Author's NOTE: DISCLAIMER: SEE EARLIER CHAPTAHS. DANKE.

So sorry, this is so long overdue! Please accept my humble apologies, I promise I shall finish this! Also, reviews are most appreciated!

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Bilbo sighed, poking the fire with a stick he had found among the dry faggots they had collected. It had been but an hour since Noeg had left, but it felt longer. Bilbo was grateful and relieved that they had found Thorin alive, but Noeg certainly seemed to be taking his time coming back.

He heard Thorin wake with a start, his breathing taking on a more worrying tone.

The dwarf blinked slowly, taking deeper breaths. He felt as if something was trying to squeeze his lungs, to keep the life giving oxygen from them. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. For a brief moment there was a single flicker of panic on his face, but it abated in an instant as Thorin forced himself to breathe harder. It took a few moments, but the situation seemed to improve somewhat, his lungs began accepting the air that some unknown force was attempting to rob him of.

"Bilbo-" He finally asked hesitantly, not wanting to show that he was concerned, "Are you there?" Some feeling told him that he did not wish to be alone at this time.

Bilbo glanced up, "I'm here." He answered, looking back at the fire as he dropped his stick, walking to where Thorin was. He had to walk carefully in order to see to it that his feet did not catch on any of the loose stones that threatened to send him to the ground and land flat on his face.

Thorin's dark eyes seemed to settle on his face for a moment, "Good…" He said quietly, nodding slightly. One did not need to be familiar with the ways of Dwarves to see that he was relieved the Burglar hadn't gone.

"It's getting worse isn't it…" The Hobbit's voice came, accurate as always in his assumptions.

Thorin's lip set in a hard and firm line. Pride playing its foolish part once more. A short glare was what the hobbit received for his concern. "I'm in no discomfort…" He said bluntly. Hoping the Hobbit would let the subject drop. He would not speak of his fears to a Hobbit, least of all to Bilbo Baggins. There was nothing to be done at any rate. All he knew was that sleeping was out of the question. Every time he did, it became more and more difficult to breathe. Like someone was weighing down his chest with anvils, or that his lungs were simply not heeding his commands. He would not speak of this to Bilbo.

"Well that isn't true." Bilbo suddenly replied, an unusual stubbornness in his voice. "I-" He gestured vaguely with a hand, "I can see it Thorin!" He was also annoyed, the Dwarf seemed unwilling to accept any kind of help. Even when it came from someone that he could count on as a friend if he so wished to. Bilbo did not understand it.

"I'm in no great discomfort-" The Dwarf amended his statement, a sharper tone of annoyance accompanying the declaration. "You need not concern yourself with me Master Baggins."

And there it was. That Master Baggins again, as if they were two disagreeing business partners.

"Thorin!" Bilbo finally burst out, "I'm trying to help!" There was anger in his voice, and pent up frustration. "Can you understand that?! Someone wanting to help you?!" He shook his head, his hand pointing off wildly in a vague direction. "You know-I-I just don't understand you." He gave a tight and angry smile, "I don't understand Dwarves. I don't understand the world maybe. But what. On earth. Is so hard about accepting help?!"

Thorin had turned, caught unawares by the Hobbit's outburst he just seemed to stare as Bilbo was all but shouting at the King Under the Mountain.

"You, do not, have to do...Everything. Thorin. You saved my life!" His smaller voice seemed to echo in the cavern. "You saved my life-" He repeated, "Several times in fact...Why wouldn't I do the same for you? If I could?" He shook his head, sitting down heavily on a rock, his back to Thorin.

"I mean, maybe you're right. Maybe I don't belong here, on this quest…" He scoffed, "Do I even want to be here? A good part says that I don't. I'd rather be home. Sitting by the fire. Watching the shadows dance on the walls of Bag End rather than in some cold, dark, and thoroughly uninhabitable cave with a Dwarf that can't see beyond the walls of his own pride!" He frowned, "Some nice cheeses...A trip down to the Pub, an ale or two...Or five maybe, at this rate. Peace and quiet that I can always count on, and can always be perfectly satisfied in…"

There was a long pause, as Thorin seemed to be silenced by all this. "But-" He smiled ruefully. "I can't. I can't go back right now, even if I wanted to…"

Bilbo bit his lip for a moment before continuing. "I signed a contract." He said quietly. Somehow the contract meaning more. "And I have a duty...To my friends-" He referred to the Dwarves as his friends, not really counting in Thorin. He didn't seem like the type to have friends anyway. "To see it through." He pursed his lips. "Regardless of what I want, I've got to." He finally finished, all but mumbling the last part.

"Oh hang it all-" The Hobbit growled, "I don't expect you to understand." He picked up his 'poker' irritably, giving the fire a fierce jab.

Thorin however, was still silent, and despite what the hobbit thought had actually listened to the little speech. Understanding the way the Hobbit was torn between home and duty. Perhaps the two had a little more in common than what they would admit.

It was in that moment that a new type of respect for the Hobbit found itself growing in Thorin. He too, dreamt of home. Of peace. Of warm fires. Of his family. He too, wanted to return. He feared the quest, knowing what it could mean for him and those that shared his blood. But he also knew the desire to better his people, to stand by those he called friends.

Finally, he spoke.

"Meat pies."

Bilbo turned, surprised that Thorin had spoken at all, and only more confused at what was said. "What?" The Hobbit asked suddenly, perplexed.

"Meat pies." Thorin repeated, glancing at him. He seemed to think for a moment, seeing that Bilbo didn't understand what he meant. "My sister…" The look on his face was one that was lost in thoughts of home. "She," He nodded slightly, "She makes a very good meat pie…" He remembered as a lad he and Frerin would raid the kitchen after Dis and their mother had left the things to cool.

Bilbo sat there, almost shocked that Thorin was suddenly even attempting conversation had by common everyday persons.

"An ale wouldn't go badly with one either." He seemed to smile, softly, with fond memories of home. "Although…" He nodded slightly, "I'd wager, Mr. Bagg-" He corrected himself. "Bilbo...My House's own special brew would probably put you under the table in little less than five ales." Drinking games...were always a lively occurrence where he came from. He did not partake in them now, much was expected of him, especially where image was concerned. Although once in a great while Balin, Dwalin and he would go down to the cellars…

Then Bilbo understood what he was saying. What Thorin meant. He was saying, in his own manner, that he missed his home as well. That the Hobbit was not alone. Bilbo finally, smiled. Giving a soft breath that was a quiet laugh. "Then I will certainly have to taste this fabled brew that you speak of, Thorin Oakenshield."

Thorin glanced at him, quiet for a moment.

"If-" He said slowly, "We both survive this...Burglar Baggins, then you have my word... You will."

What was this? Was Thorin Oakenshield two different persons? Or was there a strong outer shell that Thorin constantly seemed to wear, and if so why? Why should he choose to hide behind pride and vanity? Did he actually mean this?

Bilbo, good fellow that he was, decided to give Thorin the benefit of the doubt. He smiled, "It'll be my pleasure."

There was another long pause.

"You should rest Thorin." Bilbo suddenly said, sensing that the Dwarven king was weary.

Thorin merely shook his head.

"Thorin…" Bilbo started, hoping that Thorin really wasn't going to start arguing again. It was the first time Thorin had even mentioned anything that stuck out to him about home to Bilbo. The moment had been rather nice, it would be a pity (and just like Thorin) to ruin it.

"Bilbo." Thorin interjected, sternly but without his usual sharp tone, "When I sleep...It is more difficult to breathe. I fear-" He paused slightly, "I fear that if I allow myself to sleep there is a chance I may never wake." He did not name the dread that seemed to stick to the bottom of his stomach, knotted like a great viper, just waiting for his lids to close.

"Do not let me sleep." There was a flicker of fear in his voice, but it was quickly controlled. He was, for once in his life. Asking for help.