"Thorin?" Rousing from his doze, shaking off the clinging tendrils of sleep, Thorin was convinced he had imagined the voice in the darkness, until it spoke again. "Thorin? Are you all right?"

Leaving his meagre heap of straw behind for the moment, Thorin immediately moved to kneel beside the door, peering out the slot into the dimly lit corridor beyond. Emptiness greeted him, cold and desolate, and not for the first time since the lock had snapped shut, Thorin wondered if he might be starting to go mad.

Resting his forehead against the scarred wood of the door, Thorin allowed himself a ragged sigh, slumping forward with weakening hope. His imagination was a cruel—

"Thorin, I know you can't see me, but I'm here, I swear." The elves had taken his armour, stripping him down to shirt and trousers, without even his coat to ward off the chill of their prison; the air was crisp with autumn, not the bite of winter, so he could not truly blame the cold for the lunacy creeping into his mind. They fed him as well, and allowed him to rest without interference, so it wasn't likely his delusion was born of hunger or exhaustion, either.

"Why..." Acknowledging this figment of his addled brain seemed liable to worsen his decline, but Thorin could not help but speak. "Bilbo? Is it— Why can't I see you?"

There was a soft chuckle, so achingly familiar after so long with only his own heartbeat for fellowship that Thorin's breathing hitched. Then, before he could think to dismiss his bout of madness, there followed the strangest sensation of unseen fingers touching his own, curling around the hand he had braced on the floor. "A magic ring, if you can believe it— makes me invisible. I'll explain it later, but for now, are you all right?"

In truth, he was beginning to grow ill from the bleakness of his current plight— it was a poison creeping into the deepest parts of his heart. Bilbo's mystifying presence, real or imaginary, was enough to stifle that vile bitterness for the moment.

"I'm fine, though sorely tired of this cage." With his free hand, Thorin traced invisible knuckles, then a slim wrist, sliding his touch carefully up the forearm that apparently reached through the narrow slot. It was absolutely remarkable; he had heard of similar magic, but never seen it with his own eyes, nor ever expected it from a hobbit. "Are the others with you? Is everyone safe?"

"They're safe, yes, but locked up just as you are. I've managed to stay hidden." Thorin heard shuffling, and felt the arm in his grip flex and move, but Bilbo's hold did not falter, tightening instead. "There were giant spiders, horrifying things, and we couldn't find you; the elves appeared before we could go back to search. I was certain you'd... I mean, I thought, I feared... Oh, by all that's good in this world, you've no idea how happy I am to see you alive."

"And I am happy to be seen, my dear Bilbo." Warmth bloomed in Thorin's chest, a flare of hope in the darkness, and he forcefully cast aside the doubts that had been chipping away his resolve. Thranduil would suffer ignorance of their goals for a bit longer yet. "And I'll be happier still to see you, once we breathe the free air again. For now, tell me everything that's happened."


Though the occasional company was welcome, Thorin found himself growing all the more restless now; Bilbo's visits always brought reports of dead-ends and failures. Having one of their company free to sneak about unmolested seemed like such a neat solution at first, better at least than languishing in his cell for a century, but no part of this quest had ever been as simple as all that.

"Would that these damnable elves had chosen some airy copse of trees to nest in." Sitting with his back pressed against the door, legs splayed out before him, Thorin kept his head angled down to better be heard by his discouraged little burglar. "I'd never had reason to curse the sturdiness of caves before now. Not even a window big enough to squeeze through, you said?"

"No, Thorin." Bilbo huffed quietly, and Thorin could easily imagine the exasperated frown overtaking his expressive features. "The entire place is sealed up as tight as my Uncle Longo's purse, which I assure you has always been very tightly sealed indeed." It had been nearly a fortnight since their first meeting like this, whispering through the cell door, and despite the frustration and tedium, Thorin would admit he did not entirely envy Bilbo his current role as spy. The hobbit was invisible, but not incorporeal— one misstep, one overheard footfall or murmur, and all his sneaking about could come to quite an ignoble end. Stealing scraps of food and dozing nervously in corners was proving terrible for Bilbo's nerves, which had already been frayed from their wretched trip through Mirkwood.

Thorin knew how to rouse a band of dwarves to battle, how to lift the spirits of his kin with talk of glory and gold, but hobbits were odd creatures, and Bilbo Baggins was even odder still. With no great desire to be chewed on by another giant warg or nearly beheaded, Thorin took a moment to consider what other sort of encouragement might stir the halfling's daring once more.

"Bilbo," he said eventually, and waited for the hum of acknowledgement to follow. On occasion, the hobbit did vanish without warning— usually just before Thorin heard the light treading of elven feet approach. When his audience confirmed its presence, Thorin pressed on. "After all we've been through on this journey, I would be a fool to doubt your ingenuity or your resolve. You will find a way, clever as you are; I trust in that."

"I... will try." It wasn't quite a whoop of confidence revived, but Thorin heard steel harden beneath those hushed words all the same. "Though I'm fairly certain at least one of us is completely mad for putting this all on my shoulders."

Slipping one hand out through the door's slot, Thorin mustered enough humour for a small smile when cool, nimble fingers threaded through his own, though Bilbo could not see his expression. Off in the shadowy corners of the room, Thorin knew small, spindly brown spiders were busy weaving their cobwebs, and he recalled the tale Bilbo had told him— a story of wet, flashing fangs, dripping with venom, and the crunch of one tiny blade cleaving through thick carapace. A story of his kinsman poisoned and bound, and of monsters shrieking for mercy from the fury of a hobbit's sting.

"Would that I could help you bear it," he murmured, his voice gruffer than he'd intended; he swallowed against the thick feeling in his throat before going on. "Or simply fight my way free of this prison and scorch the forest behind us to ruin... and the elf-king with it."

"You're fed and dry." Still held in Bilbo's grip, Thorin found his knuckles knocked against the stone floor— a gentle, scolding sort of gesture that shook him out of his darker thoughts simply for the audacity of it. "The elves could have you hung up in stocks, you know. And anyway, I'm getting rather good at saving your life, no doubt from all this practice— with the way you lot carry on it could be a full-time occupation. I shan't complain too much, as long as we're all safe, and neither should you."

"Courage has made you cheeky, halfling." Just as Thorin had become too tolerant of that same cheekiness... and perhaps too fond of their little burglar.

"Mm, and all this waiting has made us both downhearted. That won't do, at all." Bilbo squeezed his fingers once more, a now-familiar farewell, and Thorin was shamefully reluctant to allow the retreat he sensed was quick approaching. The silence was simply too thunderous without a whispered voice in the dark to temper it. "I'm off to scout below again, see if I missed anything in the kitchens. Shall I bring you anything tomorrow, if I'm able?"

A knife would have been a comfort, but too many questions would be raised if it was seen by his gaolers (unless he was able to gut them quickly and make his own escape). And though he'd wet his own small blade on orcs and spiders, Bilbo would likely kick up another fuss about bloodshed when sneaking would do. Thorin would have pushed the point, if not for his kin and companions; he was not foolish enough to risk taking on Thranduil's entire household while the others were locked away, nor would he consider leaving a single dwarf behind. Creeping about like rats was the better option, bitter as it might taste.

"Meat, if you can, but be cautious. They give me food enough to live, and I would much rather go without a bite of venison than see our rescuer locked away."

"I'm always cautious— comes with being scared silly." For an instant, just before he was released, Thorin felt the lightest press of lips against his hand, soft over the root of his thumb. The kiss was there and gone almost too quickly to notice, but Thorin had no doubt he would feel the warmth of its memory lingering for hours, or likely much longer.

When Bilbo's touch withdrew entirely, Thorin did not grasp for his anchor to return; their salvation would be slow in coming if the hobbit was forced to loiter as nursemaid to one lonesome dwarf. He was not some wee child, pining for company to chase off the fanciful terrors from the shadows.

"Take care, burglar," he rumbled instead, subdued in his return to solitude. He heard nothing but silence in return, unsure if Bilbo was still there to hear.