Summer Haze

chapter 2

Thorin appreciated the mushrooms that Bilbo had picked from the woods more than the berries, especially since they had been thrown into a thick, puffy omelette along with a generous amount of ham and cheese. Bilbo had noticed the Dwarves’ preference for things non-vegetable, and Thorin was certainly no exception. Not that he had seemed much interested in food in general during the quest, a worrying aspect which Bilbo had pondered every time they had had a meal and Thorin had only nibbled at something at best. Fortunately, in the meantime, he seemed to have acquired a much healthier appetite. He still never allowed himself to appear unmannered, but table manners were something that agreed with a hobbit of Bilbo’s upbringing, as opposed to not eating all of one’s meals.

After dinner, Thorin had offered as usual to help with the cleaning of the table, but Bilbo had shooed him away, claiming full authority over his kitchen. The rest of the house was open for exploration, however, and Bilbo knew that Thorin enjoyed looking around, much to the hobbit’s surprise and delight.

Finishing his business in the kitchen, Bilbo walked out into his study, intent on finding Thorin, wherever he had gone and whatever questions he might have had about normal Hobbit things that seemed either strange or useless to him. Yet, Bilbo didn’t have to put much effort into his search, as the dwarf was closer than expected. He was sitting in Bilbo’s favourite armchair near the hearth, with a book in his lap and his feet propped on a stool. His head was leaning to his left against the back of the armchair, his eyelids were lowered and his fingers curled dormant over the cover of the book. He had unmistakeably fallen asleep while trying to read, much like Bilbo himself had done countless times in that very same spot.

Unsure of whether to feel astonished or simply endeared, but certain that this was a peculiar scene, Bilbo collected the book from Thorin’s lap, tucked it under his arm, and caressed Thorin’s greying temple, in an attempt to wake him up gently. He appeared comfortable enough the way he was, but Bilbo knew very well what sleeping in armchairs did to one’s back, especially for a rather great dwarf sleeping in an armchair sized for hobbits.

“Go to bed, Thorin,” said Bilbo as the dwarf opened his eyes and turned his head lazily.

“It seems you have managed to exhaust me,” purred Thorin, straightening somewhat in his seat.

Bilbo smiled, more to himself, remembering a similar remark from Kili, made with the cheekiest of grins, as he and his older brother had ambushed the poor hobbit on that sweetest of mornings, as he had let himself out of the royal chambers, after what had been the first time that he had given himself fully to Thorin. He preferred however not to impart that particular conversation to him, so he said nothing.

“I fear I am not what I was years ago,” continued Thorin as he got up.

“Well, I have no complaints,” said Bilbo decisively, making a very serious face and clasping his hands together behind his back.

Thorin returned a flattered little smirk, then leaned to give Bilbo a kiss on the cheek, his hair and beard brushing stirringly against the hobbit’s sensitive skin. His lips were nicely warm from having been asleep and Bilbo closed his eyes, trying to slow down the rapid thaw of his sobriety. Thorin was indeed not a young dwarf, but he still commanded quite a lot of power to seduce and not disappoint. At least for a hobbit, it was more than enough.

“Are you coming?” asked Thorin, straightening his shoulders.

The low, velvety sound of his voice was also very stirring. Bilbo felt it go through his skin and his clothes and his bones more than he heard it. “In a minute,” he whispered, not looking up.

As Thorin walked away, Bilbo sighed deeply. He extracted the book from under his arm and sat down in the armchair that the dwarf had just left. It had been a strange evening, one on which he had felt more than ever that he was not the same hobbit that had sat right there lending an unwilling ear to Gandalf’s efforts to convince him of his hidden potential for adventure. He had not felt much different when he had been gallantly carried into his home by Thorin days before. Of course, he had never expected to enter his hobbit hole other than on his own two feet, much less in the arms of a legendary dwarf king, and there was the obvious difference that he and Thorin were no longer at odds, but home had still felt like home. He still knew where everything was, he could still bustle happily about in his kitchen as if he had never been away, but tonight even that familiar activity had seemed hollow of the simple pleasure that usually came with it. Dinner had been mostly for Thorin, as Bilbo had been more content to watch him enjoy his food than to eat it himself. His filling but otherwise light meal of berries had apparently sated his appetite for the evening.

It was stranger still to see Thorin dozing without a care in that very armchair, having made himself comfortable in a place upon which he had previously looked with nothing but disdain. He was even reading Bilbo's book! Or he had been reading it until interrupted by falling sleep. Bilbo had even forgotten that he still had the book in his hands. He looked at it and realized that it was the very same one that had been residing on the arm of the chair on that fateful night when thirteen dwarves and a wizard had come to disrupt his home life. Had he really never sat in his armchair since returning? It appeared so, although he was unable to remember precisely. He had been so enraptured by Thorin and the bliss that they were sharing, that everything else seemed to exist shrouded in a veil of fog.

Deciding that he neither knew nor wished for a way under that veil, Bilbo put the book back where it had been and went to wash up for bed. As he finally reached his bedroom, after more than a mere minute, he found that Thorin was already snuggled into his pillow, adrift in deep slumber. Bilbo climbed into bed, careful not to disturb, and settled under the covers. There were many things that he liked to do with Thorin, but simply watching him sleep was one of his favourites. That was another strange sight, Thorin sleeping in his bed, quiet and peaceful, as he had never been during the quest. It seemed that he too was a different dwarf than the brooding, haughty leader of the company who had occupied that very same bed but had spent almost the entire night singing to himself of past sorrows and dark days ahead. More than his resonating voice, it had been the sombre beauty of his song that had also kept Bilbo awake, and that had ultimately made up his mind.

Now there was only the beauty to contemplate, and fresher, sweeter memories to think about. Bilbo kept his eyes open for as long as he could, and then he too fell into a peaceful sleep next to Thorin.