Chapter Text
Bilbo waited patiently until all the others had left, leaving only himself and his lover standing before the coffin, arms linked and with heavy hearts.
Thorin let out a shuddering sigh, closed his eyes briefly as Bilbo gave him a reassuring squeeze.
“It seems impossible that a year could pass so quickly.” Gently he ran his free hand over the smooth lines of the marble. “Even now I still expect to see them coming in for a meal, or practicing combat in the lower halls, even teasing me about my tendency to brood.” Though his eyes bore the weight of grief, his lips twitched oh so slightly.
“They certainly seemed to think it an entertaining habit of yours.” Bilbo said cautiously, hoping to raise the Dwarf’s mood. He needed him in good spirits for what he was going to tell him. “I shall never forget the look on their faces when you threatened them with permanent pony duty if they didn’t let the subject rest.”
Thorin did smile then, some of the tired chill in his eyes warming at the thought. “Indeed. You’d think I’d told them to try their hand at courting trolls, they looked that sour.” The upturning in his lips faded as quickly as it had come, trembling now as his throat worked.
“I would have them tease me every day for the rest of my life if it would mean I could have them back.”
“I know, love.” Bilbo swallowed hard, willing his own tears away. He needed to be strong for Thorin, let him know that he was here to be leaned on. “I know.”
“Why did they have to die, Bilbo? Why couldn’t we save them?”
The Hobbit hesitated, knowing that Thorin was still very much in the throes of grief. Though it was not as heartbreakingly raw as it had been at the outset, he knew it still ate away at the Dwarf on a daily basis. He wanted to comfort his lover and be honest simultaneously, but was desperately afraid he might spout some foolishness that would only make matters worse. He took his time to reply, choosing his words carefully.
“I don’t know, Thorin. I only wish it could be different.”
“As do I.” He let his eyes fall shut a moment as a few errant tears leaked out. After a minute or two, he bent down and brushed a kiss over the head of the coffin.
“Come, let us walk outside awhile. I need to clear my head.”
They took their leave of the burial chamber, hand in hand and each keeping his own counsel. One reminiscing of times long past with equal parts joy and sorrow, and the other looking towards the future. There were changes on the horizon, just barely visible but coming steadily to the forefront of his attention nonetheless. It was of these changes that Bilbo was hoping to speak to Thorin about.
The issue of timing prevented him, however. A year ago today the heirs of Durin had been brutally slain in battle and their uncle had been driven nearly mad with grief. He didn’t imagine Thorin was in the most receptive frame of mind at the moment, when he was so ensconced in thoughts of his nephews.
But the issue of loyalty, of duty to his own family prodded him to divulge the news he’d received a week ago. A major change had already taken place, and Bilbo knew it would complicate matters with regards to his relationship with the King Under the Mountain.
It seemed that some six months before Thorin had lost his nephews, Bilbo had gained one of his own.
“Bilbo?”
“Hm?”
“Did you not hear me?”
“Oh I am sorry, Thorin. Lost in thought, I’m afraid.” He mentally shook himself and came back to the present moment. “What was it you said?”
“I said that there were matters I wish to discuss with you.”
“Ah…it so happens that there’s something I’ve been wanting to discuss as well.” He stopped and motioned towards a low stone wall. They went to sit, and Bilbo took both of Thorin’s hands in his.
“You first, Halfling. You seem eager to speak what’s on your mind.”
Bilbo swallowed, heart suddenly pounding rather hard. Here he’d been wondering how to broach the subject, and now he’d been placed on the spot. Clearing his throat, he made himself meet Thorin’s eyes. Still grieving, he noted, and tired as ever. He hoped he was not about to worsen matters.
“I…I’ve have word from the Shire,” he began. “From one of my cousins, Drogo Baggins.”
“You’re wanted back.” It was said flatly, and Bilbo could practically feel his lover’s mental retreating from the conversation.
“N-not permanently, you understand; even if they did tell me to stay I would pay them no mind. Neither they nor anyone could stop me returning here.”
“But you are going to go away for a time, I presume? To see your kin?”
“Yes. Just for a little while, mind. I’m sure I shan’t stay above a week.”
“With a six-month journey at either end of that week.” Thorin’s polite interest was being steadily replaced by a black frown. “You’ll be gone for a year, is what you are telling me.”
Bilbo winced, brought a hand up to cup Thorin’s cheek. “I have to,” he said gently.
“Must you leave now?” He drew away and pushed to his feet. “Winter is beginning and will slow your travels. It will not be safe. You can’t go now.” Seeing the timid hope in the Hobbit’s eyes fall, he gentled his voice as best he could. Sat down again.
“I need you here, Bilbo. You’re my anchor, my rock. You keep the nightmares away.”
“My family needs me too, Thorin. My – my nephew needs me.”
Thorin froze, eyes blown wide and confused and laced with hurt.
“You never told me you had a nephew.”
“I didn’t know I had one until last week, Thorin.” He withdrew a battered, much-folded letter from his coat and held it out. “My cousin was married not long before your company came to my door, and it seems they had a son while I was away.”
Thorin took the parchment, scanned it quickly. And Bilbo saw his gaze soften.
“He was born on your birthday?”
Bilbo nodded.
“They named him Frodo.” The Dwarf continued to read, interest caught. “They say they want you to be his guardian should anything happen to them. They say he’s quiet, like you were as a child.” He glanced up.
“Go to him. I understand.”
Bilbo could have sworn his brows all but disappeared into his curls. “You’re certain?” He swiftly searched the other’s face. “A moment ago you were dead set against my going anywhere.”
“Going by the date on this letter, this Frodo of yours will be already two years of age by the time you return to the Shire. In terms of Dwarf years that would make him still an infant, but I imagine it’s different for Hobbits.”
“Yes, he’ll be a toddler then, learning to speak and garden and to outrun his parents.” Bilbo knew he should feel relief that Thorin was willing to let him go for such a length of time. But the Dwarf’s sudden acquiescence only served to make him wary, make him worry about Thorin’s motives. Why the sudden change of heart?
“A nephew needs his uncle,” Thorin said softly, seeming to have read Bilbo’s mind. “A nephew needs his uncle to teach him, to love him, to show him the old ways of his ancestors. To spoil him a little when his parents aren’t looking.”
And seeing the misty remembrance cloud his lover’s eyes, Bilbo understood. Feeling a lump rise in his throat, he took Thorin’s face in his hands and gently kissed him.
“I will miss you more than words can say.” Thorin gripped him tight, saying nothing, and Bilbo felt a twinge of guilt that he would have to be gone for so long.
“Now then.” He drew back, gently carded his fingers through the other’s hair. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”
Thorin nearly blurted it out to him then, but felt the words stick in his throat before he could even open his mouth. Orchestrating a too-casual shrug, he could not meet the Hobbit’s gaze.
“It can wait, little burglar.”
“For a year’s time?” As ever, Bilbo saw more than Thorin wanted him to see. “You said you had matters to discuss with me.”
“Please, Bilbo.” He could feel himself fighting to suppress the shaking in his heart. If this went any farther he would break down, and that was the absolute last thing he needed. “We can talk about it for as long as you wish upon your return. But I need to know you’ll be here for a long while before we talk about it, do you see? I need to know you’ll be here to consider my – to think about what I have to say,” he hastily amended.
“Only if you’re sure.” Bilbo squeezed his hand. “It seems rather important.”
“You must trust me on this. Go and see your nephew; I will still be here upon your return. Then we will talk.” Just promise me, promise me you will come back.
Bilbo gave him another searching glance, but let the matter drop. They sat awhile in the watery morning sunlight, huddled close against the impending chill of winter’s beginning. The sun had nearly reached its midday peak before Thorin spoke again.
“You must promise to keep me abreast of your travels whilst you are away, and send word the minute you arrive safely in the Shire.”
“Of course. I’d send a flower with each letter, but I’m afraid they would wilt long before my missives reached you here.”
Thorin let out a tired chuckle. “Worry not on that, my friend. I’ll simply visit that little garden of yours daily, and let it remind me of you.”
Bilbo smiled a little at the thought. The spring following the retaking of Erebor, he’d taken seeds from the flowers he’d given Thorin the day of his nephews’ wake and planted them in a small plot of land by the hidden door to the Mountain, along with a few herbs and vegetables that reminded him of home. It had blossomed wonderfully under his skilled and careful care, and he’d even begun to teach a few of the Dwarves of the company how to properly care for living things. It was good to know it would still thrive, even in his absence.
Thorin huffed a bit, then pulled Bilbo to his feet and hugged him hard, letting the embrace say what he could not. I’m scared for you. I want you to be safe. I’m happy you have a nephew. I wish I could go with you.
“Come.” He pulled away, stroked his fingers down his lover’s plump cheek. “Let us go and make preparations. I’m not letting you leave here until I’m sure I’ve done all I can to ensure you travel with speed and safety.”
“That’s fortunate, as I wouldn’t let me leave without those either.” He took the fingers that rested on his cheek and kissed each one. “I love you, Thorin. Never doubt that.”
“I love you back, Bilbo.”
Likely too much for my own good, he thought as they turned to go back into the Mountain that had fast become their home. They had begun to build a life together during the rebuilding and rebirth of the kingdom of Erebor, but it was no longer enough. Thorin wanted more.
He’d almost told the Hobbit of his intentions today, of how he wanted to court him and fuse their hearts together in a bond stronger than that of lovers. But now that Bilbo had become an uncle, he would have to wait. Wait and worry and hope to all the gods that he had made the right decision; that Bilbo would survive the journey there and back again so that he could profess just how much he loved him.
If he lost him – No. He would not consider that possibility. Of course his little burglar would come through just fine; after all had he not saved himself and his company from many a dire situation in the course of their quest? All the same, tiny slivers of fear dogged him as they went about the arrangements for Bilbo’s journey. He could not entirely still a little voice that insisted Bilbo would not come back the same Hobbit as the one he knew, and that his chance to woo him properly would be lost forever.