The others seemed to know better than to try to approach Thorin in such a state. Not Bilbo. The hobbit rose from where she had been sitting by the fire and gathered up her satchel, making her way toward Thorin with purpose in her stride.
"Let me see that. Cleaning the wounds may stop them from festering, but it certainly won’t do anything for the pain." Lifting her satchel, she began to sift through various plants she’d apparently picked up along the journey. "Would you like to tell me what happened?"
Of course the hobbit would be the first to come to her aid. The others have seen worse injuries, as had Thorin, but still, she was secretly glad for the help. The water rolled, heated by the fire as she cleaned the bandages, surveying her wounds with a critical eye.
"There is little to tell. The problem has been taken care of, and I am still alive." She didn’t meet the hobbit’s gaze. "The pain is not unbearable."
Bilbo rolled her eyes-- she didn't even try to hide it. The suffering in silence nonsense was just that: nonsense. Bother, these dwarves and their insistence that they are indestructible.
"Unbearable hardly means it feels very pleasant. I am no grey wizard. I can't do the wonders he could. But unlike Gandalf, I am here right now. So if you're very much finished with showing us all how brave you are, I can do at least a little to take away the sting."









