When he opened his eyes, it was to see a pair of dark blue eyes peering into his green ones. "'ri," he managed to wheeze out before burning coughs took over, shaking his tired and achy body. "Ohh." He moaned miserably. "Vhere's by abab?"

"I'll get him for you now." Ori said, having somehow understood what Bilbo had slurred.

Waiting for his dwarf-father to return, Bilbo looked up around the room. Cosy. Warm. He would've mistaken it for a smial in the Shire had it not been for the strange rectangular door that Menfolk favoured over sensible circular ones.

It didn't look like Bard's house at all.

The door crashed open, revealing his adad, his red hair looking absolutely huge, like a lion's mane. Bilbo could only imagine that he'd had all knots and tangles rather vigorously brushed out. All the same, he wanted to be sure.

"Vhab de 'ell habbeb do your 'air?"

"Yours doesn't look neat either, my lad," Glóin said. "Can't find the hair clasps to keep it together nicely... Ruddy Elves!"

Bilbo wanted to laugh, but even smiling jarred his poor head and he groaned softly. His adad's expression softened and he went to him and hugged him gently. Then he carefully sat him up and lifted him onto a hip.

"Abab, vhab're you boin'?

His adad said nothing, and began gently rubbing his back. Bilbo relaxed as the gentle paw soothingly stroked and patted his aching back. He lay his head on the Dwarf's shoulder and felt better as the gentle movements continued.
Then he was being put down and sat upon his dwarf-father's lap. He glimpsed a grey, intricately-braided beard and gentle, black eyes. He cuddled into his adad's thick red beard.

"When did you first feel ill, laddie?"

"Avoub am 'ouh abo."

"An hour ago?" Óin repeated, frowning.

"Lad, you've been unconscious for three."

"Hab'mt."

"Have."

"Bilbo," said Óin, apparently eager to get his answer, "When did you first feel ill?"

"Ob de darge."

"And you wanted to give him whiskey," Adad mutters.

"Bloody glad I didn't! I don't want whatever he's got."

"Neber do I!" Bilbo snaps, but this triggers coughing that seemed to split his throat open. Adad firmly patted his back.

"Did you feel ill before then?" Óin asked.

"Mmm. Ib Birdwood, I velt tired, 'n weak a lod."

"And why is that?"

He didn't know which brother asked and he snuggled into his adad before tiredly answering. "Bibn'd ead eberybay."

"What?"

It was only at their horrified faces that he realised his mistake. "Ub... I bib! I duby bib! "

"Bilbo..."

"Bell, ib bas'b by vault! De Elbs were ebrybere! You shoulb gib ib a dry! Ib wab a wubber I bibm't ged gaub!"

"By Mahal..."

Óin put a hand on his brother's wrist. "You can't scold him for recklessness. Not when he's ill."

"Like you never did," Glóin muttered.

Óin grinned. "He'll be fine, nadadith. In a week, he'll be good as new!" The healer stood, and rummaged through his satchel and found a bottle made of purple glass, a pale liquid sloshing about inside. "Their apothecary has good supplies. This potion should help for the time being."

"Dob id daze goob?"

"Better than your uncle's cooking." Glóin said.

"Says the Dwarf who, but near a century ago, used to snaffle third helpings of supper every night."

"I was a growing lad."

"Hmm." Óin looked sad briefly. "You were." He put the medicine on the bedside table. "A spoonful will be enough. Once every twelfth hour. I'll find you a spoon."

"Abab?"

Glóin looked at Bilbo. He was frowning, more from worry than annoyance, it seemed. "Hmm?"

"Bear ah be?"

"Thorin met with the Master of Lake Town and he went and found us accommodations."

"Bears Dard?"

"With his family."

"Oh." Bilbo tried to turn himself, tried to get close to his adad. "Abab?" To his surprise, Glóin was grinning. "Vhab's vubby?"

"I'm being cruel," his adad said. "I shouldn't laugh, but Gimli used to call me ' Abab' when he was a wee baby learning to talk!" He chuckled, and hugged the little hobbit tighter.
"'Ou are dein' cool!" Bilbo accused, unsuccessfully trying not to grin. "Been Abab!"

"What're you doing to that poor lad?" Óin asked, entering the room with a small steel spoon held in one mittened hand.

As much as Bilbo loved his Dwarven uncle, he really did make the most vile medicines.

'If his cooking tastes as bad as his medicine, I feel sorry for Adad!' Bilbo thought often after taking it.

Most of the week was spent cocooned in blankets, securely held by either his adad or dwarf-uncle. He slept a lot, unsurprising, given how little he'd managed to sleep in Mirkwood.
Óin's prediction of the cold disappearing in a week proved to be false. It lasted five-and-a-half days. The achy feeling in the back of his nose, the headaches all left. And, to his relief, his words became easier to understand.

All that remained was the coughing. All day he'd cough, all night he'd cough. He was even awoken by his own coughing! He didn't feel ill, but Óin thought otherwise and still made him drink the medicine.

"No," Bilbo said one evening. "It doesn't help! I think you're doing this to punish me." With this, he picked up his pillow and covered his face.

"I am not! Get that pillow off your face."

"It's my face and I'll do what I want with it!"

"Gim... Bilbo! I won't be repeating myself. Please, put it down and take the medicine. I brought you honey to quell the nasty taste."

Bilbo uncovered his eyes. "You did? For me?"

Óin put a small jar of the sweet, amber-coloured honey on the bedside table. "They only had pickles in the house, would you believe! Took a while to find honey." He grinned. "Yes, for you! My brother would be devastated if I brought him honey to eat. Still, I think he's getting over the fear. He doesn't get teary-eyed at the scent anymore."

Bilbo smiled. "I had hoped to give him a jar for his name-day!"

"Fíli did that once. It was the day before or after, something like that. He wasn't alone in his little trick, his mother's handwriting was on this little note attached to the jar. My brother took one look at it and got this look in his eye. The next thing I knew, he was feeding the poor bugger the entire jar! Fíli ate three quarters of it and as a result, he too, had a terribly aching tummy. But you know something strange?"

"What?"

"He loved it even more after that. My brother's little joke didn't quite go to plan."

Bilbo uncovered his mouth. He let Óin give him the medicine and accepted the tiny honey jar and the little spoon that went with it. "Did you get angry with him?"

Óin huffed a laugh. "No point! He'd fight back if he so much as thought I was angry with him. However," Óin looked around, as though to ensure his brother could not hear him. "If I implied that I was disappointed or, worst of all, sad with whatever mischief he'd committed, he couldn't give apologies quick enough!"

Bilbo stared at him. "That's awful!"

"Awful clever!" Óin corrected. "It always worked. When you have a stubborn little brother to care for, you can't be too picky with how you get him to see sense."

"Did it really always work?"

"Like a dream. It's not in his nature to be able to sadden or disappoint people he loves without feeling remorse."

"What about you?"

"The same, but for a time I... I ignored my remorse. I had long hours and would often break promises of whole days together when offered extra hours. I thought I was doing what was best for him, by earning. But he needed me more than money. For a time, we were absurdly distant. We didn't have a connection at all."

"And now?"

Óin looked down at him. His expression was sad, but his eyes seemed warm. "Now we strive to ensure that we never grow so distant again."

Hope this is enjoyed and reviews/constructive criticism is welcome as always!

Love from Shania. xx