It felt ridiculously good to be out of that Mahal-forsaken cot. He felt perfectly well now, and every healer who had visited him (and thanks to Balin there had been many) had said he was fine to be going up to Erebor. He didn't go first thing in the morning, though his instincts were ordering him to. There was someone he wanted to accompany him. In no time at all, a familiar mop of bronze curls appeared, two eyes, gleaming like stars gazing up at him.

"Thorin!"

It felt like total insanity, at that moment, that he had brought a tiny little smiling creature like this to face a dragon. A stupid, ugly dragon, but a dragon all the same. He briefly smiled at the halfling. "I wish for you to visit Erebor with me." he told him, shyly. "I understand if you don't wish to." If Bilbo didn't want to, he didn't mind taking Bifur or any of the uninjured dwarves. Kili could barely walk, and Fili was no better, so, though it pained him, he couldn't take his nephews. Balin was tending to Dwalin, so both of those were out of the question.

Bilbo nodded solemnly at him. When they got outside, the heavens had opened and water, cold and harsh, was lashing down. Excellent. Stubbornly, he went on, ignoring the hard pelts of liquid crashing down. They were halfway there, when he realised the Hobbit was now shivering and having to run to keep up. He started taking off his grey fur coat, intending to place it around the Halfling's shoulders.

Bilbo wasn't having it. "Thorin! Don't you dare, the last thing you need is getting a cold or some other illness!" It came out as "Th-th-th-th-thorin! D-d'n't y'deh, th' 'ast th-thin y'u need is gett-t-ting a c-c-o'd or s-s-some oth-ther i'n-ness!"

Oh, for pity's sake. Why was it that he'd wound up with the most stubborn Hobbit in Middle Earth? He kept it unhooked and advanced on the shivering Halfling. Before Bilbo could so much as protest, the king's strong arms were around his waist, his feet were off the ground and the soft, grey warmth was enveloping him. Once he had him secured, Thorin kept going.

"F-f-for Eru's sake! D-don't u-u-use all your st-strength on carting me around!"

Thorin snorted. "I need no strength, little one. You barely weigh more than a Dwarrow child." When they got to Erebor, he was finding him a blanket and wrapping him up in it. That was that. The Hobbit's body was wet and ice-cold to the touch. His once dry, glimmering curls were now dark and plastered to his head.

Bilbo had his arms tightly around Thorin's neck, the cold forcing him to seek warmth any way he could. Inside Erebor, it was surprisingly warm, and there were helpers, rushing around, tidying, cleaning, talking, a few bursts of laughter floating on the air. Fires, hot and bright, were glowing on large torches. Thorin forgot he had the Halfling in his arms and gazed, wonderingly around the palace, around the familiar grey stone, the once beautiful tapestries decorating the walls, the memories of childhood flooding back to him, a burning in his eyes as he caught sight of the throne that had once been Thror's. He felt as though he were in a trance and he started walking, following familiar passageways, seeing familiar sights, until he got to the place that the Arknestone had been hidden in. He had not intended on going there, truly, he hadn't. He'd just been walking around and a glare of gold and a misstep equalled both himself and his Halfling sliding into a room the size of a small village that was full of gold, silver and jewels.

He inhaled sharply and looked at Bilbo, who was now staring in awe, as there was no dragon around to give him fear. Seeing the Shireling so relaxed made Thorin feel relaxed too and he watched, feeling slightly proud as Bilbo scrambled to his feet and gave little gasps of amazement at everything he saw. Smaug was dead. There was no fear of his return, and this was why he felt safe to look around and make noise.
Thorin decided that if the Shireling was going to gaze around at the hoard, he might as well do so too. He trailed his fingers through the gold coins, he marvelled at the diamonds he found scattered in the metal, and found an emerald. The exact green of Bilbo's eyes, he thought, smiling.

He sat back and suddenly a weight appeared on his head. Lifting a hand, he felt warm, small fingers slide away and then cool metal. He lifted the object off his head, smiling at the Halfling's actions and then froze. A silver crown, silver like the moon's reflection on clear water, blue jewels studding the outer surface. Bilbo had given him the Crown of Durin. He'd just been inceremoniously coronated by a Hobbit. He tenderly placed the crown to one side and looked at the Hobbit, who had noticed Thorin's change in expression.

"That was my grandfather's crown, little one."

Blibo blinked in horror. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have touched it.."

"No, no need to worry." He couldn't help smiling, at the thought of a legend containing a Dwarven king being crowned by a Hobbit.

Satisfied that there was no harm done, Bilbo continued his exploring. Thorin continued grazing the mountain of gold, fingers sliding deeper and deeper until his digits hit something solid, a jewel, yet he could feel metal. A ring. Plucking it out of the golden coins, he smiled as he recognised it. It was a silver ring, a jewel, red and bright as the rising sun sparkling on its top. It was tiny, a child's ring, but it could fit the Halfling easily, Thorin thought. He heard falling coins and looked up, worried for the Shireling who, it seemed, was just doing some digging of his own.

By Mahal. There were thousands of necklaces, bracelets, rings, even large beads surrounding them. All bright, all shining, all bearing large, colourful gems. Without warning, the Hobbit suddenly set himself in front of the Dwarf, depositing a flash of gold and purple as he did so. Eager to give his gift, Thorin gently took his hand and slid it onto the Halfling's index finger, where it fit perfectly. In turn, Bilbo selected what he'd brought, a fine, golden chain, several amethysts dropping off it and placed it around the king's neck.

"I don't remember this." Thorin admitted, stroking the purple gems. It seemed like something his mother, or Dis would have worn.

Bilbo coughed, sounding slightly anxious. "Well, an Elf was boasting about how he'd thieved from a Dwarf, and um..."

"You stole this from an Elf?" Thorin asked, hardly daring to believe it. At Bilbo's affirmative nod, Thorin began chuckling. "To think when we first met, you said you weren't a burglar!"

"I...well..."

Thorin tousled Bilbo's drying curls. "It's fine." He was actually quite contented at the fact that the Hobbit seemed to place Dwarves above Elves. But to say that would sound conceited, so he kept it to himself.

"Do you like it? Only it now looks feminine."

"I might give it to my sister. I don't want to seem ungrateful..."

Bilbo waved it off. "No, it'd suit a woman better. Though the Elf was a male."

"Well, that's Elves for you," Thorin said, "even the males enjoy wearing dresses and make up and jewelley more suited to a woman."

"But, Dwarves have..." Bilbo started, before shutting himself up, abruptly.

"Dwarves have?" Thorin prompted.

"Well, your hair is long and beaded."

"A Dwarf's hair is symbolic of his age and power." Thorin explained patiently, though he was not happy at having his locks called 'feminine'. "The beads are symbolic too, of marriage, death, love, war."

"The beards?"

"To show masculinity, not femininity. It's what seperates Dwarves from Elves." Peering at Bilbo's hairless face, he added, "and Hobbits."

Bilbo touched the smooth skin self-conciously. He wished, suddenly, that Hobbits could grow beards as a Dwarf could, too. Then he remembered the pointed tip of his ears and wondered if Thorin disliked these traits. Did they remind him too much of Elves?

"What is troubling you?"

"Do I look Elven to you?" It seemed, no, was a very odd question to ask, but still, he wanted to know.

"If you did," Thorin muttered, "I would've left the Shire immediately. Why do you ask?"

"I have pointed ears and no beard."

"As well as poor archery, lack of grace and the feet of a rabbit." Thorin pointed out.

Bilbo was not impressed. Giving the king a deep look of offence, he took to his 'feet of a rabbit' and walked across the slippery, golden carpet to the exit. Thorin grabbed onto his arm, uttering apologies. "I do not have lack of grace!" Bilbo snapped and then disproved this point by losing his grip on the unusual terrain and falling. Had Thorin not had a hold of him, the Hobbit would surely have slid to the bottom of the gold pile they were residing on. Instead he toppled over and landed on top of the king.

Bilbo became suddenly very aware that Thorin had very beautiful eyes. Like a deep sapphire or a summer day's sky. His hair was shining and black as the river at night. The king's mouth was slightly open and he wanted to kiss that mouth, desperately craving to do so at that moment, but for fear of scaring the Dwarf, he did not.

Little did he know, the Dwarrow king wanted the same.