Days of Agony [Featured]

To the End

No wonder that Thorin is so fond of you. Balin had really said that, with a smile and one of his twinkling winks, in the smothering dimness of the tent where Thorin lay broken after the battle, and in the wake of such horror as watching his brother burn Thorin's raw wounds with a fire-heated sword, surely even participating in holding him still for the procedure.

Bilbo gaped at him until the lingering silence pushed him to begin a reply that he did not know how to continue. "Well, I-"

"You don't have to say anything," said Balin, peering at him tenderly from under his eyebrows. "And it's all right if you don't look." He turned to Oin, who nodded and opened the jar of elvish ointment.

Bilbo felt relieved that he was not expected to justify his implication in the matter of Thorin's avowed feelings for him, and further still to watch as they worked on his wounds. He did feel a calling, however, from a depth carved new within him, to stay for the sake of both. He put aside the wet cloth that he had been dabbing Thorin's face with and got up from his seat.

"I want to look," he said and Balin turned to him again with eyes that were softly trying to dissuade him. "I, I need to see," Bilbo insisted.

Balin nodded. As an old warrior, he recognised a claim of honour. Bilbo had earned his place in the Company, not as a seasoned fighter, but certainly by proving himself a worthy fellow in arms and adventure. And it seemed that he had earned more than an honourable place in Thorin's heart. He had a right to see what had been done with his sword to the dwarf that had spoken such binding words to him. He had to know how badly Thorin was injured and what real chance he had for survival.

Ultimately, it was about knowing the whole truth. After all, it had been his thirst for knowledge that had pushed him out the door of Bag End, and beyond the quiet borders of the Shire. He had uncovered much direr things than he had expected, unimaginable violence, death, and stark evil, things that had existed all along even if he had been ignorant of them and that would have continued to exist should he have turned his back on them. But there were other things as well, there were daring hearts beating with no fear of death, iron wills pursuing stubborn dreams, and passions that grew in the shade of words unspoken. Now more than ever, Bilbo sensed the weight of Thorin's initial opinion of him, that he was soft and inexperienced, that he had no place amongst his companions. He had felt challenged then to prove himself to the haughty dwarf king, to show that he could care about more than the comforts of his own home. With everything that he had accomplished in matters of bravery and wit, he realised now that he had been stupidly blind to something bigger than that. Perhaps there had been signs he should have understood, more he should have read in Thorin's eyes than gratitude. But Thorin was so hard to read even by a hobbit of Bilbo's intelligence. He was much older and much more experienced in masking his true thoughts, no doubt a skill he had been compelled to perfect by his important position among his kin. If there had been signs, Bilbo had failed to see them. He owed Thorin that much, to stay with him until the end, whatever form it might have taken, whether it had been death or a new life.

He steadied himself on his feet as Balin began lowering the quilts that were keeping Thorin warm.

"How is your head?" asked the dwarf, glancing at Bilbo.

The hobbit looked at him startled. He had forgotten all about the dull pain in his temple. "Oh, it's fine," he said, lifting his hand tentatively to the bandage wrapped around his forehead.

"Oin seems to have done well enough," said Balin, eying Bilbo's forehead and starting to frown. "Where did you get fresh dressings?" he turned to Oin, a bit accusing.

Oin stared at him confounded.

"It wasn't Oin," muttered Bilbo. "I didn't stop earlier. The elves treated me."