Twenty-Six Too Little
G – Gardening.
Summary: Bilbo is very particular about his garden, Thorin finds.
"Thorin Oakenshield, for the last time, you can dig up those roots or you can dig your own grave!"
Thorin exhaled, a smile twitching at the edge of his mouth. It's exhausting work this, he finds – especially when he's working in the company of a hobbit.
Thorin know, as most did, or, at least, those who actually knew something about these quite little creatures in the first place did, that hobbits had a love of things that grew. Trees, leaves, bushes, berries, flowers and the miles worth of crops that they had spread about the countryside… All were undeniably precious to them and most especially they took extra care of these things if they had their own garden to tend to, for they took immense pride in the things that they created from the earth themselves – bright and beautiful for all around to see.
But hobbits were also very… passionate about their gardens. That Thorin had not quite known when he'd been brought out into the garden for a long day's work. He had not known exactly how passionate they were when it came to horticulture and Bilbo… Well, Bilbo is very particular indeed about his garden, Thorin finds.
This he was being quickly reminded of as he crouched, knee-deep in the remains of the winter flowerbeds, overgrown with pesky, deep-rooted weeds, wiping his brow under the heat of the springtime sun and sighing as he took the abuse that the hobbit hurled at him in the background.
"Yes, Master Baggins!" he called back, his voice deliberately sharp and automatic. "Anything you say, Master Baggins!"
"Now don't you take that tone with me!" Bilbo warned, brushing the dirt from his gloves and pointing a finger over at him threateningly. "You said you wanted to help and I will hold you to it!"
"Yes," the dwarf began as he leaned forwards to dig his trowel into the earth; "but when I said that I'd help you do 'a bit of gardening', I didn't think you'd be digging up the entire back of Bag End!" He looked back at the hobbit and waved his arm in a vague gesture that seemed to encompass the whole of The Hill which was now reduced to not much more than a messy obstacle course of half-dug holes and piles of dirt and abandoned equipment strewn about the grass.
"Oh please, Thorin," Bilbo rolled his eyes; "it's not as if I'm decimating the entire garden." (Thorin gave him a look of disbelief which he ignored) "I've gotta clean this place up as it is, I mean, look at this!" He padded over to the wheelbarrow full of dead, useless plants that had lost against the winter chill and he held them up as evidence. "Can't have all this lying around, so, out with the old, as they say!" he exclaimed, returning to the job at hand which was, of course, neatly planting and burying the new summer plants amongst the laurels and the bushes beneath the window which would flourish and bloom into a million colours when the weather warmed a little more. He grinned to himself as he patted them into place, packing them into the dirt, and Thorin couldn't help but smile at his hobbit – so proud and loving of something so simple. Bilbo prized his garden above many other things and he supposed that this was no big task for someone who loved his work so much.
At this thought, he picked up his trowel again and got digging, even forgetting his original disdain for having to do the tougher side of the work – deep digging and wrestling with stubborn weeds too far embedded into the dirt for Bilbo to manage. He hoped it would all be worth it. He hoped that spending all the best hours of his morning and (probably) most of his afternoon completely reorganising and clearing up Bag End would be worth the while when he visited next in the summer. He hoped that he'd be greeted after the long journey from the Mountain to a blaze of blues and greens, pinks and purples, yellows and stunning reds. He hoped that he'd be able to stop and stare and just get lost in the forest that surrounded the hobbit hole and he wished to smell the pollen in the air; hear the insects busy in the flower petals.
And he couldn't wait to see the look on the little hobbits' face when he finally stood surrounded by the fruit of his labours – his cheeks tinted adorably red in the sun; his face lit up with glee; a spark of life in his eyes; perhaps trailing a hand through the flowers…
The squeak of a wheelbarrow drew Thorin back to reality and, seeing said hobbit making his way over, he immediately leaned forwards again and hurriedly dug into the earth before Bilbo realised he'd been daydreaming. He would rather not irritate someone so driven that particular day. Thorin only watched out of the corner of his eye as Bilbo knelt beside him and began to gather up the discarded weeds that had been successfully pulled from the ground as he piled them all into the wheelbarrow, pressing them down to fit in every last leaf. He was so focused, Thorin thought, so determined to make his work worthwhile. The thought of Bilbo in this daydream – cheerful and carefree and cute – came out of nowhere and he looked away, letting his hair fall to the side of his face, hoping to God he wasn't blushing. Of course, Thorin Oakenshield – son of Thrain; a dwarf of Durin's fols; King under the Mountain! – did not blush, he reminded himself. But just in case…
There was a chuckle. Just a small, barely-noticeable chuckle to his side, but it made it just that little bit harder for Thorn to keep his cool as Bilbo leaned over – so, so close that he could feel his breath on his cheek – and asked him; "What are you thinking about, Thorin?"
He felt like groaning. He would have slapped himself just to wipe the silly, dazed look off his face if it wouldn't have been so obvious. Didn't this hobbit know what he was doing to him? Didn't he know how innocent or how completely and utterly captivating he was? Didn't he know what happened when he got that close?
Well, he did know, that was for sure (Thorin wasn't even going to think about those satisfying, heavenly, glorious memories) but he didn't always do it on purpose… Which was even cuter and made Thorin want to slap himself in the face about ten times more just to stop his mind running away with fantasies and daydreams.
"Thorin?"
The dwarf cursed himself. He'd been so lost he hadn't even answered. How stupid of him! He raised his head, all ready to respond and pretend that he'd just been so enthralled with the prospect of digging up these last few roots that he hadn't heard him speak, when he Bilbo… Tilting his head in that quirky little manner of his, brows drawn in, but smiling a little; puzzled, yet amused…
"Thorin?"
Oh, how adorable.
And then something seemed to click in Bilbo's head and he straightened his back, folding his arms across his chest and trying his very best not to break out into a massive grin. "Thorin, are you fantasising instead of working?"
A few seconds passed.
"No."
Bilbo threw his head back and let out a little burst of laughter. "Oh, I don't believe it! Thorin, you can't fool me! Ah, I don't want to know, just get back to work!" he ordered, but, surprisingly, he didn't sound as angry as he had a moment ago. "I won't have you getting distracted whilst I've still got shrubs to plant over here."
The dwarf shrugged a little and shot him a sly look. "Very well, Master Baggins, but, if I'm not mistaken, I think you very much would like to know about it."
"Oh?"
"Oh."
"Thorin."
"Master Baggins?"
"Thorin, knowing you, your mind was probably down some filthy gutter that I'd rather not think about right now, but, you know, by all means get this bed done and perhaps you can enlighten me!"
There was a pause during which the dwarf, not quite expecting this, smirked, a dangerously playful expression creeping up onto his face at the prospect. "Well, I think that we can both do a bed together if you'd like,"
"Oh Lord, who'd have known it – the King under the Mountain is insatiable." Bilbo rolled his eyes, sighing to himself before making to stand up, only he hesitated and, after a second's thought, he leaned over to plant a brief kiss on Thorin's cheek. "Later." He whispered before getting to his feet. "There'll be more later."
Thorin grinned, his face alight with mischief. "Yes, Master Baggins!" he cried. "Anything you say, Master Baggins!"
"IF we finish before supper time!"
"Which one? You have about three each evening."
He received a light slap on the shoulder for his efforts.
"Thorin Oakenshield!"
He just laughed as he carried on uprooting the plants in the garden of Bag End. There was much to look forward to…
If he ever finished gardening.
