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After the incident with the eagles, Thorin insisted he was fine. Gandalf had done some magic thing and he was up and about and ready to continue travelling. While Bilbo was not vocal about his unhappiness with this plan (he wanted to stay on Thorin’s good side), he could not help but watch as Thorin lead the group. His usual powerful stride was weighted, impaired by his injuries and Bilbo had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from pointing it out. Thorin was really too proud for his own good sometimes.
They hiked well into the night to reach Beorn’s house and by the time they arrived they were slumping down into seats at the massive table while some of their party wandered off to find places to rest, forgoing food entirely until the next opportunity. Beorn was a giant of a man and he was initially terrifying to poor little Bilbo, but he had a deep booming laugh and he was friendlier than most that they had encountered on their journey. He provided them with food and then let them wander off to find sleep, and Bilbo watched as Thorin eventually gave in to exhaustion and took to the guest room he had been offered.
Bilbo watched him drag himself down the hall and followed him with concern. He worried that since sitting down and losing the adrenaline rush from before, he had succumbed to his injuries and he just wanted to make sure the dwarf managed to get settled in. He knocked gently on the door to Thorin’s room and received a gravelly order to come in in return. He nudged the door open and stepped inside, smiling a little at the picture Thorin and his nephews painted on the bed (which was massive, even by the standards of men!). The boys were tangled together asleep though it looked like they had started in separate spaces on the bed, judging by the empty bed around them, and had snuggled into eachother unconsciously.
When he looked away from them he found Thorin watching him, seated on the edge of the bed and working on removing his boots. He was without his overlayers, sitting in his trousers and the tunic that he wore under his mail. As he toed his boots off and sat up there was a stiffness in his joints that gave him pause, and Bilbo strode over to the bed, concerned. He hesitated before he sat down next to the dwarf, and Thorin assured him that he was fine.
Bilbo, channeling all of his Tookish insolence, scoffed in the face of the exiled king and crawled onto the bed behind him. While Thorin twisted to try and see what he was doing, Bilbo settled with his legs parted on either side of the dwarf’s waist, his calves barely brushing Thorin’s thighs. He tugged on Thorin’s tunic, mumbling ‘shirt off’ and everytime Thorin tried to protest he just repeated himself until the dwarf relented.
Thorin’s skin was bruised and punctured and laced with scars and Bilbo couldn’t help himself from staring as much as he could in the wavering light. He asked Thorin to straighten his back and when he did the hobbit started working his soft little hands over the dwarf’s shoulders, pressing his thumbs into the knotted muscle to loosen it. Initially Thorin tensed and Bilbo thought he was going to bolt, but after contemplating Bilbo’s gentle touch for a few moments, he relaxed very slightly and Bilbo took that as a sign to carry on.
To say that Thorin ‘relaxed’ after a moment to Bilbo massaging his back would be an understatement, since by the time the hobbit’s little hands worked down his back he was practically melting and purring under the touch. The loosening of all his hard muscles made him drowsy as well, so it was not long before he was snoring softly and slumping to the side.
Bilbo nudged him to lie down properly in the bed and tried to crawl off the bed to go to his own sleeping space. Thorin unconsciously put a stop to that though, when he rolled over abruptly in his sleep and tugged Bilbo hard against his chest. The hobbit squeaked and struggled but the dwarf had him thoroughly and firmly snuggled, and he eventually gave up. He fell asleep swathed in Thorin’s warmth and smell and he felt he had not slept so soundly in months.
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When Bilbo woke up, he noticed two things straightaway, and a third thing a little later. One, he was alone, though he had fallen asleep snuggling with Thorin right next to Fili and Kili but none of them were still warming the bed for him. Two, though Fili and Kili were gone, their side of the bed was made, and though Thorin was gone, Bilbo had been moved up to properly lie on the pillow and had blankets and sheets tucked in neatly around him.
He disrupted the neatly-made bed when he pulled the covers back and slid out of the bed. It was a bit of a drop to the floor for the little hobbit but he made it without much fuss, and he slid into the too-large robe-type garment that was laid out on the chair, he assumed for him. He attempted to tame his bedhead before going out to face the world, but as soon as he ran a hand through his hair, he found out that… someone else had done it for him? His fingers found a braid woven into the curls near his ear and he smiled. Next he found the soft object woven in at the root of the braid and he pulled his hand away to find a soft pink petal clasped between his fingers.
Third, Thorin had braided a flower into his hair. He remembered a conversation he had had with Balin about Dwarven courting rituals, and he knew he needed to have a talk with a certain exiled king.