Walking a couple of steps behind Bilbo as he gently ushered the terrified hobbit to his bed roll, Thorin suddenly felt uneasy. This was his shot to finally put things right between him and the Halfling, and he desperately wanted to – for the good of the company, of course. Totally not because Thorin couldn't sleep at night knowing that Bilbo was in pain because of him. Definitely not because it physically hurt Thorin deep in his chest when the hobbit winced in pain every time he clenched his blistered fist. No, Thorin needed to keep his company united, and having the hobbit angry at him was threatening this unity.

Yup.

That was definitely the reason.

No doubt about it.

When they reached the bed roll, Bilbo froze, not knowing what he should do. A part of him really wanted to bolt, but that wouldn't be very respectable, now would it? Of course, abandoning Bag End to run off with a bunch of dwarfs on an adventure wasn't exactly respectable either. But this was different.

This was Thorin.

As he subconsciously planned out the best escape route, Thorin grabbed some materials from one of his packs. Upon his return, he took off his fur coat, placed it gently over the bottom half of his bed roll, and sat down on the top half, gesturing for Bilbo to sit on the soft fur. Bilbo opened and closed his mouth in confusion a couple of times, before Thorin reached up, grabbed his arm, and gently pulled him down. He was about to protest to being grabbed when he noticed that Thorin looked…..nervous. A blush creeping up his neck, Bilbo swallowed nervously and looked around at everything but the intimidating dwarf in front of him.

Thorin, meanwhile, had started mashing up several different flowers and herbs in a small bowl. The colour of the salve he produced was different from the one Oin had put on Bilbo's burn. Oin's had been the colour of brown – well, brown mush, really. Thorin's was a soft mixture of purple and green, and it smelled much better – like lavender. Oin's had smelled of something so awful, Bilbo couldn't even describe it. Oin's salve had helped the burns to heal, but it did nothing for Bilbo's pain, and he was secretly hopefully that Thorin's might, as he really missed being able to close his hand.

"Are you well-versed in the art of healing?" Bilbo asked, finding it hard to believe a king would need to know about healing. He quickly remembered that Thorin was no ordinary king, having his land ripped away from him when he was still a prince.

"I used to use this when I injured myself at the forge," Thorin said suddenly, snapping Bilbo out of his reverie, "but I'm afraid it's about the extent of my healing knowledge," he added.

Thorin held his hand out expectantly, and Bilbo slowly placed his small bandaged hand in the dwarf's larger, calloused one.

Very carefully, Thorin managed to unwrap the bandages, with a gentleness that Bilbo never dreamed the king possessed. His face fell as he examined the burn, his posture stiffening as he realized the pain the Halfling must have been in. It was a bad burn, even worse than he had originally believed, and the large, open cut in the center was oozing blood where the wound had been reopened.

He very gently washed the burn, pausing and frowning every time Bilbo winced, and then continuing even gentler than before. Once the burn was clean, he applied the salve, and to Bilbo's relief, the pain started to ebb away almost immediately. Bilbo let out a soft sigh, and Thorin smiled as he applied fresh bandages. It was then that Thorin realized it was the perfect time to apologize to the hobbit.

But he didn't.

Instead he made a bad choice, a very bad choice indeed.

He decided to try and compliment Bilbo.

In Thorin's mind, a compliment was much better than an apology – it showed that he recognized the little things Bilbo had done. Plus, he argued with himself, he had never actually really apologized for anything before, so he would surely mess it up. What Thorin forgot was that he had never really complimented anyone before either.

"Hobbit," he said gruffly, and Bilbo looked up at him.

"Yes, dwarf?" Bilbo said, smiling, his voice laced with enough sass to rival even Gandalf.

Right, right, he wasn't supposed to call Bilbo that anymore.

"Pardon, I meant to say Halfling," Thorin said.

No, no, not that either.

"Uh, burglar," he said quickly.

Come on, now, really?

"YOU ARE VERY STOUT," Thorin nearly shouted.

There, that wasn't so bad. Sure, he shouted at the poor Halfling, but at least he got the words out. Being stout was a respected quality amongst dwarfs, and to be called stout was considered a great compliment. Very smart thinking, Thorin. Brilliant, even.

Yet, Bilbo did not look pleased.

In fact, his face had fallen, a blush rising to the tips of his ears.

"Oh…" he said sadly, his eyes downcast, "yes, I suppose, compared to you dwarfs, I am rather…stout."

He looked up at Thorin now, and there was anger in his big eyes.

"But really, who says something like that? You, Thorin Oakenshield, have no manners whatsoever," he spat.

Thorin was taken back, his mouth agape, as Bilbo stood up and stomped away.

"Seriously, of all the nerve! Why, if I wanted to hear about my faults, I'd go visit Lobelia!" he muttered loudly as he stormed off.

Thorin stared after him, confused. He thought he had done good.

"Nice job," Dwalin snickered, having been sleeping on the bed roll to Thorin's left when he was woken by Thorin's shouted, supposed compliment. "Very majestically done," he added, sarcastically.

Thorin glared at him.

"Nice cloth," he shot back at the warrior, referring to the small cloth hanging out of Dwalin's pocket, the delicately embroidered O visible for all to see.

"The little scribe gave it to me," Dwalin said defensively. "Mine….broke," he added.

"You….broke a piece of cloth?" Thorin asked, confused.

"Might have dropped my axe on it," Dwalin muttered.

"Ah, I see" Thorin said. "Well, at any rate, let me know if you intend to reciprocate the courting," Thorin added. "I'd like to warn the poor lad about what he's getting into," he said, getting up and following after the hobbit.

Dwalin stared after him.

What courting?