Chapter Text
Hobbits dream of their Other Half. But Bilbo also hears a song every time he start feeling drowsy.
Dwarven hearts are lulled to sleep by the song the their One. But Thorin dreams of a dreamcatcher, a object he never heard of before, yet he knows the name.
Dream weaver
Hobbits dream. They dream of the day that passed and fades into another. Not of what they did, what they saw and what they've eaten, but about what their Other Half had done and seen and eaten.
Hobbits are creatures of comfort, and they like to share in that comford. With their Other Half.
Bilbo thought of those dreams as an unconscious 'How was your day?' An easy convercetion held with the one to complete you.
Most hobbits dream of second breakfast and a blooming garden. Of going to the market. And maybe even of seeing themself. A smile or a friendly nod. Soon after one of those dreams they find each other. Sharing in days and dreams.
Bilbo was never so lucky. He never recrecognized anything. In fact, at this point he was quite sure that whoever his Other Half was, they didn't even live anywhere near The Shire. That didn't mean that he didn't enjoy his dreams. They are warm and exotic. An embrace given by strong but gentle arms. He knew every nook, every cranny. He knew where his Other Half is going, he knew the halls like the halls of Bag-end.
And he knew that they were regal. The clothing they reached for in the moring, the tapestries they passed in the halls. The throne room. The throne. Some day his Other Half would be king. King, as he remembered “brother” echoing through his dreams.
There was something else, something he only ever sharde with his parents. They knew about his dreams, why should he keep his lullaby from them.
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Dwarven hearts are lulled to sleep by the song the their One. As soon as their One is born into the world it starts. When they get drowsy and drift of into sleep they hear it. Some are born with the song in their ears, some hear it when their One is born. A voice suddenly remembering their song.
Thorin was always a little worried about his song. His sister's song came to her before his and by the time his song finaly began she had already given birth to two beautiful sons.
When his song started it was well worth the wait.
Thorin sat in his studie, working on some papers. His father had just taken over the title of king and Thror had, and still did, spend more time in the treasuries rather then doing what a king should be doing. So it was up to Thorin and Thrain to fix the mess his grandfather had left them with.
It was already late and Thorin's day had started early. The crown prince was dozing off, his back warm from the fire, when he heard a soft voice singing. Earthly, but no deep.
Thorin cracked open his eyes, the song immediately fading. He hmed, dismissing the sound. It had been a long day, it must have been his imagination.
He stood, groaning. His lower back cracking as he stretched his arms up, bending himself backward a little.
When Thorin threw himself on his bed he only got rid of his boots and the outer layers of his clothing, to tired to even brush his teeth. He knew he was going to regret that in the moring but right now he couldn't care less.
There he layed, spread out over his bed, feeling his tiredness taking over.
A soft drumming beat echoing through his mind, soon followed by words repeaten in a lulling manner. The sound of chimes and pan flute filled his dreams. More voices, all sounding the same, singing the same words. Repeating each other. Their chanting swelling, growing stronger, in the end fading back into a lullaby.
Thorin blinked against the light. He rememberd his dream well. He had been having them for the past 33 years. They were always about little things.
A homely house, large but no castle. The neighbors were nice, allways ready for small talk and gossip. Thorin wondered if the person he dreamed of would also dream of him. He sat up, groaning as he pushed a hand through his hair.
A week ago he started dreaming of a great, big tree on top of a green hill. Thorin closed his eyes to think back.
He walked up the hill till he was under the tree, a curious swallow watching him. A round hoop, decorated with a sort webbing and all kinds of colourful threads and feathers, hung from one of the branches. Woven into the webbing were beads as colourful as the threads. Attached to it was a smaller, horizontal hanging hoop. Five wooden, hallow rods were attached to it. All differend lengtes, so they would make a differend sound as they swayed in the wind.