Bilbo hissed in pain as someone jostled his feet in the dark, and a sheepish-sounding Fíli whispered an apology. Even when whispered at the distance of only a finger's breadth from his ear, Bilbo still could barely hear it above the din of Smaug's infuriated roars outside. Finally, mercifully, the din faded as if the dragon moved off from their collapsed and now unhidden entrance into the mountain, and Bilbo could feel the tense bodies pressed against his own begin to slowly relax. There was a clattering of rock pieces somewhere to Bilbo's right as it sounded like a dwarf stood to his feet in the rubble.
"Kíli, Glóin, go scout this tunnel and make sure it's safe enough for us to hide in for a day or two in case that fiend comes for us from the inside," Thorin's voice ordered in the dark. "If it's safe, bring back enough wood for a fire- Óin will want to see to us, and there'll be no escaping him as handily as we did the dragon."
Óin grumbled imprecations against Thorin even as the others snickered and noisily stood to spread out from their tight cluster. Bilbo tried to keep his damaged feet safely away while he marveled at the change in the entire company. They'd face death in so many ways, faced hardships one after another as if their journey had been cursed from the beginning, and just been run inside the mountain's secret entrance by a livid dragon; yet, for all of that, the dwarves sounded nearly euphoric to be back inside Erebor and Thorin had even made a small joke, something which, if asked two months ago, Bilbo would never have guessed the grimly driven dwarf capable of doing.
"Shouldn't we move from here? If Smaug buried us, can't he unbury us just as easily?" Bilbo asked with trepidation as the darkness pressed down on him and every slither of loose rock reminded him that there was a wall of rubble just to his left.
Bofur's voice piped up from far closer than expected and drew a surprised gasp from Bilbo's throat. "We're perfectly safe where we are, if you're asking about the rock. He brought down about three lengths of mountain behind us, and even that menace can't tunnel through that much- did you see his claws? They're built for cutting, not digging. No, he's far more likely to try and roast us alive from the other end of this tunnel than he is to dig us out from the outside," the dwarf cheerfully explained, and Bilbo wished that his feet didn't hurt so abominably. He'd love to kick his friend for that lovely new worry.
"No, I didn't look at his claws. I was looking at his teeth, and the flame, and the tunnel roof which was coming down upon my head. Next time I'm being killed by a dragon, though, I'll be sure to examine his toenails," Bilbo replied somewhat waspishly. Bofur only laughed in response, along with a few other dwarves, and Bilbo gave up thoughts of kicking them all. There was something wrong with their sense of humor! The thought crossed his mind that he should use rocks to the head rather than kicking, to encourage the growth of common-sense, but then Bilbo banished that idea- many had taken rocks to the head as the passage collapsed under furious strikes from the dragon's tail, and yet none showed any signs of improvement. Or did he just need to try bigger rocks to get through their thick dwarven skulls?
Bilbo's musings were cut short by warm light presaging the return of Kíli and Glóin, and he whole-heartedly welcomed the glorious return of sight. Even his most outlandish musings weren't enough to keep the gnawing fears at bay for long in the insidious dark. It pressed in and magnified even the smallest fear into a heart-pounding terror.
Kíli dumped his massive armload of wood and then held the torch, fashioned from what looked like a table leg, while Glóin arranged everything to his satisfaction. "This corridor goes on for about six lengths, and turns twice," he reported to Thorin as he stood with the torch. "We didn't see any other rooms or doors cut into it, but after it opens up into the main passages there are rooms; it's where we found the furniture to break up for the fire. Wouldn't you rather camp in one of the rooms, Uncle? They're still so beautiful!" Kíli enthused.
Thorin immediately shook his head. "Here will be safer, if the beast comes for us through the inside of the mountain."
"Excuse me, but why is it safer?" Bilbo had to ask, as he'd much prefer a proper room with four solid walls to a rubble-strewn corridor with a collapsed section at one end. The rock still tumbling down and settling did not instill confidence in his heart that the rest of the corridor wouldn't suddenly decide to squish them all into messy, and no doubt painful, deaths.
Rather than Thorin, it was Glóin who answered as he sat back from his successfully lit fire and tucked his much-dented tinderbox back under his beard. "It's because of the fire, lad. With the corridor sealed like this, it traps the air inside it. If that menace tries to blast his fire at us from the other end, then the flames won't want to go around the corners, and the air will back up at our end so that we can still breathe. That thing's too stupid to trickle flame up the corridor, to burn the air out like a lovingly-tended forge can, so we'll be safer here than in a pretty room where we're vulnerable."
A few other dwarves nodded, and Bilbo assumed that they had closely worked with flame enough to know its properties. "Now lads, enough discussion- talk won't close those cuts. If your noses fall off due to wound rot because you were too tender to let me stitch you to keep out the dirt, then don't come weeping to me when you cannot find a mate!" Óin chivvied them into action with his own version of affection, and Bilbo freely grinned at his friends' sudden hunted expressions. For being a pack of tough dwarves, they certainly were squeamish about being tended to!
"Bilbo, you're over here first. I want to look at those feet again and see what mischief you've done those blisters by running on them."
Obligingly, Fíli and Kíli helped Bilbo move over closer to the fire by picking him up between them, but did not place his feet directly facing it. They scattered clear of the healer just as soon as they could, though, as if afraid that he'd trap them into having their wounds treated. Óin motioned for him to sit with it to his side, to keep the heat safely away, and he was grateful for that consideration- his feet felt hotter than a fresh bed warmer. "Dwalin grabbed me, actually, when the mountainside came down and carried me in," he admitted while Óin tutted over the blistered burns which wrapped around the backs and bottoms of his feet.
Normally Bilbo would have railed against being picked up and carried like a child, but he'd been sitting down when Smaug appeared in the air over their ledge, and then he'd just frozen in horrified panic. The rest of the dwarves had been closer to the hidden doorway and had darted inside, expecting him to follow, but Bilbo had been stuck sitting on his rock even as the dragon's belly began to glow ominously brighter and only Dwalin's arm around his middle had shifted him. The dwarf grabbed, tucked Bilbo against his side, and then pelted for the door which Nori held open. They nearly didn't make it. Tongues of flame had followed inside to lick around the stone door's edges as it slammed closed to leave them in impenetrable darkness. And then the world fell in.
Óin gave him as frank a look as Bilbo had ever received from the dwarf. "You may owe Dwalin your feet, Bilbo. We don't have enough water in our skins for me to have cleaned your feet properly, had you run on them and ground filth deep into broken blisters, and my tinctures were still down on the ponies. By now, that beast will have either eaten them or panicked them clear to the Iron Hills, so I couldn't treat the rot which would inevitably set in," he explained, and Bilbo shivered. With their situation, such festering wounds could cost a limb, or a life.
"But they're not that bad?" he asked anxiously as he tried to get a good look at one of his heels in the flickering light. Óin grabbed the top of his ankle to stop his nervous twisting, before his calves completely slipped off the small boulder on which they were propped for examination.
"I stuffed my pockets with that burn paste the men gave us before we left the ponies, given that you were going down to see about a dragon and I didn't trust the thing to have had the decency to die before we arrived. It won't work as quickly as a salve of my own, but give it two days and you'll be walking again- those blisters on your soles haven't developed any further, thank all for tough hobbit feet, but it'll take longer for the burns on the backs of your feet to heal. Your skin's more delicate there and the burns set in deeper. They won't stop you from walking, but you'll need to take care and keep them clean and covered." Óin dumped one of the tins into Bilbo's lap and motioned for him to remain seated where he was. "I have infants to stitch up before they decide to get themselves lost, dragon or no, so you stay there and I'll send someone over to spread that paste on your feet."
Bilbo outright laughed at Óin's words, and received a cheeky smile in return- the healer wasn't half as grumpy as he played up, but he did have to out-stubborn his patients more often than not, and that required a very forceful show of personality. He enjoyed the fire at his back and tried to forget the fire in his feet as he watched dwarves scatter away from the approaching healer. Óin bellowed Dwalin's name, and the intimidating warrior actually shrunk into himself as he was cornered and subjected to a thorough inspection. Bilbo wondered if all dwarves were so vehemently opposed to seeking a healer's aid, or if his twelve dwarves were simply special in that regard. It all seemed rather… self-defeating for a race who thrived on risk – battle, tunneling riches out of the ground, tending forges capable of rendering bone to ash – to avoid a healer when soured wounds could easily claim a life.
His musings were abruptly interrupted as a large shape dropped to the ground by his feet. Bilbo twitched and chided himself for losing track of everyone.
"Didn't mean to startle you," Dwalin rumbled by way of apology as he held one large hand out for the tin which Bilbo still cradled in his lap.
Madly hoping that his embarrassed flush couldn't be seen above the fire's tint, Bilbo surrendered the tin and mumbled that it was quite alright. He noticed that Dwalin had a closed gash among shallower cuts and scrapes on the outside bend of his left elbow, which looked like it had to have been caused by a heavy sharp rock, and stared. He'd been carried on Dwalin's left, which meant that he'd been shielded by that arm, and that his own lack of scratches, gouges, gashes, and dirt ground into open blisters was due to this dwarf; this dwarf who was now spreading the pine-smelling burn paste over his burned feet so gently that Bilbo could only feel where his fingers were by the sensation of the cooler paste against his blazing skin.
"Thank you," Bilbo managed to whisper around the sudden frog of emotion in his throat. He shoved down the swell of emotion at the realization of how protected he'd been as this certainly wasn't the time.
Dwalin looked up at him briefly and waved the hand holding the tin. "Don't thank me till I'm done, Master Baggins. Fingers aren't as deft as Óin's, and may still end up poking you," he dismissed.
Bilbo stretched to lightly grasp Dwalin's wrist and catch his attention. "No, I mean thank you, Master Dwalin. For carrying me in when I couldn't move, for protecting me from the falling stone, and for this even if you do end up poking me," he smiled gently and received a ghost of an answering smile through the dwarf's tense concentration in return. He released the wrist he held to let Dwalin finish spreading the paste, and if was poked two or three times, Bilbo never twitched so much as a toe to let Dwalin know about it.
That night, or what the dwarves called night since Bilbo couldn't sense the passage of time within the mountain in the same way that they claimed they could, they all bedded down as best they could. Bilbo and Dori, whose shoulder had been badly wrenched by a large section of falling ceiling while he shielded his brothers, were exempt from the exercise, but everyone else had been conscripted to brush the corridor floor free of debris. Even Thorin joined in to crouch down and use his outer tunic as a broom to tidily sweep pebbles and heavier rock dust back towards the collapsed section; Bilbo was actually rather impressed by the dwarf's unexpected handiness with such a menial task.
As he turned to shake out his tunic and slip it back on, Thorin caught Bilbo's eye and smirked as if he'd read the hobbit's astonishment. Bilbo promptly looked everywhere but at the dwarf, mind still whirling with Bard's revelation. He wasn't exactly averse to the idea of courtship, exactly, but he didn't know what to do with one as he'd never before had any offers. Bilbo was saved an awkward, at least on his part, encounter by Bombur's booming call that the area was sufficiently cleared to sleep on.
Everyone looked to his own bedding – usually a tunic or jacket wadded up in place of a pillow – and they all quickly dropped off to sleep after the exhausting day. Thorin declined to set a watch rotation that night, as there were no dangers in Erebor other than the dragon, and his racket would rouse them all should he decide to try burning them in the night. Dragons weren't exactly known for their stealth, after all.
Bilbo waited while the snores around him evened and deepened. The emotion in his chest, impatient as ever, pushed at him and made the inside corners of his eyes prickle but he remained still and quiet where he lay near the fire, legs propped up on a small boulder over which Thorin had insisted on spreading his folded cloak to act as padding. Only once Bilbo was certain, absolutely certain, that all his dwarves were asleep did he turn his head away from the fire, loosen his control over the emotion, and let it have its way.
The warm squeeze in his chest was still his favorite feeling in the world, for it meant that he felt and Bilbo didn't think that he'd ever lose his wonder over the return of his tears, or his gratitude to the dwarves who prompted it. The tear dripped, liquid, from his eye and crystalized as it slipped down his before it dropped into his waiting hand. Bilbo froze as he listened for any sounds from the dwarves, but no cry of surprise or covert shuffle met his sensitive ears. He twisted to surreptitiously examine his little gem in the firelight.
It was such a dark blue in the dim light that if Bilbo didn't know better he would have called it black, like the darkest blue of his mother's treasured cobalt glass figurines which now sat in his Aunt Mirabella's front windowsill. But as the fire's varying light shifted through it, little sparkles of lighter blue briefly flared to life, like the moon bugs which came out during summer nights in the Shire. Aware that he could spend all night watching the fascinating reaction, Bilbo carefully tucked the gem away in his little bag, careful not to clink together any of the bag's contents lest he disturb a sleeping dwarf. He nestled the bag against the skin of his chest again, where Thorin's gem could rest near his heart despite his own bewildered reaction to the dwarf's potential budding courtship, and let his exhaustion sweep him off to sleep.
Morning brought empty stomachs, stiffened limbs, and complaining dwarves. Thorin ordered all the dwarves out in two groups, Bilbo hid a smile as he imagined Thorin only doing so to avoid all the grousing and whining that had been done as everyone hauled sore bodies off the unforgiving stone floor. One group was led by Thorin and they were to go to the left down the wide passage at the end of their corridor in search of anything usable – any tapestries that survived the century of neglect which they could use as mattresses or any of the long-term food stores which Thorin believed could be nearby. He had been very young when Erebor was lost, but dwarves did keep emergency stores in case of famine which even a century of neglect wouldn't touch, if water or air did not breach the seals on their casks. The other group was to head right under the leadership of Fíli up the passage in search of more furniture to use as firewood. From Glóin's report, much of the more delicate craftsmanship had dry rotted to unusable crumbly shards, but there should still be stout pieces to find and break apart. It went without saying that both groups were to be as silent as possible lest their resident dragon hear their forays and come to incinerate them.
Bilbo was quick to request of Óin that Dwalin remain behind to help him with the paste and his feet, as the dwarf had done such a wonderful job the day before. Óin gave him a discerning look, and Bilbo remembered that the canny healer carried one of his gems and could possibly suss the reason for his request, but only nodded in acceptance of the request. After Dwalin's stitches were checked for tell-tale inflammation, he was pointed in Bilbo's direction and twelve dwarves split up to carry out their assigned tasks.
As they went through the painful ritual of wiping down his feet with a clean cloth from Bombur's pack – which was the only pack to be dropped in the corridor the first time they dashed inside of it to hide from Smaug – Bilbo dug out the little gem. His actions didn't go unnoticed and Dwalin looked up from his gentle, but agonizing, work with a questioning look. "Need something?" he asked.
"Nope, but I wish to give you something." Bilbo held out his hand and waited until Dwalin had secured both the cloth and nearly empty skin of precious water before he laid the gem into the warrior's outstretched hand. The sheer size of that hand made the little gem seem smaller than any of the others, though Bilbo knew it to be of average size.
"And what's this little beauty for, Master Baggins? I don't recognize it as dwarf-hewn," Dwalin seemed just as entranced by its odd short-lived flaring sparkles as Bilbo had been the night before.
Bilbo launched into a version of the now very familiar explanation. He ended with, "They're a secret kept to my people, but it's still given in honest friendship."
Dwalin watched him thoughtfully, looking back down to the gem in his hand at times. "I'll not poke about another's secrets, Ma- Bilbo, but may I ask how hobbits treat their gems? If they're that important to your people, I'd not want to offend, even by accident."
Thinking quickly, Bilbo pictured his parents, and his cousins. He didn't have many gems of his own, and had lost the ability before any of it had become an issue to deal with, but his family had adored each and every one of theirs. "Some are kept out of sight, private even from the eyes of our own people, but some are mounted in jewelry and worn proudly in plain sight for all to see. Gems of friendship are usually worn thus, as they say about the wearer that he or she is one to trust and befriend. Because I've broken one of the rules of my people, I would ask that you please do not display your gem, or if you do, please do not disclose what it actually is. It is your gem and I would never dream of telling you what to do with it, but that is what I ask in the name of our friendship." Bilbo's heart pounded as he trusted this information to Dwalin, more than he'd ever revealed to any of the other dwarves, and perilously close to breaking the most sacred of rules for a hobbit. The gems were a gift, and he truly could not bring himself to demand that Dwalin hide it away, just as he could not truly lie when asked the very innocent, well-intentioned, and yet too pointed question. Oh, by sweet Yavanna he'd love for the dwarf to hide it away as the others had done, safely out of sight, but he could never demand. It simply wasn't his place to do so.
Dwalin thought a moment longer and then reached back to dig into his left boot and withdraw a small leather pouch. It had been seared with the angular runes of the dwarves' language, and Dwalin carefully dropped the gem into it before he tied the strings tightly to close it and shoved it deep into his boot again. "Once we retake Erebor and start the great forges once more, I'll make a pendant mount for it so that I can wear it as your people do, but I will do as you ask and keep it out of sight by wearing it under my clothes."
Bilbo nodded, as that was the best compromise that he could hope for, and it truly did gladden his heart to know that at least one gem would have a proper mount even if it was never displayed like it should be. But, others would ask questions if one or two dwarves displayed their unusual gems, and then that could put the entire Shire in jeopardy again. Dwalin appeared to hesitate.
"I would ask that you do something for me, in the name of friendship, but only if you wished to," he asked and grimaced as whatever he thought to ask appeared to weigh heavily on him.
"You may ask anything you wish without judgment, and if I wish to decline then I shall do so without thinking any less of you for the asking," Bilbo was quick to reassure. Dwalin wasn't the kind to ask frivolous favors of him, wasn't the kind of dwarf for frivolous anything of any kind at all, and so Bilbo was more than willing to listen.
"I would ask that you consider giving Thorin's offer of courtship a chance." He continued before Bilbo could rally a rebuttal. "Something must have happened in Lake-Town, because you've gone all kinds of skittish around him when once you were happy to be close, but his offer is genuine and not a passing fancy." Dwalin warred with himself before he spoke again. "I've been by his side since I was old enough to hold a short-axe, and he's never taken up with someone the way he has with you. I think it scared him, in the beginning, but you stuck with us and didn't let him chase you away, and then you gave him the grandest courtship opening offer that's been seen since Durin the fourth joined with men and elves in the Last Alliance."
"I don't know what that means," Bilbo managed to state, though his voice was rather faint with shock.
Dwalin simply gave him a look which implied that Bilbo was being intentionally dense. "He joined the war to impress his intended and give her such a mighty opening offer that no other suitor could hope to best it. When he came back to Khazad-Dûm after the war she accepted his courtship, of course, as he'd dedicated his units to her name and honor. You did the same for Thorin when you moved to attack Azog after killing the orc that was threatening his life. Had you only killed the first orc and then let us help, it wouldn't have been an offer. But you killed the threat and then made Thorin's enemy your own, fought his battle when he could not and stood for his life; that, Bilbo, was a courtship offering."
Dazedly, Bilbo noticed that his feet had been slathered in paste while he was distracted by Dwalin's words, and he hadn't felt a single thing. His mind whirled and his heart tripped along as memories, emotions, and thoughts tumbled together in his head like a pack of puppies. "I will consider it," he heard himself murmur as Dwalin looked at him expectantly and was neither shocked by his decision nor unhappy with it. He honestly didn't know what to feel.
Perhaps sensing his confusion, Dwalin left him alone and seated himself further down the corridor to keep watch for the others when they returned.
Bilbo had much to think on, but fate wouldn't give him much time in which to do it. His soles were already healing, and he didn't know that there was yet a greater danger hiding in the mountain than the dragon.