Bilbo woke at noon. After lying in his bed blinking at his ceiling trying to figure out why he had slept so late, he heard a hacking cough from the next room over and remembered. Sighing, he got up, gave himself a quick wash, and dressed, then stopped by the kitchen, where he got a short breakfast (for a hobbit) and strained the bones and gunk out of the broth he had put on the night before, putting some of what was left in a bowl for the dwarf – Thorin, if he recalled his name correctly. Picking up the bowl, a spoon, and a mug of water, Bilbo headed over to check on his unsolicited guest. When he got to the door, he stopped and stared in jaw-dropping shock.

In what Bilbo suspected was an attempt to reach the chamber pot, Thorin had gotten out of bed. Too weak to stand properly, he had collapsed in an undignified heap by the bed. Though his weakness had not prevented him from vomiting on the carpet, a mathom originally brought to Bag End by Bilbo's mother Belladonna Took. Thorin was now awake again, but had apparently recognized the futility of getting up again, so was lying on the floor, coughing, sneezing, and generally discomfited.

After Bilbo's shock had passed, he dragged the soiled carpet away from Thorin and began to maneuver the dwarf back into the bed. This was no small achievement, as Bilbo was smaller and much slighter than Thorin, and the dwarf was in no condition to be of assistance. Eventually, Bilbo succeeded in wrangling the dwarf back into the bed.

Bilbo looked despairingly at the dwarf currently sweating and shaking on the bed in front of him. He huffed.

"Well, you're a sorry excuse for a dwarf, Master Thorin. Your folk are supposed to be sensible, but all I've seen out of you is stubbornness to make a stone look hasty!"

Thorin smiled faintly. "I am a dwarf, Master Baggins. We are creatures of stone, so stubbornness is in our blood."

Bilbo sniffed. "Well you're not going to get better if you don't stay in bed and rest. I've brought you some soup, so you need to eat it, take some medicine, and sleep."

Thorin grumbled, but did as he was told. After Thorin had fallen asleep, Bilbo stoked the fire – for all it was properly speaking still too warm for a fire on the hearth all the time, the room needed to be kept warm to help healing – picked up the dirty dishes, and grabbed the soiled carpet by a corner. Bilbo knew that if he was to have any hope of getting the stains out of his mothers' carpet he would have to be quick with the stain-removal compound he kept in the kitchen for just such occasions. He tutted and shook his head. That dwarf! What gall, to be so stupidly stubborn!

oOoOoOoOoOo

Thorin grumbled to himself as he contemplated the idea of getting out of bed. He needed a drink of water, and there was a full pitcher and a cup on the table across the room. He had been at the … smial? … belonging to this Bilbo Baggins for three days, and had not tried to get out of bed alone since the embarrassing events with the carpet. Since Thorin had been unable to muster the strength to take care of himself, the little hobbit had manhandled him in order to feed him, push nasty medicine down his throat, change the bedding, his nightclothes, or assist him in washing himself.

Just remembering the washing caused Thorin to wince. Master Baggins turned into a squeaky little thing when embarrassed, and his insistence that Thorin needed a cleaning-up was matched by their mutual embarrassment when they realized that Thorin was too weak to do it himself. The hobbit had been especially surprised by the tattoos marking Thorin's arms and chest, and even the explanation that they marked the various duties that he was to remember at all times – to family, clan, people – did not shake Bilbo's evident confusion as to why someone would mark themselves in such a way.

Thorin contemplated the water jug again. He figured that if he held on to the furniture, he could go around the wall and hopefully not fall on his face again. Even if no one but that insipid hobbit saw him, it wasn't seemly for the heir of Durin to fall on his face. Hauling himself up, he slowly made his way towards the table, grateful that at least everything in Bilbo's home was at least approximately the right size. He had spent enough time in the world of men to take the slightly-too-small things here (even the pinchingly tight nightclothes) with a thankful prayer.

He made it to the table and gratefully fell into the chair, breathing heavily. Pouring himself a drink proved a challenge, and he slopped some water around before filling the cup to a decent level. He drank thirstily, then replaced the cup and eyed the bed disdainfully. He thought that he might sit for a bit. This decision, of course, had nothing to do with the fact that he was unsure if he could get back to his bed safely. He hoped that Bilbo would check on him soon, as his appetite was beginning to return somewhat, and even the thin gruels and soups the hobbit prepared tasted delicious.

A/N:

Firstly, thanks for all of the reads! The reader enthusiasm for this fic is palpable, and I shall endeavor not to disappoint.

Secondly, the tattoo thing is a bit of a headcannon, so just roll with it. I'm sort of going off of stuff from the films for it, though in general I am trying to stay closer to the books.

Thirdly, I would like to point out that while Thorin seems a little 'prissy' (almost Bilbo-ish) in terms of his concern for appearances, I'd like to think that, as the heir to a kingdom, he knows that appearances are important, and how important keeping a 'leader' mein is to having people follow you is. So he puts efforts into looking/acting a bit extra regal, though a lot of it is his natural pride/dignity.

Review Comments:

tsora17: ask and you shall receive!

iggle731: There will be cutesiness …. Eventually. Also much awkwardness

She-Elf4: Being worked on. I haven't forgotten about them.