Disclaimer: Not mine.

Warnings: Some blood, though nothing very graphic.

AN: Wow, thank you all very, very much for reading and reviewing! I do hope you'll enjoy this chapter two, even if it doesn't (really) end on a cliffhanger. But there's quite some Thorin-Bilbo interaction in it. :)

Guilt and Courage

II

One blow from Thorin's sword severed the warg's head instantly. Steps on the ground behind him alarmed him to the presence of another, and he had to duck out of its leap. He raised his sword when the warg turned, but just then an arrow found its home in the warg's throat.

"Master Baggins!" he heard Bofur exclaim, followed by hurried steps.

Thorin dared not to look back – not when an unknown number of wargs remained. Instead he chanced a glance around – only few of his company were still engaged in combat, making short work of their enemies. Gloin brought his axe down on the head of a would-be assailant, Fili took down another one – there was a bloody scratch on Nori's face, and Bombur had sat down to catch his breath, but they all appeared all right.

"Make sure none escape or survive!" shouted Gandalf, and at any other time Thorin might have begrudged him for giving orders to his company. Around him, the noise of the fight was gradually fading, and over the rustling leaves, the dying wargs' gurgling he heard Bofur's vain attempts at rousing the Halfling far too clearly.

"… happened?" Ori inquired, as Thorin finally turned and marched over.

Bofur was bent over Bilbo's motionless body, and Ori knelt next to him. The others were approaching, too, and Thorin cast a long gaze at Bilbo – if not for him, Thorin would be either dead or grievously injured. He had only noticed the warg behind him after Bilbo had attacked it – and the Halfling had paid dearly for his good deed.

"How is he?" Thorin asked of Bofur, sheathing his sword.

There was a wound on the side of Bilbo's head, probably form where he had hit the rocks. But what truly worried Thorin were four parallel gashes running across Bilbo's chest. Bofur had already set to undoing the crimson-stained shirt, while Thorin swallowed down the odd lump forming in his throat and stepped up behind Bofur.

"Out cold," said Bofur, teeth gritted, "His pulse isn't good, but I can't say if that's from the injuries or the fight. Ori, keep a watch on Mr. Baggins' pulse for me, will you?"

Ori carefully reached for Bilbo's wrist – on his face the terror Thorin tried his hardest to subdue openly played out. Part of him remained in shock and bewilderment. Beneath it, however, rose a far more uncomfortable emotion and he couldn't look at Gandalf as the wizard brushed past him.

Bofur was only too happy to let Gandalf take his place; he stepped back and joined the silent observers. The entire company had drawn together, now that the wargs all had been slain, there was nothing to do but observe the aftermath.

Muttering under his breath, Gandalf let his hand hover over Bilbo's face before drawing aside the shirt to inspect the injuries. The four parallel gashes – claw marks, now that Thorin could see them – ran diagonally across Bilbo's chest, hardly longer than Gandalf's hand. Yet that equaled almost the width of Bilbo's torso, and Thorin grit his teeth.

Hadn't he always made a point of seeing to it that the younger or smaller members of his company were protected? That, at the very least, somebody was at hand to help them out if an opponent turned out to be too strong? Apparently Bilbo had not been included in this, and Thorin realized he had himself to blame for this at the most – not only had he made it clear how little Bilbo fit in their company, but also had he rather unsubtly been doubting the Halfling's suitability to their quest.

And in consequence, Bilbo had thrown himself between Thorin and an enemy far too large and strong in what may just have been an attempt to prove himself.

"These are not poisoned," said Gandalf eventually, and Thorin emerged from his dark contemplations while several of his companions sighed in relief, "However, they will need careful attention lest they get infected."

"I have some bandages left – the goblins did not take these," offered Balin, drawing up next to Gandalf, "Though I believe we ought to clean them first."

"I'll get water!" shouted Kili, and disappeared before anybody could say a word. Gandalf's hands kept hovering over Bilbo's chest, a frown on his face. Thorin's heart skipped a beat.

"Broken ribs?" inquired Balin, and somebody hissed – Thorin himself had seen comrades die of broken ribs and punctured lungs. The notion of losing their little burglar to this … he shook his head, casting off the thought.

"Cracked, I believe," replied Gandalf evenly, "Though with treatment these should all heal."

"Treatment?" echoed Nori, his tone expressing their shared sentiment. Right now they would have paid any price to get treatment for their burglar, but they were out in the wild, far from any settlement and without even their own supplies.

Gandalf remained calm. "There is somebody who can help not too far from here – maybe three days on foot. I intended to go there anyhow, seeing as it is the last welcoming house before Mirkwood."

Thorin nodded, and before he could say anything, Kili reappeared with five filled water skins.

"Hurry up," Balin called, "I don't think losing any more blood will do Mr. Baggins much good, so I'd like to see these wounds wrapped. Furthermore, Thorin, should we make camp? I don't think we shall go far tonight."

Darkness was almost completely upon them; and only a glimmer of orange colored the sky beyond the mountains. While visibility sufficed for walking during cloudless nights as this, the company was exhausted. Thorin read it in their stances – the slump of Fili's shoulders, how Dori balanced his weight on one leg more than the other and the way Nori leant on his axe.

"Fili, Dori, I want you to go and find a place to camp. Don't go too far," he said, "Kili, Bombur, would you see to it that we have some sustenance tonight?"

"Can we move him?" he asked Gandalf, and nodded at Bilbo who remained unconscious.

"Once those wounds are dressed, it should not be a problem," replied their wizard, and then Thorin was left to guilt and regret as he watched Balin carefully clean Bilbo's injuries. Their burglar had paled considerably, and Thorin couldn't help wondering if that stillness was quite natural – Gandalf appeared not too concerned at this, but in Thorin's opinion Bilbo should have woken up by now.

"This marks the second time Mr. Baggins cast himself between you and the enemy," remarked Balin as he wiped away the blood from Bilbo's chest, and Thorin glanced at the white-bearded companion. Balin was watching him in return, and continued: "You were unconscious at that time, but up on the cliff it was Mr. Baggins who dispatched your would-be executor."

Thorin swallowed down the storm of emotions rising in his chest. "Why wasn't I told?" he asked as evenly as possible.

Balin shrugged. "The opportunity never arose, I suppose. First the eagles carried us away, then we were on the march again, and before long we came under attack."

Thorin fell silent. There was little he could say – he wished he had been told earlier, yet what good would that do now? As it was, he owed Bilbo Baggins his life twice.

"Also I believe he did help Kili out at one point or another," said Balin, "Our burglar may not be a particularly skilled fighter, but he is observant and more than willing to help. Perhaps, though, a word on his methods might be in order? He has been lucky so far, and I would not like to see it run out."

"I will see to it," promised Thorin, vowing to himself that he would. And he would also keep an eye on the hobbit in future battles.

"Very well," said Balin, who knew Thorin long enough to be able to tell what was on his mind, "For now, could you give me a hand and raise Mr. Baggins up?"

Balin fell silent as he worked, while Thorin thoughtfully eyed the still slowly bleeding wounds. They were not deep enough to be fatal by themselves, yet blood loss coupled with infection would easily result in a death sentence out in the wild. Gandalf had not yet made a final prognosis, Thorin remembered – they'd better make their way to the wizard's acquaintance without further delays.

Also they might see about getting Mr. Baggins other clothes. It was a wonder he hadn't frozen on the mountains in his jacket, but even leather would at least offer more protection than silk and brocade did.

Not that Thorin wanted to see him participate in future skirmishes. Now, with his hands holding Bilbo up like a doll while Balin wrapped bandages around his chest, Thorin found his perspective on their burglar changed.

He had initially begrudged him his comfortable and sedentary lifestyle, as well as the innocent naivety accompanying it. Yet for some reason Bilbo had chosen to give this up in order to join the quest of a group he had absolutely no ties to, and a cause that was not his own. He had never wielded a sword, and the only calluses on his fingers probably stemmed from writing or gardening work. Thorin could wrap his hands around Bilbo's upper arms with ease – this was a person that had decided a silk shirt, brocade waistcoat and corduroy overcoat were apparel fitting to traveling through the wilderness.

And yet here he was. Thorin could only marvel at Bilbo's decision – and probably the least he could do in repayment was to make certain the hobbit survived this journey. Death was not a good remuneration for kindness.

In the end it was hours after nightfall that Bilbo stirred. Most of their company had since succumbed to sleep, their stomachs settled and a fire merrily crackling in their midst. Thorin had taken the first watch as his troubled mind would not let him rest anyway. Gandalf had cast him an inquisitive glance, before leaning against a tree trunk and closing his eyes.

Around him, snores echoed through the wood, occasionally joined by the soft rustling of leaves in the trees or a curious bird hopping by. Ever so often his watchful gaze dropped down to Bilbo's face, pale even in the firelight, and it was then that he noticed the fluttering eyelids.

"Mr. Baggins?" he softly inquired.

There was an unintelligible grunt, followed by Bilbo opening his eyes. He blinked, dazed, before attempting to sit up. However, at that moment Thorin leaned over and carefully, but firmly forced Bilbo to remain on the ground by a hand on his shoulder.

"You were injured earlier, Mr. Baggins. Do you remember?"

Bilbo closed his eyes. "Well," he said with a soft sigh, "That would explain why I feel as if I'd been trampled by a cow herd. Though I don't seem to recall how the fight ended."

"We slew the wargs," replied Thorin, "You would not remember, for you were already unconscious at that time. And I owe you my thanks – if not for you, I would probably not be sitting here right now."

Bilbo attempted a shrug, though ended up flinching in pain. "It was nothing, really," he said, "Only the decent thing to do. But mind you, could I perhaps get some water?"

Thorin rose without a word, retrieving a water skin, and, after a moment, also decided to take a bowl of the soup Bombur had made for dinner along. Having remained close to the fire, it was still warm. When he returned, Bilbo was struggling to sit up, his face scrunched up in pain.

"Let me give you hand," said Thorin, and carefully guided Bilbo to sit against a tree stump, and the hobbit sighed in relief, a hand unconsciously holding his ribs through the covers – his own blanket, and what looked like Kili's fur cape on top. Thorin observed him carefully, but found the hobbit not paler than before.

"You will need to watch your movements," said Thorin as he handed Bilbo the water skin, "You injured your ribs – they will need time to heal, and it would be wise not to exacerbate their condition."

"I see," murmured Bilbo, as he set the water skin aside and tentatively sucked in a deep breath. The movement obviously pained him, and even in the firelight his face looked wan.

"Eat something," said Thorin, and held out the bowl.

Bilbo frowned, before accepting it. Thorin understood all too well how injuries and fever could disperse every notion of hunger or appetite – he remembered little of the first weeks after the battle for Moria, lost in fever-dreams as he had been, but when he had awoken he had lost a lot of weight, and strangely enough barely felt hungry for it. For the time being, however the hobbit did not seem feverish.

"Mr. Baggins," Thorin set out after a while, "Earlier I was informed that tonight was not the first time you stepped into a fight on my behalf."

Bilbo glanced up shortly, "Yes. Well, yes, but it wasn't very brave or anything. It … I was merely in the right place at the right time."

Thorin raised one eyebrow. "While I regrettably do not remember the first occasion, I know that at least tonight you were initially on the opposite site of the clearing.

"I ended up stumbling across," said Bilbo, and set the empty bowl aside, "Really, there wasn't much to it."

"I am unfamiliar with hobbit customs, Mr. Baggins, but among dwarves we take life-saving very seriously. And I certainly owe you mine, so…"

Bilbo raised a hand, managing an exhausted smile. "Well, I do owe mine to you, too. You could have very well left me to the trolls, or tumble down the mountain – and there were certainly many more occasions."

"You are a member of this company. Of course we wouldn't have left you to the trolls," said Thorin, a frown on his face, "This is only honorable."

"I don't know about honor, but isn't it the same for me, then?" asked Bilbo, "As a member of this company I look out for the others. It's the decent thing to do, as a hobbit would say."

Thorin was stuck silent then, and Bilbo used the moment to pull the blankets a little higher around himself. He was more than grateful for the warmth the extra fur provided – his blanket had been adequate, previously, but it was nice being actually warm for a change.

"I would still rule you performed beyond the demands of decency, then," said Thorin, "Especially since you are not trained in combat nor suited to it. But enough of this, you need to rest."

There was a faint glint of protest in Bilbo's eyes, but he sighed instead. "Well, I'll concede to needing rest if I'm to walk tomorrow."

Thorin nodded, and watched attentively as Bilbo settled down. Each movement was slow, and precise, and yet it was plain that the hobbit remained in a good deal of pain. Thorin doubted he would be up to walking tomorrow – Bilbo's fast succumbing to sleep might have been caused by fatigue as well as his injuries. But even though he had been coherent, he wasn't quite on the road to recovery yet.

tbc

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