TA 2941
Thorin awakes.
The night air is quiet, save for the faint rustling of the wind through the trees. He glances quickly to his right, where his sister-sons usually slumber. Both Fíli and Kíli are dead to the world, their limbs entangled in their bedrolls, one snoring, the other with his arm thrown askance.
Thorin exhales. They are asleep. They are safe.
A quick survey of the rest of the camp accounts for the rest of the company. Bombur is snoring loud enough to wake the dead but Thorin is used to the sound now. It is not what has awoken him. Then his eyes catch on Bofur. The toymaker sits with his hat askew, his eyes trained on something beyond the camp.
Thorin shifts, and catches the eye of the dwarf on watch. The toymaker juts his head once to the right and then to the edge of the cliff that marks the borders of their camp. He follows the nod.
Bilbo's bedroll is empty.
He turns towards the cliff, scouring the edge and finds a solitary figure sitting in the shadows.
Thorin almost ignores him, content to leave the Burglar under the watchful eye of Bofur. But something stops him.
Maybe it's the downtrodden slant of the lad's shoulders, or the way the last flames of the campfire flickers against the halo of sandy blonde curls, painting them in shades he'd only ever seen behind Erebor at sunset.
He gets to his feet and lumbers sleepily towards the boy. Bofur nods as he passes, and tilts his body away.
As he grows closer, he hears it. The noise that awoke him.
'Master Baggins,' he grunts softly as he looms over the Hobbit. The boy turns a startled tear-stained face towards him–and then grimaces. The look stabs him between the ribs, but he quickly smothers it, unwilling to frighten the boy when he's in this state.
'Master Oakenshield,' Bilbo sniffles softly. 'Did I wake you? My apologies, I-'
'I was already awake,' the dwarf murmurs. The boy blinks those large, watery eyes at him, reminding him vaguely of a startled doe. The thought unnerves him, and he shifts his weight, 'May I sit?'
The Hobbit nods so rapidly Thorin is briefly worried his head will roll right off his shoulders, and shifts over to make room for the much larger Thorin beside him. They sit in silence for a moment, the boy rubbing his skin red raw as he tries to wipe away the evidence of his sorrow–as if it is something to be ashamed of.
This saddens Thorin. Which is probably why he's unable to stop the next words from tumbling out of his mouth.
'Are you…well?'
The boy hesitates before nodding, 'twas just a bad dream.'
'Hm,' Thorin says. He doesn't want to pry, it is none of his business, especially after the scolding he gave the boy earlier today for chattering too much and making too much noise. He bounced right back though, just nodded and shot him a bright smile to show he understood. He wondered at the time, after days of grouching at the young lad, if there was anything that could dim that daft light of his.
Now, though, those lively eyes are shuttered and shadowed. He appears much older than Thorin originally thought he was, with an almost wilted disposition as if someone snuffed out the brightness that usually always grated him.
It surprises Thorin when he realises the sight of this sad, sorrowful Hobbit pains him so.
'I dream sometimes of losing my sister.'
The lad turns those big eyes on him and he feels distinctly uncomfortable under their scrutiny, 'You have a sister?'
'Yes,' he says shortly. 'Dis.'
'Dis,' the Hobbit repeats, as if turning the name over in his head. 'What is she like?'
Thorin is startled, he did not expect this line of questioning. He only planned to distract the lad, 'Well, she is obstinate, head-strong,' he pauses, 'and fierce. Not many would want to cross her.'
The Hobbit lets out a little snort, 'I wonder where she got that from.'
Thorin blinks at the wee creature beside him. Bilbo feels the weight of his gaze and looks up, his eyes widening with abject horror, 'Did I say that out loud?'
A small smile is stretching across his face before he can stop it, 'You did indeed, Master Baggins.'
'Fiddlesticks,' he says. 'I didn't mean…that is to say…'
Thorin holds up a large hand, bringing the rambling to an abrupt halt, 'It is nothing no one else has said before.'
Bilbo smiles back, before his gaze is drawn once again to the vast expanse of forest before them.
'You're lucky, you know.'
'I am?'
'To have a sibling,' Bilbo adds. 'I haven't had any family since…well, in a long time.'
It suddenly occurs to Thorin how little he knows about the Hobbit Gandalf insisted on recruiting as their fourteenth member. They met in Hobbiton, a risky manoeuvre in itself given the rise of Orc attacks recently, but is he from there? Had he grown up running amongst the apple trees that grew wild there, or perhaps on the heels of a mother at the once booming market before the harsh winters that redirected most of Hobbiton's trade back through the human settlements?
Or is he like Thorin, alone?
Thorin stares at Bilbo, taking in the sheen of moonlight across his curls, the way wind ruffles against them. Something nestles in his chest, a little seedling taking root.
'Yes, I believe I am.'
'Do you think she'd like me?' The Hobbit asks in a small voice. Thorin's heart stutters in his chest but he quickly squashes it, turning his face away from the alluring production playing across the lad's face.
'I think she'd like anyone willing to face down a dragon,' he answers honestly. What else is there to say, after all there is a great chance that Bilbo will not make it out of his meeting with the dragon alive.
Thorin's throat tightens at the thought.
'Still not quite sure how I feel about that,' Bilbo mutters. He's chewing on his thumbnail, something Thorin notices the Hobbit does while unsettled.
'You shall be facing him soon,' Thorin says. 'Let us both hope that the terrible worm is still deep in slumber, Master Baggins.'
'Bilbo.'
He raises an eyebrow at the Hobbit, who flushes, 'Call me Bilbo. No one calls me Master Baggins.'
'Bilbo,' Thorin tastes the name. The lad nods, almost a beat too late as if he isn't used to the name, despite what he just told him. Strange. Thorin lingers on the thought, before he lets it go. It is something to dwell on another night, when he is alone and away from the watchful gaze of Bilbo.
They fall into a companionable silence and watch the night sky until dawn streaks across the horizon and they hear the faint rumblings of the company stirring.
'You know,' Bilbo says, smiling mischievously at him, 'you're not as scary as you think you are.'
It's that smile that does it. Thorin cocks an eyebrow, 'You do not fear me, little Hobbit?'
Bilbo shakes his head, lips twitching. A warmth spreads through him at the sight and before Thorin can stop himself, he is leaning in close, until his lips brush against the pointed edge of the Hobbit's ear, and whispers, 'You should.'
He lingers, for a moment longer than he should, inhaling the lad's honey scent until he's sure it will forever be branded in his lungs.
Then he stands, placing space between him and the Hobbit. Their eyes stare up at him, crackling like the fiery leaves that used to settle outside Erebor, a dozen different shades of Autumn.
They go their separate ways then, and the day continues like all the others.
Or at least that's what Thorin tries to tell himself every time he finds his gaze locked on the Hobbit.