Chapter 6 is here!
I would like to thank all of you for the favorites, follows, and especially reviews! And also I would like to thank those of you that stuck through me from chapter 1 and send reviews for every one of the new ones too: cara-tanaka, Pandorum21, BaraKiryuHuntress. And now…onwards noble barrel! I shall call you oakensteed! Brownies to those who caught this reference btw.
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Bilbo sat in armchair next to the fire and hummed as he mended the clothes of his guest. It was mostly leather and weaves, and he was very glad that the old leather kit was found in the back of an old chest, and his mother's knitting needles were not lost to the Sackville-Bagginses. Bilbo glanced at his window and the rivulets of water that cascaded down the glass and wire frame. The rain still hadn't stopped even after a full night and half a day of pouring down. It seemed as though the weather was not in a kind mood and Bilbo pitied anyone who would have to find themselves outside at the moment. He heard the whistle from the kitchen and hurriedly put down the heavy coat. Patting to the kitchen he took the kettle off the stove and set it aside, while pulling out the herbal brew he had gathered last month. Catnip, Elder Flowers, Peppermint, Echinacea; dried and meshed into a fine powder, mixed together and set with honey into little blocks. Bilbo found that it helped with the preservation and the overall taste of the remedy. Filling up a pot, he got out the tray and settled his supplies on it. The tea, biggest mug he had in the hole, and a bowl with cold water, in which a rug was already soaking. Picking it up the hobbit made the short trek towards the guest bedroom, currently occupied with a feverish dwarf.
It took a bit to coax a delirious Thorin to drink the still bitter tea, but Bilbo insisted and one does not argue with one's healer. Two mugs later the hobbit sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled down the covers once again. He could see perspiration on the dwarf, sweat gathered in crevices, and soaking his brow and hair. Lifting the soaked rug Bilbo gently but insistently scrubbed off the accumulated grime and muck, and wringing the cloth, swiped it over Thorin's forehead and face. The other shuddered at the cold water but did not awaken, as it the fever was still strong. Bilbo could only thank the Valar that they saw fit to bring the dwarf across his path, as he did not think that he would have been fine otherwise. He was the only healer in Shire, and he doubted that anyone else would have been as welcoming as him towards a dirty and dangerous looking stranger. Never mind actually looking after him when he was sick. So all in all Bilbo was quite content with the situation. It still brought up a question of why exactly Thorin was even in Shire, and what was he looking for, but he thought that the question could wait until the other could actually move on his own again. Finished with his task Bilbo returned to his cozy armchair and resumed the mending of the coat.
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A few days have passed and Thorin did not feel like a foot rug anymore. He began walking around Bag End and looking at Bilbo's books, maps and scrolls, occasionally pausing before a particularly interesting one, but frowning every time he came across one with elven text or drawing. Bilbo observed it with a smile, and a bit of confusion. He had offered the dwarf lodgings until his business was conducted when Thorin actually had the time to tell him what he doing in Hobbiton.
"I come from the Blue Mountains in search of work. I came across a fellow who mentioned that there might be a need of a blacksmith in the area, and made my way to Shire. Unfortunately it seems as though my previous…conditions have caught up with me, and have as such rendered me to your hands."
Bilbo could plainly see that dwarf was not comfortable talking about his ailments and let it slide, as he understood pride, mighty as it was present in his guest. One did not start talking about their own weakness, past or present, in the company of a near stranger. And even though Bilbo thought that he had gained the other's confidence in the days he took care of him, he understood Thorin's reluctance. And in that understanding he did not ask too many questions, merely providing a meal and a warm bed for the dwarf, after he would venture outside and look for prospective wares. Soon enough the folk of Shire got used to handling their blacksmithing business with the sullen inhabitant of Bag End, and Bilbo almost stopped getting strange looks from the neighbors.
Thorin, it appeared, was incredibly skilled with a hammer and with the smallest effort was able to fix everything brought to him, and even create a few new things. In the month's pass, he would finish his jobs by sundown, and travel back to his temporary house, where he would be met with the smiling face of the small hobbit, a warm and hearty meal, pipe weed and an armchair, that Thorin himself has constructed within the first week, when he was still weak and unable to move too much. Bilbo has since then outfitted it with a knitted blanket, long enough to be wrapped about Thorin three or so times and still leave some corners hanging, a puffed up leather bag, stuffed with straw, that serves as a foot stool for the taller dwarf, and a semi-permanent little table next to side of it, that now held Thorin's pipe, a book he found interesting at the moment and had a place to fit Bilbo's largest mug.
The dwarf felt for the first time in a long while that he was comfortable. He had ventured into many places in his years, most of them unwelcoming and with little to none accommodations. He would rarely find a place to sleep comfortably, or have enough money to eat his fill, never mind drink it. Here in Bag End, with Bilbo's easy referral's he had gotten plenty of jobs, a soft bed and a warm room, hot meals whenever he wanted, and a mug of ale at a any time. He had books, a luxury not allowed to him since the fall of Erebor. He had a sense ease and dare he say belonging in the house of his host, the hobbit Bilbo Baggins.
Bilbo who was young was also incredibly intelligent, well-read, and tremendously curious. He reminded Thorin often of his nephews with his questions about all the places Thorin has been to, the things he has seen, and the people he met. Often time, when evening would settle, and dinner eaten, Thorin would stretch on his armchair, with his feet on the leather bag, a mug of ale in one hand, and pipe in the other, and tell the hobbit of his travels. He found the fascination that shone in the hobbit's eyes pleased him a great deal, and to his own surprise told him more of the exciting and interesting things, rather than the hardships he had seen while observing them. Bilbo would on the other hand be often found in his own armchair across from Thorin, with a little portable writing desk popped on his pal, hand flying over bits of parchment, or a scroll, desperate to write the whole story down and not miss a word.
Bilbo was more excited the past month that he had been in years. He thanked the Valar quite a few times by now for sending Thorin his way. The dwarf was amazing, and a variable well of information on foreigh lands, customs, and even bits of language. Although Bilbo was more than a bit certain that most of the words that Thorin had told him in other languages were more at home at a tavern brawl, possibly while drunk, most likely in the company of seamen…or dwarfs. Never the less, as his hand cramped from too much writing, ears straining to hear the smallest details, he couldn't be happier. Which made the day Throin announced he was leaving even harder.
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As much as Thorin has enjoyed his stay at Shire in general and Bag End in particular, two months have passed since he had settled there, and it was time for him to journey back to the Blue Mountain and gives his sister and her sons the support they needed. He had accumulated quite a bit of money from the jobs on the way to and at Shire, and now could afford to make his way back, and have enough for his family. So when evening came and Bilbo was busy sitting the dirty dishes in the sink, Thorin put his arms on the table, leaned his head down and said "I will be leaving soon."
Bilbo's hands paused and then resumed their task. Without turning the hobbit asked "What do you need for your journey?" He had known that the dwarf would not be staying forever, but he had grown complacent in his comfort, and the comfort of company. They worked well, and Bilbo could hardly remember the time when he did not have to turn his nose at the smell of dwarf boots by the door, or the sight of his coat on the hook in the hall, or the smell of his pipe weed by the fire. He had grown used to Thorin being there to help with the small repairs around Bag End, and the neighbors knocking on his door, leaving messages for the dwarf, and orders for him to come and fill later. He'd gotten quite good at handling unhappy customers and sidetracking those who wanted to gossip about his guest. And now it seemed that he would be alone once more, with only his books for company.
Thorin's gaze fell heavily on the hobbits back as he noticed the strained movements of his shoulders as Bilbo continued to clean up around the kitchen. "I have been away from my family for too long, and they need me. I have already secured a pony and the supplies, the last job paid well enough for that and left me some coin to spend. I would be very grateful to you though, if you gave me some medicines to take with me. I do not wish to succumb to the conditions again, especially since there will not a hobbit nearby to haul me to safety now" smiled Thorin.
Bilbo turned towards him and smiled in return. His hands were covered with a towel as he dried them, and he leaned against the table to have a better view of his guest. "You will always be welcome here in Shire Thorin Oakenshield. The hobbits have grown used to sight of a dwarf running the forge now, and they have grown used to you being the only one able to fix their plows, hoes, and rakes so well they look and perform better than when they were new. They would miss you, I know it."
"And would you Halfling? Would you miss me?" asked Thorin as he lifted his eyes to meet Bilbo's smiling ones.
"You know I would." Grinned Bilbo "I don't quite know how, but you have made yourself at home here, and home it shall remain, for as long as you would have it. Ofcourse that pipe weed of yours might not last until your next visit, but…" he dragged the "u" a bit and smiled gently. "I have to tell you Thorin. There has never been a day where I thought I would be glad to have hauled a bundle of dirt and fur towards my doorstep, but you have proved me wrong. And I am happy for that. You have given me something I see now I was lacking, and I thank you for that."
"And what have I given you Bilbo?" asked Thorin, genuinely interested in hearing the answer.
"Well I should think that you have given me a friend" smiled Bilbo, lowering his eyes. "And while I might not be a friend of yours, you are of mine. And I will cherish that notion for as long as you permit me."
Thorin's throat felt a bit hoarse as he listened to the hobbit's answer "Do not insult me Bilbo Baggins!" said the dwarf as he stood up and came forward, gripping Bilbo's arm in his strong hand.
Bilbo's eyes widened as he stared at Thorin's face, and his storm-filled expression.
"You have given me comfort. You have healed me, and showed me kindness when no one else would have. You have helped me make use of my stay here, and brought business to my hands. You, Bilbo Baggins, have insisted and persisted and made sure that I knew every hobbit in Shire by name and habit, and ensured that I knew the best way to deal with them. You have taught me the customs of your folk, so I would not make an unmannered fool of myself. And now you say that you are not my friend?" Thorin paused to grip Bilbo's chin in his fingers and brought his face up to meet his eyes, mere inches separating the two, as their breaths mixed together with every word said and thought. "You are a friend of mine Bilbo. A dear friend. Never doubt that." With those words Thorin's lips settled on the hobbits forehead in and pressed there for a kiss, hand never leaving his face.
Bilbo's eyes widened at the words Torin was pouring out, and a small smile broke through his astonished face. He closed his eyes as he felt the dwarfs lips settle on his brow and his fingers clutched at his coat. "Thank you…" whispered Bilbo into Thorin's beard.
Thorin pulled away, reluctant to depart from the coziness of the hobbit. He was stalled by fingers on his lapels, and let his gaze fall towards Bilbo's hands. Gently he put his own on top of them and slowly brought them together, bending a bit to look at the other. He was greeted with a sunny grin that threatened to split Bilbo's face at any moment, and then a feeling of embrace as he flung his arms around the stunned dwarf.
"Thank you Thorin" was whispered in his ear.
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In the morning Bilbo stood in the doorway of Bag End, leaning against the frame, as he watched his friend ride away from his cozy hobbit hole on a small brown pony, with satchels filled with supplies and an axe strapped to his back. As Thorin neared the border of the Shire still visible from Bilbo's home, he turned a bit, laid his eyes on the small figure still standing in the doorway, and raised his hand, watching as a smaller hand flew into the air in return. The dwarf carried on his journey, macabre thought pushed into the depth of his mind for the moment, as his memories were filled with a warm smile, the glow of the fire as it illuminated a sweet face, a waterfall of curls that smelled like lavender and daisies, and the feeling of small but strong arms around his neck as Bilbo pulled him into an embrace. Thorin promised himself that he would be back at Bag End as soon as circumstances permitted, and who knew…perhaps by then the just-barely-almost-really-but not really-legal hobbit would be of age. And Thorin's mind would at least not be plagued with thought of repercussions he would face from Bilbo's numerous relatives.
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A few months have passed since Thorin left the hobbit hole, and Bilbo had settled into his old routine of books, markets and garden contests between the neighbors. As he was sitting in his armchair, reading over the notes he made from Thorin's words, a great stomping echoed from his door. Unsettled and a bit ruffled at the loud sound in the middle of the night, the hobbit stood and went towards the door, intending to find out exactly who was disturbing his peace. He did not expect to see a shadowed form standing at his door, next to battered leather bags and satchels. Nor did he expect the doubled voice greeting him from the darkness "Uncle Thorin sends his regards!"
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And that is Chapter 6 ladies and gents! My longest to date I think. Tell me what you think, tell me if you guessed where the oakensteed is from, or if you know who showed up at Bilbo's door now, you did vote for the "shadowed form" after all. All in all: favorite, follow, and please review