Chapter Text
Monarchs two, beneath the yew
And heaven’s open eyes
They fight to see who the king will be
Of earth and sea and sky
Solstice fight, shortest night
As swords forever ring
One green in armor
The other a charmer
The Battle of the Kings!
by Coyote Run, "Battle of the Kings"
The Oak King sat down on the low stone wall that surrounded the small meadow. He let his sword hang limp in his hand as he stared out over the now trampled snow. Boot marks and footprints were discernable coming from and leaving the clearing, but the middle was a large, muddy and slushy mess. Little bits of green grass struggled to stand out of the mud, but he knew that by the spring thaw they wouldn’t know the battle that had gone on here. He looked at the footprints leaving the area, the makeshift battleground, and sighed. He replayed the battle in his head. He didn’t know why he felt like this, but he felt strange, as if something wasn’t quite right.
He had won, which was what was supposed to happen. He had bested the Holly King and it was now his turn to control the wheel of the year and begin warming the days and bringing about the growth of the land. But something didn’t sit right. He looked down and ran a finger over the wound on his forearm. The cut wasn’t deep and the blood that had been there had dried quickly. It was the first time the Holly King had ever managed any kind of hit on him and he didn’t know how he felt about it. But he knew part of him felt proud. They didn’t fight for control of the seasons year after year, century after century, for the Oak King to teach the Holly King how to fight, but somehow it had happened. Somewhere along the way the Holly King had managed to learn something about fighting, including a little spite it seemed, and had managed to harm him.
He smiled to himself and now wished he would’ve offered his congratulations. But the Holly King had stormed off right away, as he always did, without the Oak King being able to get in a word. They hadn’t talked, at least at midwinter or really ever, in ages. And frankly the Oak King couldn’t even remember what it was they fought about, except of course who controlled the seasons. But why they fought, that was something else entirely.
A stirring of leaves and crunch of snow caused him to jump up and spin around, gripping his weapon tightly in his hand and preparing himself for whatever had come out of the woods that fell just outside the stone wall. As his eyes met gray robes and a gray beard, he lowered his weapon.
“Gandalf,” he bowed his head slightly before sheathing his weapon and returning to his seat on the wall. He felt Gandalf sit next to him, but he was in no mood for meddling wizards.
“Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf began, lighting his pipe and taking a few puffs before continuing, “It isn’t like you to be so thoughtful after your midwinter victory. It is the Oak King’s time come after all.”
They both looked out in silence for a while, Thorin unsure if that was a statement or a question and he felt like answering neither. He watched the rings of smoke float out in front of them into the blue winter sky, disappearing as a small gust of cold air came through the field.
Finally it was Gandalf who spoke, “It seems that you have come to a crossroads and are unsure which path to take.”
Thorin sighed, “What would you have me do?”
Gandalf smiled down at him. He stood then and tapped out his pipe, “I find talking is a good start.”
And without another word Gandalf walked away, back into the woods from which he came. Thorin shook his head, he had long given up on understanding the wizard. Despite being centuries old himself, Gandalf still managed to confuse him, though Thorin guessed Gandalf had seen lifetimes more than Thorin would ever see.
He stood then and began his journey back to Erebor. He would need to be there as celebrations were planned and his people once again became joyous with the coming of spring and summer.
When Thorin first became the Oak King he had questioned why someone had chosen him. He and his people lived under rock and stone, his place was underneath a mountain. Not outside in a garden or field, encouraging the earth to grow green and alive. But now many years later he knew why he was the Oak King. For dwarves love and appreciate beauty, art, and a joyous celebration. And those are in abundance when the world warms and the sun shines bright. Markets are lively gatherings for his people to proudly display their hard work and skill in various trades and crafts. And while jewels and rocks and beautiful stones are found under the mountain they shine equally as bright and beautiful in the sunshine.
...
The Holly King returned home grumpy and covered in mud. It was typical of this time of year, but it still didn’t make him any happier about it. He grumbled to himself as he made his way up the path towards his front door, only to be stopped just outside by a neighbor.
“Mister Baggins, sir!” the neighbor smiled, but his eyes showed concern and wariness. The Holly King had given up trying to get them to call him Bilbo, but at least Mister Baggins was better than ‘your highness’ or ‘your majesty’ which they had tried calling him for many years.
“Nothing to fret about. It is just that time of year. I’ll be cleaned up and back in order as soon as I am able to get home,” Bilbo offered a strained smile to the hobbit.
“Oh, yes of course. I won’t be keeping you, sir,” then he paused, wringing his hands. Bilbo knew what he wanted to ask.
“Yes, yes. I was defeated…again. You may rejoice in the coming of spring.”
The hobbit gave a thoughtful shake of the head but Bilbo could see the excitement in his eyes, “You’ll pardon me saying, but we do appreciate that you lose this time of year. Though we feel rightfully sorry for you having to go through it and all!”
Bilbo sighed. “Yes, well. It will be good to have some rest. Now, I must be going. Good Morning.”
The hobbit stepped aside and smiled, “Yes! Of course. A Good Morning to you as well, Mister King.”
Bilbo shook his head as he pushed open his front door, now that was a new one. Hopefully it wouldn’t stick.
Bilbo closed the door behind him and hung his cloak on the peg. He removed his sword and scabbard and placed it gently against the wall. ‘More like a letter opener’ the Oak King had said the first time he had seen it, Bilbo recalled. He made his way as carefully as possible to the bathroom to clean himself up. Bilbo showered and dressed quickly. Their midwinter duel had taken up a good chunk of the morning and Bilbo still had things to do for Yuletide. After all there were still a few more days of celebration left and a bruised ego and some sore muscles would not be excuse enough for his cousins and family that would expect dessert and drinks when they came over this afternoon for tea.
In fact, Bilbo thought little more of his morning in the field until he lay in bed that night. It was then that he smiled to himself in the dark of his bedroom, the fire died down to only embers, as he recalled the look on Oak King’s face when his ‘letter opener’ had caught the Oak King’s forearm and drawn blood. The battle had ended quickly afterwards, but the satisfaction and adrenaline Bilbo had gotten from managing the act in the first place, and then seeing his reaction to it, had been worth eventually being without his sword, on his butt, in the mud. It was an odd reaction, Bilbo thought. The Oak King had at first glared at him, but then looked at the wound with an almost fondness, and then he had smiled before re-engaging Bilbo in battle. It was almost as if he had been happy Bilbo had managed to hit him. Bilbo frowned at that. Why would the Oak King be happy being hurt, especially at midwinter? Bilbo tried not to dwell on it more and let himself slip easily into sleep.
The next morning, and quite a few mornings and days after, the Holly King thought little of the Oak King and their battle, as there was plenty to worry about in the Shire during Yuletide and the New Year. Bilbo hosted family and friends to food, desserts, and drinks. They sang songs and sat around the fire, sharing good cheer and presents. Everyone was particularly keen on Bilbo’s gifts, as he always gave the best around. Bilbo participated in the wassailing and even let himself be dragged into a snowball fight, despite the fact that he desperately hated snow.
When he did finally take down all of the decorations and the now dying boughs of holly, evergreen, and mistletoe, Bilbo nestled down into his armchair with a warm cup of tea and found his mind once again drawn back to the Oak King. Bilbo’s eyes closed, the mug warming his hands, he brought to his mind the familiar face. He blinked his eyes open, well, the Oak King wasn’t that familiar in fact. Come to think of it, he didn’t even know his name, and shouldn’t he? Hadn’t it been centuries and surely it should have come up. Yet all he knew about his other half was their bi-annual interaction at midwinter and midsummer – the solstices provided a battleground for their battle over the seasons. And during those times the Oak King had either been smug about his victory or distant and cross about his loss. It had been the same for centuries, but now Bilbo felt a strange twinge when he thought of the king. Maybe it was too much merriment of the holiday, plus that little burst from having actually drawn blood. Yes, Bilbo supposed, it was just too much excitement for a hobbit and he just needed the season to settle in to his solitude and comforts of home. And so he did, as the world woke up turning from winter to spring and then to summer.
Bilbo had always felt right as the Holly King. Of course the Shire was beautiful in the spring and summer, rolling green hills, laughter and parties, long walks and sitting outside with a pipe. But Bilbo loved the quiet restfulness that came with his season. Maybe he was an odd hobbit for that, but when he thought of the things he loved - his armchair, his books, and quiet nights writing long after the fire grew cold – those were most welcomed when it grew cold outside. He wasn’t expected to be anywhere or do anything and that was quite fine with him.
...
Returning to the east, Thorin had been greeted with celebration upon his announcement that he had once again bested the Holly King. The mountain and surrounding areas seemed to come to life after the long winter. The dwarves began to prepare their arts for sale at market, and outside, the men of Dale began their planting. And across middle earth, windows were thrown open and the dust and staleness of the past months were swept and shaken out. They celebrated the spring equinox with feasts, long walks outside, and games. Through it all, the Oak King celebrated and rejoiced and had time to think very little of the Holly King.
When Thorin felt the pull of midsummer, he once again took his leave and traveled back to their meadow. He was reluctant as always, he hated giving up the wonderful warmth, growth, and joy that came with his season, but he also felt something else. A nervousness. Hadn’t Gandalf said that talking was a good start, but what would he say to the Holly King? Surely they had nothing in common. As Thorin watched the Holly King walk into the clearing, which was now alive and green with wildflowers in abundance and the warm rays of the morning sun shining down through the trees, Thorin felt himself pause. He took a breath and actually stopped to look at the hobbit in front of him. In this light, his auburn curls held a bit of a gold tint. His green vest and gold buttons, paired with his russet-colored trousers, the color scheme fit his claim so well. His Holly crown tucked neatly among the curls.
“Come on now, I haven’t got all day,” the Holly King’s voice called Thorin back from his thoughts.
Thorin smiled. The Holly King scowled, but Thorin caught a bit of surprise cross over his face before he schooled it back.
While Thorin preferred to fight with steel and strength. The Holly King on the other hand, who fought with nimbleness and cunning, brought out his bag of tools for conkers.
Thorin laughed and the Holly King shot him a look. “Just because I don’t enjoy fighting doesn’t mean you need to turn down your nose at my skill. Plus, don’t go getting yourself too confident as you’ve never won a game by my account.”
Thorin nodded in agreement which seemed to perturb the hobbit more, which then confused Thorin because wasn’t he agreeing with him? And so their midsummer battle began as it always did, with quite a lot of bickering. As they walked together in the nearby woods, collecting seeds from the Horse Chestnut trees, the Holly King hurriedly explained the rules to Thorin for the thousandth time, literally.
“Really, it’d be helpful if you could remember the rules.”
Thorin shrugged.
“Next year, I’m bringing them written and you can finally memorize them.”
“You’ve said that before, and yet here I am, without written rules.” Thorin grinned, but the Holly King just huffed at him and they returned to the meadow to construct their game pieces. Thorin’s were clumsy and poorly constructed, but suitable enough and so they began the game.
Thorin, as usual, failed quite miserably. And the Holly King, as always, managed to win. Mostly because Thorin really never bothered to practice, but he had also found he just didn’t have the skill for it. ‘Too forceful and impatient’ he remembered the Holly King noting at one time. Thorin chuckled, the Holly King had stamped his foot and reminded him, as always, that the Conker was not a weapon. This year, the Holly King won easily, a bit more so than usual as Thorin found himself pre-occupied just watching the hobbit. The way he concentrated, and slightly bit his lip as he did so. Thorin wasn’t quite sure how he had never taken the time before to even notice the way he moved and spoke.
“Well then, that is settled. See you in winter!” Bilbo stated, cleaning up his tools into a small brown leather bag. Bilbo was almost to the encircling stone wall when Thorin stopped him.
“Wait, Holly King” Thorin called out, pulling himself up to stand straighter.
“Yes?”
Thorin paused, unsure of what he actually wanted to say. He hadn’t planned this out, he had just hoped somewhere they would’ve started a conversation. He must have been standing there for a long moment because the Holly King suddenly broke in.
“I really must be going as there is much to do. Is there something you wish to say?” Bilbo’s tone had started out annoyed, but the look that crossed the Oak King’s face made him change his tone. He wasn’t quite sure what the look was before it was gone, replaced by that grim exterior he always had the unfortunate sight of at this time in the year.
“I expect you not to forget the directions next we meet,” was all Thorin managed to say. Annoyed now at his inability to manage a conversation with someone he has known for hundreds of years. And yet here they stood, constantly in defiance of the other.
Bilbo frowned and without another word, left the clearing.
Thorin growled in frustration at the empty place where the Holly King had been. Then he left the clearing to head home. By the time he arrived home, he could already feel the weather turning, the days growing shorter. Things mortals never felt so minutely or intimately, but for Thorin, the change echoed his mood. He wondered about the goings on of the Holly King at this point. If he had been smart enough, he would’ve asked. But alas, he had wasted another opportunity.
Bilbo rushed back home to begin preparations. There was just so much to do during this time of the year and how he wished for the life of leisure the Oak King had. Bilbo would’ve loved to have pondered over the odd stares and the smiles the Oak King had been giving him. But within a few hours it was all but forgotten as he ran errands and took over his mantle of the season.
As Thorin sat home and the summer faded into autumn and the men began their harvests and preparation for winter, the dwarves of Erebor began their own preparations. The whole mountain became quiet as dwarves spent time in forges and at work benches, honing their skills, training apprentices, and settling in for the long season. Thorin found himself in his own forge, but found he couldn’t concentrate on his craft. How many more seasons, how many more years, would he just settle into this pattern? Especially now that he had recognized something else, had caught glimpses of who the Holly King was. He longed to learn more.
Thorin didn’t know much about the traditions during the Holly King’s rule, in fact he knew nothing. He had heard from others across middle earth about various gatherings but in his own kingdom they recognized the harvesting of crops, the winter winds, and snow as the only major changes. It was after all, not his season. And while Dwarves in other areas may celebrate things during this part of the year, the dwarves of the lonely mountain did not. Only recognizing Durin’s Day as their new year. But this year Thorin went out and found the information he needed, talking most with the men of Dale as they celebrated holidays throughout the year.
And so, after much thought and discussion, Thorin decided he would visit the Holly King himself.
...
And so it came, that on a dark winter’s evening the Oak King found himself at a round, green door with a large brass handle. He pulled his cloak and fur coat around him tighter against the wind and snow but hesitated as he lifted his hand to knock. The lights were on inside and it was still early enough, but he didn’t know how he would be received. But he guessed that was something he should’ve thought of before he traveled all the way across middle earth. He took a deep breath and rapped his knuckles on the wood door. Thorin could hear the Holly King grumbling inside about unexpected visitors.
“You’re early for Yule if that is why you are here! For I can’t think of any other reason someone would be at my door tonight.”
The door opened, but not fully, as auburn curls and shrewd eyes popped through the opening, only to widen considerably at seeing who indeed was at his door. And if the Holly King had any more to say, he didn’t the minute he spotted Thorin.
Thorin watched with a small amount of joy as the Holly King, who usually had plenty of words readily available, stood agape in front of him. Thorin bowed his head slightly. Thorin wasn’t sure what snapped the other king out of his stupor, but he squeaked and tied the knot on his bathrobe tighter before opening the door wider and gesturing Thorin inside.
“Please, please come in. I wasn’t expecting you.”
The Holly King closed the door behind him before coming back around and making eye contact with Thorin. Eyes filled with bewilderment but also something else that Thorin couldn’t quite put his finger on. But before he could figure it out, the whole countenance shifted to annoyance.
“You’re very early and quite in the wrong location,” he finally stated, frowning and placing his hands on his hips.
“I hope I’m not inconveniencing you.”
Bilbo tsked and waved a hand, “Come now, let me get you some tea. Are you hungry?” The hobbit left Thorin standing there in the hallway as he headed off into his home. But he soon popped his head back around a corner.
“Mind you take off your boots, please!” Before the curls disappeared around a corner once again.
Thorin smiled. If The Holly king had been put off by his arrival he didn’t show it. Thorin shed his heavy coat and boots, and set his pack down near the front door. He stood there for a moment glancing around at the wood beams, the greenery decorating each round opening. There were chairs and trunks and books piled up in the hallway, alongside paintings and maps hung on the walls, as he made his way in the direction the Holly King headed. If Thorin was surprised, he tried not to show it. For a king of darkness and winter, the Holly King’s house was warm and inviting. It had a cozy feel to it and Thorin had a hard time taking it all in.
When Thorin arrived into the dining room, or at least, what he assumed was a dining room as it held a long table with benches on either side, the Holly King was busying himself setting tea and some food down on the table.
“Please don’t trouble yourself,” Thorin said, sitting himself at the table.
Bilbo scoffed as he sat down the last tray which had a cake resting on it, “what kind of host would I be if I didn’t provide for someone who arrives on my doorstep. Especially if they’ve come such a long distance”.
“My thanks, Master...” and Thorin paused. And in that moment realized he actually didn’t know the Holly King’s name. Had he ever? Was it lost to time? No, he had somehow never found out his name. The Holly King must have seen the frown that crossed the Oak King’s face.
“Bilbo,” he supplied, “you can just call me Bilbo.”
Thorin looked at him, startled but then he smiled wide, “My thanks, Bilbo”. His named rolled easily off his tongue.
“Thorin, at your service,” he dipped his chin. Bilbo smiled then, something Thorin had seen so rarely.
After pouring them tea and fussing over a few other food items and dishes, Bilbo sat across the wood table from Thorin, blowing gently on his tea as Thorin enjoyed all of the food. There was no conversation, just the quiet sounds of clinking silverware and dishes, and the small pops from the wood blazing in the fireplace.
“This was delicious. Thank you again,” Thorin finally said as he settled back with the tea in his hands, an empty plate in front of him.
Bilbo was nibbling on a bit of cake and smiled. But then he furrowed his brows, “so why are you here, Thorin?”
Thorin knew he would eventually get asked that question, he had been asked it by numerous people when he had left his own kingdom. Yet even on the long journey and even now sitting in Bilbo’s dining room he still didn’t quite have an answer.
“I am not entirely sure, but I have been pondering over the fact that despite the importance of each of us to the other and to the fate of the seasons, I know entirely nothing about you, Bilbo. And that has come to bother me. I should like to know who it is that I best each year in combat, yet somehow lose to in a simple child’s game.”
“Well the first thing you should know is that it isn’t a simple child’s game! For if it were I would’ve suspected you could have won at least once!”
“Not unless I was letting you win”, Thorin said a bit under his breath. But loud enough that Bilbo turned a bit red. From embarrassment or something else, Thorin couldn’t be sure. After all, he barely knew Bilbo at all. Though sitting here in his kitchen, he knew one thing, he wanted to find out.
Bilbo spluttered and Thorin lifted his hand, “I promise you I have never let you win. I’m afraid I’ve too much stubborn pride for that. Though I can say I’ve never put much effort into practicing.”
Bilbo sighed and shook his head, wagging a finger at Thorin before going back to his tea. “I do try at least, thank you very much.”
Thorin smiled, “yes. I’ve noticed. And I’ve come to look forward to it.”
Bilbo flushed at that, “So you’ll be staying awhile then?”
“If you’ll have me, I would hate to make things difficult this time of year.”
“Oh, so you do know that you’ve arrived the night before the start of the biggest holiday of the season?”
Thorin paled a bit, “no, actually I’m afraid I know little about the season at all. And I just knew I wanted to arrive earlier than usual.”
Bilbo shook his head but his eyes betrayed the frown he put on. “Confounded kings!” he said, finishing his tea and standing, “Come, let me show you where you can stay.”
Thorin followed him out of the room and retrieved his pack from the front hall, “Please, I assure you if I am a burden I can find shelter elsewhere.”
Bilbo waved his hand dismissively, “you’re my burden now and I’m happy to have you. After all, what are we if not each other’s burdens? I’m sure I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”
Thorin shook his head but smiled. Bilbo showed him to a guest room. He pushed open an elaborately carved wood door. It opened up to a simple room with a decent sized bed, dresser with wash basin, and fireplace. Bilbo walked in and coaxed the fire to life before returning to the entrance.
“I’ll take my leave now. An early morning tomorrow. Good night,” and with that Bilbo turned from the room and went across the hall, closing the door.
Thorin watched Bilbo’s back and stared for a few minutes at the closed door in front of him before he closed his own door and settled in.