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If there was one thing that Bilbo Baggins was good at, it was knowing how to cook, and he did it very well. Not that he’d had to, since Beorn’s animals had taken care of that. Delicious food, too. So Bilbo hadn’t been able to show his talents that way.
He hadn’t been able to show any of his talents much, really, since they’d left the Shire. He had no swordsmanship skills to speak of, no axe-wielding capabilities. Just a simple little magic ring he’d picked up by sheer chance, and his wits, that’s all he’d had about him.
And the courage he’d plucked up in order to defend Thorin with the only blade he’d had. Somehow, it had been enough to keep them both alive. It had been enough to earn the Company’s respect, earn Thorin’s respect, which had left Bilbo a bit flustered at being thanked so heartily. He’d barely found his words, tripping all over themselves, after having been wrapped up in Thorin’s embrace. For one who’d been so cold towards him, his arms had been warm and inviting.
“Well, you said you were good at it,” Kili was saying, wagging his eyebrows. “Let’s see what it is!”
But there was one talent he was good at, and could actually utilize at the moment, and that was playing conkers.
Resting didn’t sit well with the young Durins, it seemed. Both Fili and Kili had been bored beyond the telling of it, and they’d impatiently jumped at him to do something, as if he were their uncle instead of Thorin. Given that Thorin was resting on a wooden bench beside Beorn’s house, Bilbo had decided to take the both of them on before they could aggravate Thorin or his injuries. That was the last thing they needed: a grumpy Thorin with wounds yet to heal.
Though he’d accepted Bilbo’s help readily enough. He’d almost been startled at Bilbo’s willingness to help him walk, had asked for it in that gruff voice of his that Bilbo was beginning to understand was his shy tone. As if he was unsure of himself, which was such a very not Thorin thing to do that Bilbo had moved all the more quickly to aid. He had trusted Bilbo to help him, had accepted his help and even been a bit hesitant in asking for more.
He trusted Bilbo. He had finally begun to trust Bilbo. And it had meant more to Bilbo than he’d first thought it would.
“Conkers,” Fili insisted, and Bilbo rolled his eyes with a sigh.
“Yes, conkers. The game is simple. One of you holds a chestnut at the end of a string, just as I’ve given you, and then I take my nut and string and try to break yours.”
Kili blinked. “That’s it?” he asked incredulously. “You’re just trying to break each other’s nuts?”
“Sounds dangerous what with all the very male dwarves about,” Dwalin commented wryly from his seat near a tree, and Kili went bright red all across his face. Even as Bilbo’s face went a little hot, Dwalin gave him a quick wink, and Bilbo let himself enjoy the show Dwalin had given him: that of two young Durin dwarves stammering in embarrassment. Off on his bench, Thorin coughed, but Bilbo caught a glimpse of upturned lips before he winced and rubbed at his chest.
At least there were two of them amused.
Finally Bilbo took pity on them and brought forth his stringed chestnut. “Ready? Hold it steady; you can’t move it.”
“I’m ready,” Kili said, holding his string up. He grinned at Fili, who grinned in return. “Whenever you want to try, just go-“
Bilbo whipped his string out. His chestnut landed with perfect accuracy, and the nut at the end of Kili’s string shattered, dropping to the grass. Everyone got very quiet.
Kili stared, stunned. “How did you-?”
“Me next,” Fili said, raising his own. “Go on. I tied mine tighter than Kili’s, though.”
“That doesn’t make the slightest difference, or shouldn’t,” Balin said. He moved over towards them, eyes peering at Fili’s string. Bilbo soon realized that there was a small crowd forming, watching him and the young Durins. “It’s the chestnut itself that needs to be stronger.”
“I’m assuming there are methods of…improving your chances,” Nori said. Dori scowled at him. “For research’s sake,” Nori insisted.
“If you mean cheating, then yes, there are ways to do so,” Bilbo said. “Soak your chestnut in vinegar, for example, or any other substance that will harden the nut. And no, you may not,” he said firmly when Kili looked enthusiastic about the idea. Kili pouted and crossed his arms.
Dwalin came forward, taking a place beside Ori. Dori gave him a quick glance then said nothing, but Ori went a little pink in the cheeks. Bilbo swallowed back a smile and turned to Fili. He was glad that they’d taken his suggestion and actually spoken to each other. How no one else had figured out that they were besotted with one another, he didn’t know.
He spun his own string once, twice, three times for luck, then readied his chestnut. Fili kept his between his fingers, gripping as if it were an axe and he was going to battle.
Another quick whip forward, and Bilbo’s chestnut delivered a devastating blow. A huge chunk of Fili’s chestnut went one way while the rest dropped to the ground. Fili stared with a gaping mouth while around Bilbo, the other dwarves cheered.
“That’s quite an aim, Master Baggins,” Balin said, impressed. “Quite an aim indeed.”
“Bilbo, please,” Bilbo said. “I think after we’ve survived a few life-threatening moments or three, we’re allowed to be on a first name basis.”
Bofur snorted. Balin tipped his head, a grin on his face. “Acceptable indeed, laddie. If I’d known what conkers was back in your homeland, I’d have given you Kili’s bow and arrow.”
“Hey!”
“I still might,” Dwalin said, raising an eyebrow at the young dwarf. Kili made a face. “You tryin’ again?”
“If Bilbo will let me. What types of nuts are harder to break?”
“Like he’d tell you,” Ori said incredulously. “Go find your own!”
Oin chortled, and Bilbo couldn’t have stopped his own smile if he’d tried. After so long traveling, he was finally here, accepted, part of the Company. It felt good. Nothing could beat this feeling.
“Uncle! Come try! I’ve a chestnut for you!”
Bilbo froze. Thorin was already on his feet, running his finger over the string that Fili had given him. “Here,” Kili said, quickly handing him a chestnut. “I didn’t dip it in anything, though, and Bilbo’s got a ferocious aim.”
“I would not want you to ‘dip it’ in anything,” Thorin said, his voice low and rough. Still, he was standing and making his way over to Bilbo, and Bilbo found his mouth a little dry, and he didn’t know why.
All right, he knew why, of course he knew why. Thorin was attractive, had been the instant Bilbo had laid eyes upon him. But then he’d opened his mouth and Bilbo had been swept up with the adventure and things had tumbled downhill ever since. They hadn’t been friends, barely even friendly with one another except for a few times in Rivendell and when Thorin had saved his life in the mountains. Most of the time, it had been Thorin shoving Bilbo aside, doing his best to not interact with him. As if he hadn’t wanted anything to do with Bilbo.
Except now. Now Bilbo watched as he seemed to approach almost tentatively, as if unsure of how to act, of how he would be accepted by Bilbo.
Perhaps it hadn’t been a matter of trusting Bilbo. Perhaps it had been a matter of Thorin trusting himself, of finally letting himself let someone else in. He was cautious of everyone save for the Company, dwarves he had met and known through the years. He was certainly cautious with the elves, even Gandalf. He did not open up easily.
Yet he was here, holding a chestnut on a string, offering Bilbo a quick upturn of his lips. “Will you strike, Master Baggins?” he asked.
“It’s Bilbo,” Bilbo said without really thinking. Thorin seemed a bit surprised, despite having obviously heard the conversation with Balin just a few moments ago. “Just, just Bilbo is fine.” And where had his tongue gone off to, leaving him to stutter and stammer?
The genuine smile was worth it. “Bilbo, then,” Thorin said. Then he raised his string. “Your move, I believe.”
He almost hated to do it. But the chestnut that Kili had given him looked hollow and small, easy to break at the slightest touch. “All right,” Bilbo said, drawing his words out in obvious reluctance. Thorin waited, eyebrow raised.
A quick flick of his wrist was all it took to send his chestnut flying out to snap at Thorin’s. Except Thorin’s hand shifted at the last moment, and then Bilbo’s chestnut darted past Thorin’s and wound up wrapped around his string. Thorin quickly lifted his string back up, and in the mere seconds it had occurred, it left Bilbo staring, stunned, at his knotted up chestnut that was still tied around Thorin’s.
“You got him!” Fili crowed. “Uncle, you got him!”
“You cheated,” Bilbo said, his face heating. “You cheated! You of all people actually cheated!”
“I didn’t,” Thorin said, but there was a twinkle in his eye. So he had moved his string, just enough. Frustrated, Bilbo pulled at his string and found it firmly wrapped around Thorin’s chestnut. He kept tugging and only succeeded at hoisting the two chestnuts, strings and all, tight between them like a game of tug-of-war.
The other dwarves were laughing uproariously as Bilbo furiously tried to free his chestnut. Honestly, encouraging their soon to be king to cheat and at conkers of all things-
Fili took pity on him, it seemed, and pulled at Thorin’s arm. “Here, Uncle, help him get it free,” and the chestnuts jerked towards Thorin. Bilbo, without any warning, tightened his grip on his own string instead of letting go, and found himself tugged straight at Thorin. On instinct Thorin caught Bilbo to keep him from falling, and then they were standing together, chest to chest, staring at each other in surprise.
The other dwarves were still laughing with one another, not even paying them the slightest bit of attention. Surprisingly enough, it was Thorin whose face went red, but he didn’t make a move to back away. Though they were in much the same position they had been several days ago, when Thorin had embraced Bilbo on top of the Carrock, it felt different. Much different.
Bilbo felt his own face go hot at the feel of Thorin’s chest pressed against his own. He could feel every breath that Thorin made, raising him up just a little. Felt it even more since Bilbo was certain he wasn’t breathing at all, it was just Thorin taking in deep and even breaths that were moving the both of them. Bilbo found that his free hand had caught on Thorin’s arm, and without the dwarf’s usual armor there, it was bare skin he found, fingers brushing the edges of his tunic’s sleeve. Thorin’s own hand was wrapped around Bilbo’s elbow to steady him, and it felt warm, a sure and steady grasp. A promise to steady him, to keep him guarded.
Oh sweet Eru, Bilbo needed to suddenly be anywhere except where he was, because this was a very dangerous situation, and one that wasn’t going to get him anywhere. What was he to a dwarf that was soon to be a king? Especially one who’d only just started talking to him.
“Get your nuts free?” Dwalin leered at them, and the dwarves went off again, laughter getting almost hysterical at how little air they were pulling in. Bilbo flinched and pulled away, then scowled fiercely when his chestnut remained wound up in Thorin’s string. It would be better, at that point, to just let Thorin have them both, admit defeat, and run somewhere else that didn’t involve Thorin or his blasted arms or his long hair or Thorin.
This will end in nothing but heartache, and you know it, he thought to himself.
Thorin was already working at the tied up chestnuts, his fingers surprisingly deft. The knot was undone in moments, and soon Bilbo had his chestnut and string back. “Thank you,” he said, unsure of what else could be said.
“Told you I gave you a good one,” Kili interrupted before Thorin could speak.
“It wasn’t the nut, you nut. Uncle shifted the string.”
“But Bilbo still could’ve cracked the nut if it’d been a bad one!”
“That has nothing to do with it, Kee.”
“Both of you, desist,” Thorin said, turning to them for a moment, and Bilbo took his moment and disappeared on silent feet, emotions churning within him. Everyone was still laughing merrily, the conversation having well moved on, and no one saw him go.
Except for two blue eyes that watched him disappear into the setting sun, tracking where he went.
There were several ponds on Beorn’s land, and one of them had a nice little grassy ridge that overlooked the water. There were fish swimming lazily about, though Bilbo only caught a random shimmer here and there of their scales. The light had faded considerably, and there was a faint chill in the air. Behind him, there was a distant glow from the house, though not so distant that he couldn’t run for it if something came out of the woods at him. He didn’t exactly see that happening. Not here, in Beorn’s lands, where skinwalkers roamed freely.
And he really didn’t understand why he was still out here in the chilling night when he could be inside with the others. He’d probably missed some sort of snack, and knowing Beorn, it was probably something delicious. His stomach gurgled in protest, and Bilbo promptly ignored it. He was being foolish and hiding outside, but he honestly didn’t know what to do.
What was he supposed to do? He was falling for a dwarf king who had only begun tolerating him. How that was supposed to end well, he didn’t know. What was he wishing for: to live by Thorin’s side for the rest of his life, happy as can be? He snorted at his own nonsense and tucked his arms in a little closer, hands clasped and buried between his knees for a little more warmth. He needed to go inside. He did. He just…wasn’t certain he could face Thorin so soon without doing something stupid.
Something crunched nearby, and Bilbo froze, eyes trying to make out shapes in the dark. Only the fish moved about, not disturbed by whatever was coming towards him. It was getting closer, and he didn’t have a weapon, and his ears were straining to figure out what it was. It was slow, whatever it was, lumbering towards him, and Bilbo tensed, ready to run. Could he outrun anything, like an orc or a warg?
Then it was through the grass, but it only continued lumbering, moving slowly, and Bilbo darted up to help. “That’s a long walk from the house,” Bilbo scolded Thorin, ignoring his thundering pulse. He was going to blame it on his fear of being stalked. Not because Thorin was right there, heavy cloak slung across his shoulders and hands holding…something.
Thorin shrugged, winced, and readily leaned on Bilbo when he stepped up against Thorin with his arm tentatively resting around Thorin's waist. “That’s a long time you’ve been gone,” Thorin said. “No one had seen you in several hours.”
“Just thought I’d take advantage of the space,” Bilbo said quickly. “I doubt we’re all going to have a chance to run wild again until we get to Erebor. And I’m certain you’re all tired of having me underfoot.”
They settled back down into the grass, and Bilbo noted that Thorin did have a weapon, slung through his belt. Orcrist caught the light the way the fish scales did. The way Thorin’s hair did.
“None of us are tired of you, Master Baggins. In fact, you were missed by all, which is why I came looking for you. Also to deliver these to you before my nephews ate them all.” He handed over what had been in his hands, and it was a small package wrapped in wax paper. Curious now, Bilbo took the parcel carefully and unwrapped it, only to find sticky sweet honeycombs within.
He broke off a piece and set it on his tongue, and it was all he could do to keep his eyes from rolling back in pleasure. “You have my thanks,” he said when he could speak with his tongue again. “You have my many thanks. These are delicious.”
Thorin’s voice was certainly amused. “Beorn has his own bees, or so I am led to understand. These are the spoils of his beekeeping.”
It was all Bilbo could do to not devour every piece in front of him in one go. He carefully broke off another piece and offered it to Thorin, who shook his head. “I had my fill, back at the house. These are your spoils for winning earlier. You have quite the aim.”
Bilbo swallowed hard on the last honeycomb a little harder than he’d wanted to. “I hope you weren’t angry with me,” he managed after a moment. If it hadn’t been for the fish in the pond, Bilbo would’ve been tempted to steal a few sips. He didn’t trust the things to not nip at him, given their size.
“For winning, after I had cheated? Hardly.”
“You did cheat,” Bilbo felt obligated to point out, scowling at Thorin. “I couldn’t believe that you of all people would cheat!”
“And have you completely decimate my chestnut?”
“You didn’t have to play. You could have told Kili no.”
“And have lost a moment to speak with you?”
Bilbo blinked. “You can speak to me anytime,” he said after a long moment of fighting to find the right words. “Why, why would you, um. I, I don’t quite understand.”
Thorin sighed, eyes cast on the pond. “You left before I could thank you. You had thanked me, but it was I who owed you gratitude.”
“I beat you, though,” Bilbo said. “Why would you thank me for that?”
Even in the night, Bilbo could see Thorin's face, twisted with regret and what he almost would have called self-loathing. “Because you were willing to share a piece of your culture with me when I have done nothing to deserve it. You have given of yourself freely in so many ways, and I have earned none of them. Yet you continue to do so. You are more than deserving of my gratitude, Master Baggins.”
“Bilbo,” Bilbo said automatically. “Please. It’s Bilbo.” He thought about saying something lighthearted as he had to Balin, that after a few near-death experiences one ought to be on a first name basis, but he couldn’t find the words. He’d barely found his own name.
Thorin huffed. “And again you give of yourself freely. I have not earned the right to call upon you so frankly.”
“You saved my life-“
“And you saved mine in turn. I did what any of the company would have done, if I had been a moment longer. You did what none of the others did.”
“But could have, if I’d been a moment longer,” Bilbo argued. “Thorin, you’re their king.”
“I am their leader-“
“That’s enough of that,” Bilbo snapped, suddenly angry. “You are a king, you’re more than just a ‘leader’. Why do you think we’re so loyal? Why do you think we’d be willing to follow you, give up our lives for you? Because you’re a king. You’re our king, and we need more people like you up on a throne. You barely knew me, couldn’t stand me, and you threw down your sword for me anyway when the trolls threatened to rip me to pieces. You say we’re loyal, but you’re the most loyal of us all. Of course we’ll follow you! You’re our king!”
Thorin blinked, startled at his ferocity. Bilbo wasn’t quite certain where it had come from, but it was true. As much as Thorin hadn’t liked him, had pushed him away time and time again, Thorin had saved his life more than once. Thorin had risked his own life to save Bilbo’s.
“’Our’ king?” Thorin asked softly, and Bilbo froze. Oh. Oh. He hadn’t meant to let that slip, but apparently his tongue and heart had joined forces against him and completely and utterly betrayed him.
“Um. I. Well.” Oh yes, brilliant, he thought sarcastically to himself. That’s a wonderful vocabulary, Bilbo Baggins. You’re so utterly well spoken. Mother would be so very proud.
Before Bilbo could find the words, Thorin spoke first, and he almost sounded…hesitant. “That is an honor, if you truly think of me as such. It is far more than I deserve.”
“I do. Truly. I mean, I do think of you as such, and you’ve earned it.”
Thorin turned to him then, and even from the soft glow behind them, his eyes were still so vibrantly blue that Bilbo couldn’t have torn his gaze away if he’d tried. “I have been cruel, and have pushed you away in the hopes that you would leave,” Thorin said, sounding pained. “I…I do not trust readily anymore. There is a saying, amongst my people, that when one puts a hand to the flame, you will be burned. If you continue to rest your hand there, you have only yourself to blame for the burns that will follow. So I have kept myself from the flames, having been burned enough. But you…”
He swallowed hard, and Bilbo could feel his hand crushing around the honeycombs, probably smashing them against his palms until they’d never come clean, but he didn’t care. If he let them go, if he so much as breathed, he feared he’d break the spell of Thorin speaking to him, the most the dwarf had truly spoken to him since Rivendell. The most the dwarf had confessed to him since the Carrock.
“You are not a fire,” Thorin said, his voice low and rough. “I had thought you another flame like all the others, but you are not. You are a cool spring, gentle and welcoming and always forgiving, no matter how much I lash out. You always return to your steady stream.”
He took in a deep breath. “It is for that reason that I thank you. Bilbo,” he added after a moment, as if testing the word to ensure it was all right. Bilbo gave him a quick grin, and Thorin’s shoulders seemed to slump in what Bilbo could’ve sworn was relief. “You have been more loyal than I could have asked for, more loyal than I deserve. You are…you are a gift,” he said at last, but his voice suggested that those hadn’t been the words he’d been meaning to say. As if he’d tripped over these instead and offered them swiftly, hiding his intended words behind him. “And if I am ever on the throne of Erebor, I would be grateful to call you an ally.”
Bilbo’s head felt like it was going to pop off his neck and spin like a top. Of all the things he’d expected when Thorin had come stumbling out to find him, it had never been this…this kindness, this apology of all things, this offer of…
“I’ve always preferred the term ‘friend’ over ‘ally’,” Bilbo said tentatively. “Then it’s not just trust out of necessity, but trust in a caring sense. There’s trust because they care.” And there went his mouth again, running off with his heart that had been sitting in his throat.
Thorin didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Bilbo was terrified that he’d misspoken, that he hadn’t earned the trust he thought he had, that Thorin had simply been trying to show gratitude.
Then Thorin began to smile, a real smile, the kind he’d given to Bilbo up on the Carrock. “I would prefer ‘friend’, too,” he said quietly. “A great deal.”
“Good,” Bilbo said with a decisive nod. He offered Thorin a hand to shake, feeling ridiculous for it, but Thorin took it without any qualms. Then they both froze.
The honeycomb that had been in Bilbo’s hand was now firmly stuck between them both, much as their conkers had been just a few short hours ago. Trying to pull away would be difficult, the thought already making his hand ache, and not going to be easy without soap or water.
“Oh sweet Eru,” Bilbo muttered, wishing he could bury his face in his hands. “Thorin, I’m so sorry.”
A coughing sound made Bilbo look up, and he found Thorin laughing. It only emphasized his bright smile, and it was a contagious sound. Bilbo started chuckling and tried tugging their hands apart once more, and it did no good. Thorin threw his head back and laughed, and Bilbo couldn’t contain his own mirth a minute more.
They sat there, laughing together, until they couldn’t breathe and were forced to wipe tears from their eyes – Thorin with his free hand, Bilbo with the back of his other honey-sticky hand. “I think we need aid,” Thorin said when he could.
“A great deal of it. Hopefully from someone who’s not going to tease us all day and night.” That left…Oin. Or Dori. Maybe Balin. But the older dwarf had a mischievous gleam in his eyes that looked a great deal like his brother’s. So maybe not Balin. Ori would be good, too.
“Agreed.” Thorin began to rise to standing, wincing a little as he did so, and Bilbo immediately hurried to his feet to help. Suddenly he found himself tugged forward and he was falling directly against Thorin’s chest, a perfect repeat of earlier that day. Except now, now there were no other dwarves around, and it was just Thorin and Bilbo in the quiet of the night. It made it easier to hear the pounding of his heart, that much was certain.
“My apologies,” Thorin said, his voice rumbling through his chest and Bilbo’s. “I forgot for a moment that we were connected and pulled my hand back towards me.”
Forgot? Bilbo began to call him on what was obviously a lie, then froze. No. It couldn’t be. Bilbo wasn’t that lucky, had never been, not in all his lifetime.
He swallowed and stayed where he was. “No apologies necessary,” he said after a long pause. “I’m grateful that you caught me.”
“As am I. It wouldn’t do to send you to the ground.” Thorin lingered. Bilbo didn’t move.
“Did you find him?”
Dwalin. Bilbo stepped backwards, Thorin doing the same. Neither rushed the parting, and was it Bilbo’s eyes playing a trick on him, or did Thorin seem reluctant? “I did,” Thorin called out, and then Dwalin was there, cresting over the pond. It was almost as if he’d been waiting for them, but that was ridiculous, because why would Dwalin have been waiting for them? “We may have a small problem.”
“What’s the matter?” Dwalin said immediately, standing at attention. Bilbo’s face went a little hot in embarrassment, but he would’ve found out anyway.
“The, um, the honeycombs. We’re a bit stuck.”
Dwalin slowly stepped down towards them, eyebrows high. Bilbo thought he heard him mutter something along the lines of that “bein’ convenient” but couldn’t understand why. “Gettin’ all twisted up with each other today,” he said out loud, and he grinned at them both.
“Help would be appreciated,” Thorin said dryly, glaring at Dwalin. Dwalin ignored him.
“Back to the house with you both. Beorn’s got some harder soaps for the animals, I’d wager. Should clean you two up neatly.”
Slowly they began the walk back to the house, Bilbo’s arm awkwardly across him to where their hands were joined. If it hadn’t been for the honeycombs, it would’ve been…nice. Holding Thorin’s hand. A dream come true, as it were. Except Thorin wouldn’t be holding his hand willingly, not like this.
But he’d made up some horrible excuse when he’d pulled Bilbo towards him, and yes, Bilbo had been pulled. He knew the difference between an accidental tug and a firm pull, thank you very much. And that had been a pulling on his arm, landing Bilbo right against Thorin for the second time that day. Which meant…
It was more than he could think about. More than he could fathom in one night. The fact that Thorin might not only tolerate his presence, but enjoy it, want it. It made him almost giddy.
“In through the side door,” Dwalin said. “Less eyes that way. Everyone else is in the main hearth area.”
It was more than Bilbo had been expecting. “Thank you,” he said genuinely. Dwalin gave him a wink before leaving them to it. The side door led to a smaller room with a pump faucet and various supplies. One of the sheep bleated at them, then turned and left.
They found the soap without any trouble and set about unsticking their hands from one another. “I really am sorry you got all tangled up with me,” Bilbo said after their hands were freed from one another. “It’s not exactly a nice thing for a friend to do.” Then he waited.
Thorin’s lips turned up, and his eyes filled with something that looked akin to amazement and wonder. It was just for a moment, and then he was regarding Bilbo with a gentle smile. “It is a thing that a friend would bear,” he said. “At least it wasn’t complete glue; this was simply easier than wrenching skin apart.”
Bilbo blinked. “Glue?”
Thorin only gave him a knowing look. “Kili or Fili,” Bilbo said, because it wasn’t a matter of any other dwarf.
“The only word you got wrong was the ‘or’,” Thorin said. “And yes, they did. And no, there was no one else I was stuck to. Just myself.”
Bilbo bit his lip to keep his grin back, but he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. “How long did it take?”
“After four hours, I simply started pulling my hands apart.” Thorin winced at the memory. “My sister was able to get the lye in between my skin at that point, and I finally did get my hands apart.”
A sister too. More personal information that Bilbo wasn’t certain he deserved to be given, but apparently when Thorin Oakenshield gave his trust, he gave it strongly. “My mother used to make lye and threaten to use it on my hair if I went mudding,” Bilbo confessed. “I’d come back from looking for fae or elves or dwarves and be a complete and utter disaster.” It hurt, sometimes, how much he missed her.
“You went looking for dwarves?” Thorin asked, raising an eyebrow. “Did you ever find any?”
Leave it to him to ignore the ‘elves’ part of that. “I never did. Turns out, I didn’t need to: they came to my door, in the end. And I’m glad they did.”
There went his heart again, siding with his voice and trying to give words that Bilbo was terrified to give. But it only raised the corners of Thorin’s lips again. He rested a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, and the weight felt like a promise. Protected, valued.
“I am, too,” he said quietly. Then he turned and left the room, with Bilbo still standing beside the faucet. A sheep came and bleated at him a short time later, and he was finally able to move.
He felt the weight of Thorin’s hand on his shoulder, the echo of Thorin’s hand in his, all night long.
And he let himself dream of giving his heart away at long last to the dwarf king who had earned it.
Finis