Author's Note: Hello all. I got my dongle fixed, YAY! So here's a chapter for all you lovely people.
I went and saw BOTFA again a few days ago with my Dad. I like it better the second time round because of course I knew what was going happen this time and I didn't have my high expectations on the plate. I'm still not over or happy with the boys or Thorin's death but I am accepting (grudgingly) other things that I had issues with first time round. It all still hurts... a lot but the pain is becoming more bearable and now I'm just hoping that the extended edition will make everything better... well as better as it can without completely re-writing the fates of the boys and Thorin.

Chapter Sixty-Two

Don't Deserve You

Much to Bilbo chagrin and to Frodo to a much greater extent, the pesky cough and series of sniffles did indeed turn into a full-blown cold, despite Bilbo best efforts to try and get her preventive medicine into him before the cold sunk its roots in. To no avail.

By the next morning, Bilbo's chambers were filled with the sounds of a fauntling's spluttering, coughing and sneezing.

And it was more than a simple child's cold too, with her poor lad, by midday barely being able to keep any food down and sweating as if he were running about in the mid-summer sun and not curled up several miles under cold rock… and still complaining that he was cold.

Oin was baffled, for of course, beside from the time she herself had been ill with a cold in Laketown, Oin had very little experience with the illness and so, with her assistance and later Paladin and Saradoc when it became clear that Frodo did not want to be without his mother, were busy working in his infirmary, trying to brew up all different cold medicines the hobbits could think of.

Her chambers had been all but overflowing with worried dwarves before she booted them all out with some aid from Thorin, who had looked as close to a nervous wreck as Bilbo had ever seen him before he was all but dragged to a council meeting by Balin. She would have relented to allowing him to stay but hadn't pressed the matter due to Thorin being King and having a kingdom to run, and for Frodo's sake. As much as Frodo worship Thorin, the little lad had little wish for his Kingly father to see him in such a state.

"He'll think I'm weak." Frodo had whispered to her once all dwarves and hobbits had vacated their room.

"He will do no such thing." Bilbo retorted sharply. "He would never think you weak, certainly not now, not because you're sick." Her son simply gave a hacking cough in reply and Bilbo quickly forgot about her son's worries once it became adamantly clear he was about to be sick again.

Bilbo was delighted to have at least two dwarvens on her side who could keep their heads around a sick child. Dis and Bombur's quite heavily pregnant wife were wonderful allies, coming in with fresh water, blankets, clothes, food seemingly whenever the thought occurred in her mind. They did not stay long, but their unquestioning and calm presences and help kept Bilbo from going around the bend. Her son rarely ever got sick but when he did fall ill, it was a worrying time indeed. Bilbo wasn't sure if it was due to her son's mixed genealogy, being half-dwarf, half-hobbit but things, herbs and medicine that usually helped a hobbit fauntling throw a cold did very little to aid him. And like with something things that were utterly harmless for a fauntling to eat, to Frodo they had left him sick in bed for days.

This was why she had cautiously asked Oin to brew up some Dwarven remedies too, maybe even mixing a few with her hobbit ones, and maybe, just maybe the right blend would be found to help her darling heart.

After a rather awful day of coughing, sneezing, and heaving, mother and son had finally gotten themselves, somewhat settled in the largest armchair by the fire. Frodo was currently curled up in Bilbo's lap, wrapping in an almost an insane amount of blankets (one foot hung outside of the cocoon), his head tucked up against her shoulder as she quietly read to him from an old dwarven story book (one of a few dwarven books written in the common tongue) Ori had found for them earlier that day. Most of the stories were, unsurprisingly, about glorious battles fought in ancient times, though there were some in which tale involved a battle of wits, rather than battles with axes. It was these tales mother and son enjoyed, as both enjoyed a good puzzle or riddle and as dwarven riddles were quite a bit different from the ones told in the Shire, it took a good bit of brain power from both mother and son to figure out the answer. They eventually did, after much thought (and coughing and sneezing on Frodo's part) before settling back down into the story.

With each story, Bilbo's voice grew quieter as her voice lulled her sick son into a restless sleep, so that she spoke in barely more than a whisper as her son slept against her. She had always found reading to Frodo, whether he was sick or not, was by far the best way to send him to sleep. That and her lullaby for him, which she was now humming a few notes of as she closed the book, carefully setting it down upon the little side table by the armchair.

She continued to hum as she wrapped her arms around the buddle of blankets that made up the cocoon around her son; her own eyes starting to drop close in weariness.

She was stirred from her almost nap by a soft knock on her chamber door.

"Come in." She called softly in return, thinking it must be Oin or her cousins or possibly Dis. "Sorry, I can't come and answer the door, my…"instead, Thorin walked into her chambers, his brow forwarded, mouth set and eyes practically blazing with worry as he stared at her and Frodo. "my arms are full." She finished a little lamely as he strode over to them.

"How is he?" Thorin demanded in his lowest of voices, obviously trying to be as quiet as possible so as to not wake the sleeping child.

"Not as well as I had hoped." She admitted quietly because there was never any point trying to dance around the bush with Thorin, "but it's really only the first day and too soon to see how and if the medicine is working or not." She added quickly, her tone full of forced reassurances.

"How could he get so sick so quickly?" Thorin questioned, running a hand through his hair, "he was fine not yesterday."

"No," Bilbo shook her head, "he was starting to get sick then, sniffles and a cough."

Thorin looked back at her with wide, horrified eyes.

"Calm down." She ordered in a hushed voice, "oh, do sit." She added waving her hand at the opposite armchair, "It's hurting my neck looking up at you like this." Thorin obediently sat in the armchair she had directed him to sit in.

"It's a cold." She continued on patiently, keeping her tone calm and collected. She just knew that if she let slip to anyone, in particular Thorin, just how worried she actually was, well… it would do no one any good. "Hobbit children get colds during autumn and winter. It is natural and normal."

"Frodo isn't just a hobbit child." Thorin pointed out, "but also half-dwarf."

Bilbo bit down hard upon her tongue to keep herself from saying a multitude of things that had jumped into her head that would not come across as being very nice… because they weren't, every single one was sarcastic and bound to get her into a possible argument with Thorin. Which would then wake Frodo, which would then bring about the coughing, the sneezing and possibly another bout of vomiting and truly, she had had quite enough of all three for the time being and wished to fend them off for as long as possible.

Thorin who had obviously realised he had escaped a possible tongue lashing went somewhat red around the ears.

"You know what I mean." He grunted roughly back at her.

"Yes, I do. That's why I've asked Oin to see if he can't mix together a medicine that combines both hobbit and dwarven ingredients, hopefully he can find the right balance for Frodo."

"Or poison him." Thorin muttered under his breath but still loud enough for her to hear.

"If you were closer," she growled, "I would kick you. But since you're not, count your lucky stars that I have a ill, sleeping child in my arms or I'd be over there kicking you straight to your bone."

Instead of looking ashamed or even the slightest bit worried, Thorin actually grinned slightly.

"Are you threatening me?"

"Damn straight." She retorted, "When it comes to him," she nodded at Frodo sleeping face, "I'd threaten the Dark Lord Sauron himself."

"Sauron?" Thorin asked, eyebrows raised.

"Well," She blushed, "I can't very well say Azog or Smaug now, can I?"

"Because they are dead." Thorin said with a slight growl.

"That too." She accepted, "but actually I've already threaten them. Badly I might add, but still, threaten them I did."

Thorin just stared at her for a long moment before sighing heavily.

"Please tell me you didn't threaten them to their faces."

"Well…"

"Billanna."

"Oh do calm down. They're dead and I'm alive, everyone is alive, so it all worked out well in the end." She shrugged.

"I don't know if you are incredibly brave or an utile fool."

"Well, I suggest you don't look too closely. There is a reason why my mother's family less than endearing nickname is 'Fool of a Took'." Bilbo suggested. Thorin simply leant back in his chair with a grunt, rubbing his face with his hand. He jerked upright once more when Frodo let out a series of barking coughs, his hands jerking outwards towards his son before they simply hung there, unsure of what they could do. There was no foe for them to slew, just a sick child which was far more terrifying than anything else his mind could conjure up.

It was rather sweet really and soften her more than she would readily admit, least of all to Thorin.

"Do you want to take him?" She asked after a bit. She wasn't just being generous, offering a father some quiet time with his son, though that was definitely part of the reason, she was also offering because she was starting to lose feeling in her arms and legs, not to mention cooking beneath all of Frodo's blankets (and Frodo himself).

Thorin seemed a little taken aback at first by her offer, before a wild sort of hope blazed into his eyes as he moved forward in his chair eagerly.

"You might…" she started to try and stand before sighing, "yes, you might need to help me. I can't actually get up. My legs are asleep and Frodo doesn't just sleep like a rock, but weighs like one too." Thorin was in front of her in an instance, arms carefully sliding around their sleeping child, who made small grunting noises as he moved from one set of arms to another.

Bilbo grinned when Frodo almost immediately started to curl into Thorin's chest, one of his hands working its way out from under the blankets to grabs at one of Thorin's braids, holding it firmly in his tiny fist.

"Glad I'm not the only one to suffer from his braid yanking." She teased as she kicked out her feet a little to get the blood circulating, watching as she did this Thorin resettled himself carefully back into the armchair he had previously occupied. "Though he was quite a bit younger when he was pulling them. Thought he had grown out of it actually."

"I don't… it does not bother me." Thorin admitted quietly. "It is natural actually, a natural thing for dwarflings to do, to hold on to the braids of those they are closest to when they are being held by them."

"Hmmm," She nodded, remembering Ori make some mention of that, oh years ago now when he had gotten quite teary over Frodo holding his braids and she had feared her then very little son had yanked on them too hard and had hurt the sweet ginger dwarf. Ori had been quick to explain then, as she had rushed forward to take her toddler son off him, that all was well, he was simply overwhelmed that Frodo considered him such a close family member. She hadn't truly understood then and when she asked Kili and Bofur about it later, Kili had almost immediately started to sulk before trying to convince Frodo to hold on to his braids (it took around hour to convince the little one to do so) while Bofur and Bifur had only chuckled back at her, shaking their head.

"He's going to be mortified when he wakes up." She commented quietly after much time had passed of her simply watching father and son, with said father watching their son, every breath he breathed, every tiny squirm or wheeze he made.

Thorin tore his gaze away from their sleeping child's face to frown at her.

"Mortified?"

"Hmmm," She nodded, "he has a very high opinion of you and so, wants you to have a high opinion of him in return. He's worried that you will see him as being weak, for getting sick." She elaborated.

"He… he thinks that?" Thorin chocked.

"Thorin," she huffed, "he's nine, soon to be ten. He has just found out that the dwarf he has hero worshipped from the age of two and ran around the Shire pretending to be as he slew imaginary orcs and dragons, is in fact his father. Of course he worries about you seeing him as being weak or useless. He wants you to be proud of him, desperately so and he fears that by you seeing him sick and in this state your opinion of him will drop."

"Never." Thorin growled, holding said child closer to his chest.

"I know that." Bilbo retorted with a roll of her eyes. "but as I said, he's nine. He is very mature in many ways, but still just a child in others. Sometimes I think that is forgotten. Sometimes," she let out a small laugh, "even I forget he's only just a child, he's so mature at times."

"I will… I will spend more time with him." Thorin said softly, looking back at Frodo, "show him that I am proud of him, no matter what, that him being sick will never mean I see him as being weak or useless."

"That would be a good start." Bilbo agreed with a smile, "though really, you're already doing extremely well with him."

Thorin snorted.

"You are," Bilbo insisted, "Thorin, he adores you. Absolutely and unconditionally adores you. And did I mention that he hero worships you? Well, he does. From the age of two when he started asking about my adventures and wanting to hear about the company, it was you he always pretended to be when he went running off all over the Shire, doing only the Valar know what."

Thorin stared back at her.

"You told him about me?"

She pulled a face at him.

"Of course, I did." She huffed, "Yes, alright I didn't tell him everything, but he is still just a child and…"

"No," Thorin interrupted her, "that wasn't what I meant."

"Thorin," she ran a hand through her curls, which had long since fallen out of the braid she had tied them in that morning and her hair was now hanging around her face and shoulders like a golden brown wave, the fire light dancing within the ringlets. "I wasn't not going to tell him about you, just as I wasn't not going to tell him about my adventures. And you are very, very much a part of my adventure so of course I was going to tell him about you, soon or later."

"But you painted me as…"

"As a great leader? As brave, resourceful, loyal, honourable, a war harden soldier." She was ticking off on her fingers as she spoke, "a man of his people. Possessor of a willing heart."

"You painted me well! You painted me in a good light to him." Thorin growled.

"I might have also mention that you are incredibly stubborn, and bull-headed… oh, and possessing something of a suicidal streak with your racing head first into certain death situations." She added in cool, clipped tone.

"That was all of twice…" Thorin defended himself hotly, "that's hardly proof to be saying, to be telling our child, I possess a suicidal streak."

Bilbo simply raised her eyebrow back at him.

"Do you want to count the times?" She asked him tartly, "we can break it down into sections; the quest to Erebor, the time spent in this mountain being chased around it by that blasted furnace with wings and lastly the Battle of Five Armies. And mind you, this is not counting all the times you've charge head long into dangerous situations that I don't know about but am sure that Dwalin, Balin and possibly Dis would only be too happy to tell me about."

"Fine!" Thorin snapped, "You've made your point."

"Thought I might have." She shot him a wide grin before sobering again, "Thorin, please believe me when I say, it was never my intention to paint an unrealistic image of you to Frodo, or to paint one that represent you anything less than who you are. How I described you to him was how I saw you during our quest, nothing more, nothing less. It is up to you to…"

"Tear the image he has of me apart?" He was rather impressed by how much death she managed to put behind her glare. Dwalin and Nori were indeed right; she was indeed very much a mother bear, rivalling Dis in ferocity.

"No," She growled, "for you to show him who you truly are and not him simply seeing you as the great figure, leader, king that I, Kili, Ori and Bofur told him about. You can show him you, you Thorin. No one else can show him who you truly are, no one else can paint a clearer image of you to him than yourself. I, and the others, just set the ground work in his head, now you just need to build upon it… and yes, alright, maybe break down a few of the rather unrealistic ideas he has of you, but all in all, just let him get to know you, and you him. It will help, both of you, I should think."

Thorin smiled slightly before shaking his head.

"You didn't…" he wrestle with his words, trying to find the right mix that would convey his gratitude but at the same time not upset her, "you could have done things differently. You had every right to do things different, to paint me differently in his head, you…"

"I would never do that." Bilbo interrupted him forcibly, "never, ever. Thorin, what happened between us, is exactly that, between us. Frodo has no part in it, no part in that section of our history. I would never warp his mind against you because of any negative feelings I might have had towards you. Never, you're his father and what right do I have to destroy that bond?" She took a deep breath before continuing, waving him away as he opened his mouth to speak, "You know that I was going to send him to you, even when I feared you hated me and thought me better off dead in the ground. I always planned for the two of you both to meet, because that is what is right. It was the right thing to do. I wanted you to meet because a father and son deserve to know each other. I've seen, even though they try so hard not to show it, how hard it is for Nori and Ori to not know their fathers. To not even know who they are or what has become of them or what made them leave their mother. I've seen that hurt, seen the uncertainty and grief…" she stared straight at him, "how could I inflict that same pain upon my own child? He was already starting to feel it, before we… ah, left the Shire to come here. He was already seeing that he was different because he had no father to speak of, already feeling the loss, the pain. And it hurt. It hurt so bad that I was even thinking of just cutting my losses and just coming here, despite everything, to spare him twenty-three more years of not knowing. Even if I told him you were his father before his thirty-third birthday I doubt it would have made any difference to his pain of not knowing you. And painting you as some kind of villain would not have eased his pain either," she finished softly, "it would only have added to it."

She stared down at her hands clasped in her lap, unable to look Thorin in the eyes after speaking so deeply from her heart. She was glad, of course, to have it all off her chest but she worried greatly now of what Thorin might think, of her, of Frodo, of their whole situation. After several moments of almost unbearable silence (not counting the wheezy breathing coming from Frodo) she peeked up at Thorin who was staring at her with an expression that she could only think to call awe. And quite possibly another emotion, but she wasn't going to let her brain run with that stream of thought. Just like she shut down every thought that popped up in regards to the spontaneous 'shut up' kiss (as she was calling it in her head, on the very, very few moments she allowed herself to dwell upon it) that Thorin bestowed upon her two nights ago.

"Stop looking at me like that." She grumbled in embarrassment ducking her head back down so her curls fell over her face.

"How can I look at you as anything less?" Thorin questioned her, his tone oddly strangled. "You have done so much, given me so much, and in return I have given you very little beside from harsh words, inexcusable pain and nightmares."

"No," She retorted with calm steel, "no, you have given me everything. That bundle you hold in your arms now is all I have ever wanted, or needed. You, oh King under the Mountain, have given me the most precious of treasures imaginable. A kingly gift, beyond measure. You should count your blessing that I'm actually willing to share this treasure."

"And I do." Thorin replied quietly, "every day. But that is exactly what I mean," He added softly, "you are allowing me to be a part of the this treasure's life, to hold him, talk with him, have him close, when in all truths, you had every right to keep him completely to yourself, and for me to never know of him and to continue living the dark life I was living before the both of you returned into it."

She sighed heavily.

"As I said," she replied, keeping her tone controlled and gentle, "I could never do that. It might have crossed my mind in my more vindictive moments, but in all honesty it hurt to actually think of the two of you never meeting, for the two of you never to know of the other, properly, as father and son."

"Thank you." was all Thorin said in return, was all it seemed he could say in return. But it was enough and she gave him a true and genuine smile.

"You are very welcome."

They fell into a much more comfortable silence as they watched their child sleep. And when Frodo did finally wake along with a series of coughs and sneezed, it was Thorin who rubbed his back and helped him drink down the nasty smelling concoction Oin had brewed for the little lad earlier in the day along with a cup of water. It was Thorin who settled him down once more with a story about Durin while Bilbo was able to spend some time to herself, delighted to be able to have a bath without being constantly worried about her son's state of health, not when Thorin was watching over him.

She was out of the bath by the time Frodo had once more fallen asleep, coming out into her chambers brushing her hair as Thorin was settling Frodo into bed, gently teasing their son's fist into letting go of the braid it still held. It was a long battle, but finally Frodo reluctantly released the braid before settling more comfortably into the bed, kicking a foot out from under all his blankets. Thorin was quick to tuck the offending foot back under once more.

"Hopefully he will sleep well tonight." Bilbo said as she fought with the brush over her curls which had decided that they had no desire to behave this night. "And feel better in the morning… Doubtful, but still, we can hope."

She noticed as she spoke that Thorin was no longer looking at their son, but instead was watching her or rather the fight she was currently having between the brush and her hair. For a breathless moment she thought (and no, she did not hope) he would ask to brush and braid her hair for her. He didn't of course. He looked away after that long moment of them seemly staring at each other, nodding his head soundlessly.

"I'll visit," he promised, "as often as I can."

"He'll like that." She smiled.

Thorin gave another nod, his eyes flicking back to her currently impossible to tame mane of curls before he went about speaking his good nights. To which she responded in kind, walking him to her chamber door, hugging the wood close to her as he walked out.

"Sleep well." She wasn't sure if he meant it to sound like a plea, but she thought nothing of it when he ran a finger oh so gently down the side of her face, as he had done that other night.

"You too." She was so ashamed of how squeaky her voice was in return, blushing scarlet as his lips twitched into a smile.

"Good night Thorin." She said in a high voice before shutting the door firmly between them, desperate to hide from his bright eyes and almost brighter smile.

Majestic idiot, she thought fondly before shaking her head and heading for bed, determinedly not listening to the low chuckle she most definitely did not hear from the other side of her door.

Author's Note: The title for this chapter is, if you haven't guess already, is how Thorin feels in regards to Bilbo. This chapter was actually meant to be a lot more light-hearten and less serious than what it turned out to me. I don't know about all of you but I felt that this conversation was important and Thorin needed to asked the questions he did, and Bilbo needed to explain her reasons for why she did the things she did in regard to Frodo. I just, quite personally, felt that this was something these two needed to discuss and have out on the table.

I've written a fair bit since being down at Dad's and now that I have a working dongle I'll try to get back to updating frequently.