"Do we have to do this?" Bilbo asked as Thorin helped him to dress to leave his sick-tent.

"They've missed you," the dwarf said in reply. "Do you want your sleeve rolled up or left loose?"

"Loose," Bilbo replied shaking it out so that it covered his bandages and dangled freely below his lost limb. It did nothing to hide the loss but to roll it up would reveal the wound and he wasn't ready for them to see it.

"Gishavel," Thorin sighed, pushing the sleeve up so that the bandages were visible. "This is nothing to be ashamed of. You should not attempt to hide it and make things more difficult for yourself in the process. Do you want to trail your sleeve through things when you forget and reach for them with your right arm?" When Bilbo looked away instead of replying, Thorin continued. "At any rate, it is not as if they are not already aware of what you lost for my sake."

"You told them?" Bilbo demanded, feeling betrayed somehow that they had been gossiping about his loss behind his back.

"Óin preformed the amputation," Thoin said softly, he hadn't yet told Bilbo that fact, uncertain how the hobbit would take the knowledge that one he had trusted had been the one to remove his arm. He was a bit worried when Bilbo paled, but then his color returned and his face pinched in an emotion Thorin couldn't place.

"I suppose that means there was no other option," Bilbo said eventually, his voice tight with tears. "I . . . I had wondered if . . . but if that was what Óin thought was best . . . he would have tried everything else within reason."

"He told me that he attempted to set it but—"

"There were too many fragments," Bilbo finished. "I remember hearing someone say it. I just . . . " They were silent for a time, Bilbo attempting to regain control of his breathing and Thorin hovering uncomfortably, unsure how welcome his touch would be at the moment.

"Let's get this over with," Bilbo said finally, grasping Thorin's right hand in his left, needing the support both emotionally and physically, the loss of his lower arm having altered his sense of balance in a way that he hadn't been anticipating. It was only once they were out of the tent and the company had moved to greet them—all of them pointedly not looking at Bilbo's arm—that Bilbo realized that his sleeve was still rolled up, revealing the bandages for the whole world to see.

"Bilbo!" Kíli cried coming forward and beginning to pull him into an embrace before a small shake of his head and glare from his uncle warned him off. "It's good to see you up."

"You look good, lad," Balin said with a small smile, though in reality he felt that the hobbit looked far too pale and drawn for being a week into healing. He only hoped that hobbits were as resilient as he'd come to believe they were.

"No he doesn't," Bofur chimed in. "Looks like death warmed over, he does." The entire company looked at him in shock, Bilbo included, while Thorin glared at the miner for discouraging his mate but Bofur continued, unrepentant, "He's too pale and clearly still in pain. While it does do a heart good to see him out and about on his own two feet, what good does it do anyone to lie to the lad? Do you want to be coddled just because you're down a hand, Bilbo?"

"Well, I suppose not," Bilbo said, having not thought about it in quite that way.

"Didn't think so," Bofur said smiling warmly at him. "That said, I've never been so happy to see such a paleface in my entire life." And then, shocking them all once more, he stepped forward and pulled the hobbit into a gentle embrace. "Glad you pulled through," he said stepping back and giving the hobbit his space once more at least for a moment.

Seconds later, Balin followed suit and grabbed the hobbit gently by the side of the head and placed his forehead against the hobbit's. "I hate to think what would have become of us had you passed," he whispered. "He may not say it himself, but Thorin needs you more than he'll ever admit. But more than that, I'd've missed you had you passed."

"Good thing I didn't then, eh?" Bilbo replied, going for sarcasm but failing miserably. The rest of the company followed suit each of them reassuring themselves tactilely that Bilbo was still alive and with them, until Óin's turn came.

"I'm sorry, lad," the old dwarf said, nodding towards Bilbo's arm, the first since Bofur to make mention of the change. "Sorry I couldn't do more. But at the end of the day, I still only a dwarf. Maybe we should have sent for Gandalf but—"

"You did what you could," Bilbo cut him off, offering the healer a sad smile. "I bear you no ill-will for saving my life. I've no doubt that I would have died if you hadn't done what you did. And . . . well, it was a good hand, but it was only a limb. Look at everything else I would have lost if you hadn't." Óin could only nod. Bilbo's tone had made it clear that he wasn't quite ready to accept the truth of his own words, but the fact that he was at least thinking them gave the old healer hope that someday he would see things that way. Someday he would see what he'd gained rather than what he'd lost.

ooOO88OOoo

The rest of the meeting with the company went well, and in the weeks that followed things continued to look up. Bilbo was slowly adapting to the loss of his hand, dwarves and men were working side-by-side both within the mountain and, on nice days, in the ruins of Dale to make both habitable again by springtime. Even with all these successes, Thorin, much to the dismay of the company, had decided to wait to host his coronation until such a time as supplies (and mead) were more plentiful and after his sister arrived in the summer.

It was one cold day in the middle of winter when Thorin returned to their rooms—what had been his parent's rooms—to find Bilbo sitting before the fireplace, staring down at a blank sheet of paper with a mournful look on his face. Thorin stopped at the door, not wanting to intrude. Although Bilbo never lashed out at him for his part in the loss of his limb, seeing his mate continue to struggle with pains that weren't there and tasks he once did easily was nearly worse.

"I want to write," Bilbo said before he could ask, looking up at Thorin with sad eyes. "Even though I've learned to do many things, my hand smears the ink and the paper slips from under," he trailed off, unable to find words to describe his amputated limb. "And the posture it makes me take to hold a paper for what little time I can . . . I can't write, Thorin. Not anymore. Not ever."

"I have a gift for you," Thorin said rather than answering Bilbo's complaints directly. "I wish I could say that it was I who made it for you, but I had it commissioned."

"Thank you, but I'm in no mood for gifts today, Thorin," Bilbo said crossing his arms, the left atop the right, across his chest and sitting back staring into the flames once more. "I'm afraid I won't be able to summon the enthusiasm that is should for something you've put the time and effort into finding."

"I think you will make an exception for this one, GIshavel," Thorin muttered coming to stand beside his hobbit and placing a box in Bilbo's lap. When the hobbit made to protest, Thorin shook his head. "Open it," the King commanded.

With a sigh, Bilbo pinned the box with his stump and pulled the tie with his hand. With another put-out sound he carefully maneuvered his limbs to lift the lid, planning to attempt to feign enthusiasm only to be awestruck at what was inside; a perfectly carved wooden replica of a lower arm and hand. He reached cautiously into the box and lifted it. The wood was light in his hand, smooth with a padded cuff opposite the hand and soft leather straps for securing it.

"How?" he managed to breathe after a time.

"Bofur," Thorin replied with a small smile. "He and Bifur carved it for you, Kíli brought down the deer for the leather, Ori knitted the sleeve for inside. It should be positioned in just the right way for you to grasp things like a knife, fork and to help hold things. It will not be anywhere near as dexterous as yours was but it should help."

"Thank you," Bilbo breathed, stroking along the wooden arm fighting back tears at the thoughtfulness of his friends.

"You owe me no thanks," Thorin replied, smiling gently at seeing Bilbo so happy. "I merely suggested that such a thing could be made, they were the ones that put my idea into practice. I briefly considered forging you one of precious metal, then my sense got the better of me and I decided that a hobbit would prefer to wear an arm of more natural materials. I can still make one for special occasions, if you'd like." Bilbo said nothing, merely sitting up a bit higher to press a kiss to Thorin's bearded jaw, wrinkling his nose as the growing whiskers tickled him.

"I love you," Bilbo said, resting his head on his mate's shoulder and bringing his hand up to stroke Thorin's beard.

"And I you," Thorin replied, leaning into the touch while wrapping his arms around the hobbit beside him. Broken though they both were, he couldn't help but be thankful that they were still together.

ooOO88OOoo

That night, Bilbo awoke to his mate thrashing violently beside him. He sat up in confusion, attempting to blink sleep from his eyes and assess the situation all at the same time. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the light level, he knew what had happened; the fire had burned too low and Thorin had rolled up in his blankets too tightly. Despite their position and safety inside the mountain, darkness continued to be a problem for the dwarf, his time as Thranduil's prisoner having left more scars than those on his wrists, and so they had taken to leaving the fire burning high and placing a screen in front of it rather than knocking it apart to smolder. Somehow they'd forgotten to add more wood to the fire before bed that night.

"Thorin?" Bilbo called softly, so as not to alert the guards Dwalin insisted on being outside the door as long as "foreigners occupied the mountain." While he wanted to rush in and soothe his dwarf as he once had, his delusions that Thorin would not hurt him in such a state had been crushed the day his mate had struck him. He knew now that, in this condition, Thorin could and would strike him. And this time, he might not be as calculated as he had been the last time.

Bilbo Baggins was many things, debatably, a fool was not one of them. He'd seen the strength of dwarves on the quest and in the battle that followed. He knew what they were capable of and also now knew what his bones could take. If Thorin ever dealt him a full blow . . . something would break. Even knowing that, he couldn't leave his mate to suffer this alone.

"Thorin," he tried again reaching out to touch the dwarf's shoulder, his arms safely trapped within the confines of his bedroll, for now. He flinched nearly as badly as Thorin did when the dwarf pulled away. His heart was hammering in his chest but he knew there was nothing for it. He's trapped in his blankets, he thought, attempting to convince himself to do what had to be done, Just do it.

With a shuddering breath he moved, throwing himself across Thorin's chest lengthwise and placing his hand on the dwarf's face as the dwarf beneath him bucked and struggled to be free, nearly unseating Bilbo when he arched his back and neck to attempt to get away from Bilbo's hand on his cheek.

"Thorin," he repeated more firmly, embarrassed at the way his voice quivered. "Look at me."

Thorin said nothing but shook his head in what was clearly a refusal all while keeping his mouth firmly closed.

"Look at me," Bilbo demanded, attempting to grab the dwarf's jaw and pin his head so he could get into his line of sight. What Bilbo hadn't expected was the violence of Thorin's response. Even with his arms pinned he managed to throw Bilbo from his chest and rise to a sitting position. BIlbo cried out as his backside hit the ground, just managing to stop his head from following with his good arm while instinctively bringing up his amputated limb to ward off an attack. No attack came.

When Bilbo opened his eyes once more, Thorin was sitting up, staring at him as if it was the first time he'd ever seen him in his life.

"Bilbo," he said slowly, "what . . . how are you here? What happened to your arm? Did the elves—"

"I live here," Bilbo said firmly, not bothering to answer the last questions as he knew the memories would return as the nightmare faded. "With you. In your suite of rooms in Erebor."

"No. We've never made it to Erebor. We're still . . . your arm," he said slowly, closing his eyes before opening them once more and looking around, seeing their familiar furnishings and running a hand over his face before fisting a handful of his hair with a deep sigh. "I'm sorry," He muttered eventually moving to put a new log on the fire.

"You had a nightmare," Bilbo replied, his tone a bit more clipped than he would have liked. "There's nothing to be sorry for."

"I could have injured you," Thorin argued, still messing with the embers in an attempt to get a flame going once more and refusing to turn to face the hobbit.

"You didn't," Bilbo countered, moving to place his hand on Thorin's shoulder only to have the dwarf yank it away.

"I have," Thorin spat, turning to face Bilbo and bringing his hand up to trace the outline of the long-faded bruise that had once marred Bilbo's face before taking the hobbit's right arm and pulling back the sleeve to expose the livid mark that still stood out where they had had to burn the flesh closed. "I could never forgive myself if it happened again."

"It won't," Bilbo said, pulling his arm back and shaking his sleeve back down. He still couldn't stand to look at the scar and he was ashamed to have Thorin see it. The dwarf often told him he was perfect, or a marvel, especially when some visiting dignitary or another praised the beauty of the kingdom claiming that he only had it thanks to his own marvel, but Bilbo knew it was not true. He was not perfect; how could he be when he was not whole? But he supposed that even if he wasn't perfect, neither was Thorin so it was fine.

"It could," Thorin reminded him, though the hobbit needed no reminder of what could happen. His memory of the feral creature snarling at him from above him had not faded, nor had the feeling of his face throbbing in time to his heartbeat while Thorin was restrained from striking him again.

"It won't," Bilbo repeated, needing to believe his own words. Thorin merely smiled sadly and lifted Bilbo's hand in his own to run the hobbit's knuckles along Thorin's own cheek. Bilbo smiled sadly and cupped Thorin's jaw to hold him still for a kiss, stopping when the dwarf flinched and batted away the hobbit's hand.

"Thorin?" Bilbo asked softly.

"I'm sorry," the dwarf replied, gently grasping Bilbo's wrist and replacing the hand on his jaw, nuzzling the palm softly.

"What happened in Mirkwood?" Bilbo asked quietly. It wasn't the first time Thorin had pulled away like that after one of these slips when normally he had no objection to Bilbo grasping his chin. Thorin said nothing, turning away once more to stare into the fire. When enough time had passed that it was clear he had no intention of answering, Bilbo moved closer, wrapping his whole arm around his lover's back and resting his head over Thorin's heart, relieved when the dwarf returned his embrace and rested his chin on the top of Bilbo's head. He was content to wait. Someday Thorin would be ready to tell him what had happened and on that day he'd be ready to listen and would remain so even if that day never came.

ooOO88OOoo

Sorry this wasn't posted earlier, but I was having a rant at the end of my new chapter on another fic about the way the end of BotFA was handled. And got into a discussion with a commenter about how the company was pushed to the side in the BotFA movie and realized that in my haste to complete this fic before the movie came out I had done just the same thing. In light of that, I had to add the first little chunk. I hope it doesn't feel too out of place and welcome criticism of it, pacing, the fic in general, anything you'd like really. Hope you enjoy the update :) It'll be a few days until the next one since I work until Saturday.