Chapter Text
Bilbo drained the last of his half pint, letting out a contented sigh from where he sat, wedged between Kili and Fili. After their turbulent trip down the river it had been a treat to finally be able to get dry and rest up, the company having taken up in one of Esgaroth’s Inns.
Laketown as a whole had greeted them pleasantly enough, though it seemed from their short time to make such observations, that the mayor was less than pleased to host their company. Luckily the inn didn’t seem inclined to turn away so much business, and before they knew it the group was set up in the hardy, wooden structure. They’d once again split into pairs to accommodate their numbers, Thorin snorting and opting to take a single room when Fili and Kili declared (quite loudly in fact) that they were more than happy to share with Mister Baggins.
By this point most of the dwarves met such declarations with a less-than-discrete roll of their eyes, Bilbo flushing hard as Bofur elbowed him with a knowing grin.
“If ye could, put that lot in a room further away from the rest.” He’d stated to the inn keeper, grinning and pushing his hat up a little off of his forehead.
The man behind the counter flashed them a funny look, but none the less did not object to accommodating such a request. Bilbo barely managed to contain his embarrassment as they trudged up stairs to their assigned rooms, dropping off what little supplies they had left before strolling down to the inn’s tavern for a hot meal and a drink. Which inevitably turned to two, then three, and well…
“Could use another drink.” Bilbo stated, clinking his mug slightly against the table as he rose to stand, Kili’s hand sliding off from where it had been resting on his knee.
At his side Fili looked up, lifting his own empty glass as Bilbo slid off of the bench. “Care to give us a refill while you’re at it?”
“Oh!” Kili looked up, grinning broadly. “Me too if you could.”
Bilbo rolled his eyes, but his smile was fond. “I’m not a barmaid, but since you both asked so nicely.” He snagged their two mugs, clenching all three in one hand and looking off in the direction of the bar.
“Oh, would you like some company Mister Baggins?” Ori piped up, the youngest member of the company sliding up to Bilbo’s side, his own tankard empty in his gloved hands. “I was just looking to get a refill myself…but the crowd makes me nervous.”
The hobbit had grown impossibly fond of their young oracular during their travels, and the way he glanced cautiously about the bar struck him with a warm feeling of protectiveness. “Of course Ori, I’m always appreciative of your presence.” He gave the young dwarf a small nod, beaming as he got a shy smile in response.
Bilbo could understand why Ori felt so nervous. The hobbit probably would have been more off put himself, had it not been for a couple of ill-thought out forays in the Prancing Pony when he was but a young lad himself. While he was not at all familiar with them by any means, he was somewhat used to men-folk with their sheer size and boisterous demeanors.
The two struck up a pleasant conversation about Ori’s latest knitting project; a scarf that he was working on for Dwalin. It seemed the young dwarf had put a great deal of effort into the garment, but was worried that the dwarven warrior would not want it. Bilbo smiled at him kindly as they dodged around the bars other, larger patrons, assuring him that Dwalin would love such a heartfelt gift. After all, who could possibly refuse something made with such care.
The barkeep grinned at them as they worked their way up to the counter, barely able to see over it with their lack of height. The man finished cleaning the glass in his hands, turning to tuck it onto a shelf at his back before he leaned over towards them, smiling brightly. “What can I do for you, little masters?”
Ori looked slightly intimidated, which Bilbo couldn’t help but find endearing, so the hobbit snatched up his mug for him, settling all four of them down on the counter. He smiled up at the barkeep, nodding his head politely. “Just looking for a refill on our half-pints, if it’s not a bother.”
The man seemed charmed and scooped up the cups as he turned, even pausing to smile at the two of them over his shoulder. “Coming right up!”
Ori lets out a relieved puff of breath at his side, resting his hands on the edge of the counter. “Everyone here is so huge.” He remarks after a moment, flashing Bilbo a shy grin. “It’s like staying with the elves all over again, but with less of that nasty green stuff.”
Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh at that, reaching out to clasp Ori lightly on the shoulder, giving him a friendly shake. After that they fell back into their conversation about knitting, the young dwarf pleased to find a companion who appreciated his craft as much as he did. They were just beginning to delve into the topic of crochet when a large figure came up behind Ori’s shoulder and a boisterous voice cut them off short.
“Why lookie here,” The man crooned, sparing a glance over his shoulder at his equally large companions, who leered down at the two in a distinctly unfriendly fashion. “There’s even more of these midgets about this evening.”
Bilbo felt as much as he saw Ori flinch, the dwarf subconsciously moving closer to their company burglar as the man bent a bit, looming down on them from behind. The hobbit scowled, reaching up to rest a hand on his young companion’s arm. He didn’t respond at first, simply glancing back over to the bar to check on the status of their drinks.
The man didn’t seem at all bothered, continuing on despite the pair’s lack of answer. “What brings all you little folk here this evening?”
Another one spoke up from behind the first, his laugh jarring and sharp. “I swear that one doesn’t even look old enough to drink. They both might be tiny, but he’s too smooth. Never heart of a dwarf who doesn’t have so much as a whisker on his chin.”
Bilbo continued to ignore them studiously, looking up to the bar tender as he returned with three of their four mugs. The man glanced at the group around the two with a small frown, before he turned to the hobbit and smiled at him apologetically. “Just tapped out, I’ve got the boys cracking open another keg. It will just be but a moment if you’re willing to wait.”
“I will, thanks.” Bilbo reached up to pull the three mugs forward as the keep retreated back behind the bar, looking straight down to Ori without so much as giving the three men the time of day. “You head back to the table, I’ll wait for the last half pint. Do you think you can manage these?”
The dwarf looked startled, then a bit relieved. “Yes, I can.” He crowded the three mugs together in his hands, glancing at the men beside them nervously. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”
“I’ll be fine,” Bilbo assured, smiling sweetly. He might have been small, but he was a grown hobbit, and he could damn well handle himself in a pub. Ori didn’t look so certain. “It’s alright, go on.”
Reluctantly the young dwarf started to pull away, flashing the men one last cautious look before he quickly hurried back towards the table, glancing over his shoulder every few steps. Bilbo watched him go, relieved that their scribe was safely away from all of the unwanted attention.
He then turned his focus back to the bar, ignoring the men completely as he lifted up on his tip toes, folding his arms against the edge of the bar top.
The men, however, did not care to take the hint. The one who’d spoken first, a tall brute with a bald head and thick, bulging arms, slid up directly behind him. His big hands found the bar at either side of Bilbo’s elbows, blocking him in against the wooden surface. The hobbit let out a suffering sigh, finally turning to acknowledge the men with his best unimpressed scowl. “Is there something I might help you with gentlemen?”
The man positively leered, leaning over his shoulder to grin at his greasy haired companion beside him. “Look fellas, I think we finally have the little thing’s attention.”
Bilbo bristled but locked his jaw, suddenly regretting not leaving with Ori. The sensation only built as the man’s attention returned to him, his sneer chilling to the bone. “What are you anyways, little fella? You’re different then your tiny friends. Too soft to be a dwarf…” He reached out and Bilbo jerked away, snapping up an arm to bat at the grabbing fingers.
“I’m not a dwarf.” He spat, lacing his tone with as much venom as he could muster. “If you must know I’m a hobbit.”
“A hobbit eh?”
It was the man’s other companion, a young looking blonde fellow who could have been attractive if it hadn’t been for the twisted grin that curled up his round, rosy cheeks. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of a hobbit before.”
Bilbo rolled his eyes. “You know, shirelings? Little Folk? Halflings?” He spat, leaning back as far as he could manage against the bar top.
The bald fellow made a noise of ascension, returning his hand to where it framed Bilbo’s body, trapping him in. “So not a dwarf eh?” He sneered. “I must say, there haven’t been dwarves in these parts since the arrival of Smaug the terrible. And what cause could sway a delicate creature like yourself to fall into such…rough company?”
“Can’t say it’s any of your business.” Bilbo snapped, stiffening as he turned his back to the man once more. The barkeep had managed to get the keg open and was just finishing pouring his ale. With any luck he’d be able to duck around the unsavory company and head back to the safety of his dwarven friends.
“No need to get so testy.” One of the hands lifted from the bar top, coming down to rest unwelcome on Bilbo’s hip. The hobbit jerked hard, but the man’s grip was unrelenting as his big fingers seemed to dig in right to the bone. The Bald man must have leaned down because suddenly his voice was right in Bilbo’s ear, his breath hot and uncomfortable, causing a chill to course down the halfling’s spine. “Just not used to seeing things so small and pretty around these parts. So you can understand if we get a bit…excited.”
“Alros, you best not be harassing my customers now.” Bilbo was utterly relieved at the sound of the barkeep’s voice, the man setting his pint down with a hard scowl directed at the company behind him. “This lot has brought good business in for the tavern tonight. The last thing we need is your ugly mug scaring them off.”
The man, Alros as it were, stepped back a touch, releasing Bilbo’s hip in favor of stepping back and raising his hands up with an air of innocence. “We were just talking.”
“Your talking looked more like harassing to me.” The keep scowled, his arms folding over his wide chest. “If you’re not going to behave like proper gentlemen, I suggest you find another establishment to prowl for the night, m’I clear?”
“Crystal.” Alros flashed him a half hearted smile, the express stopping before the dead set of his eyes. “C’mon boys, we have better places to be.” He gestured towards his companions, the two of them snarling slightly as they began to skulk off. The bald man paused however, in his retreat, just long enough to throw Bilbo a mocking bow. “It was a pleasure, Master Hobbit.”
He had to suppress a visible shudder, his face screwed up and he snapped his attention away as the three men vanished back into the crowd. The bartender flashed him an apologetic look, leaning over the counter a bit to meet Bilbo’s eyes. “I’m terribly sorry about that. Most of our customers are regular, upstanding folk. But we’ve been known on occasion to host a bad apple or two.”
“It’s alright.” Bilbo assured him, offering a half smile as he raised up his mug. “Thanks again for the drink, and the assistance.”
“Twas my pleasure, little master.” With a nod of his head the barkeep sauntered away, sliding down the bar to see to waiting customers.
Bilbo let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, taking a second to swallow down a long swig of his ale before he pushed off the bar, starting to weave his way back towards his friends through the crowd. He could barely see the table, coming only to the hip of most of the swarming customers, but he knew he was close as the ruckus of familiar laughter and bright dwarven songs began to drift through the noisy tavern.
He had just caught sight of the table, glancing over the turned backs of his companions when a large arm swooped around his waist from behind, jerking him backwards violently. Bilbo let out a startled shout, his mug clattering to the floor as he was dragged bodily through the crowd, struggling helplessly against the steely grip that was strapped across his hips.
“Let me go! Let me-” He was cut off sharply with a wheezing breath as he was hauled straight up. After flailing in the air for a moment he found himself thrown quite bodily over a hard shoulder, kicking out helplessly.
He was too panicked to make out who his attacker was, clawing at the expanse of back beneath his fingers as he shouted himself hoarse. In their settling into the rooms earlier he’d mistakenly left Sting by their bedside, cold dread seeping into his stomach as he realized he was completely unarmed against his larger, stronger assailant.
Despite all his thrashing the man managed to wrestle him out into the cool night air. Bilbo felt his world tip over and he was slammed down hard against the wall of the tavern’s back alley, his head crashing against the wood and causing his vision to swim. He blinked back tears, attempting to roll to the side and away from the hands that grabbed at him harshly.
He barely made it two feet before strong fingers grasped at his throat, curling tight and forcing his back flat against the wall. He scrambled for purchase, small hands shooting up to grasp desperately at a thick wrist as he blinked up blearily at his attacker.
Alros leered down at him, his companions flanking either side of the large man’s frame, boxing the hobbit in completely. “Shhh, hush now it’s alright.” The man was squeezing Bilbo’s throat hard enough to bruise, using his grip to force the Halfling to still against the wall behind him. “We just want to have a little fun is all, no need to make a fuss about it.”
Bilbo could barely breathe, his first instinct to scrabble for the ring in his pocket. His movements were cut short as the man dropped his elbow down hard, pinning his entire torso with his arm. The shift hit him like a punch to the chest, his fingernails digging into Alros’ flesh hard as he tried to pry free of his grip, with little avail. The man hissed slightly as Bilbo began to scratch long, angry red marks along the back of his hand, but that did nothing to stave off his attack. “Seems our kitten has some claws.” He called, the other two chuckling at his back. “Let’s see some more of that pretty white skin of yours shall we?”
The Halfling’s struggles increased tenfold, a strangled “No!” escaping him as he kicked out at Alros. His flailing seemed to have little effect, however, as the bald man lifted his elbow off of Bilbo’s sternum used his free hand to start in on the hobbit’s shirt, working to divulge him of the fabric button by button.
Fear washed over Bilbo like a tide, his vision tunneling and his mouth going dry and he thrashed and squirmed in Alros’ grip. The big man had three of his buttons ripped away, just enough to slide his fat fingers inside and brush across the hobbit’s collar bone, causing his stomach to clench and bile to rise up at the back of his throat.
His vision was beginning to spot, his lungs burning sharply as he just grasped to the big man’s hand, trying to get some reprieve even as that hand drifted down into his shirt. By then he knew his only hope was to try again to get to the ring. With a dizzying amount of effort he managed to stretch an arm down to scramble for the pocket of his trousers.
Just when he managed to get his trembling fingers brushed against the round band of gold an animalistic snarl rang through the air and Alros’ greasy haired companion hitting the ground with a loud thud. The second went down just as quickly, spluttering and flailing as he tumbled back off of his feet.
Alros spun around sharply, his hand sliding out from the folds of Bilbo’s shirt as he whipped around, still pinning the hobbit firmly by his throat. “What in the-”
He didn’t get the chance to finish his thought as the blunt end of a sword smashed up into his nose. Alros released Bilbo suddenly, reaching up to clutch at his face as he crumbled, screams echoing into the night air.
The hobbit wheezed as he collapsed against the wall, his knees giving out and his entire frame racked with trembles. He clutched at his throbbing throat, his eyes watering and his lungs burning with the need to breathe. There was more shouting around him, harsh voices followed by the dull thunk of flesh cracking against flesh, the a crack and a scream, but he found he couldn’t focus, his head spinning sharply.
Then suddenly there were hands at his arms, squeezing him tightly. It was almost on instinct when he lashed out, trying to shove himself back further where he crouched at the wall.
Then a familiar voice cut through the ringing in his head, the figure in front of him slowly coming into focus as he blinked dazedly. “…Bilbo, Bilbo it’s me.”
“K-” He croaked, reaching out to steady himself by gripping at the other’s arms, “Kili?”
“I’m here,” the archer suddenly dragged him forward, tucking him into his strong chest and curling around the hobbit as he let out a shuddering breath, “I’m right here.”
Bilbo curled into the other man willingly, clinging at him as his chest throbbed and his whole body flashed hot with a flush of adrenaline. He didn’t even realized how badly he was shaking until his teeth began to chatter uncontrollably behind his tight set lips. He breathed hard, taking in the familiar scent of the young dwarf with an overwhelming swell of relief. “Kili, where’s Fili, where’s-”
“Right here.” Suddenly the blonde was crouched down at their side, his hands fluttering nervously around Bilbo. His movements seemed skittish, as if unsure if he was allowed to touch. There was something dark and splattered like blood dripping from his chin, more of it coating his tunic and boots.
Quite frankly Bilbo didn’t give a damn. He pulled back from Kili just enough to reach out, grabbing his brother and tugging him into the hug. That’s where he stayed, kneeling on the ground and just holding the two as he breathed in hard. It took him a moment to find his voice again, and when he did it was shaken and raw. “Thank you.” He whispered, fingers curling in the fabrics of the dwarves’ tunics as he sighed hard. “Thank you, thank you.”
One of them was hushing him softly, the other had a hand on his back, smoothing up and down and bunching up the fabric of his ruined shirt. He couldn’t for the life of him make out who was who at the moment, and if he was honest with himself he really didn’t care. For one hysterical moment he thought of the brass buttons he’d lost in Gollum’s cave. It seemed that fastenings were a luxury not easily afforded on adventures. Only then there was a voice in his ear, whispering a quiet mantra of “you’re alright, you’re alright” until he felt the tightness in his chest begin to ease. Here he knew that he was safe, they were all safe, everything was okay.
In the end, it took an embarrassingly long time for him to compose himself. By the time he’d finally pulled back from the tight hold the brothers had on him he could already feel the bruise on his throat starting to swell. His eyes, however, had stopped their watering and his lungs no longer burned for air. He let out a trembling breath and blinked up and Fili and Kili at his front. They looked stricken with worry, their expressions crestfallen and their mouths set in thin, grim lines. Before he knew it the apology was slipping out, his fingers tightening where they were still clenched in the pairs’ tunics. “I’m sorry.”
“None of that now.” Fili soothed, reaching up to gently run his hand across Bilbo’s cheek.
Kili nodded enthusiastically at his side, leaning forward to rest his head momentarily on the hobbit’s shoulder. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for.” He could feel the archer swallow hard next to his ear, the young dwarves’ back tightening slightly. “If anything we are the ones who should be apologizing, for taking so long to find you.”
Bilbo shook his head hard and finally sat back, letting out a long, suffering breath. “No, no neither of you are at all to blame. I’m just so glad you found me when you did.”
Fili’s expression dropped for a second before he caught himself, shifting to grip at Bilbo’s chin with the hand he had rested against the smaller man’s cheek. “Let’s just not have any more wandering off from you for a while, okay?” The blonde stated, rubbing his thumb along the curve of the hobbit’s jaw. “Gave us quite the scare you did.”
“Gave myself a scare too.” Bilbo pushed himself up on his feet, biting back his protest that he had not, if fact wandered anywhere thank-you-very-much, and drawing away from the brothers’ grip slightly as he straightened. With a tight lipped frown he surveyed his three attackers where they lay on the ground, groaning and covered in thick gobs of their own blood. Served them right the brutes. Then he noticed with a start that a fourth man stood above them, his knuckles and shirt as stained as the dwarves’ had been. “Who’s this then?” He asked, coughing a bit through the ache in his throat.
The man flushed and scratched the back of his head, looking rather off put.
“He’s the one who helped us get to you.” Kili stated, rising in time with his brother as the two came to stand, framing Bilbo. “He saw them grab you when they made a break for the back door. If it wasn’t for him we wouldn’t have been able to find you as quickly.”
Bilbo glanced at the dwarves at his side before his gaze flicked back to the man where he stood. “I suppose I owe you my thanks then.”
“Think nothing of it, little lord.” He seemed flustered, giving him a very bizarre and out of place look where he loomed over the broken forms of the hobbit’s attackers. “I would have sent for help sooner, but I’m ashamed to say that I first assumed them to be escorting out a child who’d snuck in for a drink. I only took notice of my mistake when I heard your friends calling. One look at the size of them, being dwarves an’ all, I knew something was wrong.”
“An honest mistake and one easily made, that I can assure you.” Bilbo managed a smile, the hammering of his heart having settled down to a light patter. He folded his arms over his chest, suddenly feeling the chill of the evening air as his adrenaline began to subside.
Kili noticed almost immediately, sliding am arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and tugging him lightly against his side. “We should get you back into the tavern…and as much as I hate to say it, we should tell Thorin about this. He’ll want to have a word with the Inn keep about the unruly nature of his customers.”
“Oh no,” Bilbo’s face fell in an almost comical manner, or it would have, had it not been for the circumstances. “Do we have to bring your uncle into this? Doesn’t he tend to blow these sort of things, I don’t know, out of proportion?”
“There is no blowing this out of proportion, Master Hobbit. What would have happened if we hadn’t arrived when we did hm?” Fili slid in at Bilbo’s other side, his expression stern as he felt the hobbit shudder hard. “We’re telling him. That’s the end of it.”
The Halfling made to object, his eyebrows pinching together in a frown. Then he caught the look that the dwarves were giving him and a heavy sigh escaped past his lips. “Alright fine. Fine. But what about these three horrors?” He gestured towards the individuals passed out on the ground, anger radiating off of him as he drew back further into the brothers’ grasps.
“I’ll watch them.” The man offered, his foot landing on top of Alros’ back sending the bald bastard spluttering against the bloodied ground. “Just until you or the Inn keep figure out what to do with them. Go on, get back to the rest of your kin, an’ see that your dress is properly looked after.”
Bilbo started slightly, blinking at his damaged shirt with a small groan. The collar dangled open uselessly, once again reminding him of the buttons that were ripped off in the attack. He swallowed and forced himself to flash the man a grateful look even as he was ushered back towards the tavern, Fili and Kili’s hands firm at his back.
Already their reappearance garnered a great deal of attention, confused onlookers having gathered around the back door, presumably drawn by the cries of Bilbo’s attackers. He flushed hard, ducking his head at their knowing looks, wishing for nothing more than to disappear into the very floor beneath him.
Fili noticed his discomfort, peeling off his outer tunic quickly as they walked and draping it over the hobbit’s small shoulders. Together the two dwarves steered him back towards their party, their expressions darkening as they just about snarled at the gathering crowd, men guiltily turning back to their drinks with sheepish expressions.
As they neared the company Bilbo tightened his grip on Fili’s tunic, pulling it firmly over his chest and ducking his head down into the plush fabric. It was apparent by the continued merriment of the other dwarves that the brothers had not announced what he could only assume was an abrupt departure, and Bilbo was torn between feeling grateful and horribly embarrassed as they slowly came to a stop in front of the long, wooden table.
Ori’s gaze was the first to find them, his eyes widening in horror and concern as he made an aborted move to stand.
Much to Bilbo’s dismay the young dwarf’s distress soon drew the attention of the rest of the party, until all the dwarves but one sat gawking at him, their ale long forgotten on the table top. Then finally Thorin turned where he was sitting at the edge of the table, confusion creasing his brow. His gaze flickered around the tavern for a moment, trying to discern what had caught the undivided attention of his men. Then his eyes landed on Bilbo, framed between his nephews, and his expression immediately broiled red hot with rage.
He launched himself up from his seat, pushing past a nearby patron as he stormed towards the trio.
Bilbo had nowhere to hide, his entire face heating up like a fame as he ducked his chin down to his chest, looking anywhere but at their leader as he approached. Thick fingers curled into the fabric of Fili’s tunic and the hobbit had to fight not to wince. His reaction seemed only to spurn Thorin on further, his hands peeling away the thick fabric to reveal the swelling throat and torn remains of Bilbo’s shirt beneath it.
For what felt like an eternity no one seemed to say anything. Even the noise from the crowded tavern around them seemed to fade down to nothing. Bilbo shifted awkwardly, completely unable to meet his friend’s gaze even as he felt calloused fingers gently prodding at the bruising on his neck. Then they were gone as suddenly as they came, a rumbling growl filling the air in their wake. “Who did this?”
Surprisingly it was Bilbo who managed to answer. He finally forced himself to look up at Throin, his jaw locking and his muscles tense. “Some men from the bar, they followed me when I was heading back to the table, caught me off guard.”
The King Under the Mountain stiffened, his eyes flicking up to Fili and then to Kili where the two dwarves stood at Bilbo’s shoulders. “Where are they now?”
“Bleeding out across the alley floor.” Kili answered, venom spitting in his tone. “There’s a helpful bystander standing out there, waiting on our call as to how to deal with the scum.”
“Alright.” Thorin gave the three of them one last look, smiling a little at the blood that stained his nephew’s fists and splattered across Fili’s tunic. Bilbo pulled the fabric back around his chest, not minding the dark, damp patches in the least. With a tight clench of his jaw the King turned, motioning at Dwalin and Balin from where they sat next to his vacated seat.
The two dwarves rose, their expressions steely as they stepped back from the tavern benches, heading towards the small group in deadly silence.
“If it pleases him, take our burglar back to your room. It may do the lot of you good to get some additional rest this evening.” Thorin stated, his gaze still fixed on the approaching dwarves. “You can rest assured that the unsavory bastards will be dealt with before the night is through.”
The dwarf lord moved to leave, his shoulders tight as he made towards Dwalin and Balin. Bilbo started sharply at the older man’s retreat, reaching out to grab at Thorin’s arm before he could stop himself. The king paused, blinking down at where the hobbit held his arm in a firm grasp, his expression expectant. Bilbo floundered for a moment, before he straightened and stepped right up to Thorin with a small smile. “I just…I want you to know I’m okay. But I mean-” He sighed heavily, shaking his head. “Thank you. What I want to say is thank you. For everything.”
Thorin’s expression softened slightly and he turned, grasping Bilbo’s arm back with a returning quirk of his lips. “You’re a part of our company now, Mister Baggins. And we look after our own.” He gave the hobbit’s forearm a gentle squeeze before he pulled back. “Rest well tonight, do not let these things haunt your mind. As long as you are with us we will always come to your aid.”
Bilbo flushed, his expression blooming into a small grin as he stepped away, watching Thorin turn back to their other companions, jaw locked in determination.
“Come on.” Fili’s voice drew him out of his thoughts, the dwarf pulling at his shoulder gently as he and Kili crowded in on the hobbit once more. “We should get some sleep, hm?”
He didn’t object as the two of them steered him towards the Inn’s stairs, allowing the dwarves to ease him up towards their room. Once inside he began to shed his clothing, watching with a swelling heart as Fili and Kili triple checked the lock on their door before beginning to scrub themselves off at the washbasin in the corner.
By the time he’d stripped down and slid between the covers their warm bodies were following to join him. Kili turned the hobbit onto his side and slipped up behind him, a thick heavy arm settling across his stomach. Fili on the other hand, pulled Bilbo flush to his chest, his chin resting softly against the crown of the smaller man’s head and his arm falling over top of his brother’s.
No words passed between them; none were needed. Bilbo knew he was safe, warm in the siblings’ embrace, and that was all the assurance he could ever ask for.
With that he pushed aside all thoughts of the horrible men and their grabbing hands. Instead he focused on the familiar musk of the two young dwarves and the steady rise and fall of their chests as they breathed, curled tightly around him like they’d never let go.
He blinked lazily, his eyes drifting shut briefly just for a moment. Then before he could so much as sigh he was gone, his body succumbing to the warm comfort of sleep.
TBC...