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Bilbo stood swaying on the spot as Bofur continued to speak. He had gone pale and was mumbling about needing air. Thorin wasn't sure if the hobbit was planning on falling over or throwing up. Frankly, he couldn't care less. This entire endeavor was a waste of time. Curse his kin in the Iron Hills for not aiding him, curse the damn wizard for sending him to a land of halflings when he needed an experienced burglar. How did the wizard hope this Master Baggins was going to survive the journey, let alone the dragon itself; should it still live? He turned his attention back to the scene at hand to see the hobbit straighten up and then collapse to the floor.
“Oh, very helpful, Bofur,” Gandalf said, sounding thoroughly annoyed.
“What! He might as well know what he’s gettin' himself into,” Bofur replied. Gandalf had moved to hover over the hobbit and check on him.
“So Gandalf, you bring me a hobbit prone to fainting spells when I asked for a burglar skilled enough to rob a dragon.” Thorin couldn't hold back the snark in his tone, not that he wanted to.
“You asked me to choose the 14th member of this company, and I have chosen. Bilbo has just had a very long day and has been asked to do something that goes beyond the very nature of which he has been raised all his life. I think we can forgive him for losing grip on consciousness for a few moments,” Gandalf barked.
“Fine, but remember what I said, Gandalf. I will not be responsible for his fate or his safety.”
~~~~~~~~
It had been one thing after another. Spiders, damn wood elves, getting pitched down a cold fast river while fighting off orcs, and now finally sitting soaking wet on a freezing boat being manned by a human they barely knew. What Thorin wouldn't give for a lit pipe and a cup of ale to warm him. The company seemed to be doing fine despite it all. Dwarrow were hardy folk, after all. But Thorin's attention was almost entirely directed at Bilbo. He was sitting on a small box, hands wrapped around his knees, shaking violently. The absolute worst part was that he could do very little to warm Bilbo up. His clothes were soaked, and his coat was left behind, still locked up in the elf king's halls. A voice in his heart, not his head, told him that he didn't need his coat to warm Bilbo up. Bilbo weighed nothing; Thorin could scoop him up and hold him in his lap until they were both warm. But he couldn't; he had no right to impose his feelings on Bilbo like that. It still didn't stop him from hoping that one day, when he was a king, when he had his kingdom and riches beyond count, he would finally be worthy of loving someone like Bilbo Baggins. For now, he would steal precious moments where he could get them and pray a silent thank you to Mahal that Bilbo didn't know Khuzdul.
“Are you alright, Amrâlimê?” Thorin asked as he approached Bilbo.
“I-I’m fine. Or I’ll be alright, at least. It’s just been a rough few weeks. I’m sorry I ever said the worst was behind us at Carrock. I fear I might have jinxed us.” Bilbo said in good humor.
“It shouldn't be too much longer now,” Thorin said as he sat down next to him, letting the side of his body press into the hobbits. Bilbo gave a little shudder as the new warmth hit him and pressed into Thorin a little more, making him smile.
“You know I still don't know what Amrâlime means, right?” Bilbo struggled to get this tongue around the syllables making Thorin chuckle. “And no one will tell me either. I hope you haven't been calling me horrible things because you know I can't understand,” Bilbo huffed. Thorin gave Bilbo an amused expression.
“No, they won't tell you because Khuzdul is forbidden for non-dwarrow to learn.” It wasn't a lie, Khuzdul was a secret language, but that's not why no one would say anything. It was because every time he said it, it was a declaration of love, and nobody wanted to be butchered by Thorin for letting that slip.
Fine, keep your secrets then, as long as it’s not something rude I suppose you can keep calling me that.” Thorin didn't have time to register the subtle blush creeping onto Bilbo’s face before the boat came to a stop.
The next several hours were another whirlwind of activity. They were covered in fish and chased down by men, finally finding themselves given shelter in Bard, their ferryman’s home. Thorin checked to make sure everyone got in safely and was stopped by Bard, who was asking about the nature of their being there. Only a few minutes into the conversation, Thorin heard something hit the ground hard, followed by Balin yelling, “Bilbo!”
Thorin abandoned his conversation with Bard and sprinted to where Bilbo was.
“What happened!?” Thorin barked as he drew closer.
“I asked him how he was holding up, and he said he was feeling alright. Not two minutes later, he collapsed,” Balin said worriedly. Thorin knelt down next to his hobbit, pushing a golden curl out of his face. This was the first time since the river Thorin had gotten to take a good look at him. He had dark bags under his eyes, and his clothing fit him loosely where they used to fit snugly. They had spent two weeks in the elven prison. How many chances had Bilbo gotten to sleep or eat?
“Oin?” Thorin didn't need to ask the question Oin was already set to answer.
“Exhaustion and fatigue. He’s not made to be as hardy as us. I think the last few weeks have just been hard on him. He needs food and rest, but after that, I think he’ll be fine,” Oin confirmed.
Thorin gave Oin a silent thank you, then lifted Bilbo effortlessly and placed him on a bed in the back of the little house. None of the company, not even his nephews, followed him. Thorin sat at the edge of the bed, letting his knuckles caress Bilbo’s pink cheeks.
“Ghivashel, I’m so sorry. I didn't notice till it was too late. I swear, one day, I’ll make this journey up to you. I’ll give you every jewel in the mountain you’ll want for nothing in this life.” Thorin froze as he felt Bilbo shift.
“Ghivashel, that's a new one; you haven't used that one before. What does it mean?” Bilbo murmured sleepily. He opened his eyes, and Thorin would swear for the rest of his days that Bilbo could see into his soul.
“I can't tell you yet,” Thorin whispered, eyes refusing to leave Bilbo's despite his refusal. Bilbo brought his hand to rest on Thorin’s face, his thumb brushing his cheekbone.
“I think I already know Thorin. I-I just need to hear it.” Bilbo pleaded. How could Thorin ever deny someone he loved so much something he had within his power to give.
“Ghivashel means treasure of treasures,” Thorin answered weakly.
“And the other one?” Bilbo pushed
“Amrâlimê, it means love of me.” Thorin’s stomach clenched. There it was, all out in the open, his affection laid bare, his soul handed to the one person capable of destroying it.
“So, all those times you called me, you were saying I love you?” Bilbo asked curiously. Thorin finally unlocked his eyes from Bilbo’s.
“Yes, every time. I have nothing to offer you in this life yet. Don't feel the nee-” Thorin was cut off as he was yanked down towards Bilbo and his lips crushed into the Hobbits. Colors, smells, tastes. He had been mute to it all before this very moment. His hands found Bilbo, and he held the hobbit to him like if he let go, Bilbo would fall to sand in his fingers. When they finally parted, Bilbo turned a pretty pink and looked at Thorin through his lashes.
“I love you too.”