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He found him in the woods.
Thorin had been scouring them, cursing his nephews under his breath for their foolishness, losing arrows (the good kind, not the practice ones he had insisted upon them using) on some small birds and rodents. That was when he heard it.
It was a sniffle at first, and Thorin had thought he was just hearing things. But then there was a whimper, one coming from what sounded like a small child. He immediately headed towards the source, his paternal instincts in overdrive all while cursing his nephews if they inadvertently injured a child.
He found him in a clearing, curled in on himself and crying into his scruffed knees. They seemed to be a boy, Thorin assumed, judging his attire, covered in dirt. He certainly didn’t come from around Ered Luin, for he had never seen any of the children wearing such clothes, having pointy ears and surprisingly large, hairy feet. He didn’t see any fresh blood on the boy, and that was a relief, but he was scrawny. Pale. As if he had been neglected during travel.
Did he get separated from his group? His family? Of course, such thoughts were only coming from the hope of a somewhat positive outlook. The negatives… Thorin didn’t want to think of them, especially since the boy looked so young…
He tried to get closer, seeing if he could somehow grab the boy and maybe take him back to his family (who were hopefully looking for him as well and that they weren’t that far), but he misjudged his footing, stepping on a twig and causing it to snap.
A small head immediately whipped around to look at him, wide green eyes red-rimmed and cheeks tear-stained. The boy looked sallow, sunken in, as if he had been starving for a while. And he was already scrambling up to get away.
“No, wait!” Thorin cried, stepping forward, only to fall to his knees and holding up his hands. “Wait, please. I promise, I’m not here to hurt you.”
The boy looked panicked, but he stopped some distance from him, hands wringing and waiting for Thorin’s sight to falter enough so that he could flee at any moment. Thorin had no idea how to get closer to the boy without causing any more damage, without terrifying him anymore than he already was. Food, perhaps, would help, and that was when he remembered how his sister had thrown a bacon biscuit at him that morning in the hopes of getting him to eat more.
He still had it in his pocket.
Slowly, so the boy saw everything, he reached around and dug it out, holding the cloth-covered biscuit with a hearty slice of bacon inside. He unwrapped it, and he saw something flicker in the child’s eyes. Hunger and longing, as if he hadn’t seen any decent food in quite a while.
“Here.” He offered softly, holding it out. “Take it. I promise, it’s quite good.”
He watched the boy lick his lips as he took wary steps forward, and Thorin stayed completely still. He wanted desperately to scoop the child up when he was close enough, but knew that if he did, he would never see him again if he managed to bolt, and it would all be for nothing.
The boy snatched the biscuit form his open hand and moved to sit a distance away, and Thorin was just thankful that he was closer than he once was. He watched as the child attack the biscuit with a relish, scarfing it down quickly. Once he was done, he seemed a little forlorn, as if hoping for more, but he turned round eyes back to him, and they seemed glassy. Truly thankful.
“Th-Thank you…” The boy whispered, as if he had been given a precious gift from the gods.
Thorin smiled, shifting slightly to get a little closer. “You’re welcome.” He replied, wishing he had water to offer the boy as well. “What’s your name?”
The child curled in on himself a little from his spot. “It’s only polite to offer your name first.”
The child was smart, at least. “Very well.” He said, dipping his head in a bow. “I am Thorin, son of Thrain. Who might you be?”
The boy paused, worrying his chapped lips before he finally answered. “Bilbo…” He said. “Bilbo Baggins. Of the Shire.”
A hobbit, then. Thorin had never seen a hobbit before, but he had heard of the Shire, and it certainly wasn’t an easy walking distance away. Definitely not for a mere child.
“The Shire? That’s quite a walk for a small hobbit.” He remarked. “Did you come here with your family?”
Bilbo’s lip trembled as he shook his head, and something in Thorin went quite cold.
“Then where are they?” He asked. “Surely they’re worried-.”
“I ran away.” Bilbo cut in. “They… they won’t be worried.”
“What makes you so sure?” Thorin questioned, but Bilbo just flinched a little, back shifting, and the thing inside him grew colder.
He couldn’t press the issue if he wanted to help Bilbo, and he needed help. If only to put some food in his belly.
“Tell you what.” Thorin said softly, leaning in a little. “You seem like you could use a good meal and some rest. My home is not far from here. You can bathe there, and I can make you something to eat. Then you can sleep, and after, we can go from there. How does that sound?”
Bilbo’s eyes lit up a moment before he turned away. “I… I don’t want to be a bother…”
“You won’t be.” He stressed. “Not in the least. Okay?”
The child’s eyes glistened and he nodded. “Okay.”
Thorin allowed Bilbo to grab the small, worn pack he had with him, and he managed to gain permission to hold his hand as he slowly lead him out of the woods. He stumbled and tripped, looking almost dead on his feet. Worried, and also a little impatient, Thorin scooped Bilbo up into his arms without a second thought, holding him close as he made his way to the road. He only tensed in his arms for a few moments before he collapsed into small sobs and whimpers against Thorin’s shoulder, small hands wringing his tunic tightly, keeping the dwarf close instead of trying to push him away. Thorin began to stroke Bilbo’s back in comfort, but at his flinch, he moved his hands away, humming a light, airy tune under his breath until Bilbo seemed to relax in his hold again.
As he walked through the village, the child in his arms gained some rather peculiar stares. But Thorin merely held his head high as he walked back to his home, which was a lot further in than he had originally said.
Bilbo didn’t seem to mind, so Thorin didn’t either.
xxx
He had given the child about half his stores to eat, and Bilbo ate every last morsel. He also had to repeatedly replenish the glass of water he gave him, for he was sure that the small hobbit was parched.
Thorin didn’t mind a single bit, and he tried to pretend he wasn’t aware of the grateful tears spilling from his eyes at all the food and water.
After Bilbo had his fill, he managed to convince the child that a bath was in order. Thorin lead him to the small bathing room, tub already filled and heated.
“Can you bathe by yourself?” He asked, not wanting to intrude on Bilbo’s privacy.
Bilbo nodded, and Thorin turned to go, only to freeze when he heard another whimper. Not out of sadness, or gratefulness, but out of pain.
He was more hurt than Thorin had realized.
Thorin turned to see him struggling to get his shirt off. “Do you need some help?”
Bilbo seemed to struggle with an answer, and Thorin almost want to snap at him, because he clearly felt like he was intruding on the elder’s time. But eventually, he nodded and Thorin knelt in front of him, gently easing the shirt off, making gentle cooing noises when he winced and gasped.
When he turned to see Bilbo’s back, Thorin had to shut his eyes and fight off a wave of anger.
There were streaks on Bilbo’s back. Large, and gleaming. Some were merely scars, healed over roughly, but others, though they looked old, were red and angry, and were hot to the touch.
He wanted to guess that some slave traders or bandits came across the boy, and they had done such damage. But most of the lashings on Bilbo’s back were far too old, and Thorin had a sick feeling that they were the reason the child ran from the safe haven of his home.
“Once you’re done,” Thorin said, trying to keep his voice calm and reassuring. “I have a salve we can put on these. It will pull out the infection and help them heal.”
“Okay…”
He swallowed, because he really didn’t want to let this poor child back out into the wild, where he would surely try to go, and where he would surely die.
“And if you don’t mind, I’d like for you to stay, just to make sure they heal properly.” He continued gently. “You don’t have to agree to it now, but… Taking care of such things on your own… It is difficult, and I wish to only help you.”
Bilbo only nodded, shoulders shaking.
“I’ll leave you to your bath.” Thorin said as he stood, fearing he only managed to scare the boy more than he already seemed to be.
“M-Mister Thorin?”
He froze, tilting his head. “Yes?”
“Can… can you help me…? If it’s not too much trouble…”
Something pulled at his heart at those cautious words. “Of course.” He told Bilbo, smiling reassuringly at the look in his eyes. “You only need to ask.”
xxx
“He’s a hobbit.”
“I know.”
“And you wish to keep him?”
Thorin let out a tired sigh, rubbing his face as Balin continued to speak with him. He had turned to his friend for aid, and it seemed he was not one to help easily.
Bilbo had been staying for a few months now, and his wounds had healed a while ago. Yet Thorin was hesitant in letting Bilbo go, and Bilbo seemed hesitant to leave. Thorin had grown fond of the boy, and he sometimes had to remind himself that Bilbo wasn’t really his son, and Bilbo had only slipped and called Thorin “papa” once before panicking, apologizing (though Thorin had assured him it was quite alright, almost said it was more than alright), and never saying it again.
Thorin knew he would never bear children of his own, and for a while he was fine with that, content with his nephews. But when Bilbo entered his life, he found that the hobbit had filled a hole in his heart he wasn’t even aware of having in the first place. He knew that, if he had to let Bilbo go, it would be dug right through and his heart would break.
“He will be an outsider, Thorin.” Balin told him. “Not to mention that his family could be looking for him. His real family. They-.”
“You did not see his scars, Balin.” He cut in harshly, taking a quick glance to make sure Bilbo wasn’t looking from his spot in the garden with Dwalin before lowering his voice. “The boy had been brutalized in the worse way before he left, on his own. He has just started to trust me. I cannot betray his trust by alerting his family that-.”
“His people are the ones who have any say in Bilbo’s fate, friend.” Balin reminded him, and he knew it wasn’t meant to be cruel, but it felt otherwise. “They might want him back.”
“If they really did, they would’ve come for him by now.” Thorin hissed. “He has been here for months, and I know he wants to stay!”
Balin’s lips thinned, turning when he heard a shrill squeal and seeing how his brother was currently ticking the young hobbit before said child tackled him to the ground.
“He has only just started to laugh. To smile.” Thorin explained. “Whatever happened to him back there, he has just begun to heal from it. I don’t want to make it stop, or make it worse.”
“We both know that it’s not your decision to make.” Balin said softly, though he could tell it was hard for the old dwarf to admit it. “If anything, it is Bilbo’s. If he wants to stay, I highly doubt that his own flesh and blood will be able to get him to leave. It could start a war, though, Thorin. Do you think we could handle that?”
Thorin swallowed, the memories of what happened in Moria still fresh in his mind. Of his grandfather’s head. Of Azog. “I would do anything for that boy, Balin.” He finally admitted.
Balin then nodded sharply. “Then you will have my support, Your Majesty.”
xxx
“Thorin?”
Said dwarf smiled at the hobbit he was currently helping to get ready for bed. “Yes, Bilbo?”
“How long am I allowed to stay?”
Thorin paused, almost laughing at the coincidence, for he had just spoken with Balin about the exact same topic earlier that day. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s just…” Bilbo muttered, worrying the fabric of his borrowed nightshirt in-between his fingers. “I’ve been here for a while, and I’ve… I’ve healed, so… I don’t… I don’t want to overstay my welcome…”
His heart broke just a little at those words. “Oh, Bilbo…” He breathed, touching his shoulder as he sat next to him. “Bilbo, you can never overstay your welcome. You are allowed to stay here with me for as long as you wish.”
Bilbo worried his bottom lip between his teeth, and Thorin could tell he was hesitating on something. He only hoped that the little hobbit wanted to stay, and that he thought of him as family just as much as Thorin did with him.
“If it helps…” Thorin stated gently, pausing to think of the right words. “I… I want you to stay. For as long as you are willing.”
“Really?” He asked, eyes glistening.
“Yes.” Thorin insisted softly. “I-You have become an important member of my family, as important as my nephews, Bilbo. I would very much like it if you were to stay. If you don’t want to, my boy, then I will help you go back to your Shire, if that is what you wish. But I… I wish you would at least consider this your home, and consider me your family, as you have become one of mine.”
Tears spilled from Bilbo’s eyes, and he let out a tiny sob as he held his arms out. “Papa-!”
He didn’t wait another second, pulling Bilbo into his lap and holding him tightly, cradling his head and stroking his back, the boy no longer flinching from the touch.
“I want to stay, Papa Thorin.” Bilbo whimpered into his shoulder. “Can I stay? Please?”
“Of course, my Bilbo. My little flint.” He assured, voice cracking slightly. “You can stay. And I will make sure you are always safe.”