AN: I decided to fill this prompt on the kink meme since so many reviewers mentioned they like my thilbo stories. Prompted by ladyredfeather, who asked for a story in which Bilbo entered a state of hibernation due to cold weather.

Pairing: Thorin/Bilbo

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

Quietus

Rivendell had been beautiful. It was full of scenic splendour, and all of the comforts of home that Bilbo Baggins longed for. He'd grown content in the few days they'd stayed amongst the elves. All too soon, Thorin's company left, and it seemed that Bilbo's discontentment increased tenfold as they walked up the mountains and away from the elven city. More than ever he longed for home, and more than ever he felt unwanted on the journey. Thorin often looked at him with spite, and Bilbo knew he was proving useless to the dwarf king. He wished there was something he could do to find his place amongst the dwarves, but as luck would have it, things proved just the opposite.

The mountains grew cold and snowy, and Bilbo was unaccustomed to the frigid temperatures. His feet were frozen, and he felt impossibly cold through his thin Shire clothes. The lack of proper food was not helping either, and Bilbo felt incredibly sluggish, more so than usual, and he could feel the disapproving glares directed at him from their leader. His eyes were drooping, and his heart rate was slowing. He felt his breath coming slower, and he even hungered for food less than usual. The cold began to bother him less, though he knew the chilly airs had not ebbed. He inwardly panicked when he recognized the signs for what they were.

It had happened to him only once before, when he was a young hobbit lad. A harsh winter snowfall had passed through the Shire. The homes there, though equipped with warm hearths and healthy amounts of food, were not prepared for cold winds and winter temperatures. The chill had spread through the walls of Bag End, and though his mother did her best to keep Bilbo warm, one day he simply passed out on their living room floor. He'd been terrified when he woke, looking up at the concerned faces of his mother and father. They explained that he'd experienced the Quietus. His body had settled into a state of sleep, and adjusted to its surroundings for survival. He hadn't woken until his parents managed to increase his temperature and surroundings to suitable warmth. Several other hobbit lads had succumbed to the Quietus that winter, as they were more susceptible to the cold temperatures than adult hobbits.

Bilbo remembered how terrified he had been both before and after entering the Quietus. He had terrible visions as he drifted off, and then a dark blank landscape had filled his mind. He remembered a disturbing darkness wrapping around his mind while unconscious. He'd been able to hear the soft thumping of his own heart, and the slower it got, the more the black shadows surrounded him. Occasionally he realised he had a partial awareness of his surroundings, but he was unable to interact, unable to move. Upon wakening he'd been lethargic and his head had hurt for days. He'd spent the entire week sitting as close to the hearth as possible, with blankets tucked around his body for extra warmth. He feared more than anything that the Quietus would take him once more. As it happened his worries were for naught, as a winter so fierce had not passed through the Shire since. Unfortunately he had failed to remember that the journey to Erebor would most likely take him to places with fiercer temperatures than he was accustomed to. It had been so many years since then, and never had he thought he would feel the frightening state creeping up on him again.

Bilbo did his best to find ways to keep warm and hold the Quietus at bay. He stood close to the other members of the company, until they noticed and gave him strange glances. He wrapped his hands and feet in cloth torn from his shirts. He curled into himself under his one blanket at night, desperately trying to steal warmth from his own body. He did not dare take extra rations, as it was unfair to the others in the company, and he certainly did not wish for Thorin Oakenshield to think he was a burden. He knew however, that if the Quietus did take him, he would be more of a burden than ever before. The dwarf king would surely leave him, allow his body and mind to succumb to the darkness. And then Bilbo knew he would die for sure, left by himself in the snow. He feared slowly fading away, but more than that he feared being alone, and feeling as his body was torn limb from limb by wild animals, unable to do a thing about it.

He told no one of his plight, praying that they would reach warmer temperatures in due time. Three days after entering the mountains, the cold barely bothered him at all. He knew it was a bad sign. His temperature had almost fully adjusted to that around him. It was difficult to wake in the morning, and he trailed behind the company for much of the day. He figured the only reason he was still awake was because his mind was fighting so hard against his body's natural instincts. He could feel darkness creeping up on him, taunting him, and begging him to submit. When he curled under his blanket that night, he dearly hoped he would wake again in the morning.

He didn't.

When the dwarves woke early and began to cook breakfast Bofur glanced at the still sleeping hobbit frequently. He had opted to let him sneak an extra hour or two, but with all of the noise around him now, it was a wonder the hobbit had not yet woken. Bilbo was generally fairly susceptible to his surroundings, even the quiet snores of the dwarves waking him from his slumber in the middle of the night. Bofur trudged over to the hobbit's body, his boots covered in thick snow and mud. Bilbo had completely covered himself with his blanket, and not even his head was visible. Bofur would not have even recognized the lump as a sleeping form if he hadn't seen the Hobbit settle in for bed the evening before. Bilbo's form barely moved under the blankets, rising and falling at an incredibly slow pace. Bofur frowned a bit. It really was…quite slow.

He moved closer gently tapping Bilbo's shoulder before shaking his body to wake him. There was no response, so the dwarf pulled the blanket down and off of Bilbo's head. Bilbo's face was pale, his honey brown hair even looking dark against his skin. The dwarf furrowed his eyebrows a bit at the sight.

"Bofur, hurry and get him up, it's time to leave," Thorin shouted over at him, and Bofur grabbed Bilbo's shoulder and shook him roughly this time. Still there was no reaction. He turned and looked at the other dwarves in a panic.

"He's not waking!" he shouted, and the company glanced at him with curious stares. Thorin trudged over, muttering about the uselessness of hobbits until he reached their side.

"Halfling, wake up!" Thorin shouted down, and he bent to shake him hard. He glanced at Bofur, who by now was looking worried beyond belief and Thorin gripped the hobbit's shoulders tightly between his fingers. He was sure the Halfling was just being lazy.

"Wake up!" he yelled, shaking him hard as he could without actually causing harm. Bilbo's head lolled to the side, and his body was limp in Thorin's hands. The dwarf paused in his motions, surprised at the complete lack of response.

"Bilbo?" Thorin spoke quietly now and he raised a hand to touch the hobbit's brow, but pulled it back quickly at the temperature.

"He's frigid!" the dwarf cried, absolutely horrified by the Halfling's cold skin. He'd touched warmer bodies that were dead. He bent forward, his head next to Bilbo's face, and calmed slightly when he felt a weak breath against his skin. The hobbit was alive then, but it seemed barely, and he knew not what ailed him. Thorin turned, beckoning to some of the other dwarves.

"Oin! Come here, what's wrong with him?" Thorin shouted across at the company's healer. The grey bearded dwarf moved to his side and knelt next to the sleeping hobbit. He pressed fingers into his neck and face, then placed his hearing aid up against Bilbo's chest and listened.

"I…I don't know. He breathes, but it is slow. He should not be alive at all with a heart rate such as this," Oin spoke with wonder. The dwarf pulled away and looked at their leader. The remainder of the company had gathered round, anxiously looking on. The hobbit may have been an unusual member of their company, but he was still a part of it, and as such they did not wish him harm.

"I'm afraid I know little about the ailments of Hobbits," Oin spoke with regret. Thorin looked down upon the Halfling with worried eyes. For once he did not know what to do. He touched Bilbo's brow again, cursing himself for not noticing a member of his company was suffering.

"We'll find a place to stay, with cover, and build a fire. Perhaps Gandalf will know what ails him when he returns," Thorin ordered, and the dwarves hurried to gather their supplies and set out.

"Shall I carry him?" Bofur asked, ever the kind dwarf, but Thorin shook his head and waved him off.

"No, that's alright Bofur, I will," Thorin responded, surprisingly gently. As the other dwarf left his side to gather his own belongings Thorin studied the hobbit's features. His face was paler than any he'd ever seen, and despite the cool air, no flush was visible on his cheeks. The dwarf ran fingers around the back of Bilbo's head, resting his hand at the nape of the hobbit's neck. He could feel the same cool temperature where his fingers barely grazed Bilbo's skin. Thorin furrowed his brow and hurried to wrap the hobbit in blankets before hoisting him into his arms. He prayed the wizard would find them soon. If the Halfling's heart rate slowed any more it would surely stop.

Bilbo felt numb. His mind was blank. He could hear voices, barely, though he could not make them out. The tenors echoed in his mind painfully, and he thought he might keel over from the agony. However he wasn't really standing, and so instead he felt a strange sickness as his body seemingly floated in space. He realised his mind wasn't blank after all; his thoughts were simply so jumbled that they refused to take form. Nothing was clear, and he desperately wanted to open his eyes, but they were heavier than ever. The Quietus. It had taken him. No! He couldn't let it, not again, they would leave him, and he would die! He had to wake up! He fought to tell his mind to rouse from the darkness to no avail. It was too late, he'd let it overcome his mind. He wanted to cry, but even that was impossible now.

Nearly a full day had passed by the time the company found shelter, and Thorin hurried to place Bilbo beside the fire Gloin had started. The other dwarves sat close around doing their best to help, despite their exhaustion from moving through a night with no sleep. Thorin ordered several away to find food and various supplies, while he, Oin, and Dori focused on removing the Hobbit's soaked garments. The rest of Bilbo's body was equally as cold as his brow, and Thorin draped him in the driest blankets they had. He paused for a moment, looking upon the torn fabric wrapped roughly around Bilbo's hands and feet, then realised the hobbit was in his own way, trying to keep warm with what resources he had. Thorin angered slightly at the thought that Bilbo had known he was getting too cold, and had failed to inform him. But he quickly realised he'd given the hobbit no opportunity or encouragement to speak to him. He stood quickly, turning to the company.

"Someone will have to stay close to him, to keep him warm," Thorin suggested gruffly.

"I will, I don't mind," Ori said easily, and he moved to where Bilbo lay on the ground. Thorin watched enviously at how easily the young dwarf slid beside Bilbo and wrapped his arms around him. Ori seemed to have no qualms about such a deed and Thorin wondered why he found simple acts of kindness so difficult to perform. Ori grinned lightly and fidgeted until he found a comfortable spot, offering no complaint at the roughness of the stone or awkwardness of the position. Thorin settled against a wall, watching as Dori moved to Ori and Bilbo and proceeded to rub heat into the hobbit's feet. The rest of the company gathered closely around, more packed together than they might normally settle, with the hopes that their close proximity would aid as well. Bofur settled beside Bilbo, gripping his hands and rubbing warmth into them, mimicking Dori's actions on the hobbit's feet.

When night fell, the company's snores echoed in the small space they resided in and a cluster of dwarves lay cuddled around Bilbo on the ground near the fire. Thorin took first watch, ensuring their safety as he frequently glanced back at the group on the floor. Ori had shifted in his sleep, no longer holding Bilbo but instead sprawling gracelessly across the stone behind him. Bofur's arm was wrapped securely around the hobbit however, and even Fili and Kili had managed to somehow entangle their limbs in the group. Thorin approached and attempted to pull the wayward blankets up and over Bilbo, however he gave up when he found the dead weight of dwarves held them securely where they were. Instead Thorin removed his own furs, draping them gently across Bilbo's body and he leant over the other dwarves and close to the hobbit's face. He frowned when he noticed a thin wet trail leaking from Bilbo's eye. The Halfling was crying? It both comforted and frightened Thorin. Tears meant Bilbo's mind was still with them, on some level, but it also meant he was hurting greatly. The dwarf sighed heavily and stood, pacing for some time. He felt exhaustion creep up on him and moved to wake Gloin, giving him the second watch. He lay down not far from the cluster of dwarves and Bilbo, taking comfort from the sounds of their snores and stealing some warmth of his own.

When Thorin woke Gandalf was standing above him, puffing away on his pipe. The dwarf blinked a few times and shifted to a sitting position before gruffly greeting him.

"Much has happened in your absence, wizard," Thorin spoke, and Gandalf eyed him and continued to puff out circles of smoke. Thorin stood and moved to straighten his furs before realising they were draped over a certain Halfling. He turned and bent, lifting the furs from the hobbit and wrapping them around his own shoulders once more.

"An unusual place to put your covering at night," Gandalf spoke with humor and Thorin sent his best glare in the wizard's direction.

"It was there for a reason. We have a situation," Thorin intoned, turning a quick glance towards where Bilbo lay between the dwarves on the ground.

"The Halfling will not wake, something ails him. Perhaps you can tell us more of it," he continued. Gandalf frowned and pulled his pipe from his mouth, moving to where the hobbit lay. His eyes glanced over his form, taking in the shallow and slow breaths, and the pale pallor of Bilbo's skin.

"Ah, the Quietus," he hummed. Thorin waited for a moment but the wizard offered no explanation.

"Quietus?" the dwarf finally inquired.

"Hm, yes. It is a form of…hibernation, specific to Hobbits. They are smaller creatures, unaccustomed to harsh weather and cool winds, as you've made sure to point out regularly on this journey," Gandalf looked down on Thorin disapprovingly and the dwarf felt sufficiently chastised as he shifted slightly where he stood.

"Though the Shire is known for milder temperatures, it is not unheard of for harsher weathers to pass through briefly. The Quietus is a natural mechanic, meant to aid in a Hobbit's survival during such occasions. Their breathing slows, and their body temperature adjusts to that of their surroundings," Gandalf spoke and raised his head slightly looking towards the entrance of the cave at the snowy weather that bordered them.

"So then, there is nothing to worry about?" Thorin said, a small amount of relief visible in his posture as his shoulders sagged. By now some of the other members of the company had roused, turning their attention to the conversation between the dwarf and wizard.

"No, in this particular case there is much to worry about," Gandalf stated, inclining his head somberly. The tension returned immediately.

"Explain," Thorin insisted, glaring at the wizard vehemently.

"The Quietus is meant to be a temporary solution to cold weather. How long has he been asleep?" Gandalf asked as he knelt by Bilbo.

"Nearing two days now," Thorin said quickly.

"And I'm sure he was fighting it for days before that," Gandalf commented, and Thorin nodded slowly recalling the hasty wrappings on Bilbo's feet and hands, as well as the occasional time he would niche his body behind a dwarf to block the cold wind. He remembered the sluggish way Bilbo had been moving since the first chill air passed over the mountains. Gandalf reached down and touched Bilbo's neck. His eyebrows furrowed when he felt the slow pulse.

"It is as I thought, if you do not wake him soon, he will die," Gandalf spoke quietly. There were several gasps from the other members of the company who were sitting and listening avidly. Thorin swallowed thickly.

"And…how do we wake him?" the dwarf queried, his voice unsteady.

"I have only seen the Quietus take effect in person once, when dear Bilbo was but a young child. His parents woke him by sufficiently warming him," Gandalf said as he stood once more and took a puff on his pipe as though trying to soothe his nerves.

"We've…been trying to warm him, it doesn't seem to be enough," Thorin spoke hastily now, urgency clear in his voice. Gandalf closed his eyes in recollection.

"I seem to remember, it took his mother and father two full days to wake him from the Quietus. And they had a warm hearth to set him by and his condition was far less serious than it is now," Gandalf said gravely. Thorin moved in front of him, anger clearly visible in his features.

"What are you saying, that this is useless? That he will not recover from this? You say we must wake him soon, and then that it may take time! You wizards are confounding!" Thorin shouted and the other dwarves were shocked by the emotion their leader was showing.

"Calm yourself Thorin," Gandalf spoke, opening his eyes to look at the dwarf before him.

"How can I stay calm when a member of my company may die?" Thorin questioned demandingly. His deep tenor resonated in the cave and the other dwarves shook at the words. They worried for their burglar, and never had they seen Thorin show such blatant concern.

"I seem to remember you stating you would not be responsible for his fate, Thorin. When did that change, may I ask?" Gandalf asked mockingly. Thorin sneered at the wizard.

"When I felt skin, cold as ice!" The dwarf king yelled. Thorin stood frozen and breathing hard as the statement hung in the air. Truthfully he knew such words had vanished the moment Bilbo had shown up smiling and wielding a signed contract, a contract which specifically stated the many ways in which the hobbit could die. Thorin shook and turned away from Gandalf, knowing the wizard had bested him.

"What does it matter? I will not sit by and watch him die," the dwarf spoke, embarrassed at his display of emotion. He looked up at his company. The other dwarves watched him not with hatred or doubt, but with respect and worry. His eyes travelled towards where the Halfling lay and he watched the ever slow rise and fall of his chest.

"I may have said I would not be responsible for his fate, but it does not mean I would wish death upon him," Thorin whispered. He thought on how terribly cruel he'd been to Bilbo, how he'd shown him nothing but disrespect, and he felt incredible guilt encase his soul.

"I have been foolish," Thorin spoke gently. Suddenly Kili shifted next to Bilbo, leaning close to the hobbit's mouth.

"Uncle! He's barely breathing!" Kili shouted, frantically moving to place his ear on Bilbo's chest.

"His heart! It's scarcely beating!" He continued, and Thorin approached quickly to see for himself. His nephew was right. Bilbo's skin was colder than ever, and his slow and hesitant breaths were far less apparent than they had been the night before. Thorin pushed Ori away from where he huddled behind Bilbo and moved to embrace him, placing his hands on his face.

"Bilbo! You cannot give up! Not yet!" He shouted, and the other dwarves moved to warm Bilbo the best they could. Thorin hovered over his body yelling at him to stay alive, to wake up, and to breathe. Anything at all to get the Halfling to rouse.

Bilbo couldn't feel anything. His mind was completely encased in black and his eyes looked around frantically at nothing. He couldn't feel his heart anymore, and his thoughts were more lost than ever. He wanted to rest, he wanted to stop struggling. He desperately wanted to let the darkness claim him. Better the Quietus take his life than to feel his body ripped limb from limb by a wild animal. He allowed his mind to shut down as his consciousness slipped into a deeper place in his mind. There was a nagging in the back of his head that told him not to give up, to struggle, that his mother taught him better than this, but he just couldn't fight the pull any longer.

And then he heard a voice. A soft deep tenor, though it was far more frantic than it should be. He couldn't quite make out the words, but for some reason the sound made an image appear in his mind. A stout and sturdy male, thick, long, dark locks of hair riddled with grey strands, strong shoulders, a defined brow, and deep penetrating blue eyes that struck his heart every time he looked into them. Thorin? Bilbo allowed the image to take over his mind, the black slipping away slightly to fill with the shape of the dwarf. Had he not been abandoned? Now that he focused on the sounds he could hear more. There were several voices mixing, pleading with him to stay, to fight. Bilbo held on to them and kept the image of Thorin clear as he willed his body to stay alive.

Thorin nearly fell over the Hobbit with relief when he began to breathe again. There was a tiny exhale and Bilbo's chest rose and fell once more at a slow, languid pace. He entangled his hands behind Bilbo's neck, his fingers slipping into the curly locks and gripping a little tighter than might have been comfortable. He pulled back, gripping the hobbit in his arms as he sat on his haunches and enveloped the other's body in a tight embrace. He did not care what the company though of his actions, too overcome with solace that he had not failed just yet.

Thorin held Bilbo through the day, facing the hobbit's body towards the fire which Gloin kept hot and flickering. He removed his cloak again, wrapping it around the company's burglar completely. His hands rubbed patterns up and down Bilbo's back and he breathed hot air into his neck. When night fell and his nephews offered to keep him warm Thorin declined, and said he was fine. The dwarves settled around, still close, their warmth emanating in the small space. Gandalf sat farther away, against the only rock wall that his tall form could fit against.

The dwarf king could still feel Bilbo's breathing and subtle chest movements. He thought it might be in his head but it felt slightly more consistent than earlier and it comforted him. The Halfling's skin was still cold to the touch, but there was a faint dusting of colour in his face that Thorin was glad to see. The dwarf pushed his nose into the hairs above Bilbo's ear, breathing against his temple as he huddled against him. He was nearly falling into sleep when he felt a slight movement. Thorin pulled back quickly to look down at the hobbit and watched as Bilbo's eyes struggled to open. The hobbit groaned, his voice scratching as it came from his throat, and Thorin stroked lightly at his neck in the hopes of soothing it somehow. Bilbo raised his arms sluggishly and pressed fingers into his temples as his face furrowed in a frown.

"Ah!" he groaned, and his eyes closed tightly again.

"My head, it's throbbing," Bilbo said, and his lips shook slightly as he spoke. Thorin pushed Bilbo's hands from his head and moved his own fingers there, rubbing the pads of his thumbs in circles against the hobbit's temples. Slowly the furrows left Bilbo's face and his eyes opened and focused on the dwarf above him. Thorin looked into those golden eyes, beyond grateful that he had the chance to once more.

"T-Thorin?" Bilbo asked as though unsure he was truly awake.

"You…did not leave me," he continued hesitantly and Thorin felt sorrow fill him at the realisation that the hobbit had thought the company would abandon him so easily.

"I have been…unkind to you, and quick to judge," Thorin spoke quietly as he moved his fingers down to grasp Bilbo's face. The Halfling watched him tiredly with question in his eyes and the dwarf was unsure what to say. Thorin's gaze moved across Bilbo's face, taking in every feature and every detail. He was glad to see the hobbit's chest rising consistently, and he revelled in the hot breath that ghosted across his face. He did not know what to say that would make Bilbo understand and as his eyes fell upon the Halfling's lips he felt an impulse take him. Dwarves were always better at expressing themselves through actions than words. Thorin gently pressed his lips to Bilbo's in a chaste kiss that the Halfling most likely wouldn't even remember when he woke again later. Still Thorin moved their lips together for a few moments, savouring the warmth he could feel in Bilbo's flesh. When he pulled away the hobbit's lips were a soft red colour and Thorin smiled lightly at the sight.

"It's alright, rest now, I'll keep you warm," Thorin intoned and he ran his fingers down Bilbo's face and under his eyes. The hobbit looked at him with curiosity, his lips moving slightly while he thought on what to say.

"I'm afraid," Bilbo whispered, and Thorin's eyes widened at the statement. The hobbit thought the Quietus would still take him, but Thorin was determined to never let such a thing happen again. Even if he had to carry Bilbo through the snow, encased against his body, he would not allow the chill air to reach the other's skin.

"I won't let you grow cold again," Thorin promised, and he watched as Bilbo allowed his eyes to close once more, this time in a restful sleep. He pressed a soft kiss into Bilbo's brow, and his nose, then placed the hobbit's head against his chest. The dwarf embraced him throughout the remainder of the night, making sure to keep his word as he rubbed warmth into the body wrapped in his arms.

AN: I did not proofread this well, word of warning. Hope you enjoyed!