Chapter Text
ONE
The one thing Bilbo had not anticipated- but probably should have seen coming- was the noise. Travelling with thirteen dwarves, fifteen ponies, and a man-sized wizard made for a nonstop cacophony of sound. Footsteps thudding, harnesses jangling, coins rattling, armour clanging. Then there were the dwarves themselves, who never seemed to stop talking or eating (often at the same time). There was a constant low babble of voices- speaking in a mix of Westron and Dwarvish- that kept them all constant company.
Bilbo could manage it during the day. He just pointed his pony forward and let her take him onward. He tried talking with the others, but he found himself quite outside their tight-knit circle. So he contented himself to observing the passing landscapes as they rode.
The true problem arose when they lay down to sleep. The ponies, the gear, the sounds of the woods themselves, and the snoring- good lord, the snoring. Bilbo lay awake one night just counting all the different things he could hear that were keeping him awake. Counting each dwarf individually, he made it up into the thirties.
So it was that two months into their journey Bilbo still could not sleep. It did not help that now every time his head shifted in the dirt he was jolted awake thinking the ground was sliding out from under him. His grip was ever tighter upon his sword when he slept. Or, at least, when he tried to.
Bilbo stared at the night sky, searching for stars. The heavy clouds sailing through the skies kept them from him, much as Nori’s snoring next to him kept him from sleep. After another half hour of hopeless waiting Bilbo kicked his blanket off with a noise of disgust. He stood, shoulders raised against the chill mountain air, and gazed around the camp. Twelve sleeping dwarves, a wizard that slept with his eyes open in the most disturbing manner, and Fíli on watch a few paces away.
Bilbo walked over and dropped himself down next to his friend. Fíli nodded in Bilbo’s direction, passing over a piece of jerky he had been gnawing on. He took it gratefully and ripped off a piece with his teeth.
“Can’t sleep?” Fíli asked softly. Bilbo shook his head and sniffed sharply.
“Too much noise. I don’t understand how you all can sleep through it.”
Fíli laughed and let his eyes fall on the sleeping company. “Ah, well, when you’ve been around it your whole life, you get used to it.”
“I suppose so.” Bilbo passed the jerky back. He kept his gaze on the sleeping party. “You don’t think… I’ll ever get used to it, do you?” Fíli shrugged, an easy gesture.
“Maybe, maybe not. People say we’re a tough lot to get used to.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know. But it’s the truth, eh? Dwarves don’t get much company for good reason.”
"I don’t think they’re very good reasons. You’re good, honest people, and that’s more than can be said for most.” Fíli stared pointedly off into the night sky, not returning Bilbo’s gaze. His mouth bore a smile, but not entirely in happiness.
“You’re a good man, too, Bilbo.”
Bilbo nodded, understanding that their conversation had ended. He gave Fíli a pat on the shoulder and dug himself back under his blanket. As he curled his fist once more around his sword he tried to imagine what life must be like for the dwarves- roaming, unwanted, looked down upon by all. It was a hard life. One he was starting to understand bits and pieces of.
He rolled over and, with Glóin’s foot in his back, managed to drift off to sleep.
The next night fared no better. Bilbo’s head lolled off his pack and he bolted upright, sword in hand. The echoes of goblin screams faded from his ears and left him with the quiet night around him.
Bilbo sheathed his sword too fast and nicked his thumb. With a curse he kicked off his blanket and stood, sucking on the wound. There would be no way he was sleeping after all that. He paced as quietly as he could around his spot on the ground.
“You alright?”
Bilbo spun on his heel, hand on the hilt of his sword again. It was only Bofur, who was seated at the edge of the campsite keeping watch.
“Mm. Yeah. I’m, er- just a bit of trouble sleeping. Sorry.” Bofur nodded slowly. “Can I, er, can I sit with you?”
“O’ course!” Bofur shifted to the side to allow Bilbo a spot to sit on the rock with him. “Nightmares, is it?”
Bilbo gave a short, pained laugh. “Isn’t it always.”
“It’s alright, you know. You’ve been through a lot these past months, more’n you’ve ever been through in your life.”
“Maybe. Yeah. Anything out tonight? Or has it been a quiet one?”
Bofur’s eyes lingered on Bilbo before returning to their watch. “Nah. Quiet as all get out. Hasn’t been much lately, which is quite nice. We can all sleep through the night.”
“Those of us who can.”
“Aye… I suppose you’re right.” Bofur clapped a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder; the latter felt it a sudden reminder of his conversation the previous night, and the reversal of roles left a bitter taste in his mouth. It tasted of copper. “But we’ll get through it. We’ll get there, and you’ll see all of this has been worth it.”
“I hope so. No, I really hope so, I really do. I meant it when I said I’m going to help you take back your home. And I can’t wait to see it.” Bilbo poured every ounce of sincerity he had into his words. Some of it he used to soothe his own quailing spirit.
He stood and wiped the small trail of blood off on his trousers. “Well, see you in the morning. Hope all stays quiet.”
Bofur tipped his hat. “Get some rest, friend. You’ll need it.” Bilbo smiled thinly and dropped down again on his blanket. It was going to be a long night.
It became a habit of his. Sometime in the night, he was jolted awake by a nightmare, or dragged out of sleep by the ear-splitting racket of his neighbour’s snoring. Then he would stand up, pretend to look at the sky, and walk over to whoever was on watch for those hours. It relaxed him, talking to the dwarves. They all had something to offer to his mental image of where they were going, or could tell him about the great things they had done. More than that they were simply good conversation. Then he would nod at them and try as he could to go back to sleep.
So it was.
Bilbo tossed and turned for nearly two hours trying to find sleep. He drifted in, every time being pulled back out by the thunderous snoring of Dwalin next to him. The biggest dwarf had the biggest lungs; who knew.
He eventually threw off his blanket and stood. He stretched his arms over his head and felt something in his back pop. He kicked his blanket out of Ori’s reach- a notorious blanket thief- and turned to join the dwarf on watch.
Thorin.
Bilbo froze in place. He could have sworn it had been Balin sitting there, just moments ago- they must have switched while he had been dozing. Well, there was no avoiding it now. He was up and Thorin had surely heard him.
He made his way with slow, awkward steps towards the dwarven prince. Thorin’s eyes remained locked on the lands around them, never moving. He gave no sign acknowledging Bilbo’s presence. The hobbit sank to the ground next to him. The dirt crunched louder than Bilbo was expecting and he winced.
Quiet fell again. From this distance from the camp, only the wind was heard.
“Can’t sleep, Master Burglar?” Thorin’s voice, though quiet, made Bilbo jump.
“Oh. Well, er, yes. I keep, you know, waking up in the night, so I come and talk with whoever’s on watch. Helps pass the time.”
“That’s a bad habit.”
“Really?”
“You’ll get used to broken sleep and you won’t be able to make it through the night.” Still he did not move.
“Well, they’re good conversation.”
“Are they not during the day?”
“Sure, but it’s harder. We’re all yelling to be heard over each other, and someone always jumps into the conversation halfway through. It’s nice to just get to… to talk to them.”
Thorin turned his head to look at Bilbo, who met his gaze briefly and looked away. Bilbo wrinkled his nose and sat up a little straighter against the mountainside. He was still very much the shorter of the two. Thorin looked back out into the night.
“I recommend you get inside, Master Baggins. It’s been too long since we’ve seen Azog. He’ll be upon us soon, and you’ll need your strength.”
Bilbo put an arm down as if to push himself up from the ground. Then he stopped and stared at Thorin with not a small amount of annoyance on his face.
“Why do you call me that?”
Thorin again turned to look at Bilbo, who now held his gaze.
“What do you mean?”
“Master Burglar. Master Baggins. Master Hobbit. I’ve got a name, you know. Everyone else uses it except you.”
“They’re titles.”
“Yes, I can see that. But you don’t see anyone around here going around calling you ‘Prince Thorin’ or ‘King Thorin’ all the time. You’re just Thorin. I’m just Bilbo.”
Thorin said nothing.
“Why won’t you just call me Bilbo?”
Again, Thorin’s gaze focused far away. It was a long while before he spoke. So much time passed, and with so little movement from him, that Bilbo gave up and was halfway to standing.
“I’m afraid.”
“You- you’re afraid?” Bilbo sat heavily. “You’re afraid?”
“I am.”
“Of what?”
“I am afraid for you. I’m afraid that something might happen to you. That you’ll be captured, or tortured, or killed. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened already.”
“Mm, thanks.” Bilbo rolled his eyes.
“I don’t mean to belittle you. You haven’t spent the years on the road that we have. You don’t know how to fend for yourself as we do. But yet, despite that, you’ve survived.”
“Alright, fine. You care about me. But what’s that got to do with not using my name?” Bilbo’s exasperation got the better of him. He gave a huff of breath and turned to look at anything that was not a dwarf. But the silence between them weighed heavy- he felt eyes on the back of his head, and turning around, he saw Thorin staring directly at him. The fire was reflected in his eyes, making them dance.
“Thorin?”
Thorin reached out a half-curled finger and put it under Bilbo’s chin, lifting it slightly, gently. Then he leaned forward and they were together.
Bilbo was caught completely unawares. His mouth and eyes were open, but that melted into the background of the sudden all-consuming awareness that Thorin was kissing him. He closed his eyes, the rest of him folding to fit where Thorin was, a hand coming up to touch the other’s face.
Bilbo’s heart pounded in his chest. Was this real? He wanted it to be- he had for weeks, but never said anything. Never done anything. Everything had changed after the flight of the eagles and he had felt completely lost when thinking about Thorin; now here he was, holding the other close, equal parts surprised and desperate to hold on.
Then Thorin was pulling away. His breath came fast and was loud so close to Bilbo’s ear.
“I- I’m sorry… I don’t… I should have asked….”
“Mm, yeah, you should’ve.” Bilbo grinned. Now it was his turn; his hand moved to the back of Thorin’s head, he pulled him in even closer. It was even better this time- they both knew the other wanted it, their hearts beating faster as their minds slowly realised who they had in their arms. Whose lips were pressed against theirs.
It was like nothing Bilbo had ever felt before; this rush of adrenaline, this wave of joy spreading throughout his body. He had never loved someone so much. He had barely realised it himself until he saw Thorin that terrible day. But here he was, safe and whole, and with him.
It was like nothing Thorin had ever felt before; his heart was pounding fit to wake the dead, but his mind was slowing and savouring every second he had. He had never loved someone so much. He had not realised it himself until he saw Bilbo through delirious, half-unconscious eyes that terrible day. But here Bilbo was, safe and whole, and with him.
They let themselves stay pressed together longer this time. When they pulled apart it was slow, and soft. Thorin’s finger was still under Bilbo’s chin and the other’s hand still on the back of his head, now gently curled into the waves of dark hair.
They could not help but smile as they did so. It felt like magic to have one another here. Like there was something encircling the two of them, protecting them.
“So, Bilbo.” His name sounded so wonderful coming from that mouth. That proud mouth, that he had just touched. “How was your first taste of dwarf?”
Bilbo burst into laughter. He stuffed his sleeve into his mouth to keep from making noise; he looked at Thorin who was shaking with silent laughter. It was a truly awful joke but the two of them were struck by it all the same. One or two of the sleeping company shifted and Bilbo kicked Thorin, who kicked him back, which only made them laugh harder.
“No, no, nope. I’m not answering that.” That earned Bilbo another laugh.
It soon died and they found themselves simply watching, eyes fixed on the other, just watching and reveling in being here and with that person.
But Thorin’s gaze was drawn by one of the dwarves taking his time to get comfortable in his bed. The smile slid a little from Thorin’s face, and he found it hard to meet Bilbo’s eyes.
“We can’t tell the others about this.”
“What? Why not? What does it matter?”
“I just… I am their leader, and I don’t want them to think poorly of my judgement, or that I might favour you.”
“Well clearly you do,” Bilbo said with a tilt of his head.
That brought the corners of Thorin’s lips up. “I know… but… I’m not ready for them to know. Not yet.”
“No I- I understand. I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“Hm. Well, in any case, I really should be getting to bed. Can’t make this a habit, now can I?” He managed a conspiratory wink through the love-struck grin on his face.
“Wait- Bilbo?” Thorin’s hand reached out to Bilbo’s rising frame. It stopped him, coming to rest on his side.
“Yeah?”
“May I? Once more?”
With his smile broadening Bilbo sank to a knee to kiss Thorin again. It was shorter this time, to be sure, but stronger. A firm statement of love to drown out the previous whispers and hopes. It was here now. It was real.
They broke away and both returned to where they had been before. Bilbo laid in the camp with a steady warmth growing in his chest. It warmed him more than his blanket and it was the fastest he had fallen asleep in months. Thorin settled back down to finish his watch. But his gaze was drawn irrevocably to the pile of ginger curls in the sea of coarse black and brown and grey. The rest of the night passed without incident, and good that it did- for if anything had approached, Thorin would have missed it for the swelling of joy in his chest.