear to outsiders, and when a dwarf with a kurdel passes away, it leaves a terrible mark on the love they left behind. That is why it is said that dwarves only love once.”
Bilbo realized his mouth was hanging open at this point and he closed it quickly. “Well,” he sputtered. “So long as everyone understands… perhaps you will not be so quick to tease about my eating habits.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bofur said innocently.
It was just as well that they were filled up on rations from Rivendell when they departed, because in the ensuing weeks across the Misty Mountains, and below them in the caves, and above in the burning pine trees, keeping Bilbo well-fed turned out to be more important than any could have dreamed. The battering he received from tumbling into the depths of the caverns and landing near that Gollum-creature alone would have killed any Man or even Dwarf who had fallen with him, and his reserves were severely depleted by the next morning, when they dismounted from their Eagles upon the Carrock. Fortunately, they were not yet entirely spent.
Bilbo was still glowing from Thorin’s embrace, feeling warm and content and strangely tired all at once, when he heard it.
“Well, bless my beard,” Oin’s gravelly voice said. “I thought that warg had bit clean through you, Thorin, but there’s hardly a scratch!”
Bilbo froze, turning around with the jerky motions of a marionette, as if compelled against his will, to look into Thorin’s eyes. They were similarly stricken, as one by one Oin’s words dawned on the Company.
“Err, are you hungry, Bilbo?” Fili said. The space between Bilbo and Thorin seemed to crackle as they stared at one another, and the entire Company stared at them.
“Starved,” Bilbo said, and without breaking eye-contact reached a hand out to accept an entire loaf of bread from Fili’s hand, somehow saved despite the chaos of the previous evening. He inhaled it so quickly it didn’t even leave crumbs on his fingers.
“I suppose I should thank you,” Thorin said gravely, extending his hand towards Bilbo. The touch was electrifying as their fingers met, and before Bilbo’s disbelieving eyes the cut across Thorin’s nose began to heal. His own stomach growled.
“Oh, I’m sure there will be time for that later,” Bilbo said weakly, because Thorin was looking at him like finest of treasures and he was feeling very lost in those blue eyes.
Things had suddenly become very, very complicated.