Days of Agony - Ch 12 Mistletoe

As Bilbo, Fili and Kili sat out in the sunshine on the terrace above the Gate of the Lonely Mountain, the sound of commotion came from below. They all stood up, Fili relying on Bilbo’s arm, and went over to the parapet to investigate. There was a horse-drawn cart coming on the road from Dale, filled with what appeared to be evergreen shrubs. The cart was being driven by two Mirkwood elves. Another one was riding before it.

“Tauriel!” said Kili breathlessly as he recognized the elf in front. Then he flashed a sun-filled grin to Bilbo and Fili and bolted down the stairs, having seemingly forgotten all about his battle wounds even if they had not yet forgotten him.

Bilbo stared after him, then looked back to Fili, who raised a mischievous eyebrow. “Let’s follow,” he said. “I can’t miss this for the world.”

Grateful for an opportunity to feel less serious about life in general, Bilbo lent Fili his arm. It would have made for an easier descent of the stairs that led down to the Gate than relying fully on his crutches would have allowed. And it gave Bilbo time to appreciate his company and to think of how unlike that darkest time of the year Fili and his brother were. Their very presence, still youthful and lively even after they had faced war and death, was the living proof that darkness was only a veil under which light gathered strength.

By the time they walked out into the open, the cart had stopped and several dwarves had gathered around it. Tauriel had dismounted, and she was talking to Kili. She smiled and bowed her head slightly as she caught sight of Bilbo and Fili.

“Very glad to see you both again,” she said, in her lithe, silvery voice that reminded Bilbo of why he loved the Elves.

“We’re glad to see you!” replied Fili.

“Yes, yes, quite,” added Bilbo. “I trust you’re all right, after the battle and all.”

“I am, thank you.”

“What, uh-” began Fili, looking at the cart.

“Oh, I was just telling Kili that our King wanted to send you some decorations for the Yuletide feast. We know that the dragon has destroyed everything outside the mountain, so we thought it would be welcome. We have a lot of evergreen we can spare. There is also a log under there.”

“The Elvenking is very generous,” said Fili, suddenly sounding solemn. “You must relay our thanks to him.”

“Of course, I will,” said Tauriel with another gentle bow of her head.

All around them, dwarves had begun to carry armloads of evergreen inside the mountain and slowly a great, long tree trunk was revealed at the bottom of the cart. Bilbo recognized the bark to be that of an ash tree. As he followed the course of the log inside the mountain, his gaze fell upon Dain, who was coming out towards them. Behind him walked Gloin, carrying a large box in his arms.

Dain nodded to everyone, then gestured for Gloin to come forward. Gloin opened the box, revealing a wreath of gold and precious stones. “A small gift for King Thranduil,” said Dain, looking at Tauriel with restrained courtesy. “As a token of our gratitude,” he continued, and Bilbo thought he could hear him grit his teeth.

“Thank you, Lord Dain,” said Tauriel, affecting a good disposition more convincingly. “I am sure King Thranduil will appreciate it.” Then she gestured to her companions to collect the box from Gloin. “May I ask how King Thorin is feeling? My Lord Thranduil would welcome news of his recovery.”

“He’s well,” replied Dain, with a thin smile. “He is not yet fully recovered, but he is getting there.”

Tauriel bowed her forehead lower this time.

“Now, if you will excuse me,” said Dain, “I must be getting back.” Dain greeted the elves with the same reserved ceremony, then he and Gloin started back inside the mountain.

“I believe we should be going back as well,” said Tauriel, looking to Kili, Bilbo and Fili. A shade of regret fell over her face.

“Will you not stay a while?” asked Kili.

Tauriel hesitated to offer an answer right away. She glanced over her shoulder briefly, as if she wanted to say something that she would have preferred her companions not to hear. “I cannot stay,” she said, eventually. Then, she brightened back suddenly. “Oh, I almost forgot. I meant to give this back to you.” She removed something from her pocket, held it in her hand and then presented it to Kili. It was the rune stone that his mother had given to him so that he would remember to come back to her.

“It was a gift. Keep it,” said Kili.

“I cannot. You must show it to your mother when you see her again. It would not be right for me to keep it.”

Kili accepted the stone and looked at it despondently for a bit, but not for too long. “Then you must accept something else in its place,” he said and began unfastening a braid that he was wearing at the back of his head and that Bilbo had not really noticed before. “I know you don’t wear beads in your hair,” he said as he was left with a shining silver cuff in his palm, “but perhaps you will still like this.”

“It’s lovely, thank you,” said Tauriel with a little smile, taking the cuff from Kili’s hand and hiding it inside her pocket.

“I hope to see you again,” said Kili. “Perhaps you’d like to visit sometime?”

“Sometime,” she said, a hint of a promise subtly bright in her voice.

Then, Tauriel mounted her horse and signalled to her companions to turn around. Kili, Fili and Bilbo waved as the elves rode away, back to Mirkwood. Kili held his hand in the air the longest.

“Thorin will like this,” said Fili, coming up at Kili’s side.

“What? The mistletoe?” asked Kili, with a cheeky grin.

Fili gave his brother a withering look. “You making friends with an Elf maiden.”

Kili swallowed a little painfully and looked back at the road, sparkling white with snow behind the elves. “I imagine he will.”

Bilbo felt for the young dwarf and for his own troublesome matters of the heart. But perhaps sometimes it was worth the trouble, and perhaps sometimes it did not mean much if there was no trouble attached. He also could not help wondering how many of the Dwarves would have actually liked what was going on between him and Thorin had they known about it. Surely, the Company seemed to know something. Fili and Kili, and even Balin seemed to approve, and there weren’t any signs of opposition from the others, but Dwalin was obviously of a different opinion. And he had to wonder how many others would have seen things the way Dwalin did if they’d known what Dwalin knew.

“Bilbo,” a voice came clamouring from behind, curtailing Bilbo’s thoughts.

He turned and saw Bofur walking towards him with a definite bounce in his step.

“Bilbo, there you are,” said Bofur, coming closer. “I thought you were with Thorin.”

“No, I… wanted to get some air. Anything the matter?”

“Ah, no, no. I just wanted to ask you if you would help us with something,” said Bofur, with a twinkle in his eye.

“Hmm, might I ask with what?”

“We’re struggling a little in the kitchen. We could use a good baker, and from what I remember, you are one.”

“Well,” said Bilbo puffing out his chest. “I know a bit about baking, I suppose. I’ll help gladly.”

“Great, come with me,” said Bofur.

Bilbo took his leave from Fili and Kili and followed Bofur to the Royal Kitchen, animated by the prospect of helping the dwarves with something that truly was within his area of expertise.

It did look like they needed help. The kitchen looked a bit like a battlefield, with plumes of steam rising here and there from great black pots, and about half a dozen dwarves slicing and spicing large chunks of meat.

“Bilbo!” called Bombur, who was trying to beat some eggs while giving out instructions or answering questions. “I’m so glad you’re here! Would you kindly beat these eggs for me?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” said Bilbo, looking back at Bofur, who winked at him and went over to one of the steaming pots and started stirring meticulously.

Bombur abandoned the bowl of eggs and started looking around for something. “Ah!” he said, having found it, “put this on.” He handed Bilbo a light blue apron.

Bilbo smiled in thanks and donned the apron, then took over for Bombur, as the large dwarf started rummaging in a cupboard below the counter.

“Uhm, what kind of meat is that?” asked Bilbo, looking behind over his shoulder at the frantically working dwarves.

“Boar!” clamoured Bombur, his head now almost completely inside the cupboard.

“Boar?”

“Yes!” said Bombur, emerging from the cupboard with a great flour sack in his arms. “What do you have at the Yuletide feast?”

“Pork,” said Bilbo.

“Well, we have boar,” said Bombur, placing the sack of flour on the counter and breathing out in relief.

“Where did it come from? I thought nothing lived in these parts anymore.”

“Dain had it brought over from the Iron Hills. They have more than enough.”

“Oh, I see.”

“We’re expecting a few barrels of strong ale later, too.”

“Oh!”

“You have to drink it, you know,” said Bombur, eyeing Bilbo in serious fashion.

“What?”

“You have to drink ale on Yule Eve. Otherwise it’s bad luck.”

“I don’t have a problem with that,” said Bilbo, whisking away.

Bombur smiled at him in approval.

“So, what are we making here?” asked Bilbo.

“Yule cakes,” responded Bombur as he opened the sack of flour. “We have to make at least one for each dwarf.”

“Right,” said Bilbo. “What’s in them?”

“Honey, raisins and dried currants.”

“Sounds rather good,” said Bilbo.

Bombur winked in response.

“Do you mind if I make one of my own recipes?” asked Bilbo. “I mean, if there’s time left.”

“Oh, no, not at all.”

They set to work on the Yule cakes, and something woke in Bilbo which he had not felt in a very long time. It was a kind of soft, warm pleasure at having his hands covered in flour and sugar, at knowing that just by bringing together a few simple ingredients and applying a little attention, he could make something that would have delighted the palate and the soul alike. Bilbo loved all food, making it as well as eating it, but cakes, tarts and biscuits were his favourites. It seemed to him that, in the case of baking, the transformation was the most miraculous. He had in fact forgotten this pleasure over the long months that he had travelled the world with Thorin and the other dwarves. He tried to remember the last time that he had baked anything. It had probably been the morning of the day when his unexpected guests had come. He had made the lovely seedcakes that Dwalin had eaten with such zest.

Of course, he usually did not have companions in his kitchen at home, but he found that he quite enjoyed the experience. This made him look at Bombur, to try and determine his state of mind. The dwarf seemed to be taking just as much pleasure in his task of pouring the cake batter into baking pans.

“Bombur,” said Bilbo as he cracked more eggs into the bowl in front of him, “did you ever think you would get to do this? I mean, bake in the kitchen of Erebor?”

Bombur gave him a furtive glance. “No, not really. None of us thought we would get this far. We just followed Thorin where he led.”

Bilbo smiled to him. “But I understand you had a pretty comfortable life back in the Blue Mountains.”

“Oh, indeed. It wasn’t at all bad. We had food, clothing. I can’t say there was much we were lacking.”

“And yet you followed Thorin away from all that.”

“He is our king, Bilbo. We would not have our life in the Blue Mountains without him. We owed him this much. It’s for us that he did all this, not just for himself.”

Bilbo lowered his gaze to his bowl of eggs, but stopped working. He realised that he had never really talked to Bombur about why he had come on the quest, or to any of the other dwarves, for that matter. He had always taken it for granted that they were confident in the success of the quest, and that it was somehow easier for them to be on the road for so long because of that. It seemed that he had been wrong.

“Of course, we have much to thank you for as well,” said Bombur.

Bilbo looked back up at him, startled. “Oh, I... I’m just glad we saw the end of it, and that we’re all alive.”

“Indeed.”

They exchanged a long glance, rich with the awareness of how precious this moment was and of how lucky they both were that they were living it.

They returned to their work and their conversation moved on to less heavy subjects such as what kind of cakes Hobbits baked for Yuletide, and what drinks they put on the table. Bombur seemed pleasantly surprised by the fact that Hobbits actually baked their cakes in the shape of a log and that they also contained honey and dried fruit. He listened intently to Bilbo as he told him that, in addition to their own variety of ale, Hobbits also enjoyed drinking mulled wine and apple cider at the Yule feast. All the while, however, the truth of their earlier exchange remained afloat in the space between them. Bilbo could feel it there at the back of his own mind, and he could see it in Bombur’s eyes, which glowed with quiet gladness.

A few hours later, they had more than enough cakes for everyone to enjoy. They were all beautifully round and baked to a golden crisp. Bombur shared one with Bilbo, to see what they had achieved together. It was soft, richly sweet and quite delicious, and Bilbo could say that he was proud of himself. He also felt more like himself than he had felt in a long time.

As Bilbo munched on the last bit of cake, Bombur set his hands in his hips and said, “I believe you have time for your own recipe if you still want to make it. Do you want help?”

“Oh, yes, thank you,” said Bilbo.

“What will it be?” asked Bombur.

“Lemon and lavender biscuits,” said the hobbit proudly.

“Did you say lavender?”

“That’s right. You don’t use lavender in your baking?”

“I can’t say that we do. We only use it for soaps and various oils and for keeping our clothes fresh.”

“Well,” said Bilbo, “then you’re about to try something new. Do you happen to have any lavender here?”

Bombur nodded and indicated a bunch of lavender than hung above the counter a little farther to Bilbo’s left.

Bilbo helped himself to some purple flowers and proceeded to perform some more baking magic, earning dubious looks from Bombur but also valuable and unwavering help.

It was already late when they were done. In spite of retaining an appearance of surprise till the very end, Bombur enjoyed the final result of Bilbo’s recipe quite a bit, and even offered a biscuit to Bofur with high recommendations. This gave Bilbo every reason to end his day of baking in the kitchen of Erebor feeling happy and accomplished. He wrapped two of his biscuits in a tea towel to take with him and wished everybody a good night.

He did not go straight to bed, however. As he stepped out of the kitchen, something tugged at his curiosity to see what had been happening elsewhere in the Mountain while he had been busy baking. Instead of walking on to the Royal Quarters, he tucked the bundle of biscuits neatly into his coat pocket and made his way to the Dining Hall, which he knew was to be the main focus of the celebrations the following day. When he finally stood in its entrance, he knew that his curiosity had not woken in vain. The log had been set into a large rectangular fire pit that acted as a rather spectacular centrepiece for the room, and two tall golden candlesticks stood on either side of the fire pit. Wreaths adorned the stone pillars of the hall, some of gold, some of holly and ivy. There were also garlands hanging from the ceiling, weaving together evergreen and golden lace, and supporting gems of all colours and thin bunches of mistletoe that made Bilbo feel as if he was looking up into a magical sky. He had never seen such splendour in his life, and it took his breath away. And he wished that Thorin could see it.

“Oh, my, this is… incredible,” said Bilbo, unable to look away, but catching a glimpse of Gloin as he came to welcome him.

“Aye. We had satisfying decorations in the Blue Mountains as well, but nothing like this,” said Gloin, his voice betraying awe.

“Huh, I imagine not…” Bilbo’s voice trailed as he continued to stare. Then he composed himself and looked briefly at his interlocutor. “I have to say I’m surprised that you use evergreen for decoration.”

“Well, back in the days when Dwarves were allies with the Elves, I mean, real allies, it was a sign of our friendship. And, I suppose it is a way of reminding ourselves that we need the world outside of our mountain cities as much as it needs us.”

“Right,” said Bilbo, smiling.

“So,” said Gloin, slightly lower, “I hear Thorin won’t be joining us in the celebrations tomorrow.”

“No, I don’t think he’s strong enough for that yet. Although I wish he could at least have a look at all this.”

“Perhaps in a few days,” said Gloin. “We’ll leave everything as it is for a while. And I hear from Balin that we’ll be having a small gathering in his quarters, just us, the Company. I’m sure that’ll lift his spirits a bit.”

Bilbo smiled to him. “I expect so.”

They gazed at each other silently for a little while. The words that they were not speaking didn’t need to be spoken. Bilbo could see in Gloin’s warm eyes that Thorin’s absence from the midst of his people carried just as much weight as his presence did. They went about their lives with apparent diligence, and even enthusiasm. They certainly had much to do, and Dain was there to watch over them, but they all seemed to be waiting for something still, something that would have finally given them a sense of closure and allowed them to move on. They were waiting for their king to take back his rightful place.

Bilbo looked away eventually, his eyes sweeping over the tables that were being set around the room, his thoughts scattered still somewhere in the undefinable space of his mind. Something drew his attention back to the matters at hand, however. He noticed something peculiar about the placing of the seats. Each table had one end occupied, but not the other.

“Gloin, why are there seats at only one end of the tables?”

“It is a custom that we observe on Yule Eve,” said Gloin. “We lay one extra place at the dining table for those who are no longer with us but whom we remember fondly.”

“Oh, I see,” said Bilbo. That would have included Thorin’s grandfather, his father, his brother and Nyrath. Bilbo slipped back into that thoughtful daze in which he seemed to spend much of his time of late. But he realised soon enough that Gloin was there and that he was looking at him. “Well,” said Bilbo, “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Gloin nodded and even bowed a little. Bilbo wished him a good night and finally made his way back to the Royal Quarters.

As he entered the sitting room outside Thorin’s bedroom, he discovered that the fever of Yuletide preparations had reached there as well. Ori and Dori were hanging garlands and wreaths around the room, similar to those he had seen in the Dining Hall, while Balin and Dwalin were placing a pair of golden candle sticks on the sides of the hearth, where part of the log resided. It seemed as if his wish that Thorin could have seen the splendour of the Dining Hall was going to come true, even if on a smaller scale.

“Can I help?” asked Bilbo, closing the door behind him.

“Oh, Bilbo,” said Balin, “I hadn’t even noticed you’d come in.” The old dwarf straightened his back, breathing a little heavily, but looking content of the arrangement that he and his brother had set up. “Right, well, you can take that mistletoe on the table and hang it to Thorin’s bed,” added Balin, pointing to a vigorous bunch of dark green mistletoe lying on the edge of a large table that had not been there before.

Bilbo looked at it, wondering how much Thorin would like it, considering all that he had learned from Gloin about Dwarves’ use of evergreen in their Yule decor. “Uh, does he know it’s from the Elves?”

Balin made a bit of a face. “Yes. He took it quite well.”

“I see,” said Bilbo. “Anything else I can do?”

“No, we are almost done,” said Balin. “It’s late anyway. I don’t think Thorin has been able to rest at all on our account.”

Bilbo smiled to him and collected the mistletoe. “I suppose I’ll see you all tomorrow then,” he said.

The dwarves each bade their greetings, and Bilbo finally walked inside Thorin’s bedroom.

Thorin looked more alert than Bilbo had expected him to look. He raised his head from his pillows and smiled widely at the hobbit. They had not seen each other since that morning, when Bilbo had left him in lively conclave with Dain to go outside and ruminate on the usual things that shadowed his heart in those days. He realised that he had not thought of any of it all day since he had been swept off by Bofur to join the preparations for the Yule feast.

Something in Thorin’s luminous smile told Bilbo that he had missed him. And if he searched his own heart, he found that the feeling was mutual. Even if he could say that he’d had an eventful day, and eventful in a good way, for a change, he felt that something had been missing, that he had not been fully present for any of it, that part of him had stayed behind with Thorin in his room and it had been there all along. Now that he was with Thorin again, it was as if he had been put back together by an unseen hand. He imagined that he would have felt something very similar had he found himself on the doorstep of Bag End again. For the first time since he had heard it, he remembered Fili’s advice of trying to determine whether he would miss Thorin more than his home or the other way round. It had sounded simple when Fili had said it and it had come as an actual relief for his indecision, but now he understood that it only complicated things. It was not the kind of question that he could answer in a matter of days, and certainly not without knowing more of what he would be missing if he had chosen to return home.

He cleared his throat a bit, in an attempt to clear the air of a growing weight, and finally walked to Thorin’s bed. As he did so, he noticed more of the golden garlands hanging around the frames of the windows. He smiled to himself and leaned over the bed to hang the mistletoe to the headboard.

“You smell of cake,” said Thorin, looking up at him.

“I’ve been helping with the baking for tomorrow,” replied Bilbo, glancing down as he still struggled to hang the mistletoe. He was grateful that Thorin’s first words to him had been so matter-of-fact. Finally, he stepped back, task accomplished, and sighed in relief. Even if his words had been matter-of-fact, Thorin’s gaze was still unnervingly dreamy. In spite of that, Bilbo remembered. “Oh, I brought you something!” He reached inside his pocket and produced a little bundle of white cloth. He pulled the cloth aside and revealed two round golden cookies with little purple dots in them. “This is something that we make for Yuletide in the Shire. They’re lemon and lavender biscuits, fresh out of the oven. Try one.”

“Lavender?” asked Thorin, visibly doubtful.

“That’s right,” said Bilbo. “I eat these all the time and I’m still around. Well, I used to eat them.”

Thorin gave him a half-glare and collected one of the biscuits from Bilbo’s hand. He bit into it tentatively, then shot Bilbo a surprised look.

“It’s not so bad, is it?” asked Bilbo.

“Quite on the contrary,” said Thorin as he took a more daring bite.

“Well, I’ll leave this here then,” said Bilbo, relieved, and laid the tea towel with the other biscuit on Thorin’s bedside table. “I’m going to wash up for bed.”

When Bilbo came back, Thorin was leaning against his pillow with a particularly content air about him, and the two biscuits were gone. Bilbo rewarded him with a smile and climbed into bed at his side.

Thorin welcomed him with a light in his eyes that did not seem to be of that world. “Thank you,” he said, “for the lavender biscuits.”

“Ah, it was no trouble at all. I enjoyed helping out in the kitchen today. It felt a bit like… home.”

“You miss it, now more than ever.”

“I suppose I do.”

“I hope this will not sound unkind, but I am glad you are here with us at this time.”

“No, I’m glad, too. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend Yuletide with this year more than with the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. Well, now you’re a little more than that.”

“Not to you,” said Thorin.

Bilbo thought for a moment. “Perhaps. But it’s hard to ignore when you are to everyone else.”

“Does it bother you?”

“No!” Bilbo said quickly. “I’m glad your dream has come true and that you get to live it.”

Thorin donned another otherworldly smile. “I want you to live it with me,” he whispered.

Bilbo properly gaped.

“I mean,” Thorin continued, apparently aware of saying too much, “while you are here.”

Bilbo swallowed the lump in his throat. “Of course,” he said, his voice a little wispier than before. “I, I’ll be happy to.”

Thorin looked like he was going to apologize again, so Bilbo did his best to appear confident in his answer in order to save him from it. Now it felt a little awkward to be staring at one another without words, unlike other times. Whatever Thorin had truly meant, Bilbo could not fathom it if he tried, nor did he want to. Now it could have been a good time to use the magic ring that he still carried in his pocket. He could have easily slipped it on his finger and disappeared. He only had to stick his hand into his pocket casually. It would have been so quick that Thorin would not have even noticed. But Bilbo could not have justified such a gesture to himself, let alone to Thorin.

It was strange. He had wanted Thorin to live so desperately, not just because he deserved it, but also because he perceived a possibility that Thorin could show him more of that which had remained unknown to him in the Shire. And now that his life was finally out of danger, all he wanted deep down in the smallest corner of his heart was to run away every time Thorin pushed him in that direction, even weak and bedridden as he was.

“I think we should get some sleep,” Bilbo said eventually.

Thorin nodded and settled more comfortably into his pillow. Bilbo turned on his back and stared at the ceiling longer than he would have liked. There was a pool of dim light visible in the round opening above the bed, a sign of a clear sky and a moon-filled night. He wondered why anyone would put a small window right above a bed, but it wasn’t placed so that the light fell on the face of the sleeper. It was set further towards the foot of the bed, and therefore it acted as a gentle hint of the succession of day and night outside. After having spent almost a month in that room, Bilbo had actually become able to tell the time well enough by the kind of light that came through the little well in the ceiling.

Bilbo finally turned on his side, facing away from Thorin. The dwarf was already snoring lightly, so he clearly wouldn’t have minded it. He was eager to take part in the celebrations the next day, but also a little apprehensive as to what they might bring for him. It was, after all, the end of a year and the start of a new one for Bilbo, and he wondered what new journeys the coming year had in store for him, if he had stayed in Erebor. On Yule Eve, what he usually expected from the new year was more quiet dinners and lovely tea parties, rain and sunshine in good measure for his garden, and a successful winemaking season. This year he did not know what to expect. And the thought of it kept him awake for most of the long night.