Chapter Text
(1) When I Run Out of Road, You Bring Me Home
Bilbo Baggins could hardly hide his excitement when he received the wonderful news. When he saw Roäc at the window with his letter, it lifted the hobbit’s morning mood immediately. He let the raven in for some rest and food and tore open the letter.
“My Dearest Bilbo,
I am happy to inform you that I shall be visiting at the end of this coming May for a summer holiday in Bag End. By the time you receive this, I will already be on my way. I cannot wait to see you again, and I will be counting down each day of my travels until, at last, I arrive at your door. I will see you very soon.
Love, Thorin”
“Oh, Roäc, this is wonderful!” Bilbo exclaims, “It’s been what, at this point, five years?”
“Or something.” replies the raven, “You know, you are all he talks about. When he is not fulfilling kingly duties, it seems all he does and think of and/or write to you.”
“Well, the feeling is very much mutual. It’s going to be so wonderful to see him. He has not gotten the chance to see the Shire yet.” Bilbo adds, “And he’ll be here for the summer festival! All the better! I am going to plan the perfect summer holiday for us. I’ve no time to lose. I’m starting my spring cleaning early; Bag End must be in perfect condition before he arrives!”
“It’s not even January. You have time.” Roäc advises, “I do not imagine the King would want you to stress yourself out.”
“Hence why I must start preparations as early as possible.” Bilbo replies, “So I do no such thing. As a matter of fact, I shall start right now!” he gets up from the table.
“Hold on a moment.” The raven interrupts, “Do you not think you should respond to his letter, so he knows you are looking forward to his coming?”
“Oh, right! Of course!” Bilbo chuckles to himself.
“And then after that, you have two classes to teach at the schoolhouse do you not?” Roäc adds.
“That as well.” Bilbo replies. His cheeks flush pink. He shakes his head at his own antics. “55 years old and here I am acting like an over-excited school-boy.”
“I cannot really blame you.” Roäc reassures, “You have not seen your partner in person since the quest for the mountain. I find it quite amusing. And the king will think it’s endearing. I’ll be sure to tell him how excited you are when I deliver your response.”
Bilbo finishes his second breakfast, writes up his reply letter, and leaves it to dry near the window. Then, he cleans up and returns to his quarters to get ready to head to the schoolhouse and teach his afternoon language arts classes.
“My dearest Thorin,
I can hardly wait. I know we are going to have a wonderful summer together. I wish you safe travels. And I will see you very soon. Bid Bard, Beorn, and the Elves hellos and well-wishes for me if you can.
Love, Bilbo”
Bilbo then proceeded to spend every spare moment of his free time through the rest of winter and all of spring in preparation and planning for Thorin’s visit. He deep cleaned Bag End, organized everything, readied his bedroom and his wardrobe room for two, and figured out almost every meal, date, and event they would have for the first two and a half weeks. Everything was ready to go in April. And then he proceeded to spend all of April making modifications, fine-tuning details, and perfecting the itinerary. Then, once he was done with that, he unrolled the parchment on the table so Thorin could look at it while they ate dinner the first night.
-xXx-
The day of Thorin’s arrival also happens to be the last day of school before it is out for the summer. He dismisses his last class early, on that Thursday. As soon as the last student is out, he drops his teacher bag at home, and then, with the summer wind buffeting his too-long curls, runs as fast as his hairy feet can carry him, down the road, passed the Mill, across the Water, up and down and over the Hill, and for a mile or so more, until at last, he arrives at the Green Dragon in Bywater (an hour before Thorin’s estimated time of arrival), where they had previously agreed to meet.
He grabs a cuppa tea from the counter and then sits outside in the late afternoon sun and waits. He watches the carved path in front of him, for the sight of an elegant, adorned, long-haired pony and its regal rider. An hour and thirty passes. The sun starts to set. Thorin is late. Bilbo is annoyed at first, but the longer he waits, the more his stomach churns itself in knots as he thinks about the worst possible-case scenario.
What if something terrible had happened to Thorin on the journey and he hadn’t even made it to Shire lands? What if—
Darkness falls. Hobbit folk start to file in for the dinner rush and the night festivities. Bilbo continues to fret and wait. His stomach growls. The knots tighten.
Where is he? He was supposed to be here by now--
Just when he’s teetering on the edge of panic, he sees the shadowy speck of a pony appear on the winding path and draw closer to the entryway of the Green Dragon. The sound of a deep, soulful voice singing The Road Goes Ever On catches in the breeze and graces Bilbo’s keen ears. His nerves fade when he recognizes it. His face lights up. He jumps up from the ground, and swiftly makes his way across the path to meet Thorin halfway.
Thorin brings the pony to a stop and removes the blue hood from his face. His long, adorned dark curls shimmer in the moonlight. His bright, blue-green eyes glint with the stars, and a smile spreads wide across his face. He dismounts the steed with a jangle of jewels and chainmail.
“Amrâlimê.” He croons. He moves forward for an embrace.
A breath of relief leaves Bilbo’s four-foot, two-inch body and he returns the gesture, “Thorin. There you are. At last.” They hug tightly, then pull away, “You had me worried there.”
They pull away.
“I am sorry. I fell behind. I overslept at the inn this morning.” Thorin replies.
Bilbo shrugs, “Well, the important thing is you’re here now. And…I suppose that makes us even. Y--you know, from the last time we met at the Green Dragon.”
“So, it would seem.”
“Umm, should we, perhaps—” Bilbo trails off as he’s hit with a sudden wave of nerves. He averts his gaze. Should we-- Should we what? What am I trying to say? Why does feel so odd…” Then it hit him, “Stars! I haven’t seen him since the adventure-- I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say now that he’s here in front of me—we’ve communicated in letters for so long that it seems I’ve forgotten how to speak to him face-to-face—oh me! I didn’t anticipate this, I didn’t think this through—I didn’t—
His thoughts are cut off when he feels the slightly rough texture of Thorin’s fingers curl under his chin and gently tilt it up so they can meet each other’s gaze again.
“You’re trembling.” Thorin murmurs.
Bilbo’s ear twitch, “I’m not trembling.” The dwarf leans in closer. Bilbo can smell the nicotine lingering on his breath. His eyes flutter closed. Their lips touch. Some of the flutters in his chest fade with the familiar sensation. Thorin’s beard tickles his face. The kiss is naught but a quick peck. A simple, chaste thing.
“Better?” Thorin asks when he pulls away.
“Just a bit, yeah.” he blows the rest of the nerves away with a deep exhale, “I missed you.”
“I missed you more.” Thorin replies.
“I missed you most. Truly. It is so wonderful to see you.” Bilbo says, “It feels like it's been so long. I don’t even know where to begin.”
A soft smile spread across Thorin’s face. “You can begin by escorting me to your home. As you recall, I lost my way last time and have quite forgotten where Bag End is since then.”
“Of course. I’d be happy to. Right this way.” Bilbo offers Thorin an elbow. He takes it. Together they stroll down a different path, walking the pony behind them. As they stroll, Bilbo notices that Thorin walks with a slight limp.
“What happened? You’re limping.” Bilbo asks.
“Oh, nothing. It’s just a bit stiff from travel is all.” Thorin replies, “There’s no need to worry about it.”
“Well alright. I’ll try not to.” Bilbo says.
“So, what will we be preparing for supper tonight?” Thorin changes the subject.
“I picked up a couple of salmon fillets from the market this morning. I’ll be seasoning it with lemon butter and some other spices, and making potatoes, fresh vegetables, and some rolls to go with it. I’m also going to open a bottle of Chardonnay I’ve been saving for a special occasion,” Bilbo replies, “I hope that sounds good to you.”
“Indeed, it does.” Thorin says, “And it is certainly far better than travel rations or inn food. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Good~ I’ll get started on it as soon as we get home.”
“Certainly, you do not think I’m going to leave you to cook our supper all by yourself, do you?”
“It’s fine. I don’t mind. And I am sure you are quite weary from traveling, so I’d rather you rest while I see to all the supper preparations.”
“I insist on helping.” Thorin replies, “You cannot stop me, Bilbo Baggins.”
“But…” Bilbo trails off.
“But what?”
“I mean, you’re king under the mountain, and I can’t expect someone of such high standing to—” he trails off. His cheeks flush red.
“The king under the mountain is currently on holiday.” Thorin says, “And can spend it how he chooses. So, if I choose to spend a portion of that holiday assisting the love of my life in the kitchen, then that is what I shall do.” He protests lightly, with a warm smile on his face, “It is the least I can do anyway. Since I know that you have been planning and preparing for my arrival since you found out in November.”
“Indeed, I have.” Bilbo chuckles, “Alright. Fair enough. I suppose I can let you cut and season the vegetables at least.”
“Thank you.”
On the way to Bag End, they stop by Farmer Cotton’s place, where they leave Thorin’s pony in the care of him and his family.
-xXx-
Within less than thirty minutes, they arrive at Bag End. Thorin hangs up his cloak on the rack next to Bilbo’s hat. He sets his bow and knives by the door. Bilbo then escorts him to the bedroom. He opens the door of his little wardrobe.
“I cleared some room in my wardrobe for you to put some of your things.” Bilbo says, “And if that’s not enough, I’ve got a spare room just for clothes, so you can store the rest in there. Also, I borrowed this torso mannequin right here from the local seamstress—” he indicates the bust on the wooden tripod stand, “For you to put your armor on.”
“Thank you.” Thorin replies, “I shall unpack later.” He sets the pack down against the wardrobe with Orcrist and starts removing some of his outer armor. As he’s doing so, he notices something shimmering white inside the armoire. It’s at the end of the clothing rod tucked next to the rest of Bilbo’s shirts, coats, and waistcoats.
He stops what he’s doing and steps forward for a closer look, “Is that what I think it is?”
“It’s the Mithril shirt you gifted me.” Bilbo says.
Thorin smiles, “I thought that’s what it was.”
“I keep it in the wardrobe with the rest of my favorite clothes because it’s special to me.” the hobbit adds, “It’s a beautiful piece. And it still smells of Erebor. And that’s comforting to me. It reminds me of you and the Mountain more than Sting or the chest of gold you sent home with me does.” he turns to Thorin and smiles, “But nothing can compare to actually having you here.”
Thorin’s grin widens. His cheeks flush pink in the candlelight. He begins removing his layers of armor and dressing the torso mannequin. He goes to the kitchen in his dark blue tunic and trousers, with Orcrist still in the sash upon his back. And when he sets it down in the kitchen, it’s never far from his reach. Bilbo doesn’t like the idea of weapons in the kitchen, if he’s being honest, but he makes an exception to the rule for Thorin, as he knows the dwarf is most comfortable when there’s an easily accessible weapon in the room with him.
“Where is Sting?” Thorin asks, rolling up his sleeves and washing his hands in the kitchen sink.
“It’s in my mother’s glory box for safe keeping.” Bilbo replies, starting the cooking fire behind him, “Can I get you anything to drink to hold you over before supper?”
“I am alright, thank you.”
“Very well.”
“So, what would you have me do in preparation?” Thorin asks.
“Can you wash and cut the gourds in that bowl over there?” Bilbo points to the bowl of zucchini and squash on the counter.
“All of them?”
“Yes please.” Thorin nods and makes his way over. One by one, he washes each gourd by pumping water from the sink pump and massaging each zucchini and squash until all of them have been returned to the bowl. He then picks up the cutting board from where it’s leaning against the window and proceeds to use a butcher knife to chop each one into thick coins. He raises the knife handle all the way up to his ear and slams the blade down so aggressively against the gourd that it shakes the counter, violently decapitates the end of the vegetable, and sends the piece flying. The blade of the knife gets lodged and stuck into the wood of the cutting board. The zucchini rolls forward and almost falls on the floor and is only rescued by Thorin’s quick reflexes. The dwarf dislodges the blade, holds the zucchini down, and repeats the same method.
Hearing the commotion, Bilbo turns to investigate, “What on earth are you—”
When he sees what Thorin is doing, he quickly scurries over, “No-no-no-no, oh dear, hold on—stop. Stop. You don’t need to bring the knife up that far, first of all. And secondly, why are you holding it like that?”
“Like what?”
“You’re brandishing it as if you’re trying to stab something.” Bilbo replies, “It’s a zucchini, not an enemy, there’s no need for that.” He slips up behind Thorin. He reaches around him and presses against his back with a pounding heart against his chest. Thorin draws in a breath. Bilbo stands on his tallest tiptoes and peers over the dwarf’s shoulder, takes his arm and lowers it into a proper position, “You can cut just fine from there.” He slides his hand across Thorin’s arm, down to his wrist. He curls his fingers over the dwarf’s hand to guide it, “And turn your wrist a bit so that your thumb rests right up there on the edge where the hilt meets the top part of the blade so you have more control.” (Bilbo adjusts Thorin’s position as he’s explaining this.) “Hold it still with the other hand—good, and then just drive the blade down and through like so.” He pushes Thorin’s hand down and guides it through the first few coins. “Then, you slice it down the middle like this…see. It’s much easier that way.” He cuts a few more coins. He then lets go to allow Thorin to practice without him.
“Excellent. Much better.” Bilbo encourages from behind. He pecks Thorin on the cheek. He watches him for a moment to make sure he’s doing it right, and then steps back and returns to making the lemon butter for the slow-grilling salmon.
Thorin is an expert in cutting vegetables by the time the bowl is full of the sliced-up gourds. With Bilbo’s guidance, he adds some seasonings and then throws it in a skillet over the fire to grill.
While the fish and veggies are cooking, Bilbo and Thorin proceed to work through the strenuous task of peeling and cutting the skins off potatoes for their other side dish.
And once everything is finished, they sit across from each other, share a glass of wine together, and have a lovely supper. The air at Bag End fills with a pleasant conversation between them as they catch each other up on the last five years. They also go over Bilbo’s very detailed itinerary for the first few weeks of Thorin’s stay.
“I have not planned much for tomorrow, because I figured you’d want to unpack and settle in. The only thing I thought we might do is go for a morning promenade after second breakfast and then head to the market for groceries.”
“A “proma- what”?”
“Promenade. It’s merely a fancy way to say ‘walk’.”
“Oh. I see.” Thorin replies, “That sounds pleasant. It would be a good way for you to show me a bit around the Shire.”
“Precisely. Just as I thought.”
They finish up supper, do the dishes and tidy the kitchen, and then warm up a large pot of water for a bath. They bathe together, get ready for bed, and finally settle down for the night. They curl up in each other’s arms, exchange plenty of cuddles and kisses, and fall asleep telling stories.