Disclaimer: Not mine.

Warnings: None, really.

AN: I do apologize as this chapter took somewhat longer. Originally I intended to end this fic somewhere around here - though that may not yet happen. As rl is going to be quite busy the next two to three weeks or so, there won't be too many updates. After that, however ... ^_~

And thank you very much for taking time to read!

Guilt and Courage

Chapter 6

Silence fell like a hammer's blow. For a moment, no one found any words, and at least Thorin felt as if his heart had stopped.

"What do you mean?" asked Balin (and if his voice came out strained, nobody noticed).

Beorn's expression did not change, and if was Gandalf who let out a sigh and relaxed. "As Beorn said, Bilbo's injuries were grave. However, hobbits are rather tenacious, and what would have killed many others, Bilbo survived."

Several relieved sighs echoed over the clearing. A faint smile made its way on Gandalf's face - after all the disgruntlement Bilbo had become a beloved member of the company. Even Thorin did not hide how the news made him feel as if a heavy burden had been lifted.

Only Gandalf, in the depth of his soul, kept questioning himself. Why had he chosen Bilbo, when the hobbit was so obviously unsuited for adventure? Having been an adventurous child was little reason - especially when Gandalf ought to have foreseen how easily Bilbo was going to be hurt in the adventure.

Change he had expected. But perhaps he had failed at determining the exact nature and processes of change. It had been naive to think this adventure would end without scars - especially with a dragon waiting at its end (something Gandalf did not want to particularly contemplate even now).

"For now Bilbo rests," Gandalf told the company, "And Beorn invites you to share his table tonight."

Balin did accept the invitation. Thorin glanced down and found his hands blood-stained. His stomach twisted.

His stomach would accept no food tonight.

Empty as their stomachs were, Thorin knew his was knotted in too many twists to accept food ere he had seen to Bilbo. The hobbit's fate rested heavy upon his conscience, and there were too many words Thorin had yet to say - too many things Thorin would never forgive himself for, should Bilbo pass before the crown less King can apologize.

It took some badgering, but where Thorin's cold demands failed, Kili's pleading did the job. With a sigh Gandalf allowed a small group along - Thorin, Fili, Kili, Balin and Oin. And with them they took the well wishes of the entire company.

Gandalf cast a meaningful glance in Bofur's direction, making certain Thorin watched as Bofur told Kili just to make certain Bilbo is as comfortable as possible. Thorin swallowed. Bofur ought to have a place within their group. More so than Thorin.

Because where Thorin was cold and downright rude in his treatment of Bilbo, Bofur is one of the few among their company who could honestly call himself a friend to the hobbit.

Yet for now it was merely Thorin's position as leader of the company that allowed him to enter the separated chamber tucked away in a corner of Beorn's home. Perhaps one day he would be able to count himself a friend, too.

Gandalf gestured at them to be silent, then opened the door.

The chamber was not exactly small - easily large enough to fit their entire party - and in its middle stood a large bed. Due to the dim light, Thorin first failed to see Bilbo. And when he caught sight of him, the small form seemed to be drowning among the pillows.

Bilbo slept, though a frown on his face told Thorin it was no painless sleep. Under their watching eyes, Bilbo's forehead creased, and with a soft groan he attempted to turn - only to find his movements restricted by the sheets tightly wrapped around his body.

Fili made a step forward, "He can't move."

Balin stretched out a hand, staying the young dwarf, and Gandalf explained in a low voice: "He shouldn't. It won't be good for his injuries if he puts weight on them, so we had to make certain he can't turn."

"That can't be comfortable," muttered Kili and Thorin found himself agreeing whole-heatedly. He did, however, also understand the reason even before Balin spoke up. "It is, but it's necessary."

"He'll live?" asked Kili then, and Thorin held his breath.

Gandalf nodded. Now the wizard looked exhausted; concerned still, but not as worried as he had been on the road.

"He'll live – the wounds were serious, and many would have succumbed to them much earlier. Luckily for us, hobbits are hardier, and so our hobbit will live. Live and recover, though it will take time."

The following day, however, brought no improvement. Instead of waking up, Bilbo was running a high fever and delirious. Gandalf spend the entire day at Bilbo's side, requesting either cold or hot towels to be brought, water and some broth.

Thorin felt useless.

The rest of the company took to various other tasks. Bombur looked for ingredients to refill their stocks, Dwalin and Gloin chose to re-sharpen their and everyone else's weapons. It sent an odd spike of emotion through his chest when Thorin caught sight of Bilbo's small sword among the pile.

Now the blade had seen battle and bloodshed.

And Thorin only wished it had not.

Most of the company had settled down to rest – there was little to do at Beorn's house, and once clothes had been cleaned and weapons cared for, they could only wait in uneasy silence for a word on Bilbo's condition.

A suggestion to go scouting had been shot down by Beorn, warning them of goblins crawling the woods. And while Thorin found himself almost itching for battle (those goblins had almost taken the life of one of his companions – his blood practically screamed for revenge), he also knew he could not risk it.

As harsh as the judgment seemed, luck had been with them that night. One injured member of their party seemed little when compared to the number of goblin's they'd killed – and the even greater number of goblins that had never even noticed the fight.

Had the main goblin host seen them, none would have survived.

Luck had been with them.

Yet luck had been vicious, too. (As vicious as Thorin's own words).

It took nearly two days for Bilbo's fever to go down, and then it left the hobbit too weak and sleepy to do much. Only on the morning of the third day Gandalf deemed Bilbo fit enough to speak with Thorin – though not nearly healthy enough to leave the bed yet.

Thorin held his breath when he entered the room. A smell of fresh herbs lingered in the air, masking the underlying musk of sickness. Bilbo was pale and almost gaunt, but upright in the enormous bed, with the covers pulled up to his chest.

He was sitting, and greeted Thorin when he entered, though all Thorin could see were the bandages peeking out under his shirt's collar, and how thin his wrists had become. His heart skipped a beat, and Thorin abruptly realized what he had to do.

"Master Baggins," Thorin said and then knelt down next to the bed, "I am in your debt. Whatever service you require of me, consider it yours."

Bilbo, flushed from fever, raised both hands. "Please, no, there's no need. I mean whatever for?"

"You saved my life. Twice," Thorin replied, "And were injured defending my kin and companions."

Bilbo swallowed. "They're my companions, too."

Then, he seemed to abruptly recall Thorin's words. "If you will have me, that is."

Thorin did wish for nothing more than the ability to take back those thrice-damned words he had uttered. Especially those he'd spoken after Bilbo had apparently saved him for the first time – the lack of memory did not devalue the deed.

"Master Baggins, I beg you not to doubt your place among the company," said Thorin, "I was wrong to doubt you – and I can only wish I had seen that sooner. The fault has always been with me – I was too blind to recognize your value, blinded by my misconceptions."

Bilbo shook his head, sending those golden curls flying. "No, no, no. You were entirely right to doubt me – I still have no idea how to actually wield a sword, to be honest. Whatever I did was pure luck."

"Saving my life twice is no mere luck, Master Baggins," Thorin replied, "Especially not if you did indeed step between Azog and myself."

Bilbo evaded his eyes then, and Thorin felt affection bloom in his chest, coupled with a sense of sheer incredulity. Among the wide bed the hobbit looked even smaller, and the soft sheets seemed only to enhance the gentleness and frailty of this being. Yet even so Bilbo had been all what had stood between Thorin and certain death.

"It was a bit of a spontaneous reaction, really," Bilbo muttered, "I don't know what I was thinking."

Thorin felt like reaching out and ruffling Bilbo's hair. It had grown quite long in the time they had been on the road.

"It was one of the most courageous acts I have witnessed in my entire life," said Thorin with a fond smile, "And had I the opportunity I would like to reward you handsomely for it.

Bilbo failed to reply then, because to him his actions still did not appear so grandiose. And the call of riches had never truly appealed to him, either. "Well," he said eventually, "Be that as it may, but isn't the floor rather uncomfortable? You can sit on the bed if you please– it's certainly large enough."

Thorin had forgotten about the wood digging into his knees, but he gladly did accept Bilbo's invitation. Sitting down on the bed almost felt like an invasion of private space – he could touch Bilbo now, he only needed to reach out – but then again, having Bilbo relax in his presence was an expression of forgiveness beyond what Thorin had dared to ask for.

"How are your injuries healing?" Thorin inquired instead, "Do they give you any pain?"

Bilbo grimaced slightly. "A bit. Nothing serious, though, and they are healing."

"No infection?"

"No, but apparently that was a close thing," Bilbo said, "Gandalf told me some of the cuts I got from the warg had started festering. But they managed to get to it in time. By the way, I really need to thank everybody who carried me – though I'm afraid I don't quite remember who all…"

Thorin shook his head now. "Don't worry about that, Master Baggins, carrying you was hardly a bother. But what did the wizard have to say about the cut to your shoulder?"

Because when Thorin closed his eyes he could still see the goblin blade pierced clear through Bilbo's shoulder. And fresh blood soaking through Bilbo's shirt and into the ground beneath.

He shuddered.

Bilbo's expression has grown more serious. Unconsciously he reached up to rub the injured shoulder. "It will take a while to heal, Gandalf said. Apparently I'm in luck because Beorn has some plants that will speed the process, but I'm not going to carry anything heavy with that arm in the near future. I hope that won't be a bother?"

"Not at all," said Thorin.

"Even if I can't fight?" Bilbo's eyes were wide, almost as if searching for a certain reaction on Thorin's face.

The King under the Mountain attempted a smile in return, hoping it to be what Bilbo was looking for. "Master Baggins, fighting was never required of you," he held up a hand to stall any protests, "You were contracted only as a burglar – not as a warrior or soldier. Beyond ensuring your own survival, there is no requirement for you to fight – and certainly none at all to risk your life to save another. I'm sorry if my behavior gave you the wrong idea, and for what it is worth, I promise to make certain no further harm will befall you."

Bilbo blinked, obviously surprised and a little confused, too. "But that's …" then he straightened up, "Do forgive me, but that is utterly dumb. If I am a member of the company, I will very well try to help my companions where I can, contract or not. I may not be skilled, but I will do what I can."

"And I'm alive for it," concluded Thorin, "So I couldn't be any more grateful – or sorry for having treated you so despicably before that."

And once again Bilbo more or less waved the apology away. "We didn't quite understand each other, then – there's no apology necessary for that since that was probably my fault as it was yours. All I'd like is to get better along from now on."

Simple pleasures, Thorin recalled, as warmth spread through his chest. Simple pleasures and simple wishes that cut through the core of his being.

"I wish for that as well," he replied evenly, "Though if you would allow me, I'd like to give you at least a small token of my gratitude."

And with that Thorin reached for his braids and with skilled fingers unclasped one of his beads.

"We have various kinds of beads – some are for special occasions, others are gifts from family or friends. This one," Thorin opened his hand to reveal a small, golden bead, "Has been in my family for ages. I would like you to have it."

"I … I don't think I can accept this. If it's a family heirloom, you should really keep it."

Thorin smiled. "It's a tradition among dwarves to give important others beads like this. It's a symbolic gesture – the receiver becomes a part of the family."

Bilbo might have paled, but as he is still so very white, only his eyes widen. It takes him a moment to find his words – politeness demanded he refuse the gift, while his heart is positively exploding with happiness at the idea of being considered family.

After the heart-wrenching sense of loneliness and isolation that had kept him company through many nights on this adventure, he wished for nothing more.

Thorin watched the emotions dance across Bilbo's face. When eventually a hopeful smile began to blossom on the hobbit's face, he responded in kind.

"Please," said Bilbo.

"Will you let me braid it in?" asked Thorin.

And with a trusting smile Bilbo leaned forward, offering Thorin free access to his hair. "Of course."

tbc

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