Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For the first time in decades, Thorin’s shoulders were light. He was living in the feeling of having thrown down a heavy pack after a tiring journey. After two months of a quiet and beautiful spring in the Shire, he was no less thankful to be rid of his burdens for a while, but he was also no less ashamed when he caught himself subconsciously viewing his responsibilities as burdens.

It turns out that, after working just to survive for sixty years, then going on a gruelling seven-month quest, then facing a live dragon, then fighting in a battle and coming very close to death, the prospect of being King was just a bit too much on top of all that. Not that he admitted it right away, soldiering on with his duties as he had always done. However, his performance as King was… suboptimal, to say the least. Gold-sickness is not easily gotten rid of, and it lingered like weak lungs after a nasty flu. The company were the first to notice, and the ones who slapped him back to his senses, forcing him to realise that his ruling was detrimental to the kingdom. The short weeks in which he ruled were hazy to him now, due to a mixture of not being in his right mind, and trying to forget his more regretted mistakes.

Bilbo kept him distracted from thinking about it, using the monotony of life in the Shire to an advantage. There always seemed to be an easy, relaxing task or errand for Thorin to do, whether it was pruning the apple tree, gutting fish for dinner, or fetching groceries from the market. The hobbit had taken it upon himself to make sure Thorin was experiencing the calmest, most simple life possible, and that he finally had room to breathe.

This new air he breathed was quite different from the cool drafts that wafted through the stone halls of the Lonely Mountain. The Shire’s breeze was fresh and sweet, always carrying the scent of grass, flowers, or something newly baked. Today was no different. He was passing a row of hobbit holes under little hills, each with a charming garden full of spectacular flowers when the smell of buttery pastry drifted to his nostrils. The house at the end of the row had a stall set up just behind the garden gate which was attracting a small crowd. Thorin approached and saw that the stall was laden with all sorts of treats. There was a merry-looking elderly woman sitting behind the stall, exchanging her produce for handfuls of coins. A very short and round man bit into his pastry and exclaimed in delight. “Mm! Delicious as usual, Mrs Mulberry, but what’s the occasion?”

“Oh, this is just the practise batch for the Mid-Year’s day celebrations,” replied Mrs Mulberry.

“As if you need practise! I’m not complaining, though.”

Mrs Mulberry chuckled and bade the man a good afternoon before seeing to the next customer. Thorin joined the back of the queue and thought about what he might like to get. When it was his turn to be served, Mrs Mulberry’s eyes crinkled in a kind smile and she said, “Mister Thorin! What brings you out this way?”

It was no surprise that this woman knew his name, even though he hadn’t known hers. Bilbo Baggins, whether liked or disliked, was something of a celebrity now, and every hobbit in Hobbiton knew some version of his infamous adventure. Not only that, but he had returned to the Shire with a chest of gold and a Dwarf King, both of which were still popular talking points. Therefore, Thorin was forced to share in his fame as well. Most of Hobbiton had gotten used to their newcomer over the last few weeks, and Thorin was no longer the victim of stares and whispers.

“Just picking up Master Baggins’ nephew from the school.”

“Ah, he’s got you running all his errands, has he?”

“It’s no trouble at all.”

This was something Bilbo often requested him to do. Not out of his own laziness or business - Thorin knew it was another way of keeping him occupied and making sure he got a chance to stretch his legs.

Thorin scanned the stall. There were pies of all sizes, sweet and savoury, loaves of rosemary bread, plaits and knots of flaking pastry, and a neat line of little tarts.

“I’ll take two of these,” said Thorin, pointing at the tarts with a dark purple jammy filling, “and…” his eyes fell upon a large, deep rectangular dish covered in bread crumbs, “what’s this?”

“Apple crumble, dear,” said Mrs Mulberry, placing the two tarts in a brown paper bag, “one of Mister Bilbo’s favourites, if I remember rightly."

“How much for a slice?”

“A slice might be tricky – it’s rather messy, see. I’m not even sure why I made it for today. Tell you what, take the lot as it is, free of charge, just let me know what Bilbo and yourself think of it.”

“No, I can pay, I have more than enough-”

She cut across him, firmly. “Just the tarts, dear. Two silver pieces will do.”

Thorin rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out seven silver pieces. He hid five of them in the closed palm of his hand and held two between his forefinger and thumb. Mrs Mulberry held out her wrinkly hand, and Thorin let all seven silver coins fall into it. He snatched up the paper bag and dish of apple crumble and hurried off down the road before she could process what he had done.

After a while, the road became a gravelly track, so he took a shortcut through a glade to spare the soles of his feet from sharp stones. Now in early summer, he had long since been forced to abandon his thick fur boots. He’d grown accustomed to being barefoot surprisingly fast and liked having something that made him blend in the hobbits, rather than sticking out like a sore thumb with his height, beard, and long black hair. Black hair was rare for hobbits, he noticed. In fact, there was only one other hobbit he knew with it, and that was Bilbo’s nephew - Frodo; a kind and intelligent boy whose eyes were blue like Thorin’s, though less icy, and always wide. Frodo and Thorin had started living in Bag End at around the same time, as Bilbo adopted the boy just days after finding his home ransacked by neighbours and relatives who had presumed him dead. He admitted to Thorin that he thought Frodo was the only family member worthy of inheriting Bag End, and that he had been considering it right before he had been swept off on the quest.

Once through the glade, the path became smooth stone slabs again, each painted a different colour of the rainbow. It led to a large hill, much bigger than Bag End, with rows of circular windows wrapping around it. This was the school for the children of Hobbiton and the surrounding villages. Already, parents were sitting on the slopes of the hill, waiting for the school day to end. Soon enough, the sky-blue door swung open and out spilled a gaggle of tiny hobbits, glad to be back out in the sunshine after an afternoon of lessons. Thorin quickly spotted a mop of black curls amongst the sea of browns, reds, and dirty blondes, and waved. Frodo broke through the crowd towards Thorin, wearing a cheery smile.

“Good day?” Thorin asked. 

“Yep! We’ve got homework,” said Frodo.

“Homework, hm? You’re pleased about that?”

“It’s fun homework. We’ve got to make decorations for Mid-year’s day - look.” Frodo opened his satchel and pulled out a short string of bunting made from scraps of busily patterned fabric. “I need to finish it before Sunday.”

“Mid-year’s day…” Thorin had heard fleeting mentions of it over the past week but hadn’t asked about it properly.

“It’s so much fun. It’s the one day of the year where everyone gets to stay up past bedtime. You’ve got to stay awake so you can watch the sunrise – what’s that?” Frodo stopped babbling as he noticed the apple crumble dish in the crook of Thorin’s arm and the brown paper bag clutched in his hand.

“This is for this evening,” said Thorin, gesturing to the crumble, “and this is for us now.” Thorin offered Frodo the bag. Frodo’s smile widened as he pulled out one of the tarts.

“Wow, thanks!”

Thorin took out his own tart and bit into it. The man at the stall hadn’t been exaggerating – it really was delicious.

The walk to and from the school was a very pleasant one, through the village, across the stone bridge over the lake, through the market square, and finally up the sloping path to Bag End. All the while, Thorin asked Frodo about his day, and he answered enthusiastically between munches of his tart.

Bilbo was sitting on the garden bench smoking a long pipe when Thorin and Frodo reached Bag End’s garden gate. He eyed the remains of Frodo’s tart with a frown.

“Where’s my tart,” he huffed. Thorin placed the large dish of apple crumble on his lap.

“You’re welcome,” said Thorin, watching Bilbo’s face transform into a look of pleasant surprise.

“My goodness. As much as I love apple crumble, I think you’ve overestimated my appetite. We can’t possibly finish all this ourselves.”

Frodo’s eyes lit up. “Maybe Sam can come around and help us eat it?”

“Good idea. You can call on him when it’s time for dinner.”

Dinner was pleasant as always, made even more so by the dessert. Frodo had invited over his friend Sam, who lived just down the lane, and the four of them finished the apple crumble in no time. It was well into the evening when they all finished eating, though it was hard to tell without a clock. The days were so long at this time of year that it could’ve been mistaken for mid-afternoon. Bilbo cleared up their plates and sent everyone through to the sitting room, as he had promised the two boys a story.

Set up by the hearth were Bilbo’s armchair and a chunky woven rug. Frodo and Sam dived onto the rug, Bilbo took his place in his armchair, and Thorin leant against its back. “What story tonight? Sam, how about you pick,” said Bilbo.

Sam hummed to himself while he thought. “The one about the spiders,” he decided.

Thorin loved listening to Bilbo tell stories. Most of it was dramatic recounts of the more exciting parts of his adventure, often with embellishments that grew more impressive and further from the truth with each retelling. “... And before I knew it, there were hundreds of them swarming down, scuttling across branches and lowering themselves down using their thick silk threads. At one point I was fighting off about fifty at once, slicing straight through each beast that came at me with one stroke of my trusty Sting...” At this, Thorin snorted. Bilbo elbowed him and continued. “And this was all while Thorin and the company were having a nice little nap all bundled up in cobweb.”

Thorin laughed. “If I was asleep, how come I heard you screaming?”

“Screaming? Oh no, not me. Must’ve been someone else.”

“Mm, I’m fairly sure it was you.”

Bilbo went on, the tale growing ever taller until the sun was low on the horizon and sent a golden blaze through the window. When Bilbo came to the end of his story, he checked the clock on the mantelpiece.

“How is it almost nine? I keep forgetting how light it is in the evenings now.” He rose from his chair, stretched, then tied his dressing gown tighter. “I think that’s enough for tonight, anyway.”

“Oh, one more story, pleeease?” Frodo asked, round-eyed.

“I’m tired, Frodo. And Sam should be getting home now.”

Sam got to his feet and so did Frodo. “Thanks for dinner, mister Bilbo,” said Sam politely, then went with Frodo to the front door. After they said their goodbyes, Frodo came back into the living room.

“We were talking about Mid-year’s day at school today,” said Frodo slowly, the air of strategy evident in his voice, “I don’t think Thorin knows much about it though.”

“Never heard of it until recently,” said Thorin.

“Oh, of course. I’ll have to give you a run-down before the celebrations. It’s a lovely event. I’d even say I prefer it over Yule - less family-oriented.”

“Why don’t you tell him the story,” said Frodo, “You know the one.”

Bilbo looked over at his nephew and huffed fondly. “Alright, alright, come sit back down. I’ll have to make it quick, though, I’m tired.”

Frodo scrambled back to the rug at Bilbo’s feet and plopped down, looking up at him with anticipation. Thorin’s legs were getting tired, so he lowered himself onto the rug next to Frodo.

“Well, it’s more of a myth, I suppose,” said Bilbo, brow furrowing as he recollected. “They say - ‘they’ being the children of the Shire - that strange beings make themselves known during the shortest night of the year, or the Mid-year’s eve.”

“Far taller and more slender than any hobbit, a sheer white cloak draped over them from head to foot... it could’ve been woven from moonlight. They have no face, or at least, no one has ever seen it.” Bilbo had lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. He could engage an audience very well when he wanted to. “They lurk at the edge of the forest, and if a child walks too close to the bushes, it’ll grab them!” Bilbo lurched forward at the end of his sentence, actually making Thorin jump. Frodo was clearly expecting this little trick and did not jump, but he giggled at Thorin’s reaction. “Don’t worry, Thorin,” said Bilbo, “it only ever preys on children.”

“I’m relieved.”

“You met one, didn’t you, Bilbo,” Frodo prompted.

“Once. When I was about your age.” Bilbo met Thorin’s doubtful gaze but nodded seriously. “It’s true. I used to think they were Myth, but each year, more of my friends would claim they were real and so I wanted to see one for myself. I was feeling particularly brave that year and decided to go looking for one. Brave is probably the wrong word. Curious - yes, curious but fearful. I left the celebrations to sneak off to the edge of the forest. I had hardly crept past the frontline of trees when I saw it - ghostly and shimmering in a clearing ahead. It could’ve been floating. It glided towards me and I was glued to the spot in fright. It was like in nightmares, where you desperately want to run but can’t move your legs. As it drew closer, I heard a noise emanating from it. Some sort of song, or maybe it was a sort of enchantment, I’m not sure. Nothing like any music I’d heard before. It was mere feet away from me, close enough to touch! But then I heard my mother calling for me. The music stopped and the spell was broken. It shrank away into the shadows and I shot out of there like my life depended on it. I ran back to my mother, shaking like a lamb, and didn’t leave her side until the sun rose.” 

Thorin knew when Bilbo was lying, or “embellishing the truth” as he called it. He would always trail off slightly before inspiration struck him again, or look upwards momentarily as though checking a script hanging above him. This was not one of those times. Though he spoke with an enthralling tone, pausing for effect, and lowering his voice in all the right places, the content of his story appeared to be true. 

“Did you ever go looking for it again?” Thorin asked.

“Not for many years, but when I did, I found nothing. I think I was too old. Since then, I’ve only caught far-off glimpses of something white, glittering between the trees.”

“Only children have ever seen them up close,” Frodo added. Thorin found this very peculiar.

“Every year,” Bilbo continued, “I see at least one or two children at the celebrations, clinging to their parents, a look of pure terror on their faces. Now I don't know what would happen if one ever got close enough to touch,” Bilbo’s voice faded into a dramatic murmur, “though I doubt you’d live to tell the tale…” 

Suddenly he clapped his hands and stood up, snapping Thorin and Frodo out of their enraptured state. “Right!” he exclaimed. “Off to bed. Both of you.”

Now fully satisfied, Frodo obliged and stood up to give Bilbo a quick hug before pattering out of the room and down the hall to his bedroom. Thorin picked himself up off the floor and walked over to the window. Long shadows stretched out below the trees at the edge of the forest. On his walks through the forest, he had never seen anything remotely unusual. It was lush and green with lots of light and abundant in wildlife - it couldn’t even compare with the likes of Mirkwood. Could it really be home to something sinister?

“I’ve given you quite the scare, haven’t I,” said Bilbo from behind. He approached the windowsill and stretched his hands across the wood.

“Mhm,” said Thorin, “Dragons and Orcs I can handle, but spooks in white dresses are too much.”

Bilbo laughed softly and let his head rest against Thorin’s shoulder. Thorin reflexively tensed up, hard as stone, and stared straight ahead. Even though he longed to lean into the touch, he couldn’t let himself. Bilbo took the hint and withdrew.

“Not yet,” said Bilbo in affirmation of Thorin’s reaction.

“Forgive me.”

“There’s no rush.”

Apparently unbothered by Thorin’s response, Bilbo smiled fleetingly then turned back to the window. Thorin knew better than to assume all was well. Guilt clawed at him as he looked out at the Shire’s lush rolling hills, colourful gardens, crystal waters, without really seeing any of it. They had been stuck in an awkward limbo ever since Thorin was removed from his position as King. As soon as he stepped out of Erebor’s gates, he slowly began to sober and the fog that shrouded the last few weeks cleared, leaving behind the grim clarity of all his atrocities. The way he treated his subjects, acting as though he were a God worthy of unconditional respect and reverence. The beneficial bills he refused to pass for their financial burden. Demanding impossible hours from his workers; workers who had families and children to look after. The way he handled the alternative suggestions and opinions of his advisors and friends by steamrollering whatever they said with his own views. But worst of all, there was the way he treated Bilbo. Despite coming to his senses and apologising sincerely for trying to throw Bilbo over the rampart wall, the guilt for this action hit him even harder once he was away from it all, as though there was a filter before, diluting the severity, that had been removed when he left.

It wasn’t all bad, though. Some moments with Bilbo were the only moments not wholly soiled by the dark cloud of gold-sickness. However, they hadn’t really had the opportunity to be ‘normal’ lovers, having to steal kisses between meetings and paperwork, and spending a lot of time being forced to rest to recover physically from his battle wounds. But even away from everything, Thorin couldn’t bring himself to allow things to return to the way they were.

After a bit more staring out of the window in silence with an artificial gap between them, Bilbo yawned loudly and stepped away from the windowsill. “Close the curtains once you’re finished brooding, will you,” he said lightly, then left Thorin alone in the sitting room.

Hobbits are very fond of comfort - a fact Thorin learned within minutes of meeting Bilbo. He had looked down on him for it initially, for Dwarves value hardships and resilience. But now, Thorin was grateful for the comfort. The soft curves of the door and window frames, the blooming flowers, the quilts and cushions; they all felt like a great kindness – a kindness he hadn’t earned.

Chapter Text

The bed in Bilbo’s best guest room was as high of a standard as his own, bearing a soft mattress that Thorin sank right into at night, and could barely bring himself to wrench away from in the morning. The only thing that could drag him up and out of bed was the inviting breeze spilling in from the slightly open circular window that brought in the fresh, floral scent from the garden outside. Today, it was accompanied by the snipping of shears. Thorin forced himself up, stretched, and sidled over to the window. He pushed it open and leaned out into the morning sun.

Bilbo was prodding at a rose bush with a pair of pruners and cursing under his breath at the spotted yellowing leaves and wilting flower heads. Hobbits might have a love for all things that grow, but those things did not share an equal love for Bilbo. Thorin had come to learn that Bilbo was not a great gardener and that this was another popular talking point for the residents of Hobbiton. Down at the market, he had often heard scathing remarks regarding the state of Bilbo’s flowers, all spoken with an air of smugness that their wealthiest neighbour was falling short in the botanical department.

At the squeak of the window’s hinges, Bilbo turned and greeted Thorin with a good-morning. They bickered lightly over whether Thorin was up late or Bilbo was up unreasonably early. Bilbo won, of course. After all, it was already ten. Thorin blamed it on the excessive comfort of the bed, which Bilbo met with a satisfied grin and then went back to gardening. Bilbo took great pride in being a good host and Thorin took every opportunity to let him know he was an excellent one.

Thorin watched him lazily, propped up by his elbows as he tried to rid himself of the sleepy cloud still heavy on his brain. His mind drifted back to the night before, sitting on the floor and listening to Bilbo’s story. With that thought, the faint silhouette of last night’s dream returned to him. Though he was unable to pinpoint any specifics of the dream, he vaguely recalled a hooded figure, hauntingly white, and an uncomfortable feeling of guilt.

“Isn’t it a bit early for deep musings?” said Bilbo, catching sight of what must’ve been a somewhat tense expression on Thorin’s face.
“Sorry. Would you prefer I fill the silence with inane chitchat?”
“I wouldn’t mind that, actually. It’s too quiet. I’m used to Frodo’s babbling while I do this. The Gamgees took him into school today - nice of them.”

At the mention of Frodo, another part of the dream rushed back to him. Frodo had been standing right before the figure as it glided closer to him. Thorin had tried to call out but he couldn’t make a sound. The figure had eventually swallowed Frodo up in blinding white light, and Thorin could do nothing to stop it.

Upon this new recollection, he felt a little foolish for letting Bilbo’s story - a story he told to his young nephew - impact him like this. On the other hand, Thorin couldn’t shake off his apprehensions, especially with mid-years day just around the corner.

“The creatures cloaked in white,” Thorin started, hoping he sounded conversational.

“What about them?”

“Do you think they’re… uh… that they could be a threat?”

Bilbo put down the shears and looked up in surprise. “Er… I’m not sure. I certainly felt that way at the time but I was very young, remember.”

“But are the Shirelings safe now? You said that each year you see at least one scared out of their wits.”

“I…yes, but… I haven’t heard about anyone actually going missing. At least not in my lifetime.”

When Thorin’s look of concern did not leave his face, Bilbo continued. “I’ve told that story to half the children in Hobbiton, and they were all terrified. If it’s spread, then I’ll have put off a whole generation from ever wanting to go near those things. Hobbits don’t tend to seek out danger. There’s the odd few, of course, myself included. And my mother, and a few other Tooks. Suppose that sort of thing runs in the family.”

Thorin forced himself not to dwell on it and mentally shook off his unease. A cabbage white butterfly landed on a pink peony underneath the window ledge. It peacefully flexed its wings for a while, until a red admiral chased it away into the still blue sky.

“Are you going to stand there watching butterflies all day or come and help me,” said Bilbo, exasperated, snapping Thorin back down to earth. He might’ve sounded irritable but the way he beckoned made it more of an invitation than a command. Thorin sighed in mock resignation and left the window to make his way outside, hearing Bilbo shout “Grab some breakfast on your way out,” as he went.

Their morning floated calmly by, like the white clouds above them. Thorin joined Bilbo in his attempts to save the plants that had just “decided to die” on him. Some time passed in comfortable silence, some Bilbo filled with gossip about a neighbour who was allegedly selling baked goods using a recipe stolen from a family in Frogmorton. Bilbo had a knack for getting you hooked on any story, no matter how dull it was, and Thorin was fully invested. Hobbit drama was always hilariously pointless, and it was a nice change from being bombarded with things that actually mattered, such as the likes of finances and laws.

Midday came surprisingly fast. They stopped to take a break, and Bilbo went inside to squeeze some oranges and put together some sandwiches. Thorin sat down on the newly cut lawn, running his hand back through his hair in an attempt to air out his scalp, made far too hot from the sun. When Bilbo returned, he was carrying a dozen sandwiches on a tray, a jug of orange juice, two glasses, and a wide-brimmed straw hat. He set everything down on the grass apart from the hat, which he dropped onto Thorin’s head. “Should help with the sun. I can imagine it’s quite a pain with that thick dark hair of yours.” Bilbo adjusted the hat until he gave a satisfied hum, then sat down too. Apart from stopping the sun from heating Thorin’s hair up, it also kept the bright rays out of his eyes.

Thorin either hadn’t realised how hungry he was, or the sandwiches were especially delicious because when he bit into one, he was overcome with the urge to demolish all six at once. He resisted, however, and forced himself to take his time and appreciate the sweet cranberry sauce and creamy brie. Once he had washed them down with a glass of orange juice, Thorin lay back on the grass with his hands behind his head, pulling his hat over his face to block out the sun. He lay there peacefully for about twenty minutes, listening to the birds twittering and savouring the mild breeze until Bilbo prodded him. “You’d better get going.”

Thorin pushed his hat off his face and squinted at Bilbo. “What do you mean?”
“Frodo. He finishes early on Fridays, remember?”

“Oh right, yes.” Remorsefully, Thorin forced himself off the grass and headed out of the garden gate.

However, he didn’t have to go all the way to the school, as he spotted Frodo in a huddle with three other boys at the lake’s shore. As Thorin approached, he saw that Frodo was with Sam and two other boys that he didn’t recognise, and all four of them were whispering excitedly. Frodo noticed Thorin and broke away from them.
“Hi,” said Frodo, “you were late so I walked with Sam and my cousins. That’s Merry,” he pointed at the boy with overgrown sandy hair next to Sam, “and that’s Pippin.” He pointed at the redhead, who was a little shorter than the rest of them. They both grinned and waved.

“What was all the whispering about?” Thorin asked as they walked back the rest of the way.

Frodo’s eyes were gleaming with an innocent mischievousness that reminded him of Kili when he was little.

“Can you keep a secret?” said Frodo. Thorin nodded. “You can’t tell Bilbo.”

“I won’t,” he said, thinking that Frodo’s secret would be some sort of surprise or harmless prank he had planned for his uncle.

Frodo lowered his voice despite no one being near enough to overhear and said, “Me, Sam, and my cousins are going to go looking for a mid-year’s monster.”

Thorin stared at him. Hadn’t Bilbo said that his story had terrified all the children of the Shire? But then again, this was his nephew. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Merry said he saw one last year but was too scared to go near it alone, so we’re all going together.”

“But... it could be dangerous.”

“Bilbo’s done loads of dangerous things.”

“I wouldn’t look to him as a role model.”

“You won’t tell him, will you? I don’t want him to try and stop us.”

Thorin’s brows furrowed. If anything bad happened to Frodo, it was on him. But at the same time, he didn’t want to spoil Frodo’s fun. If Bilbo was right about the creatures, the worst that would happen is that they’d all get a nasty fright and never want to go looking for it again.

“No,” he said, making up his mind, “I won’t tell him.”

Frodo beamed. “Thanks, Thorin!”

He exhaled defeatedly. A responsible adult he was, indeed.

*

The next day, Thorin went for a walk through the forest, hoping to stumble across any sort of clue that might allude to the monsters already being there, or maybe something that showed the way to their lair if they had one. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything of the sort. The forest was dappled with golden afternoon sunlight, and the blue sky above was visible in large patches amongst the rustling treetops. It was hard to believe that it might be hiding something frightening. He picked his way through the overgrown edges of the forest until he was out of it. The trees had been sheltering him from the mild wind that blew today, which was very welcome after yesterday’s heat.

A shock of gold among the long grass outside the forest caught Thorin’s eye. Looking closely, he saw that it was the back of a little girl’s head, with her hair tied up in pigtails. Thorin scanned the area to see if he could spot anyone who might be her parents but saw no one. Upon approaching he could see what she was doing more clearly - mechanically ripping out fistfuls of grass with chubby little fists. She heard Thorin and looked up, studied him for a second, and then went back to her destruction.

“You’re too well hidden in this grass. Your parents may not be able to find you.”

“I don’t need parents,” she said stoutly, “and I don’t need boys either.”

“Boys?” said Thorin, repressing a smile at the abrupt mention.

She nodded. “They won’t let me join in their game. They said it’s too dangerous for a girl. Well, I don’t need them anyway. I’ll go by myself.”

Dwarves didn’t hold these sorts of unfair views about girls and boys. They all knew that Dwarrowdam were just as fierce as Dwarrow. It was often speculated that their recklessness in battle is what made their population drop so low. Thorin crouched so that he was on a level with her and asked, “Do you know anyone else who might want to play that game?”

“No,” she said sadly, “they’re my only friends.”

“Hm.” Thorin thought, then said. “How about we go and find these boys and tell them off for being mean?”

“They won’t listen. They’re boys.”

“Very true,” said Thorin solemnly. He tried a different approach. “If it’s a dangerous game, they’ll need someone to protect them and make sure they don’t get hurt,” said Thorin.

The girl blinked in surprise. “I can’t do that. They’re a year older than me. And taller,” she said.

“From my experience, it’s the little ones that pack the worst punch. Metaphorically,” he added quickly, “don’t hit people - if you can help it.” The girl giggled and stood up, brushing the shredded grass blades off of her checkered dress. “You lead the way,” said Thorin, rising too.

As she walked Thorin down a dusty track skirting a tall cornfield, he learned that the girl’s name was Rosie Cotton. Eventually, they reached a glade walled by weeping willow trees that whipped about with the wind. Thorin parted the branches and stepped through. Four boys were at the other side, sword fighting with sticks. Thorin only had to see that head of curly black hair to know that it was Frodo, his two cousins, and Sam. This made things a bit awkward - he was going to give them all a harsh lecture about inclusion, but now that he knew who they were, that didn’t sound like the best plan. Frodo wasn’t his child, but he also wasn’t a stranger’s child.

It was only when he got near that he saw how much smaller Rosie was. Even Pippin, who was the shortest boy, was about half a head taller. Still, this was no better of a reason to exclude someone.

“I’ve heard,” said Thorin, fixing them all with a stern glare, “that some boys have been leaving this girl out of their game.” The four boys looked sheepishly up at Thorin. He lowered himself a little so that he did not tower over them as much, then addressed Sam and Frodo. “I didn’t expect this of you two.”

“We’re really sorry, Rosie,” said Frodo, and he did sound sorry. “We didn’t want you to get hurt or scared.”

“I won’t get hurt or scared. I’m tougher than you think.”

“She’s almost your age,” said Thorin, “if the game isn’t dangerous for you four boys, then it's fine for her too.”

“But it is dangerous, Mister Thorin!” said Sam earnestly, “We’ve all heard Bilbo’s story.”

Bilbo’s story? Did that mean this was about…

“The mid-years monsters,” said Thorin, grimly. He should’ve known. They all nodded. He met Rosie’s gaze - she was looking expectantly at Thorin, waiting for him to continue defending her. Beginning to feel very uncomfortable with the fact that he had advocated for a child even younger than Frodo to be included in their potentially very risky quest, he stayed silent, unsure whether or not to firmly discourage this whole idea.

“See why she can’t come?” said Merry.

Yes, he did see. But then, none of them should really be going in the first place! Despite Bilbo’s air of complacency about the creatures, Thorin now felt more uneasy than ever about letting them go ahead with their plan.

“Thorin said you’ll need protecting. That’s my job, isn’t it, Thorin?” said Rosie.

“Well-”

“We don’t need protection from you,” said Pippin, “You’re a year younger than us.”

“I’m four reading levels above you, Pip!” she retorted fiercely.

“Books won’t help you fight the monster.”

“We’re fighting it now?” asked Sam, nervously.

“Enough. No one’s fighting anything,” Thorin said firmly. “And certainly not by yourselves.” Their heads swivelled up to look at him again. “I’m coming too. We all go together or not at all.” This seemed like a good compromise to Thorin. He would be able to supervise them and especially keep watch over Frodo without spoiling their adventure too much.

“But the monsters won’t come out if there are adults around,” said Merry.

“Only if they see them coming,” said Frodo. “It’ll be good having Thorin with us, just in case it is really dangerous.”

Frodo, Sam and Pippin all looked to Merry - the apparent ringleader. “Alright, fine. If he promises not to scare off the monster when we’re hunting it. Or tell our parents.”

Thorin gave his word that he would keep himself hidden and keep their secret from their families, and that seemed to satisfy Merry. On the ground at Thorin’s feet lay a fallen twig. He picked it up and handed it to Rosie. Proportionally, it was the perfect size for a sword. She took it happily and brandished it playfully at Pippin.

“I’ll see you all tomorrow evening, then,” said Thorin, and he left them to their fun. Only once he had left the glade did the reality of what he was doing hit him. Leading children to a creature that preys on them? No - supervising children as they go and hunt for a creature that preys on them. That didn’t sound much better, either. If only Erebor could see their king now...

*

That evening, Frodo, Sam, Bilbo, and Thorin were back in their usual place by the hearth, listening to another one of Bilbo’s stories. Tonight, he had been requested to recount the battle. Bilbo entertained them for while with his rendition of things. He always emphasised Thorin’s heroism, while depicting his fight with Azog, which caused Thorin to shift uncomfortably. It felt a bit false, this version, leaving out a lot of the messy parts that Thorin remembered all too well.

“I have a question,” said Frodo once Bilbo had finished. “Why was there a war in the first place?”

Bilbo looked over at Thorin, who met his eyes for a moment before Thorin dropped his gaze to the floor.

“It’s… complicated,” said Bilbo, “There’s lots of factors that go into it.”

In very watered-down terms, Bilbo explained some of the events that had caused the war. He made it seem as though the Elves and Men wanted more than their share of the Mountain’s treasure, and that the fight broke out due to miscommunication. Thorin wasn’t sure whether it was better or worse that he left out everything about the Arkenstone and the gold-sickness. Since Bilbo had trusted Thorin with Frodo for the last few weeks, part of him wanted Frodo – and Sam, who spent a lot of time in his company now too - to know, so that they could at least make an informed decision as to whether or not they still felt safe around Thorin.

The version of events Bilbo told seemed to satisfy Frodo and Sam, and they kept discussing it all the way to the front door when it was time for Sam to leave. Thorin stayed in the sitting room while Bilbo said goodnight to Frodo in the hallway. Not really knowing why he had lingered, Thorin left for his bedroom.

Bilbo caught him just as Thorin reached his door. “You alright?” he asked, looking concerned. Thorin nodded without meeting his eye, to which Bilbo immediately shook his head. “I shouldn’t’ve indulged them.”

“I’m fine.”

“Clearly.” Thorin made to turn into the bedroom but Bilbo held out a hand and said, “Look, I know you need time to work through things, but I wish you’d stop blaming yourself. It’s getting very tiresome.”

But Thorin was resolute. “I will not allow myself to forget what I have done. To do so would be an insult to those I have harmed.”

“I'm asking you to forgive yourself. I forgive you, everyone does,” said Bilbo, desperately.

“You shouldn’t-”

“Don't tell me what I can and can't do, Thorin."

“You might forgive me, but my kingdom... my people-”

“Your people are grateful to have a place they can call home. They know what you did for them, everything you went through, they understand.”

“What good is a home if it’s not safe? If your King is volatile and blind? Bilbo, I led dwarves into war over a fraction of treasure. I sat and watched as they were slain for that cause. And you - I tried to…tried…”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Tried to kill me over a shiny rock whilst under the influence of dragon sickness, yes.” Bilbo put a great emphasis on the latter part of the sentence.

"Even when the worst of the sickness had passed, I made terrible judgments from a place of greed. What’s to say I won’t make the same mistakes again?”

"You have no faith in yourself and that's far worse than making mistakes," Bilbo said sharply. He wasn't angry, but he gave Thorin a stern look. "You've got to move past this, Thorin." Then he softened a little. "When am I allowed to love you again, hm?”

Bilbo didn't wait for an answer. He turned and walked briskly down the hall and into his own bedroom without looking back, leaving Thorin sickened with himself.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Thorin tried his best to put last night’s conversation out of his mind, but recollections of it swam treacherously across the forefront. Thankfully, Bilbo was acting normal and there was no iciness between them. As he watched Bilbo and Frodo’s excitement for the upcoming celebrations, he felt as much of a stranger as he had done when he first arrived in Hobbiton. He began to wonder whether it would be a better idea to go back to Erebor rather than stay here. Hadn’t he imposed on the little Baggins family long enough? And then there was the issue of his strained relationship with Bilbo, knowing it was unfair to keep him hanging. Of course, he wouldn’t go straight back to being King. It might be good for him to work for a living as he had done before. He imagined grimly how shameful it would feel to show his face in the Lonely Mountain again.

By the time the late afternoon rolled around, he had managed to shake off most of these thoughts for the time being. Frodo came into Thorin’s bedroom holding his now complete and much longer hand-sewn string of bunting.

“What do you think?” He said, holding it out with the span of his arms (which wasn’t a lot).

“Very good,” said Thorin, “I can see a few of your uncle’s pillowcases on there.”

“I picked the ugliest ones on purpose.” Then Frodo checked the doorway over his shoulder, and scooted closer to Thorin, lowering his voice. “Are you ready for tonight?”

With a slight knotting sensation in his stomach, he remembered what he was about to be doing; supervising children as they potentially endanger their lives. He nodded, and Frodo nodded back very seriously. “Good, Merry says we should all meet at the edge of the forest once the sun sets.”

“Right...”

Frodo gave him the thumbs up and scuttled out of the room, leaving Thorin alone to reflect on his decisions once again.

*

At seven o’ clock, Bilbo led Thorin and Frodo down the sloping hill from Bag End. As they got closer to the bottom, the path became busy with other hobbits heading in the same direction as them, all conversing animatedly and looking merry. Bunting was strewn from nearly every surrounding tree and fence in the town square. The Green Dragon was full, with hobbits milling around outside clutching tumblers of ale, already slightly pink in the face. The town square that usually housed the daily market was packed with even more stalls than usual. There were people selling candles, lanterns, flower wreaths, cold fruit juice, and a lot of food. Among these, Thorin spotted Mrs Mulberry, with a considerable amount of her baked goods already bought up. Thorin nudged Bilbo and walked over to them.

“Hello, sirs!” she said brightly, and then her tone flipped, as though she had just remembered something, and she became stern as she addressed Thorin. “That was cheeky, what you did with the silver pieces. I told you I wasn’t wanting any!”

“Many apologies,” said Thorin, smiling, “If I remember rightly, you asked that I let you know what we thought of the apple crumble.”
“And what did you think?”

“We thought it was superb,” said Bilbo, “it lasted about two minutes on the plate.”

Mrs Mulberry blushed and her stern tone melted. “Ah, I’m glad. I know you love a good apple crumble, Mr Bilbo.”

“I love your apple crumble,” Bilbo corrected her.

They bought three more things from her, two flapjacks and another jam tart for Frodo, then slowly wandered past the rest of the stalls. The end of the cobbles opened up onto a field with a large marquee and lots of outdoor seating, though not many people were using it. A band were performing on a small hill, playing a very upbeat song that almost everyone in the vicinity seemed to know. They were all flocking to the musicians and dancing as one huge mass. Inside the marquee, more food and drink were being served, which people took back to their friends and families standing chatting in big groups. Every single tree was bedecked in ribbons, long ropes of fabric, or bunting. One tree with branches low to the ground was almost completely hidden by its decorations, and more was being added to it by tiny hobbits surrounding it.

“There’s my class,” said Frodo, opening his satchel and pulling out his string of bunting. “I’m going to hang this up.” He dashed off, the end of the bunting trailing behind him.

Frodo didn’t return, but the sun still hadn’t set, meaning Thorin didn’t have to worry about him going off into the forest alone. The only thing Thorin had to worry about currently was Bilbo, who was pulling on his arm trying to drag him up out of his seat. “Just one dance! You’ll like it.”

“It isn't my thing.”

“How do you know? You haven't even tried.”

Bilbo was so relentless that eventually Thorin gave up and reluctantly made his way over to the music with Bilbo. The dancers were now holding hands large circles. Thorin and Bilbo joined a group and took each other’s hand as well as a stranger’s beside them. The circle began to rotate, slow and relaxed at first, but as the music sped up, the dance quickly became very lively. Thorin had no idea what he was doing and kept hopping and jumping on the wrong beat, which earned him a lot of laughs from Bilbo.

The dance went on for far too long, but by the end of it Thorin felt a bit more relaxed and cheerful. The sun was grazing the horizon now. “Fancy a drink at the Dragon?” said Bilbo after he’d caught his breath.

They left the field and went back through the square to where the Inn was situated. It was a bit less crowded now, though still quite busy. People kept greeting Bilbo as they waited in line at the bar, much more than during a normal day. Thorin supposed that the alcohol was making everyone forget to worry about being seen associating with the strange hobbit who went on a dangerous adventure and ended up being thirteen months late for dinner.

Half way to the front of the bar, someone clapped a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and invited both of them to go and sit at their table where they already had drinks. They obliged since the queue was so slow-moving, and followed him outside to a picnic bench just outside the Inn seating three other hobbits. Thorin stayed mostly quiet as it seemed that the main reason that the man had invited them to sit there was so that they could catch up with Bilbo, having not had the chance since his return from the quest.

The sun sank lower, Thorin keeping an eye on it. After a few more minutes, Thorin excused himself from the table under the guise of feeling lightheaded and wanting to stretch his legs for a bit. He strode though the cobbled square, down the road that led to the field, and across it to the other side where the edge of the forest loomed.
The sky was now a dusky purple that dissolved upwards into a deep blue, which made it harder to see long distances. He could just about make out a cluster of little dark figures, which he knew must be the five little hobbits. A few of them waved at him as he approached.

“Right,” said Merry importantly once Thorin had joined the group, “Is everyone ready for the hunt?”

Everyone nodded silently. The mood was very serious.

“Does everyone have their weapons?” Merry asked. The four other hobbits held up their sticks. Thorin wondered if bringing Orcrist would’ve been a smart move. Surely he wouldn’t need it... “Good. Let’s go.”

Merry turned and led the way into the trees. They all crept along in single file, with Thorin at the back keeping a close watch on all of them. All too soon, the darkness closed in on them, as the treetops thickened and blocked out any light that the summer night sky gave them still. Thorin had to squint to see Sam barely a stride ahead of him. Suddenly, Sam gave a grunt, knocking into Frodo who had stopped in front of him.

“Shh!” someone hissed from the front of the line. They were all deadly silent. Even Thorin held his breath. And then they heard it.

Music – snatches of breathy and soul-stirring song - floated to their ears. Thorin cupped his ear to hear it better, but quickly found that he didn’t need to, as it grew louder and clearer. He couldn’t see the expressions on the hobbits’ faces, but their quick, shallow breathing told him that they were becoming excited or scared or both. The melodies interwove with one another to create eerily beautiful harmonies that made Thorin shiver.

Something glowed in the distance, pale and ghostly among the shadows.

“Is that one of them?” whispered Frodo.

“I think so,” replied Merry, “Yes, must be. Get down Thorin! It might not come if it sees you.”

Thorin did as he was told and crouched low on the ground, hiding himself behind a bush. The light shone through the leaves and branches, becoming brighter. He poked his head out to make sure he could still see the silhouettes of the five hobbits, but what he saw made his eyes widen with a jolt of panic.

About ten blurry shapes of white light were closing in on them. The ones at the forefront were now distinguishable as hooded figures with their heads bowed. Thorin didn’t know if they'd actually been spotted by them – the hobbits were all very small and well hidden by the tall foliage – he didn’t even know whether or not they had eyes to see with. However, they were gliding unmistakeably in their direction. An uneasiness rippled through Thorin.

“Come away from them,” Thorin whispered, still crouched low. They were taller than him, and he began to doubt that he was sufficient protection for the hobbits. After all, he had no idea what they were or what they were capable of, and the iridescent shimmer of their cloaked beings made him wonder if they had magic.

The hobbits obeyed and stumbled backwards through the long grass making more noise than Thorin would’ve liked. He felt hands clutching his trouser legs and looked down. Frodo and Sam's wide eyes reflected the light and their frightened faces were lit up by the moon-like glow from the creatures. The creature closest to them, still singing its haunting song, raised its shrouded head ever so slightly - not high enough to be able to see its face (if it had one), but enough to send alarm shooting through Thorin. His instincts were screaming that he had made a huge mistake in letting the children come here.

“Go! Get out of here,” he hissed urgently, “I’m behind you.”

The hobbits scurried off back the way they came. Thorin backed away very slowly, hoping that the figure wouldn’t suddenly speed up and chase them. It didn’t speed up, but something worse happened. A hand emerged from the folds of its cloak and stretched out in Thorin’s direction. It stopped singing and began to chant something in a tongue Thorin did not know, still creeping closer. Thorin spun around and bolted without a backwards glance. He had to find the hobbits. Hopefully they would be well out of the way of those creatures by now. The music was distant now, and barely audible over the thrashing of his bare feet through the grass. Low hanging branches attacked his face and he stubbed his toes on tree roots but he didn’t slow down.

Though he ran and ran, he still had not caught up with the hobbits. And to make matters worse, the music was getting louder again. Had he taken a wrong turn in the dark and ended up back where he started? Had his notoriously bad sense of direction failed him again at the worst time possible? He called out their names desperately. Maybe they had already made it out of the woods. But then he heard something that made his heart stop.

Shrill screams rang through the trees nearby. Thorin charged in the direction of them and burst through a bush into a clearing. There was a white hooded figure, no longer singing, arms outstretched, and chanting in that unknown tongue. Four hobbits stood a little way back from it, but one was close – too close – to the creature, seemingly frozen to the spot with terror. It was Pippin.

Thorin watched, horror-struck, as the thing slowly glided towards Pippin. What would happen if it touched him! Without warning, the creature seemed to drop its slow, fluid movements and suddenly seized Pippin by the shoulders. He yelped and tried to wriggle free, but it was no use. Thorin thundered towards the creature, leapt, and tackled it around the middle. It let go of Pippin and it fell with Thorin to the ground.

“All of you, run, now!” said Thorin, wrestling the thing on the forest floor. He rammed his knee into its chest to pin it down and pressed his forearm up to its throat for good measure. Four hobbits ran but Frodo didn’t move. “Frodo, go!”

Thorin turned back to the creature, which was trying, and failing, to prise Thorin’s arm away. Just when Thorin was beginning to marvel at the lack of strength from this villain, it spoke.

“Ow! Stop, stop, I can't breathe!”

Thorin stared at the slender, cloaked body struggling beneath him. He didn’t get up, but freed one hand to yank up the hood. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t this.

It was an adolescent boy, with long red hair and a few pimples dotted over his shining pale face. Then Thorin noticed his ears. They were pointed and prominent, sticking right through his hair.

“You’re… an Elf?”

“Yes I’m an Elf,” he said breathlessly, “Now can you get off me, you’re... so... heavy!”

“But how… the cloaks…”

“Magic, really... basic... elven... magic,” he managed between wheezes, “Now please, off!”

Thorin stood up, still gazing in disbelief at the Elf. His cloak didn’t shine like moonlight anymore. In fact, it looked like nothing more than an old bedsheet. When his shock subsided, anger bubbled up to take its place.

“Is this your idea of a joke? Scaring children?”

“Well… yes, actually” said the Elf, propping himself up, “It’s just a bit of harmless fun.”

“Do I look amused?” Thorin glowered, causing the Elf to cower slightly and shuffle back from him. “What about that curse you were chanting? That didn’t seem like harmless fun.”

“Curse? Oh no, that wasn’t a curse. We just do that to spook the little ones.”

Thorin was appalled. “What do you get out of this?”

“I-It’s more of a tradition now, really,” the Elf stammered, “We’ve been doing it each year for decades, maybe a century or two now.”

“And that makes it acceptable?”

“Erm…I…”

But he was saved from having to answer by the sudden appearance of three more Elves, all with their hoods down and their cloaks resembling bedsheets like the boy on the ground.

“Eithon!” A girl with waist length blonde hair rushed into the clearing, doing a double take when she saw Thorin. “What did you let yourself get caught for?”

“He practically mauled me,” Eithon replied, picking a leaf out of his hair and struggling to his feet. They were all still taller than Thorin without their hoods and whatever magic they used to make them hover like that, but only by a few inches. A boy and a girl followed the first and stopped either side of her.

The second girl shook her head. “That’ll be the end of our game for good.”

“Yeah, nice one, Eithon,” said the boy, sulkily.

“I should think so, too!” The four elves jumped at Thorin's shout, looking nervous. “You should be ashamed of yourselves.” Even though they were being told off by a stranger, Thorin’s commanding tone had the teenage Elves in a stiff silence and shuffling their feet uncomfortably. Then, Eithon spoke.

“We- we are. We’re sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t,” said Thorin firmly. “But it’s not me you need to apologise to.”

Just then, there was a rustle in the bushes next to Frodo, who had still not left when Thorin told him to, followed by the appearance of Sam. “There you are,” Sam gasped. “I was worried. Come on, the others are waiting at the edge of the-” he stopped abruptly upon noticing the four elves and Thorin above him.

“Hello Sam,” said Thorin, “Did you say that the others are waiting at the edge of the forest?”

“Um… yes…”

“Perfect. You four,” Thorin barked at the Elves, “lead the way out.”

As they trudged back through the forest, Frodo was babbling away in a whisper at Thorin’s heel, explaining everything he had just witnessed to Sam. Thorin caught resentful mutters from the Elves up ahead, but when they looked behind them to check if he had heard and saw his stern glare, they stopped immediately.

When they got close to the edge of the forest, Thorin heard a squeaky voice.

“That thing was going to eat me, I know it! It wanted to hyptonize me and lead me back to its den and eat me!”

They came out into the night and saw Pippin, Merry, and Rosie sitting huddled together a little way away. They reflexively sprang to their feet at the sight of the white cloaks, but their heads tilted in confusion when they realised that the magic that made them gleam eerily was gone and that their hoods were off.

Frodo and Sam ran ahead of the Elves who approached the others awkwardly. Now the five hobbits, tiny in comparison, craned their necks up at the gangly Elves.
“Um,” Eithon began, “Sorry for scaring you.”

“Sorry for scaring you,” repeated the blonde girl.

“Sorry,” said the other girl.

“Yeah, sorry,” said the other boy.

They glanced behind them at Thorin for approval. His brow relaxed and he nodded.

“Um… Bye then,” said Ethion.

“Bye,” the other Elves echoed sequentially. They all flitted away, past Thorin and back to the trees.

Merry, Pippin and Rosie all had the same look of blank confusion on their face.

“Were they… those things,” asked Merry after a moment. Thorin nodded. “But they were just big kids!”

“Mean big kids,” said Frodo.

“Were they Elves?” said Rosie. Thorin nodded again. “Are all Elves that nasty?”

“Oh yes,” said Thorin without missing a beat. “Come on. Let’s get back to the celebrations.”

*

When they got back, Thorin suggested to the hobbits that they tell as many of their friends as possible about the true identity of the legendary creatures. They all went off apart from Frodo, who stayed with him.

“So, it’s a good thing you came after all,” said Frodo. “You’ll have stopped those elves from trying to scare us for good.”

“I suppose..."

“It was amazing when you saved Pippin.”

“I didn’t save him from anything,” said Thorin, feeling his cheeks tingle a little. “He was never in any real danger.”

“But we didn’t know that. If they were really dangerous, you would’ve saved him anyway because you’re a hero,” Frodo reasoned. The tingling spread to the rest of Thorin's face, and he was suddenly very grateful for the dark. Then Frodo added wistfully, “It would be good if you were always around to protect us, though. And to get me from school.”

The earnest look on Frodo's voice banished the th “Would you like it if I stayed here?”

“Obviously! But I know Erebor needs to get its king back.”

“My kingdom can wait a little longer. You’ve reminded me, I have important duties here too.”

“Really?” said Frodo, his eyes brightening, “Like what?”



“Taking a certain someone to school. Picking him up from school. Making sure him and his friends don’t get into any trouble. Stopping his uncle from murdering every plant in the garden. All very important, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes!” Frodo beamed. “Very important.”

Thorin smiled back. “Speaking of Bilbo, we'd better find him.” Frodo nodded, put his hand in Thorin’s, and they both set off to look for him.

They found Bilbo sitting at a table outside the Green Dragon. He had a strained sort of smile on his face and was laughing politely at what a very red-faced man was saying to him. Thorin waved to get his attention. The moment Bilbo spotted them he jumped up and excused himself from the table, hurrying away slightly faster than what was considered polite.

“Thank heavens,” Bilbo muttered, “If I had to hear one more word about that man’s pigs… Where have you been, anyway?”

“On an adventure,” said Frodo, brightly.

“Really?” said Bilbo, “Well you’ll have to tell me all about it when- Oh!”

A bell rang out which captured the attention of every hobbit in the vicinity. They moved as one out of the town square, chatting excitedly.

“That’s to signal the sunrise. Come on, we’ll want a good spot.”

They followed the crowd for a while before they began to split off in different directions. They followed a larger group to the foot of a tall hill and began to climb. At the top, they had a view that overlooked the land right to the horizon. On smaller hills down below, Thorin saw dozens more hobbits staring east and waiting. Frodo squeezed through the crowd to find a spot for himself at the front of the hill.

“Over here.” Bilbo led them to the back of the hilltop, which was slightly raised and sheltered by a large sycamore tree. Thorin and Bilbo sat down with their backs against the wide trunk.

“So, this adventure,” said Bilbo.

“I wouldn’t want to spoil Frodo’s telling of it.”

“Kind of you.” Bilbo looked out across the sky, which was starting to become tinged with pink. “I think he's taken a real liking to you.”

“So I’ve realised. He told me he would like it if I stayed.”

“Stayed?” said Bilbo, tilting his head, “Were you planning on going somewhere?”

"I was thinking about it. About going back.”

“Oh,” said Bilbo, looking deflated. “Well if you’re ready, I won’t stop you.”

“I am far from ready,” said Thorin. The very first bead of burning orange peeked over the horizon. “No, I’m not going back yet.”

Everything around them was quiet. Bilbo and Thorin stared into the sun until it was strong enough to hurt their eyes. It cast a rosy beam over everything it faced, and Thorin felt warmth – not just on his skin, but coursing through his chest. He wasn’t ready to go back, and that was alright. And far from the guilt he usually felt when thoughts like this crossed his mind, he felt a quiet optimism awaken in the pit of his belly. Along with that, he felt an immense gratitude - for each comfortable day here. For being looked after and loved. With these thoughts in mind and the sun blazing on him, he felt a surge of courage and clarity and placed his hand on Bilbo’s. He waited until it relaxed from the initial shock before shifting to interlock their fingers.

“There is no excuse for my… erm… how I’ve neglected you these past months.”

“I’m sure there are some perfectly good ones,” said Bilbo, smiling weakly.

“I can only do what I’ve always done and ask for your forgiveness. And another chance, to start again – if that’s alright with you.”

“It’s more than alright. And you've had my forgiveness this whole time, I’ve just had to wait for you to accept it. And you took your sweet time with that.”

“For that I cannot tell you how sorry I-“

“Thorin. Shut up.”

“Right.” He almost added ‘sorry’ but stopped himself quickly. He stopped feeling sorry too because Bilbo was looking up at him with a restrained fierceness in his eyes. The rosy glow lit up the features on the right side of his face and put fiery flecks all through his messy hair. Thorin brought his free hand up to cup Bilbo’s face. He had kept him waiting – kept himself waiting – for far too long. Without further hesitation, he kissed him. Any tentative uncertainty was almost instantly vanquished by Bilbo’s enthusiasm. Thorin briefly pulled away to breathe, “I missed you,” but Bilbo apparently didn’t have time for that, immediately throwing himself back at Thorin with such energy that he fell backwards.

It was impossible to know whether anyone saw them, but it would only have stripped Bilbo of his last dregs of a good reputation, which mattered to neither of them.

*

Autumn in the Shire was no less colourful and beautiful than the summer had been. Though the flowers had mostly gone over, the golds, reds, and browns of the leaves were a sight to behold. Thorin was inside Bag End with the usual company of Bilbo, Frodo, and Sam. The sitting room windows darkened earlier in the day and the evenings were cool enough to have the fireplace roaring. The overall effect was very cosy.

Apart from the season, not much had changed in the last three months. There had been a slight change in the story-time seating arrangements. Instead of hovering by Bilbo’s armchair or sitting on the floor, he and Bilbo shared the sofa. Thorin also now wore a blue cardigan knitted for him by Bilbo. Since Bilbo’s armchair was now free, that became the seat of choice for both Sam and Frodo, who fit quite snugly on it together. Bilbo’s stories were still as outlandish as ever, and impressed Frodo and Sam just as much as they had always done. There was one more difference, and that was that Thorin’s arm rested around Bilbo’s shoulders.

These quiet moments in the evenings could’ve persuaded Thorin to stay forever, but his inevitable return to Erebor wasn’t on his mind right now. It rarely was these days, he knew that when he was ready, he would go, and take this new sureness of himself with him. But that was a long, long way away.