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“Well bless me, the legends are true! Giants! Stone giants!”
Bilbo, teeth chattering against the impossible cold and soaked through to his skin, had never felt less blessed in his life. He felt his eyes all but pop from his skull as he realized just what he and the company were looking at – giants seeming to have been hewn from rock, born of the heart of the Misty Mountains themselves. Creatures hurling boulders large as Bag End at one another with the intent to kill. And now he and the others were caught in the crossfire.
All coherent thought vanished for a terrifying moment as one of the boulders shattered with an earthshaking crash onto the cliff face directly above them, and the Hobbit could not help the fearful cry that wrenched itself from his lungs as the company fought for its footing. Miserably he thought of his far-away, comfortable hole in the ground and how very much he missed it. It was warm, soft, safe. Though he’d never been at his best in any kind of storm, he knew that were he curled up in front of his roaring fire with a good book and a cup of tea to hand that he could stem the shudders and the worrying until the crashing thunder and flashing lightning had subsided. He might be scared out of his wits but at least he might be in a place that would instinctively soothe him through all that.
All he had in the here and now was the icy fear dripping down his spine alongside the rainwater and the sensation of being in mental freefall down, down into the dark.
Suddenly the narrow ledge on which they stood began to heave and surge, and all the company was yelling as the cliff face split down the middle – they were standing on one of the giants’ legs! He was dimly aware of half of the company being separated from them as the giant on which they stood made to get to its feet and join the thunder-battle. He thought he saw Thorin hefting his axe as though to challenge the wretched creatures, through the haze of his own fear and the tears now streaming down his face. Though a part of him knew the Dwarf’s weapons would be useless in such a predicament as theirs, he found himself wishing fervently that he might be nearer to Thorin.
Because if he’d learned one thing during the months of their travels, it was that their leader would do anything and everything in his power to keep the company hale and whole. And he knew that that did not just apply to the Dwarves but to himself as well, though he often thought of himself as little more than an annoyance to the whole lot of them, especially to Thorin. But, deep down he knew the king would fight to protect even him.
Everything moved very quickly after that. The giant on which they stood was flung backwards with the force of a particularly vicious blow to the head, and its impact on the mountainside had Bilbo losing his already tenuous grip. His felt his feet slip out from under him on the rain-slickened rock.
He fell, and the split second that passed before he managed by some luck to grab hold of the ledge had another high, wild scream tearing itself from him. Then his hands hit the jagged, freezing stone and he clung for dear life as the Dwarves raced to his side, alerted by his cry. Several scrambled to offer their hands to him, calling out his name. Breathing too quickly, weeping in panic, he scrabbled fruitlessly for some hold but fell another foot, now holding with but one of his hands to the cliff face. Surely he would die in this wretched place, miles from home and cold all through –
His last thought, as the fear took him into the swirling dark of unconsciousness and his fingers went slack, was wondering why he’d yet to fall. The reason was Thorin, who’d leapt onto a lower, smaller ledge than the one above them just in time to catch Bilbo’s free-hanging wrist in his steely grasp. Thorin, who’d taken that extra step needed to save the Halfling’s life. Grunting with effort, angular features hardened into a mask of pure determination, he lifted the now-unconscious Bilbo high enough up that the others could pull him to safety. He himself was taken up after, and only after he’d ensured that Bilbo was safe.
Thank Mahal there was an empty cave nearby.
* * *
Darkness, rushing movement, confusion
White-hot light crashing across his senses
Falling, falling, the ground streaking up to meet him –
The Hobbit awakened with a flailing gasp, back arching and arms coming up to shield himself. It took a moment for him to register that he was dry, he was already laying on some ground or other, and that he was alive.
He was so cold.
“Warm yourself.” Something soft and heavy was draped over his shaking shoulders with unexpected gentleness. Blinking hard, still caught in half-sleep, he looked around to catch a glimpse of Thorin turning his back to him and making to move back to his sleeping-place.
“W-wait. I – I mean – would you…?”
The Dwarf turned back to him, one brow raised. Bilbo lost his words for a moment, seeing the exhaustion etched deep into Thorin’s eyes and face. He felt foolish for asking, guilty even, but he did not want to be alone just now. He needed to be told that everything was alright.
“You have something to say to me?”
“…would you stay with me awhile?” it came out all in a rush, and the Hobbit felt himself flush up with the childishness of his request. “I, I, I mean, if it’s not too much trouble. I would not want to disturb your rest, or, or make you uncomfortable, it’s just that –”
“You are frightened. It is understandable.” Shrugging, Thorin came back and sat next to the shivering Halfling. “I will stay until you’re calm again.”
Bilbo simply nodded, not trusting himself to say much more. He knew how tired the Dwarf must be, and felt almost pathetically grateful that he was indulging his fear. He did not want to make things awkward, when everything was already stilted between them.
It probably did not help that the cave they now occupied was not a spacious one. The Dwarves were all crammed up next to each other with mere inches between their bodies, and Bilbo had been placed at the very deepest corner of the cave, farthest from the opening and farthest from the storm that still raged outside. The little alcove where he was had just enough room for maybe two Hobbits his size – meaning that he and Thorin together in such a space were more than a little cramped. The king was, after all, a full head taller than himself and nearly twice as wide.
And now they were practically pressed up against each other’s sides, and Bilbo worried that Thorin’s tired legs would likely cramp up soon. Trying to be inconspicuous, he tucked up his own legs so that he might wrap his arms around his knees and stem some of the shaking, and he tried to shift away so that Thorin might have some more room.
He thought he heard the king sigh a bit, before a large arm snaked out to wind itself across his shoulders, and a surprisingly warm, soft hand came to rest at his neck.
“Th-Thorin?”
“Hush.” The hand stroked slow and soft and soothing. “You are safe here. The storm cannot come inside.” Turning, the Dwarf angled his body so that it faced the Halfling’s, bringing up his right leg so that his foot rested on his left knee. He pulled Bilbo back across the few inches he’d put between them and rested his forehead to the Halfling’s sweat-damp curls. “You’re safe.”
“If – If I may ask, how did I come to be here? The last th-thing I remember…”
“I caught you before you fell, then carried you inside.”
Bilbo shivered and held himself tighter. Felt the hot sting of shame crawl though him as an errant tear or two leaked onto his filthy cheeks. It was just a storm, some part of him chided. Just a little rain and noise. Stop behaving like a child!
But the harsh memory of the pure terror that had saturated his every nerve came back to him in a rush then, reminded him of just what it had felt like to be hanging by a few fingers over a bottomless abyss that sucked at his body, trying to get him to let go. He choked a bit on his own sobs, trying to hold himself together.
Thorin murmured something and brought his other arm around to tug gently at the Hobbit, who remained tense as a bowstring and shaking hard enough that the Dwarf feared he might shatter into a hundred pieces.
“Come here, Halfling.”
A crash of thunder sounded then, a burst of searing light momentarily lighting up the cave. With a muffled yelp Bilbo suddenly surged forward into Thorin’s arms, and the Dwarf grunted a bit at the Hobbit’s weight was flung into him. Shaking his head, he shushed the smaller creature and settled him on his lap, and began to rock him gently.
They sat like that a little while, one still flinching at every noise and the other steady as the mountain beneath them. Soothing, comforting. Protecting.
“Has it always been this way with you?”
“Wh-what?”
“You tremble at the storm though you are removed from it. Have they always affected you so?"
Bilbo swallowed hard. “Yes,” he admitted, his voice very small.
“Why is that?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t like the fierceness of them, I suppose. I’m not a fierce Hobbit.”
To his great surprise, Bilbo felt a deep chuckle vibrating out from the chest he was now held against. “I would disagree, Halfling. I think you to be quite fierce.”
“Do you really?”
“Indeed. Certainly I can think of no other Hobbit that would think to stand up to trolls the way you did, or be willing to tussle with Wargs if need be.”
Oh. Bilbo had not thought of it like that. But the thought was driven from his mind as a hand came up to brush his hair from his face; the gesture caused a small flicker of warmth to settle in his stomach and his trembling began at last to subside.
Unless he was much mistaken, he saw something like satisfaction pass through the Dwarf’s stormy blue eyes as his body relaxed marginally into the other’s hold.
“That’s it, Halfling. I’ve got you.”
“So you certainly seem to.” Bilbo felt his brow furrow a bit as he puzzled over that fact. Thorin did indeed have him. He’d not only carried Bilbo inside and given him his cloak to keep warm with, but he had not hesitated to keep his company when he’d asked him to stay. Strange.
“I…I feel I should thank you. For saving me.” Feeling this was inadequate, Bilbo cast his mind around for the right words. “It was very kind of you to think of me.”
Thorin simply held his gaze, serious now. “I would never have not thought of you. And I most certainly would not have let you die.”
Something odd rose up in Bilbo’s heart, and he was not sure if it was a pleasant sensation. “Yes, well…thank you anyway. I’m glad I’m still around.”
“As am I.” Goodness, but why was he looking at Bilbo like that? Like there was more he wanted to say?
Brushing the thought aside, Bilbo wriggled his shoulders a bit to ease the strange tension building there, like a warm buzz under his skin. “A-anyway, I shan’t keep you. You must be tired. Thank you for indulging a foolish Hobbit for a little while.”
“It was my pleasure, Bilbo.” He made no move to stop the Hobbit as he scooted off of his lap, though he did not immediately rise from where he sat. “Be sure to let me know if you are in need of…further indulgence.”
Bilbo flushed scarlet then, and found himself averting his gaze as he straightened his blankets. He cleared his throat a few times, huffed a bit.
Finally Thorin rose, and on his way back to his own bedroll stopped to tip Bilbo’s chin up so that their eyes might meet.
“I mean that. It is no burden to me to comfort you, and suffice to say I rather like it when you’re ‘foolish’, as you say. Sleep well.” And with that cryptic remark, the king made his silent way away to the front of the cave.
Bilbo watched him go from the corner of his eye, feeling his fear of the storm draining away and an odd though not unpleasant unsettled feeling coming forward to take its place. He felt warmer now, rather a good deal warmer really, and he could feel some strange new feeling brimming up in him, thrumming quietly but with intention nevertheless.
And when he fell again to dreaming, it was not of the cold and the dark. Rather it was of the warm and the bright, of a strong, solid body beneath his, cradling and smiling and showing him that here, here he would always be held in safety.