Chapter Text
Bilbo first had the idea when he, Kili and Tauriel returned to Erebor together from their visit to the Shire and Mirkwood.
As they approached the gates on their ponies, and horse, Bilbo spotted a small frozen over lake out of the corner of his eye.
Winter had set in fast and early this year, snow covered the ground, and most of the ice on the lake, just a few yards away.
Could dwarves skate? More importantly… Could Thorin skate?
Bilbo went to his chambers shortly after returning and flunked himself down on his bed.
Ugh, he hated his bed.
Dwarves were great at a lot of things, but comfort was apparently not one of them.
At least he had finally brought his own sheets and blankets with him from bag-end.
He glanced at his surroundings, taking in the cold room.
He still desperately needed to furnish it, give his magical hobbit touch, but for now it would have to stay like this.
There was a window at least.
As far as Bilbo knew, he had received his chambers randomly, but something in his gut made him think Thorin had given the room especially for him.
See, windows were scarce in the mountain, even in the higher levels, bilbos was one of the only rooms to have one.
Thorin knows Bilbo doesn't enjoy feeling trapped, he likes to be able to look outside easily.
Once the hobbit had unpacked his few belongings, he made his way out of his room.
wandering aimlessly for what felt like forever.
Trying to make it to the library, to see if the book he requested had come in, but all the kingdom's halls looked the same to him.
After searching for what felt like an eternity he came into a hall that led to one massive door.
The king's chambers.
It must have almost been supper time and Bilbo was starving, and freezing by this point, and dying to find his way to the dining hall.
He thought about knocking on the king's door.
He walked up to it, contemplating the hazing and condescending looks and comments Thorin would most definitely treat him to.
But there was something else.
Yeah Thorin had apologized on raven hill for everything that had happened when he was ill… but something inside bilbo still felt hesitant around him, scared.
Throin clearly had similar feelings.
He was scared, scared of himself, of what he might have done to Bilbo, and his nephews, and his company while he was ill.
Bilbo placed his hand on the door, another shiver from the cold tunnels going through his body. Should he ask for help?
The king was tired, he was hungry, he was ready for the day to be over, and he was especially ready to get this stupid armor off.
But by Mahla was that proving difficult.
He definitely overdid it today.
I mean sure he was stabbed through his stomach, but he was also the leader of a newly rebuilding kingdom.
Against Oin’s better wishes to take it easy, he couldn't just leave his people in the dark.
He twisted his middle section reaching for the straps to his armor, missed, and let out a groan of pain.
He glared down at himself, at his stomach, at how weak he had become.
He tried once more to grab for the straps on his shoulders, but this time he tripped, stumbling trying to regain his balance.
He felt a sharp pain in the wound in his stomach.
Now Thorin may have been a dwarf, short, yes, but he was not by any means small.
He did not in fact manage to regain his balance in time, and his right shoulder hit the doors of his chambers full force.
He slid to the ground lying down, and, to his embarrassment, letting out a small whimper of pain and defeat.
Bilbo, having seen, and heard the doors of Thorin's room shake like something was thrown against them, became understandably a little bit concerned.
“Thorin?” he knocked on the door “Thorin? Are you in there?” he said again, slightly firmer.
When there was no response he reached for the handle, slowly pulling the door open.
He stepped inside and his foot immediately hit something, he looked down, and made direct, horrified eye contact with a very disgruntled Thorin.