There is something to be said about a simple life tending to your home and garden, surrounded by birds and bees and squirrels, and keeping your nose out of the business of Big Folk.
Bilbo was taken with Rivendell; there is no doubt about it, all those glorious waterfalls and beautiful architecture and that particular otherworldly air surrounding an elven city. Though the company of dwarves had made the elves seem a little more like everyone else, with shorter tempers and that distinct look of judgment about someone's manners Bilbo knows all too well.
Rivendell could be a place to visit often if he ever felt up for making the journey again.
But here, in Beorn's home, sitting on a bench that is too wide and tall for him, Bilbo thinks of the little things. The simple life of gardening and tending to a home, one that's been crafted with care and comfort in mind.
Beorn surrounds himself with animals because they're better than people, and he has the most right to think that way, Bilbo is sure. Animals and nature, vegetable gardens and more flowers than Bilbo has seen in what feels like an age.
Massive, plump pumpkins and squashes and their various long, winding vines are taking over most of the garden, but from Bilbo's place on the bench out on the veranda, he can see cabbages and strawberries and cucumbers and various peppers. There's magic here, magic that helps the plants grow huge enough to fit Beorn, and it affects the animals who make this their home too.
The bees were a bit of a shock, though Bilbo is used to them now, lazily bumbling about and causing no harm. The sheep were a bit more of a shock, and the squirrels he's seen are half the size of a cat, but they're all well-behaved and seem to enjoy this slice of peace and tranquility in the great wilds of the world the same as he does.
Bilbo would be wandering through the garden and bright green, healthy grass, dotted with white and red and purple wildflowers if it weren't raining.
An early afternoon storm has rolled through, thunder rumbling in the distance, and the rain is steady but not heavy. It smells lovely, the soil coming to life, and the scent of floral flowers is on a soft breeze.
Even the dwarves couldn't complain about this.
Then again, that's only underestimating them, Bilbo thinks dryly.
He's enjoying a smoke of the sweet yet deeply aromatic pipeweed that Beorn gave him and reading a book he'd found on one of the shelves inside. It's nothing like any books he's ever read in the Shire, darker and written with the knowledge of someone who has seen the world, unlike most inhabitants of the Shire.
It's all very peaceful and relaxing and precisely what Bilbo needs after the last few days.
Gandalf says the orcs have gone ahead and are putting distance between them without knowing it, so they've got a few days to formulate plans and rest. Rest, which everyone in this blasted place needs desperately, Bilbo included.
He'd nearly missed breakfast, and he's glad not to have, but taking a kip out here doesn't seem like such a bad thought while they've got the time.
The door opens down the veranda to his right, and Bilbo glances over.
It's Thorin, of course, and he looks up at the cloudy, grey skies, and if Bilbo isn't mistaken, he thinks that Thorin looks like he rather enjoys the sight too.
Thorin looks at Bilbo, the bruises on his face nearly gone now, and he no longer seems annoyed just to spy Bilbo in his line of vision. A vast improvement and one Bilbo thinks he could remind Thorin of time and time again if he thought Thorin would be alright with the reminding. But he doesn't know if they are quite at the point of friendly banter or I told you sos; maybe someday, when Thorin gets the stick out of his rear end.
He may be a moody king trying to reclaim his homeland from a dragon, and it's all very serious and grave if Thorin's example is to be followed, but Bilbo thinks the others have the right idea.
Sometimes you have to laugh and enjoy yourself with what little there is to enjoy, so you ought not lose your mind.
Still, it does surprise Bilbo when Thorin approaches him.
"Master Baggins," Thorin says as he pulls out a pipe of his own. A large square, squat thing that fits him well. "May I?" He gestures at the bench.
"Of course," Bilbo says and scoots down just a little. Not likely necessary as there's plenty of room for them both. He watches Thorin, who doesn't get on the bench but eyes it with some contempt. Bilbo laughs. "There's really no dignified way to do it, I'm afraid."
Thorin sighs, but when he pulls himself onto the bench, rather like the way he pulls himself onto a pony, he manages to make it look dignified anyway. Bilbo's sure he practices, or rather, he's been taught how to be a bloody king for a good portion of his life, and royalty always does seem to make things elegant when they can.
This is, of course, excepting Fili and Kili and Thorin himself on most days, so maybe it's not entirely that.
He lights his pipe and leans back against the bench, looking out across the sprawling garden. "I suppose if we're to be forced to make camp, this is better than we could ask for," he says. "Better than other places we've been forced to make camp."
Bilbo shakes his head and looks down at the book on his lap. "I've enjoyed both places I've been lucky enough to have a bed," he says. "Or one and a half beds. I don't know if straw counts as a bed, actually, but it's the best night of sleep I've gotten since Rivendell."
"Yes, I'm sure you slept soundly in Rivendell," Thorin says, though he sounds amused rather than annoyed. "The promise of safety here does lend itself to more rest than we've gotten in recent memory."
"The bath helped too," Bilbo says and looks at Thorin. "The promise of privacy lent itself to the most peaceful bath I've had in recent memory."
Thorin chuckles and looks at Bilbo with such genuine amusement that it could sweep him off his feet if Bilbo let it. "You do still struggle with that aspect of traveling the wilds."
"I've seen more dwarven rear ends than I ever imagined I would back in the Shire, let me tell you," Bilbo says. "Which is to say precisely none at all. But I'm conquering one fear at a time, you know."
"Taking on orcs without a second thought should lend itself to making all other fears seem minuscule."
"So you would think," Bilbo says. "And yet it's the dwarven rear ends that haunt me every night." He smiles when Thorin does and holds up the book. "Look at this," he says, pointing at a small painting, "is it an accurate representation?"
Thorin shifts closer and squints at the painting. Something softens then, and he smiles, a small thing, but it's fond. "Aye," he says. "Countless paintings and tapestries in Erebor depict Durin looking into the Mirrormere and seeing a crown of seven stars. This is a good one, but a dwarf painted it, and a dwarf wrote the book, so it cannot be anything but."
"Did they really?" Bilbo asks and looks at the cover of the book and the title written on the first page. "I thought you lot weren't all too keen about sharing things with anyone else."
"There are scholars among us, Master Baggins, who enjoy sharing their work like any others. But there is an unspoken rule not to divulge what's not already known or what isn't as close to our hearts," Thorin says. "It doesn't surprise me that dwarven literature hasn't found its way to the Shire."
Bilbo scoffs and laughs as he looks at Thorin. "One might think you've just insulted the entirety of the Shire for being uncultured," he says. "You'd be right, of course, but I feel like I should defend my fellow hobbit."
Thorin chuckles and shrugs unrepentantly. "Considering half the residents of the Shire looked like they've never seen a dwarf in all their life, I would say I'm not far off. But perhaps that's judging the Shire too harshly if you are of any indication of the heart of a hobbit."
It takes Bilbo a moment to be hit with exactly what Thorin's said, and he's taken aback by it. It makes his heart leap and bound like a rabbit, and he coughs a little as he glances at Thorin and sees him gazing back, still smiling.
Blast him, but it's a lovely smile.
"It's hard to say," Bilbo manages. "Not many of us go on adventures, you see. Perhaps we've all got a bit of an adventurous side when we're dragged unwillingly out of our doors. We weren't always in the Shire."
"No?"
"No. Our ancestors lived in the east in the First Age. Not far from here, in fact, but further north. When the world seemed to always burn with dragon fire, they migrated west. It took a good long while and a few generations, but I have half a mind to think we build smials because they did to feel a little more protected from what comes from above."
Thorin raises his eyebrows thoughtfully. "That may well be true," he says. "Erebor's library is vast, but we know little of halflings. Hobbits," he amends a touch apologetically. "Melekun. Though Erebor had yet to be founded then."
"Mhmm," Bilbo hums. "And most of the world hardly knows we exist these days. Which is rather to our liking." He puffs on his pipe and turns the page of the book, looking at another painting of a richly decorated hall. "I suppose I didn't realize a dwarf wrote this book because it began with a fascinating tale of elves."
"From my understanding, most scholars write with no biases in mind," Thorin says mildly. "It may be true that can't be said for some dwarven scholars. The skin-changer has made it well-known he dislikes dwarves," he adds with some irritation, "so that must be the only reason he keeps the book around."
Bilbo smiles and shrugs. "Or maybe he likes any good writing. Which this is, by the by, very interesting," he says. "Even my fellow hobbits would enjoy hearing the tale if I read it to them."
"Do you often read them tales?"
"Sometimes. The younger ones, anyway, and anyone else curious enough to stay and listen. I quite like reading to them while they still enjoy stories of what's beyond the Shire."
"You've always been open to what lies beyond the Shire then."
Bilbo huffs. "Reading bits about it, yes. Never planned on running off with a wizard or a company of dwarves," he says. "And it's all gone to pot a few times over."
Thorin nods. "Aye, it has. I always expect the road to be difficult, but this is more peril than I would have asked any of you to face," he says quietly. "But we must continue onward."
Bilbo looks at Thorin. He's frowning, looking down at the painting in the book, and he's troubled. Of course he is, Bilbo thinks, but Thorin doesn't deserve the peril they've come across either. It's a noble quest and also a bit foolish, but that's because of the blasted dragon awaiting them and not what the road has offered them so far.
And Thorin does look mildly defeated and maybe a bit guilty, which surprises Bilbo. Not that he feels those things, but that he's daring to show Bilbo that he does when Thorin's usually so careful to hide what he's feeling.
Unless he's particularly annoyed and angry with someone, which he doesn't bother hiding at all, but some of it hasn't been unfounded.
Gandalf deserves every bit of it, as far as Bilbo is concerned, and he'd like to lighten the mood by telling Thorin it's a good thing he's been around to save their arses, but he thinks Thorin would take as kindly to it as he did the warg scout.
Bilbo clears his throat instead. "We've gone more than halfway," he says. "And considering it feels like I've only just left the Shire most of the time, I'm sure we'll be in Erebor before you know it. Would you like me to read to you?" he asks. He coughs when Thorin's eyebrows raise high on his forehead. "Listening to someone read a tale does everyone some good."
Thorin peers at Bilbo for a while. He still looks like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and his eyes are tired, but some of it dissipates. He smiles faintly and nods.
"Aye. A good tale while enjoying the sound of rain can't be such an unpleasant thing."
"My thoughts exactly," Bilbo says and puffs on his pipe. He clears his throat and stretches his arms, and brandishes the book theatrically. "Let's start at the beginning of the chapter, shall we? About Durin and his crown of seven stars."
Thorin smiles wider and holds up his pipe when Bilbo glances out of the corner of his eye at him.
So, that's how Bilbo finds himself reading a tale of Thorin's ancestors to him, a mighty dwarf king on his way to taking back his mighty dwelling. Not something he ever could have imagined himself doing, but Bilbo finds it easy to fall into the familiarity of reading for someone.
He's used to reading chapters from books as if he's telling the tale himself, with grand gestures and whatever voice suits the writing best, and his own commentary now and then, which always gets a laugh from faunts.
Thorin doesn't laugh much, but he does smile, far more than Bilbo's ever seen him smile before. There's a softness about him he's never seen either. From the cut of his jaw to the stiff leathers he wears, all of his sharp angles all seem gentled by the rain and faint mist and sweet and smokey tobacco.
The peace to be found here has softened them all, but it's most noticeable in Thorin. Bilbo wonders if this is how he might look at home in Erebor when a fire is roaring in the hearth, and he's enjoying a mug of ale, a puff of his pipe and perhaps a great tale written by a dwarven scholar.
He'd be a different dwarf if the dragon never came, Bilbo thinks, but maybe he'll still be a different dwarf when the dragon is gone and he's home.
Bilbo reads to Thorin through this chapter and the next, and they pause now and then to discuss small paintings and drawings in the book. Thorin tells Bilbo about some of them that aren't to be found in any book he's read, and sometimes they simply comment on the fact that the illustrations have survived at all.
It keeps raining, an early summer drizzle, and Thorin grows quieter, but that's alright. He hums in amusement here and there and closes his eyes often, but his smile says well enough that he's still listening.
Bilbo is halfway through the fourth chapter when Thorin half slumps against him. He trips over his words and nearly jumps out of his skin, but he manages not to move at all because he notices that Thorin has fallen asleep.
Against Bilbo's shoulder, of all places, though they've been pressed arm to arm for a while, haven't they? His cheeks are warm, and he doesn't know if he should keep reading or wake Thorin or simply let him be because he deserves a bloody kip himself.
He does rescue Thorin's pipe very carefully and sets it on the bench to his left. Bilbo tries not to move much beyond that or make any noise, which is difficult while he's nervous and his heart is thundering away.
Which it really ought not to do because no one makes Bilbo's heart thunder, and he prefers it that way, thank you very much.
He does relax after a moment or two because he doesn't want to wake Thorin - and he likes that Thorin feels comfortable enough to sleep around him, but that's his traitorous Took side that he firmly tells off - and continues reading the book.
It's nice, Bilbo supposes, listening to Thorin breathe, deep and sure, and snore now and then. He smells like pipeweed and leather and oil and honey too, which makes Bilbo smile, and he's profoundly grateful the others are all inside.
He'd never hear the end of it otherwise.
Of course, Bilbo may never hear the end of it anyway because the clouds eventually start to break, and rays of sunlight burst from them, brightening the flowers and vegetables in misty golden light.
Which brings the others out from hiding, Bilbo thinks a little sourly, when the door opens, and Dwalin and Balin step out.
They're talking, but not too loudly, and both stop when they see Thorin sound asleep on Bilbo's shoulder.
He grimaces more than smiles when Balin smiles cheerfully, and Dwalin rolls his eyes but looks amused, anyway.
They're off then, out through the garden, keeping their voices down.
Bilbo's a bit embarrassed and unsure if it's for himself or Thorin because he suspects Thorin won't be thrilled when he wakes. Still, he's loath to wake him up.
It's Fili and Kili and Bofur who do it. They walk outside, their voices loud and laughter boisterous, and Bilbo feels Thorin stiffen at his side.
He doesn't spring away but moves carefully and slowly until he's sitting straight, and the others don't even seem to take notice of them, following Dwalin and Balin's path, shouting and joking as they go.
"My apologies, Master Baggins," Thorin says after a brief silence.
"Oh, erm. It's quite alright," Bilbo says. "I… I think you're entitled to a bit of rest. Well, I know you are. You don't get much of it, you know. My shoulder has to be better than a pile of rocks or a tree trunk."
Thorin's quiet for a bit before he laughs like he can't quite help it, and when Bilbo looks at him with surprise, he's smiling again. He doesn't look disgruntled or embarrassed, but the fondness is something new and utterly unexpected.
Fondness for Bilbo.
"Aye, that your shoulder is," Thorin says. He sighs and scrubs sleep out of his eyes. "Still, I apologize. You were reading to me."
"Well, yes," Bilbo says breathlessly, "but reading to someone who may or may not be tired tends to put them asleep anyway."
"It does," Thorin agrees. "It even worked on my nephews once upon a time." He smiles and relaxes, his arm brushing against Bilbo's. "Perhaps you should do it more often."
Bilbo looks at the book, his cheeks still warm, and shrugs. "I suppose I could. That might be a good idea, in fact. Read to you lot every night around the fire, so we all might get some blasted sleep."
Thorin chuckles. "My thoughts exactly," he says with a teasing edge if Bilbo's not mistaken. "Go on then, Master Baggins, continue your tale."
"If I'm to be responsible for everyone getting to bed on time," Bilbo says and holds up his finger, "then I'm entitled to two shares of the treasure, I think."
"If you are responsible for our adequate rest and perhaps saving the life of a king and his kinsmen a few times over by the end, I may give you all fourteen."
Bilbo laughs. "That's nearly enough then, isn't it?" he asks and smiles when Thorin does, wider and achingly beautiful, truthfully. "Alright, but only one more chapter. It's past afternoon tea."
"You already nearly missed breakfast. I won't let you miss supper."
"Thank you," Bilbo says, "I'm not much good without them."
Thorin smiles as he gazes at Bilbo before he closes his eyes and tips his head back against the bench. "I have a feeling, Master Burglar," he says, "that even a dragon would not wish to be in your way if you went without them."
Bilbo huffs and smiles, though he tries not to, and looks down at the book. "Pray we never find out, hmm?"
Thorin hums in that amused way, and Bilbo adjusts the book with a stretch of his arms.
"Alright, where we were? Ah, here. Never had he seen such gleaming lights of reds and golds…."
It won't be the only time Bilbo reads to Thorin and eventually the rest of the company, but here, at this moment, with Thorin's arm against his as he smiles so freely, well… this is the one Bilbo will carry close to his heart most of all.