TRANSLATIONS:

Mukhuh Mahal bakhuz murukhzu. - May Mahal's hammer shield you.
Mahzirikhi zu gang ghukhil. - I wish you a safe journey.

The reactions of the body to different impacts never ceased to amaze Bilbo.

He remembered how much his father read about different kins and their anatomy. Bilbo often found it impressive how different hobbits were compared to men or dwarves. Not only for they were small, but they didn't have special abilities to heal themselves quickly, and they rarely (mostly never) had the need skills to become warriors. It was stated clearly in every book that, most likely, hobbits are related to men, though, real proof had never been presented. As a child, Bilbo would have liked to believe that the great Eru Ilúvatar had created his kin with a purpose, but, once he grew older he knew it was right as it was. For long decades the hobbits had never done anything remarkable, and it was the way of things.

He would've never imagined, not even in his wildest dreams that he would be the first hobbit ever to be remembered as a true adventurer, a hero. He didn't dare think he would even survive that day, considering how deep in water he was at the moment. After all, how could a hobbit be a hero if he drowns in a river before doing anything great?

Bilbo couldn't quite see that, but, during those seconds while he was gruesomely close to death, he did not really care.

He could not tell when he lost Thorin. He remembered jumping with him, bound together by that piece of cloth the dwarf tore from his shirt, and a warm feeling filled his heart right away. The king truly cared for him, the hobbit could see that now, but what did it matter if he was about to die? He should've learnt how to swim when he had the chance, that is all he could think about, and he tried to keep his eyes open, but the water wasn't clear enough to see anything. A cousin from his mother's side, well, he knew how to swim, and it was a truly admirable thing. Bilbo was jealous, for he could only take pride in the amount of books he had already finished, but nothing else.

Now, he wasn't jealous. He simply felt foolish for not being brave enough back then.

Bilbo felt sorry for the company. He could hear their desperate yells in the distance, like it came from the end of a long tunnel, and he couldn't answer. He felt sorry because there were so many things he did not have the time to tell, so many feelings he wished he could've shared. Especially with the king. His king.

His mouth was already full of water, his eyes felt raw from the river water, and he could barely hear his own thoughts from his racing heart. He found it hard to accept his fate, ending so abruptly and with such little dignity, but he was slowly talking himself into it when, suddenly, he could feel a hand grabbing his collar.

He was out of water before he could've blinked, and the amount of water that left his mouth was truly astonishing. He saw nothing but dots for a second, a colourful cavalcade of blurry blobs dancing in front of his eyes, then slowly, his vision returned.

The company on the other side of the river was the first thing he noticed, staring at him with eyes full of worry. Then, Bilbo turned his head and noticed a girl standing in front of him, her face a mixture of relief and anticipation.

Bilbo didn't have to look at her for too long to realise who he was facing. He could blurt out one word only.

"Rose?"

Bramblerose Bramble of Nobottle, shortly just Rose, was a hobbit of the Shire, much like Bilbo Baggins. (Except that, of course, Bilbo wasn't a girl.) She had always been an interesting girl - interesting for the hobbit lads, for she lived in the northeastern part of the Shire, yet, she was only seen in Hobbiton. She started wandering around the high, green hills in a really young age, but she was fierce and strong for her age and no one dared go near her. She had a fire in her eyes, and she could hit really hard when she wanted to.

Rose met Bilbo Baggins around Bywater Pool, under an old willow. Belladonna Took was notorious, even in the furthest parts of the Shire, since she was the old friend of Gandalf the wizard, and, well, everyone knew Gandalf. And those who knew Gandalf (needless to say that everyone knew Gandalf), they knew Belladonna, and they knew her only son as well. When Rose and Bilbo first met, Bilbo did not dare speak a word and ran back to his mother, the tips of his ears red as corn rose. The second time was smoother, for that time, Bilbo walked up to Rose. They talked about food and the goldfishes that rubbed against their fingers as they kept touching the surface of the water. They laughed, and they decided to be friends.

Bilbo was her first real friend. Everyone thought she was odd for missing out on so many elevensies and tea-times, but Rose had a greater hunger for adventures than all the food Arda could possibly offer. No one seemed to understand that, but, then again, Rose never cared about them. She was proudly walking around the Shire, and she knew every single tree around Westfarthing. Bilbo learnt that she had uncles and aunts in Michel Delving, and he also knew that her biggest dream was to go and see Deephallow one day. She also would've loved to see elves and dwarves, but she never believed it could come true.

The son of Belladonna Took found a soulmate in Bramblerose Bramble of Nobottle. He visited her and her family frequently, having tea with her parents whenever he was there. Rose begged him to go outside and walk the woods instead, to go and collect wildflowers in the Bindbole Woods. Her mother had the second most beautiful laugh Bilbo had ever heard (his own mother's was the first), and her father seemed to completely understand the adventurous nature of his daughter. They were kind and good hobbits, hobbits Bilbo would never forget.

They spent the years of their youth together, believing it would never end. On a summer evening, however, everything changed.

It was already late on the evening when Bilbo and Rose got back to Nobottle. From the woods, they couldn't see the volumes of smoke wreathing in the air, but once they stepped out of the curtain of close trees, they saw the smudge. Their faces fell, and Bilbo could feel nothing but numbness and the squeeze of Rose's hand on his own.

Belladonna and Bungo never hesitated to take Rose in after the tragedy. Rose blamed herself, cried herself to sleep every single night, and didn't leave Bag-End for days. Bilbo was too young to completely understand, to make sense of his mother's words.

"Don't bother her, Bilbo," she always said whenever she caught Bilbo standing in the doorway of Rose's room. The young hobbit girl was lying on the bed, with her back to the door, silently sobbing and shivering for hours. "She will soon look for your company again."

And she did. It was on the fifth day after the fire that Rose ate with them in the morning for the first time. She didn't speak much, and she left most of her breakfast on her plate, but she stayed with them until they finished their meals. Bilbo eyed Rose carefully, not being quite sure whether he was allowed to speak to her already or not. She grabbed his hand after breakfast, pulling him to the huge garden that lay behind Bag-End. They were lying on the soft grass for hours, staring at the bright blue sky, and Bilbo was happy that Rose wasn't crying.

The funeral took place two weeks later. Rose was standing by Bilbo's side silently, holding his hand gently. Bilbo watched her from the corner of his eye, making sure she wasn't crying, and Rose hadn't shed a tear. Bilbo did not care about the ceremony as much as he cared about his friend, and that is why it hurt him more than anything when Rose told them on that evening that she was going to Bree.

"Uncle Bramble is old, and their house is only enough for him and Aunt Bramble. They wouldn't have a place for me in Michel Delving," she explained, her voice unusually small and weak. She never once looked at him, and had it not been for his mother's hands on Bilbo's shoulder, he would've started shouting and crying. "I cannot prey on the kindness and hospitality you have shown me in the last few weeks. I will be grateful until I die."

Belladonna only said, "If this is what you wish, then it is what we shall accept," then, she kissed Rose's forehead and hugged her.

The last day they went to Bywater Pool, it was raining. No one was around, and the widow on the shore seemed even sadder than usually. The goldfishes were gone, sleeping somewhere on the bottom of the lake. Bilbo stared at the surface, and did not understand anything.

"Why do you have to go?" he asked, his voice silent in the rain. Rose didn't answer him.

On the next day, her other uncle from Bree arrived and took Rose with him. Bilbo was standing in front of Bag-End, his face miserable and eyes full of tears, and Rose couldn't stop staring at him. It was the last time she had seen him.

Until now.

Bilbo looked awfully old, compared to the boy she remembered. But, then again, she wasn't the same young lass she used to be, and it was the way of life. She had the same fire, though, but Bilbo seemed utterly different.

Like a grumpy old man. Or, like a cat that's been dropped into the water.

"Rose?" he asked, his voice full of astonishment, and Rose blinked. She couldn't believe Bilbo was here, and she found it even harder to believe that he was in the company of dwarves. Thirteen, precisely. And they stared like they had never seen hobbits before.

"Bilbo Baggins, what are you doing here?" She reached out with her hand, and Bilbo tentatively took it. He was on his feet in a second, continuing to stare at Rose, only on eye-level now. "And what were you thinking? You can't swim! At least, the last time I have seen you, you cou-"

Bilbo abruptly cut her off by grabbing her and wrapping his arms around her tightly. The hug was bone-crushing, but Rose felt a lump growing in her throat from the familiar feeling nevertheless. She hugged Bilbo back reluctantly, burying her face deep in the crook of his neck. She really had to try hard not to cry.

"I missed you so much," he whispered into her ear and Rose smiled. She wanted to say the same, she wanted to tell Bilbo how much she missed him and that there had not been a day when Rose didn't think of the days they spent together, but she feared her tears would be stronger than her willpower. So she only nodded, pushing herself even closer to the other. "I missed you, Rose."

They had been standing there for quite a while before Rose took a deep breath and gently pushed Bilbo away, her eyes visibly full of tears. She laughed at Bilbo's expression and quickly wiped her eyes.

"Stop staring at me like that, you look like you're about to have a heart attack," Rose sighed. She quickly glanced to the side, then turned back to her friend with a smirk. "Your friends look quite worried over there. Shouldn't we enlighten them about who I am?"

Bilbo seemed to notice the group of dwarves waiting for an explanation only now, and he looked like he was a child again. The way his gaze softened at the sight of that company was something Rose often saw everytime Bilbo looked at his mother, and it made her smile.

"Well, I guess we should," Bilbo wondered, and Rose shook her head with a chuckle.

She will have to ask about Belladonna and Bungo later. Now, she was simply happy she had her friend back.

Finally.

Since the dwarves couldn't cross the river, they decided to meet the hobbits on the lower part of the wild water. They saw the river narrowing in the distance, a mile or two before Esgaroth, and it seemed the most logical choice. Thorin wasn't at all happy about being parted from the hobbit, for the slight burning returned to his skin immediately, but it was not an awfully long distance to go until they could be reunited again.

"I won't kidnap him," the hobbit girl joked with a pretty smile.

Everyone seemed to like her already, except Thorin, for the dwarf king was sulking under his beard like a child. He was still shocked from the gut-wrenching fear that washed over him once he lost the hobbit from his grip, and had it not been for his company, he would've jumped after him into the river without a second thought. Dwalin and his sister-sons held him back, though, and it was only their luck that this girl was there to catch Bilbo and pull him out of the water in the last moment.

Even Thorin didn't understand the disapproval he felt for this strange girl, but he couldn't help himself. He felt way more protective than ever before, and to see them so close to each other, to see that tight embrace made the dwarf's heart sink in his chest. He hadn't said a word, though, and followed the company in silence. He could try to figure everything out later.

It took slightly more time to reach the meeting point on the dwarves' side, but, thanks to Thorin's urging mostly, they could catch up with the hobbits pretty soon. They had been conversing deeply, laughing about something when the company reached them, and Thorin couldn't restrain himself for any longer. He pushed his way through his friends, then, he cleared his throat loudly. He could feel Dwalin's eyeroll, but didn't care.

"Mister Baggins, would you be so kind to introduce your friend to us?" Thorin all but spat the words, eyeing the girl with undisguised distrust. The girl didn't seem touched, though, for she turned to Thorin with a small smile, looking up at him from behind her long eyelashes. She was really pretty, Thorin had to give her that.

"I can introduce myself," she answered, spreading her arm. "My name is Bramblerose Bramble. I am a hobbit from the Shire. Nice to meet you, Master Dwarf."

Thorin could hear the silent chattering of his company behind him, but he tried to ignore them completely. He wasn't curious of such comments as 'she could be Bilbo's sister' or 'she is witty enough for me', but he especially wasn't overjoyed to hear Kili noting, 'she is exactly like mother'. Thorin shuddered as he took the hobbit's hand and shook it firmly, slightly surprised to feel how confident her response was.

She drove him crazy already.

"Rose is an old friend of mine," Bilbo said, and Thorin didn't like the way he said 'friend'. He felt so frustrated he could've split a mountain in half with his bare fist, but he only started biting on his tounge to numb the anger inside him. "She said she knows a safe place where we could stay for the night. She has food and some clothes."

"I can't promise, though, that you will be stuffed, for I wasn't expecting a company of fourteen to be my guest tonight, but it should be enough to survive for the night," she smiled gently, running her glance over the group of tired dwarves. Everyone made appreciative noises, thanking the hobbit girl without a word, and Thorin was stunned to see everyone following the hobbits without any further comments. Only he and Dwalin were left behind, and the dwarf king gaped with his arms spread.

"Nobody is going to ask my opinion?" he turned to Dwalin with an incredulous expression, but the younger dwarf snorted and shrugged lazily.

"They are tired, Thorin. They trust Bilbo, therefore, they trust the girl. They won't refuse food and a safe place to sleep, and, to be honest, I don't really care if you are against it either," Dwalin sighed deeply, then, with a last glance at Thorin, he hurried to catch up with the others, leaving the king behind.

Thorin hadn't spoken a word on that night afterwards. He accepted food with a nod when Balin brought some to him, but the dwarf must've seen how frustrated he was, for he did not try to begin a conversation or ask him useless questions. The king preferred solitude anyway, and it was more than enough to listen to the laughter and merry-making of his company. Somewhere deep within, he envied them that they could put everything behind them so easily, but, after all, they didn't have much to put behind. Thorin felt like the whole weight of the world was on his shoulders, and he didn't know how to shake it off.

Once he finished eating, he decided to settle down next to the fire. As soon as he nestled comfortably on a huge stone, his fingers absentmindedly found their way to his wrist where the piece of cloth from earlier was still hanging. Thorin wondered for a second how he didn't lose it, but he didn't waste time on thinking about that. He still saw the stunned face of the hobbit when Thorin grabbed his arm and bound them together, making sure they wouldn't lose each other.

Fate decided elsehow, it seems, he thought to himself bitterly. He unwrapped the cloth from around his wrist and started playing with it between his fingers instead.

He didn't know how long he had been sitting motionlessly afterwards, staring into the fire. He observed the flames, taking mental notes of all the different shapes they could transform into. It was mesmerizing, and Thorin never noticed his old friend approaching him.

"Did you have enough, Thorin?"

Dwalin's voice was silent - he didn't want to frighten the king. Thorin felt content with the state of his stomach, so he looked up tiredly and nodded.

"I am good."

Loud laughter broke the moment and Thorin slowly closed his eyes. Dwalin turned his head to look back at the company, circling deeper in the cave. There was another campfire there, a smaller one, but it was enough to light up the stone walls around them. In the middle of their group sat Bilbo, with Rose next to him. She was smiling gracefully at the dwarves, especially at the sister-sons of Thorin, but the king never saw it, for he was sitting with his back to the others. Seemingly only Dwalin noticed the bad mood their leader was in.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Dwalin asked while sitting down across from the king, and Thorin snorted shortly. He never once removed his eyes from the band he made out of that cloth.

"Talk about what?"

Thorin could see the confused headshake of his friend even without looking up, and it almost made him smile. Knowing that Dwalin was just as bad in talking about feelings as him was a satisfaction.

"Whatever y'wanna talk about," Dwalin gave the most diplomatic answer Thorin had ever heard him giving, and the king couldn't stop himself from letting out the low chuckle now. Dwalin was his friend ever since he could remember, and he had known him better than anyone. Yet, it could still surprise him when Dwalin was trying to make an influence on his emotional side, even when he was well aware that it wouldn't work.

"I don't have anything to talk about," he looked up at the younger dwarf, amusement obvious on his face. Dwalin eyed him for a while but his face remained persistent.

"Ye're like a wee dwarfling, Thorin Oakenshield," Dwalin stated without a blink, and the king laughed again.

"I could throw you in the dungeons for insulting the king, you know," Thorin stared back at the fire, but his smile never faded. He was already in a better mood, and he knew it was all thanks to Dwalin.

"I'd like to see ya try," Dwalin snorted with a short laugh, then, he leaned on his knees and started observing Thorin. "You don't trust her."

It was a statement, one that no one could've denied - not even Thorin. He never tried to hide how he felt for the girl from the very first moment he laid his eyes on her, so that wasn't the thing that surprised him. Dwalin's methods, though, they did. His voice was softer than usual, and the king guessed it was the tone he used with Thorin when he tried to coax him into opening up.

If war is what you want, I shall give you war, Thorin thought to himself with a smirk invisible to the eyes. He took a deep breath and wrapped the piece of cloth around his fingers, then unwrapped them equally as slowly.

"What makes you say that?" he asked finally, his voice absolutely indifferent.

"Everythin'?" Dwalin shifted slightly and he rubbed his palms together, but the dry, cratchy sound made Thorin flinch and he stopped. "You are jealous of a hobbit lass, Thorin."

Thorin almost laughed out loud, but he could restrain himself pretty well, considering how this conversation was deepening with every second. Or, at least, for Dwalin, most certainly.

"Jealous of what, exactly?" he asked, looking up at Dwalin. His expression obviously meant 'this is the worst joke you've ever made, Dwalin', but, for some reason, it amused the younger dwarf. Another laughter echoed through the cave from the background, making Thorin growl with disapproval, and Dwalin couldn't hold back a chuckle afterwards. "Of her ability to make my company laugh?"

"For one," Dwalin shrugged. He fell silent for a few seconds, enjoying the pleasant calmness of the cave and the popping sound of the fire, then, he took a deep breath. "You should tell him."

The dwarf king's lips curled up into a small smile, like he was remembering something nice from his past, and Dwalin furrowed his brows slightly.

Yes, I should, Thorin thought, listening intensely in the half-silence to hear the hobbit's voice. He was telling a story, his voice low and knowing, and Thorin let his eyes fall shut for a second. He knew that if there was anyone on Middle-Earth who was allowed to see him weak, to see him vulnerable, it was Dwalin. He never said a word, only waited until Thorin looked at him.

The smile was still on his face.

"I can't."

The stubbornness of Thorin was something that even Dwalin couldn't possibly change, and he sighed resignedly. The younger dwarf knew it well that Thorin would do whatever he saw right, so he just stayed silent.

"I can't, because... Because there would be no use," Thorin shook his head, holding the piece of cloth more firmly in his hand now, almost squeezing it between his fingers. "How could I tell him what I feel when I know he wouldn't stay? How could I make him understand that he is more important than anything? There are no words for that, Dwalin."

The warrior held his words inside for a long while, eyeing the fire instead of speaking. Thorin knew it wasn't the last he heard from the younger dwarf, and he was right, for, after a few seconds of extended silence, Dwalin opened his mouth and looked up at him.

"That's not what you told me when that worm took our home."

Thorin had expected every possible response but this, and his eyes slightly widened with surprise. The look on Dwalin's face was unreadable, something the king had rarely seen before, and he swallowed hard. He remembered that day vividly, and not for only one reason. Not only because of the betrayal of the elves, not only because of the countless dead men in Dale and dead dwarves protecting Erebor. There was plenty heartbreak on that day, but not all had been caused by the loss of their homeland.

Hearts broke for entirely different reasons as well.

"Empty the halls! Leave the palace, now!"

The weight of his grandfather on his shoulders grew way too heavy to bear, and he was relieved when two other dwarves took him over. Thorin wanted to make sure everyone made it out of the underground palace alive, that the once mighty kingdom of Erebor was empty and soon losing its magnificence.

Thorin could feel his stomach twisting and turning at the sight of injured women and children, of his friends crying and looking for their loved ones, of his home being destroyed. He still couldn't accept it, but it would have been a suicide attempt to go back. All he could do was to stand on the doorstep, seeing out everyone.

"Thorin!"

The hand that grabbed his shoulder made Thorin turn around with the speed of thunder. He soon realised it was only Dwalin, and he relaxed the slightest bit.

"Where is Balin?" Thorin asked, his head turning back to the countless dwarves still escaping the palace. He could only hope Dis and Frerin were safe already, as well as his mother and his father.

"He is with the King," Dwalin breathed, earning a concerned look from his friend immediately. His voice was way too desperate for the Dwalin that Thorin knew, and it planted worry in the prince's stomach.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. He was not quite sure he wished to hear the answer.

"It's Vanyra," the younger dwarf answered, and Thorin turned to him with his whole body. Dwalin had never seen such fear on his friend's face before.

"She can't be, Dwalin. She can't."

"The last time I saw her she was in Dale," Dwalin said, his heart beating in his throat. "My duty binds me to you, but if something happened to her, Thorin, I would not be able to-"

"Go immediately," Thorin cut him off, placing both of his hands on Dwalin's shoulders. The younger dwarf stared at him, eyes wide with shock and fear. "We will go to the mouth of the Forest River, and wait for you and the other survivors there. I need you to find her. This is an order."

Dwalin nodded, grabbing Thorin's shoulder in the same fashion and pulling the prince close to him. Their foreheads met, and they stayed like that for long moments, knowing it would be their last chance to meet for a long time. They never spoke of their friendship aloud, but they both honoured it and loved each other as brothers. It wasn't a secret for anyone, and parting was as hard for Dwalin as it was for Thorin.

"Also, when you find her, you must tell her how you feel," Thorin added, his voice barely a murmur in the small space that separated them. Neither of them pulled away. "You have to swear to me, Dwalin."

Dwalin hadn't answered for a while, then, he nodded softly. Thorin knew he would never hear those words from his friend, but he was satisfied with this much as well. He pulled back after a few more moments, forcing a reassuring smile on his lips.

"Mukhuh Mahal bakhuz murukhzu," he said, his mother language sweet on his tounge like honey, and Dwalin smiled back.

"Mahzirikhi zu gang ghukhil."

Then, he turned around and left before Thorin could've said anything else.

The memory came back as a flash of lightning, making Thorin shiver for a second for it felt so real. He could smell the burning corpses, hear the cries of despair, and feel his friend's forehead against his. Dwalin kept his unreadable expression while Thorin was wandering far back in his mind, then, the younger dwarf opened his mouth again.

"You said I should've told her how I felt," he started, his voice low and words weighed. "I haven't, and I still regret it. Now I am asking you to do the same you have asked of me, and what I haven't been able to fulfill. You should follow me in many battles, brother, but not in this. Because in this battle, I failed miserably."

Thorin swallowed and tore his glance from Dwalin, staring into the fire instead. He felt confused and uncertain, but his fingers weren't squeezing the band so hard anymore.

By the next morning, the pleasant warmth of the night was all but gone, and the chill of the early summer dawn was sneaking into the cave. The dwarves were still snoring loudly, sleeping like a bunch of dwarflings - only Thorin couldn't get any sleep during the night, for he was thinking.

He was thinking about his mother, of what she would say of him now. Would she be proud, would she be disappointed, or a little bit of both? What would his father say? Would his grandfather be satisfied with the choices he's making? Would any of them be disappointed because he felt love for such a tender creature, for a halfling that was sleeping not fully five meters away from him? Would they judge him, or would they say the same that Dwalin said?

Thorin believed his mother would've urged him to confess, as soon as possible. She was a romantic, and that trait didn't miss Dis either. She could act like their mother so convincingly that Thorin sometimes felt terrified. He was sure if Dis had known of this problem of Thorin's, she would've tried to make him talk as well. He was not as sure about his father and grandfather, for they weren't such experts in emotions, but Thorin guessed that even if they had been skilled lovers, it wouldn't have helped Thorin.

He had not the faintest idea of what to say. He was eyeing the hobbit all night long, thinking about a hundred different scenarios on how he could've told him what he felt, but nothing came to his mind. He usually grew angry on himself and started thinking about their journey instead, the elves that were probably after them already, Erebor waiting for them, the bed of gold where Smaug slept day and night for decades now, but even these thoughts couldn't distract him for long enough. He always ended up at the small hobbit, and he knew he couldn't escape it.

Thorin had to act. And he had to act quickly.

When the first dwarves were waking, Thorin was already on his feet, pacing around the mouth of the cave. He went out to look around briefly, but, after seeing nothing but thick fog, he returned to the cave. By that time, many of the company were awake, and they greeted their leader on their sleepy voices.

"Did you sleep, laddie?" Balin asked him, walking next to Thorin. The king only had eyes for the hobbit who was sitting up and yawning on his bedroll, returning to reality way too slowly. Thorin felt his nerves stretching to the breaking point, and he didn't even realise his friend was waiting for an answer until Balin cleared his throat.

"Yes, a little," he waved him off with a lie absentmindedly, and Balin left him to his thoughts with a shake of his head. Bombur was already trying to make some breakfast from the food that was left from last night, and the mention of eating woke all of the dwarves slowly, gathering them together.

Even Bilbo got up, rubbing his eyes as he approached the company. He was shivering from the cold air, and Thorin felt his heartbeat quickening immediately. He couldn't take his eyes off the halfling anymore, and, when Bilbo turned his head to meet his eyes, he couldn't hold himself back for any longer.

He stood up and walked over to the scared looking hobbit in a hurry. Thorin grabbed his arm, trying not to be too hard on him, but Bilbo hissed anyway. He had no choice but to follow the king outside of the cave where they were far enough from the curious murmurs of the dwarves, and it was then when Thorin let go of him finally.

"What has gotten into you?" Bilbo exclaimed with palpable disbelief and he stroked his arm where the dwarf was squeezing him earlier. "Have I done something wrong again?"

"No," Thorin shook his head, but Bilbo seemingly didn't realise how frustrated the king was. Thorin was panting like he ran a thousand miles during the night, but all the hobbit could think about was his arm at the moment.

"Then is it about Rose?" he asked, without even looking up at Thorin. "I know it was a little sudden, believe me, I was surprised too. But she offered us food, and it was ni-"

"Could you please shut up for a moment?" Thorin breathed, finally earning a surprised look from Bilbo. It was the first time the halfling looked at him properly, and the sight caught him off-guard. Thorin swallowed hard as he tried to collect his thoughts, and also tried to restrain himself from doing something utterly foolish.

Something that was not appropriate as a king.

"What is wrong, Thorin?" Bilbo asked, concern obviously colouring his tone. Thorin wanted to shout but he didn't want to scare the halfling even more, so he just kept staring at him, breathing heavily.

"I need to tell you something," he blurted out, but he knew it was all he could say at the moment. There was no way he could've continued with a heart beating like this, or without dying halfway in his speech, but he also knew he couldn't back out now. If he came this far, he had to finish what he started.

"Tell me what?"

The hobbit's voice sounded absolutely different now, like he was suddenly too small compared to Thorin. There was the tiniest bit of anticipation and fear in there, and it made Thorin's insides shiver. He prayed to Mahal to give him the right words, and the right words came, only not in the way he expected them.

Ma zatâbhyûrizu galabur, zatâbhyûrizu mohilur, his father always used to say. It roughly means, translated to the common tounge: do not be wise in words - be wise in deeds. And when these words filled his mind, suddenly, he knew what to do.

He rushed forward and brought his trembling lips to the hobbit's.