TA 2941
Deep in the caverns of the Elven King, it takes several weeks for the lack of sunlight to get to Thorin.
This is unusual. Thorin has spent a good portion of his long life living in the dark and cavernous halls carved straight into the mountainside, a long way underground and away from daylight. He is long used to the darkness.
But the cold light of Thranduil's fortress is different.
He cannot tell night from day and the elves that visit periodically do so at odd times, so he sleeps when he can in short bursts before the guards come by to throw some food in between the bars of his cell. It makes his skin crawl.
It is in that place between waking and slumber that he finds his mind travelling back to the night he spent with the Hobbit on the cliffs. He tries to shake off the memory, trying to think instead of Erebor, the mountain halls he once called home; the great stone pillars that marked the entrance, the warm light of their underground lanterns, his people happy and safe. Anything but the worry for his sister-sons that gnaws in the pit of his stomach.
Sometimes, in the quietest moments, the Hobbit still lingers in his thoughts.
It is for this reason that when Bilbo appears before him, he believes him to be a mirage. It takes the Hobbit lobbing a piece of mouldy bread at him to realise the truth.
'Bilbo!' He cries, rushing to the bars of his cell. As he grows closer, he realises the Hobbit is quite a sight. He is wain and thin as a rake, the smallest Thorin recalls ever seeing him; exhaustion has left dark bruises under his eyes and his hair is matted with grime.
Still he smiles upon seeing him.
'Hullo.'
'What are you doing here?' Thorin hisses, eyes darting across the deserted corridor. It would not do for his Hobbit to be caught now, 'How did you get in here?'
His smile grows, 'I have my ways. There is a reason Gandalf named me as your burglar.'
'Hmph,' Thorin lowers himself to the ground. 'And the others?'
'Safe, but locked away,' he says, settling against the bars. 'For now.'
Those large eyes twinkle with mischief and Thorin can't help the slow grin that spreads across his face. His Hobbit is safe, and so are his sister-sons and his kin. A weight releases from his shoulders.
'I saw your meeting with the King,' Bilbo says quietly. 'Jolly fellow.'
'I fear I may have angered him more than I should have,' Thorin says quietly. 'I did not realise the others were here.'
'They're fine,' Bilbo grins. 'On top irritating form, if Kíli does say so himself. The elves are quite unsure how to handle them.'
'They cannot speak a word to the King–'
'They haven't,' the Hobbit says firmly. 'They've made it a bit of a competition between them, to see how much they can annoy him before being sent back to their prisons.'
'I see.'
They fall into a companionable silence. Thorin takes the opportunity to look over his Hobbit; he is not well, that much is clear to see–and chewing that Eru-damned thumbnail of his again.
'Bilbo,' Thorin nudges his tray of food, untouched, towards him. 'You must eat.'
He shakes his head resolutely, 'I'm fine. I've been sneaking odds and ends here and there.'
Thorin raises an eyebrow, 'Did you not tell me once that Hobbits eat seven square meals a day?'
'Yes, I–'
'Odds and ends does not sound like seven square meals,' Thorin says, nudging the food closer.
'Thorin–'
'Eat,' he says firmly. 'You're no good to the company starving.' Bilbo glances between the tray and Thorin, his eyes flashing with inner turmoil. After a moment the hunger appears to win out and he sighs, reaching for a piece of bread. He tears into it hungrily, stifling satisfied moans.
Thorin tries not to look too pleased with himself.
'What have you discovered?' He asks instead.
'Not much,' Bilbo replies around a mouthful of bread. 'The tunnels go on for miles and there's guards around every corner.'
Thorin nods. It is as he suspected, escaping from this accursed place will be difficult. A small hand on his pulls him from his musings and he turns to see those large eyes staring up at him.
'I'll figure something out,' Bilbo says strongly. 'Don't you fret.'
Fear for the Hobbit swells, but he quickly tampers it down. Bilbo has thus far proven himself to be resourceful and quick on his feet, there is no need to be worried.
'Tell me about my sister-sons,' Thorin says instead, banishing thoughts of Thranduil brandishing Bilbo by his large toes.
A smirk widens on Bilbo's face, his eyes sparkling - and Thorin's breath catches in his throat, 'I must commend you, Thorin Oakenshield, for raising such mischievous rascals.'
A chortle works its way around the knot in his throat, 'I can hardly take claim for what is clearly all Dis.'
Bilbo laughs, before launching into a tale of Kíli leading the company in a loud and offkey rendition of That's What Bilbo Baggins Hates. Thorin hardly takes in the words. He's too busy pondering on the feeling of his ribs contracting, the green root in his chest growing, slipping into his bloodstream.
For the first time in weeks, he doesn't miss the sunlight.