Chapter Text
The fire in the hearth burned low, but warmed the room nonetheless. The person on the bed slept deep and soundly, covered with thick blankets and furs.
Bilbo sat on an armchair close to the bed and watched the person attentively. Their chest rose and sank slowly and every time when sweat covered the head of the sleeping Dwarf, the Hobbit would reach out to a bowl with water, dip a linen cloth into it and would softly wipe the sweat away.
Time had seemed to go by fast and slow since Thorin had been brought into the Royal Chambers, covered in bandages, stain with dirt and blood. Bilbo couldn't tell how many times one Dwarf or the other had come with a bowl of stew for him and a bowl of soup for Thorin, that the Hobbit would bring drop by drop to the Dwarfs lips, so that he wouldn't starve in his deep healing sleep. Sometimes he wouldn't want to swallow the soup and Bilbo would plead desperately that he should eat just a tiny bit, that he needed it to heal.
But this evening was one of the slower ones. Bilbo watched Thorin sleep, then read a bit in a book he had brought, then watch Thorin again, then looked into the fire and just thought of nothing. Didn't want to think of anything. In the Shire, he always had to do something, to proof that he belonged. But did he really belong? Had he ever belonged?
“ … my dear. Bilbo? Did you hear me?”
“Hmh? Oh. Sorry, Gandalf. I haven't even noticed, that you entered.” He rose. “Do you want a cup of tea? Balin told me he exchanged it from the Elves for a Ruby or something.” Bilbo didn't wait for an answer and poured Gandalf a cup. “It is quite good.”
Gandalf took the cup and sat down on a spare chair. He sipped on his tea and watched Bilbo thoughtful who never took his eyes from Thorin.
“The first snow has melted. If we make haste we could be at Beorn's in about three weeks. There we could spend the winter before I bring you back to the Shire.”
Bilbo didn't respond immediately. He looked at Gandalf, then back at Thorin.
“I can't, Gandalf. I can't leave him. Not now. Not when … not when ...”
The wizard nodded. “I understand. But remember: if he wakes, there's the possibility that he is not the same he once was.”
As Bilbo didn't answer for some time, Gandalf emptied his cup, put it on the table next to Bilbo, put on his hat and made to leave the room.
“I don't know if I ever go back, Gandalf. I never belonged.”
“Understood.”
“Ah, but Gandalf. Would there be the possibility that you drop by the Shire and tell my Took relatives to send me some things?”
“My dear boy, everything you want.”
Bilbo smiled. “I'll have a list at ready in the morning. Ah … you leave in the morning, don't you?”
“I wouldn't miss the chance of one last Dwarvish Feast before such a long journey.”
Gandalf left the room, but not before twinkling one last time at Bilbo. “You are truly an amazing Hobbit, Master Baggins, and I wish you all the luck I can spare. You surely will need it.”
The room fell silent once more and Bilbo was again left to his thoughts. He watched Thorin for a while longer, searching for signs, that the Dwarf would wake up. Bilbo sighed and looked around the room. As something on the mantelpiece caught his eye, he downright jumped from his chair.
“This is not possible. Not at all.”
Bilbo ran to it, and studied the small pot. Not only that the little oak sapling that had grown from the Acorn he had planted in it had grown even more and now showed three little twigs, it bore Acorns. Tiny and green, but the sapling, not even a few weeks old, had grown fruits. Bilbo laughed.
“Now everything will be well, Thorin. You will see.”