A Special Night in Erebor

Thorin stood out in the fortified balcony above the Front Gate of Erebor, surveying the valley of Dale as it slowly donned the soft veil of evening. It was a quiet evening of mid-autumn with light whirls of smoke rising from the rebuilt city of Dale and a mild, leaves-scented breeze moving the flags of the line of Durin which hung again proud to the walls of the Lonely Mountain, at his sides. There was much about this evening that he would not have believed had he not seen it with his own eyes. There was much about it that he had not hoped to live to see. To be home again, and to have his word to his father and grandfather fulfilled, of being king in the kingdom that they had been kings before him, to see strong grass growing again on the slopes of the Mountain, and its halls filled again with firelight and song, and treasures beyond count. It still held within its chambers much of the gold and gems that his forefathers had gathered through the passing centuries, and much that remained to be dug out of the rock by the steady hammers of the Dwarves, but beyond anything the halls of Erebor were filled with hope and laughter. Many of those that lived in the Blue Mountains had returned, including women and children. His own family was complete again. His sister Dis was with him, as were his two heirs, Fili and Kili.

And there was Bilbo as well, the one presence in his life that he would have disbelieved the most had he not spent two weeks of bliss with him in his home in the Shire and had they not just parted after a long Dwarvish dinner with Dis, Fili, Kili and those who had been part of Thorin’s Company. Bilbo had been hard pressed by pretty much everyone at the table to talk about Bag End, the contents of his pantry, and any new recipes, tea mixes and ingredients he might have brought over. Dori commended him for thinking of taking some of his lovely red wine with him back to Erebor while he sipped it carefully from a glass. Thorin had completely understood Bilbo’s wish of going to bed early after all that, though he noted gladly that this encounter with nosy relatives and friends had left the hobbit happily exhausted rather than annoyed. Thorin had not gone with him, but had promised to join him soon. He still had a few things to tend to now that he was back in Erebor. But first, he had wanted to come outside, take a breath of fresh autumn air and think about things for a while, about everything that had come before, but especially about the present moment and about how unexpected it all was.

Much later than he had planned to, Thorin finally entered his bedchamber. It was the first time he’d seen his room since leaving with Bilbo, Dwalin and Balin for the Blue Mountains, and for a short stay with Bilbo in the Shire, just to be alone together for a little while. His bedroom had undergone some slight redecoration under his sister’s tasteful hand. There were new dark blue curtains around the windows and a cover of shiny black fur on the bed.

Bilbo was already asleep under it, a book lying on his stomach, held half-open by his right thumb acting as a bookmark. A lantern still burned on the night table at his side, throwing shades of dark gold in his hair that Thorin had never seen under sunlight or even by candle light in Bag End. He had obviously fallen asleep while trying to read and no doubt to wait for Thorin.

Thorin lit the lantern on his side of the bed, extinguished the one at Bilbo’s side and went to wash up for bed. When he returned, he found Bilbo in the same state of blessed forgetfulness. He removed the book from his hand as gently as he could, but the hobbit stirred and cracked one eye open, then the other.

“Thank you,” he whispered, smiling at Thorin. Now his eyes and his whole face glowed in that dark golden light.

Thorin nodded and placed the book on his night table. “I am sorry to be so late,” he said, as he lay down at his side.

“It’s all right,” said Bilbo. “You have things to do.”

Thorin would have said more about not wanting to start their life together in that way, but the words did not come. Something about the way that Bilbo held his gaze on him, filled with all the wonder and beauty and passion of their time together in the Shire, made him feel like anything he might have said in his defence was unnecessary. Bilbo was not blaming him, not by far. He understood the burdens that Thorin had to bear, and he accepted them as part of his own life now. His eyes spoke more than words could have ever spoken, no matter how well chosen they might have been, about the love that bound them.

“This is a special night,” said Thorin, eventually.

Bilbo smiled and turned up his nose a bit. “Our first night in our bed as King and Consort?”

“Well, maybe not our first.”

“The one without return, then.”

Thorin smiled back. It was indeed not their first night in what was now their bed, but it was the one night when they could no longer forget who they were. “Nothing has to change, now that we are back,” he said. “Does it?”

“I would hope not,” said Bilbo, his gaze descending to Thorin’s mouth.

Thorin could not deny the invitation. He shifted closer and started a kiss, which Bilbo welcomed desperately.

“I’ve missed you so much today,” said Bilbo, his hand delicate on Thorin’s beard.

“I know, I have missed you as well,” said Thorin. “Badly.” He kissed him again, more gently than he expected of himself at that moment. “I wish we could have stayed longer,” he said as he settled back a little regretful on his own pillow.

“Well, you do have responsibilities here,” said Bilbo. “And I’m not sure I would have liked to stay longer.”

“I thought you loved it there.”

“I do. I did, but my life is here now, with you. And as we’ve just agreed, there’s nothing that we did there that we can’t do here.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “True, but maybe not as often.”

“Then we’ll have to make the best of the opportunities that we do get,” said Bilbo and moved closer to Thorin. Thorin opened his arms and allowed him to snuggle inside. “And perhaps it would not be completely impossible for you to take a day to rest every now and then.” Bilbo’s hand was warm against Thorin’s ribcage, grazing his skin with soft movements.

“I suppose not. And we do have holidays,” said Thorin, sighing.

“See then? It won’t be so bad. Besides, I think there will be evenings when we won’t be as tired as we are tonight.”

“Mhm, quite. Perhaps some late mornings as well.”

“I do think we’ll manage,” said Bilbo, closing his eyes and letting his hand finally rest to the side of Thorin’s flat stomach.

Thorin’s own hand was neatly arranged on Bilbo’s fluffy hip. He hummed in agreement and kissed his forehead. “I love your reasoning.”

“I love you, too, Thorin. Good night.”

“Good night.”

~

Bilbo wavered between emerging wakefulness and a lingering state of dream. It was not a well-defined dream. Just a cold fog of bad memories grabbing at his heart. He opened his eyes as he felt his chest tighten to an unbearable pressure. At his side, Thorin watched him with a soft kind of concern, as if he could not think of anything that would have made Bilbo frown in his sleep or open his eyes gasping for air.

Bilbo gave him a smile that grew from within. He did not rush to volunteer a “Good morning.” Thorin rose on his elbow and kissed the side of his forehead, in a prolonged, but light kiss that seemed to want to spell away whatever had darkened Bilbo’s dream. It felt strangely as dream and wakefulness merged again, and this time a definite pang of grief tugged at Bilbo’s heart under the warmth of Thorin’s kiss.

It was strange for him to dream of those past wounds on that happy first morning of waking up next to Thorin in their bed in Erebor, after the blissful two weeks they had spent in the Shire together. Perhaps it happened precisely because they were back in Erebor, which still needed a lot of work to erase the marks of devastation and war.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Thorin finally.

Bilbo looked up at him. “You… and me… and what I’ve gotten myself into.”

Thorin smiled, and caressed Bilbo’s hair. “You will do fine.”

Bilbo buried himself a bit into Thorin’s chest. Another flash of remembrance hit him, memories of being terrified of that embrace, of the closeness to that furry chin that now dug gently into his skull, of having those arms around anything that belonged to his mortal being. The same arms that now held him with love, but felt heavy with all the weight of the mountain over them. Bilbo closed his eyes, trying to chase away the shadows of the past, but still feeling them very present and finding himself wondering if they truly were dead, to the present or to the future. He knew he should not have doubted Thorin, and he wasn’t really doing that. Perhaps it was just the haze of not being fully awake and still caught in the web of a shuddering dream. Perhaps all he needed was to be held long enough in Thorin’s arms to know beyond any uncertainty that he was awake and that his dream would never come to life again.

“Can you hold me like this all day?” he asked, keeping his face close to Thorin’s warm chest.

He heard a deep, comforting rumble inside as the answer came. “It can be arranged.”