Day Five
Yet another morning dawned and Bilbo still hadn't come by to visit him. Thorin tried not to dwell on that, reminding himself sternly that the hobbit had every right and reason to avoid him. The moment his fingers had wrapped around the hobbit's neck the day before the battle, he had casted a heavy shadow over himself, a shadow of shame, of dishonour, and he deserved all the ire Bilbo had for him. If anything, he should be amazed that Bilbo hadn't yet been by to spit at him, to demand his braids or some other compensation for the way he had been wronged, for the way Thorin had abused him and their friendship.
Despite of feeling unsettled due to Bilbo's avoidance, worried for his nephews and guilty for all that he had caused in his madness, Thorin was recovering at a steady pace as if Mahal himself was determined to keep him alive. While the healers claimed that his right shoulder would never regain its full mobility, Thorin didn't allow himself to wallow in self-pity, as he would have given both of his arms and legs in exchange of a permanent home and a secure future for his people. It was his duty to put his subjects – his people – first, and while he had shamefully failed in his sacred duty in the course of the last week, he would dedicate the rest of his life to his people, just as he had done all his life prior to the four days before the Battle for Erebor.
And what would some shoulder pain be, anyway, compared to the suffering he had put others through! In all fairness, he should have been punished far more severely. It was telling that not even the loyal members of his Company were able to look him in the eye after his shameful deeds. When his friends had come to see him, one after another, taking turns to sit by his bedside in some kind of rotating shifts, Thorin had noted the way they all had evaded his gaze. None of them had been able to meet his eye, not even Balin, oldest of Thorin's friends in more than one sense.
Thorin was now lying on his cot, contemplating the situation in a drained, slightly detached manner. Bombur – who had been sitting on the wobbly, wooden chair by his bed since the early hours of the morning – was filling the silence with one-sided chatter. Unlike Thorin, Bombur found no comfort in silence and didn't seem to appreciate quiet moments, which Thorin had to grudgingly admit wasn't that surprising at all, considering the way Bombur's home – with Bombur's wife, their eight loud children (some of them adopted but all the more loved) and Uncles Bifur and Bofur – was always filled with Sounds of Life.
Whenever Bombur wasn't eating, he was usually talking, and as Bombur had been sitting by Thorin's bedside since the morning without munching a thing, Thorin had been exposed to his chatter for almost four hours already. As a rather private person, Thorin was growing weary of the constant prattle and wished desperately for some soothing silence. Under ordinary circumstances he would have ordered the dwarf to "be gone, or be silent", but as Bombur had faced a dragon, an army of elves and men and an army of orcs with him without a word of complaint, he felt that he really had no right – king or not – to give the worthy, loyal dwarf any such mundane orders, despite of the fact that he knew that his order would have been complied without question.
This was why Thorin was now in what he considered to be rather awkward, uncomfortable situation, while Bombur did his best to fill the silence as well as he could.
"I don't mind the whistles or the belching," Bombur was just explaining, fingering the thick, red braid that hung down his chest like a hairy necklace. "I find that kind of attention almost flattering, actually, and by now I'm at least mostly used to it, but the admiration does become uncomfortable when someone thinks that it's fine to walk up to me and grab my belly just like that."
As a highly attractive person by any dwarven standard, Bombur had always got a lot of attention wherever he went. In a camp full of warriors, the insinuations had to be more than a little crude and intrusive, and Thorin made a mental note to ask Dwalin to talk with the dwarves about honourable behaviour in this regard. Harassment of any kind was not acceptable and had to have consequences.
With growing exasperation, Thorin wondered once again where Dwalin had actually gone to. He hadn't seen his friend in more than a day which in itself was worrying as the warrior had always made it his point of honour to not leave Thorin's side when Thorin was ill or injured. Thorin missed his friend, he missed their easy-going communication and Dwalin's steadying presence, and if it made him feel lonely that his best friend had abandoned him to his sick bed for once, he kept it to himself: whatever it was that was keeping Dwalin from being there with him, it had to be something important, otherwise Dwalin wouldn't have left his side in his time of need, of that Thorin was certain.
"Just because my belly is large, round and well-groomed," continued Bombur, "it doesn't mean that I want strangers patting it, and I certainly don't appreciate it when people grab themselves while looking at me eating – I am a married man and a loyal husband, after all, and behaviour like that is not flattering in any way. The same goes for my batters and doughs – one can watch, but one cannot touch!"
Thorin sighed, rubbing his face, but made no comment since it was quite obvious that Bombur still had more to say and wouldn't have welcomed interruptions. And indeed, after taking a deep breath, Bombur kept on talking.
"I do not wish to encourage other people's urges. I have always been quite clear about the way I-"
After four hours of listening to Bombur – after for hours of keeping someone company and listening to someone talk – Thorin found that he couldn't concentrate on the words anymore. He was in dire need of some peace and quiet, he needed to energize himself by spending time alone, although even more than that he wished that he could have been able to make himself useful. It went against his very nature to lie still in bed while his kingdom needed rebuilding, while his people needed their king.
In a quite stubborn manner, Balin had refused to give him any work to do and had even taken the pile of reports from under the bed away, insisting that Thorin should focus on recovering before doing anything to "rebuild reclaimed kingdoms". Balin had assured him that Dain and he had the council as much under control as simply was possible in any a day and that Thorin shouldn't task himself by worrying. It appeared that Thorin just had to trust Balin and Dain to do what was best for Erebor and his dwarves.
Trust. The word troubled Thorin and he frowned at the ceiling of the tent while Bombur continued his blabbering. Trust. It was because of Trust that Thorin hadn't yet confronted Balin about the apparent fact that various members of the Company – Balin himself included – had all given his inquires about Dwalin's whereabouts contradicting, slightly evasive answers, which had eventually led Thorin to believe that he was being purposefully lied to by his most trusted dwarves.
Dori had first claimed that Dwalin was resting, but then Bifur – not twenty minutes later after having relieved Dori from keeping Thorin company – had happened to mention that he had seen Dwalin aiding Balin with organizing the Gold Counting which, Thorin knew, wasn't a relaxing task in any way. After Bifur had left and Bofur had come to sit with Thorin, the toymaker had mumbled – after Thorin had demanded an answer – that Dwalin had been on patrol outside the camp for the past several hours, while Nori informed Thorin a few hours later that Dwalin was doing "what he always did – running after thieves that were quicker and smarter than him". Balin had unknowingly contradicted all these claims after supper by saying – while carefully avoiding Thorin's searching look – that Dwalin had spent the whole day by helping Dain with the clearance of the entrance hall.
These lies combined with Dwalin's continued absence made Thorin almost certain that something highly suspicious was going on behind his back. Despite of their words sounding like lies, Thorin wanted to give his friends the benefit of doubt and the chance to explain themselves on their own time before accusing them of anything, worried and irritable though the waiting was making him. He owed them his trust, at the very least, after all they had been through together, after all they had done for him.
"...and so I told her that belly buttons certainly weren't meant – nor built – for that kind of activity," Bombur finished whatever it was that he had been saying, shaking Thorin out of his thoughts.
After the red-haired dwarf had stared at him in an expectant manner for a few heartbeats, Thorin realized to mutter, "oh, indeed?" which fortunately seemed to be enough of a comment, for Bombur nodded emphatically and, without further ado, began to describe all the things that could be done to – or with – one's belly button without risk of bodily injury.
Bombur was soon interrupted, though, (much to Thorin's relief,) as the tent flap was swiped aside and Oin marched into the tent carrying a plate full of venison in one hand and his black healer's bag in the other. The healer put the venison onto the bedside table, ushered Bombur out of the tent and turned then to Thorin with an annoyed, hostile expression on his face already in advance.
"I am going to change your bandages," Oin announced, giving Thorin a suspicious, narrow-eyed look as if assuming that Thorin would have some kind of a reason to put up resistance to an act as reasonable as that.
"Morning greetings to you too," said Thorin drily, wincing as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Oin lowered his healer's bag down onto the vacated chair and proceeded to arrange pillows behind Thorin's back to make him more comfortable.
"You are going to co-operate," declared Oin once Thorin was suitably propped up. "I will change your bandages and I am in no mood to tolerate your whims."
And change Thorin's bandages Oin did, grumbling all the while about stubbornness and infuriating patients. Otherwise he was quite professional, the movements of his hands sure and precise, as he cleansed the wounds and put some kind of equally stinging and stinking ointment on them. Once the wounds were once again covered with clean bandages, Oin sniffed with satisfaction and began to put his equipment back into his bag. He gave another satisfied sniff when it became apparent that Thorin was now more or less able to lift the fork by himself and required no assisting when it came to eating. Thorin demonstrated this fact by eating with gusto and by taking big bites out of his steak.
Thorin yearned to ask after Fili and Kili, but couldn't bring himself to utter the question for he feared what the answer would be. He wished to know if there had been any improvement, but if Oin was to tell him that Fili and Kili's condition was becoming worse, that the boys were even closer to death... Thorin couldn't bear to hear that, selfish though that may have been of him. Fili and Kili's pained cries plagued his every waking moment and his sleep as well, if the nightmares he had been having were anything to go by. Dark thoughts gnawed at him: perhaps his punishment was to live and get better, while his sister-sons died or, worse yet, remained alive only in body while their lost souls wandered in the Halls of the Fading Ones.
His distressed musings had caused his hands to begin to tremble and so a piece of venison dropped from the fork onto his chest and rolled all the way down to his lap. Fortunately Oin didn't notice this, focused on gathering used bandages on his arm as he was, and so Thorin could pick up the fallen piece of meat, use the back of his hand to wipe away the smear it had left on his chest and continue eating as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't momentarily lost the control of the fork – he really didn't want to fight over the control of cutlery again.
Partly to distract himself from his unsettling thoughts and partly because he was curious to see whether Oin, as well, would give him an evasive answer about Dwalin's whereabouts, Thorin gave the healer's sleeve a tug. This was enough to call Oin's attention, and the healer turned immediately to look at Thorin, raising his ear trumpet up to his ear again to hear what it was that Thorin wanted to say.
"Have you seen Dwalin?" Thorin asked, studying Oin's expression carefully to spot any signs of lying. Unlike other members of the Company, Oin, at least, still looked him in the eye.
Oin let out an exasperated grumble and closed his bag with a snap with the hand that wasn't holding the ear trumpet.
"Dwalin is not one of my patients," he informed Thorin. "This means that he is not one of my concerns and so his current whereabouts are of little interest to me."
"What about Bilbo then?" Thorin dared to ask after only a moment of hesitation. "Do you know what Bilbo is doing or where he is? Has he been helping you to take care of the wounded?"
The stern expression on Oin's face got a slightly softer edge at the mention of the hobbit, but Oin soon shook his head, much to Thorin's disappointment.
"I have not seen neither Dwalin nor Bilbo and I know not what it is that they are doing. At the moment nothing outside the healing tents concerns me, but if I do happen to see Dwalin or Bilbo on my way to one healing tent to another, I might mention the fact that you were asking after them."
After Thorin had finished his meal, Oin lifted his healer's bag from the chair and took the empty plate from Thorin's hands. With the used bandages dangling on his arm he then gave Thorin one last assessing, unimpressed look and turned to leave.
Just as the healer was about to exit the tent, Thorin opened his mouth to ask after Fili and Kili, but before he had managed to form any a syllable, Oin was already gone. Not that the healer would have heard his question anymore anyway, tucked in his pocket as his ear trumpet already was.
At noon after Ori had left, Gloin stepped into Thorin's tent. His cheeks had turned red due to the cold outside and he shook snow off his clothes and red beard in a manner that reminded Thorin of canids. Once the dwarf had wiped the melting snow from his bushy brows, he turned his full attention on Thorin though he, too – just like most members of the Company so far – was careful not to meet Thorin's gaze.
"May the ground be steady beneath us today!" came the traditional midday greeting.
"May the ground hear your words and your wishes," Thorin gave the expected answer to the greeting.
After putting more firewood into the stove, Gloin took his seat on the chair, sighing with contentment, while Thorin fingered the tear on the edge of his blanket.
"Durin's axe, Thorin!" Gloin cried abruptly, slapping his knee. "You certainly look like you're in need of some entertainment."
"I do not require entertainment," grumbled Thorin. "To do something useful, that's what I'm in need of."
"Words of a true king!" Gloin praised him, puffing out his chest with pride as if Thorin's words somehow attributed to him.
"He faces a dragon," Gloin continued, "he faces a dragon, reclaims the Long Lost Home and kills the most vile of all orcs with the orc's own weapon – and then he wants to do 'something useful'! Truly, no other king can compare to you, cousin! It is an honour and privilege to call you kin!"
"Likewise," said Thorin and, if possible, Gloin's chest puffed out even more.
Thorin's words prompted Gloin to recite Mahal Be Praised in Thorin's honour – all hundred and twelve verses of it – and by the time Gloin was finally finished, they were both teary-eyed and deeply moved.
"Eru, Gloin," Thorin said in a hoarse voice, "I know none that compare you when it comes to poetry recitation."
Gloin blushed and dropped into the chair, spent – he had, at some point, sprung up to his feet with all the emotion the recitation had created in him. The chair wobbled and let out a creak, but neither dwarf paid it any mind.
As often happened when Thorin and Gloin spent time together, their topic of conversation soon turned to their boys. They praised each other's lads generously and then their own kin with equal enthusiasm. It saddened Thorin to note that Gloin was still evading his gaze, but he pushed the matter out of his mind and focused on listening as Gloin described Gimli's latest antics (though Thorin had heard all these tales at least once at some point during the Quest already).
What a coincidence it was that just when Thorin began to tell Gloin of Kili's forging skills, Ori burst into the tent with a wild look in his eye, ignoring the guards that tried to stop him. The guards grasped him, both of them red-faced and visibly embarrassed for having allowed such a scrawny youth to pass by their brawn. Thorin waved the guards away and, hesitantly, they let go off Ori and exited the tent.
As soon as he had his breath back, Ori began to speak.
"Kili has awakened!" he cried, his eyes sparkling with joy. "Kili is awake, Th- Your Highness!"
"Kili has come to?" Thorin croaked out, scarcely believing the good news.
"Yes!" Ori assured him, nodding and grinning. "He has, he has! He just opened his eyes and... Oh, Eru!"
Ori let out a breathless chuckle and ran a hand through his hair.
Thorin opened his mouth but no sound came out. His heart was pounding in his chest and he felt faint with relief. Kili had woken up. Kili. Had. Woken. Up. He could barely process the idea, so good it was.
"Such a strong lad, such a strong lad," Gloin was saying approvingly, leaning back in his chair and stroking his long beard. "Though Bombur will surely be devastated – he bet ten gold coins that it would be Fili who would first regain consciousness and so he now owes me and Nori ten gold pieces each."
Ori resembled Dori quite a bit when he gave Gloin a disbelieving, scandalized look.
"You made bets on Fili and Kili's condition, on their lives?"
Before Ori had managed to finish his sentence, Thorin had already thrown his covers aside. Now, with his back turned to Gloin and Ori, his bare feet hit the cold ground. Holding his right arm firmly against his chest to ease the pain the movement caused in his torso, Thorin bent down to pick up his boots, ignoring the way Ori and Gloin began to protest immediately against him trying to get up.
"I really didn't mean for you to leave bed, my lord!" said Ori, timid once more, wringing his hands. "I only came to tell you the news because I thought that it would ease your mind to know."
"It's understandable that you want to go see the lad, Thorin," tried Gloin, reaching out over the bed to take a hold of Thorin's elbow, "but you are not well enough to get up yet, you must still rest! Lay back down."
"Kili has awakened," grumbled Thorin, wrenching himself free from Gloin's hold while struggling to put on the boots. "Mahal has given him back to me! Now there is nothing or no-one that can keep me from going to see my injured sister-sons."
Even though there was nothing or no-one that could keep Thorin from going to see Fili and Kili, Gloin and Ori both did their best to persuade him to lay back down with the promise that they would go see the boys in his stead.
"You can't yet even stand without swaying!" observed Gloin, trying to pull Thorin back towards the cot. "This is madness, cousin, you're straining yourself too much – lay down before you cause yourself further injury!"
Thorin ignored Gloin's advice and ordered the dwarf to release him which Gloin immediately – but quite reluctantly – also did. With a pained look upon his face, Ori muttered something about going to get Balin as he turned around and ran out of the tent. Thorin followed in his step, though at a much slower pace.
Some time later – posed against the sturdy tent pole in the middle of the tent, sweating and panting and hanging from the pole with both hands as his knees threatened to give out underneath him – Thorin had to call for the guards and give them the order to aid him with going to Fili and Kili's tent, as he realized that he would never reach his destination unaided. Gloin muttered with discontent the whole time, following after them, refusing loudly to help Thorin anywhere but back to the bed.
It was even colder outside than Thorin had presumed and he shivered when the wind embraced him eagerly and without mercy. The snow crunched under their steps and Thorin could feel the cold seeping into his boots to lick his toes. Most dwarves at the clearing were focused on their chores and didn't appear to notice Thorin's hunched figure from between the two bulky guards, a fact that relieved Thorin more than he cared to admit, as he didn't want to appear weak before his people. Still, by the time they reached Fili and Kili's tent, the one thing that he had to admit at least to himself was the fact that his actions might have been somewhat rash; he really should have at least put on a shirt before leaving his tent, that much he was now shivering.
Oin wasn't happy at all to see Thorin, Gloin and the two guards, but to Thorin's surprise, the healer's indignation wasn't aimed at him for once. Instead – as soon as he had helped Thorin onto the chair between Fili and Kili's beds and covered Thorin with a warm blanket – Oin dismissed the guards and rounded on his brother, calling Gloin a fool for "letting the patient leave the bed" which resulted in an argument, signed with sharp gestures in Iglishmêg rather than shouted in Khuzdul, most likely for Fili and Kili's sake.
Thorin paid no mind to their argument, for his attention was entirely focused on his two nephews, one of whom still hadn't come back to him. Fili laid on Thorin's right far too still and silent, but his breathing was comfortingly steady. For someone who had only recently been gravely injured, he didn't look too bad at all and Thorin assumed that all the marks of his injury were hidden beneath the blankets. Kili, on the other hand, looked tired and ill. His face was white with a hint of grey and there were dark circles under his eyes. In contrast, the cut on his cheek was bright red, though also thankfully free of inflammation, at least as far as Thorin could tell.
Thorin tucked a lock of coal-coloured unruly hair behind Kili's ear. Feeling the gentle touch, Kili frowned and opened his eyes. Upon recognizing his uncle, his gaze sharpened and he studied Thorin cautiously, almost warily. Thorin swallowed hard and tried to give Kili a reassuring smile, though the final outcome probably looked more pained than he had intended.
"Fear not, sister-son, for I am healed," Thorin told Kili, his voice soft. "Gold Lust no longer blinds me. I now see the error of my ways, I now see how I have wronged those of whom I care. The Dragon Sickness left me when- when I heard what had happened to you and your brother."
Kili's eyes lost some of their sharpness and a sigh of relief left his lips. While he blinked drowsily up at Thorin, his hand sneaked from under the blankets and soon Kili wrapped his surprisingly warm fingers around Thorin's fist. He squeezed gently until Thorin swallowed, unclenched his fist and took a hold of the offered hand. Neither one of them said anything for the longest of moments, they just hold hands, sharing the sense of relief of seeing the other alive.
I could have lost you. I almost did lose you.
Thorin tried to find something to say, but he couldn't quite put his feelings to words, and so it was Kili who spoke first.
"You were right, Uncle," Kili said in a quiet, hoarse voice, turning his head to the side to look pass Thorin at Fili's still form.
"What about?"
Kili's chin trembled a bit.
"Fili and I know nothing of the world," he whispered, his dark eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Thorin remained silent, blinking back his own tears.
Oin and Gloin's argument came to an end just then, as Oin shooed his brother out of the tent. Grumbling to himself about irresponsible brothers and allowing stubborn, injured, foolish dwarves to cause harm to themselves, Oin then turned to Thorin and Kili with his arms akimbo. After one look at their joined hands and the expressions on their faces, he let out a half sigh, half grunt, and shook his head.
"Durins," he muttered, but didn't try to force Thorin to leave Kili's side. Instead, he fetched another blanket and helped Thorin into a more comfortable position with the help of several pillows. While Thorin's feet were lifted onto a stool and while Oin tucked him under two blankets, Kili never let go off his hand and, if anything, only tightened his hold.
"You may stay until I say otherwise," promised Oin, "but when I deem you too tired to stay, you must go, Thorin. Lest you may well hinder your progress of getting well."
With one last scowl, Oin went to arrange his potions and ointments in the back of the tent.
After Thorin had sat still, holding Kili's hand for long enough for his arm to get tired, Kili surprised him by suddenly asking for food. Thorin immediately asked Oin to go get Kili the best food the cooks had to offer, to which Oin answered by giving him a cool look and putting a cork on the green bottle which contents he had been sniffing. Oin still did send one of the younger healer's to the nearest cooking area and soon the beardless lad came back with a steaming bowl of porridge.
It was fortunate indeed that Thorin was once again able to lift a spoon by himself, as he could now assist Kili with eating. Eating seemed to lift Kili's spirits considerably and soon Kili was munching the ham in his porridge in his usual loud manner, talking with his mouth full, asking after the rest of the Company and wondering whether Thorin had noticed that he had forgotten to put his shirt on. Thorin didn't tell Kili of the way Bilbo was avoiding him and simply said that the others were busy with the aftermath of the battle and with the rebuilding that had already begun, and Kili was too delighted to hear all that to go into details.
"It's good to see you awake," Thorin said after Kili had emptied his bowl.
"It would be even better if all three of us were awake," said Kili, glancing at Fili. "Still, I'm glad that we're all alive, at least. Though I suppose I wouldn't have minded meeting Uncle Frerin."
"You'll meet him one day," promised Thorin, "but hopefully not for a long while yet. We can go see his chambers, though, when your brother gets better. Assuming the Slug didn't destroy them, of course."
Thorin spent the rest of the day by Kili's bedside, ignoring Oin's first five orders to go back to his own tent. He would have ignored the sixth order as well, hadn't Ori come to the tent just then, a worried-looking Balin right at his heel.
"I'm sorry," Ori apologized to Oin, looking guilty. "I- I should have realized that Thorin would try to get up when I told him of Kili. I went to get Balin, as he and Dwalin are probably the only persons Thorin will currently listen to, but he was all the way up in the Guardian Tower and it took me a while to find him there."
"Well, at least you managed to do one thing right," grumbled Oin, unimpressed.
While Oin and Ori talked, Balin stepped into between Fili and Kili's bed, his gaze taking in all three Durins, one after another. Fili was still unconscious and, by now, Kili was asleep once more, snoring quietly, drooling on his pillow with his face turned toward Thorin and Fili. Thorin assumed that he himself had to look half dead, considering how much his chest was paining him now that he had been sitting upright for so long.
Balin sighed, giving Thorin a fond but also quite admonishing look.
"And then they ask why my hair is white..." he muttered and crouched down in front of Thorin, giving Thorin's thigh a few pats through the warm blankets. "Come on then, laddie. We better get you back to your own bed before you collapse and cause Oin even more trouble."
"I wish to stay here with Fili and Kili," announced Thorin, but Balin didn't listen to him. Instead, the older dwarf hooked an arm under his armpit and lifted him up from the chair with surprising strength. Oin motioned Ori to go help Balin, which the lad did too and between Balin and Ori they managed to get a weakly resisting Thorin walking towards the entrance, while Oin remained behind to look after Fili and Kili.
The night sky was almost black with all the clouds, but there were several torches lighting the clearing in front of the royal tents and the snow that covered the clearing shone in torch light like mithril, or like someone had sprinkled tiny diamonds on it. There were only a few dwarves in sight, many of them guards, as most dwarves had already retired to their tents. Thorin could see feeble lights shining from some of the tents and he considered the sight quite welcoming and warm, despite of the freeze all around him.
It was just as cold outside as it had been when Thorin had first left his own tent, but now there were the two blankets protecting him from the cold and so the wind didn't feel quite as biting as it had the last time, though Thorin still shivered. His visit to Fili and Kili's tent had exhausted him – even though he certainly didn't regret visiting his boys – and he had to lean most of his weight on Balin, for his legs were unsteady underneath him.
As chance would have it, Thorin happened to glance up from his wobbly feet just as Dwalin appeared from behind the water barrels that had been placed in the middle of the clearing. With his shadow long and flickering due to the torches, Dwalin was walking straight towards them with some kind of a large bundle in his arms and Thorin halted on his steps to wait for his friend. He was relieved to see Dwalin, for he had been worried over the warrior's unexplained disappearance.
Only, Dwalin's pace slackened in a hesitating manner as soon as he noticed Thorin standing there outside Fili and Kili's tent. Even from the distance Thorin could see Dwalin clenching his jaw and sending an unreadable look in his brother's direction, even as he hugged the bundle closer to his chest.
"W-Who is Dwalin carrying?" asked Ori, his voice full of an emotion that could only be described as trepidation.
Why Ori thought that it was a person that Dwalin was carrying, Thorin couldn't tell – to him, it looked like Dwalin was carrying some kind of a sack – and he glanced at the scribe with curiosity. The hand Ori had placed on his arm was trembling and the boy was staring at Dwalin with such horror on his face that Thorin was momentarily taken quite aback. Balin didn't seem to be fairing much better, for he had paled considerably upon noticing his brother and the arm he had hooked under Thorin's armpit was squeezing Thorin in a painful manner. It wasn't until now that Thorin noticed that instead of urging him towards his own tent, Balin and Ori had come to a full stop and were now both staring at an approaching Dwalin.
"Bilbo!" a voice cut through the air and a blur of something grey burst out of a nearby tent.
After a bit of squinting, Thorin recognized the blur to be Bofur who had apparently just been preparing to go to bed, as he was now only wearing his grey night garments. Barefooted, Bofur ran through the snow straight to Dwalin and looked down at the bundle, hurrying to walk by Dwalin while beginning to talk to the bundle in a soft, soothing manner. By now, Thorin was feeling the same trepidation he had heard in Ori's voice.
As Dwalin came close enough, Thorin froze as he saw that it truly was a person that Dwalin was carrying, and not just any person but Bilbo Baggins. An unconscious Bilbo Baggins. An unconscious Bilbo, their hobbit, their burglar, the friend Thorin had missed dearly for several long days.
A/N: I pity the character who has to explain the situation to Thorin.
Thanks for the reviews! :) *munches the last of the carrots with content*
