last candle (don't let it burn out)

Credit to crossing_baranduin

Summary:They had been so close.

Everyone had been convinced Thorin was soon to awaken, his wounds having slowly healed and his pallor gradually growing brighter again. But then, overnight, things took a turn for the worse.

Bilbo tries a last-ditch effort to break Thorin’s fever: sharing body heat. (Otherwise known as, cuddling and coming to terms with feelings.)

They had been so close.

Everyone had been convinced Thorin was soon to awaken, his wounds having slowly healed and his pallor gradually growing brighter again. But then, overnight, things had taken a turn for the worse.

Another infection, Oín had said. One that had somehow festered and persevered past all of their other treatments, and now Thorin appeared to be in the doorstep to the Halls, blazing nearly as hot as the forges of Erebor itself.

Oín had said it was a good thing — his body taking its final chance to fight off the illness — and Bilbo knew that, but it still didn’t comfort him.

And now, in the silence of the healing halls, Bilbo sat at Thorin’s bedside, two smaller hands clasped around one large, burning one.

—————

“His fever needs to break soon. Otherwise, I’m not what damage it will do.”

“You said it was fighting off the infection!”

With a healer’s patience, Oín gently put a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “It is. But it’s no good to have the infection fried away if Thorin’s mind is as well.”

“So what am I supposed to do? Sit here and watch?”

“There is one possibility we haven’t tried.”

“Well, why haven’t we?!”

“Thorin’s body isn’t cooling down, so we may need to forcibly break his fever… which usually works best with someone else’s body heat.”

Oín gave him a knowing look. Bilbo was simultaneously grateful that he had made the offer and that he hadn’t pressed any further.

“Isn’t that a myth?”

“With Hobbits, perhaps, but not with dwarves.”

Glancing over at Thorin’s prone form, Bilbo squared his shoulders. “I’ll do it.”

The smile Oín gave him was far too knowing. “Call for me if anything changes, alright?”

With a nod, Oín left, as Bilbo began to carefully remove and fold his layers, leaving him down to his smallclothes.

Somehow, Bilbo had expected there to be more tension around the prospect of physical contact between the two of them. But frankly, he was tired, and the idea of sharing body heat to possibly save Thorin’s life was much less intimidating than the alternative.

Slowly, he peeled the blankets back, unprepared for the wave of heat that hit him. Thorin was still far too still — stoic, even in peril, but horribly tense and brows furrowed. While physical contact since the Carrock had been much less overt, there was still a consistency and lingering warmth to their short interactions that this lacked.

“If you wanted me to stay in Erebor, you could have just asked instead of frying yourself to a crisp,” he said, climbing under the covers and curling into Thorin’s side. “As kind as the sentiment was, I don’t want to return to the Shire. Not yet anyways, and not forever. Frankly, I haven’t wanted to for a while.”

He nudged Thorin, sighing when he got no response, even if he expected as much. “But you have to wake up so I can tell you that myself. Who knows how you’d manage to misinterpret that if I don’t spell it out for you directly.”

Having tented the blankets around them, Bilbo propped himself up on his elbows, his head leaning over Thorin. “We have a lot to talk about when you wake up. When, not if, do you hear me?”

And with that, Bilbo let his thoughts wander, his body curled protectively around Thorin as he could only hope the fever would break.

—————

Bilbo blinked blearily, his sight slowly coming into focus once more. He realized he must have dozed off, the blazing heat having lulled him to sleep.

Though, he noticed with a jolt, the heat had receded.

And, more importantly, a bright pair of eyes were watching him.

Thorin still laid curled around him — staying despite being awake, Bilbo’s mind faintly noted — appearing worn out but distinctly aware.

“Oh, good. You haven’t fried your brain to a crisp.”

He winced. That was not what he meant to be the first thing he said.

A rueful chuckle answered him. “And you haven’t left the mountain of a once gold-sick king.”

Two could play at that game. “I haven’t stayed for a king, no. But I have stayed for a dwarf with a penchant for brushing far too closely with death.” He placed a hand on Thorin’s forehead, gently brushing the loose hair away from his skin. “The fever is gone?”

“Both of the mind and of the body.” Finally, the levity of the mask they had made fell. “Bilbo, I—”

Bilbo shook his head. “I know. I’m not saying we should never talk about it, but for now… There were many times where we thought we would lose you. That our last conversation would have been on top of that blasted hill,” he said, his thumb absently rubbing against the back of Thorin’s arm. Thorin still looked unsettled, but he seemed to accept the proposal as the motion continued, his expression smoothing ever so slightly.

“How are the others?”

“Alright, overall. Most everyone else didn’t end up too wounded, and even Fíli and Kíli are recovering quickly.”

“Kíli was— too?”

Oh. Thorin didn’t know. Bilbo had almost forgotten.

“Things got… complicated after Fíli fell, but yes, they’re both alright. Tauriel — the red-headed elf — did some quick thinking — and shooting. They’re awake and getting better by the day. I’m surprised they haven’t tried to scramble in here and check on you already.”

The relief on Thorin’s face was evident. “That is good news to hear,” he murmured, shoulders relaxing back into the pillows.

(Bilbo wasn’t surprised that Thorin wouldn’t be able to relax until he heard that everyone else was safe. His exhaustion betrayed him, however, at the fact that he didn’t get up to check himself.

Or, Bilbo thought, perhaps Thorin trusted him enough to take him at his word.)

“They’ll make their way past Oín soon enough at this rate. Until then, though, I believe it’d be wise to rest up until then — who knows how much rest you’ll be getting once they’re back into full swing.”

The light chuckle he got back was genuine, but clearly exhausted, as Thorin’s eyes began to close. Before Bilbo could even consider moving, however, he felt the arm around him tighten.

“Stay?”

That look — half unsure and tentative, half determined and warm.

…There was really no saying no to that.

(If Thorin could take a leap of faith like that, he could make one of his own.)

Sliding back down under the covers, he curled into Thorin’s side, carefully avoiding the bandages across his chest. A soft grin spread across his face as Thorin pulled him closer, adjusting him into the crook of his arm — no longer sweltering, but comforting and warm.

And as sleep overtook the two again, Bilbo thought: maybe their new quest could be for more days like this together.