One more chapter for today.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, or The Silmarillion. They belong to the incomparable J.R.R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his universe.
"So you've been harboring feelings for Thorin since as far back as Rivendell?" Gandalf queried, obviously shocked that he had not noticed earlier.
"Actually, it was even before that," Bilbo admitted. He continued to observe Erebor as he went on, "I... I think I developed a little crush on him right away, especially after hearing him sing. And it was his passion for the quest that convinced me to come along."
He took a deep breath, exhaling a small, white cloud into the frosted air. "But... if we're talking about when it became deeper than that, I think it was during the Troll Incident."
"Really?" the wizard pondered. "As I remember it, Thorin was neither pleased, nor impressed with you during that particular series of events."
Bilbo laughed, still a little ashamed to recall that episode even now. "Yes, I know it seemed that way. He didn't think much of my getting everyone captured, of course, but later, he did sort of compliment me for staying calm under pressure, and for distracting the trolls until you got there. But that wasn't what drew me to him."
He angled his head just enough to be able to make eye contact with Gandalf more easily. "You probably don't know this, but I overheard the two of you talking, that first night in my home. Thorin told you that he wouldn't 'guarantee my safety' or 'be responsible for my fate'. And up until that point, he'd been making good on that, never bothering to acknowledge me or help me in any way.
"But then, during the fight with the trolls, I was captured first, and they threatened to tear me apart if the company didn't lay down their arms. In the moment, I fully expected to die right then and there; I thought that there was no way Thorin would surrender for my sake. It's not as if he liked me at all, and he could just as easily find himself a new burglar if I died."
Bilbo bowed his head with eyes closed, his lips pulled up in quiet joy. "But... I was wrong. Even though he was angry at me for being so careless, he was the first to drop his weapon. No matter how he had treated me before, he still cared about me, just a little anyway, and wanted to protect me. At least... that's what he told me afterwards, when I asked why he did it."
Gandalf said nothing to refute or conceed his account.
"Thorin took a huge risk for my sake. He had no way of knowing how we were going to get out of that situation; the quest could have ended right then and there. That's when I knew that there was so much more to him than I had realized, and I started to like what I saw."
"And yet you did not acknowledge what was happening until you spoke to Kili, correct?"
"Yes," Bilbo hummed. "And it only got worse from there. During our journey towards the Misty Mountains, he actually tried to talk to me sometimes, usually about Erebor, and I really enjoyed our short conversations... even the ones that ended in arguments. He challenged me to no end, but I when I took the time to pay attention, I noticed that he had other sides to him. He wasn't just this insufferable, condescending and downright rude dwarf with a chip on his shoulder. He was a loving uncle that waited until his nephews fell asleep before he tucked them in, and give up his only blanket if they were cold. He was a leader that expected the best of his followers, because he believed they were capable of meeting those expectations. He was a friend that listened to facts about tea and books, toys and food, children and medicine... anything his company was passionate and wanted to talk about."
Gandalf idly stroked his beard as he listened to Bilbo's fervent speech about Thorin's more honorable qualities. Then he said, "I did not realize how much you'd come to admire him at that point. When we reunited after escaping the Goblin tunnels, Thorin didn't exactly have kind words for you. I had assumed you'd had some sort of falling out before my arrival."
Bilbo sighed, still a little hurt by Thorin's harsh assumption that he should not have come on their quest, and had taken his chance to abandon them.
"I suppose that's one of the reasons you chose to throw yourself between Thorin and Azog." At the hobbit's affirmation, Gandalf added, "While not exactly the kind of reckless behavior I would encourage, it helped your cause, to some degree."
"Mm-hmm," Bilbo murmured. He looked down at his chest. After some consideration, he pulled off his scarf, and then maneuvered his hardened index finger between the layers of his clothing to rest on his skin. With a another resigned sigh, he dragged the digit downward, easily tearing the thick cloth and dislodging every button. The action left a great deal of his upper body exposed to the freezing elements, but he had already grown so numb that he hardly felt it.
Directly in the center of his chest was a dark green mass, slightly raised, and not too dissimilar from a large bruise in appearance. It was about the same size as the Arkenstone, and was the epicenter of the pulsing light, a spark that signified life. Tiny, innumerable branches and shoots forked out from it, spreading all across his torso, snaking across his limbs down to each fingertip and toe, as well as up to his neck. It was like some great, intricate tattoo or a painting, and Bilbo was its canvas.
Gandalf studied the growing flora from his perch, the lines of worry lessening in the face of such simple splendour. "It really is quite beautiful," he whispered.
Bilbo observed his precious plant with a fond expression akin to that of a father, watching his child sleep. "Yes, she is."
Gandalf inhaled deeply, finishing off the last of the weed in his pipe. "Did none of them notice before Ravenhill? I know that you kept yourself well covered throughout most of your journey, but it seems remarkable that not one of the dwarves, dense as they can be sometimes, would not at least catch of glimpse of it."
"Actually, Oin and Gloin knew about it. Oin thought it was an injury from falling in the Goblin Tunnels. He kept trying to treat it and wouldn't believe me when I told him that there was nothing he could do to help it. Gloin, on the other hand..."
Bilbo tried to keep mostly to himself while the company rested in the safety of Beorn's home. The skin-changer would not allow them to leave or provide them with provisions until he confirmed their outlandish story, so they were stuck there for the time being. It was just as well, since Oin was adamant that Thorin needed some time to recover from Azog's attack, but the wild gardens and rustic atmosphere were not made to accommodate a group of highly active dwarves used to stone halls.
Fili and Kili had fussed over their uncle during the first day, but once they were assured that he would be fine, they turned their attention back to more mischievous pursuits. Bilbo had become an unfortunate victim more than once in the space of a few hours, so he was careful to avoid them.
The others were much more attentive to him as well, now that he'd proven his mettle in battle. Most of them were simply eager for his account of what had happened to him when they'd been separated in the Misty Mountains, while others, mostly Dwalin, Bifur and Gloin, were concerned that his lack of skill with a blade would be a hindrance in the battles to come. They were grateful that he had saved Thorin, but bravery and luck would only go so far. The three of them then took it upon themselves to train him in the proper way to yield his little sword as often as they could.
He supposed he should be glad of the opportunity; he could just as well hurt himself and his enemies with his inexperience, but hobbits were not made to be warlike creatures. They were meant to nurture life, not take it. He did not regret killing the orc that had threatened Thorin, but the whole ordeal left him with dark dreams and the perpetual scent of blood on his hands.
And then there was the whole Thorin dilemma. Ever since the embrace on the Carrock, the dwarf king seemed to be everywhere, hovering over Bilbo or watching him thoughtfully from a distance. Now that he had accepted the "burglar" as one of them, he had become far more approachable, and initiated more conversations with Bilbo. He became more relaxed, more patient, and even smiled once in a while.
It was maddening for Bilbo. He'd already had feelings for Thorin, but now that Bilbo was allowed to see his more tender side, now that he was finally a recipient of the rare smiles and gentle touches he'd been fantasizing about, he didn't know how to handle it. It hurt when he and Thorin were at odds, but as long as there was that relational barrier between them, there was time to think and plan. That was not so anymore.
His love for Thorin was growing deeper every moment, which of course meant that the plant in his heart was also growing at an accelerated rate. Every kind word, every accidental brush of hands, and every fond glance was like water and sunlight, feeding both himself and the seed. And whenever the dwarf left him alone or became irritated with him again, it was like being shut in a cold, dark room with no clean air. It was like being suffocated.
It had taken such a long time just to earn Thorin's friendship. How could Bilbo possibly earn his love? Was it feasible? Would he be able to do so in time? Was it even an option with a quest to complete and a dragon on the horizon?
And could he keep his feelings, and his condition, hidden from the others so as not to betray himself to Thorin prematurely?
With this close-knit group of nosy, bored dwarves, it was not bloody likely.
"Stay focused, laddie! No daydreaming on the battlefield, unless you have a death wish!" Gloin shouted, interrupting Bilbo's thoughts.
Bilbo shook himself and returned his attention back to the task at hand. His instructors had agreed that in most situations, he would do well to take advantage of his small size and speed to adopt a strike-and-retreat method of fighting, but that would not always save him. So today's lesson was focused on standing his ground and parrying attacks. It was frustrating, not only because he would never be strong enough to overpower an adversary, but because he was too distracted and nervous with Thorin watching them.
He kept his sword up and on guard, but a single strike was all it took to throw off his balance. Gloin followed up on his first assault by bending low and throwing his shoulder into Bilbo's torso, knocking him to the ground for the upteenth time.
"Oof! Ugh... that one really hurt, Gloin! I thought you said that you were going to take it easy on me!"
The red-haired dwarf draped his ax across his shoulders and frowned. "That was easy," he protested. He held out a hand and assisted Bilbo back to his feet. "Well, ya ain't go much strength in ya, laddie, but at least you're not flinching from the blows anymore."
"Er... thanks, I guess." Bilbo winced and massaged his chest with the palm of his hand. He was a bit worried that such direct blows might do some damage to the growing life within him, but he could not recall any tales that said such things were possible. He was likely fretting over nothing, but he almost felt out of sorts if he didn't have something to be concerned about. Peaceful rest had not been afforded them as often as he should have liked.
A few of the others had been observing the proceedings from the sidelines of their little sparring circle, including a peevish Oin. After tending to Thorin, he'd had his hands full seeing to the hobbit's bruised and battered form and was not at all happy about having to deal with training wounds on top of everything else.
Before they could resume the exercise, he ceased hovering over Thorin and intervened, his medical kit in hand and already open. "That's enough for today, brother. I'll not have you reopen his stitches again," he grumbled.
Bilbo let his shoulders slump as he breathed out, glad to be done for now. However, his relief was short-lived and was given over to self-consciousness when Oin started clawing at his shirt. "H-hey!"
"Come on now, off with it!" he ordered. "I need to assess the damage."
Bilbo smacked his hand and backed away. "Must we do this in front of the others?" he hissed, forgetting for the moment the Oin could not hear him well without his ear trumpet, damaged though it was. Bilbo had never been comfortable disrobing in front of others, and so far on the journey, he had been clever enough to bathe or tend to his own wounds away from the others. And he usually stayed as covered as possible whenever Oin had insisted on treating him. Now he had even more motivation to keep his skin concealed, considering the visible change to his body.
Bilbo chanced a pleading glance at Thorin, hoping that he would take the hint and lead everyone else away in order to give him some privacy.
Thorin caught his eye and reacted with a smirk and raised brow instead. If Bilbo didn't know better, he'd swear that the dwarf king was actually leering at him. The thought made him shiver.
Gloin, at least, was more astute to the hobbit's discomfort. He dropped a heavy hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "Come, Master Baggins. We'll go in the house." He made a few wild gestures to Oin, who seemed to understand, and the three of them headed towards the building.
"You're coming too?" Bilbo asked.
Gloin nodded. His stance was easy-going but the crinkle of his eyes indicated a bit more concern. "Of course. Forgive me for intruding on your modesty, but I'd like to know if I've hurt you unnecessarily." Then he waved a finger at him in reprimand. "Don't think I don't know about all those gashes and bruises from your adventure in the Goblin Tunnels. Almost as bad as Thorin's wounds, from what I hear. We'd all see you in better fighting shape, but unlike Dwalin, I know the need to let things be. You won't be much good in a real fight if you're too tired and injured from training, after all."
"I supposed you're right," Bilbo agreed. "Thank you."
Gloin opened the massive front door to Beorn's house and stepped aside to allow Bilbo and Oin to go in first.
Bilbo glanced back at the others before they entered. Most of the dwarves had already found other activities to occupy their attention. Thorin was the only exception; his intense gaze seemed to have tracked their every movement as they left. Bilbo wondered if he imagined the look of disappointment on Thorin's face when they closed the door.
Oin rounded on him right away. "Enough dallying, Mister Baggins," he growled. "Let's see it." He handed his medical pack to Gloin and crossed his arms, foot tapping impatiently.
Bilbo resigned himself to the inevitable and removed his waistcoat. He unbuttoned his shirt, wincing under the strain of moving his sore muscles and aching joints. A shiver ran up his spine when his skin was exposed to the cool evening air, but that was the least of his concerns.
Much of his torso was discolored with bruises of various sizes and shapes, nearly all of them resulting from his nasty fall in the Misty Mountains. He also had a number of lacerations. The majority were small enough to heal without binding, but there was one significant gash on his arm that had required stitches. Lucky for him, it was not on his dominant limb, so he could carry on most activities without trouble or alerting the others.
He was far more worried about the mark that had become visible near his heart. It was small, for the moment, no bigger than a coin, but it was dark. It might be mistaken for a bruise from a distance, but a close inspection, like the one Oin was performing, would reveal that it was something much different.
"Stitches look fine; no tearing," the medic mumbled as he picked at the thread. He circled around the hobbit to look at every little mark on his upper body, his meaty fingers ghosting over the skin with a firm, clinical touch. "No signs of infection on any of the open cuts." His eyes narrowed, pulling the lines of his face taut, and he shook his head. "More contusions, though. Minor, but many."
Oin paused in front of Bilbo, his eyes now drawn to the blotch on his chest. "This one shows no signs of healing at all. Probably aggravated by my brother's repeated blows." He threw a glare at Gloin, who looked somewhat apologetic. Bilbo suspected it had more to do with his fear of Oin's temper than having caused him harm.
"That one's not an injury, Master Oin," Bilbo tried to tell him, hoping to deter him from a closer look. "There's no need to worry about it."
Oin squinted his eyes and leaned in to see it better. No doubt he would notice the beginnings of tiny roots and branches if he stared long enough, so Bilbo took a step back and covered it with his hand.
"It's fine, really. It doesn't hurt or anything," he insisted with a raised voice.
Oin reached into a pocket and pulled out his flattened ear trumpet. "What now?"
Thinking fast, Bilbo turned around and tried to point to a tender spot on his mid back. "This one hurts a lot more than the others," he almost shouted. It was true actually, so he didn't really have to put any effort to convincing Oin to focus his efforts there instead of the front.
"Aye, that one does look pretty bad," Oin admitted. "Lucky you didn't crack any bones. Have a seat then, and I'll get some salve ready." He retrieved his pack from Gloin and found a chair to use as a table for his supplies.
While he was busy mixing various herbs and pastes, Bilbo eased himself to sit on a pile of straw and blew out a long breath. Gloin followed and plopped down beside him, setting his ax next to him on the ground. After a length of time, in which no one spoke, the dwarf released a noise that sounded like something halfway between a groan and a sigh. Then he reached into his shirt and drew out a heavy, square trinket.
"What's that?" Bilbo asked. He'd seen it from a distance many times before; Gloin had a nightly ritual of pulling it out and looking at its contents, but Bilbo never had the opportunity to ask precisely what it was that captivated him so.
A warm grin instantly spread across his face. "It's a locket, Master Baggins." He released a tiny clasp on the side to open it and leaned over to show Bilbo the pictures inside. "That's my wife, Hildur, and my wee lad, Gimli."
"Oh... um... they're both lovely," Bilbo said. He'd never seen a dwarrowdam before, though they'd been described to him on several occasions, and Fili, Kili and Ori were his only close frame of reference for dwarflings. He found both more odd than beautiful at first glance, but that was to be expected, considering the differences between hobbits and dwarves.
Gloin, it seemed, did not notice Bilbo's awkward hesitation, as his smile grew impossibly wider. "Aye... that they are. Did I tell you that Gimli wanted to join us on this quest? He's already nearly as skilled as me with axes, but he's still so young. Neither Hildur or I would let him to come, and I don't think Thorin would have agreed anyway."
"Oh, well... that's too bad I suppose. I would have liked to meet him," Bilbo said, quite sincere. He hadn't said much to the dwarves about it, but Bilbo adored children. He was extremely fond of his many cousins and loved telling them stories, or playing hide-and-seek with them when he had the time.
"I'm sure he would love you," Gloin assured him. "Perhaps we can arrange for you to meet someday. After we take back the Lonely Mountain, both my wife and son will come to live there with me. I know you'll be headin' back to the Shire, once the quest is over, but you'll return to visit us, won't you?"
Bilbo hid a grimace at that, unwilling to reveal that such a thing may not be possible. Instead, he nodded and said, "I would like that very much, Master Gloin."
"Good! It's settled then!" Gloin gave him a hearty clap on the back, forgetting Bilbo's injuries for the moment. "Oh, sorry about that," he chuckled at Bilbo's wince.
"It's okay," Bilbo hissed through his teeth. After his skin stopped tingling from the pain, he asked, "So what about your wife? Do you think she'd like me too?"
Gloin looked up and rubbed his chin in thought, which was no easy task with his ample beard. "Probably not at first, but I know she'd warm up to you. Don't take it personally; she doesn't like anyone much. It took me almost a decade to convince her to let me court her, and another couple of years to get her to marry me. My Hildur's a stubborn one, she is." He laughed, and there was a spark in his eyes when he spoke of his beloved wife.
"Was that unusual? I mean... it it typical for courting to take years?"
Gloin lifted one shoulder as he snapped his locket closed. "Depends on the couple and the situation. Courting can last as little as a few months, or as long as a lifetime."
Bilbo shook his head at the strangeness of it all. "I guess that makes sense; dwarves live so much longer than hobbits, so I suppose you can take your time if you want. Hobbits don't have that luxury, for a few reasons."
Gloin crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. "How long does hobbit courting last then?"
"Not long at all," Bilbo replied. "Most hobbits get married within a few months of courting, although 'married' is sort of a loose term, depending on how you look at it. Hobbits are considered married, or committed to one another, after they recite the Uprooting Vows, which can be done in private or in front of witnesses. We still hold wedding ceremonies, but they're usually just a formality." He smirked. "Really, weddings are just an excuse for us to have a party."
"Interesting," Gloin said, nodding. "Though I'm not sure I fully understand. What's an 'Uprooting Vow'?"
Oin chose that moment to approach the hobbit, a little pot filled with a soothing and fragrant paste in his hand. "Stand up, if you please, Mister Baggins," he ordered.
Bilbo did as he was told, but he stood facing Gloin so that he could continue their conversation. "Well, it's like this..."
For the third time in their journey, he recounted the ancient tale of the hobbits' encounter with Yavanna, and the change that she wrought in their being. He continued on further into the story to answer Gloin's question. "The seed that was planted in their hearts would awaken and begin to develop when they found themselves drawn to another in deep and true affection, and the plants would grow as their love for one another did. If their feelings were mutual and they were willing to devote themselves wholly to each other, they would each recite vows of eternal love. This vow would be a prayer and a spell that invokes the power of Yavanna and the blessings of all the Valar, and it was the means by which the growing plants would be transplanted from their bodies into the earth, and thus the union solidified."
Bilbo recoiled a bit when Oin applied his salve to the more sensitive areas of his back. "In other words, the spell that's used to transplant the seeds growing within us are also our marriage vows. It's up to the couple to decide if they want to recite them during a formal wedding ceremony or in private. Time also plays a factor, but... well... I think I'd rather not talk about that."
Gloin nodded. "I understand. Very fascinating, Master Baggins. It's all very strange to me, but I suppose I can see the romantic appeal. Dwarves craft extravagant gifts for one another while courting and exchange them during our weddings, so you could say that there's some similarities. We both utilize the gifts granted to us by the Valar to show our love."
"Exactly," Bilbo agreed. He kept a close eye on Oin when he got around to treating his chest and stomach to make sure that he did not look too close or smear too much balm near his heart.
"All finished. Rest up while you can," Oin ordered. "And come find me before you go to bed tonight. I'll apply some more of this then."
Bilbo agreed. "Thank you, Master Oin. I truly appreciate it." He retrieved his shirt and waistcoat and hurried to clothe himself.
Oin waved a hand and went to put away his things, muttering to himself.
"I've one more question about your hobbit traditions, if you don't mind," Gloin said as he dressed.
Bilbo looked up from his buttons expectantly. "What's that?"
The dwarf's eyes flashed to Bilbo's chest. "Does that spell, the vows or whatever, still work if the one reciting them is not a halfling?"
Bilbo's fingers stilled on the hem of his waistcoat. "Pardon?"
Gloin stood up and crossed his arms in the same manner as Oin. The pose and the expression emphasized the family resemblance between the brothers. "You heard me lad. Can, let's say... a dwarf, recite the vow and complete your transplanting ritual?"
Bilbo tried to look anywhere but at Gloin's deliberate stare and cleared his throat. "O-oh... well, there is an old story about a Took, that's a hobbit clan on my mother's side, taking a fairy wife, so I assume it's possible. All that's really needed is that the person invoking the vow must be sincere in their love for the other. It doesn't work if their feelings aren't real. Other than that, there's nothing to say it can't be done by a dwarf." He tried to soothe down the wrinkles on his shirt and asked as indifferently as possible, "W-why do you ask?"
Gloin chuckled and picked up his ax. He walked over and slung an arm around Bilbo's shoulders, guiding him back to the door so that they could rejoin the others. "No reason, really. But it's good to know that you'll be okay, you know... in case it ever comes up." He shoved the door open with his shoulder and pushed Bilbo in front of him.
Bilbo gaped and went along with it at first, wondering if Gloin was truly aware of what he had implied or was simply guessing. In either case, his inner musings ceased when his line of sight leveled with Thorin's glance.
Bilbo dug his heels into the ground when he noticed that he was being more or less herded in Thorin's general direction. Gloin only stopped urging him along when they were a few feet away, and became distracted by responding to Dwalin's challenge to duel.
Thorin sat motionless on the ground, leaning against a tree and smoking his pipe. He offered a small half-smile, his eyes roving up and down Bilbo's form. "Are you alright, Master Baggins?" he asked in a soft voice.
Bilbo shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and swayed back and forth on his feet. "Mm-hmm. Nothing time and rest can't cure," he answered with a shrug. He was pleased to hear a note of true concern from Thorin.
The dwarf king inclined his head. "In that case, you should sit down. You've worked hard enough today." He shifted to make room for Bilbo. "Come sit beside me, and let us talk for a while."
Bilbo perked up and felt the pressure and warmth in his chest increase. "As you wish." He complied and closed the distance, doing his best not to skip with absolute delight. It was rather difficult, for both his limbs were nearly weightless with joy at receiving even this simple invitation from his love. He settled himself next to Thorin, perhaps a little improperly close, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
Thorin didn't seem to mind either.
They flowed into an easy, pleasant conversation, and all the while, Bilbo felt his burdens and pain lighten in both heart and body, and he marveled that he didn't float away.
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