Chapter Text
Thorin growled as he and Bilbo departed Thranduil's palace. Arrogant pompous ass. Thorin was more than happy to turn his back to it and return home to Erebor. Of course Bilbo had enjoyed the visit, but then again Bilbo was on much better terms with the elves. Thranduil seemed to have forgiven Bilbo for his part in the escape from the dungeons, but Thranduil still loved to make jabs at Thorin for it. Ass.
“Relax Thorin,” Bilbo ordered with a smile. “We'll be home in three days.”
“Not soon enough.” Bilbo rolled his eyes at him. Thorin chose to ignore him and keep ranting. “I don't see why he insisted on having the negotiations here this year. Erebor is much more comfortable.”
“Because they've been held in Erebor for the past decade love. It's time that we granted him this small favor.”
Thorin grumbled again under his breath. “To many trees and not enough stone. It's not right, walking across tree roots. “
Bilbo rolled his eyes. “You survived. And for once I didn't have to save us from a political nightmare. I would count that as an excellent negotiation.”
“I told you I would behave.”
“You promise me that every year. This is the first year you've actually done it.”
With all the grace of a King, Thorin stuck out his tongue at his husband, which earned him an acorn to the face. “See that right there is why you and Thranduil can never have a decent conversation! Two hundred year old dwarf and a centuries old elf. One would think you'd be able to behave, but no, instead you both turn into tweens.”
The guards accompanying them laughed, ignoring the glare they received from their King. Traitors. They all loved Bilbo's weekly snacks, and if asked, were almost guaranteed to take his side in a conversation. They weren't about to risk losing the best cooking on this side of the Misty Mountains.
The banter continued for a hour as they slowly made their way along the river path. The old path had been overrun by the forrest and was no longer safe to take. Not to mention it also let out in the middle of a nasty swamp, which Bilbo had refused to trek through. “Those mosquitos will eat me alive!”
Bilbo and Thorin were at the head of the party, slowing their ponies down as they heard horses approaching. Which could only mean one thing. “Elves,” Thorin groaned. “What do they want now?”
Two of their guards took a protective stance in front of them as the horses came into view. They slowed as they approached the group, dismounting before their mounts had even stopped.
“What has you in such a rush?” Belric demanded, his hand on his sword hilt.
“Orcs are in the area.”
The guards immediately clustered around Bilbo and Thorin, their eyes scanning the surrounding forest for any sign of enemies.
Thorin drew Orcrist from its sheath. “How are they still here? Thranduil does not allow orc filth to leave his realm alive.”
“They took a company of ours by surprise,” the elf explained. “Slaughtered half of them before they could fight back. They barely made it back to the Water Gates. The orcs are heading this way and will be upon on us soon. You should go back to the Palace, you'll be safe there.”
All of the dwarves bristled at the suggestion. “We don't run from orcs,” Belric growled out. “We fight and send them to the pits of hell.”
“These are not normal orcs,” the elf hissed. “They travel in sunlight.”
Bilbo looked to Thorin. “How isn't that normal?”
“Sunlight weakens them,” He quickly explained. “They only travel out in sunlight if they are desperate.”
“What could have them desperate enough to travel then?”
Before Thorin could answer, Belric did it for him. “We don't want to find out. We ambush them and kill them. That simple. The only good orc is a dead orc.” The rest of the guards growled in agreement, drawing their weapons, ready to protect their King and Consort.
Thorin looked to Bilbo, who was staring right back at him. “Don't even think about it,” his hobbit warned him.
“Bilbo please....”
“No,” Bilbo said dangerously. “We stay together. I've fought by your side and I vowed to always stand by it.”
Thorin let out a deep breath, but nodded in reluctant agreement. “The mithril shirt?” he asked lowly.
In response Bilbo tugged his collar down, briefly showing Thorin the glittering mail underneath.
“Thank Mahal.”
“Take positions along the outside of the path,” the elf instructed. “We'll be in the trees above you. Don't attack until they're right in front of you. Some might escape. Careful of the rocks next to the river. They tend to get slippery.”
The dwarves grumbled again at being given orders, but got into place as instructed, two of the guards leading the ponies off into the forest so they wouldn't give the others away. Thorin and Bilbo crouched down low on the riverside, weapons in hand. It only took a matter of minutes before they heard the Orcs. They were yelling in their foul language, not even worried about keeping their presence a secret. They were soon visible on the path and Thorin put a hand on Bilbo's back to steady them both. Thorin had a strong vendetta against all orcs, more so than the average dwarf on account of how much pain they had caused him and his family. Bilbo had no love for them either, having only recently learned how the boys father had died. He had an ice cold hatred for them that not even the sun could hope to thaw. Thorin had learned to control his rage years ago, but Bilbo had no such experience.
“Wait,” Thorin reminded him in a low whisper. “Wait.”
Bilbo took a deep breath and nodded, his grip tightening on Sting.
These Orcs were ugly, most likely from the Misty Mountains. They shuffled along, their swords reflecting in the sunlight, fresh blood staining them. Thorin understood none of their Black Speech, but they were clearly looking for something. Thorin didn't understand. The majority of the orcs had been slaughtered at The Battle of Five Armies a decade ago. The few who had survived had fled back to the mountains. A few small parties had been seen over the years, all of them quickly taken care of. But for them to travel through Mirkwood in broad daylight? Something wasn't right.
The last orc finally came into view, Thorin getting ready to fight as it lumbered past him.
“Du Bekar!” He roared as he jumped out, easily decapitating the last orc before it could even blink. Arrows flew from the trees above them as the elves took down any that tried to escape. The orcs outnumbered them by at least a dozen, but they were no match for dwarves with fire in their hearts.
“Kill them all!” Thorin yelled as he dueled with another orc. “They cannot escape!”
He could hear Bilbo fighting behind him, dangerously taunting an orc. “Come now, my mother can fight better than that!”
“Don't antagonize them Bilbo!”
He could practically hear the roll of Bilbo's eyes as he finished off the orc and turned to check on Bilbo. He was fighting an orc nearly twice his size, but was easily dodging every swing of its blade.
Bilbo lunged forward, forcing Sting through the orcs chest with a sickening sound. Bilbo jumped away, leaving Sting imbedded in the orc. Both of them watched as the orc looked down, almost surprised that Bilbo had managed to injure him. Thorin never released his grip on Orcrist, tensing as the orc slowly pulled Sting from his chest and threw it to the side with a roar. The creature only had minutes left, if even that. The orc looked up, locking it's hateful eyes on Bilbo.
Without warning he charged Bilbo, grabbing him by the throat and dangling him over the river.
“Release him!” Thorin ordered, holding Orcrist to the orcs throat.
“Kill me and he dies,” the Orc gurgled with a smile, blood dripping from his mouth.
“You have minutes left to live,” Thorin replied. “Release him now and I will ease your passing into the next world!”
The orc looked to Bilbo, who was uselessly kicking and clawing at him. He turned back to Thorin and smiled evilly. “I hope he knows how to swim.” With a laugh, he let go and Bilbo plummeted into the raging river.
“No!”
Thorin ran the orc through the heart with Orcrist, not even pausing to check if it was dead. He was already throwing his heavy coat off and his weapons to the ground. He ran along the river side, desperately trying to keep Bilbo in view as he struggled to stay above the water in the churning rapids.
“You cannot go after him!” One of the elves shouted from the trees. “The water will drag you down!”
Thorin ignored him and kept running. “Bilbo! Keep kicking!” He had no idea if Bilbo could even hear him, but he didn't stop yelling. The river was slowing down slightly, but Thorin wasn't going to take that as a good sign. He felt his heart stop as Bilbo slammed into a rock and then another. The river was relentless and cruel, having no mercy for those who ventured into it. Bilbo slammed into another rock, but managed to hold onto it somehow.
“Hold on Bilbo! I'm coming!” Thorin dove into the water, swimming as fast as he could against the current to Bilbo. It was no easy task and he was an excellent swimmer by dwarven standards. For Bilbo this would be almost impossible to survive. “Hold on!”
The river slammed him into a rock, but he shoved off of it to reach Bilbo. He got behind Bilbo and latched onto the rock, holding them both in place. “I've got you Bilbo. Can you climb up onto the rock? You need to be out of this water.”
Bilbo was shaking under him but he nodded. He slowly raised his arms, struggling to find a grip and pull himself up. He found one, but as soon as he tried to raise himself up he let out a piercing cry and fell back down.
“Can't....my wrist....I think it's broken.”
Thorin nodded, tightening his grip on the rock. “What else hurts?”
“My...my ribs.”
Thorin felt his heart clench. They were most likely broken. Bilbo wouldn't be able to swim to safety, even with Thorin's help.
“Okay. We'll get out of here.”
“How?” Bilbo asked, his breath hitching as a surge of water hit them, forcing them against the rock for a moment before Thorin pushed against the rock, giving Bilbo the space he needed.
Thorin looked around, having no clue as to how to get Bilbo to safety. He couldn't lift Bilbo up onto the rocks himself, he would be swept away by the current if he didn't keep his hold on the rock. With a broken wrist and most likely ribs, Bilbo was severely limited in his range of movements. “I don't know,” Thorin answered. “But I'll figure something out.” Bilbo nodded, closing his eyes as a wave of pain overtook him. “Just keep breathing Bilbo. Light even breaths. Keep your wrist in the water if you can. It'll keep the swelling down. I'll hold you in place.” Bilbo nodded again, carefully lowering his broken wrist into the water, his other hand had a grip on the rock so tight that his knuckles were pure white.
Thorin had no idea where the others were, but he had to hope they would be here soon. He saw no feasible way to get them both to safety. He would need their help and he needed it soon. It felt like hours, but it was probably only minutes before he thought he heard something. He brushed it off but he heard something again. Closer.
“Thorin!” He looked up at the call of his name, having barely heard it over the roaring river. Belric was waving at him, a coil of rope in his hand. “Catch!”
“Hold on Bilbo!” Bilbo grabbed onto him as Thorin let go of the rock, the current instantly taking them away. He had no idea how, but he managed to grab ahold of the rope that Belric had thrown to him. Thorin tightened his grip on Bilbo, pulling him close to his chest.
With a hard jerk the rope hit it's limit, Thorin having to hold on with all his strength so it didn't slip from his fingers. Slowly, the dwarves on the shore pulled them in. As soon as Thorin felt the ground beneath his feet, he stood up, pulling Bilbo up into his arms as he trudged out of the river.
“You're safe Bilbo,” Thorin murmured. “You're safe.”
Bilbo nodded again, shaking in Thorin's arms, his face a shade above pure white.
“Get the healer!” Thorin yelled to no one in particular as Bilbo began to cough up water. He quickly got down, forcing Bilbo onto his hands and knees as he continued to cough up water. “Now!”
Bilbo kept hacking, forcing all of the water he had inhaled from his lungs out. Thorin rubbed his back soothingly as Bilbo cried out in agony as the hacking jarred his ribs. “Light breaths Bilbo. Light shallow breaths. It's the only way to make it stop.”
Garin rushed up to them, one of Oin's many apprentices. “Get him up.”
Thorin carefully eased Bilbo into a sitting position, supporting his hobbit from behind. The healers eyes quickly scanned over Bilbo, taking in his broken wrist, the cuts on both his hands, his soaked clothes and pale face. He gently felt Bilbo's wrist, frowning slightly. “Clean break, but I'll have to set it and soon or we risk letting it heal wrong. What else hurts laddie?”
Normally Thorin would snort in laughter at a dwarf calling his husband laddie, especially a dwarf that was by their standards younger than Bilbo. This time though, he didn't think twice about it.
“My chest,” Bilbo replied with a groan. “The rocks.....slammed into them.”
Garin methodically unbuttoned Bilbo's vest and shirt, frowning again as he found himself staring at the mithril vest. “This has to come off before I can check his ribs.” He looked at Thorin and added, “This is going to hurt.”
Thorin nodded and together they carefully worked off his outer shirts. Bilbo whimpered when he tried to raise his arms so they could remove the mithril shirt, Thorin waving off Garin for a moment. “Relax,” Thorin murmured. “Just relax. We'll wait until you're ready.”
Bilbo took a few steadying breaths, leaning back into Thorin's touch. “Please don't. It hurts.”
“We have to Bilbo, it's the only way we can help you.”
Bilbo let out a shuddering breath as a wave of pain hit him again. “I just want a warm bed right now.”
“I promise that you'll have one as soon as I can manage it.”
Bilbo nodded, knowing Thorin would never break a promise to him. He was quiet for a few more minutes, before he told Thorin he was ready.
It took Garin and Thorin mere seconds to get the vest off, but to Bilbo it felt like an eternity. Garin let out a low whistle as he finally saw Bilbo's chest, the majority of it already black and blue, red scrapes showing where the mithril had been forced into his skin when he hit the rocks. He carefully put his hand on Bilbo's chest, feeling around for the breaks. He easily found them and thankfully they felt clean. If they had pierced a lung, Bilbo would have already been coughing up blood.
“He needs rest and time to heal. He can't travel like this, not even by wagon.”
The elves who had remained silent through all of this approached. “Come back to the palace with us. You will be safe and Master Baggins will be able to recover in comfort.”
Thorin bristled at the veiled accusation but said nothing in return to them. “Get me a blanket.”
Another one of the guards pulled a blanket from the ponies packs, handing it to Thorin, who carefully wrapped Bilbo up in it. He scooped Bilbo back up into his arms, holding him securely. “Lead the way.”
The elves turned without another word, quickly leading them through the forest and back the way they had come.
“Thank you,” Bilbo wheezed out, his voice barely above a whisper. He was still shaking, but Thorin couldn't tell if it was from shock or the cold. Or both.
“For what?” he asked quietly, not wanting the others to hear them.
“For saving me.”
Thorin smiled softly, gently rubbing his nose against Bilbo's. “You've saved me more times than I can count. I owe you everything.”
A small smile worked it's way onto Bilbo's face, but before he could say anything else, he was overtaken by violent shivers.
“Easy Bilbo,” Thorin gently urged him. “Just focus on me for now. You'll have a warm bed soon.”
With a small nod, Bilbo closed his eyes, but Thorin knew he wasn't asleep.
Finally the doors to the Woodland Palace came into view and it took Thorin everything he had not to run across the bridge. Bilbo was hurting, cold, and wet. He needed to change all of that as soon as possible.
“I was not expecting you to return so soon.” Of course Thranduil had decided to meet them at the doors.
“Neither was I.” Thorin retorted, his grip tightening on Bilbo.
Thranduil's eyes swept over Bilbo. “Have the rooms stocked with warm blankets and make sure the healers have access to anything they might need. I will see no harm come to Master Baggins.”
Thorin hated the idea of accepting help from Thranduil, but for Bilbo he would do anything. He looked up at Thranduil and nodded his head in gratitude. “Thank you.”
Thranduil looked down at him, the arrogant look back on his face. “I do not do this for you. I do it for the hobbit who has come to be a dear friend of the elves.”
Thorin all but growled. “Either way, I offer you my thanks. If there is one thing my husband has taught me, it is good manners.”
Without waiting for a reply, Thorin walked past him and up into the rooms they had vacated only hours before. Elves opened the door for him and he went to deposit Bilbo on the bed. He carefully unwrapped the blanket from around Bilbo and stripped his hobbit of the remainder of his soaked clothing. Garin gently lifted Bilbo's broken wrist up, setting it on a pillow as before he helped Thorin redress Bilbo in warm clothes. Blankets were warming by the fire, Belric taking one and giving it to Thorin so he could swaddle Bilbo's lower half with it. Then Thorin had no choice but to stand aside as Garin gently cleaned Bilbo's chest of blood, applying a salve to keep any infection away and to reduce the bruises. Once he was done he wrapped Bilbo's chest, binding his ribs in soft cloths. He eased Bilbo back when he finished and stepped back to talk to Thorin.
“His wrist still needs to be set. I'm going to give him something to dull the pain, but he'll still feel some of it. If we're lucky the medicine will knock him out before I have to set it.”
Thorin nodded. “What do you need me to do?”
“You and Belric will have to hold him in place while I set it. The less he moves, the better.”
He nodded again, waving Belric over from the fire. “Give him the medicine.”
Garin dug the vial out of his bag, uncorking it and holding it to Bilbo's lips. “Bottoms up laddie.” His hobbit dutifully swallowed it, making a face of pure disgust once he was done with it.
“That is the foulest thing I have ever tasted,” Bilbo stammered out. “Why can't Oin ever find a way to make them taste better than an orcs sock?”
Garin shrugged. “Don't ask me. Now relax and give that a few minutes to kick in. We can't wait much longer to set your wrist. Bone starts to knit back together in a matter of hours.”
Bilbo made another face, but settled back into the pillows as best as he could. Thorin brushed his husbands curls out of his face, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Bilbo's head. Bilbo let out a soft breath, closing his eyes slowly. “Send a Raven to Erebor,” he quietly told Thorin. “Tell the boys we're not going to be home for a while.”
Thorin nodded. “As soon as we're done here, I'll send one out.”
Bilbo made a noise of agreement, hissing when he accidentally breathed in to much. His face scrunched as he let out a low whine. Thorin quietly murmured to him, doing his best to soothe his husband and relax him. Several minutes later, Garin returned to them and nodded to Thorin. “Let's get this over with.”
Thorin pressed a kiss to Bilbo's forehead. “Where do you need me?”
“Hold his front half down,” Garin instructed. “Put your arms on his shoulders and be sure to have a grip on his good arm. Belric, hold down his legs. He's going to kick something fierce.”
They wordlessly got into place, tensing for what they knew was coming.
“I'll do this quick,” Garin assured them, carefully lifting Bilbo's wrist up. “On three...One.....Two...” Garin didn't wait for three, resetting the bone with a few quick movements that had Bilbo thrashing against the two dwarrows holding him down. With one last sickening sound, the bone popped into place, and Garin set Bilbo's wrist back down, but didn't release it. Bilbo was breathing heavily, still struggling to escape the grip the dwarves had on him.
“Keep breathing laddie,” Garin instructed. “The worst is over. Keep breathing and relax.”
Bilbo glared at him. “The next person who tells me to relax isn't getting fed for a month.”
Garin rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say Bilbo, but unless you relax, you risk your muscles tensing and pulling the bone out of place.”
“Two months,” Bilbo seethed.
The healer groaned. “Thorin...”
The dwarf king released his own hold on Bilbo, taking his husbands face in his hands and smiling at him. “Please love, just take deep breaths. Garin can't stabilize your wrist until he's certain your bones won't move out of place.”
Bilbo glared at him in return, but Thorin could see that his words had finally gotten through to his husband. Bilbo was slowing his breaths, closing his eyes against the waves of pain he was still experiencing. It took a while, but Garin finally deemed Bilbo relaxed enough for him to release Bilbo's wrist and gather what he needed to stabilize it.
He carefully splinted Bilbos wrist and arm, leaving his swollen fingers free and only a portion of his forearm. Leaving it resting on the pillow, he grabbed more pillows and stuffed them under Bilbo's knees to prop them up. “Now don't move,” Garin instructed. “You need anything, you ask. I don't want you out of this bed for at least two days.”
Bilbo nodded, his surge of adrenaline long gone and the medicine beginning to pull him under. Thorin got two of the blankets warming by the fire, removing the one he'd placed on Bilbo earlier and replacing it with the warmed ones. Bilbo made a noise of contentment, snuggling deeper into the warm cocoon he was now in. Thorin smiled softly and he watched his husband slip into a deep sleep.
“Send a Raven to Erebor,” Thorin quietly instructed Belric. “Let them know we will be here for as long as Bilbo needs to be, but that he's safe. Warn them not to let Frodo know what really happened.”
Belric nodded, departing swiftly. Thorin dismissed the rest of the guards, ordering them to rest and recover from their eventful morning.
Garin was sitting in a corner, cleaning and taking an inventory of his supplies.
“Go to sleep Thorin,” he ordered the King. “Get out of those clothes and get in bed next to your husband. You need to warm up and rest just as much as he does.”
Thorin glared at him.
“Don't make me bring the guards back here and force you into that bed. You know I'll do it.”
Thorin doubled his glare, but gave in. The healers of Erebor were the only word that ranked above his. What they said was law and in all honestly, Thorin knew better than to disregard their advice. He tossed his wet clothes next to the fire, pulling fresh clothes out of the packs lying against the wall. Once he finished, he grabbed another one of the blankets, dragging it with him as he trudged to the bed.
“Stop pouting.”
“Is their an off button for your running commentary?”
“No.”
Thorin threw a pillow at Garin as he got into bed next to Bilbo, doing his best not to jar Bilbo in his sleep. He pulled the warm blanket over him, happily closing his eyes as he all but sank into the heavenly warmth it was emitting.