As Bilbo forged a footpath in the snow, he made it his goal to ignore his guest and enjoy his walk.

"Morning, Samwise." Bilbo smiled, watching the young hobbit gawk at Smaug and his tattered cloak. "How's your gaffer faring in this cold?"

"He..." It took Sam a minute. "he's doing much better, Mr. Bilbo. It's easier to breathe now..." The young hobbit was seemingly entranced by the dragon in man's form and Bilbo sighed when he realized that any respectable conversation was out of the question.

"Have a nice day, Samwise." He said, defeated,

"Right." Bilbo led Smaug away from town, toward what would be empty fields and woodland, and let his tense shoulders drop.

"Is your one man attractive?" Smaug asked suddenly. "This one man you've sung for; is he a suitable mate?" Bilbo flushed brighter than a cherry tomato and made a strangled sound of alarm. "Genetic superiority, a fine nest for a brood, a large-"

"Please!" Bilbo whined, covering his ears. "Stop it! I'm not telling you who he is! Leave it alone!" The hobbit couldn't think about Thorin from so far away and expect to stay sane, and Smaug was making it no easier to forget the dark-haired dwarf king. "I don't want to talk about him."

"Thiefling, tell me about him?" Smaug's plea was so gentle it shocked Bilbo into looking up. The man's eyes were gold coins in the curtain of messy curls and pale skin; out in the sunshine, Bilbo bore witness to each patch of scales on his guest's face shining in the sun. It was radiant –wonderous to behold- and Bilbo understood why Samwise had been so awed. Smaug was, for all his ills, magnificent to behold.

Bilbo caught himself staring and looked away. "I don't think..."

"Thiefling,"

"Well," Bilbo sighed, "he's taller than me-" "Everyone is taller than you." Smaug pointed out dryly, making Bilbo scowl.

"Did I ask you? Do you know him? Are you telling this story?" He gave the amused dragon in man form a hard look, seeing no rebuttal, he continued. "and he is very attractive, thank you."

"In what way?" "Oh no." Bilbo scowled, "That's a race question. I'm not telling. Story time is over, master dragon." Bilbo tried to walk away and leave Smaug clueless, but the dragon caught his jacket and followed along behind him like a baby duckling.

"What else?" Smaug asked, giving the hobbit no peace. "Tell me more."

Bilbo thought long and hard as they walked, trying to be quick to sate his houseguest's curiosity, but Thorin's face in his mind brought up things he thought he had buried long ago.

"Bilbo, stay a few more days," Bilbo closed his eyes as Thorin tried to get him to stay. Erebor and its king called on him now, urging him to return within the deep recesses of his mind. "for me? I could use your advice in my throne room..."

"He trusted me." Bilbo said, his voice quiet. "He would have given me anything to make me stay him."

"Always," The Thorin in Bilbo's mind seemed to want him to cry– want him to feel guilty. Or maybe it wasn't Thorin; Bilbo's subconscious had probably just been waiting for the chance to torture him with his choice. "Bilbo, you've heard. I will not set foot in the treasury. I made Balin the overseer of finances, and I will not make the mistake I did with the Arkenstone. Please stay..."

"He was stubborn –save me, was he stubborn- but he could turn around and I'd have my way so fast it made me dizzy." Bilbo flipped his collar against the breeze as they crested the hill, admiring the scenery with a faint shiver. "He could be surprisingly tender when he wanted to be."

A hand stroked his cheek, warm but clammy with sickness, and Bilbo groaned as he lifted his head from his arms. He'd fallen asleep on Thorin's bedside; Gandalf had swooped down on Thorin's shivering body and pressed his staff's stone to his fluttering heart. They'd rushed him to the infirmary, Fili and Kili no better, and the wizard had worked day and night on them.

Looking up from the sheets, Bilbo locked eyes with the dwarf king and felt a chill run deep into his bones. "Thorin?" The warrior's eyes were bright with fever, as Gandalf had said they would be, and Bilbo considered calling for help. "Thorin... can you hear me?"

"Bilbo." Suddenly the hobbit was on the bed and wrapped in a set of strong arms. "what happened?"

"You were hurt." Bilbo squeaked, "We won, but you were injured. Gandalf healed you and-"

"We won..." Thorin wasn't paying attention. He was combing a hand through Bilbo's nappy curls absently, like he was petting a cat, and Bilbo was too tired to ask him to focus. "Any casualties?"

"No..." Bilbo shook his head lazily. Since when had Thorin been so soft and warm.

"Stay with me?" Thorin's sleepy grip tightened and Bilbo rolled into a more comfortable position.

"Mmm..." And they were both off to sleep. When Bilbo felt the cloak brush his cheek in the breeze again, his eyes flew open and he stared around in alarm. Thick black fabric was wrapped over his shoulders and shielded him from the wind from ankle to ear. Smaug's body heat was filling the insulated space with its perfect temperature, soothing Bilbo's cold hobbit bones, and he let his simple, reminiscing content linger long enough for him to lean back against the dragon's sturdy frame without a word.

"Thiefling, what are you thinking about?" Smaug leaned down over him a little bit, letting in a draft of chilly winter air, and Bilbo stiffened. "Is your one so complicated?" His deep voice was a low rumble, like the beginnings of an earthquake or the tremulous drum roll of inspiration-blocked fingers on a wooden desktop.

"He's precious to me- all of him. There isn't just one thing I like." Bilbo gave Smaug a lazy, unaffected look and kept walking, his shoulders hunched against the cold wind. Suddenly, Bilbo didn't want to talk to Smaug anymore, and he hoped it was very obvious in his body language and his tone. The memory of waking up to Thorin's feverish eyes –the ones that had rolled back on the battlefield and taken his heart down under the icy swells with him- had ripped something open in him and it was raw all over again.

"'Precious'?" Bilbo winced as the dragon pressed on a bare nerve. "What do you mean? How is he precious to you?"

"Because he is!" Bilbo snapped, turning around to face Smaug with his face twisted under the weight of his emotions.

"But why? How?" Smaug came close –usually, it would have been too close- and Bilbo fisted his hands tightly. "Explain your riddle, thief!"

"He always made me smile!" Bilbo admitted, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from his chest. "He saved his smile for me, and he made me feel safe when I was far from home! Because of that, he is precious to me!" He huffed and puffed thick clouds of fogged breath into the air between them, feeling his heart untwist a little, and slowly his posture lost the dominant edge that had rendered Smaug silent.

"Do not presume to shout at me, thief!"

"I WILL SHOUT AT WHOMEVER I WANT!" Bilbo thundered suddenly, "THIS IS MY HOUSE AND YOU ARE MY GUEST! DO NOT ORDER ME ABOUT LIKE SOME SERVANT!" He had had it with the dragon's bossiness and his mocking nature, and he was going to have his say in what went on from that point on. "I am tired of you lording over me, Smaug, and I will lock you outside if I have to deal with any of your fire and brimstone temper tantrums again!" He lost his breath with his shouting, glad to be so far from his neighbors when he blew off some steam, and suddenly he realized his palms were stinging sharply.

When he looked down, he blushed at the sight of five bloody crescents in each hand. When he looked up, Smaug was staring at them too and the tense air between them had dissipated just as quickly as it had come like the humidity of a summer thunderstorm.

"Thiefling," Smaug's voice was measured and careful, dripping with honey in all the right places. "perhaps we should return to the nest. I believe one of your ritual mealtimes is at hand."

"Right." Bilbo closed his hand into a fist, careful of the tiny cuts, and shoved a hand in each pocket of his waistcoat. He refused to look at the dragon again, keeping his eyes down even when they'd returned to Bag End and tucked into hot bowls of potato onion rabbit soup. They ate in silence as cold as the winter outside, despite the hot fire at their backs and the natural heat radiating from Smaug's human skin, and soon Bilbo's quiet had infected them both.

Bilbo went to bed that night without fuss, finding himself lying awake in the dark, and he wondered if he would spend his nights like this again. He'd sworn that after Erebor he would not do this to himself anymore, and he intended to keep what little dignity he had left; he would not mope.