Thorin had only narrowly avoided getting impaled by Azog's sword during the fight on Ravenhill. Though he'd killed the Orc filth once and for all, he had not escaped completely unscathed. He was covered in scrapes and bruises seemingly from head to toe, and he was certain he had at least one cracked rib, possibly more. A particularly nasty cut on his forehead kept dripping blood near his eye. But none of this mattered when he had a far more serious issue to worry about.
Bilbo was missing and had not been seen since before the fight on Ravenhill had begun. Thorin had lost track of the hobbit in his eagerness to exact his revenge on the Orc that had killed his grandfather. It had been an hour, maybe two, since Thorin had been taken to a healer's tent and Bilbo was still nowhere to be found. Men had been sent to comb over Ravenhill and search through the bodies, though Thorin refused to even acknowledge that Bilbo might be mixed in with those who had fallen- he'd given him the mithril shirt, after all, to keep him safe. But the fact remained that their burglar was missing, and Thorin, obstinate as ever, refused to let his wounds be tended to until Bilbo was found.
He would have joined the search for the Halfling himself, but his strength had been spent in the battle and he knew he would be little help. Dwalin also had been just as obstinate as his lord when insisting that Thorin at least rest, and Thorin had grudgingly given in. He had taken to sulking on the cot he'd been all but forced into, though he'd never admit to it actually being sulking.
A commotion outside his tent drew him from the cot and he limped to the entrance, pushing aside one flap to peer outside. A group of Dain's warriors were going by with someone much smaller in their midst being supported as they walked. Thorin could not clearly see who it was, though he got a brief flash of curly, light auburn hair and his heart clenched painfully in his chest. Before he could step out of his tent Dwalin was there to push him back toward his cot.
Bofur appeared at Dwalin's side, helping to get Thorin back to resting, but Thorin was having none of it. Despite the ache all over his body, and a deep, throbbing from a wound in his side, Thorin managed to wrestle out of their grip and make a run for the opening of the tent.
"Thorin, would ye at least give the healers a chance to look him over first?" Bofur said suddenly, his voice far too pleading for Thorin's comfort. Thorin paused, turning to glance over his shoulder at the two dwarves.
"How badly is he hurt?" He demanded. Bofur gave Dwalin a peculiar look before he advanced slowly toward Thorin.
"Well, that's the thing, we don't rightly know yet. We know he took a knock to the head, but beyond that is up to the healers to find out," he replied. Thorin resisted the urge to growl in his frustration, and instead leveled a look of unbridled fury at the tent's wall.
"I need to see him," he stated firmly, leaving no room for argument. Dwalin grumbled a barely intelligible string of dwarven curses, then strode up to Thorin.
"You're in no condition to be strolling 'round the camp. Let the healers do their work and you can see to him after," he said, but Thorin shook his head.
"You will either take me to where he is being seen to or I will find it myself, but I will see that Bilbo is safe and neither of you will stop me," he countered. Dwalin let out an exasperated groan of a noise and Bofur sighed.
"We aren't trying to stop you, we just want you to wait first. Let the healers do their work, and then you can go see him," Dwalin finally growled out. Thorin deliberated internally for a minute, and the two exchanged worried glances that he might not listen to them, but eventually he let out a small huff and wandered back over to the cot and sat down.
"Fine, but the moment the healers are done I am going, no exceptions," he muttered, and with that he turned his back to them and laid down without further comment.
It was nearly an hour later when Thorin was finally led to Bilbo's tent. He steeled himself outside the entrance, trying to prepare himself for what condition he might find Bilbo in. Several equally awful scenarios flashed through his mind, from Bilbo lying on the cot with glazed over, blank eyes, covered in his own blood, to him alive but covered in profusely bleeding cuts and scratches, choking out a goodbye before taking his last breath.
Thorin shook his head to clear the images from his mind, then swallowed hard before ducking into the tent. Dwalin and Bofur both stayed outside, giving Thorin the chance to see to their burglar on his own. His initial reaction of Bilbo's condition was one of immense relief. There was a large, slightly bloodied bandage on the hobbit's head, but other than that he appeared unharmed.
Thorin swayed on his feet for a moment, the relief that had flooded his system had left him light-headed and slightly dizzy, but once he got his breathing under control he sat at Bilbo's side. He was asleep at the moment, and Thorin's heart did the same clench of fear it had done earlier when the Halfling's absence had first been noticed.
Bilbo had been hurt because of him, and he felt this like a stab to the core of his being. He had known going into this venture that the likelihood of someone getting hurt was an unavoidable possibility. And although at first he had been loathe to have to worry about their burglar's safety, that Bilbo's gentleness and vulnerability had often been a source of frustration, Thorin had come to realize just how invaluable the hobbit was.
Not only invaluable, but also the greatest friend Thorin had ever known. Bilbo had only ever done what he thought would be best for the company, what would be best for Thorin. He had only ever done what a true friend would do. Thorin's harsh words from the ramparts came back to him and horror filled him. He would not blame Bilbo now if he never wanted to see Thorin again or even talk to him, he deserved far less for the way he'd treated everyone.
A stirring on the bed drew his attention, and he looked up to find Bilbo blinking confusedly at him. The hobbit reached a hand up to gingerly touch the bandage on his head, a faint frown crossing his features as he tried to puzzle out what had happened. Finally he looked to Thorin and, bless his heart, a smile the likes of which Thorin had worried he might never see again spread on his face. He started to sit up but Thorin gently put out a hand to keep him laying down.
"No need to exert yourself just yet, Master Baggins. You suffered a nasty blow during the battle and you need your rest," Thorin murmured.
"I, uh, I don't really remember much of the battle. I remember warning you, and then.... The rest is a bit blurry, I'm afraid," Bilbo said, his smile fading to be replaced with a frown. Thorin made a choking noise in the back of his throat, and Bilbo blinked in surprise as a grief-stricken look overcame the dwarf's face.
"I am so sorry, to have led you to such perils," he whispered. Bilbo sighed then and resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"I am more than glad to have shared in your perils, Thorin. It's more than any Baggins deserves. Now really, stop being so dramatic. Anyway, have you even been seen by a healer yet? Because let me tell you, you look absolutely awful, and I mean that in the nicest way possible. You should probably have someone take a look at you soon," he said, and Thorin's answering laugh, while slightly pained, brought a smile back to Bilbo's face.
"I probably do look awful, don't I? In that case, I will do as you've asked, and then I will be back here to keep you company while you heal, how does that sound?" Thorin said, managing a grin.
"Sounds like a plan. I'll be waiting, I suppose, since it's not as if I have much else to do," Bilbo replied, and with that Thorin reached out to give Bilbo's shoulder a friendly pat before standing and leaving the tent to finally have his own wounds seen to.