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As the Company continued on towards the Misty Mountains, most of the dwarrow conversed among themselves on their usual topics, but Fíli and Kíli were quieter than usual. 

Normally, Bilbo would never stoop so low as to purposefully eavesdrop on a conversation. He simply wasn’t so familiar with most of the Company members that he was entitled to their business. They deserved their privacy, whatever the topics they discussed. However, for the two brothers who had been the loudest, even having the audacity to loudly complain of their hunger or boredom, their conserved voices concerned Bilbo. Of course, he hadn’t known them as long as most of the other dwarrows did (he assumed), but he had a feeling that something was off. 

He did his best to subtly fall back in line in order to get in earshot of their conversation and gauge the reason for their silence. 

“Fee, are you alright? You look like you’re in pain. You aren’t wounded, are you?”

“No, Oín looked at all my wounds in Rivendell. I’ve got nothing but small cuts and scrapes, and I can’t be caught whining about those!” he chuckled, before sighing. “But I’ll admit, my calves are aching. Having to walk without ponies doesn’t help them either.”

Kíli pat his shoulder sympathetically, as they kept walking.

Oh, poor things, he thought. 

As much as they’d been a nuisance to him: contributing to most of the ruckus of their initial meeting in his home, dragging him into the nonsense with the trolls, and just messing with him in the small moments of their journey, they’d started to grow on him. He had to remind himself that they were still young men, like the faunts in the Shire who had just come of age. This was probably their first adventure, much like himself (although he was older than them, technically). 

He glanced at them from where he walked ahead. They did look quite worn, despite the company’s rest in Rivendell. He wouldn’t say anything about it though, he would hate to admit he was eavesdropping. 

Night fell, and the dwarrow set up camp to rest. They had only been two days out from Rivendell, but they’d already had to put up with the pouring rain and traveling on foot, having to leave their ponies behind in Rivendell to sneak out. The dwarrow settled down to sleep, though two members of the company were audible among the rest. 

“Ow. Ow—OW KEE! Stop! Stop it!” Fíli yelped from his position, lying on the ground. 

“Fíli, you said I wasn’t doing it firm enough!” Kíli whined. 

“Yes, I asked you to massage me. I didn’t ask you to pinch me you dolt.” he hissed back.

“Boys.” a voice above them called, although they both ignored it.

“I’m not a dolt! You’re the stupider one! Your tutors detested you! They’d praise Mahal when you were ill and couldn’t attend lessons.”

“I’m not stupid! And also it was just the one tu—”

“Boys.”  The voice said, louder.

The two brothers paused their bickering to look up at the voice that scolded them and were met with Bilbo’s face, scrunched up and very displeased. Although, despite Bilbo’s attempt to be intimidating just looked like the expression of a very displeased bunny. Still, they ceased their argument, and Fíli tossed Kíli’s hand off of his leg. 

“I couldn’t help but overhear your argument, and—” 

“How dare you! You shouldn’t be eavesdropping, Mr. Boggins!” Kíli said, before Fíli then whacked his chest, and nodded for Bilbo to continue. 

“Well. I was going to offer my help but clearly I should know better.” Bilbo scoffed, and turned to leave, though he didn’t really intend to. 

“Help? Wait! Master Baggins, wait!” Fíli called, kicking Kíli’s chest and sitting up. 

Bilbo paused, having to force down a smile. 

“First of all, I’ve told you. Just Bilbo, not Master Baggins, not Burglar, and not Boggins,” this one was directed at Kíli. “And second of all, I was going to ask if you were trying to massage your brother.”

Kíli sighed, looking a tad embarrassed, and nodded. Fíli sat up and nodded as well. “My legs had been aching, and Kíli offered to massage them for me. Which would be nice if he knew how to massage.”

“Oh, like you’re any better! You always massage on the bone! Which just causes more pain!”

Fíli sighed and yanked one of his brother’s braids, to which Kíli yelped. Bilbo took a seat, looking unamused at their antics. 

“Neither of us have ever given a massage, it’s not really seen as necessary. Us dwarrow are made from stone, so really we shouldn’t need massages that much anyway.” Fíli shrugged, and his expression then softened. 

“But our mum would give us massages when we were small. She even did some nights now, before we left for the journey. It felt like her way of reassuring us, I don’t know what about, but it was a comfort.” he admitted. Kíli’s expression became softer as well, his knees curling up to his chest for him to rest his head. 

The three of them sat in silence, as Bilbo weighed his options. He wanted to alleviate their pain, but he really didn’t want to cross a line. He had just known them, and the company overall, for just a couple of months. But he couldn’t deny that he felt no fondness at all towards them, especially the young brothers. He took a deep inhale before asking, 

“Well, if you don’t mind, I could massage you?”

The brothers glanced up from where they had been staring at their feet, and then at each other. It was obvious through the movements in their eyebrows and expressions they were communicating without talking. Bilbo immediately regretted asking. 

He scrambled to get up, apologizing,

“If not, that’s perfectly fine. I really shouldn’t have asked, I didn’t mean to intrude—”

“No, that's alright! Master Baggins—no, Bilbo. You can.” Kíli interrupted and grabbed his hand, smiling at him. “I’m sure you’d do a better job anyway.” He pulled Bilbo back down, and Fíli scooted towards him, lying down and flopping his legs in front of Bilbo.  

Bilbo sighed, a soft smile on his face, and rolled up his sleeves. He wrapped his fingers on one of Fíli’s calves, and began to firmly squeeze the muscle. He methodically went up and down the calf, and Fíli's face noticeably eased. He looked as if he would melt into the ground, a sleepy smile on his face. He then moved his lower leg forward to indicate where he next wanted to be massaged. The dull pain that plagued his legs as he had walked on their journey began to simmer down and fade as Bilbo kneaded the muscles.  And although he could feel his wrists beginning to cramp, Bilbo himself also began to feel himself relax, the simple and repetitive movements easing his mind. 

Off to the side, Kíli watched, mildly impressed. He hadn’t seen his brother this relaxed since they’d left Ered Luin, since they had to leave behind their mother. He’d noticed on the journey, no matter how much he’d indulge Kíli’s shenanigans and pranks, he began to carry a chip on his shoulder. It had always been there, ever since their uncle told them that Fíli was heir to their throne, both as the leader of Ered Luin and of Erebor, once they had reclaimed it. He could see he effort of carrying that responsibility, no matter how much Fíli tried to hide it. The rare occasion that it looked like he genuinely wasn’t thinking about it would always be comforting to Kíli. He made it his duty to remind Fíli that he was his brother first, and then heir of Thorin second. 

Speaking of which, he’d seen the man hover above them, and Kíli’s eyes widened. Shit, they were never going to hear the end of it—

He thought for a moment, before seeing his uncle, as shocked as himself, looking down at Fíli. He had dozed off under Bilbo’s care. Bilbo, his back to Thorin, was completely oblivious. It seems he hadn’t heard Thorin stomp up behind them; he must have really been lost in his thoughts. As he looked at his uncle, the fierce stare eased, although very slightly, and he walked away. Kíli let out a breath of relief, which finally caught Bilbo’s attention. 

“What happened?” he asked, looking behind him and seeing Thorin’s figure walking away. He turned back towards Kíli and his eyebrows tightened, opening his mouth as if to ask again.

“Never mind that! I have to ask, how…how did you do that? He hasn’t complained once!” Kíli asked. 

Bilbo smiled with a bittersweet undertone. 

“Most hobbits don’t care to get around much, not after they’ve come of age and are grown. But of course, my mother was far from most hobbits. She hated to lie idle as a faunt, and never stayed so as an adult. I mean, she adventured quite frequently. And when I was a fauntling myself, she’d always take me out on strolls, chase me around our home, or play with me out in the fields. Hobbiton would praise my father for getting her to settle down, but she only settled from frequently leaving the Shire, not from moving at all. 

“It had been fine when I was young, but as I started to get on in age, so did she, and her body couldn’t quite keep up with her spirit. As the daylight dwindled out, and we settled in to retire for the night, she’d ask me to massage her. Usually her legs, but if it was after a day of baking, she’d ask me to massage her arms.” Telling them about his mother, he blinked rapidly as he felt his eyes water up. It had been a good few years since his parents had passed, but he still missed them dearly. He cleared his throat, and switched to the first leg again. 

“At some point, it just became a ritual. At the end of the night, I’d help her to bed and massage her legs for a while, before retiring myself. It was a way for both of us to unwind. I’d done it for so many years, I’d say that I’d learned that skill quite well.” He finished massaging the second leg, and pat Fíli’s shoulder to see if he was awake. 

He grumbled, and cracked open an eye. 

“Is it better now?” Bilbo asked. 

“It’s as good as it’ll get,” Fíli sighed dramatically, before he genuinely smiled, both eyes shining at Bilbo. “But thank you.”

Bilbo smiled and squeezed Fíli’s shoulder. He got up to walk back to his bedroll, satisfied with his work.

***

He really ought to refrain from indulging the brothers more than he should, for any of their requests. But it was extremely difficult to do so when they would shine their beady little pleading eyes like two excitable puppies and any words of refusal would die in his throat. 

Although, he knew their requests were from a place of genuine need, considering they were very conservative with complaints of their physical well-being. 

He was approached after the company had settled at Beorn’s home to rest for a couple days, and travel once the coast was free of orcs. 

“Bilbo.” Kíli chirped, an eager expression on his face. “I need another massage.”

Bilbo looked up at him, in the midst of his meal. Kíli merely blinked at him, his expression unchanged. 

“Could I perhaps get through my dinner first?”

“But will you? Please?” 

Bilbo let out a sigh. He was doing that a lot these days, but for good reason! At least, he felt so. 

Once again, he couldn’t help but give in and nodded, taking another bite of his food. 

“Thank you Mister Boggins! I’ll see you after you’re done!” Kíli exclaimed joyfully, dashing back to his brother’s side, and Bilbo frowned, knowing that Kíli had waited until he had his mouth full of food so he couldn’t protest that irritating butchering of his name. 

When the company had finished their dinner for the night, and started to get ready to sleep, Kíli approached, with Fíli in tow, and plopped himself in front of Bilbo where he sat on his cot. 

Bilbo scoffed in a mock irritation, crossing his arms. “And where do you require my services?”

“My shoulders and neck have been aching deeply, if you’d massage there please!” He said, a mischievous smile on his face. Bilbo cracked his knuckles and rotated his wrists and began. 

He gently laid his hands atop Kíli’s shoulders, and squeezed with the same gentle firmness as he had Fíli. His thumbs pressed into the upper back as his other fingers pressed into the flesh in between the bones of his shoulder. He felt Kíli relax under his fingers, his back hunching slightly. His eyes shut and he leaned into Bilbo’s touch, a relaxed smile on his face. As Bibo continued to work along his back, being careful not to press where there was the stiffness of bone, and worked his way upwards along Kíli’s neck, his thumbs massaging the back of the neck while his fingers kneaded the lower sides. He went back the same direction to the first position where he started, continuing to knead at Kíli’s tense shoulders. The young dwarrow hummed in satisfaction, leaning further against Bilbo’s legs. Fíli fondly smiled at the sight of both of them, and leaned against Bilbo’s shoulders from where he sat next to him. 

The two of them got unexpectedly attatched to the hobbit, to the surprise of both parties. 

The brothers didn’t quite share the inherent distrust that their uncle, their company, hell, their entire race shared. dwarrow were, by nature, extremely secretive people, with any and all information about their people being restricted to their own libraries. Their language was closed to the rest of the world, with the only people allowed to learn it being dwarrow, and on the rare occaision, dwarrow-friends. Although much of the Company was not as closed off to Bilbo as their uncle was, they still did not warm up to him as quickly as the two of them had. Their time spent with him initially started off as a way to find opportunities to mess with him. But as they traveled alongside him and pestered him about life in the Shire, they couldn’t help but genuinely enjoy his company. He was really a great storyteller, making what were seemingly the most dull moments in the Shire fascinating to listen to. Of course, it helped that he was one of the few people in the company who would indulge in their pestering at all, that they just got endeared to him. 

And all the massages helped. 

Fíli felt soothed at the sight of his brother so relaxed at the hands of the hobbit. He knew it was a silly worry to have, but he worried sometimes that the quest was too much for Kíli. They were only five years apart, not a significant difference in age, but Fíli still took it upon himself to be responsible for his brother. It was funny, they both had begged their mother ferviously to go on this quest and it was slowly starting to wear on the both of them. He could see Kíli becoming more and more aware of what the world was like outside of the stories of glory they were told as children. Just a few months ago they would have given anything to be there to witness the stories they grew up with and now Fíli felt it was all a bit much. The big brother in him wished that they both didn’t have to be subject to this, to be thrust into an adventure that was so much greater than them. But, he supposed, they would eventually have to let go of comforts, not to say that their comforts were much in Ered Luin. 

On top of all this, their quest always felt impossible. 

He and Kíli, always ones to tell each other everything (even the things that really shouldn’t be shared), both felt the impending doom of the mountain ahead of them. Although they would be claiming their home back, after it was robbed from them, the dragon that lingered there hung over his head every time he thought about it. He really adored Bilbo, much of the company was starting to warm up to him. A striking contrast to their deep suspicion of him in the beginning. But if anything, that made him more and more unsure about sending him to deal with the dragon. Fíli had grown fond of Bilbo quite quickly, and would hate to see him throw his life away for him, even if it was for his home. 

Fíli closed his eyes. Enough of this somber thinking, he told himself. Right now, he wasn’t in the midst of a fight for his life, or awaiting the burglary that they hired the hobbit for; but instead he was sitting on a cot in a bedroom that was probably a stable before, resting his head on his hobbit friend while his brother got his soreness tended to. 

Adventure could be put on pause, for now. 

He stole a glance at his brother and smiled at the sight. Just as he had himself, his brother fell asleep leaning against Bilbo’s legs, and he charged his leg up to deliver a lethal kick to wake up Kíli, before Bilbo blocked it with his hand, and shook Kíli awake gently. 

“I’d advise you slept on a cot. You may be young, but it would be much better for your back, I’d imagine.” He said, patting Kíli’s shoulder as he rubbed his eyes. Fíli got up from where he sat and pulled his brother up. He wrapped an arm around as they walked away to their own cots, waving to Bilbo. 

“Thank you for the massage!”

Bilbo smiled. As much as he grumbled about being demanded to massage them, he couldn’t help but enjoy it. He wouldn’t admit it, but he enjoyed seeing them relax, considering how young they were. He shook his head, a soft smile on his face. 

He got up to re-arrange his blankets, and noticed Thorin watching him. When the exiled king was caught, he froze, and suddenly became very interested in his own bedding. Bilbo narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but shrugged it off. Whatever the dwarrow had to say, he could say it to Bilbo using his words like an adult, instead of staring off-puttingly. He tucked himself in, and closed his eyes to drift off to sleep. He had caught Thorin staring a couple of times whenever he massaged the boys, and the dwarrow was yet to address why, but Bilbo was not going to initiate that conversation. He huffed to no one in particular as he slept. 

***

It was an understatement to say that Mirkwood was off-putting. 

Every minute that they spent in this god-forsaken poor excuse of a forest, Bilbo could feel as if something was crawlling up his spine. In fact, one of the members of the company would catch something actually crawl up his spine, and Bilbo would shiver at the thought. However, the worst of it came when, while trying to jump to cross the Black River, Ori had landed funny on his foot, and was now hobbling with a sprained ankle. 

Bilbo felt awful for the poor soul, even more so as he watched Ori refuse help vehemently as he winced in pain while walking. He figured that like Fíli and Kíli, Ori was desperate to prove that he was grown to his family. Especially Dori, who he had learnt had to take the role of mother and father when they were growing up in Ered Luin. As such, Dori had a tendency to be quite overbearing on the youngest, alongside Nori who wasn’t as much of a mother hen as Dori but was still very protective. Bilbo saw that Ori would try to do things on his own as much at any given moment. But he couldn’t bear to watch Ori put himself through pain in order to prove himself. He felt it was unnecessary anyway. 

Which is why this time, he was the one approaching, rather than being approached. 

Ori had been sitting down like the rest of their company for their rest. They would normally be eating dinner at this time, but they didn’t have much to spare, and were trying their best to ration out the little food they had to make it out of the forest. 

“How is your ankle holding up, Ori?” Bilbo asked, making Ori look up at him from where he had been scribbling. 

“Oh! It’s alright, Mister Baggins. It’s just a little sprain, I can deal with it. Dwarrow are meant to be hardy and able to endure anything, so I’ll be fine. I don’t want to make Óin use any of his herbs if he doesn’t have to. This wouldn’t be helped by those anyway.” He responded, although his statement seemed to be tinged with a slight bitterness. Bilbo pursed his lips, before sitting down in front of him. 

“I know a way to help you without using Óin’s healing.” He said, a comforting smile on his face. He reached forward and hovered his hand above Ori’s ankle that was suffering. “May I?”

Ori hesitated, but seemed to give the idea consideration. To Bilbo’s surprise, he didn’t hesitate any more, and nodded. Bilbo wrapped his hand around Ori’s ankle, and began to massage. He took care to be more gentle than he usually was with Fíli and Kíli. He didn’t want to put Ori through more pain. 

As he focused on Ori’s ankle, he saw the young dwarrow visibly relax. There were a couple moments where he put a little more force, and Ori would wince, but as Bilbo continued to massage, Ori looked more and more relieved. 

Although Bilbo had grown close with many members of the company, he had an especially soft spot for Ori. He reminded him of the faunts back in the Shire who stuck out among their peers. While many of the fauntlings and faunts were boisterous, lively and playful, there were some who were more reserved and introspective. His quieter cousins would always somehow flock towards him, he supposed it was because he wasn’t chiding them for being quiet or not playing with their peers; rather, he would just give them a glass of lemonade and a biscuit, and sometimes strike up conversation with them. Of course, his conversations with his younger cousins were far different than the conversations with Ori, but the way that either would light up at Bilbo giving his full attention was just the same. 

He thoroughly enjoyed his conversations with Ori, and he figured that Ori enjoyed it when someone was genuinely interested in his work as a scribe. Granted, it did involve Ori nearly interrogating him about hobbit culture and traditions, but he was happy to indulge the dwarrow. 

He had a soft spot for the lad, and would be damned if he didn’t take care of him as well. Sure, he had two brothers of his own who looked after him, but he couldn’t help but feel the need to look after him well. 

Ori’s eyes had shut and his face looked peaceful, as if he had fallen asleep sitting up. It seems that actually had happened, since Ori said nothing when Bilbo let go of his foot. Bilbo gently shook his shoulder, jostling him awake. Ori’s eyes quickly flitted open, and he looked down at his ankle, rubbing it gently. 

“I can’t imagine that I would have completely healed it, but has the pain eased a bit?” Bilbo asked. 

Ori nodded. “It feels much better than it did before, I think walking on it won’t be so bad. Thank you, Bilbo.”

Bilbo beamed. “Of course, lad. I’m happy I could oblige.” 

He got up and started walking back to his bedroll, only to be stopped by the company’s leader on the way back. He stared up at the dwarrow in front of him, a cocktail of feelings rising up in him. 

He didn't quite dislike the dwarrow like he had at the beginning. Thorin, albeit still quite gruff and rude at some times, became more polite as he slowly stopped undermining the hobbit. It was evident from how Bilbo had gone from being addressed as “halfling”, to “hobbit”, to “Master Baggins” and “Master Burglar”. Although Bilbo would argue about the level of expertise he held when it came burglaring (it was none whatsoever, no matter what nonsense Gandalf spouted), he could still appreciate there was some respect behind that title. Which was much deserved! After all, Bilbo had saved the company out of many a hairy situation! But he was still apprehensive around Thorin, thinking the dwarrow hadn’t quite come around to Bilbo, not yet anyway. 

Not to mention, there was another, much more embarrassing reason why Bilbo avoided Thorin when he could. Ever since the dwarf had sang that angelic song in his home—hell—ever since the dwarf had shown up on his doorstep, he had been smitten, much to his chagrin. What was even worse was that, despite how disrespectfully he had been treated by Thorin, he continued to fall harder. He objectively had a lot of respect for Thorin. He led the company with verve, being decisive and thoughtful when it was called for, and Bilbo, although he had his gripes about Thorin’s behavior here and there, would openly admit that respect. 

However, he would rather get covered in troll snot again than admit that his feelings of admiration went deeper than that. He wouldn't ever, in any of the ages, admit that he felt nauseous inside with every interaction with Thorin, like a tween for Eru’s sake! Especially after the Carrock. That, singlehandedly, made much of his disdain for Thorin dissipate, much to his annoyance. He was certain he had high enough standards that one hug wouldn’t do away all of the past disrespect! Yet here he was, digging himself deeper and deeper in introspection just at the sight of Thorin. 

“Master Baggins,” the dwarrow in question began, as Bilbo did his best to shove down all his feelings to deal with later. 

“I’ve noticed of late how you have been attending to the members of our company.” he said cooly, sending an impending stare towards Bilbo.

“What?” Bilbo asked, admittedly a little dumbly. 

“Fíli, Kíli, and now Ori. I see it’s all been the youngest members of our company.”

Bilbo frowned. “Are you really going to tell me that I shouldn’t be taking care of them? I understand they’re not faunts—at the very least I assume they aren’t by your standards—but I don’t think there’s particularly an issue with offering a little ease, if I can. I apologize if you find a problem with it, but I’m not going to be stopping anytime soon.” he huffed, a little obstinately. 

“Why, you take offense quite easily. I did not intend to prevent you from doing so.” Thorin said evenly, though his face was still quite steely. 

Bilbo withered a little. He’d been a tad hasty, hadn’t he.

“You know his brothers could take care of him, right? If anything Dori considers it his duty to look after both his brothers, especially Ori because he’s the youngest. You’ve witnessed Dori yourself, you don’t need me to tell you that.” Thorin said, eyeing the hobbit.

“Well then, if we’re testing observational skills, you wouldn’t need me to tell you that Ori had been refusing help. I do think that by the time we settled in for camp, he couldn’t take it anymore and finally gave in to my offer.” Bilbo said, suddenly turning his attention to his shabby, threadbare clothes. He was waiting for Thorin to get to his point. 

“What I mean, Master Baggins, is why? Why massage him?”

“He—” Bilbo paused for a second. He straightened out his clothes again. “Ori, and your nephews. They remind me of the faunts in the Shire. They’re much older, but I can’t help but feel a fondness for them, as the youngest of the company.” He smiled up at Thorin. “So I find myself fussing over them. But, if you would like me to stay out of your business, I’ll be happy to oblige.” 

“There’s no need for that. I was just…curious.” 

Thorin stalked off, leaving Bilbo ruffled and confused. What on earth was that about? Why was he so concerned with what the hobbit did? Was it so unnatural among dwarrow to have an empathy for those younger to you?

Bofur came up to his side, slinging his arm around Bilbo’s shoulders. “What’s got you so shocked, eh?” He smiled. He, through the torturous travel into the woods, somehow managed to keep a high spirit that honestly made Bilbo feel at ease. It wasn’t quite helping right now, though. 

“He asked me about the messages I had given to the lads.” Bilbo said. “Questioning me as to why.” 

“Ah, he’s probably checking your intentions, but being subtle about it, since dwarven customs are unknown to you.”

Bilbo began to feel nauseous. What was he talking about, dwarven customs? Oh, he most certainly crossed a line he wasn’t supposed to. He tried to dampen the dread in his chest and ask, “Whatever do you mean?” 

“It is quite an intimate gesture, among dwarrow, to massage each other. Although we don’t do it frequently, it is only usually reserved for families and spouses.”

Bilbo felt his heart plummet to his stomach. He had feared this, in the back of his mind he had a feeling that he might be meddling in something he shouldn’t have. He should have realized when the boys and Ori looked hesitant at his offers. 

He began to apologize, but Bofur stepped back and put his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders. 

“Don’t worry Bilbo. Like I said, I had a feeling where your intentions lied, and Thorin probably did as well, and wanted to hear it from you himself.”

“Yes, right.” He replied, mouth feeling dry. “Well, I will assure you that the lads are just that to me: lads. I have no ill intentions towards them, and was merely concerned about their well-being.”  

Bofur looked as if he wanted to say something else, before they were interrupted by a shout from the camp. 

***

Every minute that he had to keep the ring on made him sicker than the last. Unfortunately, it was his only weapon to wield in the dungeons of the elves of Mirkwood. 

He had been sneaking for what was probably two weeks now, though it felt like an eternity. 

He had been trying to listen to Thranduil’s conversations with his guards, and scope for a subtle way out, but unfortunately he’d had no such luck. So far, their only option seemed to be to go through the trapdoor in the wine cellar that led into Forest River. Although it was inconspicuous, he couldn’t imagine it was the nicest. It would have to do though, considering the fact that they didn’t have much time before Durin’s Day. 

He had been monitoring the keeper of the keys, and their guards’ shifts, trying to find a moment when they’d be the most distracted (or most likely, inebriated) for him to snag the keys and slip the dwarrow into the cellar. He’d also occasionally been checking in on all of the dwarves. He hardly revealed himself though, not wanting to risk a particularly enthusiastic reaction disturbing any of the elves on duty. 

However, he’d noticed when he passed by Thorin’s cell, that he’d been rubbing his wrists. He had continually been rubbing his wrists over the past few weeks, Bilbo noticed. He pressed his back against a wall near the cell, and took his ring off. He supposed the exiled king was wise enough not to make a ruckus upon seeing Bilbo. 

He stepped in front of the bars, seeing Thorin sitting in the corner, staring at the ground. 

“Thorin!” He whispered. The dwarrow immediately perked up and noticed the hobbit, standing up straight and walking to the bars of the cell. 

“Master Baggins! How did you escape?” He said in a low tone, not whispering but still quiet enough. 

“I didn’t, they never captured me. Are you alright—”

“Have you found a way out then? What have you been doing these past few weeks—” Thorin interrupted, before stopping himself. 

“What did you ask?” He said, narrowing his eyes. 

Bilbo frowned, containing himself from shouting back I was concerned for you, you bloody oaf!
He sighed instead, trying to calm himself. 

“I noticed you rubbing your wrists. Are you alright?” He asked, his tone much more pointed than before. 

Thorin looked shocked at his concern, before averting his gaze downwards, almost in shame. 

“They shackled me, when the Elevenking questioned me. The chains were quite restrictive, although that is their usual nature, but these were especially…” he winced, hating to admit what he seemed about to. 

“Painful.”

Bilbo winced himself. How cruel were the elves to him that they would bind him so strongly in the first place, let alone tight enough to cause him pain weeks later?

Bilbo reached for Thorin’s hand through the cells and cradled Thorin’s hand in one of his own, not really thinking too hard about his actions. It felt like the right thing to do. He wrapped the fingers of his other hand around Thorin’s wrist, and began to massage, very tenderly. 

The dwarrow bristled, but didn’t pull away. He let the hobbit gently knead his fingers into the small portions of flesh that were on the wrist. The two of them stood in silence while Bilbo kept massaging. 

Bilbo’s mind was screaming multiple things at him, about the blasted intimacy of this action, the fact that he didn’t ask for permission and most of all they were still in the bloody damn dungeons completely exposed!!

Yet he drowned out all those thoughts, and focused on Thorin’s wrist. He dropped the one he had been massaging, and picked up the other one.

“I normally gave my mother massages, but oftentimes,” he started, a bare whisper. “Oftentimes, my father’s wrists and hands would ache when he’d been sketching for too long. He loved to draw, mostly maps, but he also loved to sketch flowers. He’d sketch them with the most intricate details, almost as if the flower bloomed right out of the page!”

Thorin just stared at him, feeling pity for the forlorn expression that the hobbit wore on his face. 

“Of course, he’d also hold his charcoals in odd ways, which were most likely the reason why they hurt as well, but that’s neither here nor there.”

He finally let go, and looked up at Thorin. He was clearly still running on instinct or adrenaline at this point, because he kept doing nonsensical things. 

“I hope that helped, even the slightest bit.”

Thorin was shocked to admit, but it actually had. The pain had faded gradually since he had been first shackled, but Bilbo did, in fact, ease the pain further than that. Thorin took up Bilbo’s hands into his own, and squeezed them. 

“This is an admirable skill, Master Baggins. Thank you.”

Bilbo flushed, caught unaware by the overt appreciation that he hadn’t got since the hug on the Carrock. He chuckled. 

“Oh don’t flatter me, it’s really nothing.” 

The two just stood, looking at each other, and Bilbo felt a little breathless. But he quickly realized that he should probably leave in order to avoid drawing attention to themselves. He’d already been risking it, lingering in front of the cell for so long. 

He let go of Thorin’s hands and dashed off to a corner to disappear with the ring. 

He had to find a way to get them out, as soon as he could. 

***

The Master of Laketown was not a paragon of generosity, but he had arranged for some decent rooms. 

The company had one day to rest and recover before they could continue towards the mountain. Although they were spending their one night doing a lot more drinking than resting.

Bilbo didn’t particularly dislike parties, but he had just been so worn from the past few events: their tumultuous and torturous barrel ride, and then the smuggling of the company into Laketown, and of course, having to run through the town before getting caught and confronted by the Master. 

Frankly, the whole journey had worn at him, but this part of it was, in his opinion, the worst. And he was glad that he could finally rest after the horror that was all that happened in Mirkwood. 

So once he finished his dinner (and a bountiful dinner it was! He hadn’t eaten like that since he left home), he decided to go up to his uncomfortably large, mannish room, leaving the rest of the company to it. But before that, he wanted to get a bit of fresh air before retiring for the night. 

He stepped outside to the balcony from his room. He leaned forward against the railing and looked out at the whole town. Although the man was very aloof, he’d understood where Bard came from. The poor town did seem to be suffering, although the Master seemed plenty comfortable. It gave Bilbo a vile feeling, seeing how the greedy Master was practically robbing the people blind. 

He rubbed his arms, feeling the bitingly cold wind, but he still continued to watch the town settle down to sleep. Then, he heard the bedroom door slam open behind him, and he didn’t have to turn to know who it was. 

“Bilbo!” Kíli cried, arm slung around Fíli. He was surprisingly still cheerful for someone who was severely injured. “Bilbo, could we get a massage? Please?” 

Bilbo turned to face them, stepping into the room and closing the doors to the balcony behind him. He supposed he’d have to delay his bedtime a little while. 

He sat on the edge of the bed, and leaned to pat the center to indicate where Fíli should lay Kíli down. Fíli did so, sitting on the other side of the bed himself. The bed was quite large, enough to fit all three of them and still have plenty of space. Bilbo scooted closer to Kíli. 

“Where does it hurt, lad?” 

“The legs. This one, the other one was the one that got shot, and I don’t want to mess with it.” Kíli said. 

“Right, and I’m guessing you’re next, Fíli? Considering Kíli said we?” Bilbo asked, looking up at Fíli. 

“Yeah, but you tend to Kíli first. He’s been whining about his thigh all through dinner, and I just couldn’t stand it anymore.” Fíli said, although the worry was evident in his eyes. 

“Of course, but I’ll get to you too, alright.” Bilbo said, and Fíli nodded. 

Bilbo began to start massaging, closing his eyes and letting his mind wander off. Or at least, he intended to before the door opened again to Thorin with a frown on his face. The frown eased once he laid his eyes on his sister-sons. 

“Ah. I was wondering where you two were, I couldn’t find you in our room.”

Fíli chuckled sheepishly. “Yeah, I supposed we should have mentioned it, Kíli was feeling a bit of pain, so we came here.”

“Why not go to Oin?” Thorin asked, walking towards the edge of the bed. Fíli and Kíli looked at each other sheepishly, unsure of how to really justify it.

“Oh it’s really not so bad that I had to go to our healer, so I thought asking Bilbo for a bit of help should be fine, just a simple massage.” 

“And why not your brother for that?” he questioned again, as he sat at the edge of the bed.

“Well, Fíli can’t massage!” Kíli taunted, shoving Fíli. 

“Like you’re any better! You don’t know what you’re doing either!” Fíli retorted, shoving back.  

“Enough! Or I’ll send the lot of you out!” Bilbo chided, throwing a pillow at the brothers to stop their tussle. Thorin chuckled lowly from where he sat, the most at ease he seemed since the beginning of their journey. It caught Bilbo so unaware that there was a moment, while Fíli and Kíli were still talking to their uncle, that Bilbo merely stared at Thorin. Thorin glanced at Bilbo, who immediately averted his eyes to the bed. Thorin hadn’t looked away though. He watched Bilbo massage carefully, keenly. It unnerved Bilbo slightly, but it also made him curious as to why he watched with such attention.

“Master Baggins. How did you…how did you become proficient at this? That my sister-sons always turn to you in pain?” He asked, his gaze burning at Bilbo. The hobbit would have taken offense to his intimidating tone if he hadn’t already known that the dwarrow just had a tendency to be gruff, often unintentionally. 

“Well, I’ve told Fíli and Kíli about this, but it wouldn’t hurt to tell it again. While she was alive, as she got older her body began to ache when she pushed it too far. And so, I often massaged her legs when they were sore from hours of standing in the kitchen or exceedingly long strolls. Even her shoulders, or her arms, or back, sometimes. It might be silly to say, but I’d always offer to do it because it was my reminder to her that I’d always be here. And that I loved her.” 

“Is it something that’s only done among family?” Fíli asked.

“Not necessarily, it isn’t uncommon to ask a friend to massage your shoulders when they feel particularly sore. But, I don’t know. It was something I found comforting when it came to my family. I had done the same for my father sometimes as well.”

He then smiled to himself, a nostalgic smile.

“I remember once, after I’d gone on a walking holiday with some of my friends for the first time, my legs and feet had been like porridge when I’d come home. I had been lying in my bed, and while I was trying to drift off to sleep, I felt my mother begin to massage my legs. 

“She hadn’t said a word, she must have thought I was sleeping,” he chuckled.  “But shortly after I felt her hands, I had fallen asleep. I didn’t have to say a word, and well, this might be a tad silly, but it made me feel very loved. So I think that’s how I show love. By taking care of someone.”

“So does that mean you love us?” Kíli piped up from where he laid. 

“Of course not, what gave you that idea?” Bilbo said dryly, pinching Kíli’s arm. He squawked and Fíli laughed heartily. Bilbo, however, looked back up at Thorin to gauge his reaction to all that he just said. Thorin looked back, thinking on what he told them. Bilbo felt an underlying nervousness, wondering if Thorin would pick up on what he was saying. 

Thorin merely gazed at Bilbo with an expression that he didn’t know quite what to make of. To Bilbo, it seemed almost…wanting.

That was wishful thinking, surely?

After a moment, the dwarrow cleared his throat and turned to his sister-sons. 

“Well, I’m glad to see you taking care of my kin. Kíli needs it, since he won’t be coming with us to the mountain tomorrow.” 

The aforementioned dwarrow sat up at this. “What?!” 

“Kíli,” Thorin glared. “You are in no condition to come with us. You will stay behind with Oin and Fíli, and join us later. Your mother would have my head if we lost you or your brother. This quest is important to our people, but I will sacrifice my kin if I can allow it.” 

The two brothers nodded solemnly, and Bilbo frowned. “Would I stay with them or come with the rest of the company?”

“Well, I appreciate the care you’ve given to my kin, but I’d appreciate you doing the job you came along for, Master Baggins.”

***

It had been quite a while since the dust settled after the Battle of the Five Armies, and Bilbo had hardly had a moment to see Thorin. 

Really, he hardly had a moment to himself!

As soon as the King and his nephews were recovered, they, as well as most of the company, immediately got to business restoring Erebor. 

Although he couldn’t be of much use when it came to the manual labor of clearing out the damage of the wyrm, he could certainly help with the organization of work. He’d taken it upon himself to help Balin direct people to whatever work needed to be done, or helping down in the kitchens. Balin had also requested of him to be involved in the diplomatic meetings with the Elvenking, Bard of Dale and Dain Ironfoot. Bilbo had hesitated, not sure that it was his place as a hobbit, an outsider, but Balin insisted that he was almost like kin to them, and that he certainly had a place in Erebor among the company. He’d helped them reclaim Erebor itself after all, it only seemed right that he’d help. Besides, he was much better around the elves than not of the dwarrow would be.

Despite seeing and being seated next to Thorin at all of these meetings, they still had not had a proper conversation. They hadn’t spoken since Thorin was in Bilbo’s arms, on the brink of death. Thorin had forgiven him for his actions, and apologized for the way he’d treated Bilbo, but Bilbo told himself it was only because he thought he was dying. He surely couldn’t have forgiven Bilbo so fast. Logically, he knew that had to be the case. 

He’d instantly forgiven Thorin though. One could call him naive and lovestruck for being so forgiving, after all, he had threatened Bilbo’s life. 

But it was hard for Bilbo to hold it against him all that much considering that wasn’t really Thorin. He was lost in madness, in the goldsickness. 

Truthfully, he loved Thorin too much to hold a grudge over it.

He shook these thoughts from his head, and tried to pay attention to where Bombur wanted the tray of food to be delivered. Usually, one of the kitchen help would have done so, but Bombur had sent for Bilbo for some reason. He didn’t really think too hard about the room he’d been directed towards, not paying much attention to the surrounding halls getting more and more familiar until he found himself directly in front of the door to Thorin’s work office. 

Oh. Bombur, that clever bastard. 

Bilbo grumbled under his breath, realising what he had walked into, but decided to continue, considering he had wanted to have a talk with Thorin for a while now. It had been three-ish months since the battle, and they hadn’t acknowledged the oliphaunt in the room (or rather, the one that followed them into every room they were in together). 

He opened the door to Thorin at his desk, presumably going over paperwork. It wasn’t until Bilbo got very close to the desk and cleared his throat until Thorin looked up and noticed him. Thorin took off his reading glasses and put down his pen, and smiled. 

“Ah. Master Baggins, Thank you.”

“I thought we had gone through enough to call me Bilbo now, Your Majesty?” Bilbo lightly teased. 

“If that’s the case, then you’ll have to call me Thorin, Bilbo.” Thorin said back, and started to clear off his desk to make room for the food. 

Bilbo was shocked he wasn’t sending it back, as he’d heard Thorin tend to do in order to continue practically working himself towards death. Bilbo set the tray on his desk, and hovered, not leaving yet. He wanted to talk to Thorin, sure, about the events of the Arkenstone and gold-sickness, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it. If he should bring it up out of nowhere, or if they should set aside a time they were both available to, or—

Oh blast it, he was digging himself deeper in this bloody hole. He couldn’t bring himself to talk about it all quite yet. He turned around and strode towards the door before Thorin spoke up. 

“Bilbo! Wait. Do you still massage Fíli and Kíli?"

Bilbo turned around, with an expression of confusion. “Sometimes, although they’re usually busy and sleep later than I do. Why? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Would you be alright to…that is to say, could I ask—” Thorin began, before abruptly interrupting himself. He cleared his throat, looking embarrassed. 

“Could I ask you for a massage, Bilbo?” 

Bilbo froze. Many things came to his mind at once, the loudest an echo of the conversation he and Bofur had in Mirkwood. 

Although we don’t do it frequently, it is only usually reserved for families and spouses.

He had spent much time along the journey shoving down the silly crush that only got bigger and less silly as they traveled. He only got more and more fond of the idiotic oaf, against all of his better judgement, and he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. He flushed at the notion, wondering if Thorin knew what he was doing. Thorin was well aware of the nature of the intimacy of the gesture, since he’d checked on Bilbo’s intention with all of the youngest members of their company. And yet, he hadn’t stopped Bilbo in the elven dungeons. Was he aware, or assuming that Bilbo didn’t know? 

Well, he’d have to do something, he was spending far too much time doing nothing in the middle of the room. Clearly, as Thorin had spoken up,

“If the answer is no then you don’t have to stand aimlessly in my study. I can accept that choice, I am a grown dwarrow, after all.” He said lightly. 

Bilbo flushed, embarrassed by his lack of manners shook his head. 

“No, of course, I wouldn’t mind it at all.” 

He walked over to where Thorin sat, standing behind his chair. 

“Erm, where should I…”

“My back, I’m afraid I haven’t had the best posture while I’ve been working.” 

Bilbo nodded, although Thorin couldn’t see him, and tenderly put his hands on Thorin’s shoulders, pulling off the thick coat that he had on. 

“If I could? It would be much easier for me.” He asked, to which Thorin nodded. 

Bilbo draped the coat over the back of the chair, and laid his hands back on Thorin’s shoulders, pressing his thumbs into Thorin’s back, and gently rubbing. He felt Thorin relax under his hands, leaning into Bilbo’s touch. For a moment, they sat in complete silence before Thorin spoke. 

“I want to apologize again, for everything I had done to you. I wish I had not—”

“I won’t hear another word of it, because you weren’t in your right mind. And you’ve already apologized. If anything I should be apologizing considering I stole the Arkenstone.” He got quiet, as he kept massaging. “I had it with me the entire time while you were lashing out at your company. Suspecting even your own kin. I should have given it to you a long time ago, as a part of my service to you.”

“Bilbo, you and I know if it had gotten into my hands, my sickness would have worsened and taken a bigger toll on the company.” Thorin remarked, as he then put a hand on one of Bilbo’s arms.

“I won’t hold it against you, I already forgave you.”

Bilbo bristled, and plucked Thorin’s hand off of his arm, and resumed massaging 

“Yes, but you forgave me when you thought you wouldn’t see me again. Or see the sun again, ever. I think it’s hardly reasonable from me to expect your forgiveness now, since you’ve had more time to think on it. I don’t expect you to forgive me for a while.” 

“I promise you, I have long forgiven you, my friend.”

“And I really can’t understand why! Although I suppose I have as well.” Bilbo sighed, figuring he might as well stop protesting, if it might get Thorin to stop as well. “So, if you’ll accept my apology, I’ll accept yours.”

“But my crime was far more—”

“Absolutely not. Mine is arguably just as bad.” Bilbo said, pinching his back. 

Thorin jumped, and turned back to glare at Bilbo, who merely smirked. Thorin rolled his eyes, but not without a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Alright, we can agree that we both made gravely bad decisions, and accept the other’s forgiveness.” He turned to face forward again, and Bilbo hummed in satisfaction as he kept massaging him. 

“I had been waiting to talk to you about this for three months. I hadn’t expected it to be quite so simple.” Bilbo chuckled, and Thorin did as well. 

“I’ll be honest, neither did I. It ate away at my mind, once I had realized I was not going to die, but I had gotten so swamped in my duties that I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to you.” Thorin said. “I deeply apologize.”

“I as well. It’s a bit silly, but I was worried when I was summoned to bring your dinner. I wasn’t quite sure where we stood, after the battle.” Bilbo said nervously, trying to bring his focus to his task at hand, massaging Thorin. 

“Well, I apologize for that uncertainty as well. I did not mean to fill such doubts in your head, I would hate to become distant from you.” Thorin said, softer than he had been in the entirety of the conversation.

“Thank you.” The corners of Bilbo’s lips twitched, mildly relieved, but anxious. He was turning over the idea in his head, if he should tell the truth. The truth that’s been nesting in his heart for far too long. 

“I’d also like to thank you for letting me stay here in Erebor. At least till the winter clears out, and a journey to the Shire won’t be quite so perilous.”

He felt Thorin stiffen. “Surely you don’t intend to leave so soon.” He said, a question that didn’t sound like one. 

“I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome—”

“You wouldn’t be.” 

The words quickly tumbled out of Thorin’s mouth when he faced Bilbo to say them, and when Bilbo looked at the dwarrow, he saw his shocked expression. As if he too, didn’t expect those words to be said. 

The air hung heavy, as Thorin thought on how to elaborate.

“If…if there is business you must tend to in the Shire, I won’t forbid you to go. I am not your king to decree where you can or cannot go.” He took a deep breath to brace himself. “But as your friend…I would be pleased—no—happy, if you chose to stay.”

Bilbo wrung his hands, not knowing what to do with them now. “You really wouldn’t mind if I stayed longer? I mean I’ll certainly miss Bag End, it was so dear to me, but,” He swallowd, unsure if it was too much to say. 

“I would miss this new family I’ve gained far more sorely.”

Thorin reached out to stop Bilbo’s hands, and took one of them into his own. 

“Your presence is not unwelcome. You are beloved here. And you are beloved by me the most.” He said, and froze. 

He had meant to keep that last sentence to himself. 

Bilbo froze as well, and looked at him in bewilderment.  

“I apologize Master Baggins, what I meant to say was—”

“Do you mean that?”

“What?”

Bilbo walked around from behind the chair to stand in front of Thorin. “Do you really mean that? That I am beloved by you? That you love me?” He said, barely whispering the last sentence. He felt his heart get heavy in his chest, as if it would fall out, anxiously anticipating if he had the right suspicions. 

“Because if that’s so. I—Oh, blast the Shire, I’d stay here for the rest of my days. I would stay here, for you.” 

And all of a sudden, a barrage of words spilled out of Bilbo’s mouth before he could begin thinking too hard about them. 

“I couldn’t live a life without you. I feared I would have had to, when I caught you on Ravenhill, and it almost killed me. You’re so infuriatingly courageous and noble, and so deeply caring to the ones you love even if it doesn’t quite seem like it. You moved mountains to get back to your own, and stayed together through all of it. You’ve faced everything in your Yet, I wish you didn’t have to carry that burden alone. I—I said it already, but you really are infuriatingly noble. And honestly, I feel honored that someone like you trusts someone like me, a simple hobbit, so profoundly. I can’t help but love you.” 

Bilbo trembled, shaking like a leaf as he awaited Thorin’s response. What had his foolish self started running into now, he had probably completely misread Thorin’s words—

Everything went blank. Because he felt Thorin’s lips on his own. 

At some point, Thorin had stood up and taken Bilbo into his arms. Arms which, oh Yavanna have mercy on him, Bilbo absolutely melted into. He took his hands where they had been suspended in air after Thorin let go, and snaked them up Thorin’s chest and around his shoulders. The kiss was messy, a tangle of tongues and teeth clanking against each other, but Bilbo just gripped onto the dwarrow like he was falling. He felt Thorin pull him closer, wrapping an arm around Bilbo’s lower back, while another buried itself in Bilbo’s fluffy golden curls. Bilbo felt like his heart was going to explode with how hard it was pumping. 

After what felt like a lifetime, they finally separated, and both felt breathless. 

“I take it you feel the same way, then?” Bilbo puffed out, feeling light-headed. 

“Really, Master Baggins?” Thorin sighed, although there was no real irritation behind it.

“It does no harm to ask! You never know! I’ve never understood half the things you do and I don’t know if I ever will!” Bilbo laughed, and Thorin laughed along. “I mean, I was wondering what you were playing at asking me to massage you, when Bofur explained it to me.”

“...What did Bofur explain?” Thorin asked cautiously, looking concerned. 

“The nature of intimacy behind it. Giving a massage, I mean.”

Thorin’s face crumpled, as he sank his head against Bilbo’s shoulder. “You knew?” He asked weakly. 

Bilbo merely nodded, and Thorin simply sighed and pulled the hobbit into an embrace. 

“Oh, Dwalin’s never going to leave me alone about this.”