After his massage, Thorin slept till late in the afternoon, giving Bilbo time to visit Fili and Kili and forget the island of awkwardness in the middle of his day, or at least remember it with less stinging clarity. Of course, he mentioned none of it to Fili and Kili, and he was grateful that they did not inquire further than into Thorin's general state of health and level of peevishness.
"You're looking well, Bilbo," Fili had said the moment that the hobbit had walked into their room.
Bilbo actually felt a little crumpled, but he feigned surprise. "Why wouldn't I look well?" he said as he sat down on a chair between their beds.
"I imagine spending most of your time with bedridden Thorin can be a little... nerve-wrecking," muttered Fili under his breath, then looked at his brother, who returned a knowing grin.
"I remember he once had to drag us out of an icy lake in the Blue Mountains," chirped Kili without a trace of guilt over his childhood transgressions, "and he caught a little cold. Mother had to threaten with strapping him down to keep him in bed for two days."
Bilbo smiled and ignored the first impulse to ask what they were doing on an icy lake in the first place. "What about you two?" he asked instead.
"She didn't have to threaten us. We were sick as dogs for an entire week. Which was for the better, eventually, as we didn't have to deal too much with Thorin. He was sick as a dog, too, and furious about it."
Bilbo couldn't restrain a hearty laugh. "He seems to be taking it surprisingly well this time," he said.
"Lucky you," replied Fili with a little wink.
Their conversation had then turned to other topics, making Bilbo feel even more disconnected from his earlier self, whose hand and soul had quivered over what should have been the simple task of giving Thorin a therapeutic massage. But nothing was simple anymore between himself and the Dwarf King.
Bilbo now lay again in bed behind him, looking at the Thorin's wide back, and at his dark hair scattered over his pillow, as he slept on his right side. He remembered all the turmoil that he had gone through that day as if it had happened to someone else. He wanted it to have happened to someone else. There was no real reason for it to have happened to him. He had been together with Thorin on that quest that had bonded them for life, as Gandalf had said. They were very far from strangers to each other now. Why should he have felt uncomfortable about giving Thorin a massage that was meant to help his not quite mint condition? Why couldn't he feel as eager about that as he had felt about helping him soothe the pain in his heart by reclaiming his kingdom?
He was suddenly pulled from his thoughts by the delicate sound of Thorin starting to wake up and by the slight movement of his shoulder, which elicited almost at once a groan of protest. In spite of the obvious discomfort that it caused him, Thorin tried to turn.
"Thorin, let me help you," said Bilbo, jumping on an elbow and leaning over his side.
Thorin looked at him a little startled. "I'm too heavy," he said, still trying to move on his own and jolting in pain sooner than it could actually make a difference.
"Oh, I've put some muscle on me since I joined your Company. I think I can handle it," said Bilbo with a little smirk. "Come on," he insisted, sitting up on his knees, placing a hand on Thorin's chest and holding his injured left arm by the elbow with the other. He did not feel awkward touching him now. He felt wonderfully warm about it, in fact. Thorin himself felt wonderfully warm to touch. Sleep did that.
To Thorin's clear surprise, Bilbo's intervention did help him turn without a lot of trouble. He smiled to him once he was settled comfortably on his back.
"There," Bilbo smiled back and proceeded to arrange the blanket around him.
"Thank you," whispered Thorin.
"Don't mention it," said Bilbo, then sat back to draw his breath a little.
Thorin looked like he had also forgotten what had happened between them earlier in the day. It was a relief to see that he was unaffected and that everything was all right. Bilbo felt his body glow slightly with the sweetness of that thought.
"Bilbo," said Thorin, growing more serious, "I can ask Oin to continue giving me my massage if it makes you uncomfortable."
Bilbo lost the lustre of his smile. It seemed that Thorin had not forgotten at all. "No, Thorin," he said, "I was just being silly. It doesn't make me uncomfortable."
"Silly?" repeated Thorin. "No, I do not think you were being silly. I think you were afraid. I made you afraid. I am sorry, but I was taken by surprise."
Bilbo felt like something heavy was crushing him. "No, Thorin, don't apologize," he said, although he really did not want to talk about it. "I was taken by surprise myself. I just... I don't want to cause you even more pain."
Thorin smiled again. "You could never do that."
The deeply warm tone of his voice dispelled the returning shadow from Bilbo's mind. He felt relieved again, and even a little flattered. He also remembered his earlier visit with the ever-cheerful Fili and Kili and the little glimpse into Thorin's past experience with being confined to his bed. "Can I say something?"
"Anything."
"I honestly expected you to be a more difficult patient."
Thorin burst into actual laughter that caused him to wince in pain. "It helps to have distractions," he said.
Bilbo lowered his gaze, trying to hide the flowering of too much red in his cheeks.
"I suppose I am tired of fighting," said Thorin, more seriously.
Bilbo looked up. He certainly understood how Thorin could have got tired of fighting, but he couldn't help a tinge of sweet melancholy at the thought that, for him, the fight was not over at all. It was something that he was going to have to get used to. "Well, would you like some supper?" he asked.
Thorin pondered his answer for a while. "I am not that hungry," he refused, eventually.
"Me neither," said Bilbo. "I suppose I'll just change for bed then."
Thorin approved with a brimming of warmth in his eyes that would have made Bilbo blush again if he had stayed longer in his presence. Instead, he excused himself and went to the bathroom to wash up and change into the night clothes that he had borrowed from the tall chest of drawers residing in the corner of Thorin's bedroom. He still didn't know how to feel about sleeping with Thorin in his bed. There was much more going on than simply keeping him company. He would have had to be blind and stupid not to see that, and he had never been either, much less now after all he had experienced. It unnerved him constantly. There was a permanent flutter in his heart, barely perceptible but definitely there, like a tired butterfly was batting its wings to get out of it. On the other hand, he really could not conceive of leaving Thorin alone for the night and sleeping elsewhere. There was also something infinitely comforting and safe about knowing that he was with him, and there was even something pleasurable about that little butterfly in his heart that didn't truly want to get out. It made him feel twice as much alive.
He returned to the bedroom and found Thorin still awake. He lay down at his side and made himself comfortable. They gazed at each other for a while, and Bilbo mused that he usually felt awkward staring at someone without saying anything. He did not feel awkward staring wordlessly at Thorin and having Thorin stare wordlessly back at him. He felt that they were speaking to each other anyway.
"You know," he broke their secret communion, "when you first walked inside my house, I never thought that we would end up in bed together."
Thorin laughed again and it didn't seem to hurt any less than before. "It seems that you can cause me more pain after all," he said, with a lingering smile.
"I'm sorry," said Bilbo, "I'll try not to make you laugh anymore, until you're better."
"I think a laugh is worth a little pain," said Thorin.
"And you've had a great deal of that already," Bilbo continued his thought.
Thorin nodded, and Bilbo couldn't help feeling a twinge of melancholy again. Still, it was a welcome change to hear Thorin talk that way, and it was certainly a welcome change to hear him laugh.
"So this is your old room from when you lived here," Bilbo said and Thorin nodded again. It was hard for Bilbo not to think of the many years that had passed since Thorin had been in that room last. He also could not help thinking of how it made Thorin feel to be there again after all those years. "Were you ever injured then?" he asked instead.
"No, nothing serious. Just bumps and scratches I might have gotten in combat training. I was very young."
"How old were you when the dragon came?"
"I was around Fili's age."
Bilbo didn't really know how old Fili was, but he seemed too young still to have his home taken away from him in a burst of flame, with all the comforts it contained.
"I cannot begin to imagine what it was like for you," said Bilbo.
"It was not easy. Things were expected of me."
"Things you weren't ready for?"
"Not entirely," said Thorin. "We had lost everything, and I do not mean only possessions. It was long before we found shelter. Many more died on the way."
"You settled in Dunland eventually," said Bilbo, remembering the bits and pieces of the story that he had heard along the way. "You must have passed near Mirkwood. Did Thranduil not help?"
Thorin mustered a broiling glare. "He wanted nothing to do with us. We had to move on."
"I see," said Bilbo, swallowing the lump in his throat.
"Those of us who were able took work as we could. There is always need of a good blacksmith in the world of Men."
Bilbo detected a strong note of bitterness in Thorin's voice, and it did not surprise him. He could hardly imagine how Thorin had gone from being a prince in the most powerful kingdom of Middle Earth to having to earn his living by working as a blacksmith, but it did not sound as if he had had a choice. "I can see where your love of the Elves is coming from," concluded Bilbo.
Thorin smirked. "Of course, you feel differently."
"You mean, I actually love them?"
Thorin raised his eyebrows a little as if he had undeniable proof of Bilbo's love of the Elves. "Gandalf said you were going off into the woods to hear their songs when you were young."
Bilbo approved with a squint. "When did Gandalf tell you that?"
"When he suggested that you would make a proper burglar for our quest."
"Right," said Bilbo, beginning to worry slightly. He was not aware of lengthy conversations between Gandalf and Thorin that concerned him, but, of course, there had to be some prior recommendations by Gandalf in order to convince Thorin to even consider taking the hobbit on his quest in the first place. "What else did he say about me?"
"That you were light on your feet, and that you had courage most of your kin had forgotten. And most importantly, that you did not smell of Dwarf."
Bilbo chuckled. "I think I do now."
"Quite possibly," said Thorin, with a rare spark of whimsy in his eye. Then, he went back to being almost solemnly serious. "There is something else that he said."
"Oh?"
"That, unlike other Hobbits, you had not married because you wished to remain unattached." Bilbo lost his smile altogether. "As if you wanted to make yourself available for an adventure."
Bilbo stared at Thorin for a while, feeling suddenly naked and even transparent. "I, I suppose that's true now that I think about it."
"I am glad you did not marry," teased Thorin.
"I certainly got an adventure out of it," said Bilbo. Thorin laughed again very quietly, and this time without a lot of strain. "Why did you... remain unattached?" Bilbo risked the question.
"I am very much attached," said Thorin, not very bothered by it, "to my people."
Bilbo weighed that answer for a second. Then he remembered something he'd wanted to tell Thorin all along. "I meant to tell you, Dwalin is hard at work remaking the king's throne, your throne."
Thorin smiled widely and beautifully. "Is he? He has not said a word to me about it."
"Perhaps he wanted it to be a surprise. Hmm, in fact, he said he had promised to you he would do it, when the time came."
"Indeed," Thorin seemed to remember and his eyes twinkled with things unsaid. "It was after the battle for Moria." Thorin looked back to Bilbo and something flashed painful in his eyes, like the flicker of a memory, then it turned into a wondrous sort of recognition, as if he was seeing Bilbo again after being parted from him for many years.
Bilbo did not really know what to make of it, but he remembered Balin's account of that battle and of how Thorin had earned the loyalty of his kin by facing Azog all alone and showing him that there was yet strength in the armoured arms of the Dwarves. It occurred to him now, as he looked upon a weak and languid Thorin, that all of that strength came with a price and that there must have been a great deal of heartache that Thorin was concealing under his ever brave front.
"That was when you lost your grandfather, wasn't it?" asked Bilbo, more aware than ever that King Thror had been to Thorin more than his king. He had been his grandfather, and Thorin had had to watch him die by Azog's filthy hand.
There was another flash of pain in Thorin's gaze, and it looked fresh even if it came from a time long past. "It was," he said, and let his gaze trail down to Bilbo's throat. He stared, unfocused, then spoke again in a low tone. "We had to burn them."
"Excuse me?" said Bilbo, a little startled.
"The bodies," said Thorin, "our dead. We had to burn them. That is not out way. There is no grave for my grandfather other than the open field before the East-Gate of Moria. Or for my brother, or for..." The flow of Thorin's memories faltered and he looked back to Bilbo with a small flutter of his eyelids, as if he had just shaken himself back into the present.
"For?" asked Bilbo.
"Many others we cared for," said Thorin eventually.
Bilbo had the unmistakable feeling that Thorin had meant to mention someone specific that he had cared for, but had stopped when he had realised that he was going to. He chose not to push the matter. "I am sorry, Thorin," he said instead, "but I think that they would all be very proud of you."
Thorin nodded, but his gaze remained deep and translucent, as if he was looking at Bilbo from across the ages. Then, he slowly started to fade as his eyelids lost their willingness to stay lifted.
"Sleep well," added Bilbo, his own voice fading.
He did not fall asleep right away, however. He remained wide-eyed as Thorin closed his eyes, simmering in the afterglow of sadness that their conversation had eventually left in him. He knew that he had only heard a small part of the story of Thorin's life up to that point, and that the darkest verses of it remained unheard by many. His natural curiosity yielded to a very sincere wish not to stir old wounds. Eventually, Bilbo felt sleep taking over him, too, and he gave in to it.
Something pulled him out again. A movement. And a sound. He opened his eyes and saw that Thorin was fighting something in his sleep, which still had him close within its grip. His face was bathed in sweat and so were his neck, arms and chest. He had pushed his part of the blanket down to his waist as he battled whatever evil had come to haunt him in the night. His head moved abruptly to his right, and Bilbo could see the muscles and veins of his neck straining under his wet skin and making the beads of sweat pop up like little see-through molehills. His eyebrows angered, and a strange but clearly formed word escaped his mouth in an aching exhale. It sounded like "knee wrath", but the knee was bent and broken in half. It did not make any sense to Bilbo, so he assumed it was a Dwarvish word, or perhaps a name, but certainly not a word of the Common Speech.
Bilbo perked himself up on an elbow and touched the side of Thorin's forehead as gently as he could, meaning to save him from his obviously bad dream. He proved more than eager to be saved from it. Thorin's head jerked back and his eyes opened widely, staring at first at the ceiling of his bedroom as if he had just emerged above water after being held down, desperately seeking air and life.
"Thorin?" called Bilbo, not very loud, but loud enough to ensure that his voice would reach through the veil of horror that Thorin still seemed to linger under. "Thorin, look at me," he repeated, brushing his fingers against the skin of the dwarf's forehead to get his attention.
Finally, Thorin unpinned his eyes from the ceiling and moved them slowly to Bilbo, as if he almost didn't expect him to be real. His eyes were like overwrought coals, clear and hot, but exhausted, and they stood out strangely on his sweat-soaked face.
Bilbo smiled to him. "You're all right now. It was just a dream."
Thorin gazed at him with growing sadness and his eyebrows sagged under the pull of the watery sheen that was beginning to gather in his eyes. Bilbo understood that it had not been just a dream at all. It had been a memory. Thorin brought his right hand to the hobbit's arm and up his shoulder and tugged a little at his shirt. Thin threads of tears began to shine down the sides of his face. Bilbo could not resist him now. He bent over him, letting his face rest gently against Thorin's forehead and didn't retreat when Thorin very obviously buried his face in his neck and cried. His hand was clutching Bilbo's shirt and his fingers kept kneading it with more strength than Bilbo had thought they would have had left in them. He raised his own hand to Thorin's head and let his fingers dig into his drenched hair, imparting what he hoped was a comforting caress.
"Whatever you dreamed of, Thorin, it's in the past now. It can't hurt you anymore," said Bilbo as Thorin began to calm down. He felt him smile against his neck. That was when he knew that he could let him go.
He restored the normal distance between them and was able to determine that Thorin looked like he had finally come out of his nightmare and was ready to recognize that he was awake in a better place. He looked more dishevelled than Bilbo had ever seen him through the entire quest, even more so than when he had lain wounded on the battlefield, armour rent and body bleeding. His heart was wide open now, unfolding its layers upon layers of sorrow before Bilbo like a flower blooming in blood. It did not speak in specifics and Bilbo did not really need to know exactly what Thorin had dreamed about. It was enough that his heart did speak to him and that Thorin, the ruler of the realm that he was in, was letting him see so deep inside him. It was something that could not be taken lightly.
Bilbo smiled again, wanting to at least try and break the low-hanging spell of their embrace. He wiped the tears off one side of Thorin's face with the back of his hand. "We should clean you up a bit," he said, looking Thorin all over, "it won't do for you to go back to sleep all soaked like this. Catching a cold is the last thing you need." Thorin smiled a little, seeming to agree. "Then I'll make you some very special tea," teased Bilbo, remembering the few times that he had gone to Oin for relief of his anxiety and had walked away with a wonderful tea that had helped him sleep.
Thorin did not seem to have much energy left to either protest or welcome the promise of tea. Bilbo climbed out of bed and went to get some warm water and a clean cloth. He returned shortly and set his wash things on the night table at Thorin's side, then sat down on the side of his bed and rinsed the washcloth in the warm, lavender-scented water. He had added a bit of lavender oil in it for a touch of extra comfort. There had been many times during the quest in which he had thought that he would never have the fortune of being near scented bath water again. He had certainly not expected to be near it and Thorin at the same time. But, just as he had adjusted to every unexpected thing that had crossed his path during the quest, it seemed that he simply had to continue adjusting.
Thorin looked at him with a kind of tired gratitude as he washed his face of sweat and tears. There was no new flame of desire flaring out at Bilbo as he continued washing his neck and his chest. It made it easier for the hobbit to keep feeling comfortable with their closeness instead of growing anxious. It actually made Bilbo feel happy that he could do that for Thorin. It was a quiet happiness that ran deep to a place in his heart that had not really felt happy since he had left home. Whenever he glanced at Thorin, he could see that he felt about the same. It deepened Bilbo's rare feeling of content, but when he had drunk from it long enough, his curiosity came back to bite at his newfound inner peace.
"You dreamed about that awful battle, didn't you?" he asked Thorin.
Thorin nodded slowly, without showing any signs that the reminder of his fresh nightmare was particularly upsetting.
"Because we talked about it before you fell asleep," continued Bilbo. "I'm sorry I reminded you of it."
"It is not something I ever truly forget," said Thorin.
Bilbo smiled in return and applied the newly rinsed washcloth to Thorin's shoulder. "You said something while you were dreaming," he pressed on, "I think it was Dwarvish. It doesn't make any sense in Westron."
"What did I say?" asked Thorin a little apprehensively, but Bilbo did not think it was more than a natural reaction to an unpleasant memory.
"Well, bear in mind, I didn't understand what you were saying, so this might sound a little silly," said Bilbo, looking at Thorin as he rinsed the washcloth. "It sounded like... 'knee wrath'. Does that-" Bilbo stopped as he noticed a sudden darkening of Thorin's demeanour.
"Nyrath," whispered Thorin, his gaze unfocused and sounding like, whatever he had dreamed, he was now reliving it as he pronounced that word.
"Yes, that," said Bilbo. "What does it mean?"
Thorin faced him again, the coals in his eyes gone black. The warm glow in Bilbo's heart also diminished. "It is a name," said Thorin, his voice deep and carrying a note of ageless regret.
"Of someone who died in that battle?" asked Bilbo.
"Indeed," replied Thorin, and something began gleaming again in his darkened eyes, "someone I cared for very much."
Bilbo's first natural reaction was to feel compassion for Thorin's loss, but then he remembered the way he had latched onto him as he had awoken from his dream, and the way he had hesitated to name another person whose body had been burned after the battle for Moria besides his grandfather and brother, and he also remembered himself asking Balin if Thorin had expressed interest in another male before. It looked as if he had just got his answer. Nyrath could only be a male Dwarf, probably a skilled warrior, if he had been in that battle. "Oh," he said, full understanding of Thorin's heart and of his own place in it hitting him all at once with nauseating force. It seemed that simple comfort and quiet happiness kept eluding him. They kept turning against him. "I am sorry, Thorin, I had no idea."
"It was a long time ago," said Thorin.
"Not long enough, it seems," replied Bilbo before he could stop himself.
"It never is."
Bilbo said nothing more for a while, his mind brewing with new questions that he did not have to ask, since the answers presented themselves to him one by one. The course of Thorin's life since that fateful battle flashed before his eyes. Thorin had obviously loved Nyrath very much, whoever he had been. From the end of that battle, he had put aside that love to become fully attached to his people and had never looked back. Until perhaps the moment his path had crossed with the fourteenth member of the Company he had gathered to take back his lost kingdom, the hobbit that Gandalf had recommended as a burglar. "When, when did all this happen exactly?" he asked, to keep himself from toppling over.
"About 140 years ago," answered Thorin, calmly.
Bilbo winced inside. It was more than twice his lifetime. "That is long," he said, under his breath and looking down at his hands, which had stopped dead the moment he had seen the shadow of Nyrath's memory cloud Thorin's eyes. His hands were now resting on his knees, still holding the washcloth. He could feel the cold wetness of it seeping through the fabric of his trousers. He had not noticed that before. "Well, we should finish here before the water gets cold," he said, glancing back to Thorin briefly before rinsing the washcloth anew in the still warm scented water. He avoided Thorin's gaze as he wrung out the cloth, not really knowing how to feel about all that had been revealed to him in only a few minutes and in less words. He could feel it on him, however, and he knew that he had to face it. "I really am sorry, Thorin, about everything," he said.
Thorin's expression did not warrant any sort of apology on Bilbo's part. He looked at peace with his past, and not at all like he blamed the hobbit for reminding him of any of it. "Do not be," said Thorin, with a warm smile, and taking gentle hold of Bilbo's forearm.
The slow caress of his fingers soothed the sting of regret in Bilbo's heart, a regret that was truly not his to have. He had no part in Thorin's past hurts. On the contrary, he had the power to comfort him in the here and now. He took Thorin's hand and resumed his bedside bath by applying the warm washcloth to it.
Thorin said nothing more after that. He lay quietly until his eyes started closing again and he soon fell asleep before Bilbo could finish his bath and bring him the cup of tea he had promised. It was probably all for the better, and Bilbo hoped that he would be able to sleep undisturbed this time.
One image lingered in the hobbit's mind as he continued washing Thorin's body slowly enough not to wake him: the image of an ancient creature trapped inside a chunk of amber, perfect and beautiful in its immovable state as it had been in life. 140 years was long enough for Bilbo to call ancient. And the creature inside the amber was Nyrath, whatever Thorin remembered of him, and it seemed that he remembered everything. The reflection of him was still clear in Thorin's eyes and it made Bilbo's own heart stand still at the idea that someone's memory could survive that unspoiled for that long. It would have probably continued to survive for as long as Thorin would live and perhaps beyond. It saddened him to know that Thorin had loved someone that much and lost him.
He finally put the washcloth aside, and tucked the cover closely around Thorin again. Then he sat back awhile, thinking that he was probably more important to Thorin than he had even begun to realise. For the first time in 140 years perhaps, Thorin was feeling something other than the duty to avenge the fate of his ancestors and to care for his people, and he was feeling it for him. He could not help wondering what expectations and secret wishes lay behind Thorin's veil of serenity, what old hopes had been rekindled in his heart. He felt the weight of them hanging on his shoulders, although they were unknown to him.
His own expectations were unknown to him and he had no old hopes that he could remember. Deep down he'd always known what Gandalf had expressed so clearly to Thorin – that he had never married because he wanted to be free to go off on an adventure, if and when it presented itself. He was never going to be a Hobbit like the others, contenting himself with remaining within the safe confines of the Shire and never dreaming of seeing faraway mountains and waterfalls and wearing a sword. That much he had always known. He had never dreamed, however, that he would get as far as he had got and that, at the end of the adventure, he would still have himself to face, and an undiscovered part of him which he had never thought really mattered.
Author's Notes:
Note 1
The idea of Bilbo remaining 'unattached' in order to be free for an adventure is canon. Following is a quote from Gandalf in the "Quest of Erebor" chapter of Tolkien's Unfinished Tales:
"I learned that he had never married. I thought that odd though I guessed why it was; and the reason that I guessed was not that most of the Hobbits gave me: that he had early been left very well off and his own master. No, I guessed that he wanted to remain 'unattached' for some reason deep down which he did not understand himself - or would not acknowledge, for it alarmed him. He wanted, all the same, to be free to go when the chance came, or he had made up his courage. I remembered how he used to pester me with questions when he was a youngster about the Hobbits that had occasionally 'gone off,' as they said in the Shire. There were at least two of his uncles on the Took side that had done so."
Note 2
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