Archive of Our Own

Snow-capped pines stood to attention across the frigid landscape, not moving as though in fear of losing the delicate load which graced their boughs.

But Bilbo knew that was nonsense. No… he knew the trees didn’t move because it was simply too cold to. The ice had come over a week ago and had frozen the trees where they stood, stripping them of their needles and sending them to sleep.

Putting his hand on one of the boughs, Bilbo could feel the faint glimmer of life within the tree beneath its frosted bark. It would take more than this winter to kill his trees, Bilbo knew that… but he still hated what the cold did to them, did to them all.

Looking down at his feet, Bilbo could see the snow around him had melted into a perfect circle, as well as the path behind him where tufts of grass could be seen poking through the snow, straining for the light that hid behind the wall of grey cloud above them.

Kneeling down, Bilbo reached out and gently cupped a closed daisy with his fingers, blowing on it slightly as though trying to warm the frozen petals. He smiled as he watched the petals open to reveal its yellow centre. For a moment, he could pretend it was spring again, the grass soft beneath his feet and the sun warming his back.

Winter stripped the land of life, turning it into an icy desert which Bilbo had learned to despise. Every spring, he worked so hard to bring life back. He travelled across the Shire with the other hobbits, orchestrating the growth and flowing of the plants as the months rolled by. Bluebells, daffodils, lavender and Primroses were his favourite. Now, if he left it up to his incompetent relatives, the Sackville-Baggins, they would have covered the hills with wild orchids. Orchids!

Now don’t get Bilbo wrong, he loved his orchids but there was simply a time and a place and orchids had to follow the schedule, as did all the flowers that grew! And he couldn’t have orchids flowing before his daffodils- that simply would not do! No, the first flower of spring had to be-

“You’re melting my snow,” a voice drawled next to him, making him jump and lose his train of thought.

Snapping his head up, Bilbo’s eyes widened to find a dwarf sat on a nearby stone, watching him with an expression of curiosity and irritation. The dwarf’s hair was dark but streaked with white. It framed his chiselled face that was half-covered by a short beard. Even in this freezing climate, the dwarf was seemingly unaffected by the cold although Bilbo suspected that was due to the fur coat he sported.

“Sorry?” Bilbo replied as politely as he could, straightening to face the stranger whom he regarded with suspicion. Neither of them noticed the daisy falter and close its petals.

The stranger cocked an eyebrow, “My snow,” he repeated as though Bilbo was dim-witted, “you’re melting it.”

Bilbo crossed his arms in exasperation. Well it was hardly his fault if the snow melted around him; that was just the aura he carried. “And you lay claim to this snow?” Bilbo shot back, not having heard anyone treat the stuff as property or possession before.

Amused, the stranger smirked, “Yes, I do.” Bilbo was quickly growing tired of this, he hadn’t expected to encounter anyone on his walk and he certainly didn’t want to be caught in a blizzard, talking to this infuriating dwarf when he could be getting back to his smial where it was nice and warm… not that the cold particularly bothered him.

“Well, now that’s all cleared up, I best be on my way,” Bilbo retorted, pulling his jacket around himself and preparing to continue onto his journey.

“I wouldn’t go that way if I were you,” the stranger said simply, not moving from his rock.

Brow furrowing, Bilbo half considered ignoring the man and continuing on anyway. But a curious part of him was interested in what the stranger had to say. “Why not?” Bilbo bit out after taking in the smug expression the dwarf wore.

“To return to the Shire you would have to take the pass through the ice gates. With your ah… talent at melting my snow wherever you go, I’m afraid you would cause a great deal of ice to slip and fall on top of you,” he replied lightly as though simply commenting on the view and not the potential of Bilbo turning into an icicle pin-cushion.

“And you would care because…?” Bilbo huffed, wanting to continue on his journey. He was a grown hobbit for Eru’s sake, he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself!

“I’ve spent a good two weeks building up that ice, I’m not about to see a clumsy Halfling bring it all down again,” he replied gruffly. Bilbo was just about to come back with a clever retort for being called a ‘halfling’ (a term he hated as much as winter) but as the dwarf lifted his head slightly, Bilbo caught sight of his eyes and the words he had died in his throat.

The dwarf’s eyes were an icy blue, contrasting sharply against the darkness of his hair. How had Bilbo missed that? Well it all made sense now, this dwarf was- no not just a dwarf, also a…

“Winter,” Bilbo breathed, before elaborating, “You’re a child of winter.”

“As you are a child of spring,” the winter being nodded, seemingly amused that it had taken Bilbo so long to figure it out. Bilbo had never met a child of winter before, part of him hadn’t thought they existed, that winter was simply caused by a change in the earth, nothing close to his own magic. 

Once Bilbo had gotten over his initial shock, realisation snapped through him, “You’re the one who keeps destroying my Dahlias with your… your frost and- and snow and cold!”

The being looked surprised by the outburst but not in the least bit threatened.

Bilbo continued, “Every year, I plant my Dahlias and they barely get a week’s worth of flowing before the morning frost claims them!”

He raised an eyebrow, “May I suggest you plant them earlier in the season?”

Bilbo blanched, “Earlier in the season? … Earlier in the season?! Have you completely lost your mind? Every flower has it’s time and place, and Dahlias cannot be planted any earlier without clashing with the lavender!” he sniffed, crossing his arms across his chest.

The stranger blinked at him unimpressed, “Does winter not have a time and place?” he asked honestly to which Bilbo had no answer. If it was up to him, winter would certainly not have a place in his schedule. All the flowers he could grow if winter did not interfere…

Seeing that Bilbo was not going to reply, the stranger finally stood and brushed the snow off of his coat before lifting his eyes to the sky.

“A storm is coming,” he observed. And as if on cue, a bitter wind raced across the plain around him.

Panic welled in Bilbo’s chest, “Well can’t you stop it? You’re the ‘child of winter’ aren’t you?” He had to get home to Bag-End… a snow storm would not only delay him but could prevent him from getting home entirely if he ended up buried!

The child of winter looked down at him and shrugged, “It’s too late now, it’s already started.” Apparently winter had its own agenda. And without further ado, he turned his back to Bilbo and started off towards the North, the opposite direction to Hobbiton.

Looking back where he came, Bilbo froze with the realisation that he probably would not be able to make it home before the snow “And what am I supposed to do?” Bilbo called after him.

“I suggest you keep up Master Halfling,” he shot back, not pausing as he ploughed through the snow.

Having little choice, Bilbo adjusted his bracers and set off after him, scowling at his back. The snow melted easily around him but Bilbo couldn’t help but think how much nicer it would be back in Bag-End with his books and his armchair. After all, there was little left to do in winter than read and avoid his infernal relatives.

Eventually a small cabin came into view, almost disguised amongst the snow that covered its roof and clung to the walls. It wasn’t home but it would have to do. By this time, the sky had darkened considerably and a foul wind was whistling its way across the scene, making Bilbo’s curls flatten against his head.

“I still don’t know your name,” Bilbo pointed out, finally having caught up with the dwarf as he started unlocking the door.

The stranger looked perplexed for a moment before responding, “Thorin,” and swinging the door open for Bilbo to step inside. He had some manners at least then…

Nodding his thanks, Bilbo stepped into the cabin and took in the room before him. The room was small, as expected for only a tiny cabin but its unfamiliarity made Bilbo feel very small indeed. A chair and an armchair sat in the room before a dusty fireplace that didn’t look like it had been lit in a long time.

“There’s wood in the back. I’ll go get some so you can light a fire,” Thorin said gruffly, shuffling past Bilbo to go through the door to his right.

“Bilbo,” Bilbo answered without thinking.

Thorin paused for a second, eyes meeting Bilbo’s as he inclined his head, muttering, “Bilbo,” under his breath before stepping through the door and out of sight.

Feeling somewhat awkward, Bilbo made his way over to the padded chair and waited for Thorin to return with the wood. He didn’t suppose Thorin needed to make fires to keep warm. Whilst Bilbo didn’t feel the cold easily, there was only so much he could take and a fire certainly made him feel more comfortable when he was at home.

It didn’t take long for Thorin to return with a bundle of logs in his arms. Bilbo stood to help and they knelt side by side in front of the fireplace. Thorin was very awkward as he placed the sticks in the hearth, his hands unpractised in the art of fire-making. But he seemed to watch what Bilbo’s hands were doing and imitated him as best he could.

Once the fire was roaring, they sat back in their chairs, Thorin taking the big armchair and Bilbo the seat.

Silence stretched between them, adding tension to the air as they both stared at the dancing flames.

“So what brings a hobbit so far from the safety of the Shire?” Thorin eventually asked, taking his eyes from the fire. “If you despise my snow so much.”

Bilbo snorted, “In the winter months my infernal relatives have nothing better to do than drag me into the winter solstice preparations. So I come out here to wander the wilderness in search of any remaining life.” Even Bilbo was surprised by some of the plants which resisted winter’s hold. And he enjoyed nothing more than encouraging the holly trees and mistletoe to come into berry.

“You celebrate the winter solstice?” Thorin asked surprised.

“Every year,” Bilbo sighed, “We give gifts and gather to sing to Yavanna for spring to come again. We celebrate it on the longest night around the party tree… Do you and erm… your people not have any seasonal celebrations.”

Thorin tore his eyes away towards the fire, “No,” he answered softly, a shadow of the gruff dwarf Bilbo had found in the snow not so long ago. “Many of my people belong to no singular place and, as a result, we are left scattered and wondering across the land. We travel south during the autumn and winter and return to the north in the spring and the summer. Some choose to settle and have families in our remaining kingdoms, others continue to carry out our purpose in bringing winter to these lands.”

A silence fell again between them as they both processed the weight of Thorin’s words. Even though Bilbo often desired to be alone, with his escapades into the wilderness, to be alone for most of the year was something he did not envy. He enjoyed showing the young faunts how to grow a plant from seed and to bring plants into flower and fruit, seeing their eyes light up in delight always filled him with a kind of pride.

It was with that thought he said, not unkindly, as he may have done before, “Then why must we have winter at all?” If it was their choice to bring winter to them, why not stay in the north? Why destroy the life they’d spent so long making?

Thorin chuckled once and with little humour, “I suppose we look like monsters to you. Forcing the plants back into seed and trapping fish beneath the ice… driving animals to near starvation as they search for food amongst the snow.” Bilbo did not reply to that, it twisted his stomach to hear it acknowledged like that. Many hobbits refused to dwell on it, there was no point in getting upset over what you could not change.

Thorin continued when he realised Bilbo had no words for him, “It isn’t destruction, as you may put it. Or not entirely. We just know that sometimes you have to destroy to begin again. To allow life to re-start and to allow the old and weary to rest in the earth once more.” He lifted his head to meet Bilbo’s gaze, freezing him where he sat.

Bilbo blinked in surprise, shocked at hearing such words come from this dwarf’s mouth. This dwarf, who outwardly appeared so stoic and uncaring, had spoken words of something that Bilbo had never even considered. Was winter an essential part of life? Was winter an essential part of his life?

After a pause Thorin chuckled, “I seem to have rendered you speechless Master Hobbit.”

“I-I just hadn’t thought of winter in that way,” Bilbo replied lamely, figuring he should say something and not just stare at Thorin like an idiot.

“Not many do,” Thorin conceded with a hint of sadness.

Bilbo was saved from replying by his stomach which chose that moment to grumble loudly. With the strange turn of events, Bilbo had neglected to eat since finishing off the supplies he’d taken with him. He’d really expected to be back at home by now with a nice bowl of vegetable soup and some cheese and crackers to top the evening off.

Thorin cocked an eyebrow as he rose to his feet. “I’ll go and see what was left behind the cupboards,” he said stretching, making his way back towards the door he’d gotten the wood from.

“Behind?” Bilbo asked confused, “You don’t live here?”

Looking about himself, Thorin replied unashamed, “A couple moves up here in spring when they move their flock here to graze. I simply borrow the space and whatever they leave,” he finished, disappearing out of sight, the only sign of his presence being the sounds of his boots hitting the wooden floor.

Staring back into the fire, Bilbo reflected on everything that had happened in these short few hours. And if he could admit anything it would be that he’d never met anyone like Thorin in all his life. The dwarf would surprise him with one comment before coming out and surprising him with his next. No hobbit had ever surprised him in such a manner before… and he wasn’t yet sure whether that was a good or a bad thing.

Echoing the chaos in his mind, the storm outside raged on.

_____ooo000ooo_____

Bilbo returned to Bag-End in a bit of a daze after saying his goodbyes to Thorin and making his way back to the Shire. The snow storm had only lasted through the night and come morning, there was a fresh layer of snow on the ground but not enough to stop Bilbo continuing on his journey.

He was snapped out of his muddled thoughts when a bundle of cloth and curly hair barrelled into him. But just as quick as he had been tackled, he was being released again and the worried face of Primula came into view.

“Where have you been?!” she shrieked, “We’ve been worried sick!”

“We?” Bilbo asked weakly.

Her jaw clenched at that and she took his hand to lead him through to his study. Bilbo’s jaw dropped open when he saw, not only half his family crammed into the small space, but also the Thain, his nosy neighbours and, of course, the Sackville-Baggins were there and, judging by their less than elated expressions having seen Bilbo safe, he did not think they were here out of concern for his safety.

As soon as he’d entered the room, all chatter had died down and many had gotten to their feet with exclamations of, “Bilbo!” and “You’re alive!”

Waving his hands to get them to calm down, Bilbo explained, “Of course I’m alive! I just… erm...” He couldn’t tell them about Thorin, he wouldn’t be able to guarantee that they would be so understanding of his role in winter here and they’d perhaps disapprove even more so of his friendship with the being. Were they friends? Bilbo really didn’t know what the protocol was here.

“…Got lost,” he answered eventually.

Primula cuffed him on the back of the head, “Got Lost?! You’ve been gone for over a day! We thought you were buried under ten feet of snow!”

Bilbo didn’t think it would be particularly helpful to point out that they hadn’t received nearly so much snow so instead he said, “Ah… sorry to worry you all,” he chuckled nervously, “I-I managed to find an abandoned cabin to house up in for the night… a-and as you can see, I’m perfectly fine so you can all carry on your business,” he finished, waving his hands towards the door before they could continue the onslaught of questions he could see dancing in their eyes.

Somewhat befuddled, the hobbits started filing out of his study, save for Primula and, her husband Drogo, who stayed behind. As Lobelia filed past, too quick for Bilbo’s liking, Bilbo quickly stuck his hand into the pocket of her pinny and pulled out a handful of silverware. Well that would explain why she’d been walking like she’d got a wooden spoon up her arse, she hadn’t wanted them to jingle.

Shooting Bilbo one final scowl, Lobelia grabbed onto Otho’s arm and marched out of Bag-End with her nose in the air.

It really wouldn’t be solstice without his relatives trying to steal his silverware after all.

_____ooo000ooo_____

Bilbo wasn't sure why he went out to try and find Thorin again. There was something about the dwarf which had ignited a sense of curiosity within Bilbo that he had not felt since he was a child.

And he couldn’t be sure where he would find the child of winter. It was unlikely that he was in that cabin of his, Bilbo suspected he only used that for sitting through the night and for getting some rest. So that only left Bilbo to wander aimlessly across the hills and woodlands surrounding the Shire. If Thorin wanted to be found, Bilbo suspected that he would reveal himself eventually.

A twig snapped to his right, causing Bilbo’s head to whip round. Not many creatures walked through the woods at this time of year and Bilbo would be quite happy to avoid those that did.

“Thorin?” Bilbo called out nervously, his voice not rising above speaking level for fear of attracting unwanted attention. His breath froze in the air as he exhaled shakily, putting his arms around him.

No answer.

Should he call out again? Carry on and pretend he hadn’t heard anything? It may have just been a fox or a-a-

“Wolf,” Bilbo stated as a white head poked out of the undergrowth. Bilbo took an unsteady step backwards which seemed to be the wrong thing to do as those pale yellow eyes now snapped up to his.

Oh this was bad… wolves at this time of year were facing near starvation and they wouldn’t shy away from picking off a hobbit who had lost his way.

Tensing, Bilbo lifted his hands in front of him as he would do towards a dog. “Stay back,” Bilbo said as confidently as he was able… which just happened to be not very confidently at all.

The wolf’s snowy ears pricked at his words and she took a step towards him, her head bent low and weary.

Bilbo continued backtracking with every step the wolf took, preparing himself should the wolf suddenly spring at him. A small shriek left Bilbo when he felt his foot catch on a root behind him, sending him tumbling to his bottom in the snow which quickly melted around him.

His breath caught in his throat as the wolf continued to stalk towards him, the snow crunching beneath her large paws. All rationality seemed to escape him. It might have been wise to call out, scramble to his feet, look for a weapon… anything instead of just staring at the beast as it drew within arms-reach.

A shrill whistle pierced the air, causing the wolf to snap her head up and look behind her. Her body blocked Bilbo’s vision but the identity of his ‘saviour’ was quickly revealed as a familiar voice barked, “Orcrist, come away.”

Trust Thorin to find him awkwardly sat on the ground.

Despite the slight embarrassment, he couldn’t help but feel relieved as the wolf quickly lost interest in him and padded away to sniff at a nearby log.

Looking up through his curls, Bilbo saw Thorin frowning down at him a few short paces away. Before he could thank him however, Thorin asked archly, “What are you doing on the ground?”

“Admiring the view,” Bilbo retorted sarcastically. He added, “That- Your mutt made me fall!”

Thorin chuckled, “I rather doubt that Master Hobbit,” stepping forward to stretch out his hand towards Bilbo. Bilbo stared at it for a brief moment before taking it and allowing Thorin to pull him to his feet. His eyes widened as he felt just how cold they were! Even with wearing woollen fingerless gloves, Thorin’s hands were positively frozen!

The slight smile had fallen from Thorin’s face, “what?” he asked as he noted Bilbo’s surprised expression.

“Y-your hands,” he said, gesturing towards them, “They’re so cold.”

Thorin harrumphed, “They’re always cold,” he muttered before turning tail and heading back through the undergrowth, the way he’d come. Behind him, Orcrist noticed his retreat and followed after him.

Assuming Thorin meant for him to follow, although he was still not keen on the wolf he kept around him, Bilbo also trailed after him, following the tracks in the snow and the sight of Orcrist’s tail dipping in and out of view.

He had no idea where they were going, but Bilbo supposed he had nothing else better to do and he had sought out Thorin’s company after all… for reasons that he was yet to formulate.

Eventually Bilbo came to what he assumed Thorin had been leading him to. The forest had opened up to a large clearing in which say a great frozen lake, the ice fresh and not yet covered with snow. With the icicles hanging on the trees, even Bilbo had to admit there was a kind of deadly beauty about the place.

Picking up his pace, he managed to catch up with Thorin who was circling the lake, staring at its glistening surface. Orcrist had chosen a spot to roll in the snow, and Bilbo was quite happy to leave her to it.

“Don’t go too close to the lake,” Thorin muttered absentmindedly, his attention clearly focussed elsewhere.

“Why?”

“I’ve spent the last two hours freezing it. I don’t need you to come and undo all my work again,” Thorin replied, seemingly irritated by Bilbo’s insistence in breaking his concentration.

Bilbo bit back a retort and instead took a step further away from the lake and Thorin. He was happy enough to walk in silence if that was what ‘his majesty’ desired. He looked at the dwarf out of the corner of his eye, observing him as he extended his power and froze the lake in front of him.

It was difficult to place Thorin’s age, he had few dealings with dwarves, and even fewer with those blessed to be a child of winter, so he had no idea how they aged. The streaks of white in his hair and the lines around his eyes told Bilbo this was certainly not his first season at least. It was likely that Thorin had been visiting for many decades, and yet this was the first one in which they’d met. Bilbo felt that odd but did not comment on the matter, dwarves were known to be secretive folk, mainly keeping to themselves so perhaps it wasn’t as odd as Bilbo thought.

Maybe the bigger question is why Thorin had revealed himself after all this time. Loneliness? Bilbo hardly thought so… he seemed well enough on his own but who knew what was going on in that stubborn head of his…

Shaking his head as though clearing them of these unproductive thoughts, Bilbo quickly grew bored of trailing after Thorin like a faunt and instead decided to walk over to a nearby log and simply observe the scene from afar.

But no sooner had he sat down that Orcrist had come bounding her way through the snow towards him, her tail wagging and tongue lolling to one side. Bilbo automatically tensed as she came to a dead stop in front of him, moving closer to butt her head against his thigh like an overgrown cat.

Cautiously, Bilbo reached out and awkwardly patted her thick ruff. Having had all the approval she needed, she flopped herself down next to Bilbo, leaning heavily against his leg and stretching up her head to rest on his thigh.

She let out a whine when Bilbo stopped petting her and allowing himself a small smile, he stroked her fur with greater confidence, enjoying the warmth she radiated. Perhaps she wasn’t as bad as he’d first thought… however it would take a lot longer and maybe even half a pint of mead before he’d go as far as calling her cute.

Distracted as he was by his new friend, he didn’t notice Thorin’s approach until he’d sat himself down on Bilbo’s opposite side. The dwarf glanced between Orcrist and Bilbo before staring back over the lake.

“She’s not mine by the way,” Thorin said suddenly, making Bilbo frown slightly.

“W-well I just meant that you two seem to be rather friendly,” he excused, “It’s not often I see a wolf away from their kind and with people.”

“She lost her pack a couple years ago. I fed her when I found her starving on her own. She’s followed me ever since, although on occasion she prefers to go off alone,” Thorin told him.

“I see,” Bilbo replied after a moments pause, not sure what else to say to that. Again, Thorin was surprising him in more ways than he would have thought. Knowing that Thorin was a bearer of winter would have made him assume Thorin had all the traits of winter itself- it’s bitter coldness and unforgiving nature… but then Thorin had proven that Bilbo had wrongly misjudged the nature of winter and thereby, the nature of Thorin himself.

He recalled not always hating winter… as a young faunt, before his powers had truly developed, he was fond of going out on the ice and skating with his friends. A full grown hobbit or a human child would surely fall through the ice, but faunts were light enough to get away with it in the coldest depths of winter.

Now if Bilbo tried, he’d end up melting the ice around him and falling through, no doubt drowning in the process. Hobbits never had been great swimmers after all, but with Thorin here…

“C’mon,” Bilbo announced suddenly, getting to his feet, making Thorin’s eyes widen and Orcrist to jump to her paws in excitement. When Thorin just stared blankly up at him, Bilbo grasped his forearm and tugged him to his feet. If the dwarf had been truly unwilling, Bilbo knew he’d never have managed to get him up- there was no way Bilbo was strong enough to lift that great lump of muscle and furs.

Thorin allowed Bilbo to lead him part way but he started resisting when he realised Bilbo was leading them towards the lake. “Bilbo what are you doing?” Thorin asked perplexed.

“We’re going on the lake,” Bilbo said simply however that just made Thorin come to a dead stop.

“Bilbo, we’ll fall through,” Thorin pointed out as though Bilbo had completely lost his mind. And now that Bilbo considered it, maybe he had. But he wanted to have some fun and Thorin looked like he needed a laugh even more than he did.

“Not if you freeze the lake as fast as I’m melting it,” Bilbo replied patiently, managing to get Thorin to the edge of the lake.

“This is foolish,” Thorin grumbled but followed Bilbo onto the ice, their hands now linked.

The ice was perfectly smooth, perfect for sliding across. They wouldn’t be graceful by any means, but Yavanna it would be fun.

Bilbo rolled his eyes, “Just follow my lead,” he said, allowing himself to simply slide across the ice, enjoying the ease of the movement. Thorin’s face was contorted in discomfort or concentration, Bilbo did not know. For now, he ignored it and allowed the ice to take him where it willed, leaning his body to the sides to change direction when it suited him.

Looking down briefly, he could see Thorin’s knees shake slightly when Bilbo pulled him in a new direction. Bilbo had thought Thorin would be more at home on the ice but it seemed his balance, or lack thereof, was making his weary of their movements.

On the bank, Orcrist watched them with her head cocked to one side. She occasionally would place a paw on the ice but quickly retracted it as her leg threatened to slip from under her.

“Relax,” Bilbo said as soothingly as he was able, pulling Thorin in a circle, his movements now purposefully slow as Thorin adjusted.

Thorin’s eyes snapped to his and he gave a slight nod, taking a deep breath. With Thorin more relaxed, Bilbo began to speed up, taking Thorin across the ice at greater speeds and even more elaborate turns.

Bilbo ignored the coldness of Thorin’s hand and held onto it tightly, conveying reassurance and security. Lifting his eyes to the dwarf’s, Bilbo ears turned red when he realised Thorin had been watching his face closely as though fascinated with Bilbo’s expressions.

“Thorin…” Bilbo started but that was when they heard the first crack.

Heads whipping round, they looked behind them to see the icy plain marred by a large white crack which was slowly snaking towards them. Thorin had taken his attention away from the ice…

“Thorin…” Bilbo repeated, fear lancing into his tone.

“Go! Quickly!” Thorin yelled, pushing Bilbo towards the shore.

Being the lighter one of the two, Bilbo slid much farther as Thorin flailed to catch up with him. Looking back, Bilbo could see Thorin was struggling to keep up, his boots were ill suited to the ice on his own. Would he jeopardise Thorin’s safety even more by going back? That was assuming Thorin could stop the cracks in time, and judging by the fear written across his expression, he wasn’t doing well.

Making up his mind, Bilbo kicked himself towards Thorin, taking his hand before he could protest and pulling them both towards the shore with increasing urgency, the ice snapping and cracking under their shared weight.

He didn’t stop until they were well on the shore, his breath coming out in shaky breaths as adrenaline coursed through his veins. Suddenly off-balanced, he allowed himself to fall into the snow onto his back, only realising he’d pulled Thorin down with him when he felt another weight fall to his side. Their hands were still firmly entwined… and Bilbo was in no hurry to let go just yet, not after that.

A low bark echoed through the air over the sounds of the creaking ice and a ball of white fur barrelled itself onto Thorin’s opposite side, sniffing around them to make sure they were safe.

Bilbo craned his neck to look over at Thorin. “What happened,” he gasped.

Thorin shook his head, his face paler than usual. “I don’t know.”

It was then that Bilbo noticed how ridiculous they looked, lying on the ground, covered in snow with a white she-wolf sniffing at them as though they were a fresh pair of carcases waiting to be eaten. It was with that image in mind that something snapped within Bilbo and a laugh rose in his throat.

Thorin looked at him bewildered as Bilbo’s laughter grew. Seeing the dwarf look so concerned only added to Bilbo’s own amusement and he practically doubled over laughing. At that time, Bilbo would have been unable to put his finger on what he found so amusing, but in hindsight, it was probably a mixture of relief at making it to the shore safe and the sheer ridiculousness of their plight.

And then, even to Bilbo’s surprise, Thorin’s face cracked open into a small smile as he muttered, “You’re ridiculous,” getting to his feet and brushing the snow off of his furs.

Bilbo’s laughter died down enough for him to see through his tears at the hand Thorin was holding out with a raised eyebrow. He snorted as he took it, allowing the dwarf to heft him to his feet.

Wordlessly, they walked onwards with Orcrist bounding after them. He wasn’t really sure where they were headed, but in that moment of euphoria, to Bilbo, it didn’t really matter.

_____ooo000ooo_____

Needless to say, that was not the last time Bilbo sought out Thorin’s company. And if the hobbits of the Shire thought he was odd then, they thought he was positively barking now. After all, what kind of respectable hobbit would venture off into the wilderness without so much as a how do you do and return many hours later whistling a merry tune and all but skipping into Bag-End?

This was the first year that Bilbo hadn’t really contributed towards the solstice preparations. He already had the gifts set aside that he would be giving Primula, Drogo and his other surviving relatives. As he saw it, he was 50 years old, not getting any younger any time soon, so he saw no harm in doing something different.

Thorin never questioned why Bilbo sought after him or why he spent more time in the wilderness than with his own people. Truth be told, Thorin had ignited a sense of curiosity within Bilbo; a curiosity of both Thorin and the lands which lay just beyond the boundaries of the Shire.

Whenever they met, their greetings were withheld out of a lack of necessity. They simply nodded and Thorin would lead Bilbo to a new area and Bilbo would watch him work, distracting him with the occasional question about himself and his home.

He’d learnt that Thorin had a family of sorts. His sister had settled in the mountains and had two sons, however their father had died in a mining accident when Dis was still pregnant with their youngest child. When Bilbo had asked how Dis copes, managing a family on her own whilst Thorin travels, he had evaded the question, saying he did what he could and they had many friends within the mountains. Bilbo knew Thorin enough to know that he was hiding something but he didn’t press the matter, it was clearly a sensitive topic and Bilbo had no right prying into his friend’s business.

And nor did Thorin pry any further into Bilbo’s business. Everybody has secrets, winter and spring being no exception.

Still… Bilbo had to wonder at what played on Thorin’s mind. He’d catch Thorin watching him out of the corner of his eye, his expression torn, conflicted in saying or doing something Bilbo did not know. Bilbo would carry on doing whatever he was doing, likely inspecting the holly or scratching behind Orcrist’s ears, and wait patiently for Thorin to make up his mind. But Thorin would always give his head a slight shake, and stalk off as though deeply aggravated about something.

Bilbo just hoped he wasn’t annoyed at something he had said or done. But no, this wasn’t like their first encounter at all… and there was no use making assumptions about it all. Thorin would either choose to tell him or not to tell him and that would be that.

“How long do the solstice celebrations last?” Thorin had asked him suddenly when they were sat atop a hill, gazing at the frozen valley below.

Bilbo squinted up at him against the unnaturally bright sun, “They usually last up until around midnight, why?”

Thorin nodded, “Do you think you would be able to get away early?”

Bilbo blinked in surprise. Was this what he was so nervous about asking him? “Once the mead gets flowing, I doubt I’ll be missed,” he said, his tone hinting at a question.

Thorin looked relieved, “I want to show you something,” he said before quickly adding, “I-If you’d like…”

“I’d like nothing more,” Bilbo quickly reassured with a smile, enamoured by how unusually flustered Thorin was. “What is it?”

Now it was Thorin’s turn to smile, “You’ll see,” he said with no room for expansion.

Bilbo snorted, “I hardly see the need for such mystery.”

“You’ll see,” Thorin replied patiently, the crinkles around his eyes deepening. Something passed between them then that Bilbo very near missed, a change in the air between them, something different from a smile simply shared between friends.

Again, Thorin looked to be about to say something, his jaw slacked slightly and his eyes searched Bilbo’s. Bilbo waited patiently but then Thorin quickly looked away and the moment was gone.

Yes, he supposed he would see indeed.

 _____ooo000ooo_____

Never had winter solstice celebrations seemed to last so long, Bilbo thought drearily as he sipped his mead, not allowing himself too big a gulp in case he got too intoxicated to meet Thorin later.

Drumming his fingers on the side of the tankard impatiently, gazing around him. The party tree was filled with countless lanterns, their tiny flames casting a ghostly illumination on the proceedings below. A large area had been cleared around the party tree for dancing. The hobbit’s danced in a large circle, linking arms, kicking and twirling around the tree so fast it made Bilbo feel dizzy just watching them. And yet there was something quite mesmerising about the way the light caught the gold, red and green ribbons that they wore in their hair, leaving coloured streaks as they spun through the air.

Primula and Drogo were towards the centre of the group where couples were dancing, a pace slower than the rest, wrapped up in their own worlds. A pang of loneliness hit Bilbo as he saw them all, a feeling that Bilbo had pushed aside for years and years because having another person in his life just hadn’t been something he needed. After his parents died of sickness and heartbreak, he’d found company in his books. A thousand stories and lives to experience as though he was really there. But the truth is, he wasn’t… at best he was just a spectator. What was worse, whilst he stepped into all these fictional people’s lives, there wasn’t anyone in his, no-one who he could entwine his soul with as an equal. No-one except…

… except perhaps Thorin…

“You look deep in thought my old friend,” a voice said across from him.

Without realising, Bilbo had torn his eyes away from the dancing couples and was now boring a hole into table he was sat at. Snapping his head up, his eyes widened as they fell on no other than-

“Gandalf!” Bilbo gasped, “W-what are you doing here?” he asked, trying to get his muddled thoughts straight.

“You didn’t think I’d miss another solstice celebration,” Gandalf chuckled, eyes twinkling and taking the seat across from Bilbo.

“You missed my birthday,” Bilbo sniffed but then grinned, not at all upset that he had. Birthdays had become something of a social necessity and less of something he enjoyed.

“My sincerest apologies, my fellow,” Gandalf said sincerely, “I had to speak some sense into the late King Thengel and, well…”

“Meddled in business where you weren’t wanted and probably made things worse?” Bilbo finished for him, all too familiar with his old friend.

“Something like that,” Gandalf smiled. “Now what disturbing thought is troubling you, my friend?”

Bilbo’s smile faltered, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find something to explain his peculiar mood. Having seen how panicked Bilbo looked, Gandalf gave a chuckle and a knowing wink which only served to worry Bilbo all the more.

“Worry not, I can see you have somewhere to be. I just came to display my fireworks and visit an old friend,” Gandalf said with a knowing look.

Before he could ask any questions, Gandalf smiled under his wide brimmed hat, stood and walked towards the party tree. With a clap of his hands, fireworks exploded above them, showing them in red and gold sparks. It had an immediate effect, all the hobbits had stopped dancing and drinking in order to watch the famous display. And whilst Bilbo was sad to miss Gandalf’s fireworks, he had somewhere else he needed to be.

Without further ado, he pulled his coat around himself, ducked his head and snuck around the back of the crowd.

“Where are ‘ou off to then?” a familiar, grating voice called out, stopping Bilbo in his tracks. He half considered walking on and ignoring her, but something held him back. He could spare a couple of minutes perhaps…

Putting on a strained smile, Bilbo turned round to find Lobelia gawking at him, her mouth twisted unpleasantly. Of course, the one hobbit who would not be enamoured by Gandalf’s display would have to be his irritating relative.

“Ah Lobelia! How lovely to see you!” he said, perhaps overdoing it a little but he couldn’t find himself to care.

In response, she turned her nose up a little higher, shrugging the comment off. “So where are you off to? You’re always off these days, people are beginning to talk… bringing shame to our name with your wild antics,” she said snidely, making Bilbo grit his teeth.

A thousand comments whizzed through his head of things he could say back to her… it wasn’t him bringing shame to their family name after all. She and Otho had done that aplenty.

But it was solstice, and even Bilbo couldn’t bring himself to dampen the evening all the more because of her (not to mention half the things he wanted to say were inappropriate for the young ears around him).

So instead, he gave a short bow, smiled wistfully and said, “Happy Solstice Lobelia,” before turning away from her and carrying on his way.

“Wait! I haven’t- ugh!” Lobelia shrieked and Bilbo turned just in time to witness one of Gandalf’s firework robins flapping around her head which she attempted to bat off her with umbrella.

“Blasted wizards!” she cursed, finally getting herself free of the creature. But by the time she looked round again, Bilbo was long gone, with not so much as a button in sight.

Bilbo was still grinning to himself when he’d mounted the hill towards where he’d agreed to meet Thorin. With such a send-off and the anticipation of spending the rest of the evening with Thorin, Bilbo couldn’t keep the emotions from his face.

Bilbo saw Thorin before Thorin saw him. He was gazing at the moon, his expression unreadable as he waited patiently for Bilbo to come.

The sight made Bilbo stop in his tracks and watch for a moment. Up until now, he’d never really allowed himself to appreciate just how handsome Thorin was. With their first impressions setting an ugly tone and with the strangeness of their friendship, Bilbo hadn’t considered exactly what Thorin meant to him.

In a few short weeks, Thorin had gone from being a disgruntled stranger to his treasured winter companion. Thorin’s mind challenged Bilbo’s in a way no-one else’s did. They saw the world differently to each other and differently to those around them. Thorin didn’t speak much of his people, but it was clear that there was something markedly unique about the dwarf, something that Bilbo couldn’t quite define or quantify, but it was there. A spark… like the first fresh buds of spring.

And now, the way the moonlight hit Thorin’s features and cast a long shadow behind him, it took Bilbo’s breath away. The light defined the sharp outline of his features and softened his hair as it slipped into the darkness of his shadow. A spectre of winter.

Sensing someone was watching him, Thorin looked away from the moon and half turned to smile at Bilbo. It was the first time Bilbo had seen him smile so easily, so naturally.

“Ready?” Thorin asked him.

“Of course,” Bilbo replied, stepping towards him, although he wasn’t sure to what he was agreeing to.

As soon as Bilbo reached him, they set off together through the moonlit snow, walking side by side.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” Thorin said conversationally.

Bilbo snorted, “Don’t be daft,” then deciding to change the subject, he asked, “Where’s Orcrist?” half expecting the wolf to come bounding after them at the mention of her name.

“Hunting,” Thorin answered shortly, “We spotted a herd of elk migrating through nearby and she took it upon herself to stalk them.”

“But surely she can’t bring one down herself?” Bilbo asked perplexed. Orcrist was strong, but even he knew why lone wolves often died. A singular wolf just wasn’t strong enough on its own.

“No,” Thorin replied, “But it is winter, and many of the elderly or weak elk do not make it. Once the chase begins, the young and strong protect the fawns and run ahead. Those who cannot keep up are left behind.”

A grim tone settled on them at that comment. Would Bilbo be one of those elk one day? Just waiting to be claimed by the cold of winter when he could no longer keep up?

Sensing Bilbo’s discomfort, Thorin clasped Bilbo’s shoulder in reassurance, “It is simply nature’s way,” he said, “Those elk whom Orcrist hunts are likely already injured and sickened by the ordeal winter has put them through. It is their time to return to the ground, where all life begins.”

The words and touch offered comfort and Bilbo smiled up at Thorin to let him know he was okay.

He continued, “But it is not elk I wish to show you,” he said mysteriously.

“Is it far?” Bilbo asked, knowing that Thorin would not say what they were going to see.

“No,” Thorin replied, “We could probably see them from here when they come. But I thought you would want a good view.”

All the more intrigued, Bilbo pressed on, Thorin’s hand not breaking contact and moving to the small of his back.

By the time they’d crested the hill, Bilbo’s breath was coming out in white puffs and his legs ached from the climb. A part of him knew it would be worth it though, it had to be.

Looking around, Bilbo saw nothing of consequence, no feature or landmark which distinguished this place from any other. Nothing worthy of being called extraordinary. Unless you placed a meeting between winter and spring on the longest night of the year among the extraordinary, in that case, it would be a pretty phenomenal night indeed.

Thorin however, didn’t look the slightest bit worried. “Soon,” was all he said and he turned to look back at the way they’d come.

All of hobbiton lay out before him, a tiny collection of lights that seemed to be almost a reflection of the night sky. Gandalf’s fireworks had long since finished and the sky lay as still as the air around them. No doubt the mead was in full flow by now, no hobbit would miss his absence.

Thorin’s hand was removed from his back and Bilbo nearly frowned in missing the contact. But no sooner had it disappeared than Thorin had his hands on his shoulders and was turning him around towards the-

Oh Yavanna…

Never had he seen such a sight.

His jaw dropped open and his eyes widened in wonderment at the sky above.

The sky was broken by ribbons of colour- greens, yellows and purples danced above him. They morphed and changed with every blink of Bilbo’s eyes, a whole plethora of colours twisting above them as though they were as alive as the creatures which paused to watch them in amazement.

It was so- so stunningly beautiful that for several long moments, Bilbo was at a loss for words. He could only gaze, dumbstruck above him, not daring to take his eyes away in case they should disappear.

Forcing himself to look down, Bilbo met Thorin’s eyes and found the dwarf watching him closely.

“Happy Solstice Bilbo,” he said softly.

“Thorin…” Bilbo breathed, “How did you- what in the name of- what?” he gasped out, unable to articulate himself as his eyes flicked between the lights dancing behind Thorin and to the dwarf himself.

Thorin chuckled, glancing at the sky himself before looking back at Bilbo, “Every year they come without fail, as surely as winter,” he said, “And now I have someone to show them to.”

Bilbo’s heart stuttered at that, before racing even faster, beating furiously against his ribs.

“Thorin I-,” Bilbo started, not knowing how he even began to thank the dwarf for sharing this with him.

But then Thorin’s eyes flickered above their heads and he blinked in shock. Looking up, Bilbo’s eyes focussed on an overhanging fir branch. From which trailed long vines of growing mistletoe, the berries coming into shape as Bilbo watched it.

Well at least one half of him knew how to thank the dwarf. And without casting much thought towards consequences or concerns, Bilbo reached up to cup Thorin’s cheek, placing one hand on his chest to balance himself as they kissed. Thorin’s eyes were still closed when Bilbo pulled back to register his response.

Flickering open, a slightly questioning look writ itself across Thorin’s face, questioning why Bilbo had stopped. So it came as no surprise that tilted his head and brought their lips together once more, the pace remaining slow and sweet, neither feeling in any rush.

The surprising softness of Thorin’s lips and the gentleness with which Thorin held the back of his head and hip sent sparks flying through Bilbo and warmth blossoming through his chest. Moving his hands to cradle Thorin’s cheeks, he naturally moved as close as he was able. He did not feel the coldness Thorin usually emanated. There was just warmth, and Thorin and this mesmerising kiss which put the lights above them to shame.

Pulling apart with reluctance, Bilbo was glad when they remained in contact, their foreheads now coming to rest against each other.

“Well that was a nice surprise,” Bilbo commented, making Thorin chuckle and open his eyes, blue finding hazel.

“The aurora or the kiss?” he asked and Bilbo made a show of thinking before replying-

“Both,” he snickered, stealing another kiss from Thorin’s slightly parted lips. “Happy Solstice Thorin.”

Thorin answered only by holding Bilbo closer and by burying his nose in his hair. “Bilbo I have to tell you something,” he said, fear lacing his tone in a way which Bilbo did not like nor was accustomed to.

Frowning slightly against the giddy after-effects of their kiss, Bilbo pulled back to meet Thorin’s eyes, “What is it?” he asked. Was Thorin ill? Was he now going to tell him that this had been a mistake?

“Thorin?” he questioned again when Thorin remained silent. Bilbo held Thorin’s gloved hands between his bare ones. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

The dwarf breathed out the long breath he’d been holding, breaking his eye-contact with Bilbo to stare at the ground at his feet.

“I don’t know where to begin,” he said flatly.

Bilbo laughed nervously. “I find the start always a good place.”

Giving a short nod, Thorin began, “Thorin isn’t my name,” he said, “Not my full name at least… my full name is Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, heir to the line of Durin. Durin the Deathless was the first King of my people, the first of our winter kind. He taught us how to withstand fire and craft the first dwarven jewels, and also how to turn the seasons as one would turn a wheel. It is his legacy I bear.”

A moment of silence passed between them as Bilbo was allowed to absorb that new information. “So… so you’re a prince?” Bilbo asked.

Nodding at the ground, Thorin muttered, “yes. My father Thrain sits on the throne in the Blue Mountains whilst my grandfather, Thror, resides in Erebor.”

“And you’ll take over from Thrain and eventually Thror?”

Thorin nodded in confirmation, still avoiding looking at Bilbo.

“Okay,” Bilbo said at last, and that finally made Thorin look at him.

“Just okay?”

“Just okay,” Bilbo confirmed shrugging, “I can’t say I wish I’d known from when we’d first met because how does one start a conversation like that? You are still the Thorin I know,” he said, “there’s just another part of your life, as there is to all our lives, which I have yet to know.”

Thorin gaped at him, as lost for words as Bilbo was not moments before.

So Bilbo added, “So I’m guessing you coming out here is a strictly forbidden act of rebellion against your birth right.”

It had the desired effect of lightening the mood and Thorin allowed himself a small smile, “Something like that,” he agreed softly.

“Well then,” Bilbo said, “now that’s out the way, I remember something about an aurora and a mistletoe?”

Thorin grinned then, swooping in to claim Bilbo’s lips in a kiss far more possessive and passionate than their last. Even with the revelation of Thorin’s extensive titles, Bilbo was not going to be a passive party in this kiss and he took Thorin’s bottom lip lightly between his, pulling before releasing and pressing a kiss against his swollen lips.

Thorin returned by tightening the hold he had on Bilbo’s hip slightly- when Thorin’s hands had moved to Bilbo’s hips and Bilbo’s hands to Thorin’s chest, he did not know- and asking valiantly for permission against Bilbo’s mouth. Granting the prince his desire, they groaned mutually as their tongues met.

It was over far too quickly. So Bilbo made sure they were both breathless by the end of the night, stealing kiss after kiss until the aurora above them dimmed as their kisses slowed, becoming more tired and sloppy.

Once sated, they both sat on the hill, watching the land below them as they had done so many times before. Except now, Bilbo had his head pillowed against Thorin’s chest and an arm slung around his waist as Thorin held him in his arms in turn, sheltering them from the cold breeze.

Closing his eyes, Bilbo synched their breathing and listened to the sound of Thorin’s heart beating, a pace a tad slower than his own. He felt whole and complete. He did not feel like Bilbo Baggins from the Shire, a hobbit who would probably be tucked up safe in his bed, not sharing this moment with a dwarf whom Bilbo had come to love.

Perhaps Thorin being a prince should bother him, that one day Thorin was going to be sat on a throne in a distant place. But that time felt as distant as the land in which Thorin was to rule. All he wanted to care about was now, the present, where he was just Bilbo and Thorin was just Thorin and nothing was going to be tearing them apart for many weeks to come.

Because of course, winter does not last forever.

 _____ooo000ooo_____

“How long?” Bilbo asked him softly as they sat, curled against each other, under the boughs of a weeping willow. Sunlight strained through the snow laden branches, not enough to warm their faces.

Thorin stiffened at the question before answering, “Two weeks. The land needs time to defrost before spring can take over,” not needing to ask what Bilbo was asking, the question of time had been playing on both their minds for some time now.

Bilbo responded by turning his face into Thorin’s chest a little more, hiding his expression from the dwarf who placed a kiss on the crown of Bilbo’s head before resting his cheek there, as though to hold the memory of the kiss in place. Not that Bilbo needed him to, he was making sure he remembered every one of these kisses. He didn’t want to forget a single one of them.

“Where will you go?”

“The Blue Mountains first, to see my sister and nephews and to answer to my father for disappearing for the winter again,” Thorin said glumly, “I may be sent to treaty with elves as punishment, they’re insufferable in summer. Or any time of the year for that matter.”

“I’ve always wanted to see the elves,” Bilbo said, perking up a little at their mention. He’d read of their summer celebrations, ending when the trees of Lothlorien turned golden to hail the passing of the sun into autumn. They sounded incredible.

Thorin hummed his displeasure, but then said, “Maybe we’ll go there someday,” the mood darkening again at the reminder of their short time.

“Maybe,” Bilbo agreed quietly, not knowing when or how they would. They both dominated over different times of the year, each of them constrained by the turning of the season. Maybe in winter if Thorin handed over his responsibilities to another for a season…

“Next winter,” Thorin promised, coming to the same conclusion Bilbo did.

A bud of hope blossomed in his chest, “But what about your father?”

“He has me for 9 months of the year, I’m not going to waste another 3 without you,” Thorin said sincerely, making Bilbo smile and tilt his head up to look at him.

“You’re ridiculously soppy,” he commented, placing a kiss on Thorin’s bearded chin, the only part he was able to reach.

Thorin chuckled, tilting his head down so their lips could meet.

If Bilbo could freeze this moment right here, or go back to last night and make it last forever, he would. But as much as he could ask Thorin to freeze a body of water or make snow descend from the sky, freezing time was not in his area of expertise.

 _____ooo000ooo_____

The hobbit’s had stopped trying to casually inquire as to where Bilbo disappeared to every day and night. Even Primula had stopped popping over expectantly, under the pretence of keeping him company, but he knew it was really because she was worried about him.

Bilbo couldn’t exactly say his behaviour had become accepted, they had simply descended into quiet disapproval which suited him fine.

And speaking of strange behaviour, Bilbo had not seen Gandalf since the fireworks. He’d heard a hobbit at the market remark that Lobelia must have scared him off but Bilbo was not concerned. That wizard was forever popping up and disappearing as soon as he’d come. That was simply his nature.

And as regarding the nature of time, it passed more swiftly than Bilbo would have liked. But they made the most of the days they had left, lying together under fir trees and telling each other stories of their lands to fill the silence.

“Do dwarves have constellations?” Bilbo had asked Thorin one night as they lay together under the stars, Thorin’s head tucked into Bilbo’s neck as Bilbo stroked through his wild mane of hair. Over to their right, Orcrist was curled up in the snow, already asleep after their long trek that day.

Thorin mumbled, sleepiness etched into his tone from being so comfortable, “No. We spend much of summer underground to escape the heat so we do not see the sky. And in winter we are too dispersed to tell the tales.”

“Hm,” was all the sound Bilbo made. It made sense but with all the tales he’d read from his books, it seemed to him that everything must have a story. Even the stars.

Thorin unburied his face from Bilbo’s neck, their positions shifting so they could gaze back up at the sky together whilst remaining as close as physically possible.

“Then I take it hobbits have constellations?” Thorin asked him, turning his face towards Bilbo’s.

Bilbo nodded, and wordlessly took Thorin’s hand, covering it with his own. He brought up their jointed hands to point at the sky, mapping out the first of the constellations he could see.

“That is our most revered constellation, the silver flower of Yavanna. When Elves, dwarves and men first came unto Middle Earth, she feared for the safety of her trees and plants. And so she created the hobbits to breathe life back into the earth after the lands had been ravaged by the men in the autumn harvest and by the dwarves in winter. That flower marks our coming,” Bilbo recited from memory. It was a story every hobbit knew, whether they cared for stories or not.

“And so the world entered a never ending cycle of birth and sleep,” Thorin added as their hands were brought back to their sides.

“Exactly,” Bilbo smiled. To a certain degree, they gave each other purpose, neither spring nor winter could truly exist without the other. For what was winter without the break of spring? And spring without the blank canvas created by winter?

“What about that one?” Thorin said, tracing out a shape in the stars.

Bilbo frowned, “I don’t see it.”

“There,” Thorin said, tracing out the stars again, “Is that not the famous Baggins Dahlia? I’m sure they’re worthy of the stars,” he said with a wry grin.

“Oh har har,” Bilbo retorted deadpan but he couldn’t help feel a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. Taking direction of their hands again, Bilbo moved their hands off to trace a new shape, “There.”

“And what is that one called, my hobbit?” Thorin asked, eyebrow raised sceptically.

“Don’t you recognise it Thorin? Even your nose must have made an impression on the stars,” Bilbo said innocently, making Thorin laugh.

“You’re a cruel hobbit Master Baggins,” Thorin remarked.

“Now that’s a matter of perspective,” Bilbo chastised jokily.

Chuckling, Thorin quickly rolls over and suddenly Bilbo’s view is obscured by Thorin’s bulk as he settles to hover above him. “How is this perspective?” Thorin asks him, his face inches away from his own.

“I don’t know,” Bilbo said, head tilted in mock thinking. “Could be better.”

Thorin leaned down and captured Bilbo’s lips with his. Short as it was, it was stupefying sweet for the gruff dwarf.

“How about now?” Thorin teased, eyes half lidded.

“Much better,” Bilbo answered, pulling him down for another kiss.

 _____ooo000ooo_____

“I have something for you,” Bilbo said softly to Thorin, removing a package from their pack and handing it to him. It was their last day together, their last day before the snow was due to thaw for spring. They were sat on the rug together in front of the fireplace in the cabin, Orcrist stretched out behind them to share the warmth.

Taking it gently in his hands, Thorin cautiously felt the package as though trying to decide what it is. “What is it?” the dwarf asked, already giving up.

Bilbo snorted, “Open it,” giving Thorin a small nudge in the ribs with his elbow.

With a small hesitation, Thorin started tearing at the wrapping which fell away to reveal a small glass ball that fit easily in the palm of his hand. Lifting it to eye-level, Thorin’s eyes widened when he saw the tiny ferns and flowers within the ball, settled in a small pocket of soil.

“Are they…”

“Alive?” Bilbo answered for him. “Yes. Our magic is weak compared to that of a wizards but we can make these,” he said, “Inside there they are protected from all other seasons and trapped in an eternal state of spring. I thought you may like to take a piece of spring with you… considering you never stay to witness it.”

“Thank you,” Thorin breathed, stroking a thumb against the glass surface, “Thank you, Bilbo I-,” he paused as though lost for words, “What are the flowers?” he asked at last, making Bilbo smile sadly.

“Forget-me-nots,” Bilbo replied, “I-I think their meanings pretty self-explanatory.”

Thorin gave a sad smile, “Quite unnecessary I can assure you,” he said softly. “How could I ever forget this?” he asked, cupping Bilbo’s cheek. His frosted eyes were deep with emotion, Bilbo could only imagine what his own face must look like.

“I-I know, it’s stupid really. I just didn’t want you going home without something at least and I know you’re not too fond of heavy reading and I didn’t have anything of particular value to give you so I found this in my parent’s old things. And well I-.”

Thorin stopped his ramblings with a chaste kiss, entirely too short. It was all too short.

Pulling back and keeping their brows connected, Thorin said, “Thank you. Not just for this but for the past few weeks. Time is not usually given to me to find a friend or more with all my responsibilities. I’m just sorry I have nothing to give in return.”

Bilbo frowned, “Sorry? Thorin you can never be sorry for all that you have given me over the weeks.”

Thorin opened his mouth to protest but Bilbo placed a finger over his lips, silencing him.

“For the past 40 years, I have spent each winter miserable and alone, waiting for spring to come. This is the first time I have not wanted winter to end, because I can’t bear the thought that you won’t be there to see the first buds of growth with me. But if it means spending winter with you then so be it, I can wait, because I know that each season of hardship must pass and a better one will be round the corner.”

His voice failed him as Bilbo realised tears had started to slip down his cheeks. He didn’t make a handsome crier but at that moment he couldn’t find himself to care. Even Thorin’s eyes looked to filling slightly.

Overcome with emotion, Bilbo pulled Thorin into a tight hug which he reciprocated, arms forming a protective circle around his smaller torso. Bilbo buried his face in Thorin’s hair, allowing his scent to fill his senses and offer what little comfort it could.

“Will you stay?” Thorin asked him, his breathe tickling his neck.

Bilbo reluctantly unburied his face to answer, “For as long as I am able.” Looking over, he saw Orcrist watching them both cautiously. An intelligence lingered in those yellow eyes, unlike anything Bilbo had seen before in any other animal. Crawling over, Orcrist whined low in her throat before giving a small lick under Bilbo’s eye where tears had tracked their way down his face.

The meaning was clear, no more tears, not tonight.

Smiling sadly, Bilbo released a hand from where he held Thorin tightly against him to scratch behind her ears. She would stay throughout the summer, Thorin had told him. That was something at least.

No more tears indeed, Bilbo thought to himself. He was not going to lose the last memory he had of Thorin to carry him to next winter by having it blurred by salty tears.

Neither of them got much sleep that night. They tried, but each of them was preoccupied with mapping out each other’s features so they did not forget a single detail. First by the dying firelight, then with their hands as the light within the cabin faded into darkness.

That night felt the longest in Bilbo’s memory by far. But like everything, it was entirely too short.

 _____ooo000ooo_____

And that was how Bilbo found himself alone in Bag-End once more. Solstice was over, winter had moved on and taken part of Bilbo with it.

Gazing out his window at the melting snow, a calm resignation came over Bilbo- an acceptance that time would indeed pass and to wish any of it away was to wish his life away.

And whilst his life was dimmed by Thorin’s absence, there was work to be done before winter came around again. Winter could not come without the spring.

So Bilbo straightened his bracers, pulled out his trowels and garden forks and opened the door to Bag-End with renewed determination.

Indeed, he thought to himself, his work was not yet over. 

That spring, a new flower could be seen poking its head out of the melting snow. In the decades and centuries to come, many would come to believe that the snowdrop was born from the tears that winter and spring shed every time they were parted.

For its petals were as white as the surrounding snow and the centre marked with tiny green hearts, because of course, spring had stolen the heart of winter, and left his own in its place.