Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing! It means a lot to me that people actually like this!
So, due to additions of scenes that took way longer than they should have, this chapter is twice as long as a normal one, so enjoy!
The next week was simultaneously the most calming and stressful time since he had returned. The two very different states were very much in harmony at this point.
For starters, Bilbo had canceled all of the plans that had so far dominated his life. Rather than leaving early in the day to spend the morning with his Brandybuck cousins, he woke up leisurely and shared first, as well as second, breakfast with his new houseguest. He didn't spend teatime attempting to be interested in the gossip his neighbors so eagerly shared with him; he spent it baking biscuits. After lunch, he stayed in and read his books, rather than heading to the market and chattering idly with his fellow hobbits. He certainly didn't seek out his awful cousin Lobelia in the hopes of retrieving his silver. He was quite over that whole situation actually. She could keep the blasted spoons for all he cared.
Of course, his sudden disappearance from society had caused a bit of a stir. Several neighbors had come knocking on his door, calling for answers.
"Oh dear, you didn't come to tea yesterday, are you feeling well?"
"Master Baggins, we'd worried you'd up and left on one of your adventures again!"
Bilbo had all rather cheerily shooed away. Turning away company on his doorstep (he refused them entry for fear of his questionable mental state) with a smile on his face and no explanation was sure to cause talk. He didn't particularly mind though. For really the first time since he'd left over a year ago, he was freely resting. Imagine that, he got to sit around in his parlor with his feet propped up, a cup of tea at his side, and a book in his lap. It was all lovely and grand, except for one little detail of course; the source of his stress among relaxation.
Thorin Oakenshield, or rather the vision of him brought about by months of bottled up grief, was living at Bag End. It was a rather domestic, albeit, one-sided affair, though Bilbo slowly found himself warming up to it.
In the beginning, Bilbo had been bound and determined to ignore the ghostly king and all of the painful emotions he had dragged to the surface with him. Within a day, he had realized that particular notion was a lost cause. Ignoring the apparition had been about as easy as snubbing Thorin himself had been. As in life, he was demanding, as immovable as the Lonely Mountain, and hauntingly magnificent. He also trailed Bilbo around his home like a lost puppy most of the time. If Bilbo went anywhere, Thorin was at his heels, looking out of place and always like he intended to assist at the nearest opportunity.
As much as Bilbo had begun to accept his mad fantasy into his life, there were some things he still stood firm on.
The first night Thorin had spent inside Bag End had been a trying time. Bilbo had needed to put his foot down rather firmly and the results had nearly torn his heart in two all over again.
Settling down for the night, his nightshirt on and his sheets turned down, Thorin had waltzed in, travel worn pack in hand. Without waiting for permission, he put his things down and had begun to disrobe then and there. Bilbo had squeaked out a demand for him to stop, having to explain as forcefully as he could why the ghost dwarf had to leave. He explained that his room was to be his respite, that he could not in his right mind share a room, let alone a bed, after all that had happened.
The look on Thorin's face had nearly caused the hobbit to break down in tears. His expression looked as if Bilbo had taken Orcist and stabbed him straight through the heart. Luckily, ever defensive in his vulnerabilities, Thorin had hid the look behind an expression of stone, mumbling his understanding and leaving the room. Thankfully, he had not tried since to join him, sparing him a repeat of the painful scene.
Since the ghost's arrival, Bilbo found himself crying far less; in fact it had become almost rare. He desperately missed Thorin, longed for a different fate than the one that had befallen him. Mostly, he craved the simple Shire life he and his lover had fantasized about in their last moments. But, he found his sorrow harder to justify when his dreams were fraternizing with reality before his very eyes.
In addition to that incident in the garden that first day, Bilbo had noticed Thorin attempting to perform several other actions that had been apart of their ideal life. After every meal, Thorin washed the dishes while Bilbo dried them. He was rather better at it then expected, only two plates and one bowl had been broken, all tacky looking dishware as Bilbo had become afraid to even go near his mother's good set.
Watching Thorin attempt to help tidy up the house was rather amusing as well. Perhaps it was just his mind acting out of desperation not to damage Bag End in his madness, but the dwarf king seemed to tiptoe around his valuables during cleaning. Whenever he saw something particularly delicate, like the little glass figurine on his mantel, he gave it a look that bordered on quiet horror, before mumbling that Bilbo ought to dust it instead. Thorin was, however, not nearly as gentle around his books. Several elvish tomes, which he valued highly, had been chucked across the room at a chair in order to dust the space beneath them.
As much as his mind tried to make the image of the King Under the Mountain into the picture of domesticity, it failed. Bilbo gave him no direction either, so he continued to look painfully out of place.
Five days after Bilbo's mind had snapped, something rather drastic changed. It was the first time he had seen fit to attend to his little garden behind Bag End and that was where it had started. It had been early morning and Thorin seemed to be sleeping in, as he didn't find the hobbit outside for quite some time. By that time, Bilbo was down on his hands and knees in the dirt, fussing with his herbs. A short conversation of the merits of fresh grown produce and spices had led to the King digging into work beside him. Bilbo had, of course, snapped at him about muddy boots in the house ("my mother's glory box will never be the same!"), and had ordered his footwear off. The simple removal of shoes had seemed to ignite a change in the dwarf.
Later the same day, Thorin had left the house to go to market, mumbling about needing food and a desire to integrate himself. Bilbo had merely been thankful for the time alone and waved him off to go on his merry way.
When the dwarf returned, his arms were laden with parcels of food and one small wrapped package that Bilbo couldn't immediately identify.
The new food, the hobbit thought, was his mind's way of explaining how his pantry appeared to be emptying faster at the consumption of two people, when in reality it was only himself eating.
Thorin, since returning, had fortunately seen fit to leave him in peace for a little while longer. He heard the dwarf attempting to stow the food away for a short time before he disappeared into whatever spare room in the house he had taken up residence in. The clattering noises stopped then and Bilbo gladly returned to his reading.
Of course Thorin did eventually return, announcing himself with a clearing of his throat from the doorway of the study. The vision that greeted Bilbo left him stunned speechless, his jaw hanging slack.
Thorin looked to be the near perfect embodiment of Shire domesticity. He wore brown trousers, hemmed a little below the knees, a white collared shirt, tucked into his waistband and the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Over the shirt was a stunning, deep blue waistcoat, decorated with a soft pattern of vines peppered with leaves in a lighter blue thread. His feet were bare still, though clean and tidy, and surprisingly, his hair was wrangled and tied back loosely at his neck. Stranger still, with his body so light in its adornment, Bilbo noticed now that the King lacked any sort of jewelry. If nothing else, he'd expected to see a ring on his hand, the seal of his line, but it was absent.
"I'm not sure it suits me," Thorin had said. "But it is rather comfortable."
"It suits you." Bilbo managed around the lump building in his throat. It was perfect on him, magnificent really. Thorin didn't look like a hobbit, but Bilbo had never wanted him to. When he'd imagined this scene, he'd not been able to consider how reality (his reality, not true reality) would pale in comparison. Thorin looked how he'd wanted, but more. A dwarf, his dwarf, but without all of the war and violence that seemed to always hang on him. Here, in his home, dressed in the clothes of his people, Thorin looked at peace and oh so right.
Thorin had taken in Bilbo's surprise with a bright smile, so foreign on his face, but beautiful. Then he stepped closer, leaning over the shocked hobbit and pressing his lips to his forehead. He brushed a soft touch over his lover's curls, blue eyes piercing him with a look so sweet it took his breath away all over again, but he turned and retreated from the room.
Bilbo had been left to stew in the warmth and mild confusion the incident had left him with. It was perhaps the first time Bilbo had thought, "Well, what's a little madness when it feels so wonderful?"
The next few days came easier to Bilbo. He had moved from ignoring his ghost to allowing him, then to a sort of acceptance. He worried what might befall him if he were to truly give himself over to this fantasy, but he couldn't help but indulge in it just a smidge.
They were closer now, not enough to where Bilbo could truly let them fall into that life, but more to what they had been on the road to Erebor. There were touches, fleeting, but it always left pleasant tingles on the hobbit's skin. They talked now, back and forth, conversations that were easy and stimulating. Sometimes there was a kiss, on a brow or a cheek, but only on skin, never lips. Bilbo wasn't ready for that and Thorin seemed to understand his silent cues when it all became too much.
It was nice, this balance that existed between them. It seemed to ease the ghost's worry as Bilbo rejected him less in less. There was still a bit of sadness, as the hobbit still kept him at arms length much of the time, but the heart shattering looks came to a stop. Life seemed to be falling back into a familiar pattern for Bilbo and he was becoming content in this false life his madness had created. That is, until his relatives came to visit.
It started, as so many things did, with a knock on his door. Bilbo had been in the midst of assembling a batch of jam filled pastries for a teatime snack, when he heard it. He gave a soft sigh and shook his head, wishing that whichever neighbor it was would leave him in peace. He'd just have to go deal with them. Though at least this time, Thorin wasn't around to peer at him suspiciously from another room as he shooed whoever it was away. The ghostly dwarf was, at the moment, attending to his garden. A rather strange habit, one he thought the actual Thorin wouldn't really have taken up, but nice nonetheless. Surprisingly, the king was actually very good at differentiating weeds from actual crops and was more than happy to rid his the beds of them.
Grumbling a bit to himself, Bilbo dusted off his floury hands. He really should put a sign up to stop this nonsense. That, unfortunately was a thought a bit too late as there was still the problem knocking loudly on his door. So he left his half assembled treats and went to open it. "Thank you for your concern, but I really am rather busy right now, so if you could come back in... Oh another week—"
As soon as the door was open, his words stuck in his throat.
"Bilbo!" Came the bright tone of his cousin Primula, whose face held a smile of barely restrained humor at his annoyed words.
"Cousin." Drogo greeted, one arm wrapped lovingly around his wife's back.
"Uncle Bilbo!" Came the third voice, much lower than the others and higher pitched.
Uncle Bilbo felt most of his irritability drain away at the sight of the happy family on his doorstep. "Frodo, my dear boy!" he said, grinning as he grabbed the boy under his arms and swung him up high. The fauntling gave a squeal of joy and latched onto the older hobbit's neck as soon as he came close enough. When the dark haired child was settled against him, Primula swept in for a hug that nearly crushed Frodo between them,
"What brings you up this way?" Bilbo asked once he could breathe again, smiling around at the family. "Oh dear, my manners. Come in! Tea isn't quite ready yet, but I'll get it started!"
"Oh, just some interesting rumors floating around, nothing unusual for the Shire." Primula said, patting him on one cheek as she swished by him and into the house. "Cousin, is that a real smile I see? Haven't seen one of those in quite a while!" Drogo gave him a friendly nod and followed behind her.
"Rumors are nasty things." Bilbo sighed, closing the front door and trailing them into his kitchen, with the child held up in one arm. "And I do believe I've smiled plenty. Hard not to when you have a little one hanging on your every word for a story." He gave Frodo's stomach a soft prod to drive home the point and the fauntling was left giggling against his neck.
Primula gave him a look that said she knew better before picking Frodo from his arms. "Sweetheart, how about you go look in the garden for fairies? Your Uncle and I have some boring things to discuss. We'll call you when tea is ready, okay?"
Frodo gave his mother a look of wide-eyed wonder, his eyes so incredibly blue it was a wonder that no one had yet drowned in them. "There are fairies in the garden?"
"Fairies, dwarves, remarkable what you might find." Bilbo muttered absently, but instantly regretted it. Didn't really need to encourage himself like that.
Instantly, Frodo wiggled in his mother's grip, urging to be let down. As soon as his little feet hit the floor he was off like a shot toward the back door, dark curls bouncing with every step.
"Such a good lad." Bilbo remarked. Primula cuffed him.
"What was that for?" he asked, rubbing the back of his head. It didn't hurt that bad, but she had still hit him!
"Easy dear." Drogo reprimanded her, though he looked like he didn't at all disagree with the move. He made for the cabinet then, taking out the kettle and cups. If his cousin was taking care of making tea, well what that meant for Bilbo, he wasn't quite sure, but it probably wasn't good.
"A week!" Primula hissed, her cheery expression turning sour. "You said you were coming to visit a week ago! And we haven't heard one pip from you in that time!"
"Things happened!" he exclaimed, suddenly rather afraid for his well-being. "I forgot!"
"Bilbo Baggins!" She huffed, giving his shoulder a hard shove. Over her shoulder, Drogo half heartedly suggested she not injure his cousin but seemed more interested in the water he was heating up.
"I didn't want to leave the house for a while," Bilbo said, sidestepping her and looping around the table to avoid her. "If you hadn't noticed, I haven't been having the best time since returning."
"I had noticed." She replied, looking fierce as she half chased him around the table. "And when I questioned you about it you lied to me and pushed it off. So now what's going on, holed up in your house all day? I want the truth!"
Bilbo desperately moved towards Drogo, his eyes pleading for help. "Sorry, but I'm with her on this." He told him with a shrug.
Giving up on hiding behind her husband, Bilbo went back to being chased around the kitchen table to avoid Primula's almost violent pursuit. "Truth? Okay! I've been on an adventure!"
"Bilbo..."
"With thirteen dwarves and a wizard, and I came back rather different."
"Ah yes, being completely despondent and lying about it to your family and then turning into a complete recluse. Very different. Good wording." Primula hissed sarcastically.
"Excuse me! My emotional state is a bit of a side effect of all of that!" Bilbo shot back, ducking just in time to dodge a slap to the back of the head before he darted back around the table. "I went through quite a lot and I think I deserve to be able to mourn if I so choose!"
"Mourn WHAT Bilbo?!" Primula half shouted at him. "Yes, we've heard the bits about the trolls and the spiders and your grand rides on giant eagles, but what else?"
"Perhaps I'm not ready to share all that and that is MY business!"
"And your health is MY business!"
"Uncle Bilbo, I found one!"
All three hobbits halted where they were and turned toward the door then, though Primula let out a strangled sound of barely controlled rage as they did.
Frodo came trotting happily through the doorway, feet smeared with mud and the brightest grin he'd ever seen on a child's face. Behind him, two big fingers wrapped in the child's small hand, was Thorin Oakenshield, looking only a tad confused, much to his credit.
"Bilbo... I didn't know you were having family over today."
So here's the part where I say that the next update will probably take a while...
Spring break is here, I have family over, I'm leaving town for a few days, I'm attending local festivals, and I have a lot of schoolwork to deal with. So, I'll do my best to get one up within the next week, but no guarantees...
Also, for anyone who is at all curious, I'd like to just mention that the name of this story came from a James Blunt song called "High." It's not really at all relevant to the story, but the line stuck out for me.
Although I will say, the song "Little Talks" by Of Monsters and Men reminds me horribly of this story.
Anyway, thanks again for reading!