Hey, so I originally posted this on AO3 and thought I'd add it here too. Enjoy!
Gandalf had left the company to attend to urgent "business". Though, what was more important than the Dwarrows reclaiming Erebor, Bilbo wasn't sure.
Thorin had given up on the wizard returning as they entered the Forest of Mirkwood, cursing Gandalf's name whenever Bilbo broached the subject of meeting with him at the Overlook. Bilbo would tut at Thorin's manners. Thorin would ignore him and continue on in Khuzdul (the maledictions against their wizard sounding even more derogatory in the Dwarven-King's mother tongue). The hobbit would just laugh: a hearty, belly-clenching guffaw that left Thorin staring after him, wondering what he'd done to make his burglar produce such an endearing sound.
Bilbo had a good laugh: his head thrown back in gayety, looking up into the sky as his tenor resounded throughout the planes around them. His voice hugged Thorin, blanketed him, soft and light-hearted amongst the otherwise monotonous landscape that surrounded the Company on their long journey. When the sun was out, as it often had been in those long summer months, Bilbo's hair would glow golden in the light of dusk — reminding Thorin of the hoard lying ahead in the treasury of his Lonely Mountain. But was his Hobbit not gold enough?
Truthfully, to the Dwarven King — though he would never admit to it — Bilbo Baggins was worth more than all of the Dragon's Hoard, more than that of the Arkenstone and all of Thror's treasures combined.
May the Mahal have mercy on his soul. The halfling?
The memories of those golden sunsets still tortured him, the Hobbit's radiance burned onto the insides of his eyelids, and whenever Thorin closed them he was greeted again by the appallingly brilliant and cherubic smile of goddamn Bilbo Baggins. Thorin hated him for it. He hated that Bilbo was causing him to stray from his path, his destiny. It was his office as the heir of Durin to reclaim Erebor from the beast who'd stolen it from his grandfather. But within a fortnight, one little Hobbit had crawled out of his hole in the ground and ruined everything. Thorin couldn't focus. He couldn't concentrate on anything other than the halfling's presence around him: as he conversed with the other members of the Company, when he ate (and ate, and ate, and ate), when he slept.
Sleeping was the worst. When they'd been traveling during the heat of Afterlithe the Company spread out comfortably at night, each hobbit, dwarf, or wizard with his own suitable amount of personal space; not having to worry about body heat or hiding beneath a tarp to avoid rain.
But now the storms of Wedmath were upon them, pounding down in droves through the trees of the haunted Mirkwood. Thorin had never remembered the rain of midyear to be so torrential, living inside the the squalid mountains of Ered Luin distracting him from the weather. Bilbo had said the same: that Wedmath had always been wet in the Shire, but this was an entirely new barrel of nuts.
"Terrible weather, this," Bilbo said, getting struck with large droplets and hoping the waistcoat in his pack wasn't being ruined. "Terrible, terrible!"
Thorin was leading the party, with Bilbo at his side on the small path, eyes on the trail and hoping not to lose their way as Gandalf had warned (not that Thorin wasn't still angry with Gandalf for abandoning the Company, but his advisory against straying from the path seemed reasonable).
"Aye, Master Burglar," he agreed, raising his voice over the sound of the storm. He looked up through the trees, trying to find the sun but only got an eyeful of water for his troubles. Hair was clinging to Thorin's face, water rolling down his back and sopping his clothes, making his furs heavy. He didn't know the hour, but they'd been hiking for most of the day and it seemed that there wasn't a dry inch of skin left on his body. He cleared his throat to get the attention of his dwarrows, "Next clearing we stop, set up the tarps for shelter."
Behind him, Bilbo could hear Fili and Kili let out large, relieved sighs, glad to be escaping the rain. He chuckled, looking over his shoulder at the brothers and giving them a reassuring grin, the prospect of a meal already brightening his mood considerably.
The trek to find a suitable clearing didn't last too much longer, and the Company unanimously seemed pleased with the location they'd found: not overwhelmingly covered in spiderwebs or dripping with unknown slimes. The dwarrows started shrugging off the gear Beorn had given them, shucking off bags in a haste to find their tarps, but being a bit more gentle with the weapons they all carried — placing them respectfully atop their rucksacks, away from the damp floor.
Rain tarps started going up, the Brothers Ri the first to finish tying off their makeshift shelter. Kili and Fili tried to escape the storm by hiding beneath Ori and Nori and Dori's tarp, but were quickly shooed away by Nori waving around his fleshing knife, threatening the youngest dwarflings until they ran away.
The tents seemed to be separated by blood, an easy enough system for Bilbo to follow: Ori, Nori and Dori under one, Oin and Gloin sharing another. Balin and Dwalin seemed to be finishing up their tarp beneath two large trees to give them maximum coverage from the rain (the Sons of Fundin always planning strategically, Bilbo noted). Beside Balin and Dwalin, the princes were efficiently getting their shelter up, too. Bilbo suspected their charade beneath the Ri's tarp was just to get a few laughs. Bombur, Bifur and Bofur were already finished and laying out supper. The Hobbit smiled and his stomach rumbled.
At a rustling behind him, Bilbo looked over his shoulder to see Thorin setting up his tarp alone. He seemed to be faring well, if a bit slowly: only two of his corners had been secured so far in the trees behind him, the remaining edges flying free in the stormy wind. Bilbo approached, picking up two rather large stones as he passed.
Taking up the closest twine not yet tied to a tree, Bilbo carefully wrapped it around one of the rocks and placed it on the ground as a weight, careful to give it no slack. Thorin did the same on the last remaining corner, the tarp now spilling runoff down its back and away from the mostly dry ground beneath.
"A handsome shelter, indeed," Bilbo smiled, stepping backwards to admire their handiwork. He wiped his hands against each other to clean them of dirt, but they were wet and muddy from the rain.
Had Gandalf been here, Bilbo suspected they would have shared cover, but now found himself quite without shelter or bedfellow. He didn't even have his own tarp, he realized (and Gandalf must have taken his own with him). It wasn't something he'd ever have thought to pack, and leaving the Shire such as he did, he'd seemed to have overlooked much of the important adventuring paraphernalia (Bilbo was still cross at himself for having forgotten his handkerchief).
"Thank you Master Baggins, much obliged," Thorin nodded, moving from the opposite side of the makeshift tent to stand closer to Bilbo. Runoff from the tarp poured over his boots and rain hit his head. The Dwarrows didn't seem to like rain. None of them did— they'd all rushed beneath their tarps as quickly as possible, running away like drowned cats. At least, Thorin looked like a drowned cat. His usually uniform dark ringlets now a mop of wet on his head that stuck to his face in funny places, at his nose and forehead. How Bilbo wanted to reach up and move those strands away, put his hand through Thorin's wet mane. Pull him down and tug teasingly on the braids that rested beside the dwarf's red and wind-burnt cheeks. Thorin started, "Bilbo—"
"Oh, Mister Boggins!" Kili shouted from beneath his tarp. The Hobbit froze, grinding his teeth at the moniker, though it did not bother him as much as it could. His lips pulled into a tight grin when he saw Thorin repressing a smile.
"Yes, Master Dwarf?" he answered sarcastically, looking behind him to see the princes both in a crouch deep beneath their shelter, effectively veiling themselves from the rain. They were bent over a pathetically wet looking fire-ring, with Balin standing over them.
"Would you mind very much, helping us with the fire?" Fili asked, sticking out his bottom lip like a pleading puppy, "We can't get a light."
Bilbo made a face but walked over to the lads anyway, blocking his eyes from the slowing shower by pulling the neck of his jacket over his head. The dwarflings had picked up the driest kindling they could find for the small fire, but nothing was good enough. "That would be because of all the wet wood. Nothing will catch." He coughed a little when he got a puff of the thick white smoke in his lungs.
Kili looked apologetic, "Sorry," he said when Bilbo stopped coughing, and then looked back down to the barley burning tinder. Fili stomped out the failing blaze. With this wet weather there was nothing to be done, there would be no fire tonight.
The Company ate supper beneath their tarps. Dehydrated meats (cold) and foraged berries that Bombur had found along the path (unripe) which he assured them were non-poisonous. The dwarrows were cold and uneasy about being in the Mirkwood overnight, but it would have been impossible for them to make it through to the other side in the rain. The Company needed their rest. Thorin needed rest.
"Burglar," the Dwarven King said, pulling the Hobbit aside as he was passing out water rations, "I had intended to tell you that if you had not made other arrangements, you are welcome to share my shelter for the night."
The halfling flushed, though it could have been from the chill of the rain, "Thank you," he said, smiling sheepishly, and finally remembering his hobbitish manners, "how kind!"
Bilbo opened his mouth like he was preparing to say something else, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet, but said nothing. Instead he smiled again, handing Thorin his share of water, then quickly ran beneath the Ri's tarp to escape the rain.