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Rivendell was a, grudgingly, nice respite after being chased halfway across Eriador. Still, the Elves were absolutely insufferable with their pompous attitudes and frilly music. It set Thorin’s teeth on edge, though that may have been due more to the fact that their burglar seemed to drink it all in.
Bilbo wandered around, looking up at the elves in wonder and glowing when they spoke to him. The hobbit also seemed to know some of their language, which was surprising given how adamant he was about not leaving his home. Though, now that he thought about it Gandalf had mentioned a young Bilbo going off to search for elves in the woods. Why elves and not dwarves? What made the poncy weed-eaters any better than his people?
Why do you care?
That was a question he really didn’t want to consider, too many conflicting emotions. Honestly his opinion of the hobbit was in flux, constantly flowing from something like disdain to something more akin to fondness. He found himself watching the hobbit more and more often. He was soft, plush in a way that no dwarf was, and his lack of beard was very intriguing. Thorin wondered if that meant that the hobbit’s chest was also bare, or was it dusted with golden curls like the tops of his head and feet.
Once again he asked himself why he cared, but before he had a chance to puzzle over the answer a sound caught his attention. He was sitting on a bench overlooking one of the many gardens, just far enough away from his companions that he could no longer hear their snoring. The moon casting ghostly light over everything and giving the world a slivery hue. He turned his head towards the source of the noise and saw the hobbit staring at him from the archway.
Bilbo’s surprise was evident in the slight widening of his deep grey eyes and the parting of his lips. Thorin arched an eyebrow at him as he noted the rather large growler cradled between his palms. When his gaze locked with the hobbit’s once more the spell was broken and Bilbo stuttered, “S-sorry! I wasn’t – I’ll just go somewhere else and leave you be.”
The hobbit didn’t move, and Thorin sighed inwardly as he scooted down the bench a bit, silently offering the seat. Bilbo hesitated only a moment before stepping over and settling beside him, placing the growler on the seat between them. Thorin couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Did you plan on drinking all of that wine by yourself?”
“Believe it or not, but this was the smallest one I could find.” Bilbo responded, “And no, I was not going to drink it all by myself.”
“Going to share it with some of the elves, then?” Thorin grumbled. Honestly, he hadn’t had this much trouble talking to someone since he came of age. It stung his pride and made him feel like a child.
“Wrong again,” the hobbit stated, ignoring the glower Thorin cast his direction, “I planned to share it with the company, but they are all asleep. It’s down to just you and me, if you want any.”
The honest offer in Bilbo’s words hit Thorin like a well-aimed punch, giving him pause. He stared down at the hobbit, his mind blanking and refusing to offer him any kind of coherent response. Bilbo finally glanced up at him, hope tinged with confusion hiding behind his gaze and Thorin finally nodded, unable to make his voice work. Bilbo smiled sweetly up at him, “Good! I’m glad for the company!”
He swiftly produced two of the fancy elven goblets from inside his coat, both wrapped in cloth napkins. He allowed his mind to wander once more as Bilbo pulled out the stopper and began to pour the wine. Perhaps he was a burglar after all, with the nicked wine and glasses to go with it. Thorin knew the hobbit had wandered all over Rivendell this afternoon, perhaps he had found the kitchens then or had he sweet-talked one of the elves into showing him?
As if sensing his train of thought, Bilbo handed him a glass and spoke, “Their kitchen isn’t nearly as large as I anticipated, but a hobbit could die very happily in their pantry. Fairly easy to find on ones own, too, which seems like a bad idea when hosting dwarves if my larder is anything to go by.” Bilbo shot a cheeky look his way as he took a sip.
Thorin’s brow knitted together in a mock scowl, “I believe you are admonishing the wrong person for the state of your larder. I was barely involved.”
Bilbo huffed a small laugh, “I suppose you did come to the party a bit late.”
They sat in companionable silence for a bit after that, both sipping the fruity drink. It wasn’t bad, certainly better than his memory of Dale’s wine, but he would always prefer a good ale. He felt his gaze pulled back to the hobbit, watching the light breeze play with his riot of curls and observing the slight upturn of his nose.
This was the longest they had spent in each other’s presence without dissolving into some kind of argument. It was nice. He could get used to this, and that scared him a bit. He drained the goblet in an effort to stop that train of thought, popping the stopper of the growler and pouring himself another glass before offering to refill Bilbo’s.
As he replaced the stopper, his curiosity got the better of him, “So, where did you pilfer the glasses from?”
“Nori.” Bilbo’s response was immediate, “I noticed him stuffing a few things into his coat earlier, so I relieved him of a bit of his burden. We’ll see how long it takes him to notice.”
“What else did you relieve him of?” Thorin smirked as Bilbo turned to him with a perfect shit-eating grin.
“Oh, you know, this and that.” He replied cheekily, “Mostly things he had taken from me in his efforts to teach me. He has a small pouch of trinkets that he keeps in an inside pocket of his coat, that may or may not be filled with rocks instead of his valuables right now.”
Both of them were grinning now, and the conversation flowed easily after that. It took his mind off of the fact that they were leaving in the morning and would likely not have another comfortable night like this for a while. Between them, they managed to empty the growler, placing it on the ground at Thorin’s feet as the hobbit shuffled closer for warmth.
They were discussing the merits of various pipe weeds when a large yawn split Bilbo’s face. He tried unsuccessfully to stifle it behind his hand, and Thorin couldn’t help the soft smile that crossed his face, “Perhaps you should turn it, Master Burglar. We have an early start tomorrow.”
“I suppose I should enjoy the only bed I am likely to have for a while.” There was a hint of something in Bilbo’s voice that sounded like an invitation, but that cannot be right. Thorin glanced over at the hobbit as he sat up, stretching his arms over his head and arching his spine in a way that was surely deliberate. Or perhaps his alcohol-soaked mind was reading far too much into the situation.
Bilbo stood, swaying a bit on the spot before turning to face him again, “You should get some sleep, too. We can’t have our leader dozing on the trail.”
“I will rest, you need not worry. Go find your bed, I’ll be along shortly.” Oh, that did not come out right. The hobbit didn’t seem to notice as he nodded and began to leave. Bilbo stopped beneath the archway, much like he had upon arrival, and partially turned back towards Thorin.
“If you have trouble finding your bed, I am certain mine has plenty of space,” He practically purred, winking and blowing Thorin a kiss before sauntering off. And honestly who could resist such an offer? He certainly couldn’t.