Bilbo walked slowly through the forest, head down, grumbling under his breath about obstinate, pig-headed dwarves, half-heartedly looking for kindling and firewood. Bofur was nearby doing the same.
Minus the grumbling, of course.
Thorin had been prevailed upon to stop for a day, to rest the ponies and themselves, for they had found a fine spot to camp, with a creek with fresh water and good shelter.
But it was only a rest from traveling, not a proper rest, for Thorin had spent a good amount of time barking orders at everyone - to gather wood, sharpen weapons, gather food, tend the ponies, check their supplies - and for their burglar to actually do something useful.
Stung and embarrassed, Bilbo had helped Balin with taking an inventory of their supplies, his resentment of Thorin smoldering all the while, but by the time he had finished and had been ready to give Thorin a piece of his mind about being 'useful', he had discovered the dwarf was nowhere to be found.
*Typical,* Bilbo had fumed. He had made everyone else jump, but the esteemed leader of their company was not actually doing any work himself.
The hobbit had gone off with Bofur after that.
So by now, Bilbo had reached the edge of a small clearing. Looking up after picking up another dead branch, he spied the object of his ire sitting in the grass at the other edge of the clearing.
He stopped, wondering what Thorin was doing, for his back was turned to the hobbit as he sat in front of a fallen tree trunk, his hands in his long dark hair.
Bilbo walked quietly along until he had a different angle on the scene, but then he stopped again, mouth hanging open as he realized Thorin was grooming himself.
At first Bilbo was livid. Here they all were, working like slaves, while their leader was *combing his hair*!?
He was about to march over there and tell the self-righteous clod exactly where he could shove his firewood and his orders, but then Bilbo noticed Thorin's dark expression and the grim set of his jaw, and he paused, observing Thorin more closely.
There was a polished square of metal propped up on the log at eye-level, and Thorin seemed to be using it as a mirror.
His fingers carded slowly through his dark mane of hair, apparently working through all the knots and tangles, and after a time Bilbo noticed he also had a small comb in his hand, using that as well to smooth his thick tresses back into place.
Thorin paused, heaving a heavy sigh that was noticeable even at this distance, then turned his attention to his beard, running his fingers and comb through that too. The bottom of his beard was beginning to look a little ragged, the hair on his chin having grown longer during the days and weeks of their travels.
Bilbo watched in fascination - and no small degree of shock - as Thorin had the comb in one hand, pulling the hair forward to separate the ragged ends, and then in the other hand was a pair of small scissors that Thorin then used to snip the hair, trimming his beard *shorter*.
When he was done, Thorin reached down, then raised his hand to eye level, rubbing something between his fingers - the hair clippings no doubt - letting them fall back slowly to the ground. Then the dwarf heaved another heavy sigh that was almost like a shudder.
It all had a distinctly ritualized feel to it, movements precise and stylized, as though Thorin had done this a hundred times before, and Bilbo took a few steps forward. He was about to blurt out a question for the dwarf to explain himself when a hand suddenly came down on his shoulder and jerked him back.
It was to Bilbo's credit - and perhaps Thorin's credit as well, for he had been reprimanding the hobbit for weeks now about making too much damnable noise - that he did not cry out in surprise or even drop the bundle of firewood in his arms as Bofur dragged him away from the clearing.
"Best not to let on that you saw that," Bofur finally said when they were well away from sight and hearing of Thorin.
"And precisely what was it that I just saw? I swear, the more time I spend with you dwarves, the less I understand you. All of you, with your beards and braids and hair - you're positively *obsessed* with hair, do you know that? From everything I've heard, the length of your beards is the measure of a man and his status, and the older the dwarf, the longer the beard, like Balin. You tease Kili because he hasn't gotten much of one yet, because he's still not much older than a dwarfling.
"But Thorin, he's almost 200 years old and of a royal line; I would have thought his beard would be as long as Balin's. Why on earth would he *cut* it like that?"
Bofur looked very uncomfortable. "We shouldn't be talking about this. It's something we all know, about Thorin, but it's not to be discussed with outsiders."
"Bother and confusticate you dwarves and your idiotic secrecy!" he hissed, keeping his voice low. "You really do need to make up your minds about whether I'm part of your company or not. You expect me to do things and know things like you do, yet no one ever tells me anything, except for yelling at me for doing something *wrong*!"
Bofur sighed. "Aye, you're right. And you did just see it, so I suppose there's no harm explaining... In the past, before the fall of Erebor, Thorin did have a longer beard, even though he was younger than Kili is now, it had already come in thick and long enough to braid. Or at least that's how I've heard tell; I wasn't around to see it. But after Smaug came, Thorin, he... because of the grief and loss of our people, he took a dagger to the braid on his own beard and cut it off, in mourning, and he vowed not to grow it back until we had reclaimed Erebor.
"And he's kept his vow ever since. Now that we're on the road, he goes off alone every now and then and trims it back to the way it's always been. *That* is what you just saw, Master Baggins."
"But," Bilbo said, "the dragon came to Erebor a very long time ago." His eyes widened. "170 years ago..."
"Aye, more or less." Bofur looked sadly towards the clearing. "As I said, best not to let him know you saw him, or that I ever told you that story."
"I - I won't, I promise."
Bofur wandered off again after that, leaving Bilbo standing there, dumbfounded, the anger and resentment draining out of him completely as he stared in the direction of the clearing.
Eventually Bilbo roused himself, continuing with his task of gathering firewood, heading back towards camp.
As he walked, the enormity of what Bofur had told him began to sink in.
170 years. For his entire adult life, Thorin Oakenshield, proud dwarf prince and heir of Durin, had been *cutting* his own beard.
170 years of looking at the faces of his kinsmen and their own long beards and being reminded of the lack of his own.
170 years of taking a blade to his beard, with every snip of the scissors a painful reminder of his tragic past.
Of his slain kinsmen. Of his lost home of Erebor. Of his lost father, Thráin. Of his beheaded grandfather and King, Thrór. Of his lost birthright.
He knew in his gut that Thorin would see his shorn beard as a daily reminder of his own *failure*.
170 long years of hardship and struggle, and yet, amazingly, here Thorin was today, on a journey back to Erebor, full of grim determination and *hope* that he would at long last fulfill the vow he had made so long ago.
In that moment, so many things became crystal clear for Bilbo Baggins, and he swallowed past the lump in his throat, tears stinging his eyes.
He began to understand the bitter, angry dwarf that Thorin Oakenshield had become.
He finally understood why the twelve dwarves followed their haughty, ill-tempered liege lord with such unswerving loyalty.
He finally understood what Balin meant when he said *There is one I could follow; there is one who I could call King.*
.
As Bilbo sat between Bofur and Bifur later that evening around the fire, he looked over at Thorin.
The freshly-shorn prince was sitting separately from the others, staring into the fire, brooding and silent, while the others were chatting and laughing after the evening meal.
For an instant, Bilbo had the mad desire to go over and hug the big oaf, but then sanity prevailed.
Instead, he made a quiet promise of his own, to one day show the heir of Durin that hobbits were not useless.
THE END
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This ficlet came out of my musings about movie!Thorin and his noticeable lack of a long beard compared to book!Thorin (except for the prologue where movie!Thorin is shown in Erebor with a several-inch-long braided beard).
This is movie-verse, but I've use Tolkien's timeline of events directly from the books.