This piece was inspired by the extended Rivendell scene in An Unexpected Journey when Bilbo overhears Gandalf and Elrond talking about Thorin and the quest for Erebor. That scene gives me so many painful feels (stop foreshadowing things, Elrond!) that I had to write something for it.

Unbeta'd, since this is just a drabble. :3

Enjoy!

Bilbo had seen neither hide nor hair of Thorin since Elrond had read them the moon rune prophecy off the map of the Lonely Mountain. Perhaps it was for the best. The dwarf hadn't been in the greatest of moods—then again, he was never in the greatest of moods—for the duration of their stay in Rivendell. The mutual hatred between the dwarves and elves had pretty much made their stay miserable. And Bilbo didn't really have any friends among the company, surely no one that would take the same interest in elven culture as he, thus the hobbit had spent the majority of his time wandering alone and admiring all that Rivendell had to offer.

He was doing just that, heading up the stairs onto some balcony or another that overlooked the picturesque surroundings of the Last Homely House when he heard Gandalf and Elrond speaking below.

"It is a dangerous move, Gandalf," he heard the elven lord say to the wizard, who had been trying to convince him that the quest for Erebor wasn't just a fool's errand. Bilbo would be lying if he said he hadn't had similar thoughts along the way, hadn't had his doubts about their mission. Specifically his role in said mission.

There were days he didn't know why he'd signed that bloody contract, why he ran out his door that late spring morning trailing after thirteen dwarves and a wizard. Why he felt the strange need—no, want—to belong, to gain the dwarves' approval. But their journey thus far had been rough, and he was just as much of an outsider in the company as the dwarves were in the peaceful lands of the Shire.

And then there was Thorin, who openly detested him with every fiber of his being, who seemed to think that Bilbo was the biggest waste of space in all of Middle Earth. Didn't that just make him feel splendid.

"The throne of Erebor is Thorin's birthright," Gandalf insisted, but Elrond was having none of it.

Bilbo was beginning to feel a bit guilty about eavesdropping, especially when the discussion concerned a certain dwarf. He turned to leave, only to find that said dwarf was standing right behind him, listening to the conversation between their mutual friend and their gracious host. The hobbit mentally commended Thorin for his silence—normally, he could have heard the dwarf's footsteps a mile off for how heavily he clomped around. Who knew Thorin had the ability to be as quiet as a hobbit?

He stared at the king for a few moments, but Thorin didn't even acknowledge him. His attention was fully devoted to the critical words being spoken about him by the elven lord.

Resigned, Bilbo turned his attention back to the conversation as well. Elrond had dropped his voice to almost a whisper, so much that Bilbo had to strain his already sharp ears to hear what was being said.

"A string of madness runs deep in that family," Elrond reminded Gandalf gravely. "His grandfather lost his mind. His father succumbed to the same sickness."

At that, Bilbo stilled. Surely Elrond wasn't doubting Thorin? He may not have been the kindest being in the world, but to go as far as thinking the dwarf was mad? Bilbo couldn't see it at all. The faithful leader of their little ragtag company was better than that. He was noble, and fierce, and determined. He was strong enough of mind not to fall under illness. At least, Bilbo thought he was.

"Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall?" Elrond's voice echoed in the night air. He and Gandalf continued on their path, words becoming more incomprehensible the further away they got.

Letting out a breath he didn't remember holding, Bilbo chanced a glance at Thorin who stood stock still right behind him.

The dwarf looked…wrecked. Vulnerable. Uncertain. Bilbo's heart called out to him then, for the emotions present in Thorin's eyes were not dissimilar to how Bilbo had been feeling this entire journey so far.

It suddenly hit Bilbo then how much Thorin must carry on his shoulders. He was not only the leader of their company, but leader of his people. He toiled day in and day out to provide for his kin, and now he had undertaken this nearly impossible quest to reclaim the home that had been stolen in the most fearsome way possible. The hobbit couldn't even fathom experiencing something so horrendous like that.

Thorin seemed to be lost to his own musings, for he didn't notice Bilbo approaching until the hobbit stood directly in front of him, peering up at him under copper curls that had grown just a tad too long. When those blue eyes finally took note of him, Bilbo's breath hitched. The steely resolve he was so used to seeing had crumbled, if only for these few precious moments, revealing a troubled heart and almost as much self-doubt as Bilbo felt for himself.

Well, that just wouldn't do. A king should never doubt himself.

"Burglar?" Thorin prompted, and if Bilbo heard his deep voice cracking just a bit, he didn't comment on it.

For once, Bilbo felt like he had to be the strong one. He wanted to ease the weight on Thorin's shoulders, even just a little, if he could. Hesitant at first, he reached out and placed a reassuring hand on Thorin's arm. He didn't break eye contact with Thorin for a second, even though he felt like those brilliant blue eyes could see straight into his soul.

"I have faith in you."

Five simple words from a simple little hobbit. Bilbo didn't think his words would hold much gravity, especially considering whom he'd just said them to. Still, he felt like they needed to be said, because if he didn't say them, who would?

When Thorin didn't reply, Bilbo took that as a sign that maybe he should leave. Flashing a quick, forlorn smile at his leader, the hobbit turned to scamper up the stairs. Embarrassment flooded his veins, and he needed to get as far away from Thorin as possible before he made an even bigger fool of himself.

"Master Baggins," Thorin called to him. Bilbo stilled on the stairs, already about halfway up. He looked over the stone banister and down at the dwarf.

"Yes, Master Oakenshield?" he squeaked.

At long length, Thorin uttered, "Thank you." Just two words, followed by a curt nod which Bilbo returned.

Bilbo watched as Thorin turned in the opposite direction, heading back down the stairs and likely to where the company sat by a blazing fire kindled by elven furniture. He stayed still on the steps until Thorin was out of sight, feeling so light that he could have been easily blown over by the slightest breeze.

He hoped that Thorin felt lighter too, even just a little.

I'm hoping to write more of these in the future. I hope you liked it!

Until next time,
Chibi