A good few inches of snow had settled on the floor of the house, most of it having fallen through the gaping hole that took up about a third of the roof. Bilbo stood silently for a moment, taking it all in—the shafts of white light spearing the empty air, the small lumps of rubble beneath the fallen snow, the gleaming icicles dangling just out of reach.
The snows had come quickly after the battle. Not two weeks had passed before the slopes of the mountain, the roofs of Dale, and the banks of the Long Lake were covered in thick white drifts.
With it had come a deep, restful sort of silence. Everyone was still recovering from the events of the past few weeks, trying to rebuild their lives and their homes. The winter storm that had passed through a couple of days ago had been a sign for everyone to stay warm and keep their loved ones close.
The silence was broken, however, by the distinct sound of heavy dwarven boots crunching over the snow. Bilbo turned to find Thorin approaching from one end of the street where he'd been standing.
"Are you ready to leave?"
"I am, yes." Bilbo started towards him. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wander off."
"It's all right," Thorin said, one hand briefly touching his back as he passed. The small touch was enough to send tingles of warmth all the way down to his fingertips. "It wasn't very difficult to find you, anyhow." He nodded towards the recognizable foot-shaped prints Bilbo had left in the snow.
"Ah, well, that's good." He smiled slightly as they began walking towards the front gate of Dale. "You've finished up with Bard, then?"
Thorin nodded. "We'll be sending another shipment of stone, along with some gold, to help with the reconstruction. Bard has also agreed to send some of his people to the mountain until the city is better prepared to handle the winter."
Bilbo glanced towards Erebor, its peak nothing more than a silvery outline against the pale sky. "Living within a mountain must be quite convenient when it comes to the weather," he said. "You needn't worry about rain or snow, or whether it's too hot or cold."
"It can get quite cool in some parts of the mountain. But it's definitely preferable to living out here." Thorin gestured to the gate as they walked through. "Once we get the rest of the braziers lit and the forges working, Erebor will be much warmer."
Bilbo couldn't help the smile that lifted his lips at Thorin's tone. There was an unmistakable undercurrent of excitement in his voice whenever he spoke of Erebor's future. He had, after all, waited decades to finally reclaim and rebuild the kingdom, and it warmed his heart to know that Thorin had finally gotten what he had always wanted.
"I look forward to seeing it." The temperature dropped a bit as they left the shelter of the city, and he rubbed his hands together, shoulders hunching slightly.
"Are you cold?" Thorin asked.
"I am, a little," Bilbo said, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. "But there's nothing like a brisk walk to warm yourself up."
"Indeed."
No, he didn't mind the weather at all if it meant he could spend a little time with Thorin. In fact, Bilbo couldn't help but wish that Dale and Erebor were just a bit farther apart. Thorin had become incredibly busy since the battle had ended, what with rebuilding an entire kingdom, and this outing was the longest stretch of time he'd had alone with him in a while. That was partially (or rather, entirely) why he'd volunteered to brave the cold with him to visit Dale, though he had little to offer when it came to agreements between kings.
As if he had heard his thoughts, Thorin said, "Thank you for coming with me today."
"Oh, it was my pleasure." He smiled. "I was glad to see the reconstruction is going well. And I am happy to…" He turned to look at Thorin, and found himself distracted for a moment. The tip of his nose was slightly red from the cold. It made him look less like a dwarf king and more like...well. More like the sort of person who would be happy to have a walk through the snow with a hobbit even though there were quite a few war boars from Dáin's army at their disposal to make the trip shorter.
"What's on your mind?"
"Hm? Oh." His cheeks heated slightly despite the cold. He hadn't even realized he'd trailed off. "Well, I'm happy to be here," he said, and realized he meant it. "I am happy that we've reached the end of this journey, and that you are back home, where you belong."
"I'm glad that you are here as well," Thorin said, his gaze softening as he glanced over at him.
A particularly bitter gust of wind swept over the plain, and Bilbo gave an involuntary shiver.
Thorin glanced at him, a hint of ironic humor on his face. "Are you sure you're not cold?"
Bilbo huffed indignantly at the question, letting out a white cloud of condensation. "All right, I suppose I might be. Just a bit. And you're not?'
He shrugged. "No. Dwarves are just more accustomed to this kind of weather." He glanced down at the hobbit's bare feet. "And it also helps that I am wearing boots."
They'd had a small dispute before leaving Erebor about footwear, or Bilbo's lack thereof. It had taken quite a bit of convincing to assure Thorin that, no, his feet weren't going to freeze off and yes, he did know that for a fact.
Bilbo wasn't sure what possessed him to do what he did next, only that his first impulse was to skim his hand along one of the higher snowdrifts, collecting a handful of snow in his palm, and tossing it in Thorin's direction. The snow hit his chest in a spray of white powder, some of it getting caught in his beard.
"How about now?"
Thorin's eyes widened slightly, and Bilbo felt his playful grin freeze on his face. This didn't count as attacking the king, did it?
The dwarf recovered rather quickly from his surprise, and Bilbo was relieved to see a slight smile lift his lips. Thank goodness, he thought, Now we can just put this silly mishap behind us.
Then he saw Thorin reach down behind him to grasp his own handful of snow.
In the next moment, they both sprang into action—Bilbo leapt for the nearest snowdrift, letting out a gasping laugh as a spray of snow hit the back of his shoulder.
He knelt down, nearly knee-deep in the snow, and gathered another handful. Across the path, Thorin had ducked behind his own snowdrift and was gathering ammunition as well.
It struck him, how utterly ridiculous this was, but then he caught a glimpse of Thorin's face, flushed and grinning, and decided he didn't care very much.
Bilbo raised his head and took aim, then ducked as a powdery white projectile flew past his ear. "You must know you can't possibly win this," he called, packing his snowball into a more compact shape. "I'm faster than you."
"And I am a trained warrior," Thorin replied. "Don't let your arrogance get the best of you, Master Baggins. That's the first rule of—" He broke off as Bilbo's snowball just barely missed his head.
"Yes, perhaps you should focus more on your aim and less on teaching me how to win!"
Another bout of giggles rose in his chest as he considered just how absurd this all was. If anyone had told him a year ago that he would be kneeling in front of a mountain, having a snow battle with a dwarf king, he would not have believed them, not in the slightest. But here he was—and rather enjoying himself, too.
Soon the battlefield between them was pockmarked with missed projectiles, and the both of them were covered in white specks from the ones that had found their mark. Just as Bilbo was beginning to wonder how one was actually supposed to win this sort of fight, he mistimed his dodge and earned a faceful of snow for his efforts.
The force of it was enough to throw him backwards from his crouch and onto his behind. He sputtered, blinking icy flecks from his eyelashes, and reached up to wipe the cold wetness away from his cheeks and mouth.
"Bilbo!" Thorin was across the path in an instant, bending down to help him to his feet. Two steady hands grasped his upper arms and pulled him up with little effort.
He cleared his throat, finding this amount of concern rather unnecessary, but couldn't find it in him to protest as Thorin reached up to gently brush away a few remaining specks of ice.
"Are you all right? I didn't think I would—"
"Please," he said, finally finding his voice. The sudden blush on his cheeks was enough to thaw any chill caused by the snow. "If you think I'm going to give up after a little hit to the face, then you have another thing coming!"
He stepped back, meaning to continue the fight, but the snow beneath his foot gave way unexpectedly and threw him off balance. Instinctively, he grabbed onto Thorin's coat, hoping to keep himself upright. But apparently the dwarf had lost his footing as well and followed him downward into the snowdrift.
He sank quite a few inches into the snow, enough that some of it covered his ears and fell onto his coat from the sides. But those details suddenly became rather distant, as his attention focused on what was directly above him.
Thorin's face was inches from his own, his dark hair curtaining the space between them and letting in only a few sparse beams of winter light. He'd managed to catch himself on his forearms before he could fall onto Bilbo with his entire weight, but he could still feel the heat coming from his body.
For a moment all Bilbo could do was stare, chest heaving as if he'd just run a mile. It would only take the slightest movement to reach out, to touch a dark lock of hair and find out just how soft it was—or perhaps to run his fingertips along that sharp ridge of a nose, across those tantalizing lips…
A slight tug on his fingers brought him back to the present, and he realized they were still clutching the fabric of Thorin's coat. The dwarf had moved back slightly, allowing a rush of cold air to surge between their bodies.
"Shall we call a truce?" he asked as he sat back on his heels. The redness of his nose had spread to the rest of his face as well.
Bilbo pushed himself, trying not to mourn the loss of heat too deeply. "Well, if you're that afraid of losing…"
Thorin laughed and stood up, reaching down to help Bilbo do the same. "I think we both know who was actually winning that one."
They stepped back onto the path, and Bilbo turned back to glance at the indent their bodies had left in the snow. A small smile crept onto his lips.
As they began walking back to Erebor, he reached over and took Thorin's hand again. The dwarf accepted it with a grin and squeezed his fingers lightly.
They held onto each other for the rest of the way to the mountain. After all, it really was quite chilly outside, and there was nothing like the warmth of another to keep the cold at bay.
This was a fluffy one-shot I wrote for the Happy Hobbit Holiday challenge on AO3, so I thought I'd post it here as well. I hope you enjoyed! :)