Bagginshield Fanfics

Reading Aloud Emsiecat

Dwarves were well known for being hardy folk. True, their resilience was sometimes overshadowed by the elves' claim to near immortality, but for the most part a dwarf's constitution could put those of other races to shame. They lived a great deal longer than men or hobbits, could arguably endure more pain than orcs or goblins, and as for ill health; this was something they very rarely suffered from.

It was often said that if a dwarf did not die on the battlefield, they would likely live in good health until they were several centuries old.

And Bilbo could well believe it. After all, his friends in the Company had been ever so worried when he had fallen sick in Laketown, a couple of them having never even witnessed a cold first hand.

So imagine then their panic when Bilbo fell ill once more just mere months after the retaking of Erebor.

It was another cold (which was only to be expected given their environment and the lack of amenities available to them at present). Both Óin and Tauriel had tried to reassure them all that it was not an uncommon occurrence in other races for them to suffer a couple of separate bouts of illness in such a close space of time. However, there were still concerned looks shared between the other dwarves in Thorin's Company, and in true dwarven fashion, they decided the best way to deal with the situation was to spoil their burglar hobbit something rotten.

It had been pleasant at first, Bilbo admitted to himself as he blew his nose noisily on a handkerchief (a gift from Dori). Having those gruff and bluster fellows who had made no effort to hide their distrust in him when they first met now fussing about him like a brood of clucking hens was rather endearing. However, Bilbo was a rather insular creature by nature, and it would take him some time to become more accustomed to the dwarves' openly emotional ways, and so after a couple of days their overly cautious and gentle attempts to help him, their clucking and fretting, Bilbo had had quite enough.

He had a cold for goodness sake! He was unlikely to drop dead at any given moment. He could admit that it was vexing to have another cold quite so soon after the first, but resigned himself to the fact that it was probably unavoidable in the mountains, and was vindicated by Óin and Tauriel's agreement.

So now, Bilbo had holed himself up in the rooms he shared with Thorin and was refusing to come out until he either was well enough not to be mothered by the dwarves, or else someone put a stop to their nonsense.

"They won't leave you be, you know. You will just have to accept their fussing with hobbitish good grace until you are recovered." Thorin, Bilbo thought with a scowl, was finding his pitiable situation far too amusing.

Case in point, the daft fool was grinning at him from his desk where he sat working methodically through various treaties.

They had learnt over the past few months, that they had a near uncanny ability to know what the other was thinking at times, it was a skill which Kíli claimed 'bordered on the supernatural and I'm starting to worry we might have some sort of helplessly in love demons as uncles here, Fee'. As such, Bilbo had hardly been surprised when Thorin picked up on his sulky mood and correctly guessed the cause for it.

"You could tell them not to," Bilbo mumbled quietly, voice thick and nasally, and his throat still sore despite the copious amounts of honey infused tea Tauriel had supplied him with.

"Now where would be the fun in that?" The grin, if possible, grew larger, and Bilbo's scowl darkened into an outright glower. "I'm sorry to say it makes for far too humorous an entertainment to watch you try and fend them off to ask them to stop now."

"So glad I can be a source of amusement for you, Your Majesty. Should I change my official role from consort to court jester?"

"I'd rather you not." Thorin's voice softened in something like an apology and he tempered his amused grin into a slightly more forgiving smile. "Please do forgive us, Bilbo. We only wish to make you feel better."

"Oh, I know," Bilbo huffed, sniffling into the handkerchief again. "I've just never liked much of a fuss when I'm ill. Never did even as a fauntling. Da used to near smother me with attention when I got sick, and Mum always had to fend him off."

Thorin chuckled, setting aside his quill and turning in his seat to face Bilbo properly. "And the fuss given by our friends is rather too much like that to bear I imagine?"

"Just a bit, yes."

"And would you rather I stop my fussing over you as well?"

Bilbo gave Thorin an appraising look before shaking his head and worming down further into his mound of blankets. "No, I think I can suffer your mothering well enough."

"Ah, well then, if you can 'suffer it' I need not stop." Thorin's lips quirked in amusement again and he finally left his desk to sit beside the fevered and slightly delirious hobbit. "It's a wonder, feeling as bad as you do, that you still keep your sharp mind and tongue."

"Know this," Bilbo rasped with just a touch of melodrama. "Should I ever cease to tease you, then you may worry."

Heedless of the risk (small as it was) of falling ill himself, Thorin leant down and nuzzled his lips into sweat soaked curls before moving to check that Bilbo had enough water, was not hungry, and had taken the medicine Óin had left for him.

Bilbo snickered at this proof of Thorin's own agitation and caught his hand as he went to place a cool cloth against Bilbo's forehead. "I daresay you're better at this than any of the others... except perhaps Óin. Do not let them know though; they'll only sulk over it."

"I'm pleased to know I'm of some use."

"Some use he says," Bilbo muttered to himself. "A king of dwarves and he's merely happy he's of some use... Should you not be dealing with more important matters than attending to a sick hobbit husband?"

"None more important than this, they can wait." Thorin resolved, bussing another kiss to the top of Bilbo's head.

"Don't try and be all charming... well if you really don't have anything of import to get on with, I suppose you could keep me company."

Thorin beamed, it had taken far less persuasion than he thought for Bilbo to let him stay and look after him. Either the fever was higher than he thought, or they were making progress. Bilbo had always been quick to tell Thorin to let him help with any problem or hurt, but was always less amiable to receiving help in return.

Placing the cloth back on the nightstand, Thorin finally noticed the book there; picking it up to leaf through it absently, "What is this?"

"Oh," Bilbo's eyes opened again and he smiled up at the dwarf. "Just a book of tales Ori sent me from the library. He thought I might like something to pass the time whilst I'm cooped up in here... unfortunately I cannot really focus on the words at the moment... maybe when my fever goes down."

"I could read it to you, if you'd like me to." Thorin thumbed through the book until pausing at one of his favourite tales from when he was but a dwarfling, and settled himself more comfortably at Bilbo's side whilst he awaited the answer he knew would come.

"Well... if it's not too much of an imposition... and you really do not have any pressing matters to attend to-" Bilbo tried to keep his tone neutral, but the hopefulness underlying it was all too apparent.

Thorin was already removing his cloak and circlet, his boots long since abandoned by the door (a rule Bilbo was steadfast in making sure he hold to; no boots in their rooms), and so made himself quite at home beneath the coverlet beside the hobbit, sat up and leaning against the headboard.

"Very well, let's see... I always enjoyed this one..." and thus Thorin began. His words weaving the tale with more skill than Bilbo had thought possible of a king and warrior. Then again, this was Thorin, and his dwarf had always held hidden qualities.

Bilbo smiled tiredly, snuggling down and closing his eyes, allowing the deep, rolling timbre of Thorin's voice to wash over him as he told tales of heroic dwarves from days gone by. His voice utterly ensnaring the hobbit and painting pictures so vivid his fevered mind felt he might actually be there within the story itself.

Bilbo hummed contentedly, somehow feeling better already, and was lulled to sleep between one story and the next.