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The winds of autumn had turned into the first winds of winter and by now the nightly frosts did not thaw completely until midday. Life around Erebor slowed down during these days with the last birds flying south and the travelling merchants staying home.
As was his wont these last couple of weeks, Thorin greeted the grey, frosty morning by hurrying to one of the south-facing balconies and taking in the wide expanse between Erebor and Dale, watching for any movement in that great, still scene. It was many years now after the death of Smaug and the desolation had died with him, leaving space for hardy plants and trees to return to the fields around his kingdom. Though by now the leaves had already reddened, then browned and then fallen, leaving smudges of bronze along the grey stone.
Thorin’s sight wasn’t what it used to be and yet he stood there, leaning forward, his eyes straining. It had been almost two months since the raven returned from where he had sent it, carrying back with it a message from Bilbo with promises to return to Erebor before the first snowfall.
Thorin pulled his robe closer, a chill travelling up his spine to shake at his shoulders. There was a tension in the air around him, a dry cold which heralded that the first flakes of snow would soon fall from the heavily-laden clouds above him. He gave one last look towards the south before turning back into the mountain.
It had been spring when Bilbo left, those leaves now laying dead on the ground were just emerging then, green and fresh with life. A warm wind had ruffled his curls as he looked back one last time towards Thorin before guiding his pony southwards and then westwards, towards the Shire.
Thorin should have gotten used to this separation by now as it happened once every five years or so. The letters from Hobbiton would pile up on Bilbo’s desk, bringing news of newly-born fauntlings and impending marriages, of the yield of that year’s harvest and the slowing down of Bilbo’s older relations, of everything living and dying back in what Bilbo had once called his home.
Bilbo would read these letters in bed, would re-tell and reference them to anybody who was close enough to listen, and would wonder aloud if Hamfast Gamgee ever did buy that new plough he had been talking about or if Eglantine Took ever had that second parlour built.
And then Thorin would ask, ‘do you want to go?’
And Bilbo would shake his head quickly, stowing whatever letter he was holding away. ‘No, I can’t. There’s so much I need to do here.’
Thorin remembered covering Bilbo’s hand with his own, his thumb rubbing circles over the knuckles tenting the thin skin. ‘You miss it.’
‘No more than I miss you when I’m back there,’ Bilbo had whispered.
‘Just…’ Thorin had answered, just as quietly, ‘consider what I said.’
And so Bilbo had left in the spring.
After dressing, Thorin ate his breakfast with Balin before beginning the day’s work. He usually took breakfast in their, his and Bilbo’s, chambers, enjoying this quiet moment with Bilbo before they separated for the day, each of them attending to some work of their own. But now he had it brought to his office. The sooner he finished it, the sooner he could bury himself in his work.
No sooner had the last plate been pushed away than Balin brought out the first papers. ‘Now,’ he said, pulling and curling the ends of his beard between his fingers, ‘we need to check the food stores in time for winter. It should have been done earlier, of course, but since Bilbo isn’t--’
‘Yes,’ Thorin interrupted brusquely, leaning over the desk to look closer at the papers Balin laid out in front of him. He picked one up and started reading it, soon discarding it for the next. They read in silence for a while, making notes of what they had and what they lacked. Thorin worked more slowly than Balin as half of his attention was on the door to the outside passageway, waiting for a knock that would herald the return of somebody important to Erebor. All the guards had received orders to pass along any sighting of a single hobbit traveller.
Thorin pulled his mantle closer. Even next to the fireplace he could feel the winter frost settling into the stone walls around him. He focused on the writing in front of him with a single thought at the forefront of his mind.
‘Are these all the furs we have?’ Thorin pushed a piece of paper in front of Balin, the rustle of it loud in the quiet chamber.
Balin took a moment to quickly read through it. ‘You don’t think it is enough?’
‘For all of Erebor? No, I don’t.’
Balin laid down the paper as he studied Thorin. ‘This amount has gotten us through many a winter. You must remember,’ he spoke a bit more slowly, ‘that most if not all of your subjects already have good winter coats and blankets. This,’ he waved his hand at the paper, ‘is only for emergencies.’
Thorin sat back, broadening his shoulders and spreading out his kingly mantle against the back of his chair. ‘I do not think it is enough.’
Balin looked at him for a moment, narrowing his eyes. ‘Fine. I will send someone to Dale to buy some more. The frost will have driven their hunters back from the forests by now.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘But I am sure that they will charge an impressive price for furs at this time of the year. The cold is coming for both men and dwarves after all.’
‘Don’t bother.’ Thorin stood up, the legs of his chair scraping loudly against the stony floor. ‘I will go.’
Balin remained seated. ‘I’m sure the people of Dale would be surprised at seeing the king of Erebor doing the work usually allotted to a counsellor’s apprentice.’ He looked up at Thorin, squarely and honestly.
‘I will go,’ Thorin repeated, already several steps towards the door. He stopped when Balin spoke again.
‘If Bilbo had reached Dale by now, we would have known. He would have sent a message if he was stopping there.’
‘The snow is coming, Balin.’ Thorin didn’t turn back. ‘I have to go.’
X—X
The golden leaves crunched beneath the pony’s hooves as Thorin steered it through the outer streets of Dale, before the winds picked them up, blowing them around him, leaving some behind in his hair.
Dwarves had once again become a common sight in Dale, mingling freely with the folk in that town. Thorin had chosen to wear a simple, brown cloak – very unlike his robes of state– with the hood drawn up to conceal his features from any that might recognise the king of Erebor. As he rode deeper into the middle of town, he took little note of the men and women bustling by him, their coats topped by knitted scarves as they tried to stay clear of the chilly wind which was howling through the narrow streets.
In the middle of the market place was the town well. It was encircled with troughs for the weary travellers and Thorin left his pony there to satisfy itself. He stood for a moment, pondering where to go and who to ask. The inns in the town were an obvious first port of call. Bilbo might have stayed in one of them for a night or two, resting his lower back (Thorin knew how it ached in frosty weather) or nursing a minor cold before journeying on to Erebor.
Dragon’s Bone Inn was one of the nicer inns in Dale, boasting ale fresh from the barrel and a roaring fire all through the day. Thorin took one of the tables close to the fire, warming his hands while he waited for the landlord to bring him a mug of ale. It was a payment to encourage the innkeeper to be more talkative.
He looked up at the man when he ambled over to his table with a frothy mug. ‘Good day.’
The landlord nodded as he placed the drink in front of Thorin.
‘Not many people around these parts,’ Thorin ventured, ignoring the ale for now, ‘is it usually so quiet here?’
‘People work in this town, Master dwarf, and they work hard. Had to ever since they rebuilt it. Folks don’t usually stop for a drink until the end of the day. But you are right in saying that it’s empty in these parts. Very few travellers we get during this time of the year.’
Thorin glanced at a wooden stair leading upwards in the corner of the room. ‘Do you rent rooms?’
‘Aye, we do. And don’t think I won’t take your coin, Master dwarf, but if you’re thinking on travelling further north to join your kin in the mountain, I would advise you to get started now. The snow is going to fall tonight for sure.’
‘Are any of the rooms ta--?’
The door opened then, the wind following in an elderly woman who walked slowly, her hand grabbing hold of every other thing she passed, the back of a chair, a load-bearing column, until she reached the bar at the top of the room with an exhale of effort.
The landlord nodded briefly at Thorin before hurrying back to his work.
Thorin looked back at the stairs again. An inn of this size wouldn’t have more than five, maybe six rooms to rent. It wouldn’t take long to knock on the doors of six rooms. He glanced back at the landlord who was busy with the new visitor. Not long, at all.
The mug of ale was abandoned and he stood up, making his way around the table when he heard a familiar padding sound coming down the wooden steps of the stairs. He had barely time to connect it with the memory it awoke in him before it reached the bottom with a dull thud.
And then, as if by magic, Bilbo was in the common room, looking hurried and harried, his hair even more silver than when Thorin last saw him. He headed towards the bar, throwing a quick, apologetic smile towards the elderly woman before hoisting himself up on the tips of his toes and addressing himself to the landlord.
‘Would it be possible to get some hot water? Quite soon? And do you know of any place in town where I might purchase a pony?’
‘Do you mean to start off today then, Master Baggins?’ The landlord asked while deftly pouring a cup of ale for the woman. ‘Do you think that’s wise?’
‘The snow is coming,’ Bilbo said, ‘And I have to reach Erebor before then.’
Thorin couldn’t help the small smile growing on his face. Bilbo’s no-nonsense way of speaking was a common feature of the king’s council room. He might seep it in politeness and pleasantries but nobody could doubt its core of steel.
‘Well,’ the landlord drew out the word, hesitating over the vowels, ‘I don’t like the idea of sending you off alone.’ He looked around the room and spotted Thorin over by the fire. ‘Master dwarf, you were travelling to Erebor, were you not?’
Bilbo turned slightly in his direction, obviously not interested in having a travelling companion pressed upon him by a busybody landlord, every line of his body ready to dismiss Thorin unseen.
‘I really don’t think—’ His well-practised smile froze when he saw who had been hiding in the back of the room. His eyes bulged just a smidgen and the smile grew fonder and warmer. ‘Well!’
Thorin’s smile spread into a grin. ‘Hello.’
Bilbo turned his back completely to the bar and the two others. ‘Is this what you do while I’m away? Sit in dark inns and drink by yourself? Leaving all the work to Balin and the others?’
Thorin couldn’t stop smiling if he tried. ‘You found me out.’
As they got nearer to each other, every inch of Thorin’s body fairly vibrated with the need to get closer. His skin remembered so clearly the feel of Bilbo pressing into it, his arms remembered how they fit perfectly around Bilbo’s back and shoulders and the stretch between Thorin’s shoulder and his chin longed for Bilbo’s head to slot into place.
It had been so long.
Bilbo crossed his own arms in front of him, rubbing his hands once, twice over his upper arms as he looked and looked at Thorin, taking in as much as he was able. Throwing a significant look in the direction of the two others in the room, he said, ‘should we go upstairs?’
Thorin nodded quickly, following behind as Bilbo climbed the stairs, holding onto the railing to deal with the man-sized steps.
The upstairs corridor was dark and quiet, two doors on the right and three on the left and a window at the end of it facing the side of the town stable. The floor creaked loudly in the middle though it was covered by a threadbare and worn rug with bits of dried candle wax sticking to it outside the doors where sleepy and tipsy visitors must have fumbled with their borrowed keys while balancing a candlestick.
Bilbo turned around when Thorin reached the top of the stairs, and then they finally reached each other. Nobody could tell which of them had made the first move, which of them had raised their arms and surged against the other first. They seemed to settle into each other’s grooves immediately, ones that they had spent years wearing into shape.
‘Thorin,’ Bilbo whispered against Thorin’s throat, his warm breath leaving behind a slight dampness. He pressed even closer. ‘Thorin.’
‘Yes,’ Thorin murmured, nosing into those familiar curls.
‘I told you I would miss you.’ Bilbo’s voice grew thicker as he sniffed against Thorin’s shoulder. ‘E-every night…oh, how I missed you.’
‘I missed you every morning.’ Thorin pressed a hot kiss to Bilbo’s temple.
Bilbo leaned back a bit to look up into his eyes. ‘I didn’t think I would make it back to you. The snow…’ he trailed off as he looked down Thorin’s body. ‘Have you been eating well enough?’
Thorin laughed, feeling every tension and stiffness from the last months leave his body. ‘Not well enough to hobbit standards, I grant you, but well enough to get me through the winter.’
Bilbo laughed as well, his eyes shining with tears threatening to fall.
And they finally did when Thorin leaned down and kissed that laughing mouth, drops of salty water washing down both their cheeks, flavouring their kiss. Bilbo’s arm came up around Thorin’s neck, hanging onto him and pulling him closer, angling that kiss to make it deeper. They finally separated with a muted sigh, Bilbo resting his forehead against Thorin’s chin. ‘I missed that, as well,’ he said.
Thorin chuckled as he brushed his arms up and down Bilbo’s back. ‘Well, there’ll be much more of that once we reach Erebor. We shouldn’t just be standing here like a couple of young, besotted fools while the clouds are descending on us. ‘Now,’ he turned away to face the corridor, catching hold of one of Bilbo’s hands as they stepped slightly away from the embrace, ‘which is your room?’
Bilbo hesitated, his mouth opening before he shut it with a bite to his bottom lip. ‘Before I tell you,’ he said, ‘you should know that I’ve brought someone with me from the Shire.’
Thorin frowned. Bilbo had never brought any hobbits back with him before as the vast majority of Bilbo’s family and friends were very contented to stay exactly where they were. ‘To visit?’ he asked.
‘To stay.’ Bilbo glanced up at Thorin. ‘If you like?’
‘Bilbo…’ Thorin said slowly, ‘what is this hobbit to you that you petition for them like this?’
Bilbo looked down for a moment, pursing his lips in thought before he finally made up his mind. ‘Come and see for yourself.’ He pulled on Thorin’s hand, leading him to the second door on the left and opening it up.
The room was smallish and simple. It was dominated by one large bed and along the walls were clustered a wash basin on a stand, a narrow wardrobe and clutter of travelling packs.
On the bed was a small figure, only taking up about a third of the man-sized bed as he slept peacefully under the covers.
‘We arrived very late last night,’ Bilbo explained. ‘I was desperate to reach Dale before nightfall and so I may have pushed him a bit too hard. Thankfully, the landlord was still awake when we knocked on his door.’
‘But, Bilbo,’ Thorin said, looking down at the bed, ‘this is a fauntling!’
‘I don’t think he would like you calling him that.’ Bilbo’s smile quirked ironically. ‘He’s only ten years away from his maturity, he’ll have you know, and older than most of his friends.’ He took a breath before continuing. ‘His name is Frodo. He is my cousin Drogo’s son.’
‘Drogo?’ That name was familiar to Thorin. ‘Drogo…wasn’t he the one who liked boating? And then he and his wife--’
‘Yes,’ Bilbo confirmed quickly.
Thorin looked down at the boy on the bed. He had the odd proportions of a child on the brink of beginning maturity. The face was still round and sweet but the limbs had started to grow, giving Thorin the impression of a red-hot piece of iron that had been stretched to its limit by the workings of a careful smith. The arms were gangly and so were the legs.
To lose one’s parents at such a young age…
‘I didn’t know they had a child.’
‘He’s been living at Brandy Hall since then – with his mother’s family. This year was the first time I ever met him.’ Bilbo sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle Frodo as he did. He leaned down to straighten the covers where he had kicked them off and then looked back at the sleeping face, brushing a soft hand across the ruffled, dark fringe of hair.
‘And you like him,’ Thorin said. It wasn’t a question.
Bilbo smiled. ‘He’s such a curious boy. Always asking questions, always wanting to find out more. I told him everything I could about Erebor but that wasn’t enough for him. He also wanted to know about the Blue Mountains and Iron Hills. And then about Mirkwood and Rivendell, and even about Gondor and the countries south of there.’
Thorin said nothing, having already made up his mind.
‘And I remember when I was fauntling, having all those questions burning up inside of me, but nobody wanted to answer them. And I saw Frodo being brushed off with those same condescending smirks and knowing looks, and I couldn’t stand the idea of him living and dying there in the Shire without ever seeing anything of the world.’ He looked up at Thorin. ‘The same way I would have done if you hadn’t come knocking on my door.’ He took a deep breath. ‘So, when he asked to come with me…’ he trailed off.
Thorin nodded. The room was quiet for a breath or two before he said, ‘my pony is tied down by the well. Do you want me to go and get it while the two of you get ready?’
Bilbo released a long-held breath. ‘Yes,’ his smile grew brilliant as he looked up at Thorin, ‘the landlord should be here soon with the hot water so yes,’ he nodded fervently, ‘we’ll be ready.’
X—X
Frodo’s head lulled back towards Bilbo’s chest as he sat in front of him on the pony as Thorin walked alongside of them and led the animal by the reins so as to allow Bilbo to focus on keeping Frodo secure and safe. He had only just woken up for a moment when Thorin carried him down the stairs of the inn, blinking blearily up at him, his eyes struggling to keep open. He was fast asleep again when Thorin handed him up to Bilbo on the pony.
Bilbo looked up at the mountain steadily growing in size in front of them. He breathed out, leaving behind a small, white puff of air. ‘I missed the old thing.’
Thorin said nothing, only thumbed the worn leather of the reins in his hand.
‘I’ll tell you,’ Bilbo continued, drawing his travelling cloak more closely around Frodo, ‘the summers here are much more bearable than- than back west. There was a whole month in the middle of my visit where I swear there was no wind at all, just the sun baking down on us from early morning to late evening. I longed for the mountain breezes then.’ He looked further up. ‘Coming down from the snowy peak…’
Thorin smiled into the upturned collar of his cloak. He remembered the first summer Bilbo had spent during the rebuilding of Erebor, complaining to anyone who would listen that his tomato plants were not flourishing at all and that the cold summer nights just about strangled all the life out of the small plum tree he had ordered from home – what had been his home then.
‘You came back just in time for winter, though,’ Thorin called back over his shoulder, ‘and its icy blasts and smothering snow. You’ll be longing for your even-keeled Shire then.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Bilbo answered quickly before continuing, ‘are we ready for winter, Thorin? The wood-elves think it will be heavy with snow this far north. Have you and Balin made plans?’
‘We have. But you’re welcome to check our stores yourself to satisfy your curiosity.’
‘I think I will,’ Bilbo said with a decisive nod.
‘That does not surprise me.’ Thorin looked back at him over his shoulder with a smile. ‘It is a wonder the whole mountain didn’t collapse without you being there to make sure everything was in its proper place.’
‘Ha-ha,’ Bilbo commented drily before nodding at the road in front of them, ‘but could you kindly cease your hilarity and make sure you’re not leading us into any ravines? If not for your loyal husband and consort then for this young hobbit in front of me who still has many more years to enjoy in this life?’
Thorin faced forward again, his smile still firmly planted on his face as he led the trio towards the main entrance of Erebor.
X—X
Their bedroom was quiet now.
Frodo had lingered on their bed, fiddling with the candlestick he was meant to take with him to his own room, and casting furtive glances at his large bed through the open door that directly connected the two bedrooms. It was only after Bilbo assured him that the door would, of course, remain unlocked all through the night that he was ready to go, sharing a tremulous smile with Bilbo before he went.
Thorin sat down on the edge of the bed as he finished off braiding his hair. He glanced over his shoulder at Bilbo who was lying on his back, staring at nothing in particular.
‘Shall I get the light?’ Thorin asked.
Bilbo hummed, his folded hands fidgeting over the covers.
The acrid smell of the extinguished candle floated over their bed as Thorin shuffled his feet quickly under the covers while his head found his pillow, the darkness no hindrance to this long-practised ritual.
He could finally feel the warm presence of Bilbo next to him in bed and that warmth seemed to travel across the sheets to Thorin, seeping into his body and relaxing it completely. Now, everything was right.
‘Thorin?’ Bilbo’s voice sounded in the darkness. ‘Are you awake?’
‘Hm?’ The mattress groaned as Thorin turned slightly towards Bilbo’s side. ‘What is it?’
‘What did you--’ He hesitated. ‘Do you think Frodo will be alright?’
‘As alright as any young lad would be the first night in a new bed.’ Thorin’s lips twitched though Bilbo couldn’t see it. ‘I think only the pride of a growing boy kept him from asking to sleep in here.’
‘He seemed so excited when Erebor first came into view.’ Bilbo’s voice was quiet but Thorin could hear the fond notes. ‘Kept asking me how long it would be before we arrived, how many more nights of sleeping on the ground and now he has his own bed in the mountain and yet…’ He sighed. ‘He talked a lot more on the road.’
‘He’ll be fine. Even curious hobbits can be overwhelmed by new experiences, the young even more so.’ His hand found Bilbo’s arm in the darkness and smoothed his palm down it. ‘Remember when you first saw the Misty Mountains?’
Bilbo made no answer other than a dry chuckle.
‘And if he changes his mind,’ Thorin continued, ‘if he wants to go back to his mother’s kin at Brandy Hall then he’ll go with you when you next visit the Shire. He won’t be much older then and he’ll return with stories from the wide world. Just like he always wanted.’
Bilbo made no reply, not even a low hum to show that he had heard what Thorin had said.
Thorin could just about make out the dark grey profile of his face. ‘You don’t think so?’
‘If he wants to go back then, of course, I’ll take him back – even as soon as the snows melt if he wishes. But…I’m not so sure that I will ever go back to the Shire by myself.’
Their deep and even breaths were the only sound in the room while Thorin waited for Bilbo to elaborate. ‘Was your visit not what you had hoped?’ he finally asked.
‘It was…different,’ Bilbo sighed. ‘I don’t know…everyone was very kind but…’
‘But?’
‘I hardly knew them.’ Bilbo paused. ‘A lot of my old friends from- from before have died and their children have their own children now. Hobbiton has changed, Thorin, if you can believe it.’ His head rolled over his pillow in the direction of Thorin. ‘Has it really been that long?’
Thorin stretched his back slightly and shuffled to lie more comfortably. ‘It doesn’t feel it.’
Bilbo continued. ‘The first weeks I was passed around from family to family. Everyone wanted to meet that odd relation of the Baggins.’ Bilbo’s voice changed, turned simpering and gossipy. ‘You know, the one who ran off with a group of dwarves and married in some foreign country without even sending a piece of the wedding cake back to his family!’
Thorin smirked. ‘After the third day of the wedding celebrations, we couldn’t scrape together enough crumbs to fill even a thimble.’
A dry chuckle sounded in the darkness. ‘That was only because your Iron Hill cousins ate a slice with every meal of the day while they were visiting,’ Bilbo countered.
‘Yes…’ Thorin smiled as he always did when memories of that day rose up inside him.
They were quiet for a while. Footsteps were heard outside the door in the passageway as a guard passed by their room.
‘I remember one night sitting in the Green Dragon with most of Hobbiton,’ Bilbo murmured into the silence, ‘I mean, every seat was filled and then some.’ He let out a slow breath. ‘And I had never felt more alone in my life. They were singing along to songs I didn’t know, joking about stories I’d never heard and…’ He swallowed. ‘I thought the letters would be enough, that if I only stayed in touch then I would never lose it completely. But knowing the names of who is born and who is dead is nothing, really, because it’s not- it’s not life as it is from day to day. You know?’
Thorin’s palm moved slowly up and down Bilbo’s arm, the only point of connection between them. ‘I know.’
In a slow movement, Bilbo rose up on his elbows and turned over towards Thorin. He fell down to rest against him, his cheek rubbing against Thorin’s chest as his arm flopped over his middle. ‘Thank you for listening to me babble,’ he whispered, his hushed breath stirring the black hairs next to his lips. ‘I’m still tired. Probably not making much sense.’
‘You’re making sense,’ Thorin murmured into Bilbo’s curls before pressing a short kiss to the top of his head. ‘Do you think you can sleep now?’
‘Yes.’ Bilbo rubbed his check against Thorin’s skin as he settled in closer to him. ‘After all, I still have those stores to go through tomorrow.’
‘I’m sure Balin already has the lists laid out in your study.’
Bilbo breathed out a short laugh. ‘I’m sure he does.’
He might have to leave again at the first signs of spring if Frodo wants to, Thorin thought as he pulled Bilbo closer. He might leave in another five years or so when the letters from the Shire had watered and sprouted another longing somewhere inside of him, the longing to see again the home his father built for his mother and the green fields of his childhood. Thorin knew this. It was a steady part of their life together.
Sometimes, Bilbo had to leave. But he always came back before the first snows fell.
Thorin reached down to draw up the covers to Bilbo’s shoulders, pulling them close with a soft caress to the nape of his neck. ‘Goodnight, ghivashel,’ he murmured, ‘I’m glad you’re back.’
‘Goodnight, love,’ Bilbo answered, his voice as warm and soft as the bed they were lying in, ‘it’s good to be home.’