Bagginshield Fanfics

Erebor Emsiecat

Summary:

If anyone recognises the layout and theme of this chapter, it is because I intentionally set it up to be a sort of AU mirror to my 'Bagginshield Alphabet' chapter 'Home'. In this ficlet we see how Bilbo might come to view Erebor as home rather than the Shire. Hope it's alright!

Chapter Text

For as long as Bilbo could remember. He had always held in his heart such surety on the definition of home.

Home to him was the murmur of his parents' voices. Silenced now, but never forgotten so long as he held the memory of them close in his heart and within Bag End. It was warm, tilled earth, bright sun, and busy summer rain. Home was green rolling hills, small gurgling streams, the smell of bread baking, and the chatter and laughter that came with a congregation of many hobbits in one place; be it the market, one of the inns, or a party.

To Bilbo home was the crackling turn of an old page of a book, the heady smell of hay gathered from fields, it was a whiff of pipe weed and however many smoke rings he could produce in one sitting.

It was the burst of colour from fireworks on a midsummer eve, a sparkle of stars against the velvet dark of night sky. Home was everything one could fathom that was warm and content and comfortable; good food, a warm hearth, and like-minded folk to share one's time with. Home to Bilbo had and always would be the Shire.

'Always' had changed the day Gandalf came calling, and thirteen dwarves had raided his pantry.

Bilbo had hated his journey to start with. For all he had dreamed of seeing the world beyond the borders of the Shire, and to participate in some grand adventure, some destiny, far greater than himself. It all fell rather flat when one was soaked to the bone by heavy rain with nowhere to shelter, and was nursing cuts and bruises and aching tired muscles. Nobody had ever warned him of the inconvenience of not having decent clothes to change into, of a lack of food, and of potential danger at every turn.

Certainly, nobody had ever warned him of noble dwarf kings with piercing eyes and a voice like rolling thunder and Bilbo felt that was rather unfair of them.

As the quest unfolded, Bilbo found himself at first a little wary of, and then exasperated with their leader. For all Bilbo's books had spoke of heroes being daring, honourable, and handsome folk, they oft failed to mention descriptions of surly, stoic, stubborn, and blunt.

It was only after the Goblin Tunnels and Thorin's heartfelt admission of having been wrong, coupled with perhaps the most wonderful embrace Bilbo had felt in many a year, that the hobbit began to see things a little differently.

The weeks continued their march on towards Durin's Day, and Bilbo found contentment in the soft curl of lips in private smiles, comfort in emotive blue eyes and barely-there touches to hands and arms and shoulders. Bilbo found something blooming in his heart and a realisation settling in his stomach, and it terrified him and pulled him in all at once.

At journey's end, Erebor was not the home Thorin had told him of. The place was a tomb a 'nasty clockless hole' as he had told Thorin himself in no uncertain terms. It was cold, dark, devoid of all life save their own once the dragon had been vanquished, and mounds of gold could not compare to soft feather beds, a good meal, or sunlit pastures.

The tentative something between he and Thorin was all but ruined by the sickness, and then the battle came and Bilbo feared they would never have an opportunity to make amends.

For once, Bilbo was glad to find his fears unfounded.

Blue eyes opening to his and sincere, desperate apologies followed. Kisses were shared and promises made, and slowly, slowly Thorin and his nephews healed.