The bitter sharp metallic scent of blood, mixed with the overwhelming cocktail of herbal remedies nearly blighted his senses upon first awakening.

His heart thudded painfully against his ear drums in a pounding rush of blood.

Taking a raspy faltering breath he tried to calm himself.

Soon voices filtered in and out like ghostly visitors, some more there than others, louder and more annoyingly persistent.

Blinking blearily the dazed cloaked fog lifted from his eyes like a smattering of cobwebs caught in front of them.

Colors swam together like will o' wisps dancing and piecing themselves together fuzzily before him.

A groan finally escaped his painfully dry and cracked lips.

"-an you hear me lad?" Spoke a stern but very familiar voice from somewhere off to his right, "Thorin, I want you to blink if you can understand me."

Oin bustled about in his line of vision, the healer checked his eyes carefully noting that they were trying to regain focus.

The older dwarrow wore a heavy frown upon his lips, his posture screamed of exhaustion, relief, and concern.

Without too much trouble he managed to blink as instructed, his voice slowly came back to him, "W-water..."

Pawing at his neck he winced running his broad hand across it in thirst, his throat and mouth felt like sandpaper.

Even to his own ears his voice sounded raspy, brittle, and frail.

It made him grimace at the vulnerability he was showing, but the thought soon fled his mind as he winced stretching the many cuts and bruises marring his face.

Quickly ladling out some water from a near by barrel into a tin cup the healer gently tipped it to his awaiting lips, "Easy now, sips only, we don't want you choking and undoing all of my work." Oin snipped mildly.

A few droplets of water rolled and dribbled down his chin into his bread but he managed to hold onto a bit of his dignity and drink in small mouthfuls so as not to make himself sick.

Blue orbs roamed his surroundings, taking in the cool dampness of the makeshift healer's tent.

He was laying on a cot of some sort, which to his guess was made of straw and flimsy cloth; surrounding him were furs for warmth.

Before he could utter another word the flaps of the tent fluttered parting for a moment before opening, revealing the tired face of Balin Son of Fudin.

Walking over calmly a broad grandfatherly smile gracing his withered and wary face the adviser stopped just short of the end of the cot, "Thorin, it is very good to see you awake. You gave us quite the scare my king."

"Namadith'inudoy...are they...?" Panic surged through his chest and veins like shards of ice.

Memories surged forth like a tidal wave nearly shattering his nerves with the beginnings of a severe panic attack.

He looked to Balin for confirmation, "Tell me."

"Both of them are alive, and surviving for the most part so far to the best of their abilities, same as you are I'd imagine. The boys are strong lads, they will surely pull through the worst of it, they are young yet after all." Balin spoke with a strained smile.

Oin snorted loudly as he puttered about, drying his hands on a cloth after having washed them in a small basin on a table next to them, "They nearly died mind you." He says bluntly before continuing gruffly, "It was a bit of touch and go at first, they both had nasty fevers and infected wounds, but they proved to be more stubborn than their dear Amad."

Sighing heavily his shoulders shook and sunk with a sudden relief that eases his whole body into a calm.

Looking down at himself he takes note that his chest and middle are a wonderful patchwork of pink tinged bandages coated in an assortment of medicinal pastes.

Placing his well callused hands on either side of himself he proceeded to heave himself into a sitting position much to the chagrin of his companions.

Oin frowned deeply, he rubbed his face tiredly as he silently prayed to Mahal to give him patience.

"Thorin! Really now laddie, you've only just now woken from a grievously almost fatal battle wound." Balin chastised from his left as Oin glared at him from his right.

"You always have been a bad patient." The half deaf dwarf muttered in an annoyed fashion.

Having finally worked his body high enough to sit properly without too much strife or pain he looked to Balin completely ignoring Oin's previous commentary.

"The melekunh? What of the burglar?" He questioned.

Balin shifted taking on a most uneasy stance as he and Oin shared a long look of silence, before they turned their gaze back to him.

His panic was again renewed at their continued silence and weariness, "What have you not told me?"

Balin coughed trying to clear his throat before he began, "At first Master Baggins had appeared merely battered and bruised, with only a few cuts here and there; superficial ones if you will. He was most persistent in calling forth for help, he stayed by your side all the while even after you had passed out from heavy blood loss. The poor lad was so insistent on getting you seen to that we had neglected to check him over properly for more pressing wounds."

Oin spoke up next his brow furring, "The wizard had you and the boys spirited to me on the backs of the eagles. Soon after Bofur found Master Baggins very much in a bad way and unconscious just outside the path leading to my row of healing tents. He had a might nasty head wound from a blow to the back of the head. We're thinking a rock or fallen debris of some sort perhaps seeing as there was no poison involved like in the usual Orc weaponry."

It was hard to breathe for a second anxiety seizing his heart, "Is he alive?"

Balin sighed forlornly and looked to the floor for a moment before answering, "From what Gandalf has gathered Master Baggins is in the state of some sort of coma at the moment healing or otherwise...one in between here and the halls of awaiting."

His heart felt like it had dropped into his stomach.

This couldn't be right; Bilbo was meant to be whole and safe after all of this.

After what he'd almost done to him on the wall in pure madness, no this was not right at all.

Rubbing a hand across his brow ignoring the biting sting of jarring several cuts in doing so he took a shuddering breath trying to gather himself.

"And the boys? Have they woken yet?"

"Kili is awake and complaining, Fili is still unconscious but no longer in any true danger." Oin supplied gruffly.

"How long has it been?" Eying them both he tried to come up with the answer himself but drew a blank.

"About a week give or take a day, our kin of Iron hills have been helping with supplies and medicinal herbs thankfully." Spoke Balin tiredly.

Oin snorted his hearing trumpet held up high so that he could keep up with the conversation,"'It's about damn time if you ask me, it only took them until the battle was half way over to be of any use."

"Come now Oin, don't be so harsh..." chastised Balin gently.

Another snort was his answer.

"I want to see him."

Both of the elder dwarrow stiffened at this.

"Thorin you are far too injured to even move properly on your own, perhaps in a few da-" The adviser began.

"It was not a request Balin." Pushing himself up even further ignoring the burning emanating from his chest and abdominal muscles he pressed on and heaved his feet forcefully over the side of the cot searching for his boots.

Puffs of breath escaped his mouth in effort as a few beads of sweat started on his brow.

Oin looked about ready to pull out his own beard in frustration, "I don't recommend you moving at all."

"I'll take that into consideration." He snarked back, "Balin lead the way."

"Oh I doubt you can even stand Thorin..." Frowned Balin as he moved quickly toward his king and helped him do so, "Durins...what will we do with you lot?"

Oin grumbled a bit in Khuzdal under his breath frowning and glaring all the while.

Slowly they made their way out of the main royal medical tent, and out into the cool frigid air.

The encampment was a bustle of humans, dwarrow, and surprisingly a few elves here and there assisting in the healing tents.

There were rows and rows of tents, which made his chest heavy with the possible number of injured and casualties of his kin.

Each step made his chest burn uncontrollably, which he only chose to use to spur him on to move faster to his destination.

"Easy now, we're almost there." stated the white haired dwarf as he steered him to a small tent not that far from his own.

Before they could pull back the tent flap it opened to reveal the tall form of Gandalf the grey.

"Ah, what a surprise to see you up and about King Thorin. Or perhaps it's not such a surprise after all? Considering I find you here of all places instead of where you aught be." Riddled the wizard airily though looking a tad more worn than his usual self.

Frowning he bit back a smart retort before looking Gandalf right in the eyes, "How does he fair?"

The grey Istari's face seemed to crumple in on it's self, sinking with it his hopes of an answer of reassurance.

"Perhaps this is a conversation for inside the tent, yes?" Gandalf motioned for Balin to help Thorin inside as he lifted the flap for them to walk through.

He was expecting something unsettling yes, but nothing could have prepared him for the heartbreaking scene that now lay before him.

The tent was dimly lit by one lantern sitting on a small table in the very center.

Swaddled in many warm furs Bilbo looked extremely small on the make shift cot.

His golden ringleted curls splayed out on the pillow beneath his head were somewhat trapped in a wrap of white and green tinted gauze dotted here and there with blood.

The hobbit's skin was a so pale it looked almost like mere parchment stretched over bone.

Gandalf loomed off to the side of the tent his face solemn.

Thorin pushed forward out of Balin's grip and stumbled toward the cot, nearly falling to his knees in the process his sapphire eyes wide in horror, "Was no one watching him? How could he...how did he come to such a state?"

"I do believe everyone was rather worried and busy tending to you and your nephews." The wizard stated coolly a bit more so than necessary showing how angry the usual calm Istari was.

Sinking into a chair next to the cot Thorin simply stared down at the hobbit before him in anguish, "Is there no fixing him?"

"He is not a toy that has been broken, King Thorin. He is a foolishly selfless and brave little hobbit far too far from home. There is nothing I can do for him I have not already tried. It is simply up to him whether or not he wakes from here on."

"Surely there has to be something you have not tried?" He murmurs desperately his eyes never leaving the halfling's face.

Gandalf sighed deeply, "He fades as we speak, there is not but one thing to stop a fading."

Balin frowned, "Fading? Is that not what the elves do in heart ache? Why would our hobbit be fading?"

The wizard snorted frustratedly, "Like elves hobbits can fade in a similar way. They are noble creatures; they feel with all their hearts, until they cannot very well do so anymore."

"Are you saying Master Baggins has attached himself in his heart to one of us?" Blinked Thorin in confusion.

"Is that so hard to believe? Like dwarves, hobbits only love once, and when they do so they do so with all that they have, truly devoted until their last breath."

He looked down at Bilbo who seemed totally oblivious to what was going on around him.

Hesitantly taking one of the hobbit's small pale hands into his own large callused one he gripped it gently as possible afraid of doing more harm onto the small hobbit.

"What can we possibly do?"

"One of two things, you either must find the person amongst you who holds power over his heart. Or make him comfortable as possible and hope Yavanna is kind to her child. Talk to him, if you reach him perhaps you might give him reason enough to come back." Gandalf replied.

Heavy sorrow stabbed at his heart, "Leave us."

Balin looked about ready to argue before he's quickly cut off by Gandalf, "Let us give them some privacy, I hear Nori has smuggled in some good ale that has been salvaged from the wreckage of Dale."

Placing an arm around Balin's shoulder the wizard leads the unwilling dwarrow away and out of the silence of the tent.

His emotions spiraled inside of his chest, anger, sorrow, self hate.

The list was numerous and lengthy.

Gripping the small hand in his own tighter his eyes burned at the edges with suppressed tears, "You were supposed to be safe you know; on your way back to the Shire, right, whole and healthy."

"So tell me Master Baggins...why are you still here? Why did you...why did you come back when any sane manner of creature or man would have left us all behind."

Tears soon skirted down the edges of his cheeks, his vision blurred as he absently wiped messily at his eyes, "And why does my heart ache so to see you like this? It's as if you were..."

His eyes widen impossibly as he takes a jerking breath inward.

And then it all made sense to him.

Why that even in the cloud of the dragon sickness the only one he'd trusted fully had been Bilbo.

Why his betrayal had been the one he had not seen coming and why it had hurt that much more to know it.

This small, fragile, fussy, little hobbit was his one.

His one...

Mahal be damned.

Things just became infinitely more dire and complicated.

Khuzdal Translations:

Amad: Mother
Namadith'inudoy: Sister's son/s
melekunh: Hobbit/Halfling