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With one hand outstretched, Thorin stops running. Nori gets farther and farther into the distance, eventually curving off around the mountain with... something. Thorin can’t quite remember what it was Nori stole, just that it was something important, and then it occurred to him that this is a reoccurring theme in this particular valley and chasing Nori has never helped before. He drops his hand in defeat, takes a few leaping steps backwards, and he’s with Dwalin again, who should’ve followed him, but didn’t. Dwalin says something hazy and Thorin nods, not quite sure what it was but thinking it might be battle plans, because they’re at war again, and the other side has Balin, who’s a genius. Thorin will have to assemble their troops and start training now if they want to win. He lifts his fingers to his mouth to whistle, but he doesn’t need to; the team’s already arrived. Ori hops off his giant elk to join and Fíli and Kíli, who have their spoons held at the ready, and Bofur starts to sing something that immediately registers as Thorin’s favourite, although he can’t for the life of him remember what it’s called.
He means to set siege to the mountain stronghold where Balin’s team of ravens lies in wait. As soon as he takes the first step forward, Bofur’s song changes. It isn’t the joyous, upbeat thing it used to be, but a low, sad wail that makes Thorin’s heart clench. He looks over his shoulder at his team, but they’re all gone, and Bilbo’s standing there in her nightgown with her eyes full of tears. The noise gets louder, until its too much to take, and the ground falls apart before Thorin can reach his precious hobbit—he wakes suddenly, with none of the dream lingering around him.
Except the noise. But a second later, his foggy head knows that it was never a somber song at all—it’s Bilbo crying again, whimpering pathetically in her sleep. He feels something hit him in the back of the leg—probably her foot; he can feel the tickle of matted hair. He lets a yawn go as he rolls onto his side, squinting through the darkness at the tiny bundle that shares his grand bed. Bilbo’s curled up tight but kicking sporadically. Her face is screwed up in pain, her body slick with sweat. He reaches to brush some of the damp curls from her forehead, and he can feel the clamminess of her skin.
It hurts him, like it always does, to see her this way. She’s such a beautiful, sweet thing, and it isn’t fair that she should be plagued with the sort of nightmares that wrack her whole, small body. But she is, almost every night. He makes the soothing noises he’s become so accustomed to and pets her side, trying to chase the demons away. For a moment, it seems like it might help—sometimes, his presence is enough. But then she only rolls over, closer to him, and lets out a pained cry that gets half-muffled in his chest.
“Bilbo,” Thorin murmurs, softly at first, because that’s the way he usually speaks to her in these quarters. But it does no good, and he has to take hold of her arm and shake her as gently as he can, hissing louder, “Bilbo, Bilbo, it’s alright—”
She wakes with a gasp, then a groan. He sees her eyes flutter open and hurriedly shut again, and her tiny hands reach forward, smoothing over his body, bare, like hers. She mumbles, groggy, “Thorin?”
“It’s alright.” He cups the back of her head and bends to kiss her temple, just above her pointed ear, and she shivers in response. “You’re safe.” She nods like she believes him, but then she whimpers again and burrows tighter into him. One of her legs slips between his, the other tossing over his waist to pull her as close as possible. Any other time, that would be enough to have him growling, feral, rolling them over to take her, but he can’t get hard when he knows she’s hurt. He cuddles her close in his big arms and feels as her body stops its tremors, the tension slowly ebbing away.
Sheepishly, she mutters, “Sorry for waking you.”
But he says, “That’s alright,” and means it. Another kiss to her forehead, and he adds, “I’ll fall right back asleep again, and this time I’ll be sure to drag you into my dreams.”
Sniffing, Bilbo chuckles, “Did Nori steal your underwear again?”
Thorin grins. It’s close enough that he can remember at least that much, and he muses, “You know, I think he did. For the life of me, I have no idea where that comes from.”
“It’s a metaphor for me stealing your heart?” Bilbo suggests, which earns her another kiss and Thorin’s proud smile.
“That’s my brave, clever hobbit.”
She laughs. She’s relaxed again, he thinks, and that’s what matters. She’s usually alright on the second time. She clings to him anyway, like he’ll beat up the next nightmare that dares to come along.
He waits until he knows that she’s asleep before he lets his own eyes close, back to chase his heart down from his burglar.