Disclaimer - Characters not mine, world not mine. Made for entertainment purposes only, not for profit.
Thorin was ever aware of all the company around him. He knew where they were most of the time, what to expect of them, and what use they were to the quest. He tried to give each at least a little attention on occasion, even though they did not expect it. That didn't mean most of his attention didn't go to Balin and Dwalin or his nephews, or even the Hobbit.
Yet, it was when they came to Beorn's that he realized another had taken his attention, too. As he recouped from the Warg's attack, despite insisting he was fine, and the others relaxed, Thorin found himself looking for Bofur. The miner wasn't the only Dwarf off somewhere doing their own thing, even the Hobbit was nowhere to be seen, but it was the jovial grin and warm, friendly voice that felt missing.
He didn't get to think on it for long, soon enough his nephews and others taking his mind from it. Yet, as they left the peaceful home of the skin-changer, his eyes sought that lopsided grin for but a moment, as if to be certain it was there. Then, all attention was on Mirkwood and Elves.
Bofur never entered his attention again, not truly, until the river. The smile was gone, and some part of his mind supplied it'd been gone for a while save when forced to try to lighten the spirits of the princes or Hobbit. Deep down, it warmed a part of Thorin that the young Dwarf took time and effort for his nephews, which only made it harder for him to watch and be unable to return the kindness and do something for Bombur.
As king, he had to be strong.
By the time they left the wood, wet and chilled from the Hobbit's clever escape plan, much had happened. Thorin thought of nothing but Erebor and finding a way to ensure their quest continued. Least ways, he didn't until he found himself the target of Bofur's spirit lifting attempts. He was at a loss for how to respond when the miner sat down and gave him a grin, immediately setting into telling some wild tale or another. Normally, he'd scoff and glare to be left alone; he'd even used such a ploy on his nephews not long before Bofur had approached.
And yet… And yet, he watched Bofur without a sound, listened to the lilt of his voice and watched the spark in his eye. With no recollection of it happening, he found himself smiling at the younger Dwarf.
Thorin lost himself to it, for a time. It was as he found himself comparing the miner's smile to rare veins of mithril, brilliant and breathtaking and capable of making his heart stutter, and trying to think of a gem worthy of standing up to the gleam and twinkle of Bofur's flawless eyes that the king came to a startling revelation.
It must have showed on his face. The rich copper voice stopped its telling of the story and Bofur stared at him in what could only be confusion. "Is the story not to your liking?" He asked after a moment of silence.
How could Thorin know? He'd not listened to a word of it for the last several minutes, lost as he'd been in his thoughts. "The story's fine," he answered, voice a little rougher than usual.
Bofur looked skeptical. "Y'alright then?"
Thorin gave a nod. "Yes, do continue." He tried to smile, but he could tell his effort fell short.
Giving a slightly dismissive shrug, the miner picked his story up where he'd left off. Thorin listened for the first few moments; soon realizing he'd already missed at least one important plot line and really had no idea what Bofur was talking about. His mind wandered a bit, but he knew that Bofur would notice if he didn't at least seem to be paying attention.
So, he watched Bofur lose himself to his tale, hands moving about to emphasize several points and his teeth flashing in an ornery grin. Thorin gave a small smile. He envied the younger Dwarf, much as he did his nephews, the joy he found in life and the ability to share that joy with others. He envied them the freedom to choose.
After the story was told, Bofur pulled out his pipe, lighting it and giving a puff with a pleased smile. Thorin wasn't too surprised when it was offered his way. Bofur was kind and generous, more so than most Dwarves, and especially with his friends. The king accepted without second thought, feeling honored to be considered a friend. He never once thought it was obligation to Bofur's king; he knew that when he saw it for he'd seen it a lot in his many years, to his grandfather and to himself.
Then, it occurred to him as he passed the pipe back that his mouth had been where the miner's had. Thorin had shared plenty of pipes in his life and not thought a thing about it. He shouldn't have been hit with thoughts of his lips on Bofur's, that the pipe was as close as he could come to doing so.
Scrubbing a hand against his face, Thorin felt it was time to call it a night, even if it was quite early. Bofur was presenting a dangerous distraction. There was too much ahead of them all for the king to let it go any further. He shoved the spark of attraction deep down and buried it under responsibility to the quest, the company, and his people.
After Lake-town, there was no time for thoughts of Bofur. The mountain, and its treasure, consumed Thorin. It was mostly all a blur, after the fact. Even the battle was a bit hazy, at first. Overtime, more came back to him through the pain of his injuries, and guilt set over the king.
When he was finally found and carried to a private healing tent, Thorin had resigned himself that he'd saved the Dwarves' home but would not see it restored. He also knew he had a Hobbit to make amends with before returning to stone.
Being told he would live was a mixed blessing. Thorin would see his home restored, he would be able to properly seek forgiveness from Bilbo, he would be able to turn his mind back to Bofur, but…
He knew when Balin and Bofur came to him that something was wrong, something terrible. Balin looked pained and Bofur, wonderful, beautiful Bofur still covered in Orc blood, looked distraught as he twisted his hat in his hands. It wasn't hard to guess what was wrong, and the joy he felt seeing Bofur well and whole was smothered by it.
"Fíli? Kíli?" He asked, voice cracking.
The two shared a look and stepped to either side of his makeshift bed. Balin looked him in the eye, hesitated a moment, then looked down. "Fíli is injured but will survive. Kíli…" He gave a small shake of his head.
Thorin stared forward, going numb inside. His nephew… His young, vibrant, brilliant heir… Fíli and Dís would be crushed, broken, and it was all Thorin's fault. It should have been him. He was only vaguely aware when Balin left him, sinking further under the weight of grief and guilt.
Bofur's hand on his shoulder drew his attention. He looked up, feeling part of himself crumble at the sympathy there. With a shaky hand, he covered Bofur's with his own. "Bombur and Bifur?" He prayed to Mahal no other of the company was lost, that no one else would have to feel what he and Fíli must.
"They're bruised but whole." He gave the king's shoulder a gentle squeeze.
"You should be with them. Your family…"
Bofur cut him off. "I'm where I need to be." He offered Thorin a small smile. "You should rest. Everyone needs their king."
He couldn't help but snort derisively. "Some king."
"Hey now, none of that, you hear. You're a fine king and too good a Dwarf to go thinkin' so poorly of yourself." Bofur gave him a stern look, and any other time Thorin might have found getting scolded by such an ornery Dwarf amusing.
Thorin wished he had Bofur's confidence in that. "Kíli was the light of our family. How can he be gone, how can I face Fíli or Dís? Why do the young ones with so much life ahead of them have to be lost? Why must our line…"
Bofur's hand cupped his jaw, silencing him in surprise. "You still got family, an' all your people. Know it don't seem enough now, but we need you, the company, and so does Erebor. Kíli'd not want his death to do what nothin' else could. Just… give it time."
He closed his eyes. "I want to see Fíli." Thorin needed to see his other nephew would be alright with his own eyes.
"Think healer's with him now. See what I can do." He removed his warm hand from Thorin's face and moved away. "Bilbo's waitin' to see you. Skittish as a mouse in a hawk's nest."
The king wasn't sure he was up to apologizing the way the Hobbit deserved, but he gave a nod. "Send him in."
Bofur gave a small smile and left. A moment later, Bilbo entered the tent.
Thorin watched him, saddened by how closed off and withdrawn the Hobbit was. Of all the company, of all of Middle Earth, he King Under the Mountain had done the most wrong to this small, innocent creature. He'd wronged Bilbo, dishonored him and himself, and shamed the line of Durin. And, he had no idea how to fix it, how to even begin to make amends.
Bilbo shuffled forward when beckoned by Thorin's hand, less hesitant with each step, until he came to Thorin's side, standing taller than he had at the flap of the tent. A small, gentle hand took hold of the king's, and sad, moist eyes rose to meet Thorin's gaze with purpose. As the other small hand rested over the one Bilbo had taken grip of, he realized Bilbo was not there seeking apology or even to offer up forgiveness. No, the gentle, soft creature was only there to offer comfort.
The small hand seemed so fragile in his large battle and forge worn hand, but he did not hesitate to give it a firm squeeze of appreciation, as he could not find voice to say anything, with a growing lump in his throat. Bilbo truly was an amazing, selfless man, and Thorin could only hope to be allowed to call him friend.
"How are your injuries?" Bilbo finally spoke, not with platitudes he knew he'd hear often about the loss of Kíli but of something as close to benign as they could come without being silly.
Thorin opened his mouth to speak then had to clear his throat before trying again. "I will heal."
"Good." He offered a small smile. "Everyone's been worried," he said, trailing off in a way that led Thorin to believe he wasn't sure if he should say what was on his mind. Bilbo's gaze was assessing before he finally added, "especially Bofur."
Whatever he could have expected, and there were many things, that certainly never occurred to him. He couldn't fathom why Bofur would be that concerned, but then, he had seemed extra comforting when he'd come in with Balin, especially just before he'd left to check on Fíli.
Bilbo's soft chuckle startled him, and his gaze shot to the Hobbit sharply, not even aware he'd turned his gaze to the opening of the tent. The Hobbit quickly lifted his free hand in sign of calm. "Sorry, sorry." He put his hand back over Thorin's. "You really don't see it, do you?"
He frowned at the smaller creature. "See what?"
"The way you look at him. Well, obviously you don't. You can't see yourself, least not without a mirror, and you certainly don't carry one around with you. Even if you did, if you were watching you, you couldn't watch him, so you'd never see how you look when you do," Bilbo rambled off. "Maybe a magical…"
"Halfling," he cut the Hobbit off before he went further down some rather random tangent. He didn't feel up to nonsense on most days and certainly not on this one.
"Sorry." The expression could only be called sheepish. "My point… My point is he looks at you like that, has since Lake-Town."
Thorin wasn't sure what 'like that' meant, how he looked at Bofur. Yet, he knew why he looked at Bofur, so he could guess. Thinking about it was a nice reprieve from everything else on his mind, but he couldn't dwell. "Burg… Bilbo," he said, settling his thoughts, "I have done much wrong by you."
Bilbo fidgeted and looked down at their hands. "I'm the one that did wrong. You've no reason…"
"Don't," he silenced him. "I do. I could have… However bad the grievance, to have done such to you, who only ever acts selflessly, is a great shame. I would see it made right, whatever I must do."
The Hobbit smiled at him. "You mustn't do anything. We have regrets, both of us." He patted Thorin's hand. "Let's just agree it is all past and start over, as friends."
"Agreed," the king said, humbled, and squeezed the hand in his, somewhat weakly. He could feel wariness seeping deep into him.
As if summoned, Óin pushed into the tent. He was covered in all manner of blood, but all of it appeared red. Thorin made note to honor the Dwarf for his hard work in saving as many lives as was possible. The healer walked over to him, without pause, looking stern. Somewhere, he'd gotten an ear horn with a strap, which was good as the king didn't feel up to shouting, unsure if the bustle outside the tent would leave it required without the aid of the hearing device.
"You should be resting, lad," Óin told him, sounding and looking put out that he wasn't. King or not, Thorin was his patient and had no doubt Óin would treat him like any other that did not heed his instructions.
"Not yet," he told him. "Not until…"
"Now, Thorin. Worked too hard to fix your ungrateful hide." He crossed his arms and loomed over them, making Bilbo shift nervously.
"I should go. He's right. You need to rest." Bilbo pulled on his hand, trying to get from between the two Dwarves.
"Not yet." He wasn't resting until he at least had news of Fíli. It wasn't enough to know he'd survive. Thorin needed more than that. And yet, he didn't ask Óin, who would know best, even if he wasn't the one to work on Fíli's injuries. No, he wanted to hear from Bofur… It was illogical, but Thorin wasn't of a mind to care.
Óin looked annoyed. "I'll make you tea. After, I expect you to rest." Before Thorin could say anything, the other Dwarf was turned away and leaving.
Movement at his side drew his attention, and he looked to find Bilbo had stood. "Leaving as well, Mister Baggins?" He offered the Hobbit a trace of a smile.
"Yes, before he blames me for you not resting." The Hobbit smiled.
Thorin chuckled. "Wise idea." He released his hold on Bilbo's hand and watched the Hobbit smile and leave.
Left to only his thoughts, the king soon found his spirits darkened and felt a painful tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with the spear that had been thrust there in battle.
In the still and silence of his tent, where no eyes could see and the sounds outside would leave no ears to listen, Thorin wept. He wept with no care Óin would soon return, that any of his trusted company might enter, for no other save Dain would dare, and his cousin would understand.
He was still crying quietly when Óin did return, the healer's scowl softening at the state of his king, his friend. Any other time, Thorin may have been annoyed by any show of pity, but he didn't care as a large, warm hand settled on his shoulder. Wiping his eyes, he looked up at the healer, intending to thank him. Before he could, Bofur came into the tent unannounced.
Immediately, Thorin's attention was focused on the miner, wanting any news of Fíli. He watched his approach with barely contained impatience.
"Bilbo said you weren't going to listen to Óin til I come back." Bofur smiled and shook his head. He pulled a handkerchief, a present from Bilbo in Lake-Town for the kindness that the miner had shown in giving over his pocket at the start of their journey, out of his pocket and wiped at Thorin's face without missing a beat. "Fíli's restin', like a good Dwarf," he said, a teasing note of chastisement in his tone.
Thorin looked at him flatly. A quip about Bofur acting like a mother was right on the tip of his tongue, but he had more pressing interests. "How is he?"
There was a small huff from Óin, who muttered about not having been asked, when he had treated the boy.
"He's lost some blood and he'll take time to heal, but he'll be fine, just a little scarred." Bofur looked down at him with a serious expression on his face. "Now listen to Óin, or I'll get Dwalin." It wasn't an idle threat, and Thorin knew Dwalin would thump him over the head if he didn't rest on his own, injured king or not.
Heaving a sigh, the king looked to the other Dwarf and held a hand out for his tea. It smelled of peat and mildew and bark, and it had a bitter flavor that left Thorin's tongue nearly numb and flooded his mouth with copious amounts of saliva. His body gave an involuntary shudder, but he downed it all, without comment or fuss, even as his stomach spasmed in an attempt to keep the fluid out.
Óin took the cup from his fingers, checked for fever and his bandages, and then left them alone.
The tea was potent and fast; Thorin felt his eyes droop and the sounds of camp became more muffled. He was aware of Bofur tucking his covers and brushing back his hair, but he was so close to sleep that it might have been imagination.
Thorin didn't rouse until late the next evening. At first, he was disoriented, then a moment later in pain. A large gentle hand rested on his brow as he shifted and groaned. His eyes shot open at the contact. Gandalf stared down at him, eyes concerned and assessing.
The king tried to speak, but his mouth was dry. A stone cup was placed to his lips, and he readily drank the water offered to him, groaning when it was moved away. A second later it was back again, and he took another drink.
"You will heal," Gandalf spoke, as if his word alone meant the difference. "I was uncertain for a time. Your fate was in shadow for much of your quest."
The Dwarf grunted softly. Part of him wished still that he had not survived, that he would not. He raised one hand and took the stone cup from the Wizard's hand, feeling weaker than he'd ever admit as it took more effort than he expected to hold onto.
"Your company and people are happy." Gandalf folded his hands in his lap, watching Thorin. "You only feel your loss. I am sorry about Kíli, Thorin."
"As am I, Wizard," he said, voice rough. "As am I." His guilt weighed down on him. "What of Fíli?" There was no doubt that Gandalf knew how Fíli was, whether he would answer, and clearly, was to be seen.
"He is still unconscious. Bilbo sits with him now. They are taking turns with both of you."
Thorin felt a chill set deep inside. "He has never woke?" They had said he would survive, but if he never woke.
Gandalf's hand was gentle on his own. "Be at ease. He will." Again, his voice held so much confidence and surety that it was like the Wizard's word would make it so.
The king found it hard to have confidence. Fíli was all he had left. "How can you be so certain?"
"I know," he answered simply, giving a tiny shrug. "Trust me."
Trust was hard for Thorin, and Gandalf made it harder at times with his secrecy and talking in riddles, but the king nodded. He would try. The Wizard would never lie about something so serious. "Very well," he conceded, eyes going to the cup in his hand.
"Óin will want to see you." Gandalf watched him for a moment before giving his arm a pat and standing.
Thorin watched him go, finishing the water in his cup before dropping it down beside his bed. He rested his head back and waited. It wouldn't take long. Óin was diligent, and would likely bring more of his cursed tea, but Thorin didn't want to sleep so soon. There were questions that needed answered, questions that a king needed to ask despite his personal grief.
Moments later, Óin did enter, followed closely by the sons of Fundin. He gave the three of them a faint smile. It did good to see them well, and it was his first chance to see Dwalin since the battle. Soon, once Fíli was awake and capable, the company would have to gather, just the thirteen of them. He felt a pang at the number but pushed beyond it, focusing on his friends.
"You look better than when we peeled you from the field." Dwalin looked very pleased as he walked over to stand at the foot of Thorin's bed.
"I'm not sure I feel better." He winced as Óin started prodding without as much as a greeting or warning.
His two closest confidants and advisors laughed, a little. "S'good to see, laddie." Balin smiled, if a little sadly. They were feeling the loss, too, Thorin knew. They'd taught and trained Kíli almost as much as he had, more so perhaps, at times.
"How are the rest?" Thorin winced again and shot Óin a small glare. "What are the losses to Dain's army?"
Balin sighed. "Heavy, but it could have been far worse, if we'd been on the field alone." Balin looked grim. "The company is well, tired and concerned but alive and unharmed, save you and Fíli. The worst besides is Dori's broken arm. Ori's proving to be as fussy as Dori." He shook his head.
"Dain is anxious to have counsel with you." Dwalin looked pensive. Thorin wasn't sure if it was to do with Dain or if Dwalin was just feeling irritable in general.
"Later," Óin informed them. "Thorin needs rest not headache. Now, hold him up so I can change his bandages."
Dwalin didn't argue, moving forward to hold the king upright. Thorin's head spun from the motion and he groaned, afraid for a moment he might be sick. Balin moved to Óin's side to hand him things and take things from him, making the process as fast as they could.
"One of the Elven healers would like to look you over," Balin mentioned. Óin grunted, insulted probably to think an Elf could do better, but Balin ignored him. "They have magic, Thorin, which might help. Gandalf said he did what he could but he's no healer."
"Let Óin see to it. If they Elves want to help, have them help Fíli." He'd do anything, even deal with cursed Elves, to help his nephew. The look that passed between the sons of Fundin was almost lost on him as his head spun again, but not quite. "What?" He grunted.
"They are already helping with Fíli," Balin spoke, again ignoring a grunt from Óin. "You can't be everywhere at once, Óin."
"They're never alone with him. Nori usually stands guard when they're in there, or Bifur," Dwalin assured him. Thorin was a little surprised it wasn't Dwalin standing guard with a fixed glower on his face.
"Dwalin tried," Balin said, as if knowing what he was thinking. "He caused too much trouble." He shot his brother a look. "Bilbo dragged him away… by his beard."
Thorin winced. The Hobbit was not to know that was a quick way to start a fight between Dwarves; that one shouldn't tug on another's beard unless they wanted to pay great insult. "I'm sure he meant no harm."
"Oh, I think Dwalin liked it." Balin smirked, eyes dancing under bushy brows. He chuckled when Dwalin scowled at him and flushed, looking away from them both. Thorin hadn't considered that. Beard pulling could lead to more carnal things as well, in the right situation. He supposed Bilbo was feisty enough for Dwalin's interest.
"You should speak with the Hobbit, then," he told Dwalin. "Before he leaves." It was hard to think that their burglar would leave them, but he had no reason to stay and every reason to go.
"I won't." Dwalin looked set on that. "You're not one should go giving advice on such matters." He scowled at Thorin. "Can't see what's right in front of you."
Thorin sighed, but before he could speak Óin was pouring something on his side that felt like molten iron and he let out a string of curses that impressed even Dwalin. "A warning would be nice," he hissed out between his teeth.
"Wouldn't hurt any less," Óin informed him, smearing some pungent greenish brown poultice on the wounds before putting leaves over it and wrapping bandages back around him. The healer motioned Dwalin to ease Thorin back down. "Finish your talk. I'll be bringing you something light to eat and your tea and you will rest afterward." Óin left them quickly.
Balin chuckled. "Best listen to him, laddie. You don't want to make him cross."
Thorin grunted softly and closed his eyes. He was glad to be prone again. "He's always cross." He opened his eyes and looked up at them. "Tell Dain I will see him the moment Óin will let him in the tent without tossing him right back out." He slid his gaze to Dwalin. "I'm not blind, but now isn't the time. I… I need to grieve and deal with far too much."
Dwalin snorted. "Now is exactly the time, but it's your choice. I'll deal with Dain."
"You will not. You're as diplomatic as an Oliphant, stepping on whatever irritates you. I'll deal with Dain." Balin gave Dwalin a stern look.
"You can both deal with Dain." Thorin closed his eyes again.
"Aye, laddie." Balin smiled. "We'll leave you to rest."
Thorin grunted, listening to them go. He felt himself drifting toward sleep again when he heard the approach of footsteps and the smell of food. His stomach both growled and churned in mixed reaction. Opening his eyes, he blinked at finding Bofur carrying his meal, not Óin. "Bofur," he said, not sure what else to say. It relieved him to see the other Dwarf but he'd never been great with small talk. It was good that Bofur was good enough for the both of them.
"Óin said you're to eat it all, if you can." He sat down on a stool beside the bed. "Can you… or do you need me to…" He held up the spoon and gave it a little wave.
"Prop me up a little and I will try." If he couldn't feed himself he might as well lie down and die.
Bofur set the bowl and spoon aside and used some extra furs to prop Thorin up enough to make eating somewhat easier. He then rested the bowl into the king's hands before sitting down. "Just some broth, but with Bombur and Bilbo fussing over it figure it's better than anything the rest of us are eating." He smiled at him. "Bilbo insists it's the best thing both sides of the Misty Mountains for whatever ails you."
"Thank you." Thorin slowly lifted the spoon to his lips to taste it. The flavor was deep and robust with just a hint of spice to it. Broth wasn't an adequate name for it. "It is very good. Give them my thanks."
The younger Dwarf looked up from fussing with a pipe. "Course." He grinned. "They'll be glad to hear you like it."
Thorin hummed and focused on spooning the liquid into his mouth. It would be much simpler to lift the bowl and drink from it, but he wasn't sure his hands would remain steady enough. He glanced up when he smelled the fruity woody scent of Bofur's tobacco. He was curious what sort of leaf it was but didn't ask. Bofur had his eyes closed and his head tilted back. Thorin could see how tired the other Dwarf looked, and he wondered how much rest Bofur was getting.
Neither one of them spoke as Thorin ate his meal, managing, if barely, to get down every last drop. Bofur smoked his pipe quietly; only his act of doing so let Thorin know that the young Dwarf was actually awake and not dozed off where he sat. Gingerly, he leaned over and rested the small bowl on the ground, drawing the miner's attention.
"Easy." Bofur moved to help him straighten back up. "Óin gave me the bits of leaf and bark to make his tea. You need to have some." He pulled a pouch out of his pocket. "I'll go get the water." He bent down and gathered up the cup and bowl there. "Won't be long." He handed his pipe to Thorin. "Don't go telling Óin." He winked with a broad grin then turned and left.
Thorin was happy for the offer, and the calming effect of the leaf Bofur was smoking. It wasn't Dwarven, Thorin knew that much, but he couldn't place where it had come from. He took a couple long, slow draws of smoke then looked at the pipe.
The pipe wasn't the same one they'd shared at Beorn's, but it was similar in size and shape. He looked it over, seeing the small tool marks along its smooth surface. Bofur had carved them both, he realized. This one, however, had Erebor carved into the side of the shape and a fine swirl of filigree swirled along the shank and up the saddle and stem, getting smaller and finer the smaller the stem became. It was delicate work and well done, showing the control and gentleness of Bofur's hand. The sheer skill was amazing, and it took Thorin's breath away.
He noticed, though, that there was a blank area open next to the carving of Erebor. Bofur must have left it empty for a reason with the rest of the pipe so intricately designed. He looked up as he heard the other Dwarf come back in with a small copper kettle and a cup for the tea. "This is fine work, Bofur."
The younger Dwarf actually looked embarrassed, though Thorin couldn't understand why. "Thanks. Been working on it since Lake-town." He sat the kettle and cup down, picking up the pouch he'd left on the makeshift table beside Thorin's makeshift bed. He poured the water over the leaves and left them to steep for the moment.
"It's not finished," he commented, running his thumb over the small blank place.
Bofur sat down. "Not yet." He smiled, again looking almost shy about it. "Still need to finish the carving and add some finishing touches." He tilted his head a little. "You like it then?"
Thorin looked down at it again, weighing it in his hand. It was just the right size for a good pipe, fit nicely in his grip and the stem wasn't too long or too short. "Aye. It's a fine pipe. You do good work."
The younger Dwarf's face lit up and wrinkled in a broad grin. "Can't have idle hands. I'm glad you like it. First time it's been used. Wanted to make sure it did alright."
He gave a nod, handing it back to Bofur, who tapped it out then turned it over in his hands before putting it inside his coat. Thorin closed his eyes and rested his head back, waiting on the cursed tea. He didn't have to wait long, hearing Bofur stand and check it before moving back over the single step to Thorin's side. The king opened his eyes and looked up at him.
Bofur laughed. "You haven't even drunk it yet, and you're already grimacing. Can't be bad as all that." He held the cup out to him, steadying it with his hands over Thorin's before his hands slipped away with a brush of rough fingertip over the backs of the king's hands.
"You drink it, then," Thorin told him before taking a drink of the bitter fluid. The broth he'd had earlier churned with his stomach, but he held it down as he quickly finished the tea. Body giving an involuntary shudder, he handed the empty cup to Bofur.
The miner took it and set it aside before rearranging Thorin so he wasn't propped up so high. "Rest better this way," he said as he pulled and tucked at the fur lying over Thorin's body.
Thorin blinked at him, already feeling the pull of rest. He really had to ask Óin what was in there that knocked him out so fast. He felt that light brush to his hair he had the last time, and it soothed him into his slumber.
A few more days passed in this fashion, Thorin getting stronger each day. He sat up more and took more visits from the company and Gandalf; though Balin and Dwalin were often close at hand to chase them away when Thorin began to tire, as was the Hobbit when he did not sit with Fíli.
Thankfully, as far as Thorin knew, he'd tugged at no one else's beard save Dwalin's. He'd have to look into that further, see if his old friend had talked to the Hobbit like he'd been told. Bilbo, Bofur had told him, had been fast to get into Dain's personal space when he'd made a rather jesting if crude remark toward Dwalin. Like the rest of the Dwarves, Dain hadn't known what to do with an angry Halfling. You never knew if you should sooth it or get out of its way, like prickly house cats he'd seen in the towns of men.
Bofur brought him all of his meals, and Óin or Bofur one was always there to give Thorin tea when it was time for him to rest. Neither seemed to care if the king thought he needed the rest or not. In fact, none of the company seemed overly concerned with the fact that Thorin was their king, and he couldn't find it in himself to be more than mildly frustrated by the fact, more because he didn't get his way than they were not obeying his every whim.
Five days after the battle, Bofur came rushing into his tent in the afternoon, not too long after having brought Thorin his midday meal, bouncing with excitement. Before Thorin could form thought, the miner rushed to his side. "He's awake!" He announced without any preamble.
Thorin reached out and gripped his arm desperately, throat working but no sound coming forth. Luckily, Bofur seemed to know what it was he needed. A gentle hand rested over his, and Bofur gave a small squeeze. "He's fine, far as anyone can tell, just took his time in wakin' up. The Elves are going to move him in here, with you. We all think it'd be best for both of you." The miner paused and licked his lips slowly. "No one's talked of Kíli yet," he said softly.
He felt his chest ache, and he gripped at Bofur's arm all the harder, bruisingly even as his hand trembled. "It will be best from me." He gave a nod. It was the last thing in the world he wanted to do, but he would not be a coward and pass the task to another.
"Company wants to be here." Bofur stroked the back of Thorin's hand in a soothing gesture.
"No." He took a deep breath. "We should be alone. No one needs to see him fall apart." Fíli was their prince.
"None of that now. We've been through too much together. You don't think we'd judge the lad, judge you?" He frowned at Thorin in a way that was clearly disappointed. The king didn't like the way it made him feel like a Dwarfling being chastised.
He thought a moment. "Everyone can wait outside until I tell him. I just want a moment alone with him."
Bofur gave a nod. "I'll let everyone know." He gave Thorin's hand a pat. "Dori and Óin should be in to make him a place to rest. I'll see to the others."
"Thank you, Bofur." He let go of the younger Dwarf's arm and settled back against the furs behind him, waiting anxiously to see his nephew.
Óin and Dori, who seemed to work just as well with one mobile arm as two, came in several minutes later carrying furs and straw, making a bed not too far from Thorin's for Fíli to use. They didn't disturb the king, setting to the task quickly before going back out again. Only a few minutes later did one of the Elves, irritably Thranduil's son, enter with Fíli in his arms.
Fíli was pale against the Elf's clothing and even more so the dark furs he was gently placed upon. The Elven prince covered him with care before nodding to Thorin and taking his leave, gaze lingering a moment on Fíli before he departed.
The king shifted to better see his sister son and found Fíli looking back at him with a sunken tired eye. The other side of his head was wrapped in bandages. A head wound that must have caused his long sleep. "Hello, Uncle," he spoke softly, trying to smile but falling short.
"Fíli." Thorin wanted to touch, to hold him, but he wasn't sure he could make it to him without falling on his face. He honestly didn't want to deal with the half dozen people that would feel the need to chastise and growl at him should he. So, he stayed in place and reached out as far as he could, smiling when a hand grasped his in a weak grip.
"Uncle… I… I saw Kíli fall. Did he… is he…" There was anguish in Fíli's tired tones, and Thorin realized that Fíli already feared the worst. What he wouldn't give to be able to give him good news!
Thorin squeezed his hand tightly. "I am sorry, Fíli. You have no idea what I would give were it not so."
"It is not your fault, Uncle," he breathed. Thorin saw a tear slip from his eye, followed by another. Falling be damned, he got himself upright and stumbled over to fall into the furs beside his nephew, pulling him tightly into his arms. He ignored the pain to his own wounds as he did so. Fíli burrowed into him and sobbed quietly.
The king stroked his nephew's hair and back, making soothing sounds and giving him reassuring words. It wasn't much, but it was all he could do.
When Fíli pulled away, Thorin kissed his forehead the way he had when the boys were Dwarflings. He received a faint but true smile. "Are you ready to face the company?" A nod was his answer, so Thorin gently laid his brow to Fíli's then turned to the tent opening. "Óin, Bofur!" He called.
Bofur was first to enter, followed by Balin then Óin and Bilbo. The rest hesitated behind Dwalin until Thorin motioned them in as well.
Óin looked cross at the king. "Get him back to bed," he ordered the others.
Dwalin and Dori helped Thorin back to his resting place, Bofur moving forward to fuss over him to get him comfortable. Thorin didn't miss the smirk being thrown at him by the bald Dwarf before Dwalin moved away. He ignored it, watching the miner. "I'm fine, Bofur, thank you," he told him after a moment.
Bofur paused, as if just realizing what he was doing. "Right," he said, backing away a step and giving a sheepish smile.
Thorin gave him a small smile then glanced around at the others. Bilbo was beside Fíli, helping the young Dwarf steady a cup of water. The others were spread here and there around the tent, leaving it a bit cramped. Of note to Thorin was how close Dwalin stood next to Bilbo. He gave his old friend a smirk of his own, which received an eye roll.
"It is good to see all of you well," Thorin gave them all a tired smile. They returned it with smiles and nods of their own, though there was a shadow of grief on all of them.
The group spent a few hours together away from the bustle outside. For that moment in time, it was just them, as it had been for so many months. Softly, Thorin began to hum and a few of the others joined him. It was Bofur who finally began to sing.
"Under the Mountain dark and tall
The King has come unto his hall!
His foe is dead, the Worm of Dread,
And ever so his foes shall fall.
The sword is sharp, the spear is long,
The arrow swift, the Gate is strong;
The heart is bold that looks on gold;
The Dwarves no more shall suffer wrong.
The Dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells.
On silver necklaces they strung
The light of stars, on crowns they hung
The dragon-fire, from twisted wire
The melody of harps they wrung.
The mountain throne once more is freed!
O! wandering folk, the summons heed!
Come haste! Come haste! across the waste!
The king of friend and kin has need.
Now call we over mountains cold,
'Come back unto the caverns old'!
Here at the Gates the king awaits,
His hands are rich with gems and gold.
The king is come unto his hall
Under the Mountain dark and tall.
The Worm of Dread is slain and dead,
And ever so our foes shall fall!"
Silence fell, and they realized after a moment it was quiet outside the tent as well. Thorin opened his eyes, not sure when he'd closed them, and looked at Bofur. He offered a small, sad smile of gratitude. It warmed him to see Bofur smile back.
"Alright. It's time for them to rest. Everyone, out. Bofur, get the king his tea," Óin ordered as he ushered Dwarrows out of the tent.
Bofur moved into action, rushing from the tent around their slower moving friends. When he came back, Óin snagged a cup, as he was carrying two, and poured water in it before pushing him toward Thorin. The king chuckled despite everything at the eye roll this earned the healer. "Don't gotta be so pushy," Bofur quipped as he walked over to Thorin. "Make me burn myself and then you'll have another patient."
Óin snorted. "If a little hot water is all it takes to injure you, then you can suffer for not being careful." He steeped leaves for Fíli's tea, back toward them.
Thorin shook his head and held a hand out for the cup. "I'll hold it steady for you, Bofur," he told him, tone as light as he could manage.
Bofur laughed softly and handed the cup over. "Thank you kindly, Your Majesty." He gave Thorin a wink and dropped some leaves into the cup before carefully pouring water over them so as not to spill a drop.
Thorin held it as the tea steeped, watching Bofur set the kettle aside and Óin fuss about Fíli. Even without the tea, he was feeling drowsy, and all the sleeping was really starting to irritate him. He had people to see to, a mountain to rebuild. It would take decades to fix all the damage that Smaug had caused, perhaps even longer than the life he had left him. And… And he had allies to thank and wrongs to right. Kings were not meant for bed rest. If he was not able to move soon, he'd have to swallow more of his pride and have Thranduil and Bard meet him where he lay.
"Drink your tea, Thorin. Whatever you're scowling at can wait." Bofur's voice brought him out of his thoughts and he looked up to see the other Dwarf sitting on the stool beside his bed. He was sharpening a small knife that he used in his wood work.
Listening to Bofur was becoming second nature after days of being left mostly to the younger Dwarf's care. So, Thorin obeyed, knowing it needed done and already tired. He drank it down quickly and handed the cup off to the miner. He closed his eyes. Relieved Fíli was awake and near, he fell into a somewhat peaceful sleep.
Days passed after that. One bled into another at first, but after just over a week, Thorin was ready to sit up and deal with kingly duty. This started with Dain. The first meeting was brief and the second only somewhat longer. Balin had been doing fine, and there wasn't a great deal for the cousins to discuss, officially. So they spoke of battle and family and the future.
Bard was his next guest, coming between Dain's first and second visits. Again, Balin had proven himself invaluable and most of the plans to rebuild Dale had been discussed. Thorin again swore oath to see the humans repaid, this time mind clear and sincere. He also swallowed his pride and asked forgiveness, telling Bard to let him earn it.
When time came to see the Elven King, Thorin knew he should but could not do so alone. He summoned Balin to him, unsurprised when Dwalin followed him. It was only a minor shock to see their Hobbit behind the warrior. Bofur he did not expect, but the jovial Dwarf was there, near at hand, as Thorin had realized Bofur almost always had been from the start of the journey.
Bilbo sat with Fíli, who was dozing on his furs after a morning out and about in camp, while Dwalin and Balin moved to stand near Thorin's side. For a moment, Bofur lingered near the entrance. Then, he moved to slip around to Thorin's other side, sitting down on the end of the pile of furs Thorin called his bed. He'd be out of the way there yet still close. Thorin imagined the rest of the company was probably just outside, and he felt warmth in his chest for it. These Dwarves and one Hobbit were the most loyal creatures he'd ever known and as he'd told Balin once what seemed so very long before, he'd take them over any number of the others.
It was the red headed guard captain that entered the tent first, holding the tent open for her king to duck down and enter. The prince was behind him. And what did it say of two kings when they felt need of others at their sides just to be in one another's presence? Thorin was glad to know it wasn't just him that wanted a calming presence, not that he expected Dwalin to be any help in that regard, and someone to bear witness to whatever transpired.
Thranduil's eyes raked over the six of them, nodding a small nod to Bilbo before resting his eyes on Fíli. They only lingered a moment before sweeping over Dwalin and Balin, who he was no doubt quite familiar with. As always, the Elf king's eyes were piercing, but the vacant gleam that had graced them the last time they'd shared words was gone. Thorin in no way would call them warm, but they weren't so emotionless.
The Dwarf king shifted as the eyes moved to Bofur, and there was the faintest of twitches to Thranduil's lips before he looked to Thorin and met his gaze. "My condolences, Thorin Oakenshield, on the loss of your kin."
That was certainly not the first thing he expected to come from the Elf's lips. Thorin dipped his head in gratitude and acknowledgement. "Thank you, you do me honor with your words." Out of the corner of his eye, Thorin saw Bilbo roll his eyes even as he heard the small huff from the Hobbit. Hobbit's had no use for kings and the stoicism involved in such matters. Thorin envied them that.
Thranduil's eyes went to the Hobbit, and Thorin was certain he did see a spark of warmth in the stark blue depths.
Bilbo, noticing the attention shifted to him, flushed and fidgeted. "Don't mind me," he spoke.
Thorin chuckled. "One can hardly ignore you, Master Baggins, Hobbit or not." He smiled at his friend. "Perhaps you'd care to ask Dori to see we all have tea, if that is acceptable to our guests." He looked up at Thranduil. The offer was extended, and it would be rude of the Elf to decline.
There was hesitation, though, before Thranduil finally gave a small nod. "Yes, that would be most kind, Mister Baggins."
Bilbo hopped up and rushed off to his task, grumbling about not being an errand boy, but Thorin knew he was happy to have something to do, happy being useful. Dori would feel much the same, always happy to fuss about a tea service, and probably complaining about not having the proper cups and kettle to do it the way it should be done.
Thorin shifted to get more comfortable, ignoring Bofur getting up to help him without being asked. "Shall we dispense with business before the tea arrives, or should I worry it would be wasted on sour stomachs?" He asked the Elven King.
"My people will be returning to our kingdom soon." Thranduil looked down at him. "The sooner this is done, the better."
"I've had the box of gems you want found. It will be brought to you. I cannot give enough gold to compensate for the loss of life; it would be an impossible task and a cold gesture." Thorin watched him. "However, I would see us allies again. Perhaps not this day, it is too soon, but in the future. Between Bilbo and Gandalf, I have reason to believe that the day may come when we will have to stand together again, or face much worse than the battle we just barely won."
Thranduil pursed his lips slightly then thinned them out into a faint, pale line. "Yes. On that day, you can rely on the Elves."
"When the mountain is truly ours and functioning again, we would be open to trade with your people." Thorin knew things would never be as they once had been, but if they would be better or worse was yet to be seen. He knew recently they'd been much worse, but he had to work to make it better. He would leave a better kingdom for Fíli than was left to him.
The Elf tilted his head and gazed at him unblinkingly for several seconds. "We will discuss the matter at that time," he finally said. He moved his hand and the She-Elf stepped forward, bending to one knee and holding out a bundle she'd had across her back.
With a small frown, Thorin reached out for it, slowly unveiling it to find Orcrist resting inside. He looked up at Thranduil, surprised. The blade, he was certain, was lost to him forever. He pulled it from the cloth and rested it across his lap, uncertain what to say.
"The sword is yours, King Under the Mountain," Thranduil spoke. "Mithrandir has assured me it could find no better hands to wield it."
He swallowed a bit thickly. "Thank you, for returning it." He stroked a hand down the sheath. It was strange he'd miss something so simple, something of Elven make.
Thranduil only gave a slight nod to acknowledge the words. A moment later, Bilbo came back with a tray and several cups of tea, which he passed out with a bright, friendly smile. "Thank you, Mister Baggins." Thranduil dipped his head again.
"Everyone should enjoy at least one good cup of tea a day, though I'm rather partial to a few." He smiled up at the Elf king.
"Indeed." Thranduil sounded, and even looked, amused as he gazed down at the tiny creature that was Bilbo Baggins. "I will keep those wise words in mind, Pentithen." He rested a hand briefly on Bilbo's curls, which seemed to delight the Hobbit no end. Dwalin didn't seem quite as pleased by it as he shifted on his feet and scowled at the king.
"Behave," Bilbo told him as he carried the last of the tea over to the warrior before sitting with his own and a cup for Fíli that he placed carefully on the tray on the ground.
Dwalin grunted and sipped his tea, a free hand falling to rest on the Hobbit's shoulder. He scowled at any and all amused glances cast his way, either by his own king or the Elven prince.
They were all silent as the tea was drank then the guard captain took the cups from her prince and king and left the tent. Thranduil regarded Thorin a moment then turned to go. "We will speak again, King Under the Mountain, once you have settled in your halls."
Thorin watched his back, appreciating the gesture for what it was though the prince's eyes were still trained on him to defend his father. It wasn't like Thorin had strength to attack if he'd wanted to, but he saw it for the small concession it was. "I await the day," he spoke, and then the Elves made their leave.
Not a moment later the rest of the company pushed into the tent, though they didn't seem all that inquisitive as to what had happened. Nori gave the king a wink, and that was all he needed to know as to why. Smiling, he motioned them all to make themselves comfortable then eased back against his furs and closed his eyes.
A whine from across the tent told him that Fíli was awake, and that Óin was poking and prodding at him. He ignored the sound, relieved that the talk with Thranduil was out of the way and he could focus completely on his people, on his mountain… on seeing his nephew had a proper funeral. No doubt he'd already been buried, it had been near two weeks since the battle and bodies did not last long even in the chill of winter unless properly stored. Balin would have done right by a prince of Erebor, even if the king and heir could not be present at the time. Still, it hurt to know that Kíli had to go to stone alone, without his closest kin to see him entombed.
Thorin jerked as the cup in his hand was gently plucked from his grasp. He'd forgotten he was even holding it. He opened his eyes to find Bofur giving him a kind smile before he carefully leaned across the king and set the tea on the bit of wood passing as a table. "You were about to have a wet lap," the miner told him. "You tired, want everyone to clear out so you can get some rest?"
He shook his head. "No, they're fine." He liked having them around. It meant not having to think too much, even if that had been what he was doing.
Bofur rested a hand over the king's. "I'm sure Óin's gonna have a different opinion on that." He smiled and gave Thorin's hand a pat. "You were looking pained, moment ago. Need your healing tea? Nap wouldn't hurt before supper."
The miner had a point, he was in some pain though most of it wasn't physical, and he caught concerned gazes from some of the others. "Diluted. I don't want to be passed out until morning." The smile from Bofur was blinding. Thorin watched him carefully move around the pile of furs then rush out of the tent for more hot water. He honestly wasn't sure what he would have done, if he'd been coping so well, if not for the bright smiles and gentle care of the other Dwarf.
A hand on his shoulder jerked him from his thoughts, and he looked up to find Balin smiling down at him. His advisor didn't say anything, but the twinkle in his eye was telling enough and Thorin flushed a little and looked down at his lap like a young Dwarf lad that just discovered what that bit of flesh between his legs was for.
Balin chuckled at him and gave his shoulder a gentle pat. "It's good he keeps you from brooding. You've brooded too much in your life, Thorin."
"Now's not the time, Balin. I have responsibilities, far too many: the mountain, the company, our people, Fíli… Kíli." Thorin shook his head. "I don't have the luxury to…" His words cut off as he felt a cuff to the back of his head. Only Balin and Dwalin would dare, and he looked up at Balin in shock. He was only vaguely aware that the tent had gone completely silent and all eyes were on them.
"For once in your life, think about yourself. Everything else can take care of itself, and Kíli would want you to be happy." Balin gave him the same stern look Thorin had seen leveled on his nephews most of their lives, but it did little to sway him.
Before he could protest, though, Fíli spoke up, "He's right, Uncle. Kíli would. I do." He suddenly smirked at him. "And, if you don't do this, for yourself and for Bofur, I'm going to tell mother." That earned chuckles from Balin and a deep laugh from Dwalin.
Thorin scowled at all of them, but especially his nephew. "I cannot…" He started to say before he found a rather large soup ladle pointed at his nose.
"You may be our king, but that's my brother," Bombur informed him. "You don't go breakin' him." A grunt and scowl from Bifur reinforced this sentiment. "He ain't taken care of you because he has to or because no one else wants to do it. He ain't doin' it for no reason but he wants to, cause he cares bout you."
"We all see it, Thorin," the Hobbit spoke up. "We've seen it for a long time, before either one of you noticed, I think. It's time one of you did something about it. You're the king. Shouldn't you be the bigger Dwarf?" He smirked, knowing just what words would push Thorin to do just what he wanted, damn crafty Halfling.
"Fine." He scowled all the harder at them. "Fine, but not yet. When I'm ready. Now leave me be!" He didn't care he sounded, and probably looked, petulant in that moment as he crossed his arms and try to glare hard enough at the lot of them to set them ablaze.
"What's this now?" Bofur questioned as he came back in, blinking at the irate king and the circle of their friends all looking at him with various expressions on their faces.
"It's nothing." Bilbo smiled at him. "Someone's just being grumpy. I think he really does need that tea." Thorin's glare settled on the Hobbit.
Bofur chuckled softly. "Now, don't go back to that. I swear with the two of you it's one step forward and a dozen back." He walked over to the king, oblivious to everyone else and their chuckling, it seemed, and rinsed out the cup Thorin had been using not long before. He then put some of the healing mixture into it and poured water over the bits of leaf and bark.
The king sighed and rested his head back, closing his eyes as he waited on the tea. The others were right, of course. There was not denying his attraction to the miner, his desire for him in more ways than one. But, it was hard, putting himself before his people and the mountain. As much as he cared for Bofur, it was hard to put him first as well. Only with time was he going to be able to figure out how to take the time to try to be happy. He wasn't even sure he knew what happy was anymore.
Thorin woke a few hours later to the gentle insistence of Bofur at his side. It took him a moment to realize that time had passed at all, and that he'd actually fallen asleep without the aid of Óin's infernal tea. He reached up and rubbed at his eyes then looked up at Bofur, who was apparently the only other soul in the tent. Fíli was probably off somewhere with one of the others; it'd become hard to keep him resting since he'd become more mobile. Thorin envied him that.
Bofur rested a small tray, which they'd scared up somewhere over a week ago to feed the king on, into Thorin's lap and then sat on the stool beside him. He didn't say a word, just pulled out the pipe he'd been putting the finishing touches on for the last week or so. From what Thorin could tell, it appeared to be finished, though Bofur didn't move to pack or light it. He simply held it, staring at the dark wood and running a thumb over the side of the shape that had been blank before.
The miner was worrying his lip between his teeth, Thorin noticed. Something was weighing heavily on his mind. Setting down the bread he'd been about to tear a chunk from, Thorin put his full attention on the younger Dwarf. "Bofur, what troubles you?"
The break in the silence startled Bofur, and he nearly dropped the pipe, fumbling with his grip on it for a split second. "I… Nothing's troublin' me, I just…" He sighed and lifted a hand to pull off his hat. "Well, the pipe… Here." He handed it over to Thorin. "I finally got it done. Just been waitin' to give it to you. I hope… I hope you like it."
He'd already told Bofur he liked the pipe, the last time he'd seen it up close. Of course, he hadn't realized it was a gift, that Bofur had been making it for him. Taking it in his hand, he immediately turned it to look at the place that hadn't been finished and he felt a lump the size of the Arkenstone wedge itself into his throat. There, in finer details than he knew Bofur capable of was Kíli, smiling brightly and eyes shining. Khuzdul was etched under the image, a small memorial prayer to Mahal in honor of a brave warrior fallen in battle.
Thorin didn't know what to say, what to do. All he was capable of at that moment was staring through the tears in his eyes at a gift that could never be given proper worth.
He didn't know how long he sat there, staring at the gift, before he sensed Bofur moving. The miner had stood and looked ready to leave him alone. Without thought, his hand shot out and grabbed around Bofur's wrist. "Wait," he said, a little too fast and a little too forceful to be anything but frantic. "Wait," he repeated, forcing himself to calm down. "Please, Bofur, I…" He stared at the pipe then looked up at the Dwarf.
Bofur's eyes were sad but warm, and he offered the traces of a gentle smile. "Just thought you might want a moment alone."
The king shook his head. "No. No, I…" He shifted on the furs and remembered the tray, which suddenly was very much in his way. "Dammit." He let go of Bofur to move it, dump it to the ground for all he cared, just so it wasn't there, wasn't a hindrance.
Bofur picked it up from his lap and set it aside before he could ruin the meal. "Bombur would be cross, you go wastin' good food," he told him, as if knowing what the king had meant to do. Bofur seemed to read him a lot better than most ever could.
"He's already been cross with me once today. I'm not that concerned." He reached back out to take ahold of Bofur again, pulling the miner down to sit beside his hip on the furs.
"Bombur? Cross with you?" Bofur blinked, clearly surprised. "Gentle, backwards Bombur? What'd you do that made that happen?" He asked, sounding awed, but Thorin could see traces of an overprotective big brother lingering at the edges of Bofur's gaze. He'd had the same reaction to things concerning his own siblings often enough to recognize it.
"If you'd let me speak for half a minute, you might find out," he answered tersely. He had something to say, something that wasn't easy, and Bofur was distracting him.
"Ain't stoppin' you. Say your piece." He tugged his hand free of Thorin's grip and crossed his arms. Seeing Bofur cross was unusual, and also distracting (and maybe a bit attractive, but that was neither here nor there at the moment).
Growling softly, he tugged the hand free with a scowl and kept a firmer hold on it. "I'm trying to thank you, Mahal dammit," he snapped before giving a heavy sigh and looking way. "I mean… Bofur, this gift, it means more than you could ever… Thank you. Thank you for the gift and for taking care of me. Thank you for… for caring. Without you… Without you here these last couple of weeks, maybe even longer than that, I don't know that I could have made it this far. I would have given up, I would have… Just… Thank you."
Bofur was silent, and the silence was deafening as it stretched on for what felt like an eternity. Then fingers slid into his beard and tilted his face so he had to meet Bofur's gaze or keep his eyes shut. He was too prideful to be that much of a coward, so he met the gaze and held it. The miner was smiling at him, a soft gentle smile that made Thorin's insides feel like they were tingling. "You're welcome," he said softly, hand shifting to cup Thorin's cheek as he leaned in to rest his forehead to the king's. "Nowhere else I'd rather be, than here. Wasn't ever gonna press anything, take what I could get. Not real worthy of much."
How could he possibly think that, Thorin wondered before silencing any other words by pressing his lips to Bofur's. "Your worth can't be measured, Bofur, but I could try, if you want. I've put a lot of thought to you. Never really came up with an answer for something that could compare, not yet, but I can keep trying." He kissed him again, dragging his tongue along the seam of Bofur's lips. "A smile as bright and shining as a mithril vein and eyes that sparkle and shine like the rarest of gems."
Bofur flushed and looked down sheepishly, his throat clicking loudly as he swallowed. "I… I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything." He bumped their heads together again then sat back, never letting go of the miner's hand. "All I want from you, Bofur, is you, by my side."
Chuckling, Bofur looked up at him. "I think I can handle that. Kinda used to it, now."
"Good." Thorin smiled.
"You should finish eating. Won't get your strength back if you go skippin' meals." Bofur stood and got the tray and placed it back in Thorin's lap. "You didn't say why Bombur was cross with you," he reminded.
Thorin chuckled and set the pipe aside gently. "I'm sure he won't be cross with me anymore." He smiled, not elaborating.
"What kind of answer is that?" Bofur asked, crossing his arms. "I'm gonna have to ask him, aren't I? Why do I figure he ain't gonna answer either?"
The king just smirked and tore off a chunk of his bread. The loss of Kíli was still painful, it would be for a long time, especially once his sister arrived, but Bofur was a balm to the pain. With the miner at his side, Thorin knew he could face it and come out the other side whole and happy. Bofur gave him strength and a desire to continue to do what he'd always set out to do, make a home in Erebor for their people. Bofur was a reminder of why that was important.