Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was a warm hand in Bilbo’s hair that tugged him out of a deep sleep.

The hand was tough with callouses that rubbed on his scalp, coaxing Bilbo’s sore eyes to peel apart and face the blistering white sunlight.

“Hmm? Bilbo croaked. He tried to shift, his body trembling, and the hand in his hair slipped around to his back to support him. “Who’s there?”

“Someone who loves you very much.”

There was a tension in Bilbo’s body that he didn’t realize was there until the timbre of Thorin’s voice caused it to bleed away.

“Thorin?” said Bilbo, then flinched and grabbed his head at the sharp pain that pierced inside it. “Oh…oh, my head.”

Thorin put his hand over Bilbo’s and his thumb brushed the skin of Bilbo’s hand. 

“Slowly, amrâlimê. Be slow,” he eased. “Let me help you.”

Thorin’s hands were unbearably gentle as they eased him up into an attempted sitting position. He brought Bilbo to lean against his chest, and Bilbo did so with no complaint. Bilbo sat dizzy with exhaustion and tried to focus his eyes on the woods around them. Cicadas buzzed in the trees and larks twittered in the far distance. It was more than likely that the camp of rowdy dwarves stomping about the campground scared away any birds that were nearer than half a league.

As Bilbo’s head pulsed, so did the world. Every twinge of pain came with a movement of the light that only worsened Bilbo’s dizziness. 

“How are you feeling?” Thorin murmured, a blessing for Bilbo’s headache. “What do you need?”

“Need? Well I need the earth to stop moving, firstly,” Bilbo groaned and blearily blinked his eyes. His mouth flooded with saliva. His stomach churned. “Thorin- I need- s-sick-”

He barely gave Thorin enough of a warning to hold him up and turn him over for him to vomit, for the second time, the nothing he had in his stomach. Acid and bile and a horrible empty feeling churned up in his stomach and soured his mouth, and the full-body lurching sent peals of burning throughout his muscles. Like his limbs were overused and like his skin was fried crispy with oil. Gags interspersed in his moans of misery, his nose and eyes ran and he felt a sob of frustration pushing up his throat.

Thorin was right there with him. Bilbo’s hair had gotten long enough to braid and long enough to get into Bilbo’s mouth as he hurled, and Thorin swept it out and gathered BIlbo’s hair in his hand. He braced Bilbo with his other hand splayed on Bilbo’s chest, letting his body curl around him. His whispered warm assurances over his shoulder, soothing him, occasionally bringing the hand up from Bilbo’s chest to dry the tears that streaked down his cheeks.

“Shh, you’re alright. Get it out, just get it out. I have you. Just get it out.”

Bilbo spat out his sick and tried to curl in on himself, feeling both humiliated and excruciatingly hungry. When did he last eat? What had Óin said last night? Where was he? What was going on?

“Where am I?” he croaked, spitting again.

Thorin released the grip on his hair, fussing with it. Rubbing the spot where his marriage braid had been sliced off, and where a large slash now crusted.

“You’re with me and the company. We’re a few leagues from Erebor. You’re not expected to know where we are,” Thorin hushed.

“I don’t remember anything. I can’t-” his breath caught, he pressed his hand back to his head. Thorin guided him out of his hunched position.

“Shh shh shh. Slowly. You’re safe. Breathe. Breathe.” Bilbo was being leaned back against Thorin’s chest again. Thorin gave quiet orders in Khuzdul to one of the Company who lingered behind them. Bilbo only recognized the phrase ‘give me-’. Then he spoke back to Bilbo, “You don’t have to remember anything now. Focus on me.” He said it in a voice so hushed and soft Bilbo felt it like a caress.

Bilbo trembled slightly with a groan, really feeling his body for the first time. His belly felt scraped hollow. He grasped at Thorin’s sleeve. “Thorin. Thorin, I’m so hungry.”

“I know, love. Give me a moment.” Thorin took something from Bofur when he approached, and Bofur rubbed the top of Bilbo’s head before stepping away. “Sit up with me. Here.”

Bilbo’s body moved mindlessly with Thorin propping him up. A bowl was pressed into his hands, warmth seeping up into his scabby fingers and easing the pain in his joints. It twinged something in his memory, looking down at it.

“What is this?” Bilbo muttered absentmindedly.

“Pheasant, bone stock, wild mushrooms, but this is just the broth. Too much at once will make you sick.” Thorin kissed the side of his head. “Do you need help?”

“No, no I-” The little spoon he was given slipped from Bilbo’s fingers, but Thorin caught it before it got dirty. “Oh, darn it.”

“Let me. Please,” Thorin said. All thoughts of resisting drained out of Bilbo’s mind. When Thorin brought a spoonful of bone broth to him, he swallowed it eagerly, though when it hit his stomach a horrible cramp rolled through him. It didn’t stop Bilbo from swallowing another, then another, until the bowl was empty and a nauseous, full-feeling sensation was what replaced the hunger.

Bilbo swallowed. “When did I last eat?” he asked.

Thorin sighed, “I don’t know.”

“A week, then?” Bilbo offered.

“...Never mind that.” Thorin patted him. “We’ll move out soon. I wanted to have you as comfortable as possible before we left.”

The thought of doing another walk to the Lonely Mountain from however-far-they-were away filled Bilbo with dread, and he moaned quietly. In his fragile state it could have brought tears to his eyes if Thorin didn’t immediately assuage him.

“You are not walking. We have a pony for you. As if I would let you walk under your own power after that.” Thorin cupped Bilbo’s chin and turned his head far enough that he could plant a kiss on BIlbo’s lips. “I’d like to clean you up first.”

Now that he mentioned it, Bilbo did feel like he was caked in filth and grime. The taste in his mouth was abominable, there was dirt and blood embedded under his nails, and he overall felt like a piece of muck one would kick off a carriage road.

“That sounds lovely,” breathed Bilbo. 

Thorin couldn’t seem to keep off Bilbo, as he moved his little kisses to Bilbo’s filthy hair and forehead, both of which were tacky with dried sweat.

Bilbo scoffed. “No, stop that, I’m disgusting.”

“You are not.” Thorin squeezed his arms. “But you do smell like an orc camp, and I’d rather you smell as you normally do as soon as possible.”

“You’re so charming.” Bilbo nuzzled against Thorin’s body and relished in the comforting warmth he emitted. Thorin, for his part, did not smell like an orc camp. He smelled of pine, smoke, and iron underneath a musk of pure Thorin. 

“Only for you,” said Thorin. “Are you still nauseous?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Could you stand me lifting you?”

Bilbo grimaced. “Is there any other choice?”

Thorin kissed him a bit firmer. Still chaste, given the double bout of vomiting. “Would you like me to count?”

“Please.”

Bilbo grabbed Thorin’s arm in a tighter grip while Thorin shifted their bodies into the best position to lift.

“One, two, three-” Thorin pushed to his feet and carried Bilbo with him in a bride’s carry. Bilbo wrapped his arms around Thorin’s neck and buried his head into the join of Thorin’s shoulder, hiding how hard he was fighting to not throw up again. He moaned and whimpered in quiet bursts, and each one Thorin soothed just as quietly.

“Fíli, Kíli,” Thorin called while Bilbo tried to settle.

“Yes” and “Uncle” arose. Both boys were at attention at once as though awaiting battle orders. Bilbo hadn’t ever seen them so responsive to Thorin outside of situations of peril.

“Grab Bilbo’s pack and Óin’s spare kit. Meet us down at the stream.” The princes confirmed the orders they were given and Thorin began to walk to the treeline, away from the camp. Bilbo took the opportunity to see the company over Thorin’s shoulder.

Save for a few attending to minor duties, as well as the boys gathering the bags, a majority of the company were gathered in an anxious clump watching Bilbo and Thorin walk away. They all looked unsettled. Slowly, Bilbo raised one of his hands in a sheepish wave, which broke the ice well enough and drew many chuckles and some enthusiastic waves back from Bofur, Balin and Ori.

When they broke the treeline the company disappeared from sight, and Bilbo settled in for the walk. Thorin was singing under his breath, and the tune sounded like a mining song. Bilbo only understood the Khuzdul words for ‘gems’ and ‘gold’.

The creek nearby was a good size. Not as deep as a river, running with cool and clear water, and Thorin stopped just before the shoreline. The trickling of water in the cold fog of the morning was a balm to Bilbo’s soul. He sighed in contentment and snuggled into his husband’s chest, breathing in the smell of the stream and the chittering of the beetles in the woods.

Thorin eased down onto his knees and set Bilbo down. Bilbo stood on his own power, though Thorin insisted he keep himself propped up by using Thorin’s shoulders as a crutch. Bilbo’s legs strained, knees quivering, and without Thorin to warm him he found the air quite cold.

Bilbo chuckled a little, though it came out very disheartened. “I feel so weak.”

“You were poisoned, kurdel . You haven’t eaten in days and were held in captivity. You’re allowed as much weakness as you like,” soothed Thorin as he brushed some of Bilbo’s unruly hair out of his face. His fingers lingered on a stiff chunk of strands that prompted Bilbo to turn his eyes to see it. 

What he saw caused him to pull a face. “How lovely,” he grumbled. There was vomit in his hair. Looking down he saw his foot hair too was matted through with blood, dirt, and some other nasty things. He couldn’t help how his eyes began to water when he saw it.

“Shh,” Thorin took the back of Bilbo’s head and pressed their foreheads together. Bilbo was sure his breath was positively vile, but Thorin had no reaction to it. “I’ll take care of you. And I promise that you are no less lovely now than you were on the day I married you.”

Bilbo gasped a watery laugh as Fíli and Kíli joined them. “So on my wedding day I looked like I was dragged out of an orc camp. Wonderful.”

Where Thorin might have once playfully condemned his sass, it brought a soft smile to his face now. He kissed Bilbo once more, cupping his cheek.

“You will never be parted from me like that again. Not as long as I breathe.” Something bitter and guilty shone in Thorin’s expression. “Bilbo. My heart, I am so sorry. This should have never happened. I failed you.”

Bilbo put his own hand over Thorin’s on his face, shaking his head, but they were swiftly interrupted.

“Oi! Don’t be gross. There are children here,” Fíli called as he and Kíli approached. “Morning, Bilbo. Good to see you up!”

“Wish I could say the same,” replied Bilbo. “It doesn’t feel good.”

Fíli offered a wry smile. “Give it time. First thing’s first.” He dropped a stuffed pack by Thorin’s knees. “A change of clothes. I think your current ones will have to be burned.”

Bilbo didn’t doubt that. There wasn’t a scrap of fabric on him untouched by grease, blood, or other unfortunate things. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to toss some clothing that was soiled beyond saving.

“Here’s some soap.” Kíli gestured with his bag and put it right next to the other, his smaller and less packed. “Bandages for bleeding, creams and whatnot. How are you feeling?”

“I was worse yesterday,” said Bilbo.

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

Bilbo looked at Kíli and his heart cracked at the look on his face. He seemed so distraught, looking as if he were waiting for Bilbo to be toppled by a stiff breeze.

Bilbo smiled piteously. “Oh, don't look at me like that. Come here.”

“I’m not looking at you like-”

“Kíli, get over here and let me hold you.” Bilbo released Thorin to open his arms in invitation. Thorin’s hand on him kept him steady. “You too, Fíli. Come here boys.”

Neither of them hesitated, dropping to their knees like their uncle and sandwiching Bilbo in a hug. Despite the burning pain that erupted in his muscles and back Bilbo knitted both of his hands in both of their hair and pulled them close. It was hard to be more content than this; his husband at his side, his boys in his arms, the ripple of the brook weaving between them in the silence. If only the stench of orc weren’t so permeant. 

Suddenly, Kíli started to tremble, and Bilbo heard hastily-swallowed sniffs in his ear. Bilbo cooed and stroked Kíli’s hair.

“Oh, sweet lad. I’m okay. You saved me. I’m all safe and sound here. There, there, I’m alright, no need for tears,” he hushed.

“You looked- I thought you-” Kíli got out between breaths. Bilbo shushed him again.

“Shh shh shh. I know lad. But I’m alright. Everything’s alright,” said Bilbo. “How about you, Fíli? Are you okay?”

Fíli nodded, though he seemed a little teary as well. When he pulled away he said, “But you can’t do that again. I don’t think Uncle’s heart could take it.”

Thorin scoffed, Bilbo giggled.

“I’ll certainly be taking it off my schedule for the next time we encounter those foul creatures.” He nudged Kíli off of him with a loving push, but kissed him on the forehead as he did. “At least I know if it happens again, I’ve got two boys who will move heaven and earth to burgle me right out from their foetid little noses, don’t I?”

“Of course,” said Fíli. As Kíli parted from Bilbo he pressed their foreheads together, then stood.

“We’ll be with the others gathering camp,” Kíli said as he scrubbed the redness from his eyes and cheeks. He hadn’t been fully crying, but it was a near thing. “Óin says to take it slow and call for help if need be. See you soon, Mister Boggins.”

With that they took their leave, Fíli slinging his arm over Kíli’s shoulder and disappearing shortly thereafter into the trees.

“Those boys,” sighed Bilbo. “Why did it have to be them that found me?”

“That is my fault,” Thorin said. “We didn’t know what state you would be in when we found you, and feared you would fight. I thought it would be best if you had someone you could recognize easily. I was needed in the ambush, and the boys volunteered at once. They were the only ones more desperate than me to bring you back.”

Thorin stood and shucked his coat. He turned on Bilbo and said in a gentle voice, “I’m going to undress you and help you bathe. Fíli’s right, we will have to burn these clothes.”

If Bilbo wasn’t already certain that the water was going to be frigid cold and make it hurt more to move than it already did, he might have protested much more. Shame lit up Bilbo’s cheeks at his own helplessness. When Thorin finished stripping his top layers he was left in his undergarments and trousers, barefoot on the damp stone, and then reached out to begin unbuttoning Bilbo’s top.

Bilbo tried to help by going up from the bottom but found his hands were too stiff and shook too much for fine detail work. Getting even a single button undone was a hopeless task.

Thorin took Bilbo’s tremulous little fingers in his warm hands.

“Amrâlimê , let me serve you this once. Please.” Then he brought up Bilbo’s fingers and kissed the tips of them. “It would be better for you to move as little as possible.”

“Hmph. Is that what Óin said?” Bilbo asked him as he let Thorin guide the shirt off his shoulders and arms.

“It is,” said Thorin, simply. “And I trust my cousin with your life. I wouldn’t even have you on a pony if I could help it. Trousers now, move your legs.”

Bilbo balanced on Thorin’s shoulders as Thorin undid his trousers and loosened them so they fell to his ankles and Bilbo could step out of them. At last went his undershirt and smallclothes, all pieces ruined and filthy, and soon Bilbo was standing nude.

Thorin’s eyes trailed down Bilbo’s torso and filled with emotion. Bilbo almost didn’t dare look down, but he knew he would have to eventually. It was better to just get it over with. ‘Rip out the bur’ so to speak.

His body was a menagerie of wounds; scabbed gashes, scrapes, bruises in many colors. There were burns scattered on the skin of his arms down to the backs of his hands. His legs were like the soft apples at the bottom of the basket with how bruised they were, and most of his skin was itchy with dried blood. A few long marks wrapped around his sides from his back, and he could only wonder what his back looked like. 

Hadn’t Ori said he’d been whipped?

Bilbo caught an eyeful of his ragged shirt and his heart dropped at how saturated it was with brown blood and how many gashes were slashed in the fabric. It was amazing that the thing was still able to hang on his shoulders.

“Don’t look,” Thorin instructed, and Bilbo felt compelled to obey. He met Thorin’s eyes instead.

Thorin made short work of the rest of his clothes and led Bilbo to the edge of the flat rock they stood on, bidding him to sit down. Slowly.

“Careful! Careful,” Thorin insisted as Bilbo moved too fast for his liking. Perhaps it was indeed too fast, for it made his legs feel like hot iron. Thorin helped him down the rest of the way, and Bilbo plopped to the ground with a pained sound.

When his feet hit the water he recoiled at the shock of cold. He gasped in stutters and Thorin supported him so he wouldn’t fall backwards.

“Can you do it?” Thorin asked, seriously. No doubt he would bathe Bilbo by hand if Bilbo asked.

Bilbo nodded. He had to catch his breath before he responded, “Yes.”

“We’ll go slowly.”

Thorin dug around in Óin’s bag while Bilbo adjusted to the water and returned with a lump of off-white soap and a beard comb. He waded into the stream (Bilbo watched the goose pimples erect across his chest and belly with interest) and it turned out to be deeper than Bilbo initially thought. The water made it up to Thorin’s chest. Bilbo certainly wouldn’t be able to bathe in it without help.

Taking the soap, Thorin lifted one of Bilbo’s feet by the heel. The hair on top of it was a shameful wreck - if Bilbo had seen it on a dog he’d have had it shorn off. Thorin didn’t so much as balk. He ran the soap over the top of his feet up his ankles and calves and worked up a thick lather on his skin. He worked the lather into Bilbo’s foot hair with deft fingers and blood and filth washed off in brown suds, and with it came every drop of tension in Bilbo’s back and neck. As Thorin worked his fingers through Bilbo’s hair his thumbs massaged the bottom of his foot, the pressure sweet and painless through the thick, leathery skin. Old pains gave way beneath his loving touch, warmth blushing up Bilbo’s calf despite the water’s chill.

Thorin had his comb between his teeth, and took it out to run it through the clean, knotted hair. He took care not to break so much as a single strand as he coaxed the hair to a smooth finish. All the while Bilbo moaned under his breath at the simple pleasure of it all. Though his back was beginning to ache and his thighs to burn he didn’t dare move lest he interrupt the quiet peace that Thorin had drawn the two of them into. When his lower leg was as clean as it had ever been, Thorin laid a kiss on the top of his foot and moved on to the other.

Bilbo was eventually laying on his back (never minding the sting that the pressure brought) and nearly asleep as Thorn washed his feet. Soap was laved between his toes and up to the backs of his knees, washing away days and days of dirt from the small cracks in his sole and paying it a loving amount of attention.

He took Bilbo’s hands and pulled him up to sit, then compelled him to let Thorin lower him ever so slowly into the water. The chill stung Bilbo’s open wounds, but that wasn’t enough to keep Bilbo from groaning aloud at the feeling of thick grime sloughing off of his skin.

“Stay close to me so I can keep you up. Just close your eyes and let me do the work. I’ll be holding you the whole time,” said Thorin.

It was an open secret that Bilbo, and Hobbits in general, could not swim. But that fear didn’t even touch Bilbo’s mind while he was in that water. Not a piece of him believed that he was in danger as long as his favorite dwarf was within reach.

Thorin started with shoulders and worked his way down Bilbo’s body with the dwindling lump of soap. Under his hands the cakes of mud, muck, blood, and sweat were wiped away leaving nothing but clean and tender skin. They were pressed together at the hip, and Bilbo delighted at the feel of their bodies’ warmth mingling. Bilbo was exhausted and ill, covered in weeping wounds, so anything hotter than this single touch was more than Bilbo could handle. But this intimacy, which he could share with Thorin and Thorin alone, was heady. His body must have been starved for a gentle hand.

Bilbo breathed, “I love you.”

Thorin hummed. “And your name is etched into every facet of my heart.”

“No,” Bilbo groaned. “My head hurts. I can’t one-up you like this.”

“You’re right.” Thorin dipped down and kissed him. “All you can do is sit there and let me love you. May I have the honor of washing your hair?”

Every time they’ve ever bathed together, Thorin asked that same question. And while Bilbo knew in his heart of hearts that he would never refuse him, Thorin remained steadfast that it was a privilege he would always ask for first. It gave Bilbo fluttery insides even if he didn’t fully understand the reasoning for it.

“You always may,” Bilbo replied. Thorin smiled brilliantly and turned Bilbo in the water so that they were back-to-front.

Thorin combed his fingers through Bilbo’s curly hair, dampening it with water and pulling fresh suds through it. However knotted his foot hair was, it was nothing against the sheep's wool Thorin was pulling through now. The roots were greasy and his curls were limp and ill-looking. But Thorin's touch was just as gentle as it was before.

He worked out the vomit first and foremost, then the blood. Anything that had crusted was given special attention and extra combing. The trail of the comb through his fine hair was hypnotic, as was the way Thorin brushed stray curls behind his ears and using caution when working at knots near the tips of them. He was as focused as a dwarf at his craft. His hands were so heavy, his touch so warm, that Bilbo began to doze (even knowing how early in the morning it still was, and how little he’d been awake). He didn’t even notice when Thorin tipped them both back to dip his hair in the water to rinse out the first wash.

Perhaps the only hobbit to ever fall asleep and then wake up in water, Bilbo regained his awareness without knowing when he’d even lost it. He and Thorin were now propped against the stone on the bank while Thorin ran his hands through the strands of Bilbo’s hair. The movements were so familiar and practiced that Bilbo knew at once what it was: Thorin was reweaving their marriage braid right behind the spot where the old one had been shorn, and humming an old Shire song as he did. One that Bilbo had taught him. 

When Thorin finished the braid, Bilbo was on the verge of overwhelmed tears.

“Bunnanunê,” Thorin uttered tenderly. He turned Bilbo around and thumbed away the tears from Bilbo’s face. “Why the tears now?”

That pulled a full-blown sob out of him. “I don’t know,” he croaked. “I love you so much.”

“Oh, ghivashel,” Thorin sighed. “Come here.”

Thorin wrapped him up tight in his arms and held Bilbo to his chest. Bilbo sobbed into his neck, feeling deep, unfamiliar emotions pour out of him in every breath. Tension, terror, relief, exhaustion, all of it.

And for a while, Bilbo just let himself be held.