Part II

"She's fit enough for transport." Óin said with an air of satisfaction. "We have to bundle her up though, I don't want her to get pneumonia on top of everything else."

"Yes, she wouldn't like that either." Bilba grumbled softly.

She was already feeling far better, though moving still hurt something fierce. She was still sleeping most of the time, but she wasn't losing her awareness of time passing anymore as she had during the first few weeks of her recuperation.

With bleary eyes she watched Óin and Dori and Thorin bicker around her sickbed about the best way to move her.

Apparently they wanted to bring her inside Erebor -and that fact made her far happier than it would have ordinarily done so; Thorin really wanted her with him. He really had revoked her banishment!

However, no one had seen fit to tell her they were going to move her into the Mountain. And that fact made her... contrary, just for the sake of it.

"A litter would be far better than a wagon. The bearers can navigate any bumps and holes where a wagon would not." Dori argued. Thorin nodded as did Óin.

"Fur-wrapped." Óin suggested.

"What," Bilba murmured, "the litter or me?"

"yes." Dori nodded and started gathering furs and pelts strewn around the tent and across the few pieces of furniture.

"Furs make my nose itch." Bilba informed the dwarrows.

"I will make her a tea to sedate her, just a bit." Óin assured Thorin who looked thunderous. "So she will be comfortable during the trip."

"I can handle pain just fine for a while. I'm not made of porcelain." Bilba reminded them.

"You think that is necessary?" asked Dori. Bilba perked up; finally someone was listening to her! "Well, if it is, I would just put her to sleep. Might be the best for her. That way she will experience no pain or stress at all." Dori continued assertively.

"I can decide what's best for me, thank you very much!" Her voice was raising in volume.

"That might be the best idea indeed." Óin agreed.

Bilba watched the healer with narrowed eyes. "I might have some 'best' ideas for you too. Maybe it's you who needs some sleep!"

"All right. Let me find a litter." Dori ducked out of the tent, while Thorin and Óin continued to confer about the best way to transfer her, her treatment once inside the mountain, her wounds, her food, her sleeping patterns, her hair, her state of mind, her clothes, her- Bilba couldn't stand it any longer.

When Óin brought her the tea, she folded her painful arms and turned up her nose at the two dwarves. They both looked rather confused at her dismissive attitude.

"Bilba?" Thorin asked, brow lowered in a fierce glare that would have intimidated her a year ago.

"Drink your tea, that's a good girl." Óin said, either entirely unimpressed with her attitude or so used to it from countless years of treating contrary patients that he didn't even bother paying it any attention.

"No!" She loudly exclaimed.

Óin cocked his head at her, while Thorin echoed his hobbit and folded his arms in front of his chest.

"Bilba. You will drink your tea." Thorin said in deceptively low voice.

"No." She was adamant.

"It's best for you." Óin patiently held out the cup to her.

"No, you decided it was best for me. You didn't even ask me, you didn't even bother to listen to me!" Yes, there was a honest -to-goodness pout on her face but Bilba couldn't help it.

Óin sighed and looked deploringly at Thorin, which caused Bilba to grind her teeth. "It's me you have to convince of drinking the tea, not Thorin!" She bit out.

"We want what is best for you, Bilba." Thorin said softly yet sternly.

"Yes, I know that, I appreciate that; however, I am not a child. I am awake and able to think for myself now. I would like a say in things regarding myself! I want to be asked, not told!"

For a moment the two clashed silently, each staring the other down.

However, when one side of his mouth curled up, Bilba smelled victory.

"All right. Bilba, would you please drink your tea so we can get you inside, where it is safe and warm, with the least possible amount of discomfort for you?!" He could ask pretty nicely when he felt like it, Bilba thought not so kindly.

She smiled fondly at him. "No." She answered sweetly.

He opened his mouth, then frowned. A storm was brewing behind his eyes. "No?!" He growled.

"No. I am willing to take something that will dull the pain even more-" She didn't know what exactly Óin was using as pain medication already, but it was good stuff! -"But I want to be awake! I want to see the outside. Especially if we're going into the Mountain. Did you think I didn't notice the lack of windows in that heap of stone?"

"Heap of stone?!" Óin sounded quite insulted, however Thorin looked almost... insecure?

"True. That's true. Windows are not something we Dwarrows need that many off. I didn't stop to think... You need the sun, the air, the earth, don't you?" Thorin rubbed a hand over his face. His sudden insecurity about her and her wishes and needs touched Bilba deeply.

He really did want the best for her.

She carefully reached out with her uninjured arm to caress his bearded cheek. "Hey." She smiled softly at him. "We do burrow into the Earth too, you know. I will do quite nicely in the Mountain. I will be with you, won't I? That's all I need."

However, when his face stayed clouded, she tutted at him. "None of that! Now, I will take a different, a not-putting-me-to-sleep kind of tea, and we will go into the Mountain. Oh, I do hope you managed to air the place out."

Óin looked quite pained at that, and Thorin shook his head at her, his face quite red. "Trust me, no one wanted to keep breathing dragon-fumes. Of course we aired the place!"

"You don't have to shout at me. I'm not the one who's going deaf here!"

Óin stayed affronted the rest of the day.

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The Royal Quarters -yes, with capitals, thank you very much- were indeed very regal. Majestic. Opulent. Luxurious.

Though she was told that even the ordinary dwarven homes were quite something to see too. "We don't live in squalor like most Men do." Balin, despite all his diplomatic qualities, managed to sound quite condescending. "Every Dwarf has a craft and can make a good living out of it!"

Smiths, stonemasons, architects, miners, scribes, jewelers, tinkerers, engineers, weavers and so on; they all seemed to be valued equally. "We need all the crafts; where would we be without the architects? Homeless! Where would we be without miners? Poor! And I can go on and on and on!"

Surprisingly, Bilba urged him to go on and on and on. She liked hearing about their industries, and couldn't wait to go and see them all in action. She liked being industrious herself, and she was sure there were a lot of things she could apply herself to.

For now she was being confined to bed. Though the wounds were healing, they were still tender enough that she had to keep her rest. Moving was painful, the movements pulling on her injuries.

Every day she felt a tiniest bit better, but progress was so, so slow! It was driving her out of her mind. Thorin was sympathetic to her complaints to a certain degree: "I am deeply grateful you are still alive. You should be grateful you survived, little hobbit. Though no one likes to be cooped up like this, you just have to bear it. Please. Rest and get well." When he looked her with those smoldering eyes of his, she felt a new and exciting sort of tension within herself, which made her even more eager to get well for some strange, unidentifiable reason.

The Company was trying its best to keep her company. She was very grateful for their continued friendship. She loved how they entertained her, made her laugh and forget her increasing restlessness. They also listened to her complain about this and that, before telling her, each in his own way of course, that she just had to suck it up. That made them even dearer to her as they didn't fear to tell her what's what. I

If Thorin wasn't able to due to his many duties, one of the Company would carry her ever so gently to the Royal Balcony. The Balcony was a part of the Royal Quarters but the most outlying and one of the most heavily fortified parts of the Quarters because, obviously, it was an entree and exit point in Erebor. However, as it was located on a sheer cliff side hundreds and hundreds of feet above ground level, she couldn't see anyone ever entering from the ground. Nor was the door big enough to fit a Dragon, not even a little one.

It was her only daily excursion out of her bed and it was only that Óin and Thorin saw the beneficial effects of her short stays in the cold winter air that the two worrywarts even allowed it.

There were also other very depressing, truly embarrassing consequences of being confined to a bed. Bodily functions, and all that. She needed help with almost everything! So awkward! The day she was first left alone on the chamber pot (and now in the Mountain the wardrobe, a beautiful example of advanced Dwarven plumbing, as they called it) was the happiest day in her recuperation so far.

However, there were still the sponge baths.

She desperately longed for a real bath. There was just the most luxurious bathroom (well, bath chamber more like it) which was part of the King's Quarter. But until the scabs were gone and her wounds fully closed she was not allowed into water.

So sponge baths. Now that she was awake, she was also perfectly aware of the indignity of a sponge bath. A wash was such a private matter! She could somewhat handle Óin giving them to her; he was a healer, had seen more than his fair share of all kinds of nude bodies, she tried to reassure herself. He made her feel at least a little bit at ease, despite or maybe thanks to his brusque manner.

Her move into the Royal Quarters, two days after she awoke and was declared fever-free, had some consequences.

The first evening Thorin had strolled into their room and had nonchalantly placed a washing basin on the side table, before retrieving soap, some washing and drying cloths. This was nothing unusual. When he had the time, the King was forever in her tent, bustling around the small space, helping wherever he could.

She waited for Óin to appear.

He never showed.

Instead, Thorin loomed over her, and started to carefully unbutton her shift.

Which earned him some weak slaps aimed at his hands.

"What do you think you are doing?!" Bilba gasped, outraged but also very flustered. The nerve!

"What I am doing?!" he snarled right back at her. "You're not blind or stupid, so what does it look like?!"

She gaped at the exasperated dwarf. "Excuse me? It better not be what it looks like!"

"It is exactly what it looks like!"

"No!" Bilba found herself speechless. She also turned bright red.

"Now, do cooperate."

"No! Are you truly serious? Are you really planning on undressing me and giving me a bath?!"

He had the gall to roll his eyes at her. "Yes!"

"No!" She sounded so affronted.

"You're remarkably fond of that word, aren't you?" Now he had the nerve to tease her.

"You can't!" Bilba had clasped both hands around her red cheeks. She also tried to stare him down, but he was entirely immune to her displeasure.

He reached for the buttons again. "Why can't I give my Love the care she needs?"

She froze, which gave Thorin the opportunity to unbutton the first few buttons. His blue eyes swept such a loving, tender look over her face that she experienced it like a actual, warm caress. He dropped an unexpected kiss on the tip of her nose. "Because you are my love, and I need, too. I need to take care of you. I need to ascertain to myself that you are healing. It is also my right to take care of you. Why would I let Óin or another healer wash or feed you when I can do these things myself?"

Her slapping his hands away again was an entirely subconscious act, because she was still completely captivated by his rather nonchalant declarations. My Love... Oh, how she loved him too!

"Now, do you think I've never given you a bath before?" His eyes were laughing at her ."When you were unconscious, I did do my fair share."

Finally, she found her voice. Because even if they did love each other, that didn't immediately translated into allowing him to take liberties with her! Not while she was conscious! She needed some time to get used to things. Everything was just as she wanted, had dreamed about. However, she needed a short while to acclimatize to the fact that things had suddenly changed into this wonderful, new adventure Thorin and she were on... Even if she would have nothing else but this! Her entire being was convinced that Thorin was where- no who she was meant to be with. She needed just a little time so her head could stop spinning!

And a little time to get over the fact that he had already seen her naked. Where she hadn't. Seen him naked, she meant. The unbidden thoughts came out of nowhere and she was sure to blushed up to the tips of her ears!

He reached again for the buttons. She pulled his beard.

"Bilba!" The growly, impatient King was back, and secretly she admitted she loved him very much too when he was his majestic and menacing self. "Don't be absurd!"

"What?! I can be absurd, if I want to. Which I am not. I would love to say that this is not proper. That this is indecent, even. I won't, though. But!" She held up her index finger in front of his increasingly reddening face. Such a glorious, hot temper he had! "You need to give me some space here. In the Shire we are not as... straightforward. I like your honesty and your, erm, determination, but I need just a little time to get used to it. To this. To things." Could she please stop blushing?!

His temper vanished, replaced by a heavy and hot, half-lidded gaze.

She started fanning herself.

"So... you need some time to get used to 'this'? To 'things'? To us?" he stroked his beard while his eyes raked over her disheveled form. His voice dropped to a satiny rumble. "I understand. Yes, maybe you do need to get used to some things. Now, I will call Óin, if you don't have any troubles with him?!" All right, he not only sounded but looked quite jealous and disgruntled at the idea.

Bilba could only nod. Thorin left the room -chamber!- and returned a short while later with the healer in tow. Who was biting back his laughter when the King stomped off towards one of the doors connecting to this room/chamber. These dwarves liked their space!

"Now, let's get you freshened up!" His businesslike manner was just what Bilba needed.

After a short time, she was as clean as she could feel without taking an actual bath. Óin had estimated that soon, the last scabs would fall off. "So don't pick at them, you hear!" Which was his last stern admonishment before stalking off towards the door Thorin had vanished through.

He didn't make a reappearance. Thorin, however, came back. He was freshly washed himself, clad only in trousers and a linen shirt.

He came to stand next to the bed, hands in his sides. "Happy now?" He snapped, but without any real venom. She nodded happily.

"Now, can I sleep next to you or will that take some time getting used to too?!"

She looked at the bed. It could easily fit six or seven hobbits next to each other. What was it with dwarves and making everything so big? She giggled. Where they trying to compensate for something? At least there was no danger of him unintentionally rolling over her, or otherwise endangering her recuperation. There was about half a room between them! She chortled.

He raised an eyebrow at her sudden hilarity.

She blinked at him and remembered his question. "No." She answered quickly, and realized it was the truth. She certainly didn't mind him sharing the bed with her. It hadn't been long into their journey when she had discovered the comforts of sharing body heat. Dwarves liked to pile up. She hadn't cared then and didn't care now if it was proper or not according to Shire customs; she was not in the Shire anymore, now was she?

And while the situation between Thorin and her had changed from platonic to something so much more, she welcomed the idea of sharing a bed with him.

Because after all, what could they do? Not much.

Maybe some kissing? Hopefully, yes! That would go a long way to getting her used to things. She smiled like the cat who got the cream.

When he suddenly shucked his shirt, her smile turned into a squeak. Bare-chested Thorin was an intimidating Thorin.

She quickly concentrated at a point on the ceiling until the rustling stopped and she could safely assume Thorin had made himself comfortable under the sheets.

"I'm fully covered, if that was what you are worried about, my proper little miss."

Her cheeks were flaming. "Erm, yes, I mean, no, I wasn't thinking about your chest at all!" Wait a minute...

She groaned when she heard his self-satisfied chuckles.

"Now, try to get some sleep."

"That won't be difficult." She said somewhat sullenly, as she could still drop off at the wink of a hat. She pouted, though. No goodnight kiss?

She didn't realize she had said that out loud until Thorin rolled ( and rolled and rolled and rolled- all right, she was exaggerating a tiny bit, the bed wasn't that enormous. The idea was a funny one, though.) over and said: "You only have to ask, little hobbit."

Before she had the chance to get embarrassed and lie she didn't want a kiss at all- good heavens, when did she get this bold?- firm, warm lips settled over hers and she was kissed into oblivion.

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The fourth day of her stay in the King's Bedchamber in the Royal Quarters in the Lonely Mountain also known as Erebor, she made a discovery...

On the morning of the second day, after a good night of sleep, she blinked her eyes, mouth agape and a fierce blush on her freckled cheeks as Thorin, dressed in only a sleeveless shirt and short breeches, sat in a chair next to her bedside. He was brushing his long hair, releasing a pleasant scent of pinewoods. Dwarves, when they had access to hygienic facilities, were very clean creatures. Bless their good souls.

Long and slow strokes had her attention unerringly fixed on Thorin, his hair, his arms, his carefully neutral expression, the low collar of his shirt...

All the while he talked to her about this and that in a soft, crooning voice. She had actually no idea what he was saying. The warm lilt of his voice had her attention completely monopolized and her mind was distracted by the lovely vision.

She watched transfixed as the muscles of his arm holding the brush formed a fascinating play under his skin.

Later that day, he and Dwalin got themselves involved in a friendly -or so Balin and Ori assured her- wrestling match. She watched breathlessly as the King threw his friend around (and was thrown too, but she was of the opinion that happened far less often than the other way around, of course). His strength, dexterity and intensity made her feel strangely warm inside. They had removed their upper clothing so they would have to work harder on getting a good grip on their opponent. Thorin sure had more body hair than a hobbit could ever hope for.

In the evening, he walked out of the bathing chamber still half wet, linen shirt and trousers sticking to his body. She swallowed.

He took his shirt off again before crawling into bed.

On the morning of the third day, she felt better than ever and was cheerily chatting with Óin to distract herself from the indignity of the sponge bath. Thorin was keeping a proper distance, not once looking at her, and she somehow felt a bit... irritated? If it was true what he said, that he had given her sponge baths before, didn't he want to do so again? Wouldn't he want to do so again?!

She watched him dunk his head into a large silver washing basin, throwing his hair back while droplets of water raced down his strong nose and cheeks, down his beard and over his throat to disappear into the hair on his chest.

She abruptly looked away, feeling a familiar heat burning her cheeks.

For the afternoon meal he had invited some dwarves into their chamber to share it with their King and his hobbit. While some were of the Company, others she hadn't met yet. She was (re)introduced to Dáin and a few of his most esteemed advisors/shield brothers/drinking buddies/henchmen. Thorin looked very regal and majestic with his greater height, broader shoulders, prouder bearing and warmer laugh among the rather dour looking dwarves. Dáin was apparently quite a strong and good dwarf, but he seemed so plain compared to Thorin. No comparison there!

After lunch and the departure of most of their guests, he leaned over to give her a short, sweet and most of all innocent kiss which left her oddly dissatisfied.

In the afternoon he returned to their rooms in a mood, tossing clothing away and kicking off his heavy boots. Balin stood by smiling, Dwalin snorted and Dori shook his head while all four loudly argued about something or another. Thorin stretched languidly, slowly and thoroughly after he had done away with most of his impressive, Kingly regalia.

Bilba swallowed when he sent her a warm smile after he had exhaled slowly, tension slipping away, his strong body uncoiling.

Later that evening, the table was dragged to her bedside and most of the company joined in the evening meal. Thorin laughed and talked, as did the others.

The lack of tension, the absence of fear and apprehension of what the future would bring which ruled the Company at times during their Quest was absent. Of course, there would always be levels of concern about matters, especially for Thorin and those of the Company who were actively involved in running the Kingdom- which were, if Bilba thought on it, most of them. Yet to see them all this carefree, this hopeful, was exhilarating.

She laughed and talked too, her eyes constantly drawn to Thorin. She enjoyed his ready smiles, his underhanded teasing and his easy self-confidence. She did know he still held doubts about himself, about his capabilities after having been snared by the gold-sickness, but their combined faith in him did him good. It made him slowly realize that their faith was not just a silly notion of theirs, but a steadfast belief with firm roots and an unshakable foundation. They all knew he was capable of leading their people, their kingdom.

It was a happy meal. Especially when Bifur and Bofur demonstrated their new toys, which were very ridiculous and quite childish renditions of Elves. If the Elves ever caught sight of the toys in the markets, Bilba was sure they could lead to another diplomatic incident.

The toys were, of course, a big hit. Apparently not only with the dwarflings, but with adult dwarves as well, demonstrated by the enthusiastic reactions of the Company.

After the meal, most left and Bilba obediently drank her medicinal tea and mixtures and endured a close inspection of one of her more slowly healing wounds.

Óin nodded at her, then at Thorin before leaving the room with nary a good night.

"I just love his bedside manner." Bilba quipped.

Thorin stared at her. "What's that?"

Bilba blinked. "Never mind."

Once more, Thorin divested himself of his shirt, but he did so in full view of her. Also, he didn't seem to be tired yet. He swung his arms a few times, then started to loosen his shoulders. Next he started twisting his upper body this way and that. Bilba watched closely because, of course, she wanted to know what he was up to.

When he took a firm hold on Orcist- not so graciously returned by Thranduil- it became clear what his intention was. He started pacing himself through very fast and powerful looking sword fighting moves, using not only his strong upper body, but also his muscular legs to give himself a satisfying workout.

Bilba was transfixed. So much power, speed and grace! The strength was obvious, but whoever said that dwarves were ungainly, stiff and lumbering were very wrong. Thorin moved very fast and very nimbly. She couldn't get enough of the spectacle.

When he was finally done, she was watching with heavy lidded eyes. He stretched his aching muscles before walking to the washing basin to poor water over himself.

"You're making a mess on the floor." Bilba accused, half-asleep.

He snorted. "I'll clean it up."

"Meh. You mean you throw a cloth over the mess and expect someone else to clean that up."

He sighed exaggeratedly. He indeed grabbed a cloth, kneeled and mobbed the puddle up, before taking the cloth to the bathroom, where she expected a hamper or some sort was located.

"Happy now?" His voice came through the door.

"Almost. Why don't you take a proper bath now you're there. I don't want a sweaty, smelly dwarf in my bed." She was already snoozing a bit.

It was quiet for a while. Suddenly, drops of water fell on her face. Her eyes jumped open and she stared Thorin right in the face. He was looming over her, his hair dripping water.

"I guess I asked for it, didn't I?" She grumbled indignantly, to which he only laughed.

The next morning- fourth day in the Royal Quarters, King's Chambers, King's Bedroom... She was getting sick and tired of Dwarves uttering everything connected to the Mountain and especially the royal residence with reverential Capitals!- she woke up to Thorin shuffling around the room. He lazily scratched his chest while moving slowly to the washing basin. He splashed water in his face and dried himself. Then, he stretched and flexed languidly. Maybe working out some kinks in his muscles from yesterday's practice.

Bella was in awe at the sight. He was so comfortable, so at peace in his own skin as he thought himself unwatched. Bilba felt the smallest tingle of guilt for spying on him.

Hold on. Wait a minute.

There was a mirror attached to the elaborate wooden stand in which the silver basin was placed. She watched him smile knowingly at himself in the mirror. His eyes half-mast, he stretched again. She couldn't help but let out a startled but appreciative 'eep' at the impressive display of muscles.

His smile turned into one of satisfaction.

Bilba was confused. She frowned. Was he actually listening to her?

He was! She pretended to close her eyes, but peeked through her lashes. Thorin thought himself unobserved and was watching her in the mirror with a far too smug look on his face.

It struck Bilba. All the displays of strength, of power, of bare skin. It was all for her.

To have her get used to him. To this. To things.

The sneak!

She didn't feel any anger or irritation at his subterfuge, though.

Instead, warmth filled her heart at knowing the machinations of her King were entirely used to help her and, in the end, help them as a couple. That he got some- all right, a lot- pleasure out of this as well, she didn't mind at all! Because wasn't she enjoying his scheming as well?

And so it continued for days. They reached a very comfortable and very pleasing accord with him prancing around and her openly admiring him.

It wasn't one-sided, either. Though Thorin still heeded her wish to have Óin wash her, he groomed her hair, he gave her kisses whenever he could slip them in and he treated her fast-closing wounds wherever she allowed him. He teased her, fed her all kinds of delicious tidbits he thought she might enjoy, he pulled her, carefully, in his arms when they went to sleep.

She was being courted, wooed, eased into a relationship that was so fulfilling that her past, somewhat silly Tweenish dreams of a grand romance paled in comparison.

However, she also discovered it was just not enough. Because her physical limitations due to her injuries stopped them from getting more intimate.

Yes, she found herself more and more desiring to be intimate with Thorin. Yes, she was very used to him now. And she wanted to find out if all those things her Mother told her when Bilba reached that certain age were in fact just as exciting as they sounded. Her Mother had worn a mysterious smile as she told Bilba what happened in the marriage bed (or sometimes outside, but that was rather a hushed subject).

Now she finally had not only the opportunity, but most of all the heartfelt, earnest desire to do these things with the dwarf she loved.

She started to fervently hope Óin would soon tell her she was ready for some activity. She started to sincerely hate the bed too, no matter its almost indecent luxuriousness.

Finally, after almost three weeks of languishing in the King's Bed in the Royal- oh well, everyone got the point by now- she was declared fit for leaving the bed!

"You might now take that bath, Bilba." Óin declared gruffly. "But," he warned, "you have lost a lot of strength and energy. You will need to start slowly working on building up your stamina. Therefore, you will need someone to help you in the bath. Can't have you drowning now that you've come so far." 'Which would be a waste of all his efforts' was left unsaid, but nonetheless easily understood by both Bilba and Thorin.

Óin finally left the room after many admonishments and warnings not to overdo it.

Bilba looked at Thorin. Slowly, without looking away, she brought her legs over the bedside to rest on the floor. The cool stone felt nice to her feet.

However, her complete attention was captivated by Thorin. His eyes burned.

She dared to smile sweetly at him as she clumsily got her feet under her and stood up.

"I would like a bath." Her mouth was suddenly dry.

"Do you, now." Thorin said huskily.

"Will you... help me bathe?"

"Yes." He growled the single word out. Before she knew it he had crossed the small distance between them and swept her off her feet, literally.

Figuratively, he had already done so a long time ago, she realized.