Days of Agony - Ch 11 Where The Heart Is

Bilbo had fallen asleep in Thorin’s armchair again. He had sat down to think about everything that he had learned about Thorin and about himself the previous night and had never got up. Now, as he stirred awake, all shades of pain woke in his body with him, and the heaviness in his head made him feel like he had not really been sleeping at all. He opened his eyes slowly, without focusing on anything, and through the mist of half-wakefulness, he could remember formless images of darkening paths and gathering shadows. It had probably been a dream, and not a particularly pleasant one. He sat up a little and rubbed his eyes.

He glanced at Thorin, who seemed to have fared better in that latter half of the night. He had certainly earned at least half of a good night’s rest. Bilbo could still not dispel the image of the still sleeping Thorin tormented by his nightmare, of his hollowed stare as the hobbit had called to him to bring him back. He could not forget how Thorin had clung to him desperately for comfort, so unlike himself as he had known him, revealing to Bilbo what was probably the best kept secret of his heart.

Bilbo suspected that not many others knew the whole truth about Nyrath, although he had been told that Dwarves did not mind such a relationship much. But Thorin was not any Dwarf. His status might have very well forced that part of him into secrecy. Perhaps revealing it to someone now, after 140 years, had brought him the peace of mind that he had missed all along. Bilbo shivered a little at his own thought. Thorin had not simply revealed that information to someone just to unburden himself. He had revealed it to the person in whom, perhaps, his hidden hopes lay renewed. Of course, Bilbo himself had unknowingly pushed him to remember, but Thorin could have still not told him anything. It was a gesture of trust that intimidated Bilbo more than it made him glad, for he was not at all sure that he would be able to honour it as Thorin wanted.

He knew there was no point in letting his fears fester, however. He got up and went to wash up. By the time he came back, Thorin was awake. He looked well-rested enough but kept shifting on his back as if to soothe the deaf pain that immobility had probably put there.

“Do you want me to pull up your pillow a bit?” asked Bilbo.

Thorin nodded, and Bilbo helped him raise his head with one hand and worked on his pillow with the other. He could see Thorin looking up at him all that time. He looked back, smiling.

“There,” said Bilbo as he laid Thorin’s head back on the plumped pillow and sat down on the side of the bed.

He expected Thorin to lie back peacefully, but the dwarf tried to sit further up by pushing himself up on his hands and managing to cause himself pain more than anything. He obviously didn’t have a lot of his strength working for him and he could only truly rely on his right arm for support. His left arm could be counted on to give him grief and not much else at that time.

“Thorin, let me help,” jumped Bilbo.

“No, I can do it,” refused Thorin, his face scrunched up in pain.

Bilbo sat back and watched as Thorin finally managed to hoist himself further up, sweating again from the effort.

“I see you’re becoming a difficult patient,” teased Bilbo with an arched eyebrow.

Thorin returned a well-executed glare, which Bilbo could only reward with a smile, aware that it all meant one thing: that Thorin was getting better. He could understand how anyone, but especially someone as strong as Thorin, could become frustrated with not even being able to get up from his bed for over two weeks. He wasn’t really being difficult. He was just being true to his nature.

“You know,” added Bilbo, “Balin says that the less strain you put on yourself, the sooner you’ll get out of this bed. That’s why I’m here. That’s why we’re all here.”

Thorin mellowed a bit as he regained his breath. “I know,” he grumbled, “it’s just that I’m-”

“I know,” said Bilbo, “it won’t be that long now.” He took his left hand into his carefully. It was still shivering with either pain or exhaustion, or perhaps both.

Thorin seemed to accept Bilbo’s touch as his hand settled slowly into the hobbit’s. “Do you have bad dreams?” he asked, seemingly out of nowhere, as he let his head rest fully on his pillow.

“Sometimes,” replied Bilbo.

“Did you have bad dreams before?”

“Before the quest? Not the kind I have now.” He saw Thorin’s whole face drape in regret. “No, don’t apologize,” said Bilbo, “don’t apologize for showing me the world as it is. Besides, I’ve always wanted to see for myself, remember?”

Thorin smiled in return, still regretful. “I wish you did not have to face so much peril, not on my account.”

“Oh, Thorin, do you really mean that?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I ran after you. You didn’t hold an axe over my head, as Dwalin so eloquently put it a while ago.”

Thorin looked a little surprised, but chose to ignore the reference to a conversation between Bilbo and Dwalin that he had obviously missed. “But you did not know what you were running after.”

“I think Bofur’s speech about Smaug’s fire-breathing abilities gave me a fair idea,” said Bilbo. “So fair it knocked me out cold.” Thorin started to laugh again and it made him wince a little. “I am glad to have shared in your perils, Thorin, and to have survived them. Now it takes a little more than the mere mention of a dragon to make me lose my footing.” Thorin smiled widely. “I have no regrets,” said Bilbo, “and neither should you.”

At that moment, the door opened and Balin and Oin came in. Balin was carrying a tray of food, which was no doubt Thorin’s breakfast, while Oin was lagging behind, bringing what Bilbo suspected were fresh towels.

“Good morning,” said Balin brightly, “how is everyone doing?”

“We’re fine, thank you,” responded Bilbo.

“Ah, glad to hear it,” said Balin, setting the tray on Thorin’s night table. “I hope you’re hungry,” he said, eyeing Thorin.

“Do I get to say no?” asked Thorin.

“Not really.”

Thorin smirked. “As it happens, I am hungry.”

“All for the better then.”

They all shared a laugh.

“Bilbo, the Company is gathered for breakfast in the dining hall. You can join them if you want,” said Balin with one of his special winks.

“Oh, yes, I think I’ll do that,” said Bilbo and stood up. He suspected that Balin was sending him away on purpose and that they would be doing a little more than changing Thorin’s dressings after he had finished eating. If they were about to do what he thought they would do, he certainly didn’t want to be there for it, and he knew that Thorin didn’t either. Besides, the idea of sharing a nice, peaceful breakfast with his friends appealed to him greatly. He smiled to Thorin and walked quietly towards the door. He collected his borrowed felt coat before walking out.

The rest of the Company were sitting around one of the tables in the great dining hall of Erebor, which had not yet regained the full splendor that Bilbo imagined it had possessed in the past, but which was at least free of dust and clutter. They waved to him with big smiles as they saw him. Even Dwalin spared a smile, although he did not wave. Bilbo greeted everyone, then sat down next to Ori and surveyed the table to see what looked fetching.

“Try the bacon,” Ori said at his side, “and the scones, they’re quite good.”

“There’s tea as well,” clammored Dori from the opposite side of the table, pointing to a large kettle a little to Bilbo’s right.

“Right, thank you,” said Bilbo, reaching for the tea.

“How’s Thorin doing?” asked Gloin, still munching in his great red beard.

“He’s well,” said Bilbo, “getting a little impatient in fact.”

“Huh, I’ll say,” said Gloin, “he’s never been one to lie around and be coddled.”

“I’m afraid he doesn’t have much choice,” said Bilbo with a half-smile.

“Aye, lad,” Gloin nodded, “that much is true.”

“He should be better by Yuletide, though,” called Bofur from the other end of the table, “we can’t have a Yule feast without the King.”

Everyone approved vigurously and there was a surge of optimism around the table that Bilbo could feel almost as a gust of warm wind. There were about ten days left until Yule, so Bofur’s hopes had good chances of being realised. Bilbo found himself irresitibly drawn to his companions’ enthusiasm and something in him longed for a great and well-catered feast.

“Do Hobbits celebrate Yule, Bilbo?” asked Ori.

“Oh, yes, yes, it’s our New Year, in fact.”

“Is that so? Then you must have a big celebration!”

“Yes, it’s usually rather big and noisy.”

His table companions laughed.

“We can make a fair amount of noise, too,” said Bofur, “as you well know, Bilbo. We’ll strive to make Yule as enjoyable for you as we can.”

“I have no doubt,” Bilbo shouted to cover the already loud sound of cheer around him.

Breakfast went on in fine Dwarven fashion, which, if Bilbo thought about it, was a more raucous version of a Hobbit breakfast, with merriment and food well enjoyed. It made him think of home and of everything that he was missing.

He knew that he was stuck there for the winter, but the thought of home always lingered at the back of his mind. Now that Thorin was getting better and would probably be recovered for the most part by the end of winter, Bilbo had to ask himself whether he would be staying on, or whether he was ready to return to Bag End. There was still time, but the decision was beginning to lurk in the distance, gaining contour with each day that passed. It was a decision harder to make than he would have liked it to be. He was fond of the Dwarves and he wished them well, but he really should have been getting back to his own business. Even if he was not the same Hobbit that had left the Shire, he was still a Hobbit, and he had plenty to get back to. And yet he couldn’t really tell if he was ready to part with Thorin. Perhaps he had changed more than he realised, and more than he had imagined he would. He had to wonder if he really was a Hobbit anymore if anything could feel more important to him than his own home.

Suddenly despondent, Bilbo excused himself and slowly made his way back to the Royal Quarters. He met Balin and Oin as they were coming out of Thorin’s bedroom. Both of them displayed slightly forced smiles.

“Something happened?” asked Bilbo as he came up to them.

“No, he’s understandably flustered about the... inevitable indignities of being confined to bed,” said Balin with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh.”

“And, well, we let his wounds air a bit. Dwarf royals aren’t bound to be very happy with being unclothed and covered in sticky ointments. At least it doesn’t smell bad.”

Bilbo barely withheld a chuckle.

“This would be a good time for you to wash his hair, Bilbo, if you’d like.”

“I’d be happy to,” said Bilbo, smiling to Balin and Oin, and watched them file out of the room in silence.

Then he took a deep breath and entered the bedroom slowly. He saw Thorin lying on his back across the bed, his hair flowing down the side of it. Apparently he was expecting a more pleasant end to his morning.

“Thorin?” called Bilbo, to get his attention, and advanced slowly towards him.

Thorin looked back at him over his forehead and eventually smiled as Bilbo approached him. He looked a little flushed and more than understandably flustered. The rest of him didn’t amuse Bilbo one bit. All of his wounds were unwrapped and anointed with one of Oin’s poultices. It did help that it didn’t smell bad, but not by much. The sight still startled the hobbit, and what startled him more was Thorin’s look of helplessness and the paleness of his skin in the bright light of late morning. He remembered being impressed with how strong Dwarves were, and Thorin was a fine example of that. Now he was a fine image of his kingdom, lost and found again, greatness and power set in flesh instead of stone, but charred and broken. Still, what seemed to bother Thorin most was unseen.

“I think it hurts less than your wounds,” Bilbo tried to smile.

“What?”

“Your dignity.”

Thorin scowled masterfully again, a definite sign that, in spite of the look of things, he really was healing. Then again, it was probably dignified for a Dwarf warrior to be wounded, especially for a king.

“At least you’ll have a fine set of scars to be proud of after this,” teased Bilbo, and this time Thorin responded with a little smirk.

The tension in the room faded, and Bilbo was overwhelmed with a sudden wave of affection for Thorin and his easily wounded pride. It was probably because he seemed to know how to make it better again, and how to make the good in him shine. And shine it did under the crystal light, clear and sky-blue in eyes that reminded Bilbo of gentle mornings of spring in the Shire and of the scent of hyacinth. Bilbo caressed the soft side of Thorin’s forehead with slightly disbelieving fingers, as if he almost expected his image to vanish under his touch like the ghost of hyacinths, but it didn’t. Thorin was still there, with his wounds and his pride and his hyacinth eyes. Bilbo leaned over him and finally gave him a kiss that he could feel, at the base of his regal nose. To his surprise, Thorin’s face acquired an even deeper shade of red. As Bilbo withdrew, he saw that Thorin was quite surprised himself. He had not expected the kiss. And Bilbo had not expected to give it, but he had.

“I’ll get some soap and water,” he said, smiling softly.

He collected the brush, soap and towels from the bathroom, then filled a bucket with warm water. All the while, he wondered how someone could still blush from a fairly innocent kiss on the forehead after having lived for over a century and a half. However that was possible and whatever it meant, it made Bilbo hopeful that he wasn’t the only one to be nervous about whatever was happening between them.

He returned to the bedroom and as he sat down behind Thorin, there was a definite glow radiating from him that was as far removed from wounded pride and indignity as day was from night. Thorin glanced back at him again. His eyes were swimming with a kind of hope that almost didn’t dare take flight but that was badly wanting to. The kiss had meant something, but it could not be talked about just yet. Bilbo wouldn’t have even known where to begin, but he knew that he didn’t have to, that the questions that he had of himself were being answered for him and that he couldn’t really stop his heart from wanting what it wanted.

Thorin’s gaze was probing for a confirmation that Bilbo’s gesture had not been in vain. The hobbit smiled to him and sustained his gaze until Thorin appeared satisfied with his answer. Balin had been right when he had said that being with Thorin would help him sort out his feelings. He knew that he had just shown to Thorin that he did love him back, in a way that surpassed friendship and that he couldn’t define in all its complexity. He wasn’t ready to tell him in words yet, or to tell himself even, and he wasn’t ready to act on it, but something was stirring in his heart, and he could no longer deny it when they were alone together.

Thorin withdrew his searching look, and Bilbo began by brushing his hair. With everything that he now knew, he was more aware than ever that what he was doing now carried a heavy meaning. If Thorin felt that, by caring for his hair, Bilbo was making some sort of pledge and that a spell was being wrought between them, he was well within his right to do so. Bilbo felt it, too.

As he ran his fingers slowly through the dwarf’s hair, he wondered if Thorin had ever shared such moments with Nyrath, if perhaps Nyrath had been more skilled than he was, and more bold. It was reasonable to think that he had been both. He had been a Dwarf, after all, and so he had been just as familiar with Dwarf ways as Thorin was. In the rare moment of peace that he was experiencing, the seed of doubt began again to darken his heart. The doubt that, even if he could no longer deny that he loved Thorin, he could not really give him what Nyrath had probably given him if he was still remembered with such vivid clarity after 140 years. That was most probably what Thorin expected of him now, and the one thing that he felt certain of was that he was not prepared for it, whatever it was.

Bilbo sighed a little too loudly as he laid the brush aside. Thorin shot an inquisitive glance back at him.

“It’s nothing,” said Bilbo, “close your eyes.” He waited until Thorin finally did so, and then started wetting his hair. “I think they’re starting to get excited about Yuletide out there,” he said. “Bofur says they can’t have a Yule feast without you. Think you can muster a little more patience until next week? You should be able to get out of bed by then if you sit tight.”

Thorin mumbled an affirmative answer, slightly more petulance in his voice than Bilbo had expected after giving him definite hope that he would be out of bed soon. He smiled, though, realising that it was just Thorin starting to be Thorin again. And, once more, he wondered if Nyrath had had to dodge and sweeten Thorin’s less than bright moods, if he too had come to love even those and recognize them as simply aspects of Thorin’s personality. That was a question that he would probably never have the answer to, and he would have to settle for his own guess. And he guessed that the answer was yes.

As usual, Thorin was starting to doze off as Bilbo soaped his hair, against either pain or annoyance, so Bilbo said nothing more and applied himself to his task. It was probably better to concentrate on the practical side of things and think less about what they meant.

Bilbo tried to follow that philosophy for the remainder of the week and the start of the next, but it didn’t quite work, not entirely. For a welcome change, there wasn’t much awkwardness anymore between him and Thorin, but he could see that Thorin was still very careful with what he said and did around him. He didn’t want to make Bilbo uncomfortable again, and although Bilbo appreciated his courtesy, it also made him feel guilty. And, inevitably, his mind wandered where it should not have wandered, to a past that was not his own, to Nyrath. He couldn’t help filtering all his interactions with Thorin through the spectre of that person who was long dead, but who still seemed very much alive in Thorin’s memory. He wondered how Nyrath had touched him, how much less he had hesitated to act on his feelings, how much more open he had been to Thorin’s own.

If there had ever been a time when he could have used Gandalf’s advice, this was it. He was lucky to have Balin to talk to, but he couldn’t talk to him about this, not all of it. Not without possibly betraying Thorin’s confidence. If Gandalf had been there, he could have told him freely that being with Thorin now made him feel like the ground was constantly slipping from under his feet, that he was losing control of his thoughts and emotions, and that it exhausted him beyond belief. But Gandalf was not there.

The day before Yule Eve was bright and beautiful although it was cold. Even if Bilbo was not at home for that most important of holidays, he could not be closer to feeling at home. Erebor was a long way from displaying its full festive grandeur, but it was filled with life and happiness, and a very genuine wonder at hosting a Yule feast within its halls for the first time in over a century and a half. Bilbo was not immune to the happy hustle and bustle around him, but he could not say that he felt it entirely, and for the first time in many years after his parents’ death, his enthusiasm for Yuletide was shaded by melancholy.

He was now leaning against the rebuilt parapet over the Gate of the Lonely Mountain, wrapped in a fur-lined overcoat that Thorin had advised him to take out of his dressing closet. It was nice and warm, but he still felt strange wearing Dwarven clothes. They didn’t quite fit him, and he couldn’t stop thinking that it was perhaps a sign that his place was not there and that it would never be.

His gaze was not lost into the distance before him, but rather descended down the wall of the mountain kingdom and scattered among the goings on below. He was not really seeing the Dwarves and Men coming and going, and he did not hear their chatter. They only registered somewhere at the back of his mind. What he did see was the ever-plunging darkness of his own heart.

An unfamiliar noise drew Bilbo slowly out of his thoughts, a shuffling noise, as if someone was walking with a limp towards him. He turned and caught sight of Fili, advancing with some difficulty in his right leg and relying on the support of crutches under both of his arms.

“Fili!” said Bilbo, turning towards him. “I didn’t know you were up and about!”

“Yes, I was beginning to grow roots in that bed.” Although he looked tired, Fili was smiling and all of his golden braids were in place.

“I’m glad you’re feeling well enough. What about Kili?”

“He’s still with uncle, but he should be out soon as well,” said Fili as he came closer to Bilbo and stopped near the ledge in the mountain wall that served as seating. He let go of the crutch under his left arm and leaned it against the rock.

“Oh, do you need help?” offered Bilbo.

“Yes, thank you.”

Bilbo kept a steady grip of Fili’s left arm as he eased himself down. The hobbit sat down at his side as Fili leaned against the wall of the mountain and breathed deeply.

“So you’ve been to see Thorin,” said Bilbo, smiling.

Fili nodded, visibly relieved. “He looked well. It is a wonder that he’s even alive.”

“Yes, it was close there for a while. But then it was for you, too.”

“Mhm,” Fili approved thoughtfully.

“What happened out there on the battlefield?” asked Bilbo.

“We tried our best to protect him,” sighed Fili, “but for Dwarves youth is rarely an advantage. It takes more to slow down an older and more experienced Dwarf than it did to put us out of commission. Eventually, he was alone with Azog and his pack of Orcs, and not even Thorin has endless resources, as much as he would like that to be true.” Bilbo grinned. “Not to mention he hadn’t slept and eaten properly in days.”

“Sometimes I think his will alone keeps him,” said Bilbo, grin fading into a smile, and he put a hand on Fili’s forearm. “What matters is that you’re all alive and well.”

“Indeed. A Dwarf warrior must always be ready to die, but I would have hated to miss all this. And it would have probably made our mother very angry.”

“Is she really that stern?” asked Bilbo. “I heard Dain speak along the same lines about her.”

A sweet smile graced Fili’s face. “No. She’s just... our mother. And as much of a descendant of Durin as Thorin is. She’s just slightly less impulsive than he is.”

“I see.”

“If you stick around long enough, perhaps you’ll get to meet her.”

“Huh, perhaps,” replied Bilbo a little uncomfortably.

Fili’s smile lingered. “And how are you, Bilbo?”

“Oh, I’m fine, I only had a few scratches anyway.”

“That hardly looks like a simple scratch,” said Fili, pointing to the healing mark on Bilbo’s forehead.

Bilbo shrugged, “It wasn’t really that bad.”

“Have you been able to rest at all in that armchair of yours?”

Bilbo smiled nervously again. He didn’t feel particularly willing to tell Fili that he had been sharing Thorin’s bed for a good long while, although he realised that the possibility of him sleeping in an armchair for about three weeks was more than far-fetched. “The armchair isn’t that bad either,” said Bilbo.

“Hmm,” continued Fili, “you must miss your warm bed at home. I remember the one I slept in was quite comfortable.”

“I haven’t really had time to think about that, but, yes, I suppose I do.”

“Bilbo!” Kili’s voice came from a little distance at their side.

Bilbo looked in the direction of the call and saw the younger dwarf coming towards where he and Fili were sitting, limping less and without crutches, but still bearing clear marks of his battle injuries in the way he moved. He finally came up to them, wide smile beaming on his face, and Bilbo stood up for a hug. Then he invited Kili to sit down at Fili’s side and retook his own seat.

“Bilbo, I must compliment you on a job well done,” said Kili, “Thorin’s recovering really well. I think he might be able to join us in the celebrations tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” said Bilbo, “it wasn’t always easy.”

The two brothers approved with knowing nods.

“I hope you will join us, too?” asked Kili.

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“Good. Will you be going back soon then? Back home, I mean,” added Kili.

Bilbo stared at him a bit, then at Fili, who was also looking to be waiting for an aswer. “Uh, I don’t know yet.”

“I’m sure we can spare someone to go with you. You can’t expect to make the return journey alone,” offered Fili.

“No, it’s not that.”

“Is it because of uncle?” probed Kili.

Bilbo looked up at him surprised for a second. “Yes, it’s because of your uncle.”

“You don’t have to stay out of guilt, Bilbo,” said Fili.

“It’s not guilt,” said Bilbo with a flicker of a smile pulling at his lips. “Not entirely, at least.”

Then he saw the two brothers grinning at each other. “We suspected as much,” said Kili, glee dancing in his soft brown eyes.

Bilbo blushed instantly. “You did?”

“Well, a mithril shirt isn’t a gift easily given,” said Fili. “Thorin obviously wanted to take no risks as far your safety was concerned.”

“And if ever love was blind!” said Kili. “He’d even suspect us of taking the Arkenstone, but not you.”

“And you blush every time we mention his name,” added Fili. “We didn’t believe for a second you were staying just because you wanted to recover your strength.”

They were both grinning triumphantly now, and Bilbo felt like crawling under the nearest rock. He had to content himself with covering his face with both hands.

“We also suspect that’s why he’s so... patient with being a patient,” Fili said.

Bilbo snorted, his face still covered. Then he felt a hand gently squeezing his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Bilbo, you don’t have to be embarrassed,” said Fili. “This is not a bad thing. It’s very good in fact.”

“Is it?” Bilbo finally faced them again.

“It isn’t?” asked Kili, visibly dismayed.

Bilbo looked down at his hands. “I don’t know. I truly don’t know.”

“But you obviously feel the same,” said Fili.

“Yes, but I don’t belong here. I belong in Bag End.”

“Well, it’s normal for you to still miss home,” said Kili. “But it doesn’t mean that you don’t belong here. I mean, we would all love it if you stayed.”

Bilbo smiled at the young dwarf. “Thank you, Kili, that’s very nice of you to say.”

“We mean it,” said Fili.

Bilbo looked at him and saw that he was suddenly very serious.

“Listen, Bilbo,” continued Fili, “this isn’t really our business, but may I offer an opinion?” Bilbo nodded. “Think about what you would miss most. Perhaps that will help you decide where you belong.”

Bilbo found himself smiling widely at that. It seemed that Gandalf and Balin weren’t the only ones who could impart wise advice. There was something to be said, after all, for Dwarf youth.

“Now, you’ve grown a little too serious for your own good,” said Fili, reverting to a more playful tone, and putting his arm around Bilbo. “We have a feast to look forward to. And the Dwarves of Erebor know how to throw a feast.”

Bilbo laughed. “I noticed.”