Chapter Text
The wind whipped around the dwarves’ encampment and all through the valley, creatures curled into their homes to avoid the bitter chill. The dwarven company had hidden at the base of a ridge to block wind from at least one direction, but with the wind whipping every which way, there was hardly any escape from it to be found.
The dwarves themselves seemed well enough off, with many layers of thick clothing to keep them warm, but Thorin watched curiously as the hobbit curled into himself under a thin blanket, shaking like the leaf of a quaking aspen.
When Dwalin awoke to take over Thorin’s night watch, the dwarf king returned not to his own spot by the edge of the company, close to his sister-sons, but to the side of the young burglar, who lay near the base of the ridge, tucked between two walls of rock. Still, the hobbit could find no shelter from the biting wind, and it seemed he had not yet gotten a wink of sleep.
“Master Baggins,” Thorin greeted him, his voice as close to gentleness as it could get. He could feel Dwalin’s eyes on him, but with the whistling wind none could be wiser to their conversation, and provided Thorin keep his voice low, none should be woken by it either.
The hobbit turned to face him, propping himself up on his elbows, though his arms shook like anything. “Ought you be getting your sleep now, Thorin?” Bilbo asked, scrunching his nose like the presence of the dwarf was of great annoyance to him. He had been thinking thoughts of warm fire and his cozy hobbit-hole, and had been absolutely positive he had been just on the brink of passing into sleep.
“It is in the best interests of the party that you get your sleep, master burglar, and you can’t possibly sleep shaking like so.” There’s a kindness in those icy-blue eyes that’s new to Bilbo and rather unsettling in the oddest of ways. Be that as it may, he’s far too tired now to bother understanding the look in them.
“One blanket is plenty enough for me, thank you very much. I don’t wish to be a burden on any of you. Now go sleep, Thorin. The company needs a well-rested king for our journey tomorrow, and they mustn’t blame me for keeping you up while it is clearly Dwalin’s turn to keep watch. Anyhow, you’re still healing from your wounds, and I can’t see how staying up dillying here with me will do you any good.”
That part was true, at least. Thorin was still healing from his stand against Azog, and while his strength was quickly returning, the continuation of their journey so soon after his injuries had weakened him. Still, he insisted, “We can’t have a cold and weary hobbit slowing us down tomorrow. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover and few hours of daylight to cover it in.”
“Far be it from me to encumber you, but I don’t see how I’m getting any sleep tonight with you sitting there keeping me up!” It was not his usual manners to snap at the dwarf, but it was very late, and Bilbo was about as cold and tired as he had been yet on this journey. “I don’t know if you had noticed, but I’m not a big dwarf warrior like the lot of you! I’m not laden with muscle to keep me warm at night!”
“Lie down, you silly hobbit,” Thorin said, almost fondly, and ever the grumpy traveler, Bilbo scrunched his nose at him one last time before returning to his well-worn blanket. He turned his back on Thorin and pulled his knees in close to his chest, curling into himself so he could get the most coverage possible out of the small blanket he had brought with him. He muttered obscenities under his breath about the cursed dwarf and this damned quest. It seemed he had left all pretenses of hobbit cordiality back home in the Shire.
A moment later, he felt a heavy arm fall over his side and a warm breath against his neck, and he found to his surprise that the dwarf king had curled his own body around Bilbo and was holding him rather protectively. He turned his head to look at the infuriating dwarf, but before he could question his actions, Thorin stated simply, “It is in the best interests of the party that you stay warm tonight, Master Baggins.”
As much as he should have insisted that Thorin sleep elsewhere, he lost the heart to as soon as he felt the warmth practically radiating off the dwarf. In the bitter wind, Thorin’s body heat was enough to feel akin to a pleasant fire, and it reminded him rather much of home. So, despite his crabby mood, he found it in his heart to mutter out a gentle thank you and curled into Thorin’s arms, an act which felt wholly foreign to him, yet at the same time, strangely comforting. As his shivers subsided, his thoughts turned to the cold winters of the Shire, made warm by the company of friends and family sharing meals in the darkest hours of the year by the light of the fire. In his last moments before sleep, he had a rather enticing image in his mind of the great oaf himself, Thorin Oakenshield, sitting by the hearth in Bag End with a warm cup of tea in hand. The thought warmed him greatly, and he passed into sleep with ease, not to be woken for many hours.
Thorin watched the young hobbit carefully until his breathing slowed and his expression turned to one of a gentle happiness. With a soft smile, he laid his head by the hobbit’s, the burglar’s curly locks brushing against his nose, and he too drifted off into a light sleep.
When Bilbo awoke the next morning, he felt as rested as ever, despite spending the night on cold rock. It felt rather like he had spent the night in his own home, surrounded by all of his trinkets and the amenities he loved so deeply. When he recalled the events of late the prior night, it came back to him hazy, and since Thorin had already left his side by morning, he sincerely doubted it had happened at all. No, it was just his silly mind playing tricks on him and luring him into sleep. Though why he would trick himself into believing he had spent the night by Thorin’s side in order to fall asleep, he had no clue.
As a small breakfast was prepared for the company and they dug hungrily into their rations, Bilbo made a point to avoid Thorin’s eye, lest his embarrassment at his fantasy become evident in the flush of his cheeks. Still, it troubled him why he would imagine such a thing. He’d always been known to have an active imagination, but this was beyond that. Perhaps he was fonder of the dwarf than he had believed, and his subconscious was simply reflecting their deepening friendship. After all, Thorin had become significantly friendlier after Bilbo had defended him from Azog. In fact, the dwarf seemed to hover nearer to Bilbo, finding a place by his side even when there was no need to be there. He would share a little of his own food when Bilbo found his stomach rumbling at the hour he would typically take another meal, one of the many of which the dwarves did not partake in. It seemed the hobbit’s act of bravery outside the goblin tunnels had led him to earn the trust of the dwarf king, something which he gleaned did not come lightly.
Bilbo successfully avoided eye contact with Thorin for most of the morning, until they had packed up and set out on the road again, climbing to the top of the ridge to travel across it. Out in the open air, above the sprawling planes, Thorin once again found himself by the hobbit’s side. He said nothing, simply traveled beside him, but when they caught each others’ eye, it became immediately obvious that what had transpired the night before was not a figment of Bilbo’s imagination, leaving the hobbit to then wonder what had driven Thorin to such kindness. He could not fathom the dwarf king doing the same for any other member of the party, though perhaps he had simply figured Thorin wrong from the start.
Whatever the reason, Bilbo thanked him kindly for his courteous act, and the two exchanged a private look with more meaning than either of them was willing to acknowledge, then continued on with their journey as if nothing had transpired between them.