Clarity of Vision, 34/35
Title: Clarity of Purpose, Chap. 34/35
Chapter Summary: Scenes from the road homeward for Thorin and Bilbo.
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo, Balin, Celeborn.
Fandom: Hobbit/Lord of the Rings. Begins in 2968, twenty-six years after the events of "Clarity of Vision" and fifty years before the canonical events of "Lord of the Rings." Thus, characters' ages and the geopolitical situation will be different than LoTR canon!
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1100
Summary: Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins have been parted for many years now, despite the love they bear each other. Now Thorin's research has uncovered a dire threat to Middle Earth--the Ring he carried a little while and then gave to Bilbo. Together with a group of companions composed of the different Free Peoples of Middle Earth, they must attempt to destroy the artifact before its Dark Lord can re-capture it.
Note: This was meant to be a little side story and birthday present for![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ilovetobefree, but it insisted on becoming part of the main story and I couldn't bring myself to leave it out! Happy birthday to my good friend and inspiration!
Lying on his bedroll, Bilbo looked up at the stars. “You know, I don’t think we’ve ever traveled together, just the two of us, without something chasing us,” he said.
Thorin tossed the last piece of kindling onto the campfire and raised an eyebrow, considering. “You may be right. We’ve spent many nights on the road, but nearly always with companions.”
“And another thing--most of our time together has been in fall or winter.” Bilbo closed his eyes and listened to the crickets and peepers filling the summer air with song. “I like this.”
“I like it as well,” Thorin said, and even with his eyes closed, Bilbo could hear the smile in his voice.
“Thorin. Bilbo.” The Lord of Khazad-dûm emerged from the eastern gate and came toward them, limping, to throw his arms around each of them in turn. “Orc arrow,” he said lightly when Thorin indicated the lame leg with a glance. “He did not live to gloat about scratching a dwarf-warrior!”
His laugh trailed off and he put his hands on Thorin’s shoulders, holding him at arm’s-length to get a good look at him. Then he did the same to Bilbo, gazing deep into his eyes. “You seem well,” he said at last, and smiled as if relieved. “Ori has told me of your adventures, but I yearn to hear them myself, over a pint of ale and a rasher of bacon.”
“That sounds lovely,” said Bilbo.
“And by happy chance, I have a guest here that would like to hear them as well,” Balin said, throwing his arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and drawing him inside.
“It would be a pleasure to--” Thorin broke off as they passed through the gate and his eyes adjusted to the dimness. In front of them stood a tall figure dressed in green, his silver hair loose around his shoulders: Celeborn, Lord of Lothlórien.
“Your Majesty,” said Thorin, bowing low, and Bilbo did the same.
“Your Majesty,” Celeborn responded, but Thorin laughed.
“I am majestic no longer,” he said, “But merely Thorin Oakenshield, soon to be Thorin Baggins, if I understand the customs of the Shire.”
“You do,” said Bilbo, blushing and adding in a lower voice, “And you are always majestic.”
“Lord Celeborn is here to discuss the raising of a memorial to his wife and my brother, halfway between his lands and ours,” said Balin. “And a memorial to the lives lost in the battle of Orthanc.”
Celeborn’s finely-carved features remained impassive and remote, yet somehow Thorin had an impression of regret. “If our peoples put their hands together to build such a thing...perhaps some wounds may heal.”
“Perhaps,” Balin said, and if he did not sound confident at least he did not sound despairing. Then he clapped his hands together. “But I forget! You have a friend here that has missed you deeply and yearns to be reunited with you. Follow me,” he said, beckoning.
When it became clear where they were going, Bilbo laughed with delight and ran ahead to the stables. “Petunia!”
The great purple-black stallion neighed joyously and kicked at the sides of his stall as he heard their voices.
“Indeed, Petunia has pined for you since you left,” Balin said as the horse nickered and lipped Bilbo’s silvered curls. “And in fact has been the terror of the stables, but I could not bring myself to send him back to Rohan as long as there was any chance you would return and reclaim him.”
“Would a war-stallion of Rohan be content to live in the Shire and give rides to small hobbit-children the rest of his days?” Thorin asked.
Petunia snorted and bared his teeth at Thorin, then went back to begging Bilbo to keep petting him.
“I suppose if one war-horse is happy to settle down somewhere quiet, why not another?” said Balin with a wink at Thorin.
The Bree-folk shot curious glances at Thorin and Bilbo as they entered the gates of the town--to be honest, more at their magnificent horse than at Thorin and Bilbo themselves, who were fairly nondescript. “I have no need for finery where we are going,” Thorin had said with a laugh when Balin tried to give him rich brocades and silks as they left. “Homespun and linen suit me quite well.”
And it was just as well that they were not wearing their best, for just outside Bree the skies had opened up and they became thoroughly soaked as the rain pounded down. “Apparently we are not meant to experience Bree in fair weather,” Thorin said as he brushed wet hair out of his face, and his smile warmed Bilbo right down to his toes.
“There could be no fairer weather than that in which I first met you,” Bilbo said gallantly.
Thorin threw back his dripping hair and laughed. “Be honest, you did not find the weather--or myself--fair at that moment, did you?”
“I was very young,” Bilbo demurred. “And also sitting in a very cold, muddy puddle.”
“Well, I am grateful you’ve learned to enjoy foul weather and foul-tempered dwarves,” Thorin said as they arrived at their stop for the night.
The Prancing Pony was bustling, with the scion of the current generation of Butterburs--Bilbo couldn’t remember his first name--reigning over the cheerful disorder. “Your finest room for myself and my fiance!” Thorin roared above the din. “What, is that not the correct term?” he asked, looking at Bilbo’s expression.
“No, it’s...it’s fine,” said Bilbo, pink but pleased.
The rain was heavy on the roof as they turned in for the night, a drumming drone that was oddly soothing. “It’s so strange to be back here with you,” said Bilbo, sitting down on the bed. “I came here so rarely in recent years, when...when it became harder and harder to…”
His voice trailed off and for a moment he couldn’t find words, remembering how the world had closed in on him, trapping him in his hole, all the coziness turned stifling and filled with sorrow.
“Hush,” said Thorin, pressing a kiss into his hair. “That time is past. The world is wide, and we have seen much of it, and now we return of our own free will for our well-deserved rest together.”
Bilbo sighed and turned into Thorin’s embrace, resting his cheek against rough cloth. “No more grand adventures for me, I think. I’ll be happy to be home, to enjoy my little circle of green and gold with you. No more grand adventures,” he said again, and then added in a whisper, “Except perhaps the very last. With you.”
“Always,” said Thorin.
Chapter Summary: Scenes from the road homeward for Thorin and Bilbo.
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo, Balin, Celeborn.
Fandom: Hobbit/Lord of the Rings. Begins in 2968, twenty-six years after the events of "Clarity of Vision" and fifty years before the canonical events of "Lord of the Rings." Thus, characters' ages and the geopolitical situation will be different than LoTR canon!
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1100
Summary: Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins have been parted for many years now, despite the love they bear each other. Now Thorin's research has uncovered a dire threat to Middle Earth--the Ring he carried a little while and then gave to Bilbo. Together with a group of companions composed of the different Free Peoples of Middle Earth, they must attempt to destroy the artifact before its Dark Lord can re-capture it.
Note: This was meant to be a little side story and birthday present for
ilovetobefree, but it insisted on becoming part of the main story and I couldn't bring myself to leave it out! Happy birthday to my good friend and inspiration!Lying on his bedroll, Bilbo looked up at the stars. “You know, I don’t think we’ve ever traveled together, just the two of us, without something chasing us,” he said.
Thorin tossed the last piece of kindling onto the campfire and raised an eyebrow, considering. “You may be right. We’ve spent many nights on the road, but nearly always with companions.”
“And another thing--most of our time together has been in fall or winter.” Bilbo closed his eyes and listened to the crickets and peepers filling the summer air with song. “I like this.”
“I like it as well,” Thorin said, and even with his eyes closed, Bilbo could hear the smile in his voice.
“Thorin. Bilbo.” The Lord of Khazad-dûm emerged from the eastern gate and came toward them, limping, to throw his arms around each of them in turn. “Orc arrow,” he said lightly when Thorin indicated the lame leg with a glance. “He did not live to gloat about scratching a dwarf-warrior!”
His laugh trailed off and he put his hands on Thorin’s shoulders, holding him at arm’s-length to get a good look at him. Then he did the same to Bilbo, gazing deep into his eyes. “You seem well,” he said at last, and smiled as if relieved. “Ori has told me of your adventures, but I yearn to hear them myself, over a pint of ale and a rasher of bacon.”
“That sounds lovely,” said Bilbo.
“And by happy chance, I have a guest here that would like to hear them as well,” Balin said, throwing his arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and drawing him inside.
“It would be a pleasure to--” Thorin broke off as they passed through the gate and his eyes adjusted to the dimness. In front of them stood a tall figure dressed in green, his silver hair loose around his shoulders: Celeborn, Lord of Lothlórien.
“Your Majesty,” said Thorin, bowing low, and Bilbo did the same.
“Your Majesty,” Celeborn responded, but Thorin laughed.
“I am majestic no longer,” he said, “But merely Thorin Oakenshield, soon to be Thorin Baggins, if I understand the customs of the Shire.”
“You do,” said Bilbo, blushing and adding in a lower voice, “And you are always majestic.”
“Lord Celeborn is here to discuss the raising of a memorial to his wife and my brother, halfway between his lands and ours,” said Balin. “And a memorial to the lives lost in the battle of Orthanc.”
Celeborn’s finely-carved features remained impassive and remote, yet somehow Thorin had an impression of regret. “If our peoples put their hands together to build such a thing...perhaps some wounds may heal.”
“Perhaps,” Balin said, and if he did not sound confident at least he did not sound despairing. Then he clapped his hands together. “But I forget! You have a friend here that has missed you deeply and yearns to be reunited with you. Follow me,” he said, beckoning.
When it became clear where they were going, Bilbo laughed with delight and ran ahead to the stables. “Petunia!”
The great purple-black stallion neighed joyously and kicked at the sides of his stall as he heard their voices.
“Indeed, Petunia has pined for you since you left,” Balin said as the horse nickered and lipped Bilbo’s silvered curls. “And in fact has been the terror of the stables, but I could not bring myself to send him back to Rohan as long as there was any chance you would return and reclaim him.”
“Would a war-stallion of Rohan be content to live in the Shire and give rides to small hobbit-children the rest of his days?” Thorin asked.
Petunia snorted and bared his teeth at Thorin, then went back to begging Bilbo to keep petting him.
“I suppose if one war-horse is happy to settle down somewhere quiet, why not another?” said Balin with a wink at Thorin.
The Bree-folk shot curious glances at Thorin and Bilbo as they entered the gates of the town--to be honest, more at their magnificent horse than at Thorin and Bilbo themselves, who were fairly nondescript. “I have no need for finery where we are going,” Thorin had said with a laugh when Balin tried to give him rich brocades and silks as they left. “Homespun and linen suit me quite well.”
And it was just as well that they were not wearing their best, for just outside Bree the skies had opened up and they became thoroughly soaked as the rain pounded down. “Apparently we are not meant to experience Bree in fair weather,” Thorin said as he brushed wet hair out of his face, and his smile warmed Bilbo right down to his toes.
“There could be no fairer weather than that in which I first met you,” Bilbo said gallantly.
Thorin threw back his dripping hair and laughed. “Be honest, you did not find the weather--or myself--fair at that moment, did you?”
“I was very young,” Bilbo demurred. “And also sitting in a very cold, muddy puddle.”
“Well, I am grateful you’ve learned to enjoy foul weather and foul-tempered dwarves,” Thorin said as they arrived at their stop for the night.
The Prancing Pony was bustling, with the scion of the current generation of Butterburs--Bilbo couldn’t remember his first name--reigning over the cheerful disorder. “Your finest room for myself and my fiance!” Thorin roared above the din. “What, is that not the correct term?” he asked, looking at Bilbo’s expression.
“No, it’s...it’s fine,” said Bilbo, pink but pleased.
The rain was heavy on the roof as they turned in for the night, a drumming drone that was oddly soothing. “It’s so strange to be back here with you,” said Bilbo, sitting down on the bed. “I came here so rarely in recent years, when...when it became harder and harder to…”
His voice trailed off and for a moment he couldn’t find words, remembering how the world had closed in on him, trapping him in his hole, all the coziness turned stifling and filled with sorrow.
“Hush,” said Thorin, pressing a kiss into his hair. “That time is past. The world is wide, and we have seen much of it, and now we return of our own free will for our well-deserved rest together.”
Bilbo sighed and turned into Thorin’s embrace, resting his cheek against rough cloth. “No more grand adventures for me, I think. I’ll be happy to be home, to enjoy my little circle of green and gold with you. No more grand adventures,” he said again, and then added in a whisper, “Except perhaps the very last. With you.”
“Always,” said Thorin.