Chapter Text
Ohh, his Pa was sure going to have a fit when he told him, Bilbo thought. It hurt to think in general right now, but he just couldn't unthink it, now that he thought about it. His Pa was going to be mad, it just wasn't proper at all. His Ma would probably be pretty proud of him and knit him a whole lot of blankets because it was sure going to be very cold. Damp too, he guessed. He never was too keen on caves, even when he was exploring them with his cousins and the thought of living in one let him shudder.
"Calm down, little one. There is a healer right over the hill, you're going to be fine.", came a gruff voice from above him and he blinked a few times to see his saviour. His husband. Well, not now, of course, he was still too young for such a thing, but he would be his husband when the time came and he came of age. Not even fifteen years from now and he would be living in a damp, cold cave with nothing but old bones and stone and a dwarf for company! He wimmered and buried his face in the strong chest of his future-husband.
"Don't wanna freeze.", he whispered. "Mama has to knit me blankets. She just has to."
His dwarf-betrothed stopped walking in that brisk pace that had his head jingling and peered down at him, a little curiousity but mostly worry standing in his deep blue eyes. Bilbo liked blue. His favourite flowers of all flowers were cornflowers. It wasn't the exact same shade, but he guessed it could have been worse.
The dwarfs forehead got all wrinkly like his Pas everytime the Sackvilles came over and Bilbo thought he was talking unclear, so he tried to specify.
"In the cave where we gonna live in. It's gonna be cold once we're married."
The forehead just wrinkled more and the not-cornflower blue eyes narrowed.
"What in Mahals name are you talking about?", grouched the dwarf, but he continued to walk again, taking his eyes off Bilbo and back onto the little path between the hills the hobbit grew up in. And he thought himself quite grown up already, thank you very much, with him being betrothed and all! His head hurt again, really bad this time and the wimmer caught in his throat. He lifted his hand to his forehead, only to have it come back covered in blood. Oh yes, the dwarf had saved his life alright! There was no way he would have found his way alone to a healer. Without his future-husband he would probably still bleed out under that dratted tree he fell from.
"Whatcha name?", he asked, because he had already forgotten again that his saviour had asked him a question. And even if he could remember, his question was so much more important then the others, seeing that the dwarf was sure to think of their marriage once all the excitement died down a bit and he wouldn't have to worry about his little spouse on the deathbed. Or arms, because he was still being carried and he buried himself into the others chest again, smearing the darkblue tunic full of blood.
"My name is Thorin. And what is yours, little one?", Bilbo heard his dwarf rumble, could even feel it on his cheek, but he was tired now, so tired, so he just closed his eyes and fell asleep, dreaming of cold caves and his fathers wrinkly forehead and knitted socks from his Ma.