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March 22, TA 2941
The first rumblings of a party stirred Thorin from his slumber only an hour past sundown. It had been nearly four months since Smaug was slain and the battle was won, but the celebration had rarely ceased in the days that had passed. One could scarcely imagine the reclaimed Erebor without the sound of merriment and song heard in the distance. The thought of his kingdom so restored and filled with joy would have brought tears to Thorin's tired eyes, but the din of clinking steins and laughter woke him only briefly.
The second rumblings of the party were less gently received. It was well past midnight, and Thorin stared daggers into the stars carved in the ceiling. The noise was to clear and too loud to be coming from beyond the company's chambers. It wasn't uncommon for a few of his companion to drink into the early hours of the morning, sharing "remember whens," but the shattering noises that echoed through the hall suggested a wilder evening.
Groaning, Thorin rolled out of bed. The stone floor was cold against his feet, and he considered for a moment simply returning to his cozy bed. A roaring cheer from outside startled him back to his thoughts. Muttering curses unheard of in polite nations, he started for the door. There was a chill in the air, and he was dressed only in a thin tunic and shorts. Again cursing his friends for making him endure such hardship, he grabbed a fur from the bench by his door and shuffled outside.
Thorin followed the ruckus to his left. He was surprised to find the noise coming from the second chamber down from his. Bilbo was always less eager to keep late hours.
More than once the hobbit had stalked down to Thorin's door in a similar mood and following a similar din. Thorin would now and then call Balin to his chambers for a offical matter, only to find that night had long since fallen and the huffy little hobbit was being kept awake by Balin's narrative flair. Generally these "quiet down!" exchanges were kept brief, and they were really just a matter of course at this point.
It occurred to Thorin, as he approached the door, that the hobbit had never, not once, made such a visit in only his underclothes. He considered turning back to change into something more suitable, but every moment he spent apart from his bed was painful. He hoped Bilbo would forgive his indiscretion and knocked.
After only a moment, the door was thrown open with such sudden force that his hair whipped about his face.
"You came!"
Thorin had expected Dwalin on the other side, given the violence with which the door had opened, but instead he looked down at Bilbo. The hobbit was wide eyed with joy to see him. Thorin suddenly remembered his state of undress and pulled the fur tighter around him.
"Of course," Thorin answered. He couldn't for the life of him figure out what the occasion actually was. Glancing around, he counted every one of the dwarves who had accompanied him on the quest. They gave no appearance of being those same proud warriors in this moment.
Bofur's hair had been braided into points, the handiwork clearly done by Dori, who giggled from beneath Bofur's hat.
Dwalin was slumped across the bench at the foot of Bilbo's bed. The tattoos that crowned his head had been joined by crude phrases painted in writing ink.
Bifur and Balin, to Thorins great surprise, were in no better state. Balin sat atop Bilbo's small writing desk while Bifur stuck pens and baubles and bits of scrap paper in his beard. Thorin stared in disbelief, weakly grasping at clues as he attempted to piece together the events that could've led to such a scene.
His thoughts were, not for the first time, interrupted by Bilbo. He stood on his desk chair, tapping his glass with a spoon, as though making a toast. The tapping continued for a moment even after everyone's attention was gathered. Bilbo attempted to bang out a little tune on the glass, enamored with the noise, before realizing that he had received his requested audience. He stopped, a bit embarrassed, and made his announcement.
"Now that everyone is here, I propose a party game!"
Thorin was awfully confused. He had first been woken up by the party nearly three hours prior. He sat down at the foot of the bed next to Dwalin.
"Have you all been waiting for me to arrive?"
Dwalin muttered his reply only loud enough for the two of them to hear.
"Not all of us, by the second hour most of us reckoned you'd forgotten and carried on without ye."
Thorin lowered his voice to a whisper.
"And what exactly is the occasion which I may have forgotten?"
Dwalin barked a laugh, and Thorin's eyes shot around the room. It seemed that everyone else was listening intently as Bilbo explained the rules of the game. Damn. Dwalin leaned in closer.
"Could've guessed it slipped your mind, showing up in naught but your underclothes. Today, your majesty, is the hobbit's half-birthday."
"Yesterday, technically"
Both Dwalin and Thorin jumped at the small voice that came from under the bed. It seemed that Dori had crawled underneath to enjoy a pastry in private.
Thorin huffed, both in annoyance at Dori for eavesdropping and at himself for having forgotten. It wasn't traditional for hobbits to celebrate half birthdays. Bilbo hadn't been able to celebrate his birthday when it last came. That had been the day they arrived in Laketown. Bilbo had complained that being smuggled was absolutely no way to spend a birthday. Thorin promised him that his next birthday would be filled with all of the friends and gifts and drink he could imagine, once they had conquered the mountain. That was too far off for Bilbo, so they had compromised: they would celebrate his half birthday.
Now, Thorin was caught without a gift, sober as a judge, playing a game he didn't know the rules to. All while in his underwear.
Oin went first. Everyone sat stone faced as he twisted his hearing horn into shape before holding it to his nose and blowing. The noise that spouted from it was inane, something like an awkward flightless bird choking on a fish. He couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him at the sound. The rest of the room erupted in a one word chorus: "DRINK!"
While Thorin had certainly missed some nuance when he missed Bilbo's instructions, it seemed that the only goal was to make the others crack. If you cracked, you drank. Easy enough.
Thorin's stony facade served him well for the first few rounds, but soon, he felt the ale begin to color his cheeks. He gave only the slightest of smiles at Bombur's impression of Dwalin, and the rest of the room was quick to call it out. The more he drank, the more he grinned, and the more he grinned, the more he drank.
And the more he drank, the more he caught himself looking at Bilbo. The hobbit was truly terrible at the game that he had proposed, or at least he was after a full night of drinking. He giggled and beamed at the poorest attempts at humor, and more than once Thorin had to drink for the smile that he got from watching.
The already drunk company was well past hope soon enough, this time Thorin with them. Had he been paying attention, he might have been privy to the fact that there was no natural end to the game besides the group growing sick of it.
Who could be better at exhausting everyone than Fili and Kili? The two had been bickering since well before the game began, and all came to a head with Fili's turn. Rather than the fart noises that he had been relying on, he started a tickle fight with Kili. It very quickly devolved into the more standard sort of fight. Gloin and Thorin eventually intervened when the pair began to rattle Bilbo's writing desk, and the executive decision was made to put them both to bed.
Thorin escorted his nephews to their chambers, still more amused than annoyed. He leaned into the wall a tad more than normal on the walk back.
He slipped inside, trying to keep the distraction brief. Unluckily, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the washroom mirror. Thorin was not the preening type, far too busy for that, but he was in quite a state. He took a moment to tuck some loose strands back into his braids. He splashed a bit of water on his face, though it did nothing to relieve him of the blush that had settled into his cheeks.
He dried his hands on his shorts, and considered for a moment that he should change. It had already been far too long since he left the party. Any longer and he ran the risk of Bilbo falling asleep before he came back.
Hopefully the fur was still in Bilbo's room; he was beginning to chill even with the ale warming him from inside.
He stumbled back to Bilbo's room and tried to sneak in quietly. It seemed that the game had continued in the same downward spiral it had been on when he left.
In front of him, Gloin's hair stuck out at all angles as though he were in a lightning storm. Clearly he had done his party trick again.
The overall mood was subdued. Dwalin had moved from the bench at the foot of the bed to laying directly in the middle of the circle, face down. His original spot had been filled by an odd lump entirely cocooned in the fur he had forgotten. Thorin wandered his way around the reclining dwarves to greet the lump.
With a gentle pat, Thorin announced his presence, and Bilbo slowly pulled back the layers of fur in which he hid.
"Is Gloin still shocking people?"
Thorin chuckled and sat down as Bilbo drew himself upright. He stretched and groaned as if he had slept for days. Thorin was reminded of how tired he felt, though seeing Bilbo gently rubbing the sleep from his eyes made him glad to be awake.
Thorin grabbed a loose corner of the fur and pet it distractedly. It still held the heat from were Bilbo had been laying on it. Thorin tried not to think about it. Bilbo seems to notice Thorin's discomfort, though he attributes it to the cold. This would be a near fatal mistake for Thorin, as Bilbo attempted to ease the chill by drawing closer and wrapping the fur around his shoulders. The slight warmth of the trappings felt as though it would sear his skin through the thin linen of his tunic.
Dori, seeming always to be on the spot at a moment's notice, handed Thorin his long abandoned stein.
Any sense of unease at Dori's sudden appearance was far overshadowed by how grateful he felt to have something to distract him. One can really do anything with a stein: stare at it, swirl it, change it between hands, and even drink from it. Thorin did each many times, but his favorite was the last. He watched the game with an unreadable expression, more intent on a drinking game of his own: drink when you feel nervous.
After not too long, Thorin was winning his private game and quite a bit drunker for it. Dwarves had begun to filter out, several making one final attempt to make the others laugh as they left. Still , Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur remain.
The turn system had been abandoned along with everyone's drinks. They all seem singularly intent on making Thorin crack. This goal was well within reach, not that anyone else knew that Thorin was a hair's breadth from hammered.
He watched, leaning slightly, as everyone else whispered conspiratorially. It was a long moment before anyone did anything.
Eventually, Bifir to walked up Thorin. They stood and swayed for a moment before Bifir suddenly reached out and bopped Thorin on the nose. Thorin snorted, a rather undignified noise, but one brought on entire by surprise. Bilbo collapsed to the floor, howling, followed by the dwarves. Bifur scrambled to the door, bolting down the hallway in the opposite direction of his chambers. His brother and cousin quickly jumped to their feet with the minimal grace they could muster. Bifir was liable to get himself in trouble.
Bilbo still laid on the floor, clutching his sides. His laugher had devolved into a pained wheeze, but he was beaming as wide as Thorin had ever seen.
Suddenly aware that the two to them were now alone, Thorin nervously rose to bid the hobbit goodbye. Bilbo noticed almost immediately and found his footing rather more quickly than Thorin had expected. He stood up on the bench that Thorin had just risen from and grabbed onto the collar of his shirt. It seemed that the action was meant just to steady himself. Regardless of intent, Thorin was brought far closer to the hobbit than either had expected. Still, Bilbo losely held Thorin's collar and stared. Both of them had only half their wits about them, so both were startled when Bilbo reached up with his free hand and bopped Thorin's nose, as well.
Thorin gasped in mock offense and playfully shoved Bilbo backwards onto the bed. Bilbo still had a firm grip on the dwarf's tunic though, and Thorin quickly followed.
Elation was not a sufficient word to describe Thorin's joy at finding himself suddenly entangled in soft sheets once again, now with Bilbo. The hobbit still chuckled at his masterful prank. Thorin was overcome with fondness. He clasped Bilbo by the shoulders and gingerly shook.
"You dare sully the mighty nose of the king!" Thorin whisper-yelled at the giggling hobbit. "Such offense will not go unrevenged!l
With that, Thorin gently but aggressively mussed Bilbo's hair, making the hobbit scoff in protest. Now it was Thorin's turn to fall back giggling. He watched as Bilbo shook his hair back into place. He glanced over his shoulder at the dwarf on his bed and collapsed into his arms. Thorin's heart swelled.
Bilbo settled with his arms loosely around Thorin's neck and half on top of him. Thorin held Bilbo closed as he drifted off to sleep.
"Happy half-birthday, Bilbo," he whispered. He planted a soft kiss into Bilbo's hair and followed him in sleep.