Breaking point - chapter 1.

It is a late November night, the cold seeping through leather and furs like a hidden yet merciless foe, moon and stars giving just enough light to see the outline of one's surroundings but nothing more. Thorin stumbles, dragging his feet tiredly on yet another unfamiliar road. He should be bristling with anger after being thrown out from the inn he hoped to stay the night at, but the only thing he feels is a bone-deep weariness.

He knows the dwarves gained the worst reputation as of late, many of them reduced to being beggars, thieves or even bandits. The loss of Erebor hit them hard and not receiving any help from men and elves alike has been even worse. Many of the dwarves struggled to find any job at all and many of Thorin's kin succombed to poverty, despair over losing their home not helping in the slightest.

He should be the one to help them, give them courage and strength to go on, but losing his father, Thrain, and his younger brother, Frerin, in the battle of Azanulbizar, stripped him of the last glimpse of hope. The only thing Thorin could manage was to support his sister and her two young sons living now modestly in Ered Luin, the riches of their previous homeland long forgotten.

That's why the distrust he had to face every time he travelled through Eriador was only another pain he had to endure, nothing more. Yet it still stung, wounding his pride and filling him with anger and bitterness. But right now, as he walks alone in the cold darkness and stumbles from exhaustion, he can't bring himself to care. The only thing he longs for is rest and blissful sleep.

After some time, which could be no more than a couple of hours but seems like eternity to the weary dwarf, the faint light of incoming dawn begins to appear on the horizon. Thorin looks around only to realise he walked into an unknown village. He halts and props heavily on the nearby fence, which chooses that exact moment to give under his weight.

The wood groans as the fence tumbles, Thorin falling upon it, his sword and various blacksmith tools creating quite a commotion. Laying on the ground in a graceless heap Thorin curses violently, momentarily forgetting where he is. Then he hears the sound of opening doors, followed by a quiet exclamation:

"Oh my!".

Gathering the last shreds of his dignity, Thorin slowly gets up and turns to look at the stranger, in the faint light noting only low height and slim silhouette of a halfling.

"Thorin Oakenshield, at your service", he manages to say before swaying from fatigue, dark spots dancing before his eyes.

He can only blame his exhaustion for not protesting much when the halfling hurries to his side, encircles him with one arm and helps him inside the homely looking burrow.

Soon all of his tools and weapons (safe a dagger that is hidden in his waistcoat) are set aside and placed in a chest near the entrance. He didn't even realise how much all of that has weighed him down until that weight was taken from his shoulders.

After he is gently lowered into fluffy-looking armchair, Thorin can finally take a good look at his unlikely savior. In the warm light of an oil lamp the halfling looks impossibly young, golden locks surround his nice but quite average face. What is unusual, however, is that he looks... concerned. As Thorin doesn't remember the time when anyone, besides his closest kin, were worried for him, he's unsettled seeing honest concern on the face of a stranger.

Unsettled or not, he is not the one to forgo the common courtesy.

"Please accept my apologies for destroying your fence, as it was not done on purpose", he says stiffly, "And I would like to know to whom I owe my thanks".

"M-my name is Bilbo Baggins", the hobbit stammers for a moment, but quickly regains his composure. "Don't worry about the fence, it was old and in need of replace anyway. But, did you hurt yourself while falling? One moment you looked fine and the other you looked ready to faint".

Thorin wants to protest that dwarves do not faint, they lose consciousness. But he doesn't have any strength left in him to protest to anything.

"No, master Baggins, it is only the weariness of my travels that is catching up with me", he replies weakly.

"Well, that is easily remedied. Food and rest will make you anew in no time", the hobbit smiles before disappearing in the long hall of his burrow.

Thorin is mesmerized by that smile, unguarded and given so freely. He feels something in him breaks, years after years of heartbreaks and betrayals welling up in him in a flood of tears, so he hides his face in his hands, ashamed of his weakness.

He doesn't know how long he just sits there, shaking and unable to stop the tears from falling. Too soon he hears the bouncy footsteps and one part of him is mortified by being caught at something as undignified as crying. But other, bigger part of him is too tired and too aching to care.

"Would you prefer an omelet or maybe scrambled eg-" the oblivious babbling stops abruptly.

There is a long moment of hesitation - - -

and then Thorin feels a soft touch on his forearm, the hobbit's palm on his skin feels gentle and unthreatening. Against all odds, dwarf's ragged breathing calms down and he lets his hands drop, showing Bilbo his tear-streaked face, bony-white from fatigue and grief, only the brims of his eyes a vicious red.

The hobbit's eyes are light and as full of life as their owner, but are now clouded with compassion.

"Even though I do not know what is troubling you, master Oakenshield, I wish I could give you some respite on your journey", Bilbo says quietly. "But we hobbits are creatures of comfort, so comfort is the only thing I've got to offer".

"I could ask for nothing more than that", assures Thorin, his voice hoarse from crying.

"That's settled then. Would you like an omelet?", after seeing dwarf's nod, Bilbo shows him a way to restroom so he could clean up a bit and again disappears in the hall.

Cool water in the basin is refreshing and helps to lessen the sleepiness a little bit. Though he longs to have a hot bath so he could soak for hours to chase away the cold from his bones, Thorin knows he would most probably fell asleep in the middle of it.

When he's done he hears the hobbit calling him from what he presumes is the kitchen.

"Do you feel up to setting the table, master dwarf?".

Thorin grunts positively, never be the one to sit while others did all the work. Although he's bone-tired, getting two sets of plate and cutlery is no great hardship, Bilbo's voice guiding him to the right cupboards. Soon enough they are both enjoying their meal, Thorin marvelling at the taste of a home-made food that is so scarce to get while travelling.

But as much as he enjoys the meal, soon he finds himself losing a battle against drowsiness. Seeing that, Bilbo steers him gently to a guest bedroom. Thorin starts to half heartedly protest, not wanting to go to sleep in a clean bed after travelling for weeks on end without a decent bath, but confronted with a hobbit's sheer stubbornness and his own exhaustion, he finds himself yielding.

It is no great surprise to Bilbo that the moment Thorin's head touches the pillow, he is sound asleep.