Bilbo waited as long as he could, knowing that the night was only going to get worse. Nights when he was on watch were the worst. You just had to be aware; aware of the sounds of every dwarf, and the sounds of the forest, and listening out for ones that should not be there. He scanned the area every so often, but it was dark and there was nothing to see. He liked to pass the time smoking, and rationed his pipe-weed accordingly.
Eventually, his hands fumbling, he pulled his pipe out of his inner pocket and held it over the fire, which was down to only embers now, until the pipe was lit.
He inhaled and then blew out a smoke ring and it grew wings and danced lazily around his head, a butterfly on a summer's afternoon, drifting along gently.
He looked up to see where it had got to, but it drifted away.
The pipe weed tasted slightly off, and Bilbo was worried that it was going stale. He didn't know how long you could store it, and with the damp conditions it was so often exposed to, his small stock probably didn't have a long life left.
The stars were hidden behind the trees, but after a while Bilbo felt this deep content in his belly, in his bones. Life was golden and silver- like when you drink cold clean water when you're thirsty and it heals you somehow and you feel those brittles bones come to life and your eyes open in delight again.
He heard a sigh from nearby, and an idea struck him.
"Thorin?" he asked quietly, but he couldn't keep the smile out of his voice.
Silence. That was okay. Thorin wasn't much of a talker.
Bilbo creeped over on his tip-toes using his incredible burgling skills to pass unseen.
Ori winced, still sleeping, as Bilbo stepped on his fingers. Maybe he wasn't as good as he thought.
"Sorry!" he hissed, and then realised that Ori wasn't even listening, and that he was sleeping right through Bilbo's heartfelt apology.
Dwarves could be so rude at times, it was appalling.
He made his way to where Thorin was sitting with his back up against a tree.
When he was on duty, when the others were watching, Thorin had this incredible posture, like a great oak that never bent, standing defiant against the wind. No, that was too much praise to give Thorin- this was the same dwarf who fell constantly and had an uncanny knack for getting lost. They had all learned quickly not to let Thorin hold anything delicate, not that they had many delicates with them at all - asides from Bilbo himself and he had toughened up.
It always then surprised Bilbo that Thorin slept in a ball, all curled up. He supposed everyone had to relax now and again.
If Bilbo ever needed a good laugh, a real cheering up, he pictured Thorin holding a baby. It was inevitably a baby with a beard - he'd meant to ask Glóin actually did dwarf babies had beards- and the absurdity of the image never failed to cheer him up.
It would end in disaster, Thorin holding a child. He would either drop it, or impose a new rule stating that babies were not allowed cry, simply because it irked him, and then be surprised when the baby defied him. He'd probably chop its head for disobeying orders.
"Thorin! Hello!" He said, whispering, as he lowered himself down slowly beside the dwarf, who was carved from rock and did not move to acknowledge his presence, not even a nod. He was not supposed to be awake, but that was nothing new.
Bilbo waited. At least he tried to, but then got bored and took another puff out of the pipe. The smoke was sweet and rich and filled him like stew.
Thorin spoke at last. "That pipe of yours has an inebriating effect on you."
Bilbo chuckled from his chest, and it was louder than he meant.
"Care to have some?"
"No."
"Alright then."
The smoke ring was nudging Thorin on the nose. He huffed angrily and it blew away, and Bilbo laughed again.
He then got his second bright idea of the night, and said,
"Actually, pipeweed is known for helping people sleep, like good wine."
That caught Thorin's interest.
"I've never heard that before."
"Perhaps it is only hobbit pipe-weed so."
He left the sentence hanging there, like bait, and surely enough, Thorin took it.
"Would you mind-"
"Not at all" and he passed the pipe.
Thorin looked at it disdainfully, and wiped it on his furs. Well that was simply rude. He then gingerly placed the pipe in his mouth, like it was going to bite, and breathed in a tiny amount.
"Now blow out" Bilbo suggested after a moment. It probably wasn't too healthy to keep all that smoke inside of you for that long.
Thorin pursued his lips like he was whistling, and the smoke escaped in a long thin tendril.
He then smiled.
"That was most enjoyable. My thanks."
"Not at all. You're welcome to more, I think it's going bad, might as well use it up."
They spent a while like that, passing the pipe between them.
Thorin's smoke rings developed, from a simple ring to a blob that could have been a mountain. Bilbo made a tendril that was meant to be a dragon, and Thorin responded with another blob.
"What's that one meant to be?"
"That is the Arkenstone."
"That! That was a glorified blob, no more."
Bilbo expected Thorin to glower at that, but instead he made a strangled sort of noise that could have a chuckle.
"Thorin?"
"Mmmm?"
"Would you behead a baby if it didn't follow orders?"
That certainly caught Thorin off-guard. He thought about it.
"That, Bilbo, would depend on whom the baby belonged to. Not even I would be willing to cross Glóin where his child is concerned."
Bilbo smiled. Glóin's incessant boasting about his son was infamous amongst the Company.
Fili had suggested that they turn into a game- drink everytime Gimmy (Gimli, Bilbo corrected, but Kili and Fili insisted on saying Gimmy) was mentioned. The obvious fault in that plan was that they had no alcohol, and if they had, they would all be far too drunk to ever to anything competently.
Bilbo's watch ended a while later, and Dwalin took his place, who decided to pace rather than sit. Bilbo thought he knew why.