More! Because inspiration!
Disclaimer: I still don't own the Hobbit. Duh.
"Good evening." Said the maybe-a-dwarf, shakily and pale as he leaned against the doorframe, and promptly collapsed in his hallway.
"What?" Said Bilbo.
"What?"
He stares in shock (and a healthy amount of horror) at the probably-a-dwarf that lay unconscious in his hallway.
"Why." He asks the universe plaintively. Then he sets about looking the he-looks-like-a-dwarf over, and checking him for wounds.
A nasty gash on his thigh, and a bump on the head.
Bilbo is sure he can see bone.
He swallows thickly, but puts on his big boy pants, and fetches some thread, a candle and a needle. After a moments thought, he finds scissors in his kitchen drawer, and an old, clean shirt, that he can tear up for bandages.
He plops himself down by the bleeding body (and there is blood all over his hallway, he is sure it will stain the floorboards) and tries to roll him over. Being a foot or so taller, and thick with muscle, the really-he-must-be-a-dwarf is difficult for the little hobbit to move, but he perseveres, and rolls him over. He carefully snips away the cloth around the wound, and cringes as the injury is shown in full light.
Four inches or so across, it is deep. Down to the bone deep. He is going to have to sew it shut, and carefully. He flicks the come-on-he-has-to-be-a-dwarf in the head, trying to figure out how unconscious he is. He doesn't even move, and Bilbo holds the needle in the flame, then lets it cool, and threads it neatly. Then, he pushes his fears, doubts, and squeamish nature to the back of his head, and pretends he is sewing a tear in a shirt closed.
It doesn't work, and as his fingers are coated in blood, and he sews another creature's flesh together, he swallows rapidly and tries not to throw up on his neat stitches. When he is done, he hops up and pokes through the pantry for a jar of honey, before slathering it on the wound and binding it with strips of his old shirt.
He divests his charge of his many, many weapons.
Then he starts the hard part.
Bit by bit, he drags the heavy burden along his floor, down the hallway, and into one of his spare bedrooms. Once there, he tries to lift the dwarf (and really he must be a dwarf, there really isn't anything else to be, with a beard like that) onto the bed, just about managing to cushion his head when he drops him again.
He taps one large, hairy foot thoughtfully, then drags the duvet, pillows, and blankets off the bed, arranging them in a nest like fashion on the floor, and hauls the dwarf onto his creation, carefully lifting his head onto the pillows, and laying a blanket over him. After another thoughtful pause, he gathers the dwarf's weapons from the hallway, and lays them within arms reach. Then he leaves a glass of water near, and goes to scrub the blood from his floorboards.
And if he swears a lot while he does so, well, the dwarf can hardly tell anyone, can he?