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Thorin Oakenshield had not left the room of gold. He had been there for days, not leaving to sleep, to eat. And Bilbo Baggins was worried.
It surely wasn't the norm, even for such a treasure-loving race. All the others avoided the room when not searching for the Arkenstone. Though, Bilbo, suspected, that had much to do with Thorin's behavior towards them. More than often he would shout at them in a fury or snarl. All because they couldn't find the stone, the stone to mark his birthright.
The stone Bilbo had secreted on his person.
He was, quite literally, stuck between a rock and a hard place. The hard place being Thorin Oakenshield. Bilbo felt he should not give Thorin the stone. Even though it belonged to the dwarf king, even though it might quell the tantrums.
Bilbo feared that even with the possession of the stone, the darkness that seemed to have swallowed Thorin might not yield.
With all this in mind, Bilbo was, extremely, worried.
Another person in such a conundrum might have simply left. There was nothing to prevent Bilbo taking his leave and returning to Shire. He had completed his mission. The dragon was dead. The dwarves now held Erebor.
The remaining conflict was Thorin. And while it was not particularly Bilbo's business, being not kin nor even the same race, he cared about Thorin. Cared too much to simply leave.
That being decided, Bilbo who was at most times practical (aside from undertaking an "adventure"), set his mind to easing the situation in the most practical manner. Arkenstone aside, the problem lay with Thorin's refusal to leave a certain room.
Any attempt to summon him to dinner was met with a glare or a grunt or "Away with you now" in the tone of impending thunder. Food that was brought to him was accepted with sullen air, as though such nourishment was no substitute for what he truly craved.
Still he ate, proof being an empty plate that was collected and filled once more (in that way they stopped him starving). But a bed was not easily procured as food. Dwarf beds were carved from stone. Impossible to carry and seemed to Bilbo, just as painful as sleeping on jagged pieces of coin and jewels. Though from the dark shadows under Thorin's eyes he suspected he spent the whole night pacing listlessly as he did in the day.
Missing sleep was unheard of among hobbits. A comfy bed held almost as much priority as a well-stocked ladder. A good nap after a hearty meal were the two best combinations in life.
And since Thorin did not sleep, Bilbo found he could not sleep. For he lay awake and worried about the fact Thorin did not sleep.
It was there, lying in the dark with eyes wide open that an idea came to Bilbo.
Valerian.
Valerian could put a restless man (dwarf) to sleep.
He need only collect some (he had seen some growing on the mountain), mix it into a tea. A tea he could give to Thorin to drink.
Then the dwarf King would sleep. And so would Bilbo.
The next day, while the others had resumed searching for the Arkenstone, Bilbo searched for Valerian.
His memory was proven correct for he soon found a small clump that would serve his purpose well.
That evening he went to the room of gold, a steaming cup of tea in his hands.
Thorin was standing, hands clasped behind his back, the floor gleaming underneath him like a burning sun.
The sight had marveled Bilbo once. Such riches! But slowly he had come to loath it, the way the rubies shone like dragon scales, the lingering smell of smoke. The way the harsh golden light made him feel cold, so very cold.
The way Thorin's face had become so waxen and pale. As though the room had eaten away at all his vitality.
Eaten everything except his desire for the stone, which he looked for even now, eyes roving from coin to jewel, jewel to coin. Coin, coin, jewel, coin...
He didn't noticed Bilbo, who had to cough, nervously, for attention.
Thorin's head snapped up.
For a moment Bilbo thought (hoped) he might smile.
But the look on the King's face was mostly expressionless.
"Mr. Baggins," he said, "I feared you had taken leave of us."
He looked to the ground, moved some coins with his boot.
Bilbo felt the weight of the Arkenstone press against him. Suddenly he feared the stone might call to Thorin, announce its true location.
The teacup shook in his hands as Thorin glanced up,
"Well," he said, "Speak. Or shall you not give me an excuse for your absence."
"Oh," Bilbo stuttered, "I was, er... cleaning."
A thick eyebrow tilted upwards,
"Cleaning?"
"Yes, well, naturally there's a lot of dust that's built up over the years," Bilbo said, then with a nervous chuckle, "And you know what they say about a clean house?"
Thorin's face lacked any trace of amusement.
"What do they say Master Hobbit?"
Bilbo wilted.
"That it's... nice," he answered weakly, "I mean, it's certainly better than a dirty house isn't it?"
"Aye," Thorin grunted.
Then his mouth twitched ever so slightly.
"I daresay it will take you quite some time. This place is far larger than your hobbit hole."
The faintest hint of a smile had started to form. It buoyed Bilbo's spirits.
"I brought you some tea. Chamomile."
Thorin wrinkled his nose,
"Dori persuaded me to drink chamomile once."
"Oh but this is an old family recipe," Bilbo said, "Please, you must try it."
The last words sounded suspiciously pleading to his ears. He tried not to look guilty as Thorin moved closer. His eyes studied the contents of the cup.
"An old family recipe?" he repeated.
"On the Took side," said Bilbo.
Please take it, he thought, and was very surprised when Thorin appeared to concede,
"Very well."
He moved to take the cup, calloused fingers brushing against Bilbo's own.
He brought the cup to his lips, sniffed, then took an experimental sip.
"It's bitter," he said.
That seemed to be a pleasing thing to him, for he drank the rest as Bilbo watched in relief.
"I thank you Mr. Baggins," Thorin said afterwards, passing him the empty cup.
Bilbo gave a somewhat awkward bow. It seemed the appropriate way to accept a King's gratitude. Hobbits, after all, were sticklers for etiquette. It shouldn't matter that this king had once embraced him like a brother, like a...
The hobbit interrupted his own train of thought.
"Not a problem," he said, "I should, get back to cleaning."
He made to leave.
"Wait," he heard Thorin say, and he turned back.
He was struck by the look in Thorin's eyes, a certain melancholy that within a second was gone, leaving Bilbo to wonder if he'd imagined it. A trick of the light perhaps.
Thorin now merely looked like his usual serious self.
"You are entitled to a share of these riches, Mr. Baggins," he said, in a manner most business-like, "That was our agreement. Yet you have not staked your claim."
"To be honest I'd quite forgotten about it," Bilbo answered.
Thorin shook his head,
"How curious you hobbits are," he said, "To think of cleaning over jewels."
His voice held a much welcome trace of levity.
"We are a little different to dwarfs I suppose," Bilbo said with a light smile.
"But no less resourceful," Thorin said, "As you have demonstrated. I do not think I would stand here now if not for your aid."
Bilbo's cheeks suddenly felt hot.
"You flatter me."
"It is not my nature to flatter," Thorin said, a tad harshly, "I merely state what is true in my eyes."
"Yes," Bilbo agreed quickly to cool any offence, "I am humbled you think of me in such a way."
A silence fell upon the two of them. A silence that felt unbearably tense, as though they were still hiding from Orcs.
But there were no Orcs here. Only Bilbo and the Dwarf-King, who stared at him with those intense blue eyes. So intense that Bilbo found himself holding his breath, until Thorin looked away.
He started reaching into his coat.
"I thought you might include this in your share."
He brought forth a magnificent emerald ring.
It twinkled in the light, an object of sudden and immense confusion.
A ring?
Was this an ordinary gift among dwarves?
It wasn't common for hobbits to wear rings. By that Bilbo meant ordinary rings, unlike the one he had in his pocket. He doubted the one Thorin held, though it was three times larger, had the same power.
How he wished it was a piece of silverware. A silver spoon with an emerald handle. That he would have readily accepted, without consternation, imagining Lobelia's jealousy.
But this...
He didn't know how to feel about this.
"Do you not like it?"
The frown on Thorin's face changed his confusion to panic.
"No, it's lovely," he spluttered, "But I don't think it will fit me."
The fingers of a Dwarf were different to those of a hobbit. Bilbo was secretly grateful of that.
"Not presently," Thorin said, "Even the fingers of my sister-kin are not as slender as yours..."
A ladies ring, Bilbo thought with distaste.
Thorin was trying to give him a ladies ring.
"The size of a ring can be changed," Thorin went on, "Bofur is skilled at such delicate work. Give me your hand."
"What?" Bilbo drew back.
"Your hand, Mr. Baggins," Thorin repeated, then reached for it himself.
Bilbo tried to evade him.
"I told you it won't fit!"
"Stop behaving so foolishly," Thorin barked and the tone of his voice was enough to make Bilbo still.
He allowed Thorin to take his hand. The dwarf's power was in his hands. Bilbo expected his grip would be painful. But while firm, there was a certain gentleness in Thorin's touch, something surprising and agreeable, as he slid the ring on Bilbo's finger.
As expected it fit rather loosely. But there was something pretty about it, the contrast of the green against skin, his and Thorin's both, for the Dwarf had yet to let go.
"It suits you well," said he.
"Yes," Bilbo said, though he was concentrating more on their hands.
It was starting to feel a little improper, the lingering press. The ring was on his finger now so why did Thorin not release him. There was no reason, was there?
"Bilbo."
The hobbit glanced up in surprise. He was quite sure Thorin had never called by his name before. Always Mr. Baggins or Burglar or Halfling.
Why he used it now, Thorin did not say.
"It is a common misconception that my kind horde gold and precious stones solely out of greed. To us, everything has meaning. The Arkenstone is the symbol of leadership..."
Mention of the stone brought misery to his face. Once again Bilbo felt the weight of the Arkenstone press against him.
"And emeralds?" he said, desperate to distract them both.
"Loyalty," Thorin said, and his mood seemed to lighten, "Throughout our journey you have given me yours. Now you have mine."
Bilbo barely had time to register the significance of those words. For the hand that clutched his unexpectedly lifted and came to rest upon his cheek.
The hobbit panicked.
There was always fear when it came to the unknown. He had faced many things. Trolls, spiders, the nasty creature called Gollum. But none of these could have prepared him for this moment. Thorin Oakenshield cupping his cheek and Bilbo horribly unsure of what would come next.
Unsure what he wanted to come next.
"Thorin," he grasped for some control, "I…"
I should leave, he could say, and that would be the end of it.
But then he would never find out, and the Tookish side of him was curious.
So he stayed, with his heart beating wildly in his chest like a bird.
For Thorin's gaze, when he dared look up to meet it was dark and hungry.
He might kiss me, he thought, then what shall I do?
But then Thorin suddenly yawned. Yawned of all things.
And the intensity of the situation rapidly crumbled.
The hand cupping his cheek moved to cover its owner's mouth.
"Excuse me," Thorin said, "I'm suddenly quite tired."
The Valerian, Bilbo thought miserably.
He couldn't quite grasp why he felt so disappointed. He had wanted the herb to work after all.
Thorin looked increasingly on the verge of sleep.
"Let me take you to bed," Bilbo offered, then spluttered, "I mean, a bed you can sleep in."
Bilbo cursed himself. Thorin was regarding him with faint amusement.
"There is no need Mr. Baggins," he said, "I will sleep here."
"On a mountain of coins?" Bilbo said uneasily, "Surely that would not be comfortable."
"We have slept on far worse these past few months."
"But now we are in Erebor. With plenty of beds to spare. There is no need for you to discomfort yourself."
He reached for Thorin's arm. The dwarf drew back.
"Confounded creature! Leave me be!"
The words were like a sharp slap in the face and Bilbo stumbled back fearfully. It was the gold sickness that made Thorin act so, gold sickness that made him so unpredictable. Bilbo worried what would come next.
But Thorin had turned his back and sat down amongst the riches.
Though he was smaller and a much different shape, Bilbo couldn't help but compare him to Smaug lying possessively in his treasure trove.
The dragon's voice rang tauntingly in his ear.
Bilbo felt a surge of helplessness. For there seemed no hope of shaking Thorin from this place.
Sadly he turned and left the King sitting on his gold.
He returned to the room he'd taken as his quarters. Sat upon the uncomfortable stone edge of his bed, hands in his lap. If his hands had not been clenched so stressfully while he'd walked, Thorin's ring might have fallen from his finger. As it was it still hung precariously on his finger.
Bilbo studied it miserably.
Loyalty, Thorin has said. What good was loyalty against the throes of an evil sickness?
He should throw it away, the useless gift. But as he held it, bundled in his fist, he found he didn't have the strength.
Thorin had given it to him. He just couldn't cast it away.
He slipped the ring inside his pocket and clutched his head in his hands.
"You're a fool of a hobbit Bilbo," he whispered to himself.
A knock on his door made him jump.
"Oh leave me alone," he hissed under his breath.
All the same he rose, for the knocking did not cease.
"Balin?" he guessed as he went to answer it, "Bofur?"
But it was neither Balin nor Bofur. Nor any dwarf he expected to see.
For it was the King standing outside his door.
"Thorin," he gasped, "What are you doing here?"
The Dwarf-King did not answer. One hand seized Bilbo's collar, dragged him forward. And bending down slightly, he kissed him. Kissed him hard and fierce and muffled Bilbo's shriek of surprise. All that came from his mouth once Thorin released him was a belated squeak.
Not a noise of complaint, no, for he enjoyed the kiss however shocking. And he wouldn't have minded being kissed again although he was confused, quite confused and flustered and…
"Take me to your bed," Thorin said in a low voice.
Bilbo almost fainted like he had back in his hobbit-hole.
"Oh," he stammered, "This – this is all very sudden. I…"
"Quickly," Thorin growled, "Or I shall fall asleep on your floor."
Then he smiled. Bilbo's racing heart slowed a little, though by no means to normal pace, for it was still an unusual request.
But he couldn't say no, for fear Thorin would return to the room of gold.
So he moved aside for Thorin to pass.
He gave a small squeak as Thorin grabbed him in passing. The Dwarf dragged him to the bed, lifted him onto it as though he weighed nothing, and Bilbo barely had time to do anything else but move a little to the right as Thorin hoisted himself onto the bed beside him. One arm laced over Bilbo's side and there he was, effectively stuck, debating the impropriety of it inside his head.
"Good night Bilbo."
Bilbo turned his head to fully see Thorin's face. His eyes were closed and his expression was peaceful.
The hobbit's resistance crumbled then and there.
"Good night Thorin," he said, and soon he was listening to the other's snores.
Bilbo Baggins lay awake, an arm across his chest and the ghost of a kiss on his lips, hoping things would now work out for the better.
Slowly, slowly he drifted off to sleep.