The Light that Wakes Ch 1

HEART OF THE MOUNTAIN


When Bilbo woke, it was to the same white light that had greeted him the previous morning. But today there was more: Thorin’s shoulder, warm against his forehead, and his soft breathing. Bilbo opened his eyes and raised his head to look at him. Thorin was still sound asleep, looking peaceful beyond anything that the hobbit had seen in him before. Bilbo couldn’t help smiling, to himself, for the time being at the snowy highlights in Thorin’s beard that shone in the new sunlight like threads of silver.

Bilbo was glad that Thorin was not awake. He could simply lie there and look at him and think about how endless this moment felt and how impossible to put in words, even for him who usually knew how to turn a phrase. But there would have been too much to say, and only the heart could live all those things all at once. There was the moment itself, the start of a new year for Hobbits, and the beginning of a more hopeful age for the Dwarves of Erebor. There was the place he was in, so different and removed from the simple, cosy homes of the Shire, and yet so welcoming and full of life. And then there was the person that he lay next to, still looking frail and tired, but carrying on his shoulders that whole world that they were in. In a way, Bilbo thought, Thorin was the Heart of the Mountain, not the Arkenstone that he and his grandfather had loved so much. And Thorin was beginning to realise that.

Bilbo propped himself up on his elbows, shifting his gaze to the beautiful wave of light that came through the window all the way down inside the mountain. There was one last thing that held his thoughts that morning: the kiss that he and Thorin had shared the previous night and that had changed everything between them. That kiss was a beginning in itself, of a new adventure in Bilbo’s life that was unplanned for, like all adventures, but that, unlike others he’d taken part in, had no foreseeable end. He looked back at Thorin. He truly did not know what to expect and when, but for a strange first time in his 50 something years of life, it did not truly scare him. He knew that Thorin had his own new adventures ahead of him, to recover from his wounds and to take back his place as King, and he wanted to share in those adventures for as long as he would be able to. Of course, there was one particular new journey that was only their own and that Bilbo could no longer deny that he wanted to be part of.

He leaned over Thorin and kissed his sleeping lips again. Even weak as he was, it was enough to wake the Dwarf King. He smiled softly against Bilbo’s mouth and opened his eyes. As they parted, the look in Thorin’s eyes made Bilbo’s face heat up without warning. He wanted to hide it. He didn’t know why it kept happening, but it was very uncomfortable. Thorin kept smiling at him, undoubtedly reading everything that troubled him, then raised his good right hand to his face. His caress was filled with the promise of patience for all the things that were new and unnerving to Bilbo. It dimmed the fire in the hobbit’s face. He allowed his head to drop on Thorin’s chest without actually leaning on him. He no longer wanted to hide his embarrassment, but he needed the comfort of that closeness. The way Thorin’s fingers curled gentle in his hair made him feel safe even if he was still embarrassed.

“It’s going to take me a while to get used to this,” said Bilbo.

“We have time,” said Thorin, his voice as tender as his touch.

Bilbo raised his eyes to him again and smiled. “I suppose we do now.”

Thorin nodded, but then an expression of pain flashed on his face.

Bilbo knew it was not his soul that hurt. “Do you want me to help you sit up a bit?” he asked.

Thorin approved, so Bilbo provided whatever support he could to make up for Thorin’s lack of strength in his left arm, then fluffed up his pillows behind him.

“Shall I go look for Dwalin?” asked Bilbo as Thorin sat back.

“I wonder if he is up,” said Thorin with a little smirk.

Bilbo laughed. “Too much ale?”

Thorin raised his right eyebrow, which bore the healing but still very evident mark of a hostile blade above it. “Too long a night.”

“I can give it a try,” said Bilbo and climbed out of bed.

He put on his borrowed Dwarvish coat and walked out of the bedroom with a last look at Thorin. Indeed, it would take him a while to get used to this new feeling that he had, and that he had avoided for weeks although it had been there at the back of his mind and sometimes at the tingling tips of his fingers all along. It was the feeling that, in spite of having discovered how much bigger the world was than one might think when living in the Shire, there were yet greater reaches of his own heart that he was about to set foot into and that proved more elusive even than a dragon hiding in its golden hoard.

Bilbo went on to find Dwalin, and it was not without some apprehension that he anticipated this encounter. He imagined that his mood would be significantly aggravated by being woken from a drunken sleep, or perhaps he would in fact be in a less combative state of mind. For some reason, Bilbo’s steps did not take him to the living quarters where he knew Dwalin and his brother to be residing, but to the Banquet Hall. Perhaps it was because a little part of him expected to find the great Dwarf warrior half bent over a table with a pint of ale still within his hand’s reach.

To his surprise, he did find Dwalin in the Banquet Hall, but he was neither drunkenly asleep, nor was there any ale in sight around him. He was indeed sitting at one of the tables, but he was engaged in what looked like very coherent conversation with Dain. Knowing his light step, Bilbo cleared his throat as he approached them in order to announce his presence.

“Oh, good morning, Master Baggins,” said Dain with a thin smile. His bright red mane gleamed like a ring of fire around his head.

“Good morning, Lord Dain,” said Bilbo. “Dwalin,” he added, turning to the dwarf that he was after.

Dwalin responded only with a small nod. The cold glint in his eyes made Bilbo sure that his greeting would have come out with a snarl if he had spoken it.

“I came looking for you,” said Bilbo, not really letting it get to him. “Thorin needs your help with getting out of bed.”

“Of course,” said Dwalin, his voice low, but thankfully snarl-free. He got up, turning to Dain.

“Coming with you,” said Dain, standing up as well.

Bilbo watched them go but did not follow them. He preferred to stay behind, lured by the silence of the great hall, empty of dwarves, but bearing the usual marks of a happy Yule feast. The silence itself was an echo of a happy feast, hovering like a spell over the chaos remaining on the tables and flowing through the golden garlands hanging untouched from the ceiling, walls and pillars. It was as if the magic that had turned the trolls into stone at sunrise had worked there as well, only Erebor was a city carved in stone and it welcomed the sunrise.

“Bilbo!” a voice sounded from nowhere, startling the hobbit although it was familiar.

“Dori!” said Bilbo, turning to where the voice was coming from, which was the entrance to the Banquet Hall, “Good morning.”

“And good morning to you,” said Dori, looking surprisingly fresh.

“I thought you might sleep in after last night,” said Bilbo.

“Oh, I didn’t stay for much longer. Ori and Nori, however… we might not see them walking about until, well, later. Bifur and Bofur, too.”

Bilbo smiled. “Well, they’ve earned the right to enjoy a good party.”

“We all have, I should think,” said Dori, “but only some of us have earned the privilege of cleaning up after a good party.”

Bilbo’s smile turned quickly into laughter. “I would like to share that privilege with you, if I may.”

“Certainly.”

They set to work, with Dori rounding up the plates and trays, and Bilbo being in charge of the pints and goblets.

“How’s Thorin doing?HoHoHHHxc” asked Dori as he piled up some empty plates.

“He’s well. Dwalin and Dain are with him now.”

“I imagine it will be a while still until he can get back to normal.”

“I expect so,” said Bilbo. “Another two or three weeks perhaps.”

“Mhm,” mused Dori, “that means we will have you around for that time at least.”

“Yes, yes, not going anywhere for now,” said Bilbo with a smile that suddenly had a nervous flutter behind it. He watched Dori closer for an expression or any sign that he knew of his special bond with Thorin. He averted his gaze when Dori looked back to him, but he had to wonder if the others knew as well, not just Balin and Dwalin, and of course Fili and Kili. Every conversation he’d had with them had left him suspecting that they were trying to encourage him in some way, but perhaps it had just been wishful thinking. It was very natural for each of them to take an interest in Thorin’s condition, so there did not have to be a hidden reason why they kept asking Bilbo about him. At the same time, it was just as natural for them to want to make him feel welcome. They were friends, after all. But there was always something, little things in their tone of voice or in their eyes, that made him wonder if it was not more than friendly talk, if they were not trying to tell him something that he may have wanted to hear.

“We are grateful that you stayed,” said Dori, giving Bilbo a warm look.

Bilbo smiled back. “I thought I could be of help.”

Dori lowered his head in a little bow of approval. They continued their work filling the vast silence of the hall with their voices. Soon, Bombur joined them, and the conversation became even livelier. Bombur, who had remained at the party until much later than Dori, recounted how the rest of the night had gone and especially the best stories he had heard. Bilbo listened with pleasure, remembering how much he loved the quiet joy of the day after all the great feasts that he had attended at home in the Shire. It was inevitable that his thoughts would turn home sooner or later. He had spent all Yuletide festivities there, and he had fond memories of more of them than he could name.

When they were finished and Bilbo took his leave, he carried those thoughts with him, but as he walked alone towards Thorin’s room, they turned wistful, wavering over the cold emptiness of Bag End in the dead of winter, and, even more darkly, over a possible destructive takeover by the Sackville-Bagginses.

He found Thorin sitting comfortably in his armchair, fully dressed, and talking to Dwalin, who was sitting in a chair next to him. They both turned their heads to the door as Bilbo opened it, but Dwalin did so as he finished a sentence with the words “Blue Mountains”.

Bilbo stopped in the doorway. “Uh, sorry, am I interrupting?”

Dwalin did not have time to react to his question, but if he had had it, Bilbo was sure he would have glared at him even if it was not his room. Thorin smiled at him in a way that Bilbo was glad to have been missed by Dwalin, as he was looking elsewhere.

“No,” said Thorin, “come in.”

Bilbo walked in, closing the door behind him and approached them with more reserve than he would have if Thorin had been alone.

“We were making plans for a journey back to the Blue Mountains, to help my sister and the others prepare for their return to Erebor,” said Thorin. “Dwalin has offered to go.”

“Oh,” said Bilbo, looking at Dwalin. Now the dwarf’s expression was unreadable, but it didn’t look as hostile as it had been earlier. It wasn’t lost on Bilbo that the Shire was on the way to the Blue Mountains, but he chose to say nothing about it. “When will you be going?”

“I don’t know yet,” said Dwalin, “there are preparations to be made. As soon as possible.” Then he turned again to Thorin. “Very well then,” he said, getting up. “I’m glad we’ve got that settled. Think I should take Fili and Kili with me?”

“You can ask them,” said Thorin. “But I think they might want to savour the time they have left here without their mother around.”

“Right,” said Dwalin, laughing, then glanced briefly at Bilbo. “Well, I’ll leave you to it then,” he said after his laughter subsided.

Thorin nodded at him in thanks, and Dwalin walked out of the room.

Bilbo ‘s gaze remained fixed on Thorin, who was returning the attention. Something had changed in the air between the three of them, between him, Thorin and Dwalin. He didn’t know why, but it felt lighter. He gave Thorin a smile, and told him he would be right back.

“Dwalin,” he called, coming out into the sitting room just in time to catch the other dwarf.

Dwalin stopped and turned. His face was easy to read now. It spoke of a genuine wish to know what Bilbo could possibly want from him again. They had been in a similar circumstance the day before when Bilbo had come out after him to talk about himself and Thorin. It had not gone very well. At least, now he didn’t seem to be in a bad mood to begin with.

“I,” began Bilbo a little apprehensively still, “I wanted to ask. You are not leaving because of me, are you?”

“No, Bilbo, and I am not leaving now. I’m staying until Thorin is back on his feet.”

“I see,” said Bilbo. Dwalin’s neutral tone encouraged him, but his answer caused him to think about his own plans of whether to stay in Erebor or return home. “Well, can I ask you for a favour then?”

“What may that favour be?”

“If you’re going to the Blue Mountains, your road will take you through the Shire. Do you think you could take a small detour and check on my house? I’m a little worried about some relatives of mine and about what they might be doing in my absence.”

“You fear they might steal something?” asked Dwalin simply, not even questioning the fact that Bilbo had not asked him to take him along for the journey so that he could finally return to where he belonged.

“More like move in or sell all my things at auction.”

“Mhm, I see,” said Dwalin, setting his hands in his hips and looking a little menacing while doing it. “Hobbits have their own brand of dragons then,” he said, incredibly enough cracking a little smile.

“Huh, I suppose we do. They’re much smaller, but just as nasty.”

Even more incredibly, Dwalin burst into actual laughter. “Right then, I’ll have a look at your house for you.”

Bilbo smiled at him. “Thank you.”

Dwalin walked away with a nod of acknowledgement, leaving Bilbo more than a little bewildered behind him, and not just because the formerly frosty dwarf had suddenly lost his anger with him. He was just as confused about the thoughts that had stirred in his mind when he had heard that Dwalin would only be leaving after Thorin had recovered enough to be able to take care of himself. Bilbo was not there just to take care of Thorin. He knew that very well now, but Dwalin’s journey, which was going to take him to Hobbiton at Bilbo’s request, was a window of opportunity for him to return home if he decided he wanted to. He had until then to decide, and if he chose to stay, he knew that, past that point, he would no longer be able to pretend that he was there just to help.

He went back inside Thorin’s bedroom, not even hoping to keep his worries to himself, but meaning to try.

“Anything the matter?” asked Thorin within seconds of getting a glimpse of Bilbo.

The hobbit smiled at Thorin’s unfailing intuition and sat down at his side. “No. I asked Dwalin to pass through Hobbiton when he leaves and have a look at Bag End. I fear my relatives might prefer to start thinking me dead and help themselves to my fortune and to my house.”

“I see,” said Thorin. He seemed intent on leaving it at that.

“Did you say something to Dwalin?” asked Bilbo, taking the opportunity.

“About what?”

“Well, he’s no longer treating me like I killed you.”

Thorin gazed at him subtly before he spoke. “You killed something about me.”

Bilbo returned that gaze, knowing that he didn’t have to ask his question in words.

“Something in the way he sees me,” answered Thorin. “Do not apologize,” he said, noticing Bilbo’s impulse to do just that. “It has always been there. I hid it well, but he could have seen it if he had wanted to.”

“Balin seems aware of it,” said Bilbo.

Thorin nodded. “I never spoke to him about it, but he does not seem surprised, indeed.” His eyes glowed suddenly with something very beautiful that resembled relief, the relief that he could finally be himself.

“I think the others know something, too,” said Bilbo. “I suspect they’ve been trying to encourage me to, well, stay. Fili and Kili know for certain.”

Thorin broke into a wider smile. “Thankfully, they have not said anything to me.”

“No, I don’t expect they would work up the courage to mention it to you.”

Now Thorin laughed, and Bilbo thought that was a sound he wanted to hear more often. “So why is Dwalin the only one who sees things differently? I thought this kind of thing was not much of a problem for your people.”

“It is not the ideal situation for someone like me,” said Thorin. “And Dwalin is fond of ideals.”

“Aren’t we all?” said Bilbo.

“Perhaps.”

“You still haven’t told me what made him change his mind.”

“He wanted to get away for a while to sort out his thoughts. That is why he offered to go to the Blue Mountains.”

“Away from you?”

Thorin nodded.

“And me, I suppose.”

“From me mostly,” Thorin countered, and his voice carried a very clear note of grief.

“But he has accepted… who you are,” said Bilbo.

“Not with his heart,” replied Thorin. “For that he needs time, alone.” His gaze dropped from Bilbo’s to an undefined spot on the ground. Now he looked as heartbroken as he sounded. “I know it will take him time to forgive me,” he said, looking back up at Bilbo, “but I am glad that he has stopped blaming you.”

Bilbo wanted to get up and take Thorin into his arms. “I would apologize again, but I know you’ll stop me.”

Thorin looked at him trying to smile, but not quite finding the will for it. Then Bilbo did as he felt and encircled Thorin with his arms, letting him hide his pain in his chest. “It’s not very fair, is it?” he said, stroking Thorin’s hair softly. “I’m sure he’ll come around. He loves you too much.” Thorin emerged from the folds of Bilbo’s shirt, finally looking like his heart could be mended. “What do you say about some lunch?” asked Bilbo.

Thorin agreed and let him go. He remained waiting on his armchair as Bilbo went to the Royal Kitchen in search of something particularly delightful for lunch, but Thorin’s image, wounded both in body and in spirit, never left his mind.