*contains major spoiler for "My Heart Burns"* (see note at end of chapter)

Thorin roused from a long and finally restful sleep. Balin had laid him back onto his pillows after Bilbo had finished washing and drying his hair, and he'd been asleep for most of the day. Judging by the misty web of light that streamed into the room from the winter sun outside, it was late in the afternoon now. Thorin opened his eyes slowly and turned his head towards where he expected Bilbo to be. And Bilbo was there, leaning against the back of his faithful velvet armchair, with a gauzy smile on his face.

"Thank you," whispered Thorin.

"Perhaps now you could do me a favour," answered Bilbo, sitting up.

"I wish that I could."

"You could eat," said Bilbo, raising an eyebrow.

Thorin blinked once in quiet agreement, then said, "I wish to speak to Dain first."

"Very well," said Bilbo, getting up. "I'll tell him right away."

He walked out of the room with a determined bounce in his step. He had expected Thorin to want to see Dain once he felt better. He was probably aware that his cousin had taken over his duties and it was only natural for him to seek his counsel. In fact, it put his mind at ease that Thorin was taking an interest again in the fate of his kingdom. It meant that he had put aside his earlier hopelessness.

Dain was out in the great hall, which had been cleared for the most part, and he was talking with Balin and Dwalin about something that warranted wide gesturing.

Bilbo approached them without much hesitation and cleared his throat to alert them to his presence, even if he was aware that he was interrupting.

All three dwarves looked down at him startled, and Dain even appeared flustered that his undoubtedly important speech had been curtailed so unceremoniously, but it did nothing to intimidate the hobbit.

"Lord Dain," said Bilbo with a nod of acknowledgement, "Thorin wishes to speak to you."

"Oh, of course" replied Dain, rescinding some of his annoyance and drawing in a deep breath that inflated his already impressive chest.

He was no longer wearing armour, but he still looked very much like a Durin. In spite of the hostility of their first encounter, Bilbo had to admit that Erebor could be in much less capable hands.

"We shall continue this later," Dain announced to Balin and Dwalin, who took their leave with a bow of their heads. "Well, then, lead on, Master Baggins," he said, looking at the hobbit with a slight smirk, and Bilbo thought he could see Dwalin glowering at him across Dain's shoulder.

Swallowing the knot in his throat, Bilbo nodded and started back with Dain in his trail. They walked in silence until they reached the narrower corridor that led to the Royal Wing. In the quiet emptiness of the rock tunnel, Dain's steps sounded all the heavier in Bilbo's ears.

"I am surprised you are still here, Master Baggins," Dain's voice boomed behind him. "Indulge my curiosity and tell me, what is your interest in my cousin?"

Bilbo jumped and felt suddenly that the walls of the corridor were closing in on him. "Interest? I have no interest. I simply could not leave without making amends after... after what happened."

"I see. Have you returned the Arkenstone then?"

"Yes! Well, Thranduil brought it back. It is in Thorin's room now."

"So that matter is settled," said Dain with slight bitterness in his tone.

"Yes, yes, it is," replied Bilbo, an emptiness gaping in his stomach.

Dain said nothing more after that, but Bilbo could feel his eyes pinned on him for the remainder of their journey to the Royal Quarters. It occurred to Bilbo in a flash that Dain probably knew the way very well, as he must have taken one of the rooms in that part of the Mountain for his own use. He had every right to do so, after all.

They reached their destination soon enough for Bilbo to be thankful that he did not have to ruminate any longer on things that he had little control over. He opened the door to Thorin's bedroom and waited for Dain to enter before shutting it. Dain gave him a slight glance over his shoulder and Bilbo walked on to Thorin's bed. The wounded dwarf king seemed to have dozed off again.

"Thorin?" called Bilbo loud enough for Thorin to open his eyes at the sound of it. "Lord Dain is here to see you."

Thorin shifted a bit on his pillows, trying to shed his lethargy, and achieved that thoroughly as the movement awoke his sleeping pains.

Dain came up at Bilbo's side, making the hobbit feel like he was imposing. "Well, I'll leave you to it," he said, starting back.

"No, stay," said Thorin, his stirred aches still resonant in his voice.

Bilbo looked at him startled, then glanced up at Dain, who did not seem very much bothered by Thorin's request, to his surprise. He nodded and only took a few steps back, although he still felt like he was imposing. He was being made privy to kingly counsel, which was not necessarily something that he thought appropriate for the ears of a Baggins. He wondered why Thorin had asked him to stay, but whatever the reason for it, he intended to respect his wish while making himself as scarce as possible.

"I am glad to see you looking better, cousin," began Dain.

Thorin only responded with a smile. He did appear more rested, but he was far still from his former powerful presence. In fact, he seemed smaller as he lay in his large bed, out of the many layers that Dwarves wore and covered instead by a thick wool blanket.

"How is my kingdom?" asked Thorin, his voice stronger than he looked.

"Could be worse," said Dain. "Repairs to the entrance are almost done and we cleared the great hall. We've cleaned up part of the living quarters for those of us who are still alive and for the wounded. I hope you don't mind that I took your father's room."

Thorin shook his head slowly. "Not at all."

"The firewood stock seems to be in good shape for the winter, and the hot spring pipes are working in the Royal Wing. Oh, and your Bombur has taken over the kitchen. He's quite the cook."

Thorin appeared pleased with the news. "What about supplies?"

"We have enough for about a month. I'll send for more in a couple of weeks."

Thorin nodded again and paused while he caught his breath. "You should give their claim to Bard and Thranduil," he said, "I promised Bard-"

"I already have," said Dain, in a hushed tone that sent a slight shiver up Bilbo's spine. He had asked Balin about this and he knew that all of Thorin's prerogatives as king were now in Dain's hands, including honouring the promises that he had made to the people of Lake Town. It stood to reason that Thorin also knew this, but even Dain seemed worried that it might wound his pride.

"Of course," Thorin replied faintly. There was another pause as he gathered more strength to speak. "Tell Bard," said Thorin, sounding like he was using the very last ounces of that strength, "that they can come here if they need shelter. They have women and children with them. Dale is ruined. They cannot survive the winter there."

"Aye, cousin," agreed Dain, "their women are not as hardy as ours, and neither are their wee ones." Both of them laughed, Dain more heartily, and Thorin more quietly.

Bilbo perceived in their laughter something very familiar to him - the knowledge that the walls of a home, whether it was a hobbit hole in the ground, or a dwarf city carved inside a mountain, were only as important as they provided shelter and warmth for those who lived inside them. The feeling stung his heart with both longing for Bag End and for his fellow hobbits, even if he liked less of them than they probably deserved, and with an unpleasant sensation that he was not supposed to be there as the two Dwarf lords discussed their kin, which he was not part of. The dwarves in Thorin's company were his friends, but they were not really his family, even if they made him feel that way. He could not help wondering uncomfortably how he would fit into the image of the future that he had seen in Thorin's eyes and that included him, even if Thorin had responsibilities to his own people that loomed greater now than anything else.

"Speaking of hardy Dwarf women," spoke Dain, in a slightly playful tone, "I've also sent a raven to your sister in the Blue Mountains. She must be expecting news by now. Knowing her, she'll likely want to leave immediately and cross the wilderness even in the dead of winter to get here." Thorin smiled, appearing to agree fully with Dain's picture of his sister. "Which would not be a bad thing, in fact. If Erebor needs anything at this time, it's the iron hand of Lady Dis."

"It will get what it needs sooner or later," responded Thorin, his fond smile lingering.

Dain grinned back, and laid a hand on Thorin's good right shoulder. "I am sure of it, cousin. Now, get some rest."

Dain greeted the hobbit as he passed by the shadowy corner of the room where he stood, and then walked out in a brisk step.

Finally, Bilbo felt free to return to Thorin's bedside. Thorin looked tired, but his eyes were open and alight. He glanced up at the hobbit as he approached.

"Would you like some supper now?" Bilbo asked a little timidly.

Thorin approved with a light smirk. "You would get along very well with my sister, at least on the matter of meals."

Bilbo found himself smiling like a spring blossom at that. From Dain's words about Thorin's sister, he had gathered a somewhat intimidating image of her, but now he felt that perhaps he was not that out of place taking care of Thorin in a way that was probably best suited for his sister. Taking his new little ray of sunshine and tucking it close inside his heart, he went to find Balin and tell him the good news.

Balin was still conversing with his brother, and Bilbo perceived something within him shrink again as he approached them.

"Balin, I'm sorry to interrupt," he said, "I came to tell you that Thorin has finally agreed to eat something."

"Oh, excellent!" said Balin, gladly putting aside whatever it was that he was discussing with Dwalin. "I asked Bombur to make some soup. Come with me," he indicated both the hobbit and his brother, then trotted away towards the Royal Wing.

As they reached the kitchen, Balin turned on his heels to face his companions. "Bilbo, go with Dwalin and help Thorin sit up. I'll be in soon with his food."

Bilbo and Dwalin looked at each other with some apprehension, but they did not protest. They marched on in leaden silence until they reached Thorin's bedroom and walked inside.

Bilbo followed Dwalin as he made for the bed, watching his burdened steps but straight shoulders. He was obviously still struggling with conflicting emotions, but he could not hide his relief that Thorin was alive and well.

Thorin must have caught sight of him from the corner of his half-open eyes, for he turned his head and looked up at him as Dwalin stood close to his bed. Bilbo felt again that perhaps he should not be present at this reunion. He could only see Dwalin's broad back, but by the pleading look on Thorin's features, he could tell that there were mixed feelings showing on his face.

"Bilbo," called Dwalin, a little harshly, "come and prop up his pillows."

The hobbit hurried to the other side of the bed.

"Now let's sit you up a wee bit," said Dwalin, lowering the covers from Thorin's upper body and wrapping his arms around his bundled form, as carefully as he had done when Thorin had still been unconscious. Thorin was rag-like in his embrace and he moaned faintly at being lifted.

"I know, I know, doing my best," crooned Dwalin into his ear as he held him like a days-old dwarfling, waiting for Bilbo to rearrange the pillows. Then, he set him back against them, earning another brief whimper.

It was painful for Bilbo to watch so closely as these two old friends who had faced death and danger together were now estranged in spite of having finally reached home. The ties that bound them through the long years were still there, but they had grown thin and there were places where they threatened to break.

Dwalin withdrew as soon as he had settled his friend back in bed, and drew the blanket up over his hands. Then, he nodded once and left the room, without any further word.

Thorin looked at Bilbo, visibly indisposed. "He has not forgiven my behaviour," he said darkly.

Bilbo opened his mouth to respond, but took some more time to think about what he would say. He suspected that the reason behind Dwalin's cold stance was less related to whatever threats Thorin had proffered in his madness, and more to his confessed feelings for their hobbit burglar. "I'm sure that he has," Bilbo said eventually.

He was saved from saying anything further by Balin entering the room with a tray in his hands. "It's just a bit of soup," he said, smiling, as he set the tray down on the night table at Thorin's head. "We don't want to be too hard on your poor stomach. You'll be able to eat better in a few days."

Thorin had looked like he had lost the little appetite he had when Dwalin had left the room, but now the undoubtedly tempting fragrance of the soup seemed to have caught his interest.

"Bilbo, will you be a good lad and help Thorin? I have to tend to some unfinished business."

Bilbo came around to the side of the bed where Balin stood, and where Dwalin had stood before him. He accepted this new assignment from Balin with a smile, and the white-haired dwarf strolled off, looking like a great burden had been lifted off his shoulders.

Bilbo gazed back to Thorin, who was leaning silent against his pillows. With a soft sigh, he drew a chair from the writing desk at the foot of the bed, and sat down near Thorin. He took the bowl of soup from the tray and swirled its contents around a bit with the spoon, to cool it.

"Oh, I almost forgot," he jumped, setting the bowl of soup back on the night table. He got up and retrieved a towel, which he draped over Thorin's chest and close around his neck.

This seemed to vex Thorin's pride more than temporarily losing his kingly powers to Dain. He rewarded Bilbo with a glare.

"I won't tell anyone if you don't," said Bilbo with a wink.

Thorin's scowl faded, and Bilbo retook his seat and his grip of the soup bowl. "This smells rather good," he said, hoping that it would encourage the suddenly grouchy dwarf to cooperate. "Let's give it a try, shall we?"

Bilbo scooped up a spoonful of soup, blew over it gently, and offered it to Thorin. He accepted it without fuss and swallowed gingerly. It most likely tasted as good as it smelled, for the expression on his face mellowed as if by a spell. There was a lot that a taste of good, warm soup could do for an anguished soul and a bruised body. Thorin had not truly eaten in more than six days. It had not looked to Bilbo like he had been able to enjoy food or sleep at any time during the quest, not as he and the others had. He smiled to him, acknowledging this rare moment when he was beginning to learn to live again, and scooped another spoonful.

Thorin ate half of the contents of the bowl, but it was still more than Bilbo had hoped for. He put the bowl back on its tray as the dwarf's head leaned to his side and he fell asleep before realising it. The hobbit tucked the blanket close around his shoulders, then took the tray and returned it to the kitchen.

Seeing Thorin finally eat with some sort of pleasure had stirred Bilbo's mood for a good supper of his own, so he remained in Bombur's kitchen for a while longer.

~

It was about an hour later that Dwalin reentered Thorin's chamber. He had a moment of respite from his other duties and his heart still twinged at the way their earlier encounter had gone. This time the hobbit was not there, and Thorin was asleep, so he could take his time and gather his wits.

Thorin lay with his back raised on a stack of thick pillows that Bilbo had arranged while Dwalin himself had held him in his arms, helping him into that position so that he would be able to eat. Now he seemed to have fallen back to sleep. His eyes were closed and his head lolled to his side.

Dwalin sat down on the edge of his bed and watched Thorin for a while. He still felt that he should be the one lying there wounded and in pain, and guilt mixed into poison with his resentment over the hobbit's presence there, which he simply could not shake.

Thankfully, his glance was soon caught by the dagger that still lay on the night table, the same one that he had gifted to Thorin on the very morning of the day when Smaug had come. Thorin had not become aware of its presence through his short moments of consciousness. Dwalin took it and rolled it around in his hands, smiling at the memory of himself and the Dwarf Prince as they had been then.

As he stared into the past through the coloured gems carved into the knife's handle, he heard a soft moan behind him. He turned and saw that Thorin had awoken and he was gazing at him with misty eyes. This was perhaps their first real meeting since the battle had ended, alone and both in possession of clearer minds.

Dwalin kept his smile and showed the dagger to Thorin. "Remember?"

Thorin's eyes widened with a spark of life and he foolishly tried to sit further up. He failed with a deep groan.

"Lie still," scolded Dwalin. "Here," he said, pushing the dagger within the reach of Thorin's hand.

Thorin took it, studied it with fond remembrance, perhaps of the same version of himself from the time when he had received it, and looked back to his friend. "Forgive me, Dwalin. I have let you down."

Dwalin stared at him curiously, not really knowing what he was talking about, thinking that he was referring to the hobbit.

"I raised my sword upon you," said Thorin, regret blazing in his eyes.

"Oh, no, there is nothing to forgive. That was not you," replied Dwalin, relieved.

"That is what Bilbo said," murmured Thorin with a little smile.

"Well, it seems he and I agree on some things," said Dwalin, then paused, and looked at his hands. "Thorin, it is I who should be asking for your forgiveness. I swore to protect you, but I failed. You almost died because I was not there when you needed me."

Thorin drew in a sonorous breath. "Balin told me you saved my life, with Bilbo's sword of all things." His tone carried a certain amused irony.

Dwalin's eyes flashed to him. "It was the best I could find."

"I wondered why my wounds were burned. I did not remember facing fire in battle."

Dwalin felt like he should apologize again, even if Thorin sounded at peace with what had happened. "I wish there had been another way. The Elves gave us something for it, but there are still going to be scars."

"I think it is a fair trade," spoke Thorin. "I did not expect to live."

Dwalin looked up at him with a smile. "I hope you are not disappointed."

Thorin shook his head. "Only surprised."

Dwalin made another pause and his gaze descended back to his hands. There was still something on his mind and it weighed heavier than any guilt. "Thorin, there is something else that I must ask you," he said, without lifting his eyes.

"You heard what I said to Bilbo. You and Balin both."

Dwalin looked at him, feeling his blood boil against his will and against the love that he had for Thorin. "Is it true?"

"What dying dwarf speaks lies?"

Dwalin lowered his gaze again, with a deep, funerary nod.

"It is you who is disappointed," said Thorin, his voice clear.

"You are a king, Thorin," replied Dwalin, hurt and anger barely controlled. "You know the rules of our people. Common Dwarves can do what they please, but not you."

Thorin's eyes quivered a little. "I do not have to do anything if I do not want it, even if I am a king."

"But you do want it, with the wrong kind. I do not understand how you can-" He didn't finish because he truly could not bring himself to say it, but he could hear disgust in his own voice and it hurt.

"I am sorry, Dwalin," said Thorin weakly. "I cannot help it. Nor did I expect this to happen. I thought that part of me was long dead."

"There were others?"

Thorin swallowed painfully. "One."

Dwalin squinted at him, then he remembered their times in Dunland before the attack on Moria. They were desperate and poor. Thorin was young and less confident than he had become in the meantime. He could not blame him. No one would have desired the burden that lay on his shoulders, nor would anyone have done better by his duties. Dwalin had done his best to encourage Thorin on his difficult path. But there had been another with power over the Prince's mood. In the last days before the battle, Nyrath, son of Nyr, a captain in the Dwarf army, had managed to put a smile on Thorin's face when there seemed to be no chance for it. "Nyrath," said Dwalin. "He was more than your friend, wasn't he?"

Thorin confirmed. "He believed in me, as you did. And I buried my heart with him in the mound of bodies in which he burned."

Dwalin felt his anger fade. He remembered the horror of having to burn their dead after the battle of Azanulbizar since they could not bury them into tombs of stone as was their way. Thorin's grandfather, King Thror had been among them, and many others they cared for. He sighed, shaking that black memory. "It appears that our burglar has dug up more than the Arkenstone," he said, surprisingly amused.

Thorin smiled in return.

"What are your intentions with him?" asked Dwalin.

"Only those which he will accept. I do not know if he..."

"He doesn't either," interrupted Dwalin "I asked him if he felt the same and he said he didn't know."

"An honest answer," said Thorin. "I should not have kept this from you," he continued. "But I knew that it would sully your regard of me."

Dwalin also faced him with honesty and he knew that Thorin could read the truth of his guess in his eyes. There was no point in hiding his broken heart, but he was more confident now that it would not remain broken forever. "It is something that I will have to accept if this is what would make you truly happy," he said. Thorin opened his mouth to say something, but Dwalin raised a finger to silence him. "Balin is right. You have sacrificed enough already. You should be allowed to make this choice. I have saved your life, but I do not really have the right to tell you how to live it. No one does. Not anymore."

There were small tears running down Thorin's cheeks by now.

Dwalin laid a hand on Thorin's and squeezed it. "Just get well, and be a king. We'll figure out the rest eventually."

Thorin accepted with a nod, and Dwalin got up. "Let me help you lie back down," he said. "You need to sleep properly."

With gestures that were free of any passion, he lifted Thorin's upper body in his arms and let him lean against his shoulder while he arranged his pillows. It felt very much like an embrace and it was an embrace. It was exactly what both of them needed. Dwalin set Thorin gently on his back and he was glad to observe that his eyes were drying.

Then he placed a few more logs into the fire and took his leave with a bow of his forehead. His heart was lighter now that everything was out in the open, but anger and worry had given way to a different kind of pain. The pain that he could not understand Thorin's feelings and that knowing of their existence had indeed changed his regard of him. He had thought that it would be easier once he would know for sure that Thorin would live. He had thought that the joy of knowing him alive and of not having his death on his conscience would drown his resentments, but it looked as if he had been wrong.

~

With his belly full and his own soul comforted, Bilbo thanked Bombur for supper and left the royal kitchen of Erebor to take back his appointed place at Thorin's bedside.

When he entered the bedroom, he noticed that Thorin was lying on his back again and appeared to be sleeping comfortably. There was not much calling his attention at that time, so Bilbo simply sat down on the thick carpet that covered the floor around the bed and leaned his elbows against its side.

He was about to fall asleep in that strange position when he heard the rustle of bed sheets close to his ear. He looked up and saw Thorin gazing at him drowsily.

"You must be uncomfortable on the floor," said Thorin. "Come up on my bed. It is big enough."

Bilbo raised his head, sleepiness gone. "Fit for a king," he quipped, glad that he could resort to wit in order to conceal his slight panic.

Thorin smiled back.

"I'm fine, Thorin," said Bilbo. "You're hurt. You don't need someone stirring it up by rolling around in your bed. I'll just go back to my armchair." He stood up with a groan as the stiffness in his body resisted. "Well, your armchair."

He went over to it and sat down, hardly managing to mask his pain.

"Please," insisted Thorin, "I do not want you to suffer on my account."

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "I'm not suffering."

"And what was that groan about?"

Bilbo returned a glare, but had to admit that Thorin had a point.

"No armchair is made to be slept in for nights on end," said Thorin.

"Well, I suppose I could lie down for a bit," accepted Bilbo and climbed off the armchair.

His only worry was that he might end up feeling more uncomfortable lying in Thorin's bed, as cozy and warm as it looked, than he felt having his poor bones crunched against the back of the armchair. He wondered if he should read anything into Thorin's invitation, whether there was some hidden meaning in his acceptance of it, whether perhaps he was making another promise that he was not entirely ready to make. Yet, looking into Thorin's weary gaze, he understood that he was merely offering him a better place to sleep after days of curling up in an armchair and after months and months of lying in all sorts of unforgiving places. It was strange for a hobbit to hesitate before a soft bed, but Bilbo had become accustomed to hardship and had even learned to brave it with a resilience he didn't know he had. But perhaps the time had come for him to rest again and lay aside the troubles of the wide world.

He smiled and lay down gently beside Thorin, pulling the blanket over his legs. Letting his head sink again into a good pillow was the most wonderful thing he had ever experienced if someone had asked him at that very moment. The bed felt harder than his own bed at home, but it was perfect. He also could not help noticing the quality of the bedding. Even if it was over a century old, the fabric still felt dense and strong. This was clearly the expensive kind of linens, something Dwarf royals afforded easily.

"This was not such a bad idea," he hummed, settling more comfortably into his newfound land of bliss.

Thorin returned a smile, looking satisfied. The blanket covered him up to his chest, which rose slowly, contained in a loose white dressing for the slash wound on his right. Little dark hairs poked out from under the bandage, forming a fuzzy cloud over his skin that shrunk into a line as it approached his neck. Bilbo realised that he had never looked at Thorin so closely. Perhaps it should have unnerved him and he should have wondered if it meant anything, but he didn't. He simply looked in sheer curiosity and mused over how his body had been shaped by the way he had lived, and over how unlike a hobbit's it was. Bilbo had long lost his rounder contours to the hunger and sleeplessness he had endured throughout the quest, but he certainly hadn't grown any hair where it did not belong. Most hobbits were soft and plump, as made by their quiet lives and their persistence in getting six meals a day. Some, especially the older ones, were even fat, no matter how indulgently one looked at them. Some of the dwarves were fat, too, as they also seemed to enjoy food and drink to a healthy degree. But not Thorin. Thorin was all firm angles and hard muscle. Even the curb of his uninjured right shoulder, which glowed softly in the light of a candle, seemed to be fashioned from rock instead of flesh. But Bilbo knew better than he liked that Thorin was made of flesh and blood, as he was himself.

Bilbo had not truly realised how badly he needed to lie down until that moment when Thorin had offered him a place in his bed. He was no longer worried about hidden meanings, no longer afraid that this was inappropriate in some way. He was simply grateful that he could sleep in a real bed again, and that he lived once more in times of peace, that he was safe and his belly was full, and that Thorin was all right.

"Wake me up if you need anything," said Bilbo, and allowed his eyes to close after Thorin had nodded and drifted back into slumber.

The one thing that Bilbo missed was his home, with its simple charm and its ivy-framed windows. But it seemed that he would have to wait a while longer until he would see it again.

Author's Note

If you'd like some backstory for Thorin and Nyrath, you can find some in my story My Heart Burns (not yet finished, sorry!): https://www.wattpad.com/story/30709924-my-heart-burns