Chapter 15: Tears are Gems of the Soul
Hobbits have the most unusual ability- when they cry, their single tear crystallizes into a colored gem... Bilbo Baggins hasn't felt emotion since the death of his parents decades ago, but being dragged on the quest and thrust into close contact with thirteen dwarves has awakened his emotions with a vengeance. Can he keep a hobbit's most guarded secret from the outsiders he's befriending, and what in the world does he do about the one he may be falling in love with? He really isn't equipped to handle this anymore! Eventual Thorin/Bilbo, but very slow build.
Bilbo awoke in the dark with a gasp and for a moment couldn’t recall where he was. Darkness marbled in his vision, and then clarified into flickering shadows cast by a single candle’s flame as a tall shape crouched by his cot. Still held by dreams and startled, Bilbo pushed over to move away from his unexpected guest and worried why Thorin, ever more alert than he, hadn’t already awoken.
“Peace, Bilbo, it is only I,” spoke the form and it moved the candle so that he could easily see a very familiar face. Bilbo's arms collapsed in relief and he dropped back to the cot.
“Gandalf, you gave me a start!” he chided. In the three days since he had awakened, their tent had not lacked for company at all. Either Óin was poking about himself or Thorin, much to their mutual displeasure, or a continuous stream of friends and visitors stopped in. This time, though, Bilbo took the lack of privacy with a better humor and simply put up with the well-intentioned chaperoning even if he intended to put a stop to it in the near future.
A shuffle from the next cot drew their attention, and Bilbo saw Gandalf lean over, out of the candlelight. Thorin’s heavy and regular breathing resumed, not quite a snore, from where his knee forced him to sleep on his back.
The wizard’s eyes met his once again and Bilbo silently allowed the hand which ghosted over his head to spread warmth through his body. “You’re both healing well,” Gandalf stated with a small smile of relief. “Though I shouldn’t be surprised- Master Óin is particularly attentive to his patients and possesses no small talent in the healing arts.”
Bilbo smiled at the canny wizard. “What did you just do, my friend?”
Caught out, Gandalf sputtered. “Well I…” he recovered his equilibrium and gifted Bilbo with a reproving look which would have been formidable were it not for the crinkles around his eyes which told tale of a smile which was being held back. “I simply felt the state of your wellbeing,” he hedged, and Bilbo gave him a look. “And perhaps I supplemented your healing energy with a small bit of my own,” the wizard admitted, though he defended, “I have more than enough to spare, and Erebor will recover faster with her two heroes back on their feet rather than abed in a healing tent!”
“I am no hero,” Bilbo demurred, though he did stifle a laugh at Gandalf's deliberately overblown theatrics.
A time-worn hand came up to rest on his cheek. “My friend, the actions which you took to save your friends from themselves were known to the camps of men and elves. After the battle, Dáin’s army mixed with them and learned of the tale for themselves; though dwarves share a love of gold, none quite understood why the men from Lake-Town were originally denied their just petition for reparations. That it escalated to an open siege, with no hoarded provisions in the mountain and against a far superior force, could only be the work of madness, they decided.”
Bilbo frowned as he crossed his arms under the pillow to make his head and neck more comfortable and shifted when an injudicious movement pulled a bit at the stitches in his calf. Bothersome things, wouldn’t even allow him to sleep on his side, for the skin pulled. He shook away his aggravation. “But I failed, and I’m a thief! Someone hasn’t told them the entire story if they believe that I’m a hero.” Bilbo scoffed at the very notion. His actions, though he’d meant well, had been far from honorable.
“You took great personal risk to try and save your friends from a slow death by starvation,” Gandalf firmly overrode, “and the Arkenstone was more ‘borrowed’ than ‘stolen’ at the time, as you had every intention of it being returned to the mountain.”
Laughter interrupted Gandalf's speech. “Borrowed? I ‘borrowed’ the Arkenstone? Gandalf, you have a gift for storytelling! I no more borrowed that cursed stone than you borrowed my ring,” Bilbo managed to gasp out between chuckles.
Gandalf went very still. “You know about the ring?” he asked carefully.
“Well, yes, of course! Once everyone calmed down about my waking up, Thorin and Nori explained what happened and that it was some kind of evil artifact. Rather made my skin crawl, if you want to know. But the strangest thing about it was that some part of me still wished to run after you and claim my ring back. It was so very odd,” Bilbo confessed with confusion. When he’d been told the fate of his ring, that it was to be destroyed, something inside of him had wanted him to panic and scream at everyone. Had wanted him to hunt the wizards and punish them for taking it from him, but that odd suggestion had brought him up short. He didn’t care about gold, other than to note in passing when an object was pretty, and his conscious mind pulled at that foreign instinct like restless fingers pulled at a raveling thread in a sweater.
Old eyes studied him shrewdly and Bilbo fought against squirming. “Do you yearn for that ring still, Bilbo?”
“No. Well, not really. Only sometimes, when it’s quiet and I wish to look at it again,” Bilbo stammered as he confessed. He knew that he shouldn’t desire his ring, but a part of him wished to hold it safely in his hands once again. “Thorin explained that it was not healthy for me to keep my ring, that it was similar to one which his father possessed and which lead him to make ill-fated decisions, but I don’t understand how- it’s just a magic ring; it only made me invisible!” Bilbo ranted, and only as he finished speaking did he realize just how loud his voice had become. He flinched and quickly looked over to the dim lump of Thorin’s cot, but only heard even breathing coming from his friend.
Chuckles brought his eyes back to Gandalf. “He will not awaken until morning no matter how loudly you wish to shout, my dear Bilbo, though you need not worry about the ring for very much longer. By sunset today it will be destroyed and beyond the reach of any who desire to possess it.” Gandalf ignored Bilbo's wordless moan, which was quite well as it was entirely unintentional and slipped out without his conscious thought. “The ring which Thorin told you about, did you know its story?”
In the way that Gandalf sat back and folded his hands, Bilbo sensed that he was to receive a story rather than a lecture, and so settled himself more comfortably on the cot. In that way they spent the wee morning hours ensconced in sweeping tales of evil, conquest, betrayal, and rings of power. By the time that they finished, the lone candle had burned down to a bare nub and Bilbo's blinks were more long pauses before his eyes opened again. During one such pause, he felt a whiskery kiss pressed to his temple and fell deeply asleep as familiar warm energy spread from the spot.
When next he woke, it was a slow luxurious surfacing to a familiar sound and a puddle of drool soaked into the pillow under his mouth. Bilbo wiped his cheek and surreptitiously turned the pillow over as he carefully stretched. The familiar sound stopped, and he finally blinked his eyes open to find Thorin regarding him with a fond smile.
“You’ve slept into midmorning; did you sleep well last night?” Thorin asked as he set aside a handful of parchment scraps he’d been looking through. It was the rustle of this parchment, as familiar to Bilbo as the scent of his own inks, which had drawn him out of sleep.
“Gandalf woke me, early this morning I suppose, or could have been late last night, but after that I slept very well, thank you for asking. How did you sleep?” Politeness ingrained, Bilbo couldn’t help but ask even as he reached across to lace fingers together with Thorin in a caress which they shared in the few moments they found themselves alone.
Thorin grimaced ruefully. “I slept deeper than I have in years, though I’m told it was due to that wizard’s meddling.” Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh at the face Thorin made, and the dwarf waited gracefully for his mirth to die down. “Have you noticed anything… unusual about your wound today?”
“I hadn’t, but…” Bilbo carefully flexed his leg, expecting a sharp pull of pain from healing tissues and stitches, but received only a dull ache deep in the muscle in response. “Oh, drat that wizard!” Bilbo fussed fondly as he realized that his friend must have meddled with his healing in the night as well.
Fingers squeezed his as Thorin chuckled. “Óin was rather flabbergasted when he changed the dressing to find that my knee had suddenly advanced its healing overnight, by just shy of a fortnight if he figures correctly.” He waved a handful of reports from his lap, “The lack of pain which even breathing caused has done much for my concentration, though their contents are still dreadfully dull.”
Bilbo laughed gaily, both from the joke and his joy in seeing Thorin find his humor. He took a daring chance and released Thorin’s hand to sit up properly on the cot for the very first time, and was nearly giddy when he only needed to place his calf on a pillow to keep the stiffened tendons from pulling too much. “You have no idea how relieved my spine is,” Bilbo exhaled as he leaned back into the pillow which had once been stuffed under his belly to help keep him partially on his side. He nearly whimpered as the muscles in his back slowly released their knots. Oh, he was not a belly-sleeper, not one little bit!
He caught Thorin’s odd look and hastened to explain. “I turn into one giant knot if I sleep on my stomach, which I’ve been doing nothing but, and it feels so good to lie down properly!”
Thorin looked down and opened his mouth a few times before he met Bilbo's eyes. “Would you, would you like a massage later? If that’s not too forward to ask,” he hastened to amend.
Bilbo's heart raced at the thought, and he was faintly shocked to feel his palms go a bit damp. “I believe that would feel wonderful.” The words came out a bit breathy, but Thorin didn’t appear to notice as he gifted Bilbo with a small but genuine smile and Bilbo realized that he truly hadn’t seen the dwarf smile so freely, except after that horrific battle. He was about to comment on the effect those smiles had on Thorin’s entire face, but was interrupted by Dori bustling through the tent’s door with a loaded food tray leading his way.
“Glad to see you awake and feeling much improved, Bilbo! I bet that you’re ready for breakfast,” Dori cheerily called out as he deftly used his foot to scoot over a crate to serve as table for the tray. He swiftly piled a plate high with food, still steaming fragrantly, and pressed it into Bilbo's eager hands. “I believe you can feed yourself this morning, eh?” Bilbo granted him a wide grin before he proceeded to stuff himself at a pace which only barely remained polite. Dori chuckled a bit at his enthusiasm and poured a cup of tea so that it could cool to a palatable temperature while it waited. “As for you,” Dori turned a stern face to Thorin and passed the surprised dwarf a similarly filled plate, “Óin wants you to eat again, as such rapid healing could only have taxed your body’s resources and he’ll not have you growing ill when you’re meant to be healing.”
Bilbo paused in his eating to watch Thorin attempt to stare down Dori, only to silently admit defeat and pick up his fork after the other remained unmoved. Dori simply nodded and poured another cup of tea.
“I don’t expect that I need to advise you, of all people, to eat as much as you possibly can, do I?”
“I will vow, on my honor as a hobbit, to do my best to eat everything put before me,” Bilbo cheeked back to Dori’s teasing question as he handed back his empty plate. He hadn’t eaten that fast since he was a tween, but his belly was desperately empty, and that could never be tolerated! He accepted a second helping and started in with gusto.
Dwalin shuffled into the tent, head down, and drew attention without a word as he handed another stack of parchment to Thorin and hurriedly turned to rush back out.
“Hold! Dwalin, come back here,” Thorin was frowning in confusion and Bilbo had slowed his eating to reconsider what he thought he’d seen.
Dwalin’s shoulders reflexively hunched before he straightened fully and turned about to Thorin’s order.
Forks plinked down against warped metal camp plates as the dwarf’s face, and the cuts and bruises on it, were clearly revealed. “Those marks didn’t come from the battle, they’re far too fresh and still red,” Thorin mused with an unhappy turn to his lips. Dwalin remained silent and stared straight ahead. The two waited each other out until Dori huffed an inelegant snort of disdain.
“Oh, the big idiot suggested that Dáin carve up some of his dead boars rather than waste days dragging them afield and cremating them. Said that at least that way they can have, in the words of men, ‘a pig roast’ to provide the camps with food. Dáin was understandably not amused and made sure to show Dwalin his displeasure.” Dori didn’t bother to look up from fixing his tea as he explained and missed seeing Dwalin’s head flush a dull red, but Bilbo witnessed it.
Thorin’s eyebrows climbed in surprise. “You wanted to cook and eat Dáin’s boars? Those overgrown pigs that he holds sacred and babies as if they’re his own children? Have you lost your mind, Dwalin?!”
Truly, he couldn’t help himself. “Err, what’s the difference between cooking and cremating?” Bilbo had to ask. He knew the culinary difference, as one was edible and the other was ash, but it sounded as if the dwarves had a different outlook on the end product.
“He claims that cremating them sets their spirits free,” Thorin turned to explain, and then made a wry face. “I expect it’s also to keep his own people from having a ‘pig roast’ as much as it is from any wish for the boars’ spirits.” They shared a humor-filled look before he turned a very disappointed face towards Dwalin. “You, however, had no justification in suggesting anything of the sort to him as you’ve sat with me through many evenings when we’ve both had to suffer through listening to his bragging about their prowess or moaning when one of them caught a sniffle. You knew what you were going to start when you opened your mouth, old friend, and you’ve earned a week at the latrines. Go see Bifur for a shovel.” Thorin dismissed the thoroughly disgusted-looking Dwalin and turned back to his snack.
In no time both plates were cleaned and Dori took himself back out of the tent with the much lighter tray. As he was leaving, Ori darted in around his brother with what looked like the ease of long practice.
“Oh, you’re both awake!” he greeted with a wide smile.
“Hello Ori, how has your morning been?” Bilbo asked, manners ever-present despite his new and very keen wish to receive a massage from Thorin.
Ori’s smile brightened and his slightly still dusty, mitten-covered hands wrung together with restrained energy. “We’ve partially cleared the library!” He nearly shouted, and both Bilbo and Thorin jolted a bit with the surprising volume.
“How far in have you cleared?” Thorin interceded as he thumbed through the new pages of reports, and Bilbo assumed that he was looking to see if the library had been included in them.
“We’ve cleared as far as the second age histories, but not far enough to reach the back where the vaults are. It’s taking longer than the engineers first calculated because they have to brace as they remove piles, or else more just comes back down.” Bilbo must have looked dreadfully confused because Ori shook his head and backtracked. “The library is one level down, just under the main entrance. Its ceiling is thicker than I am tall, but wasn’t ever built to hold a dragon stomping on top of it, so layers of it flaked off under the strain. It has collapsed shelves, buried everything, and when we clear a section more unstable rock falls down unless the engineers brace the ceiling back up again.”
“Have them find a suitably safe room, and then move everything you’re able to rescue from the library to that room as storage until a team can be brought in to refinish the ceiling. We will survive without the old treaties long enough for that,” Thorin decided, and Ori hurriedly nodded before he looked ready to leave. “Also, see if any of the old history and lineage scrolls from the treasury survived the dragon’s tenure and safeguard them as well. They’re not as needed as the treaties are, but they are… I have fond memories of studying them,” he admitted, and Ori bobbed his head in a quick nod again.
Bilbo had a daring idea, as his back positively ached and his insides squirmed, and he motioned the fidgeting Ori over closer. “Do you think… could I possibly ask a large favor of you?”
“Anything for you, Bilbo, you know that!” Ori agreed without thought.
“Well, Thorin and I would appreciate some time alone, to get to know each other without someone else being in the way. Do you think that you could ask the others to possibly not come visit us for a while? Just until lunch, perhaps?” Bilbo wheedled when it looked like Ori would refuse once he’d understood the request.
The dwarf’s eyes had gone very wide in surprise. “Oh but I couldn’t, it wouldn’t be proper for you to be alone!”
Bilbo gave him his best stern look, the one which he used on his Brandybuck cousins when they got up to their flimflam. “Ori, I’m a middle-aged hobbit and quite respectable in my own right, not some impetuous lad just into his majority. Thorin is likewise well past the age where his desires rule his reason, and requiring a chaperone for us is quite ludicrous. We simply wish to grow closer, without the interference of a third person; is that too much to ask?”
Ori visibly wavered as his propriety warred with Bilbo's appeal, and then he broke. “If you promise that you’ll be sensible, then I’ll ask Nori to keep everyone out, but only until lunch,” he threatened them both with a scolding finger, so much like Dori that Bilbo was hard pressed not to laugh. From what he could see of Thorin’s pinched lips and unsteady breathing, he appeared to have the same problem. Ori dashed out of the tent without bidding them goodbye, as if afraid that Bilbo would ask another favor of him, and the two gave in to their mirth.
The laughter released that last bit of tightness in Bilbo's heart which had settled in after hearing about what Gandalf did with his old ring. If he could find this much joy without it, then let the wizard do what he wished with it- Bilbo had a life to live and a dwarf to love rather than worry about some silly cold bit of gold.
With that in mind, he carefully levered himself off of the cot and limped over to Thorin’s cot. “Budge over- you promised a massage, and I’d like to collect,” he imperiously demanded, though the smirk he couldn’t banish from his lips ruined the haughty image he tried to project.
Thorin scrambled, uncoordinated in his haste, to collect the pile of parchment and drop it onto the floor where several sheets fluttered off the top into a disorganized fluff. He didn’t bother to pick them up and instead turned his back on them to awkwardly arrange himself across the cot, injured leg out straight on its pillow and good leg folded up in front for balance.
With their injuries, even though far more healed than they were yesterday, the two had to negotiate and move carefully. Bilbo gave up on crawling onto the cot as soon as his calf started to cramp, and instead used his good one to hop up on it backwards and scoot back until Thorin’s hands could grab his waist and help direct him. They did eventually settle into mostly stable positions, each with a leg poking out in front, but they were simply too eager to complain about the odd seating.
Bilbo's breath caught as Thorin’s larger hands came up to land gently on his shoulders, and they sat still for precious moments until the thumbs pressed in and began circling firmly against muscle. At that, his head dropped forward on its own and his eyes slid closed. Those hands swept outward to press at the margins of his shoulders, then back in to dance up the back of his neck, and at that Bilbo felt goose bumps break out as those fingers tickled the fine hairs there. The touch firmed again when fingertips trailed down his neck and soothed the goose bumps away, then trailed further down to knead hard thumbs on each side of his spine. Something popped and Bilbo unashamedly groaned with relief as tension abruptly drained out of the middle of his back. That was the worst pain, where he’d had to twist around to see everybody, eat, and drink.
“Did that help?” Thorin’s voice sounded a bit uncertain, and his hands had lightened their touch considerably, so Bilbo hastened to reassure him.
“Immensely! Don’t worry about hurting my back- I’ve had my cousin Fortinbras walk on it before to get a catch out, and he didn’t hurt a thing,” Bilbo explained, and after a few seconds of silence Thorin’s hands firmed their touch and resumed kneading aching muscles. He luxuriated in the warmth he could feel from them, as he’d removed his waistcoat the night before to wear only a thin cotton shirt rather than his usual layers, and it added another dizzying layer to the massage as his skin tingled with heat even after Thorin moved on. Bilbo's arms weakened under his mental meanderings and he slumped further forward without their bracing, which unintentionally bared his lower back for Thorin’s hands. They moved in without hesitation.
Bilbo whined as the too-tight tendons in the curve of his lower back were manhandled into the consistency of wet dough. The hands flattened and spread their warmth across happy muscles before they helped pull Bilbo back upright again.
“That’s done it, I have to keep you now,” Bilbo rambled, lost in the blessed feeling of utter painlessness. He could ignore the cramp and burn in his calf, the sharp burn in his groin where the awkward position pulled at tendons on his other leg, and didn’t care one fig about how utterly ridiculous he had to look… none of that really mattered when his back was no longer a torment!
Thorin’s chest rumbled with a deep chuckle as those hands helped him lean even further backwards to rest against the dwarf’s solid body, still rather awkward with their legs in the way but enough to send his heart soaring at the contact which he’d longed for. Bilbo felt Thorin twist around for a second, and then a small wooden box was brought around into his view. “My burglar, I am yours to keep if you wish,” Thorin whispered close to his ear, and Bilbo pressed against back against him at the sensation of warm breath tickling over sensitive skin.
The little box offered scant opposition and Bilbo had it opened in a trice, though he was puzzled to find Thorin’s indigo gem inside alongside another, far more curious stone. Thorin deftly reached in to pluck his gem out, though his body shook as he did so, and Bilbo was left to pick up the small spear of translucent, colored material. “It’s beautiful, Thorin; what is it?”
Arms crossed over his belly from behind to gently hug him tighter to Thorin. “It’s my birth stone, found on the day of my birth and gifted to my parents by the mining guild.” Thorin’s voice by Bilbo's ear had gone a bit distant, lost in memories, and Bilbo laid the box in his lap so that he could wrap his free hand around Thorin’s forearm in support. It must have helped ground Thorin, as he sounded much more present when next he spoke. “Erebor never should have produced a stone such as that, it gave us gold and a wealth of other gemstones, but the stone which you hold in your hand should only have come from the ancient mines of Ered Mithrin. When it was unearthed within an hour of my birth’s announcement, the guild decided that it was an omen from Mahal and took it directly to the royal suite.”
Bilbo took advantage of Thorin’s silence to examine the little spear of color in his hands and could scarcely believe that it came from the mountain rather than a wizard’s pocket for the spear, as long as the two end segments on one of his fingers, was a rainbow trapped in stone! To his untrained eye, it didn’t appear as if it had been cut or faceted in any way, simply grew as a straight, octagonal spear, and bands of color in green, blue, and a pinkish red nearly glowed in the tent’s muted light as if the stone had been dipped in potent dye. Bilbo couldn’t believe that anything like this could occur naturally, formed in the earth, and remarked as much to Thorin as he attempted to hand the stone back to the dwarf sitting behind him.
“I would have you see all the wonders that the mountain contains, but more than that, Bilbo, I would ask that you keep my birth stone,” Thorin stated as he closed Bilbo's fingers over the little spear. The dwarf’s voice was husky and far more hesitant than he’d ever heard it before, and Bilbo risked cramping muscles to twist around so that he could look Thorin in the face.
What he saw, the raw yearning, froze him for a moment. “Why… why do I feel that this isn’t simply about keeping a stone?” he managed to stammer as he restarted his intellect.
Thorin helped him finish turning around so that they could somewhat comfortably face each other, and then lifted his hands to trail feather-light fingers along the margin of Bilbo's jaw, down his neck, and arms. Only when he held Bilbo's hands with the rainbow gem cupped between them did Thorin speak. “It’s the traditional way of asking if you’ll,” Bilbo watched as Thorin swallowed and took a breath, “if you’ll marry me.”
Bilbo sat in shock as he tried to process the words; his mind looped over and over, desire folding over top of reality. “So… the stone is like your grandmother’s ring?” he asked faintly. Thorin only blinked at him blankly, clearly not understanding the analogy, and that lost look brought Bilbo back to himself. “In the Shire, most families pass on heirloom jewelry as wedding tokens. My Grandma Baggins’s wedding ring was given to my cousin Otho when he wed Lobelia Bracegirdle this past spring.”
“A birth stone is no token, passed down through the family,” Thorin explained, and looked more comfortable with the explanation he’d been given. “Normally, a newborn’s parents will seek out a stone which calls to them, and it will remain with their child for the entirety of its life. The stone carries vestiges of its owner’s spirit, and to exchange them is the most intimate gesture that a couple can make, which is why it is the traditional prelude to marriage.”
Now Bilbo felt a little lost. “Wait, what? Does this have anything to do with that stone sense you told me about? Because I cannot possibly imagine a stone holding anyone’s spirit, no matter how stunning it is,” he rambled.
Thorin actually chuckled at him. “Yes, my little miracle, it does have to do with our stone sense, and all stone has a life of its own. When a piece has been carried close for a dwarf’s life from childhood to marriage, it retains an echo of that spirit so that no matter how many leagues may separate a pair, they always feel close to each other.”
At that thought, so tantalizing even though he’d never get to experience the feeling, Bilbo daringly reached out to brush the fingertips of his right hand along Thorin’s temple and thumbed briefly at the strip of grey there at his hairline before he lost his nerve. His hand was captured as it fell, though, and Thorin brought it back up to press a kiss into his palm, and Bilbo shivered at the warm tingles which overwhelmed him at the feeling. His breath caught, and then exhaled in a noisy whoosh.
“Of course I will marry you, my overdramatic dwarf,” Bilbo whispered, and both nearly catapulted off the cot as raucous cheers from the tent’s door startled them.
Twelve dwarves poured into the tent to clap them on the back and exclaim, repeatedly, that it was “about time!” and the only thing Bilbo could do was hold onto Thorin and try to survive the deluge of well wishes. Thorin’s little rainbow spear remained firmly clenched in his fist, though, no matter how he was jostled about.
The sun’s light outside of the tent had significantly dimmed by the time that the group settled down, and Bilbo felt that he’d be bruised everywhere from the enthusiastic congratulations. He was also rather put out that they’d not brought lunch with them, as his belly pinched and groaned its hunger. Apparently Dori believed that Glóin would bring the tray, and Glóin believed that Bombur would supply lunch, and by the end of it no one brought any food at all! After everyone was promised a proper feast afterwards, eventually they all settled; Bilbo and Thorin to their own cots while the rest made themselves comfortable on the ground, with the fragrant Dwalin shoved closest to the tent’s door.
“Dwalin, you have a little bit of…” Thorin made a motion towards his cheek, and Dwalin frantically wiped at the imaginary spot of filth until the hooting laughter and catcalls of the others sank in and he grudgingly settled back down. After a few seconds spent catching their breath, the others began to shift self-consciously.
“We have a bit of a confession to make,” Bombur hesitantly spoke up when it appeared that no other would.
Bilbo watched the dwarves shuffle and shared a look with Thorin as he tried to guess what the twelve could have broken or who they could have offended in the day since he’d seen them last. What he heard next made him go very, very still.
“We know about your gems.” Bombur’s words echoed inside of Bilbo's head and he only faintly heard the dwarf continue talking about red and purple gems, but the roaring in his ears drowned out most of the words.
His hands fisted in the blanket and the little spear poked uncomfortably into his palm as he tried to keep his reaction calm, tried to keep his face blank, but Bilbo couldn’t control the tremors or the way that terror caused his heart to race inside of his chest. They knew. His secret, the one which must be kept to protect not only his life but the lives of everyone in the Shire… these gem-obsessed dwarves knew about it! Knew about him, and he was camped in the middle of a legion of dwarves who he didn’t even know. Who could go gold-mad at any time with Erebor’s treasure hoard within their reach. He couldn’t even run away, as his calf muscles wouldn’t allow walking without uncomfortable cramping, much less running to escape capture! With each exhale, it felt like heavy bands pressed harder around his chest to where he couldn’t draw a full breath, and the tent darkened as if the sun disappeared behind thunderclouds.
Voices rose even higher and Bilbo shied away, unseeing eyes clenched closed, from hands which suddenly intruded into his sight to grab onto his hands, shoulders, and face. His breath came in fast pants now as sound and bodies crowded closer and then black swallowed his vision as those hands wouldn’t allow him to protectively curl into himself. The hands abruptly disappeared from his person and Bilbo clenched himself into a tight ball, shuddering as instinct overwhelmed reason. Only one hand returned to run through his hair and he froze as he waited for it to grab, to pull on him as the others did, but it didn’t.
Instead, the hand simply continued to card through his hair and even dared to lightly stroke down his spine. Reason tried to reassert itself, tried to tell him that he could trust this hand, and the body attached to the scent so close to his nose, but his traitorous body refused to return control to reason. The voices faded to a low murmur, with one very close to him, and carried on for a long time but by the time that Bilbo had calmed enough to pay attention to what the words meant, exhaustion pulled at his consciousness and dragged him into a fog of sleep. Rapid healing combined with lack of food and severe shock left precious few resources for his body to use in its panic, and it simply shut down. Bilbo wasn’t aware of Thorin straightening him out, or of being tucked gently under the blanket after the company had been sent out of the tent on a mission, suitably chastised for their actions.
Thorin's birth gem: http://akblake1.tumblr.com/post/85900826169/close-up-view-of-the-little-spear-of-rainbow
Bilbo awoke in the dark with a gasp and for a moment couldn’t recall where he was. Darkness marbled in his vision, and then clarified into flickering shadows cast by a single candle’s flame as a tall shape crouched by his cot. Still held by dreams and startled, Bilbo pushed over to move away from his unexpected guest and worried why Thorin, ever more alert than he, hadn’t already awoken.
“Peace, Bilbo, it is only I,” spoke the form and it moved the candle so that he could easily see a very familiar face. Bilbo's arms collapsed in relief and he dropped back to the cot.
“Gandalf, you gave me a start!” he chided. In the three days since he had awakened, their tent had not lacked for company at all. Either Óin was poking about himself or Thorin, much to their mutual displeasure, or a continuous stream of friends and visitors stopped in. This time, though, Bilbo took the lack of privacy with a better humor and simply put up with the well-intentioned chaperoning even if he intended to put a stop to it in the near future.
A shuffle from the next cot drew their attention, and Bilbo saw Gandalf lean over, out of the candlelight. Thorin’s heavy and regular breathing resumed, not quite a snore, from where his knee forced him to sleep on his back.
The wizard’s eyes met his once again and Bilbo silently allowed the hand which ghosted over his head to spread warmth through his body. “You’re both healing well,” Gandalf stated with a small smile of relief. “Though I shouldn’t be surprised- Master Óin is particularly attentive to his patients and possesses no small talent in the healing arts.”
Bilbo smiled at the canny wizard. “What did you just do, my friend?”
Caught out, Gandalf sputtered. “Well I…” he recovered his equilibrium and gifted Bilbo with a reproving look which would have been formidable were it not for the crinkles around his eyes which told tale of a smile which was being held back. “I simply felt the state of your wellbeing,” he hedged, and Bilbo gave him a look. “And perhaps I supplemented your healing energy with a small bit of my own,” the wizard admitted, though he defended, “I have more than enough to spare, and Erebor will recover faster with her two heroes back on their feet rather than abed in a healing tent!”
“I am no hero,” Bilbo demurred, though he did stifle a laugh at Gandalf's deliberately overblown theatrics.
A time-worn hand came up to rest on his cheek. “My friend, the actions which you took to save your friends from themselves were known to the camps of men and elves. After the battle, Dáin’s army mixed with them and learned of the tale for themselves; though dwarves share a love of gold, none quite understood why the men from Lake-Town were originally denied their just petition for reparations. That it escalated to an open siege, with no hoarded provisions in the mountain and against a far superior force, could only be the work of madness, they decided.”
Bilbo frowned as he crossed his arms under the pillow to make his head and neck more comfortable and shifted when an injudicious movement pulled a bit at the stitches in his calf. Bothersome things, wouldn’t even allow him to sleep on his side, for the skin pulled. He shook away his aggravation. “But I failed, and I’m a thief! Someone hasn’t told them the entire story if they believe that I’m a hero.” Bilbo scoffed at the very notion. His actions, though he’d meant well, had been far from honorable.
“You took great personal risk to try and save your friends from a slow death by starvation,” Gandalf firmly overrode, “and the Arkenstone was more ‘borrowed’ than ‘stolen’ at the time, as you had every intention of it being returned to the mountain.”
Laughter interrupted Gandalf's speech. “Borrowed? I ‘borrowed’ the Arkenstone? Gandalf, you have a gift for storytelling! I no more borrowed that cursed stone than you borrowed my ring,” Bilbo managed to gasp out between chuckles.
Gandalf went very still. “You know about the ring?” he asked carefully.
“Well, yes, of course! Once everyone calmed down about my waking up, Thorin and Nori explained what happened and that it was some kind of evil artifact. Rather made my skin crawl, if you want to know. But the strangest thing about it was that some part of me still wished to run after you and claim my ring back. It was so very odd,” Bilbo confessed with confusion. When he’d been told the fate of his ring, that it was to be destroyed, something inside of him had wanted him to panic and scream at everyone. Had wanted him to hunt the wizards and punish them for taking it from him, but that odd suggestion had brought him up short. He didn’t care about gold, other than to note in passing when an object was pretty, and his conscious mind pulled at that foreign instinct like restless fingers pulled at a raveling thread in a sweater.
Old eyes studied him shrewdly and Bilbo fought against squirming. “Do you yearn for that ring still, Bilbo?”
“No. Well, not really. Only sometimes, when it’s quiet and I wish to look at it again,” Bilbo stammered as he confessed. He knew that he shouldn’t desire his ring, but a part of him wished to hold it safely in his hands once again. “Thorin explained that it was not healthy for me to keep my ring, that it was similar to one which his father possessed and which lead him to make ill-fated decisions, but I don’t understand how- it’s just a magic ring; it only made me invisible!” Bilbo ranted, and only as he finished speaking did he realize just how loud his voice had become. He flinched and quickly looked over to the dim lump of Thorin’s cot, but only heard even breathing coming from his friend.
Chuckles brought his eyes back to Gandalf. “He will not awaken until morning no matter how loudly you wish to shout, my dear Bilbo, though you need not worry about the ring for very much longer. By sunset today it will be destroyed and beyond the reach of any who desire to possess it.” Gandalf ignored Bilbo's wordless moan, which was quite well as it was entirely unintentional and slipped out without his conscious thought. “The ring which Thorin told you about, did you know its story?”
In the way that Gandalf sat back and folded his hands, Bilbo sensed that he was to receive a story rather than a lecture, and so settled himself more comfortably on the cot. In that way they spent the wee morning hours ensconced in sweeping tales of evil, conquest, betrayal, and rings of power. By the time that they finished, the lone candle had burned down to a bare nub and Bilbo's blinks were more long pauses before his eyes opened again. During one such pause, he felt a whiskery kiss pressed to his temple and fell deeply asleep as familiar warm energy spread from the spot.
When next he woke, it was a slow luxurious surfacing to a familiar sound and a puddle of drool soaked into the pillow under his mouth. Bilbo wiped his cheek and surreptitiously turned the pillow over as he carefully stretched. The familiar sound stopped, and he finally blinked his eyes open to find Thorin regarding him with a fond smile.
“You’ve slept into midmorning; did you sleep well last night?” Thorin asked as he set aside a handful of parchment scraps he’d been looking through. It was the rustle of this parchment, as familiar to Bilbo as the scent of his own inks, which had drawn him out of sleep.
“Gandalf woke me, early this morning I suppose, or could have been late last night, but after that I slept very well, thank you for asking. How did you sleep?” Politeness ingrained, Bilbo couldn’t help but ask even as he reached across to lace fingers together with Thorin in a caress which they shared in the few moments they found themselves alone.
Thorin grimaced ruefully. “I slept deeper than I have in years, though I’m told it was due to that wizard’s meddling.” Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh at the face Thorin made, and the dwarf waited gracefully for his mirth to die down. “Have you noticed anything… unusual about your wound today?”
“I hadn’t, but…” Bilbo carefully flexed his leg, expecting a sharp pull of pain from healing tissues and stitches, but received only a dull ache deep in the muscle in response. “Oh, drat that wizard!” Bilbo fussed fondly as he realized that his friend must have meddled with his healing in the night as well.
Fingers squeezed his as Thorin chuckled. “Óin was rather flabbergasted when he changed the dressing to find that my knee had suddenly advanced its healing overnight, by just shy of a fortnight if he figures correctly.” He waved a handful of reports from his lap, “The lack of pain which even breathing caused has done much for my concentration, though their contents are still dreadfully dull.”
Bilbo laughed gaily, both from the joke and his joy in seeing Thorin find his humor. He took a daring chance and released Thorin’s hand to sit up properly on the cot for the very first time, and was nearly giddy when he only needed to place his calf on a pillow to keep the stiffened tendons from pulling too much. “You have no idea how relieved my spine is,” Bilbo exhaled as he leaned back into the pillow which had once been stuffed under his belly to help keep him partially on his side. He nearly whimpered as the muscles in his back slowly released their knots. Oh, he was not a belly-sleeper, not one little bit!
He caught Thorin’s odd look and hastened to explain. “I turn into one giant knot if I sleep on my stomach, which I’ve been doing nothing but, and it feels so good to lie down properly!”
Thorin looked down and opened his mouth a few times before he met Bilbo's eyes. “Would you, would you like a massage later? If that’s not too forward to ask,” he hastened to amend.
Bilbo's heart raced at the thought, and he was faintly shocked to feel his palms go a bit damp. “I believe that would feel wonderful.” The words came out a bit breathy, but Thorin didn’t appear to notice as he gifted Bilbo with a small but genuine smile and Bilbo realized that he truly hadn’t seen the dwarf smile so freely, except after that horrific battle. He was about to comment on the effect those smiles had on Thorin’s entire face, but was interrupted by Dori bustling through the tent’s door with a loaded food tray leading his way.
“Glad to see you awake and feeling much improved, Bilbo! I bet that you’re ready for breakfast,” Dori cheerily called out as he deftly used his foot to scoot over a crate to serve as table for the tray. He swiftly piled a plate high with food, still steaming fragrantly, and pressed it into Bilbo's eager hands. “I believe you can feed yourself this morning, eh?” Bilbo granted him a wide grin before he proceeded to stuff himself at a pace which only barely remained polite. Dori chuckled a bit at his enthusiasm and poured a cup of tea so that it could cool to a palatable temperature while it waited. “As for you,” Dori turned a stern face to Thorin and passed the surprised dwarf a similarly filled plate, “Óin wants you to eat again, as such rapid healing could only have taxed your body’s resources and he’ll not have you growing ill when you’re meant to be healing.”
Bilbo paused in his eating to watch Thorin attempt to stare down Dori, only to silently admit defeat and pick up his fork after the other remained unmoved. Dori simply nodded and poured another cup of tea.
“I don’t expect that I need to advise you, of all people, to eat as much as you possibly can, do I?”
“I will vow, on my honor as a hobbit, to do my best to eat everything put before me,” Bilbo cheeked back to Dori’s teasing question as he handed back his empty plate. He hadn’t eaten that fast since he was a tween, but his belly was desperately empty, and that could never be tolerated! He accepted a second helping and started in with gusto.
Dwalin shuffled into the tent, head down, and drew attention without a word as he handed another stack of parchment to Thorin and hurriedly turned to rush back out.
“Hold! Dwalin, come back here,” Thorin was frowning in confusion and Bilbo had slowed his eating to reconsider what he thought he’d seen.
Dwalin’s shoulders reflexively hunched before he straightened fully and turned about to Thorin’s order.
Forks plinked down against warped metal camp plates as the dwarf’s face, and the cuts and bruises on it, were clearly revealed. “Those marks didn’t come from the battle, they’re far too fresh and still red,” Thorin mused with an unhappy turn to his lips. Dwalin remained silent and stared straight ahead. The two waited each other out until Dori huffed an inelegant snort of disdain.
“Oh, the big idiot suggested that Dáin carve up some of his dead boars rather than waste days dragging them afield and cremating them. Said that at least that way they can have, in the words of men, ‘a pig roast’ to provide the camps with food. Dáin was understandably not amused and made sure to show Dwalin his displeasure.” Dori didn’t bother to look up from fixing his tea as he explained and missed seeing Dwalin’s head flush a dull red, but Bilbo witnessed it.
Thorin’s eyebrows climbed in surprise. “You wanted to cook and eat Dáin’s boars? Those overgrown pigs that he holds sacred and babies as if they’re his own children? Have you lost your mind, Dwalin?!”
Truly, he couldn’t help himself. “Err, what’s the difference between cooking and cremating?” Bilbo had to ask. He knew the culinary difference, as one was edible and the other was ash, but it sounded as if the dwarves had a different outlook on the end product.
“He claims that cremating them sets their spirits free,” Thorin turned to explain, and then made a wry face. “I expect it’s also to keep his own people from having a ‘pig roast’ as much as it is from any wish for the boars’ spirits.” They shared a humor-filled look before he turned a very disappointed face towards Dwalin. “You, however, had no justification in suggesting anything of the sort to him as you’ve sat with me through many evenings when we’ve both had to suffer through listening to his bragging about their prowess or moaning when one of them caught a sniffle. You knew what you were going to start when you opened your mouth, old friend, and you’ve earned a week at the latrines. Go see Bifur for a shovel.” Thorin dismissed the thoroughly disgusted-looking Dwalin and turned back to his snack.
In no time both plates were cleaned and Dori took himself back out of the tent with the much lighter tray. As he was leaving, Ori darted in around his brother with what looked like the ease of long practice.
“Oh, you’re both awake!” he greeted with a wide smile.
“Hello Ori, how has your morning been?” Bilbo asked, manners ever-present despite his new and very keen wish to receive a massage from Thorin.
Ori’s smile brightened and his slightly still dusty, mitten-covered hands wrung together with restrained energy. “We’ve partially cleared the library!” He nearly shouted, and both Bilbo and Thorin jolted a bit with the surprising volume.
“How far in have you cleared?” Thorin interceded as he thumbed through the new pages of reports, and Bilbo assumed that he was looking to see if the library had been included in them.
“We’ve cleared as far as the second age histories, but not far enough to reach the back where the vaults are. It’s taking longer than the engineers first calculated because they have to brace as they remove piles, or else more just comes back down.” Bilbo must have looked dreadfully confused because Ori shook his head and backtracked. “The library is one level down, just under the main entrance. Its ceiling is thicker than I am tall, but wasn’t ever built to hold a dragon stomping on top of it, so layers of it flaked off under the strain. It has collapsed shelves, buried everything, and when we clear a section more unstable rock falls down unless the engineers brace the ceiling back up again.”
“Have them find a suitably safe room, and then move everything you’re able to rescue from the library to that room as storage until a team can be brought in to refinish the ceiling. We will survive without the old treaties long enough for that,” Thorin decided, and Ori hurriedly nodded before he looked ready to leave. “Also, see if any of the old history and lineage scrolls from the treasury survived the dragon’s tenure and safeguard them as well. They’re not as needed as the treaties are, but they are… I have fond memories of studying them,” he admitted, and Ori bobbed his head in a quick nod again.
Bilbo had a daring idea, as his back positively ached and his insides squirmed, and he motioned the fidgeting Ori over closer. “Do you think… could I possibly ask a large favor of you?”
“Anything for you, Bilbo, you know that!” Ori agreed without thought.
“Well, Thorin and I would appreciate some time alone, to get to know each other without someone else being in the way. Do you think that you could ask the others to possibly not come visit us for a while? Just until lunch, perhaps?” Bilbo wheedled when it looked like Ori would refuse once he’d understood the request.
The dwarf’s eyes had gone very wide in surprise. “Oh but I couldn’t, it wouldn’t be proper for you to be alone!”
Bilbo gave him his best stern look, the one which he used on his Brandybuck cousins when they got up to their flimflam. “Ori, I’m a middle-aged hobbit and quite respectable in my own right, not some impetuous lad just into his majority. Thorin is likewise well past the age where his desires rule his reason, and requiring a chaperone for us is quite ludicrous. We simply wish to grow closer, without the interference of a third person; is that too much to ask?”
Ori visibly wavered as his propriety warred with Bilbo's appeal, and then he broke. “If you promise that you’ll be sensible, then I’ll ask Nori to keep everyone out, but only until lunch,” he threatened them both with a scolding finger, so much like Dori that Bilbo was hard pressed not to laugh. From what he could see of Thorin’s pinched lips and unsteady breathing, he appeared to have the same problem. Ori dashed out of the tent without bidding them goodbye, as if afraid that Bilbo would ask another favor of him, and the two gave in to their mirth.
The laughter released that last bit of tightness in Bilbo's heart which had settled in after hearing about what Gandalf did with his old ring. If he could find this much joy without it, then let the wizard do what he wished with it- Bilbo had a life to live and a dwarf to love rather than worry about some silly cold bit of gold.
With that in mind, he carefully levered himself off of the cot and limped over to Thorin’s cot. “Budge over- you promised a massage, and I’d like to collect,” he imperiously demanded, though the smirk he couldn’t banish from his lips ruined the haughty image he tried to project.
Thorin scrambled, uncoordinated in his haste, to collect the pile of parchment and drop it onto the floor where several sheets fluttered off the top into a disorganized fluff. He didn’t bother to pick them up and instead turned his back on them to awkwardly arrange himself across the cot, injured leg out straight on its pillow and good leg folded up in front for balance.
With their injuries, even though far more healed than they were yesterday, the two had to negotiate and move carefully. Bilbo gave up on crawling onto the cot as soon as his calf started to cramp, and instead used his good one to hop up on it backwards and scoot back until Thorin’s hands could grab his waist and help direct him. They did eventually settle into mostly stable positions, each with a leg poking out in front, but they were simply too eager to complain about the odd seating.
Bilbo's breath caught as Thorin’s larger hands came up to land gently on his shoulders, and they sat still for precious moments until the thumbs pressed in and began circling firmly against muscle. At that, his head dropped forward on its own and his eyes slid closed. Those hands swept outward to press at the margins of his shoulders, then back in to dance up the back of his neck, and at that Bilbo felt goose bumps break out as those fingers tickled the fine hairs there. The touch firmed again when fingertips trailed down his neck and soothed the goose bumps away, then trailed further down to knead hard thumbs on each side of his spine. Something popped and Bilbo unashamedly groaned with relief as tension abruptly drained out of the middle of his back. That was the worst pain, where he’d had to twist around to see everybody, eat, and drink.
“Did that help?” Thorin’s voice sounded a bit uncertain, and his hands had lightened their touch considerably, so Bilbo hastened to reassure him.
“Immensely! Don’t worry about hurting my back- I’ve had my cousin Fortinbras walk on it before to get a catch out, and he didn’t hurt a thing,” Bilbo explained, and after a few seconds of silence Thorin’s hands firmed their touch and resumed kneading aching muscles. He luxuriated in the warmth he could feel from them, as he’d removed his waistcoat the night before to wear only a thin cotton shirt rather than his usual layers, and it added another dizzying layer to the massage as his skin tingled with heat even after Thorin moved on. Bilbo's arms weakened under his mental meanderings and he slumped further forward without their bracing, which unintentionally bared his lower back for Thorin’s hands. They moved in without hesitation.
Bilbo whined as the too-tight tendons in the curve of his lower back were manhandled into the consistency of wet dough. The hands flattened and spread their warmth across happy muscles before they helped pull Bilbo back upright again.
“That’s done it, I have to keep you now,” Bilbo rambled, lost in the blessed feeling of utter painlessness. He could ignore the cramp and burn in his calf, the sharp burn in his groin where the awkward position pulled at tendons on his other leg, and didn’t care one fig about how utterly ridiculous he had to look… none of that really mattered when his back was no longer a torment!
Thorin’s chest rumbled with a deep chuckle as those hands helped him lean even further backwards to rest against the dwarf’s solid body, still rather awkward with their legs in the way but enough to send his heart soaring at the contact which he’d longed for. Bilbo felt Thorin twist around for a second, and then a small wooden box was brought around into his view. “My burglar, I am yours to keep if you wish,” Thorin whispered close to his ear, and Bilbo pressed against back against him at the sensation of warm breath tickling over sensitive skin.
The little box offered scant opposition and Bilbo had it opened in a trice, though he was puzzled to find Thorin’s indigo gem inside alongside another, far more curious stone. Thorin deftly reached in to pluck his gem out, though his body shook as he did so, and Bilbo was left to pick up the small spear of translucent, colored material. “It’s beautiful, Thorin; what is it?”
Arms crossed over his belly from behind to gently hug him tighter to Thorin. “It’s my birth stone, found on the day of my birth and gifted to my parents by the mining guild.” Thorin’s voice by Bilbo's ear had gone a bit distant, lost in memories, and Bilbo laid the box in his lap so that he could wrap his free hand around Thorin’s forearm in support. It must have helped ground Thorin, as he sounded much more present when next he spoke. “Erebor never should have produced a stone such as that, it gave us gold and a wealth of other gemstones, but the stone which you hold in your hand should only have come from the ancient mines of Ered Mithrin. When it was unearthed within an hour of my birth’s announcement, the guild decided that it was an omen from Mahal and took it directly to the royal suite.”
Bilbo took advantage of Thorin’s silence to examine the little spear of color in his hands and could scarcely believe that it came from the mountain rather than a wizard’s pocket for the spear, as long as the two end segments on one of his fingers, was a rainbow trapped in stone! To his untrained eye, it didn’t appear as if it had been cut or faceted in any way, simply grew as a straight, octagonal spear, and bands of color in green, blue, and a pinkish red nearly glowed in the tent’s muted light as if the stone had been dipped in potent dye. Bilbo couldn’t believe that anything like this could occur naturally, formed in the earth, and remarked as much to Thorin as he attempted to hand the stone back to the dwarf sitting behind him.
“I would have you see all the wonders that the mountain contains, but more than that, Bilbo, I would ask that you keep my birth stone,” Thorin stated as he closed Bilbo's fingers over the little spear. The dwarf’s voice was husky and far more hesitant than he’d ever heard it before, and Bilbo risked cramping muscles to twist around so that he could look Thorin in the face.
What he saw, the raw yearning, froze him for a moment. “Why… why do I feel that this isn’t simply about keeping a stone?” he managed to stammer as he restarted his intellect.
Thorin helped him finish turning around so that they could somewhat comfortably face each other, and then lifted his hands to trail feather-light fingers along the margin of Bilbo's jaw, down his neck, and arms. Only when he held Bilbo's hands with the rainbow gem cupped between them did Thorin speak. “It’s the traditional way of asking if you’ll,” Bilbo watched as Thorin swallowed and took a breath, “if you’ll marry me.”
Bilbo sat in shock as he tried to process the words; his mind looped over and over, desire folding over top of reality. “So… the stone is like your grandmother’s ring?” he asked faintly. Thorin only blinked at him blankly, clearly not understanding the analogy, and that lost look brought Bilbo back to himself. “In the Shire, most families pass on heirloom jewelry as wedding tokens. My Grandma Baggins’s wedding ring was given to my cousin Otho when he wed Lobelia Bracegirdle this past spring.”
“A birth stone is no token, passed down through the family,” Thorin explained, and looked more comfortable with the explanation he’d been given. “Normally, a newborn’s parents will seek out a stone which calls to them, and it will remain with their child for the entirety of its life. The stone carries vestiges of its owner’s spirit, and to exchange them is the most intimate gesture that a couple can make, which is why it is the traditional prelude to marriage.”
Now Bilbo felt a little lost. “Wait, what? Does this have anything to do with that stone sense you told me about? Because I cannot possibly imagine a stone holding anyone’s spirit, no matter how stunning it is,” he rambled.
Thorin actually chuckled at him. “Yes, my little miracle, it does have to do with our stone sense, and all stone has a life of its own. When a piece has been carried close for a dwarf’s life from childhood to marriage, it retains an echo of that spirit so that no matter how many leagues may separate a pair, they always feel close to each other.”
At that thought, so tantalizing even though he’d never get to experience the feeling, Bilbo daringly reached out to brush the fingertips of his right hand along Thorin’s temple and thumbed briefly at the strip of grey there at his hairline before he lost his nerve. His hand was captured as it fell, though, and Thorin brought it back up to press a kiss into his palm, and Bilbo shivered at the warm tingles which overwhelmed him at the feeling. His breath caught, and then exhaled in a noisy whoosh.
“Of course I will marry you, my overdramatic dwarf,” Bilbo whispered, and both nearly catapulted off the cot as raucous cheers from the tent’s door startled them.
Twelve dwarves poured into the tent to clap them on the back and exclaim, repeatedly, that it was “about time!” and the only thing Bilbo could do was hold onto Thorin and try to survive the deluge of well wishes. Thorin’s little rainbow spear remained firmly clenched in his fist, though, no matter how he was jostled about.
The sun’s light outside of the tent had significantly dimmed by the time that the group settled down, and Bilbo felt that he’d be bruised everywhere from the enthusiastic congratulations. He was also rather put out that they’d not brought lunch with them, as his belly pinched and groaned its hunger. Apparently Dori believed that Glóin would bring the tray, and Glóin believed that Bombur would supply lunch, and by the end of it no one brought any food at all! After everyone was promised a proper feast afterwards, eventually they all settled; Bilbo and Thorin to their own cots while the rest made themselves comfortable on the ground, with the fragrant Dwalin shoved closest to the tent’s door.
“Dwalin, you have a little bit of…” Thorin made a motion towards his cheek, and Dwalin frantically wiped at the imaginary spot of filth until the hooting laughter and catcalls of the others sank in and he grudgingly settled back down. After a few seconds spent catching their breath, the others began to shift self-consciously.
“We have a bit of a confession to make,” Bombur hesitantly spoke up when it appeared that no other would.
Bilbo watched the dwarves shuffle and shared a look with Thorin as he tried to guess what the twelve could have broken or who they could have offended in the day since he’d seen them last. What he heard next made him go very, very still.
“We know about your gems.” Bombur’s words echoed inside of Bilbo's head and he only faintly heard the dwarf continue talking about red and purple gems, but the roaring in his ears drowned out most of the words.
His hands fisted in the blanket and the little spear poked uncomfortably into his palm as he tried to keep his reaction calm, tried to keep his face blank, but Bilbo couldn’t control the tremors or the way that terror caused his heart to race inside of his chest. They knew. His secret, the one which must be kept to protect not only his life but the lives of everyone in the Shire… these gem-obsessed dwarves knew about it! Knew about him, and he was camped in the middle of a legion of dwarves who he didn’t even know. Who could go gold-mad at any time with Erebor’s treasure hoard within their reach. He couldn’t even run away, as his calf muscles wouldn’t allow walking without uncomfortable cramping, much less running to escape capture! With each exhale, it felt like heavy bands pressed harder around his chest to where he couldn’t draw a full breath, and the tent darkened as if the sun disappeared behind thunderclouds.
Voices rose even higher and Bilbo shied away, unseeing eyes clenched closed, from hands which suddenly intruded into his sight to grab onto his hands, shoulders, and face. His breath came in fast pants now as sound and bodies crowded closer and then black swallowed his vision as those hands wouldn’t allow him to protectively curl into himself. The hands abruptly disappeared from his person and Bilbo clenched himself into a tight ball, shuddering as instinct overwhelmed reason. Only one hand returned to run through his hair and he froze as he waited for it to grab, to pull on him as the others did, but it didn’t.
Instead, the hand simply continued to card through his hair and even dared to lightly stroke down his spine. Reason tried to reassert itself, tried to tell him that he could trust this hand, and the body attached to the scent so close to his nose, but his traitorous body refused to return control to reason. The voices faded to a low murmur, with one very close to him, and carried on for a long time but by the time that Bilbo had calmed enough to pay attention to what the words meant, exhaustion pulled at his consciousness and dragged him into a fog of sleep. Rapid healing combined with lack of food and severe shock left precious few resources for his body to use in its panic, and it simply shut down. Bilbo wasn’t aware of Thorin straightening him out, or of being tucked gently under the blanket after the company had been sent out of the tent on a mission, suitably chastised for their actions.
Thorin's birth gem: http://akblake1.tumblr.com/post/85900826169/close-up-view-of-the-little-spear-of-rainbow