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The cool air beat against his face as he stood along the ramparts. The fact he could even stand there was a miracle, and yet he still complained at the aching in his leg and chest. But he needed a smoke, and blast the cold and his aching body. He sent the usual guards away, intent to be alone with his thoughts.
Thorin took out his pipe and tried to light it, shielding the match from the wind. He watched in disgust as his matches died in quick successions.
“Blasted wind.” He grumbled.
“Can I help you with that?” Bilbo’s voice sounded from behind him, lighter than Thorin had heard in weeks. In fact, he hadn’t heard Bilbo’s voice since the sick tent after the battle. He was, for lack of a better word, avoiding the hobbit. Thorin groaned to himself. Of course Bilbo would go searching for him the one day he’s on the ramparts.
Thorin turned to face Bilbo, and grimaced in response, before trying to light another match. Bilbo watched with cross arms as Thorin failed, yet again, to light his pipe.
“Thorin, let me help.” Bilbo said again, reaching out for the pipe and box of matches.
“You’re hurt.” Thorin held his pipe away from grabbing hands, and tried to ignore how nice Bilbo looked in dwarven clothing. Really, was Dori trying to kill him? The red complimented his gold-grey curls all too well….
Bilbo took advantage of his moment of distraction and grabbed the pipe out of Thorin’s hands.
“You’re hurt too. I would wager a lot worse than I was.” Bilbo replied, making quick work of lighting Thorin’s pipe. Thorin watched in awe as the hobbit quickly lit it without even shielding it from the wind.
“You were stabbed in the arm.” Thorin replied dryly, but took the pipe and nodded in thanks anyway. He turned back to face the open sky.
“You were stabbed in the arm AND the chest.” Bilbo snorted, gently patting Thorin on the shoulder as he joined him at the edge of the ramparts.
“And the foot. Can’t forget that.” Thorin said in between puffing at his pipe. He turned back to Bilbo, and leaned against the rampart for support. His chest was aching again, and without thinking he placed a hand against it and winced. It was healing, but Oin had warned him that it may never feel the same as before.
Bilbo laughed, but his eyes flickered with concern as they landed on Thorin’s chest. He reached out for a second, before pulling back and turning to face the world. His hair whipped back and forth in the wind, and there was a tightness in his jaw. He was beautiful.
Thorin opened his mouth, debating what to say. But instead he just kept staring. The setting sun cast a pink glow against Bilbo’s form, and his hair glowed from the nearby torches.
I should get Ori to draw him Thorin thought to himself.
“I understand why you fought so hard for this place. It’s beautiful.” Bilbo breathed. He turned his face to him, and Thorin would have sat in his gaze for hours. But Bilbo was expecting an answer.
“Is that all? Not because you understand needing a place to call home?” Thorin chuckled, recalling a much more serious conversation.
Bilbo flushed, and laughed along with him.
Thorin continued to stare as Bilbo pulled out his own pipe and lit it with ease, before puffing away at it.
“You’ll have to teach me that.” Thorin murmured.
Bilbo raised an eyebrow at him. “Teach you what?”
“How you light pipes so easily.” Thorin said. He moved closer, till Bilbo’s shoulder was nearly brushing his chest. Bilbo glanced up and flushed, but didn’t say anything. It was cold, afterall, and it was wise to conserve heat. Or so Thorin told himself. The wind had calmed, atleast.
Bilbo laughed, but Thorin could see his shoulders relax and his chest puff up with a little bit of pride.
“It’s not hard Thorin, I think you’re just bad at it.” He chided, and took another puff from his pipe. He shifted ever so slightly so that his shoulder was firmly sitting against Thorin’s chest. The sun had set, and stars began to show above them. Thorin looked out over the ramparts for a moment, mesmerized by the sky.
“I’ve found that I’m bad at more things than I used to be.” Thorin admitted quietly. His breath ruffled Bilbo’s hair, and he watched with fascination as the colors shifted against his greying curls.
Bilbo looked up at Thorin, and smiled slightly, and Thorin felt stuck to the spot.
“Maybe you should let me help you more often.” Bilbo said softly. He put out his pipe and set it along the railing, shifting so he was facing Thorin.
Thorin’s own pipe was forgotten, as it sat along the railing as well, and had gone out long before. The night had fully fallen, and Thorin watched as the torch light played across Bilbo’s face. He quickly noticed that Bilbo had begun to shiver, and without thinking he moved an arm around him, pulling Bilbo against his chest.
He froze once he’d realized what he’d done. But Bilbo appeared unbothered. He shifted his head about until it rested above Thorin’s heart, and let out a great sigh. Soon arms slipped around Thorin’s waist, hands gently placed against his back.
Thorin unfroze, and gingerly placed one hand against Bilbo’s back, another along the top of Bilbo’s head. He absently began to thread his fingers through the greying hair.
“Bilbo, I-” Thorin began, but was quickly interrupted.
“Hey, Bilbo, You’ve missed dinner. Balin said you’d- oh” Bofur came running up the ramparts and quickly stopped before turning away.
Bilbo squeaked and he was gone, quickly walking away. Thorin watched as he disappeared down the stairs and into the city.
“Er...sorry...sir...your majesty...uh.” Bofur stumbled over his words, physically debating between bowing or running away. Running away won out and he followed Bilbo out.
Completely alone, Thorin buried his face in his hands and let out a loud, frustrated groan. Letting himself lean against the ramparts again, he pulled his face from his hands and stared off into the distance in defeat. At least the stars were pretty.