thistlepig

[thistlepig]

What's in a name?

"So this is the hobbit," Thorin speaks, his voice deep and commanding, regal even. There is such a weight to the words simply because the dwarf spoke them that Bilbo can't help but shiver.

"He looks more like a grocer than a burglar," the dwarf continues and the shivers vanish. A grocer. A grocer indeed, and Bilbo, Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, the head of the Baggins family, landlord for over half of Hobbiton, and grandson of the current Thain (not that it really meant much among Hobbits but the dwarrow didn't need to know that now did they?). It was downright insulting.

"Now see here," he started in, but before he could get farther the dwarf had gone off on weapons and such trite, followed up by a conversation about a journey and a dragon of all things. And then wouldn't you know it, they were singing. And Thorin really did have such a lovely voice, talking about the mountain and the dragon and the gold. It was too easy to fall asleep and dream about it all, waking with a shiver and the words of the song in his head. Of course he'd chase after them, contract in hand and a laugh on his lips, yelling about going on an adventure.

And what an adventure it was. But with every adventure, Thorin refused to call him by his name.

Trolls - "the halfling", course and angry, blaming him for each and every thing that went wrong. Bilbo sniffed. He was not half of anything, thank you very much.

Rivendell - "the hobbit", not one of them, not a dwarf, but better than an elf. Spoken with less hostility now and at least it's a proper name, none of this half business.

Stone Giants - "he's been lost ever since he left his home", not even a name with that one. Barely heard over the rain and crashing stone overhead, but no less piercing

Goblins - back to "the halfling" again, but different this time. Almost desperate in it's roughness, perhaps hoping he hadn't fallen to the goblins after all?

The Carrock - Finally to "Master Baggins". Grateful and rough with pain, crushing Bilbo to him, so tight he could barely breath. But he never wanted to let go.

Beorns Home - still "Master Baggins". Relaxed and calm, casual in the garden, surrounded by the humming of the great bees and the scent of the flowers.

Mirkwood - "Burglar", sometimes rough and sometimes weary. As they all were walking through that hellish place.

The wood elves' dungeon - "Master Burglar", almost fond this time perhaps? Spoken through the wooden doors and metal bars as they plotted ways to escape.

Laketown - back to "Master Baggins", deep and respectful, grateful again, and a bit ponderous.

Smaug - back to "Burglar". Rough and course, Thorin's voice was strained and yearning, but not for the company, not for Bilbo, no, but for the gold.

On the wall, well.... that bit had far to many names of course, and none of them were ones Bilbo would lay claim to anyway, so it hardly mattered. But Thorin's voice still echoed in his head. Angry and loud and so, so painful in his betrayal.

Raven Hill - "Master Baggins" rough, and gasping with blood seeping through his fingers, staining his palms red as he held the wound together the ice below them freezing his knees. The gentle shadow of the Eagles the only hope.

And now, as Bilbo knelt again at Thorin's side, this time in one of the Elven tents. Finally, as Thorin's eyes cracked open, and his parched lips separated to breathe.

"Bilbo," soft. Purposeful. Gentle.

"I'm here," he responded, reaching forward to place a palm on Thorin's cheek. "Thorin."

[thistlepig]

Wrapped in Your Touch

After Bilbo left Erebor to return to the Shire the mountain felt different. No longer did the call of stone echo in Thorin's heart. The taint of gold was banished from his mind. The comfort of the mountain no longer felt like home.

No, Thorin's home had long walked away on bare feet with Gandalf. Back to his books and armchair and cozy green hills.

And with every step he had walked away, Thorin felt a little colder and a little less whole.

He walked like a ghost through the mountain in the days after Bilbo walked away. Moving along the corridors without seeing where his own feet carried him.

For three days after Bilbo left, Thorin haunted the mountain. On the third, he wandered into the chamber that the company had huddled in after facing Smaug, and where they had set up camp before the battle. He didn't remember much from that time, he'd spent most of it in the treasure hall, conversing with the hoard.

Wasting precious time with his burglar.

Thorin sighed, looking around the room and noticing little things that had been left behind. A cup and bowl, an ashy pit where they had burned wood left from an old chair, a few loose pages now crumpled, a gold coin, a tattered blanket.

And in the corner, crumpled and left aside, was a pile of knitted material.

Walking over, Thorin picked up the material, allowing the fabric to unroll itself from where it had been not crumpled, but rolled carefully to be used as a cushion or pillow for a small head. It was a scarf, knitted out of yarn dyed in a light green with blue flecks sprinkled through. Thorin could remember, as they had rested at Beorn's, that Bilbo had worked on knitting the thing in the garden. His clever fingers bringing form from string. The finished product had hung around Bilbo's neck all the way through Mirkwood and had clung to him through the Elf king's dungeon, the river, Laketown, and through his confrontation with Smaug.

And here, now it lay. Forsaken and left bereft of the one it had protected.

Much similar to Thorin himself.

Without thinking about it, Thorin lifted the scarf and wrapped it around his own neck. It was short, barely long enough to tie properly, but as the cloth settled on his shoulders, Thorin slowly felt the cool of the mountain ebb from his form. He took a breath and felt air fill his lungs properly for the first time since Bilbo had stepped from Erebor's halls. He lifted a hand and brought the scarf to his face, breathing in the fabric. It smelled of old smoke and stale sweat, but underneath it carried a faint scent of flower and pipeweed. Of Bilbo.

Bilbo, who left to take care of his own business. Who left the mountain believing that Thorin would be a better ruler than his grandfather before him. Who even now walked further and further from him.

Yes, Thorin's home was no longer Erebor. But for now, he would remain here. He would lead his people and restore Erebor to her former glory. He would support Dale as they rebuilt. And someday, if he were very, very lucky. He could invite Bilbo back to see all he had done. Or, a tiny voice whispered in his ear, perhaps once he had built it all up, greater than it was before, and Fili could take the throne. He could himself, and follow Bilbo's steps back to the Shire and return the scarf himself.

[thistlepig]

Where The Cold Can't Reach

The first winter in Erebor is cold. The great furnaces burn through what was left of the fuel reserves they had lit in the battle with Smaug in less than a week, and the cold of winter crept quickly into the mountain. The very stones chilled around them. It was warmer then the howling winds and icy storms outside, yes, but only because the wind did not penetrate the mountain.

For dwarves, bundled under furs and coats and boots, who were built to live among the stone, it was harsh, yes, but livable.

For a hobbit, a child of the kindly West, who had not seen a harsh winter since the fell one in his childhood that had stolen his parents, it was much worse.

Bilbo breathed into his palms, covered by a threadbare pair of mittens provided by an apologetic Ori, in an attempt to warm up his stiff fingers. The waistcoat he'd brought from the shire hardly provided any protection anymore, and while he did have the coat from laketown still, it was equally threadbare.

During the day it was easy enough to keep warm by keeping moving. Running errands, taking messages to and from different places, helping Balin with administrative tasks or Bombour with cooking or Ori with organizing the absolute mess that was the Ereborian library, and of course helping Oin with caring for the wounded from the battle. All things Bilbo could do easily and keep moving, or near to one of the small fires throughout the mountain.

The problem came at night. When all the dwarrow laid down to sleep. Most slept in family groups, or groups of close friends or co-workers. It was admittedly a good way to preserve body heat and utilize the small amount of blankets or other such items that they had in the most efficient way. But Bilbo had lost his bedroll when Smaug took off the cliffside at the secret door and scared off the ponies with the rest of their supplies.

For the first little while after the battle, Bilbo had holed up in a small alcove behind a partially burned tapestry. The small spot kept him warm enough in the fall, but as winter had set in the very stones sucked the warmth from him and the small hole became unbearable.

He took to wandering rooms at night, trying to find somewhere warm, or at least warmer. But it quickly proved to be ineffective except for annoying people who were trying to sleep.

Quietly, Bilbo almost despaired of finding anything.

Until one night, once again wandering the halls, Bilbo caught a glimpse of firelight blinking out from a crack around a door. Slipping his little ring out of his pocket and onto his finger, so as to not disturb anyone in the room, he peeked through the crack.

The room was still and quiet, three beds set up against the far wall with blankets piled high over their occupants. And of course, most invitingly, a small fire burning cheerily in the hearth.

Bilbo almost wept with gladness as he crept around the door and stole into the room.

It was so much warmer in the small space than it had been in the hallways outside that bilbo started shaking from the difference. Quickly, he moved over to a corner nearer to the fire and sat down. The stones around him had absorbed warmth from the flames and he melted against the warm stone.

As soon as he sat, he could feel his eyes grow heavy. Here, tucked in the corner of the quiet room, invisible with his ring, he didn't think he'd be bothering anyone. Especially not those sleeping at the far side of the room.

No, he thought as his eyes finally shut. It shouldn't be a problem at all.

The sound of quiet rustling woke him from his place in the corner. Bilbo yawned and stretched slightly as he opened his eyes to look around. There still wasn't much in the room, but for the three shapes on the beds across from him.

As he watched, one of the figures on the bed moved slightly, the blankets shifting, the top one falling down slightly until it was only hanging onto the bed by a corner.

Bilbo tilted his head, confused. It couldn't have been long. It was still late and not yet time to start the day. Was one of the dwarrow sleeping poorly or having nightmares?

A groan sounded from the bed with movement and Bilbo froze. He would know that sound anywhere.

Still invisible, Bilbo stood and carefully padded over to the beds, walking gently until he could see a great mane of dark hair laid over the pillow, and the face of the King of Erebor, face scrunched in pain, laying there.

Bilbo swallowed. No one had told him where the Durin family had been housed to recover from their wounds. They hadn't been with the other injured from the battle he knew, but he also hadn't searched for them.

Even with Thorin's words at Ravenhill he wasn't quite sure of his standing with the King. One would say anything when they thought they were dying, after all. Though, Bilbo did hope that when he woke that Thorin wouldn't renege on his forgiveness.

But it seemed that he may find out sooner than later after all.

Thorin's eyes squinted open against the gentle light of the fire.

"Bilbo," he rasped, licking his lips.

Bilbo's eyes widened and he took a step back without thinking, bumping slightly into the bed behind him. The slight sound alerted Thorin whose eyes widened and immediately glanced to where Bilbo stood.

"Bilbo." Thorin said again, voice stronger this time.

Bilbo sighed and pulled the ring from his finger. "Yes," he said. "I'm here you daft dwarf."

Thorin's arm snuck out from under the blankets and reached out towards Bilbo who grasped it without thinking, moving closer to kneel at the side of the bed.

"You stayed," Thoin said, his voice incredulous.

"Of course I did," Bilbo frowned. "You were hurt. And the mountain needed help, and well, I may be just a hobbit, but I can do some things you know."

"More than I ever thought," Thorin agreed. "I am not unhappy to see you here."

Bilbo's eyebrows raised. "No? I thought... with your words at the falls. That you would have preferred I go."

Thorin frowned, his brow crinkling. "No. I would never prefer you to go. I... you should be where you are content and cheerful. I did not think this to be that place for you."

"Well, I hadn't either, but the Shire doesn't hold much of that for me anymore." Bilbo admitted quietly. "Though, it is cold here."

Thorin's frowned deepened. "Are you cold?" he shuffled over slightly and raised his arm a bit, grimacing at the effort of pushing the blankets up. "You should come and get warm."

Bilbo glanced at the inviting blankets. "Are you sure? You... you would have me stay?"

"Stay. Now and for as long as you please." Thorin said firmly. "Stay with me."

"Alright then," Bilbo said quietly and shuffled his way under the blanket. "I'll stay."

It was warm under the blankets and next to the great furnace that was the dwarf. Bilbo cuddled close, careful to not bump Thorin too much and aggravate his wounds. He breathed a deep sigh, the last of the lingering cold leaving him as he reveled in the warmth.

"This is much cozier than the alcove," he muttered to himself. Thorin looked at him questioningly and Bilbo just shook his head. "I'll tell you later. Goodnight, Thorin."

"Goodnight, my Hobbit," Thorin answered, closing his eyes and wrapping an arm around Bilbo who relaxed into his side with a sigh.

There would be time later to tell others of Thorin's waking, to talk to him about how cold the mountain was. Time to share a bed every night so Bilbo could sleep in warmth. And time to heal, to talk and to decide to stay forever. Time to make a mountain a home.

[thistlepig]

Tomatoes in Erebor

Bungo Baggins gifted Belladonna Took Bag End when they were married. A brand new smial carved out of the most gorgeous hill he could find, overlooking the green fields of the shire and with a view from the front window that could even see almost all the way to Bywater, across the river. It was as comfortable and cozy a home as one could ask for. But the important part of the gift wasn't the home itself.

It was the garden.

A little stone wall surrounding the space and utterly filled with all manner of herbs and plants. Lovely chrysanthemums lined the edges, rosebushes flanked the gateway, peas and beans climbing the trellis and arches for easy picking. Squash and gourds spreading over the ground with beautiful tomatoes growing in neat little rows. The tomatoes donated by the Baggins family, of course, and the pumpkins from the Old Took himself. A few fruit trees lining the property. Everything laid out just so, and with room to grow. A pleasant place indeed to kneel among the plants and tend to the soil.

Hobbits, you see, showed their love through food, from beginning to the end. And what could be more romantic than gifting the promise of many meals worked for together and produced by their own land? Than the promise of countless hours working side by side to produce fruit and food together?

When Thorin proposed to Bilbo, there was no garden. Oh the event was sweet enough. And Bilbo gladly accepted and would not have changed a thing about it, but sometimes, and only sometimes mind you, he did miss digging his toes in the soil, and tending his prize winning tomatoes, passed down from his father.

The mountain held some similarities to a smial, of course. Dwarrow also preferred to live under the embrace of the earth, and there were plenty of cozy places in the mountain. But there was no window overlooking the scenery, and there certainly was not a garden.

***

"How are the wedding preparations coming along?" Thorin asked Balin as they walked through the corridor.

"Very well," Balin hummed. "The invitations to the other dwarven kingdoms have been delivered, as well as the ones to Dale and the Greenwood." Thorin grimaced at that last one, but Bilbo had put his foot down and insisted that if they didn't invite their neighbors that would completely ruin the work he'd been putting into the new treaty.

"And the local preparations?" Thorin urged.

"Ah yes, well the cake and meal plans are going along swimmingly. I believe Bombour is very excitedly coming up with plans. The decorations are going well, Dori and the weavers guild have been working on a new tapestry for the day of among others. I believe I placed a report on your desk this morning about them." Balin glanced sideways at Thorin who turned his head away, ignoring the gentle reminder that a King should be paying attention to his paperwork.

"And the specific request from Bilbo?" He asked.

Balin frowned. "Ah, yes. The flowers." Balin rubbed a hand across his eyes. "That is a bit more complicated."

Thorin nodded with a frown of his own. "I see, so we haven't been able to find a source?"

"Well...." Balin hummed. "The greenwood is only just beginning to recover, and is not producing florals at the moment. We have reached out to Beorn as well, but the correspondence is slow. He is delighted to come to the wedding, but believes that any flowers he may bring would not survive the trip."

"And what of the wizard?"

Balin shook his head. "No one has heard from Tharkun as of yet," he grunted.

Thorin sighed. "Of course not. He will likely not show his face until the morning of and then say that had been his plan all along."

Balin shrugged but nodded. "Aye, and if that wizard does show up, I'll have a word or two for him about proper timing." He sighed. "Either way, we do seem to be stuck on the flowers. Does Bilbo really need them for the wedding? Can we not have some crafted from gemstones or precious metals in their place? They will last longer?"

"Bilbo has requested grown flowers specifically," Thorin grumbled. "And if I can give him nothing else I will give him those." Bilbo had asked for so little, and already given so much. If he wanted living flowers, as temporary and difficult they were proving to be, then by Mahal, Thorin would see them bloom.

Balin nodded and brought his stylus up to his face, tapping it gently on his chin, his face screwing up in thought. "Has anyone thought to check the old greenhouses? The ones from the reign of Nain II?"

"Those must be ancient by now." Thorin hummed. "But perhaps, if they escaped the wrath of the dragon." He nodded, looking back over at Balin. "Have someone check them. See if anything still functions or grows there."

Balin nodded and turned, taking a different corridor to head back towards his office. Thorin continued on his pace, fingers pulling at his beard slightly. Nodding to himself, he changed course and turned to walk down a different path. He might as well check the old area himself, probably after dinner. He could only hope he would find something other than rubble, and perhaps a spot of color among the stone.

***

Bilbo enjoyed dinners in the mountain. Though not typically as loud as his first introduction to dwarven frivolity that had been the gathering at Bag End, they were usually joyful and plentiful. His favorite part was how often they would burst into song or dance, belting out a few verses before going back for more food and drink. It made for an entertaining evening every time. Even Thorin, when he wasn't occupied by other kingly duties, would join in the merriment from time to time. Bilbo particularly loved when he would bring out his harp and sing. Every time it would bring him right back to that first night and when he had first heard of the Lonely Mountain.

Thorin had joined them tonight, after a few days of being caught up in other responsibilities, and Bilbo had been looking forward to the possibility of hearing his dwarf sing, but dinner was wrapping up now, and Thorin had been brooding through the whole of the meal.

"You know, I think that chicken will taste much better if you chew it instead of glare at it," Bilbo said and elbowed Thorin's side.

The dwarf startled, knocking the table so hard that some drops of ale spilled out of his still mostly full flagon. Bilbo quickly grabbed a napkin and blotted up the liquid, raising an eyebrow at Thorin as he did.

"Care to tell me what's on your mind?" he nudged.

"It's nothing," Thorin said quickly, a slight pink highlighting the skin under his slowly growing beard. Bilbo raised an eyebrow higher and Thorin sighed, "Just.... wedding details."

"Wedding details that look like they might start a brawl with your dinner?" Bilbo nudges.

"Nothing major. It's just a sourcing issue." Thorin nodded, slowly relaxing himself into his chair. "I'm taking care of it."

Bilbo tilted his head at his fiancé. "Alright. Let me know if I can help with anything."

Thorin nodded and placed his hand over his burglar's. "Of course Zirizkhie."

Bilbo's nose crinkled. "You still haven't told me what these terms mean, you know."

"After the wedding." Thorin promised. "I'll teach you as much Khuzdul as you like."

"I'll hold you to that," he grinned. "Well then, I believe that your dinner has been glared at long enough." Bilbo speared a piece of chicken with his own fork and offered it to the dwarf. "Don't you?"

Thorin chuckled and leaned forward to take the morsel into his mouth. "Of course." Bilbo grinned as he fed his fiancé. Maybe this was even better than the singing in some ways.

***

The old greenhouses were a wreck. Some of the ancient supports were still standing, but only barely. Great chunks of rock rested around the old space, deep in the mountain where Smaug couldn't touch, but his movements above had obviously shifted things enough that Thorin would need to bring experts down to bolster the stone and make the space safe. It was a project that would need to be done anyway to secure the pathways above, but Thorin mentally moved it to the top of his list.

Picking his way through the rubble, lantern in hand, Thorin could see shattered glass and wood laying among dark soil. The whole area would need to be cleaned and sorted to ensure the safety of his hobbit.

It wasn't looking like there would be much in the way of flowers or greenery to be found. Thorin's shoulders slumped as he continued to evaluate the area.

Something metallic glinted off to the side, reflecting off the flickering lantern light. Thorin moved in that direction, frowning.

A tarnished silver mechanism poked out from the wall, a heavy layer of dust covering the top half of a lever. Gently, Thorin brushed the old dust away and blew it off what he could see of the mechanism. Most of it seemed to be buried in the stone of the wall itself. He pushed slightly against the lever, and with a creak, it lowered.

As the lever moved, Thorin could hear old gears grinding behind the stone, moving slowly as the lever was pushed downwards. He pressed harder, and in the rock above, he could hear a grinding sound, before a slight ray of light glimmered above. Immediately he stopped pushing and let go of the lever. The mechanism froze in place and the small light held steady.

Looking up, Thorin could see a maze of mirrors, directing the light downwards. The light was coming from high up on the mountain through a tiny gap in the stone, moved by the mechanism.

Jaw slightly agape, Thorin's eyes followed the light down until he could see where it rested behind a pile of rubble. Walking over, he pushed away one of the old supports. A cloud of dust billowed around him and he coughed, the taste of old stone and dirt coating his tongue.

As the air cleared, and the light focused, Thorin grinned.

There, growing out of the old soil, was a small green stem.

Thorin crouched down, fingers hovering over the small plant but not quite touching the slight fuzz. The tiny thing was curled slightly, a pale green shoot just poking out of the soil.

"Hello," he said quietly, almost tenderly. "I'm glad to meet you." The slight air from his breath moved the little plant, rocking it in the loose soil. Thorin grimaced at the delicate thing. "For such a stubborn plant you look delicate." he laughed, "Fitting for Bilbo, I suppose."

Carefully, Thorin stood and looked around. There would be much work to do to make this suitable, and it would need to be done carefully so as to preserve the little plant here. But it was something. Not a flower, certainly, but something.

He would need to bring a whole team down here. A delicate team. One that would work with precision and speed. Thorin nodded to himself and stood. It was just a small thing, a tiny little green thing in a world of stone. But as the dwarrow had returned to the mountain, as life returned to the land, and as Bilbo returned hope to a king, so too would this little plant return a garden to the mountain.

And just maybe, they would be able to grow their own flowers for the wedding.

***

Bilbo had not seen Thorin for a week. Or rather not much of him. He would catch glimpses of him in the halls occasionally, and Thorin still joined the great hall for dinner, but other than that Bilbo could not pin down the king for longer than a second or two.

And Bilbo was tired of it.

They were getting married for Eru's sake, he should be able to have a few minutes with his fiancé a few times a week.

Bilbo huffed as he walked down the hall, hands in his pockets.

"Of all the stupid, dwarven things. Confusticate them." He muttered to himself. "Having to deal with the elvish ambassador by myself. Not that Thorin would be much help there anyway, but it's the principle of the thing."

"You alright there, Bilbo?" a voice asked and Bilbo jumped slightly, turning.

"Oh, Bofur," Bilbo sighed, placing a hand over his heart to calm himself. "Yes, yes, I'm perfectly well. Just a touch startled is all."

"Ya were talkin' to yourself before I 'startled' ya." Bofur grinned. "But alrigh." He walked up and placed a hand on Bilbo's back. "I was asked to come find ya," his grin widened. "Need your help with somethin."

"Oh," Bilbo allowed himself to be turned and walked in step with Bofur. "Well, alright then I suppose. If you need something I would be happy to assist."

Bofur nodded and walked him down the hall, guiding Bilbo down a corridor he'd never explored before. "It's just down here if you want to make your way, there's a lad." Bofur said, nudging Bilbo's back and pushing him gently down the hall.

"Aren't you coming?" Bilbo asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Aye, I'll be along." Bofur grinned. "I'll meet you there."

Bilbo pursed his lips, but turned and stepped down the path. The stone beneath his feet felt dusty as if no one had walked it in years until just recently. Ahead of him though, he could see a warm light illuminating the stone just after the curve of the path.

"What in Arda," he muttered slightly as he turned the path, blinking because the light was so strong.

Not lantern light... or torchlight... No, this was sunlight.

Bilbo had to blink the light out of his eyes for a moment, adjusting to the brightness, before he was able to see beyond.

But when he did.... Oh!

It wasn't much yet, no, but it was very clearly the beginnings of something very special indeed.

Dark, well turned earth began just a few paces in front of his feet. Bilbo couldn't help but step forwards, digging his feet into the soft soil, cool and lush under his toes. He sighed, his whole body relaxing into the feeling. Up ahead of him, he could see a well placed stone walkway meandering across the ground. A lovely arched stone gateway, flanked by a short stone wall surrounded a circle of turned earth. And right in the center, illuminated by a column of sunlight, stood Thorin, hands placed behind his back.

"Thorin," Bilbo breathed, "What... what is this?"

"Well," Thorin coughed into his hand. "It... you see...." he hummed. "It was the flowers."

"The flowers?" Bilbo urged, taking a few steps forwards and through the archway.

"The wedding flowers you want," Thorin nodded. "We couldn't find any growing nearby, and transporting them from afar would be, I'm told, not good for the blossoms."

Bilbo nodded as he spoke. "Yes, I suppose that's true. I didn't think of that when I said I wanted them."

"Yes, well." Thorin continued. "Balin remembered that in the time of Nain II, my forefather, there were built great greenhouses in the depths of the mountain. We... I was able to find the remnants of them, but there isn't much here." He stepped aside, and let Bilbo see beyond him, where the pale little shoot had grown into a small, more vibrantly green stem, now with two little leaves. "This was all I found, and it's not a blossom. But I have sent to our allies for seeds and perhaps starts if they can spare them."

Bilbo walked towards the small plant and reverently stroked a finger down a leaf. "This is a tomato," he said gently. "A tomato in Erebor." He looked towards Thorin. "Why did you set all this up?"

"I thought we could... well, I thought we might grow the flowers for our wedding together?" Thorin grimaced slightly. "I'm no well hand with plants or living things, but I thought you could teach me? I can help lift things at least." Bringing his hands out from behind him, he held out a freshly smithed set of garden tools.

Bilbo stood, not bothering to brush the dirt from his knees, and took the tools from Thorin. There was a small trowel, hand rake, and small spade. Perfectly formed for hobbit hands. Gathering the tools in his arms he looked up at Thorin.

"You built me a garden," he said simply.

"Yes," Thorin nodded. "Does it please you?"

"You built me a garden. And a tomato plant." He reiterated.

"Yes," Thorin bit his lip. "I hope you find it to be satisfactory."

"You want to grow flowers here for our wedding."

"Blast it all, yes you damned hobbit!" Thorin cried. "Do you like it or not, for if you don't tell me now and I will tear down every brick myself and rebuild until it is built perfectly to your standards."

Bilbo cried out and leapt into Thorin's arms, reaching up until he could cup the dwarf's face between his hands, tears streaming down his face.

"I love it you stupid dwarf!" Bilbo said, then crashed their mouths together, pressing into Thorin until his arms came up to cradle Bilbo against him. Thorin sighed into the embrace, hugging his hobbit close to him and allowing Bilbo's tears to run into his own beard.

Bilbo pulled back, his eyes still streaming. "My father gifted my mother tomatoes, did you know that?" Bilbo grinned. "Best tomatoes in the shire and he gave them to her in their marriage garden. Everyone was quite jealous I'll have you know. Completely green with envy."

"I did not know that." Thorin smiled. "The tomato plan pleases you then?"

"Of course it does. But it will take proper care, oh yes." Bilbo responded, wiggling out of Thorin's grasp. He picked the tools off the ground and looked around. "We'll need to properly fertilize the ground here, and I'm sure you can come up with a way to make sure we can get water down here, can't you?"

"Of course Ibine," Thorin smiled. "Anything for you."

Bilbo nodded. "We have much to do before those seeds get here." He said excitedly. "Imagine, growing the flowers for our wedding together? Oh, I can't tell you how my old aunties would swoon at the very idea."

Thorin followed Bilbo as he explored the space, smiling at his excited burglar. He couldn't wait until their wedding. Until he could see him crowned in the flowers they would grow together. And, to be certain, he would ensure that there were tomatoes at the wedding feast.

[thistlepig]

Morning Routine

The mountain is cold in the mornings. The deep layers of stone whisking away the heat from the day and leaving the halls chilled and quiet. It isn't until the great forges are stoked awake in the early mornings that warmth and movement returns to the mountain and the day begins anew.

Bilbo blinks awake and shivers, pulling his toes back under the covers and into the warm cavern of furs that covers himself and Thorin against the cool of the night. Thorin himself, snores in his sleep, one arm wrapped around his consort, pulling Bilbo close.

Yawning, Bilbo braces himself before slipping out from under Thorin's arm and out into the room. He pulls his robe, laid across the bed, off and wraps the fabric around his shoulders. Tying the robe closed, he shuffled over to the large fireplace, lined with black stone. He dug his toes into the plush fur rug on the floor, grateful for the soft texture.

It was the work of a few minutes to set a fire blazing in the hearth. Bilbo nodded happily as a few hot coals started forming under the yellow flames. The gentle light of the fire flickered around the room, already making the space feel cheerier. Picking up the tea-set, filled with water from the night before, he placed it on the hanging swing and pushed it over the fire. Stepping back, he sat in the armchair set before the flames and blinked his way awake.

The water boiled quickly, and Bilbo quickly put together tea to steep in the hot water. While the tea steeped, he worked on toasting a few pieces of bread for breakfast.

Soon, the smell of toasting bread and warm tea and spices filled the room. Steam gently curling from the cups.

Behind him, Bilbo heard Throin stirring, the blankets and furs being pushed back from the bed. Thorin yawned as he pulled on his own robe and walked over to his own chair placed before the fire. Leaning over, he placed a kiss on the top of Bilbo's head.

"Good morning Ghivashel," he murmured into the golden curls below his lips.

"Good morning, Love," Bilbo replied. "Jam or cheese this morning?"

"Hmm..." Thorin thought as he moved to sit in his chair. "Both."

Bilbo chuckled and nodded, placing a bit of cheese on both pieces of toast as they finished over the fire, just enough to warm and met it to the bread a bit. Reaching over, Thorin poured a mug of tea and leaned back to sip at the hot drink.

"I love you," Thorin groaned into the beverage, the warm liquid waking him up as he sipped.

"I love you too," Bilbo grinned, pulling the toast off the heat. He quickly spread jam over the cheese and passed a slice over to Thorin. "Here you are my dear. Eat up, we have a busy today."

Thorin nodded, grimacing a bit. "Don't remind me. Meetings in the morning to discuss taxes, the delegation from the Greenwood this afternoon. Today is going to be miserable."

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "It's just representatives, and I believe it's going to be Legolas today, not his father. And the taxes are just confirming things, not discussing anything new. You'll survive."

"Humph," Thorin grunted around his toast. "If you say so." He sighed as he swallowed. "Still, mornings like this make it worth it."

"I couldn't agree more," Bilbo smiled, biting into his own breakfast. Mornings like this made everything easier.

[thistlepig]

Stones and Scones

Thorin had vague memories of his grandfather sitting at a desk for long periods. This was prior to Thror's gold obsession and gradual ignoring of everything in the kingdom that didn't shine with a yellow luster. But before that, before the great hoard and greed, Thror had spent much of his time in this office.

The stone desk bore the marks of generations of Durins working here. Chips and carvings in the surface, a broken corner where a particularly irate dwarf had slammed something heavy into the desk and broken off the stone. But Thorin, as his fathers before him, refused to replace it. It was symbolic of the mountain, and their people. Of the steadfastness of stone, of their people, and the gradual marks and erosion caused by leading their kingdom. And like all Durins before, the desk would stand and serve until it fell to dust on its own.

Papers, much less sturdy than the stone, rested on the desk and moved gently as Thorin sighed. Each one bore a new complaint, decision, or permission needing his personal attention. Every aspect of the mountain and the life of the dwarrow therein rested on him.

Thorin's eyes began to cross as he looked at the words. He shook his head to clear his vision. This was always the worst part of leading. Battles he could handle. Irate dwarrow he could handle. But paperwork? This would be the end of the line of Durin. He would rather face Azog again a thousand times than spend another minute with paperwork.

As he lifted his hands to his face to rub his eyes, Thorin heard the door to his office creak open.

"Balin, if that is more paperwork, it will need to wait until tomorrow... or the day after," he said gruffly.

"And how about a cup of tea?" a mild voice responded, a chuckle following the words.

Thorin brought his hands down, and his lips cracked a small smile as his burglar walked into the room, carrying a small tray with a pair of steaming cups and a plate covered by a small silver cloche.

"More welcome than more work, at least," he replied, brushing a pile of paper aside to make room on the desk. "Though I should be getting back to it."

"Oh tosh. A break will do you good," Bilbo said as he set down the tray and pulled a small wooden chair over to the desk. "Allow me to join you for a spot of tea, yes?"

Thorin chuckled as well. "I suppose I can't deny you that."

"Quite right," Bilbo said, picking up his tea and blowing the steam away before taking a sip. He swirled it around his mouth before swallowing and frowned slightly. "While it's better than nothing, these leaves from the Greenwood do leave much to be desired. We'll have to send for something proper from the Shire come springtime."

Thorin picked up his own cup and tossed back a large drink without bothering to cool it. The hot liquid seared its way down his throat and he grunted. "It gets the job done, at least," he said, already feeling a bit more awake than a few minutes ago.

"Well, I hope these are better than adequate," Bilbo grinned as he lifted the cloche. A pair of beautifully baked scones rested on the plate, a drizzle of berry jam glistening on the buttered surface.

Thorin could feel his mouth water just looking at them. Bilbo pushed the plate toward him with a grin, and he grunted as he picked one up and took a bite. The buttery sweet bread mixing with the sharp tang of blackberry jam on his tongue. His eyes rolled back slightly as he chewed.

"Much better," he said finally, swallowing the mouthful before taking another bite. Bilbo nodded in satisfaction before taking up his own scone and grinning around a mouthful.

"They did turn out quite well," Bilbo said after swallowing. "I had to make do with some ingredients, but I'm quite pleased with the result. Even if they won't be winning any baking competitions in the Shire."

"They would win here," Thorin grunted, taking another mouthful. There was only a bit left, and he tried to savor it before he would have to return to the paperwork.

"Well, that's a lovely idea," Bilbo grinned. "A baking competition in Erebor. It could be just the thing to get people's spirits up. And at least fill their bellies a bit. I'll talk to Balin and Bombur and see if that's something we could do."

Bilbo finished his own scone quickly and stood up, gathering the empty plates and cups again. He took a step towards the door, then turned to look at Thorin and glance at the table.

"You know, I heard Balin earlier. I don't believe there is anything there that is pressing to get done today. Why don't you come with me and stretch your legs for a bit?" Bilbo grinned at him.

Thorin glanced down at the papers, biting the inside of his cheek slightly. If he left it now, it would still be there later. And really, it wouldn't hurt to let it wait a little longer.

Nodding, Thorin lifted himself from his chair, grabbing his cane as he stepped up. The wounds from Azog were mostly healed now, but Óin insisted that his foot not carry all his weight unsupported yet.

"Lead the way, Master Burglar," Thorin said, a small smile gracing his features as he looked down at the hobbit.

"Very good," Bilbo nodded, walking to the door and holding it open for him. "You know, I do believe this mountain is beginning to feel like home. And with a baking competition, I'll feel like I fit right in. Do you really think my baking could hold up against Dwarven fare?"

Thorin chuckled as he stepped through the door and followed Bilbo down the hall.

"The mountain will be home to you always," he said, then patted his stomach. "And I would say your baking ranks above anything else I've had."

"Oh," Bilbo blushed. "Well thank you." His footsteps stammered just a little, and he coughed. "You know, telling me that almost would amount to a proposal in the Shire."

"Would it indeed?" Thorin asked, grinning. "Then I suppose it's a good thing we're already married then, isn't it, Zabad?"

Bilbo’s blush deepened. "I suppose it is."

Thorin chuckled as they continued down the hall, resting his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder as they walked. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s curls.

"Thank you, my love," he said into the braid under his nose, Bilbo’s marriage bead bumping against his cheek.

"It's just scones and tea, Thorin," Bilbo huffed, grinning.

"No," Thorin said as they walked. "It’s much more than that. Much more."

[thistlepig]

Love is:

When you get a bag of variety flavor candy, and they eat all the other ones, but save your favorite flavor for you.

[thistlepig]

"It is your destiny," "No one else can do it," "You must save us," "We will fall without you,"

"Only you can slay the dragon!"

The hilt of the sword rested heavy in Izuku's palm. The worn leather under his fingers soft and supple, but the metal under it cooling the leather even as his skin warmed it, keeping it cold and present. Unable to be forgotten.

The path ahead was rough. He'd left behind the well kept cobblestone and even the dirt wagon paths behind him a long time ago. Under his feet the path was now strewn with sharp stones, fallen from the cliffside reaching to the sky next to him. The light of the gradually setting sun baked his shoulders as he stepped, slowly gaining elevation as the path snaked it's way across the steep cliff.

Every so often, the cliff was scorched black along the path. Most places looked like they'd been hit by balls of flame, the scorch marks flaring out from a central area with arms of ash marring the stone. Some spots had been baked so hot they looked like they had been melted and now had a glassy shine to them. He stepped carefully around those areas, not wanting to slip and tumble down the pathway.

In other areas, the scorched and dented armor and weapons of previous fighters lay heaped over the path. When Izuku came across those, he took a few minutes to gather the materials and stack them neatly along the side of the path. There was nowhere to bury them, but that didn't mean he couldn't pay his respects and try to keep them from getting stepped on, right? After giving a short prayer, he would continue on his way, trying not to imagine himself as another scorched pile of gear.

Not that he'd been left with much, honestly. Besides the sword he had a leather jerkin, dyed green, matching bracers, and a pair of sturdy boots that he'd tucked his trousers into. It was a lot of green, especially when you considered his hair and eyes were the same color too. Definitely not a great set up considering he was going up against a dragon who breathes fire. But everyone had seemed so confident that he wouldn't need anything but the sword.

The blasted sword. He looked down at it again and grimaced. The blade itself had a slightly green-blue hue to it, flashing almost like lightning as he moved it in the light. The guard was a golden yellow, the sides of the guard coming up to frame the blade along each side. It had once belonged to a great hero, and would only be wielded by one marked worthy by it's own power. A line of heroes going back as far as memory.

Izuku huffed to himself. "Worthy, right."

He stepped around the next corner and froze. The top of the cliff was right in front of him. He hadn't realized it was coming so closely. Beyond, he could see where the side of the mountain was cleaved open, the heart of the stone cracked into. The stone once again scorched and melted around the entrance. A line of smoke drifted gently from the entrance, wafting into the air and bringing with it a smoky, sweet scent that Izuku hadn't noticed getting stronger as he'd climbed the cliff.

He swallowed and stepped forwards, trying to move the rocks around him as little as possible as he made his way over to the opening.

Peeking inside, he could hear the deep breathing of a creature much larger than he was.

Izuku took another deep breath, and then doubled over coughing as the smoke entered his lungs. The smell of burned sugar searing down his throat as he coughed.

Staggering, he pulled back from the cave, trying to pull clear air into his lungs. As he did, the ground shook around him, rocks sliding from the roof of the cave and falling around him.

Izuku's eyes widened as the head of the dragon, followed by it's massive body emerged from the cave. The dying sunlight glinted off blood red scales as the beast stood, then glared down at Izuku.

Shaking, the young man lifted his sword, pointing it up and spreading his feet to keep himself steady.

The dragon squinted at him, then brought his head down low, blowing smoke into his face. Izuku coughed again and waved a hand in front of him to clear away the smoke.

"That was rude," he said.

The dragon huffed. "No more rude than fucking walking up here and pointing a sword at me, stupid deku."

Izuku's jaw dropped and the sword almost followed suit, the point falling down and scraping against the rocks.

"Kacchan?!" he squeaked.

[thistlepig]

There was a door in the hallway that wasn’t there yesterday. A tiny door, no bigger than cellphone. The door was dark wood, with a door knob, tiny door knocker, and a miniscule little peep-hole. A little flower pot stood next to the door, a grape hyacinth poking up from the soil. From the door, a miniature cobblestone pathway poked out and faded into the carpet.

Callie had only noticed the door only because she had stepped on the cobbles. The cold smooth pebbles a stark contrast to the warm plush carpeting under her bare foot. Kneeling down, she looked at the door, perplexed. It definitely hadn't been there the day before when she'd been vacuuming.

Shrugging to herself, Callie reached forward and with the tip of her fingernail, flicked the tiny gold door knocker.

After a moment, the door opened, a soft yellow glow pouring from the door and illuminating Callie's face.

A tiny voice called from the glowing doorway, slightly squeaky and airy. "Hello?"