"These must have hurt," Bilbo said as he traced the elaborate designs on Thorin's chest and back. The dwarf shivered at the gentle touch but smiled, eyes half-lidded and relaxed as Bilbo saw him only in their chambers.
"Yes, they did," he said quietly, as if it were of no moment. Ridiculous dwarf, Bilbo thought fondly.
"Why on earth..." Bilbo stopped and waved his other hand, incapable of expressing the tangle of questions in his mind. Why do such a thing? What was the point? Was there even a point?
"We all have our reasons," Thorin sighed, looking away. "Each dwarf has their own markings, their own signs that are special to them. This," he gestured at the spiral of runes on his chest, barely visible beneath the pelt of white-flecked dark hair, "is a prayer of protection. My back is a copy of the gates of Khazad-Dûm, as it was for my father, and his father, all the way back to Thrain I who fled the coming of the darkness."
"The... gates?" Bilbo said, imagining the giant sprawling symbol he had seen many times. He supposed in a way it did resemble a door, but... his mind boggled at the amount of pain Thorin must have endured to have that graved into his flesh with a burin and ink. "Why?"
Thorin opened his eyes fully, pinning Bilbo with a serious look. "Even if I never live to pass through those portals again, they are with me. Always. They are our birthright, and Fili will bear them in turn after me, until Durin comes again to lead us back. If that is what it takes." Heavy lids closed again, leaving Bilbo even more puzzled than before. The longer he lived with dwarves, the odder he found them in some ways.
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