AN: This prompt on the meme has been eating me alive for ages now. When I first saw it I knew I had to write it…and then I watched the movie again and was like, OH SHIT, because truthfully I never noticed this before. So, when Bilbo wakes up in his home after the dwarves have left, there is a smoking pipe sitting across from him. The question remains, who was there? OP says Thorin, and I agree.

Pairing: Thorin/Bilbo (lightly)

Warnings: Fluff

I My Loved Ones' Watch Am Keeping

Thorin had mixed feelings as he walked quietly through the Hobbit's home. It was silent in the hobbit hole, apart from deep snores, the other dwarves having long since stopped their drinking to get some much needed rest. Thorin looked upon his friends and family, resting peacefully. Even the wizard was snoozing deeply in a corner somewhere. But Thorin could not sleep. His mind was far too troubled, his thoughts were filled with the memories of fallen, and the attack upon Erebor. He paused, a hand resting upon a wall as he pictured the dragon Smaug. He recalled everything about that day, and now he revisited the flames, and heard the screams of innocents dying before him. The terror of his people would long hold a place within his memories.

Thorin shook himself to clear his thoughts. There was nothing he could do now to change that day so long ago. However he now looked toward the future. Erebor. What he would do to reclaim his home once more, to seek revenge upon the great dragon and return the riches to his people. He would continue on this journey, regardless of whether the Hobbit joined them. It was regretful they would be often left with only thirteen. An exceedingly unlucky number, but Thorin knew this was his time. He knew this was his destiny. If not him then who? He would not leave the pressure on his nephews, nor would they have the same drive as him to take back their home. Fili and Kili had been born and raised in the Blue Mountains. No matter how many stories they heard of Erebor, it would never be their home, and they would not possess the same determination to reclaim it. His nephews followed him on this journey out of loyalty, and Thorin was grateful to them for it, but he knew they would not understand, or have the same ache he possessed within his heart.

Thorin's feet carried him further into the Hobbit's home, and he studied the items on the walls and shelves. Silly things, trinkets, items that Thorin did not understand the value of littered the dwelling. He figured they must be important to the small creature though, as each article had its own place, and was well kept. Sketches were framed upon the walls, of past relatives and friends, scenery and stories. Thorin paused at a framed picture of a map. It looked like it had been drawn by a child, the lines thick and the colours scribbled in. He clearly saw a red X on the top right, next to a crude drawing of a chest. Thorin's fingers hovered over the dotted lines that led from the Shire to the treasure on the map and a small smile came to his face. His eyes fell to the bottom of the frame, where he noticed large letters had been scrawled. 'Bilbo', it said, in a mix of lower and uppercase, and the second 'b' was written backwards. The dwarf felt an unfamiliar feeling take hold in his chest and he quickly moved away.

His feet travelled to a quaint room in a corner of the home. He looked throughout and froze at the sight of the very creature that consumed his thoughts. Bilbo Baggins lay upon a small ledge, his foot hanging limply over the side. His hands and arms were cuddled up underneath his body, where they cushioned him, and his shoulders rose and fell with the deep breath of sleep. Thorin realised the hobbit had abandoned his own room for his wellbeing, and he felt slightly guilty that he was not making use of the soft bed there. He was tempted to wake the Hobbit, and allow him to at least sleep in the comfort of his own sheets and pillows. Thorin approached to do just that, but he stopped, his hand hovering over the Halfling's small shoulder. There was something about the sight of this creature in rest that made him unwilling to disturb him. His face was soft, and relaxed, so very different from the expressions of worry that had adorned it earlier. The Halfling's honey coloured hair curled in soft waves that framed his face, and his chin was remarkably bare. Thorin observed the upturned nose and soft eyelashes he knew would lift to reveal deep brown eyes. The dwarf had never seen a creature such as this.

Thorin gently allowed his hand to rest upon the Hobbit's shoulder. He did not shake him, but merely stroked his thumb there gently. Dwalin was right; the wild was no place for a gentle being like a hobbit. He felt a slight tremor pass under his fingers, and Thorin turned, lifting his hand to move throughout the room. He picked up a knit quilt from a seat on one side of the room then placed it over the Hobbit's shoulders. Even summer nights in the Shire were quite chilly, especially without the cover of soft blankets.

Thorin could see the night sky through large windows, and he moved to sit in a rocking chair next to one of them. The hobbit's pipe lay cold upon a table nearby and Thorin lifted it in his hands. It was quite decadent, and still filled with fresh pipe-weed. Thorin held it over a candle flame to light it then smoked from it peacefully. The herbs soothed his mind and relaxed his soul and he gently rocked in the chair as his eyes rest upon the Hobbit's form across the way. His eyes softened at the sight of large feet poking from beneath the blanket.

Thorin did not think little of the Halfling. In fact he rather liked his peaceful home, and mild mannered personality. It was Gandalf's suggestion that he join them on their quest that disturbed him. The people of the Shire were a peaceful folk, and Thorin would never wish war upon them. Nor did he wish to expose the Hobbit before him to danger and fear. He knew if Bilbo Baggins followed them on this quest it was unlikely he would survive. Thorin could not possibly promise his protection, not with the dangers he knew existed in their path. He was glad the hobbit had decided not to join them. Though it left them short one member, at least Thorin could rest easy knowing no harm would come to him.

Thorin pulled the pipe from his mouth and he leant his elbows upon his knees, allowing thick smoke to escape from between his lips. He noticed the Halfling becoming restless in sleep and Thorin whispered to him gently from across the room.

"Shhh…hurun, Bashug…shhh," the dwarf spoke gently, and then he began humming low, from deep in his throat. The Halfling settled a bit and Thorin continued, speaking in soft tones. He sung an ancient lullaby in Khuzdul, the words very familiar to him. He'd sung this lullaby to his nephews when they were but babes in their beds. And he remembered his own father humming the tune in his ear so very long ago, as Thorin was sure his father had sung to him. His eyes saddened at the memory of his long lost kin. As Bilbo's shoulders eased and his face relaxed Thorin smiled gently, and still he continued the lullaby well into the early morning, when the first light of the sun peeked in through the large windows.

The dwarf smoked for a few moments more, thinking of what troubles lay before him. His hand hovered over the key that now hung from his neck. Yes, this was his destiny. It was no accident that he had come to meet Gandalf the Grey. Eventually Thorin rose, hearing the other dwarves in the small home rising and getting ready to embark on their journey. The dwarf laid the Hobbit's pipe back in its place and approached his sleeping form one last time. He brought his hands to rest lightly in Bilbo's hair and uttered a blessing to keep him safe. Finally Thorin leant down and placed a soft kiss to his temple before rising and leaving the Hobbit's home, the pipe still lightly smoking on the table.

AN: Hurun, Bashag translates into 'rest, Halfling'. The title is taken from a lullaby called 'All Through the Night'.