Lady Dis was perfectly content that morning, and not in the least animated by a softness of her heart that she had not experienced in a very long time.
Her life in the Blue Mountains had been comfortable and peaceful, even happy. She had had everything that she had needed and she had been blessed with the company of her brother and her sons. However, her happiness had always lived in the shadow of what she had been forced to leave behind in Erebor and of everything that she had lost on the way, her grandfather, her father, her other brother and all the other lives of her kin spent in battle. The years of toil, hunger and death haunted her even in those past years when she had once again been living a good life.
On that particular morning, however, the cold fingers of that old shadow were no longer wrapped around her heart. It was as if a great storm had stopped raging in her head, and in its stead there was a great, good silence where she could finally breathe and allow herself to hear the sound of life rising with the spring sun all around her.
Indeed, she could hear a flurry of bird voices at the window to her side, and further in the distance she could make out the busy noise of roosters, geese, pigs, cows, and not in the least the muffled chatter of villagers starting their day.
Dis was no longer in her home in the Blue Mountains that morning. In fact, she stood above Bilbo's great wooden table in his parlour in Bag End, sipping a delicious cup of his finest tea. She had arrived with Dwalin the evening before. They were on their way back to Erebor, with Gloin staying behind for a few more days to prepare the journey for the other dwarves in the Blue Mountains who wanted to return to Erebor at that time.
There was a lovely disarray of papers, maps, books and various writing instruments on the table. There were a few more books piled in no particular order around the fireplace and underneath and around the armchair nearby. Dis had never found disorder to be her favourite way of arranging a parlour, but here, in Bilbo's home, it jarred her much less than it would have in her own home. In fact, she found it strangely agreeable, and she could very well surmise from this situation that Bilbo had left in a hurry when he had. Taking another sip of tea, she turned around to look at the family portraits that hung on the wall above the fireplace, and at the various heirlooms displayed around the room. She liked the place a lot more than she had expected, not that she had ever contemplated in much detail whether or not she would enjoy a Hobbit house. This was not any Hobbit house however. It was the home of the one Hobbit who had bravely helped her brother regain the Lonely Mountain, and who had apparently also gained his heart. Being there and taking the time to stroll through the rooms of his home endeared him to her although she had never met him. Everything about Bag End made her feel nestled in the warm arms of the earth it was dug into: the low curves of the wood-clad ceilings and walls, the round windows and doors, the lovely colours of the carpets and blankets, the beautiful wooden floors. There were no hard stone walls or straight edges anywhere in sight. It was certainly very different from Dwarf homes, but in a way that pleased her.
Having reached the entryway, Dis decided to walk out into Bilbo's garden and finish her tea outside. It was a lovely morning, with crisp scents of new grass and young flowers welcoming her as she stepped out. She sat down on Bilbo's bench and breathed in the fresh air. She thought of nothing for a while as she sat there, and it was wonderful.
As she emptied her cup of tea, the sound of the door opening reached her. She turned to face a freshly woken Dwalin squinting in the bright sunshine.
"Well, good morning," she said, giggling.
"My Lady," said Dwalin bringing his hand up to his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun.
"Would you care for some tea? I can make some more if you like."
"Uh… no, thank you," replied Dwalin visibly surprised that he was being offered tea of all things.
"Suit yourself. At least come and sit down."
Dwalin did as asked.
"This is not such a bad place," said Dis, looking at him.
"I suppose not," said Dwalin, looking down at the ground instead and gripping the side of the bench with his hands.
Dis lay her hand on top of Dwalin's as gently as she could. "Dwalin, please promise you'll try to understand," she said. "Thorin has a right to choose for himself."
"Of course, of course he does," replied Dwalin, finally looking up with a tired gaze in his eyes.
"And I think I'm going to like this hobbit burglar of yours. I think you like him more than you're willing to admit yourself."
Dwalin gave her a dark glare, but it did not carry the full darkness that she knew he was capable of. It was a start.
They sat together for a bit longer on Bilbo's bench, watching a normal spring morning unfold in Hobbiton, with much sunshine and busywork around gardens and fields, with much peace of mind for good measure and very little care for the world in the distance.
There was not much sunshine over the Lonely Mountain that morning. In fact, the Valley of Dale and the Mountain were shrouded in the cold, heavy mist of a snow storm. It was not unusual for snow to fall in March, but a storm so gloomy and vicious was rarely seen later than the month of February.
Bilbo lay under the covers in his room inside Erebor, in the dark. A few days had passed since his last unfortunate evening with Thorin, days in which he had barely left his room and he had certainly not seen Thorin again.
He didn't even know what time it was, let alone how many days exactly it had been. He didn't want to know. He just wanted to stay there, unseen, in the dark, where he couldn't hurt Thorin anymore. He had been successful thus far.
Today, however, the unwelcome sound of his door creaking open came through to him under his heavy blankets.
"Bilbo? Are you alright?" It was Balin's voice, of course. And his steps, which came closer to Bilbo's bed.
Bilbo didn't answer, hoping foolishly that Balin would just go away, which he knew very well that the old dwarf was not in the habit of doing.
"Bilbo?" Balin insisted, sounding genuinely concerned.
Bilbo peeked out from under his blankets.
"There you are," said Balin, "are you ill?"
"No, no," replied Bilbo, sitting up a little bit and rubbing his eyes, which were protesting even against the dim light of the one candle burning at his side.
"Have you been out of your room at all today?"
"No, not yet," muttered Bilbo, barely looking at his visitor.
There was a moment of silence. Balin sat down on the bed and touched Bilbo's arm, "Have you even had breakfast?"
"No," said Bilbo and finally shot a brief look at Balin.
"If you're not ill, then you must be upset. May I offer my service?"
Bilbo sighed deeply. "Did Thorin send you?"
Balin smiled. The hobbit was a clever little thing. "He did."
Bilbo smiled, surprisingly. "I've managed to hurt his feelings yet again," he said.
"Thorin thinks he's hurt yours."
"Yes, that's what I led him to believe. Did he tell you how I humiliated him the other day? Again?"
Bilbo was now looking straight at Balin, unwavering in his self-chastising confession.
"He mentioned there had been another… incident."
"Incident…" Bilbo muttered darkly again, more to his guilt-ridden self than to Balin.
"He did not elaborate, but it seemed serious. Serious enough that he hasn't seen you since. Care to tell me what happened?"
"Oh, I don't know, I don't know what's wrong with me. He only continued what I started. He did nothing wrong, and I pushed him away."
"He must have done something wrong."
"No, no, it's all my fault. I've desired him for such a long time. I mean, I thought I did. But when it finally came to pass, I got scared and I have no idea why."
"Maybe it was too soon?"
"What does it matter? I love him. Why should I be afraid of him?"
"I doubt you're afraid of him in particular. And it's not always that simple, Bilbo. This is all new to you. Sometimes, time and patience do make things better."
Bilbo sighed again, seeming to see the sense in Balin's words. "Is he angry with me?"
"No, he's confused, and a little hurt, I admit. I think you should go talk to him."
"And tell him what? This is utter silliness!"
"It's sillier for you to stay locked inside your room for fear you might run into him."
"How can I possibly tell him that I'm afraid? He'll think I'm a child. To think I've faced spiders, goblins and a fire-breathing dragon!"
"You say you love him and yet you underestimate him. Tell him the truth. Thorin will understand. Do you think he's never been afraid?"
"I… I suppose I do think that in some way, not as afraid as I've been, at least."
"Then he's right. You do think he's a brute."
"What? No, Balin, of course not!"
"Then prove him and yourself wrong. Go talk to him today. Thorin is not the invulnerable fortress that he appears to be. I would think these past few months have been proof enough."
"They have been. I never expected him to allow me to see his weakness."
"Then allow him to see yours."
"Hasn't he seen enough of it?"
"Bilbo, admitting your fear is not weakness. Everyone is afraid of something or other, and everyone is afraid of change, no matter how well they hide it. All you need is a little more time, and honesty. Thorin has asked you to be his Consort. You owe him that much."
Bilbo felt the sting of tears pooling in his eyes as he watched Balin say those last few words. They were tears of shame and disappointment, and he couldn't do anything to hold them back. The kindness on Balin's face actually made it all hurt more. Balin was always kind, and it was with nothing but kindness that he had spoken to Bilbo today. It felt underserved.
Balin lay a warm hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "Come and have something to eat. We need to put some colour back in your cheeks."
Bilbo smiled faintly, dabbed at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and then shuffled towards the edge of his bed. "No, I must see Thorin right away. Do you know where I can find him?"
"You'll be surprised to know he's in his room as well," said Balin.
"Right," said Bilbo, climbing out of bed. "I'd better put something more appropriate on."
"Bilbo," said Balin, standing up to leave. "A word of advice, if I may?"
"Of course."
"When you decide to be with Thorin, make sure you're certain that it is what you want. Don't provoke him for nothing again. It is not wise to play with a Dwarf's desires."
Bilbo reddened vigorously. "Uhm… right, understood." He also held his breath until Balin had walked out of the room. It was not necessarily what he had wanted to hear, but he knew it to be true. He knew the Dwarf temper very well, and he certainly knew Thorin's temper. It was part of why he was afraid, now that it had been brought out in the open.
Yes, that was what kept him away, for the most part, away from giving himself to this new and wonderful adventure, although he very much wanted to. He realised now why Thorin's passionate embrace had smothered him and why he had felt the very urgent need to free himself from it. It was not because this was new to him, or because he was particularly timid. It was the ghost of that terrible moment on Erebor's ramparts when Thorin had almost thrown him to his death. He had thought that it was entirely behind him now, and he had told Thorin that it was as well. It was not, though. It was still there, buried alive under the other ghosts of his recent past. And it sprung back to the surface when he was close to Thorin in that way, without showing itself for what it was, but certainly casting its black shadow over both of them.
Bilbo felt like he had to sit down again although he had just got up from his bed. He allowed himself to rest on the edge of it for a while and closed his eyes as if to stare straight at that black shadow inside his mind and know fully that it was indeed lurking there. How could he say that to Thorin? How could he tell him that, after all they had been through together, he still did not trust him with all his heart? He had forgiven him, that much was entirely true, because he knew that Thorin had not been himself. But the trust that had been broken in that moment had not been restored to what it had been before, and he didn't feel that he had any power to put it back together simply because he wanted to.
With a heart as heavy as the mountain of stone above him, Bilbo got back up on his feet and started walking slowly towards the door of his room, knowing that he had to speak to Thorin about all this if there was to be any hope for them.
He found Thorin in his room, as Balin had said, sitting in his armchair near the fireplace, his head in his hands, lost in thought.
"Thorin?" Bilbo called softly as he made his way inside.
Thorin snapped from his reverie and looked like a hawk towards the direction where Bilbo's voice was coming from. He rose from his seat, seemingly about to leap forward and gather Bilbo in his arms. He restrained himself masterfully, however. Instead, he remained where he was, silent.
In spite of feeling hollow and heartbroken, Bilbo couldn't help a smile forming on his lips and he took it as a good omen. It was wonderful to see Thorin again after all, to know that he wasn't upset beyond hope.
"Bilbo," said Thorin, his voice carrying a distinct tinge of grief. "Are you…"
"I'm alright," said Bilbo, taking a few steps forward. "You?"
"I am… ashamed. Please forgive my behaviour. I was not myself."
Bilbo's smiled turned a little ironic all by itself. He walked the few more steps that still separated them and sat down on Thorin's bed. "You mean you don't really feel that way about me?"
"I do," replied Thorin, sitting back down in his armchair as well. "I simply meant that I let it get the better of me. I should have controlled myself better."
"Well, you've been through so much. It's understandable that you would need a little comfort."
"It is not for comfort that I want to be with you. Do you not know that?"
"I… I don't know what I know anymore."
"Bilbo, I am not looking to use you for my personal gratification. I care about you deeply. You must know at least that."
"I know it. I just don't think I trust it enough," said Bilbo, his voice breaking as he looked Thorin in the eye.
Thorin looked as if he had just been stabbed through the heart. "What are you saying, Bilbo?"
"You know how you told me about that awful dream you had? The one where you… strangled me?"
"How could I possibly forget?" Now Thorin's expression acquired the darkness of having the knife twisted in his wound.
"That is what I saw in my head the other night, when I ran away from you." Bilbo could see very clearly that Thorin was unable to speak, so he continued. "I thought that I had forgotten what happened then… when you were indeed not yourself. And I have forgiven you, that much holds true. But I don't think I've forgotten it, I don't think I can forget. Something happened then, something was lost that I can't put back, and I'm afraid…"
"That I will try to hurt you again," Thorin finally spoke in a pain-filled whisper.
"Yes," said Bilbo, barely able to hear himself.
"I should have known it," said Thorin with a heavy sigh, sitting back in his armchair and looking down into the dying fire. "What I did to you was unforgivable."
"No, Thorin, it was not."
"Then it was unforgettable," said Thorin with the slight glimmer of a smirk like the ones he gave when he was in a humorous mood.
Bilbo could almost not believe it.
"I have not forgotten it either," continued Thorin. "It is always on my mind when we are alone together and that is precisely why I will never allow myself to put you in danger again. I love you, Bilbo, as much as I love this mountain with everything and everyone in it. You will always be safe with me. I wish you could believe me, but if I have to win back your trust, then I will do that, if you are still willing to stay… and try."
Thorin had his hand out now, his palm open, held out to Bilbo. It was very firmly held in the space between them, without a trace of hesitation, and Bilbo could not keep his hand away.
"I am," he said, allowing Thorin to close his fingers over his hand. "I love you as well, Thorin. I don't think I knew how much until now."
Thorin's smirk flourished to full bloom. He bowed very ceremoniously and kissed Bilbo's hand. Bilbo felt his face catch fire again, but did not let it stop him from rising to his feet and slumping over Thorin's knees and into his arms. He kissed him sweetly, allowing himself to feel how he truly felt about Thorin perhaps for the first time in all those difficult months.
