Fic Time Returns!!
Title: There isn’t one T_____T
Rating: idk… like K+?
Prompt: “It would be great if you did Possessive Thorin with Bilbo, with Thorin doing little things to cheer Bilbo up or something like that!”
Just more Bagginshield fluff, based on a prompt I received from marvel-me-loki~ I hope I did a good job ^__^
Enjoy the story, and send me any prompts you want filled!
Life on the road was always hard. The Dwarves of Thorin’s Company had reconciled themselves to this fact over years of travel; even Gandalf has done a great deal of wandering in his day, and was accustomed to the frugal lifestyle that the wilderness demanded. However, the fourteenth member of the band was entirely unused to going without the small comfort. For Bilbo Baggins, the greatest challenge of this adventure was not the Orcs or the Wargs; it was not the landslides and storms and giant men of stone, each seemingly set on wreaking havoc on the group of travelers. No, for Bilbo, the true struggle was the travel itself. The domestic little Hobbit, used to living a simple and sedentary life, was having a difficult time adjusting to the rough and tumble of the Dwarf’s wayfaring ways. Never before had he gone so long without the simple comfort of a cup of tea and a good book. He was appalled when informed that heated baths were a commodity he would have to forgo. If you had told Bilbo a mere month ago that he would ever miss jam so much, why, he would have laughed in your face. As it was, the poor creature was suffering greatly, beaten down by discomfort and homesickness. And thus far, he thought morosely as they trudged onwards, no one seemed to have noticed.
This, however, was where Bilbo was mistaken. Seemingly not thirty seconds after this self-pitying thought crossed the Hobbit’s mind, he felt a substantial weight lifted from his back. Looking up in confusion, he saw Thorin swinging the Hobbit’s own pack across his shoulders, purposefully avoiding his gaze.
“Thorin, wha—?” The Dwarf leader silenced his protest with a glare. “You’re of no use to me weak with exhaustion, burglar,” he replied gruffly, dropping his eyes back to the muddy ground. “I can carry your load until you’ve regained your strength.”
Bilbo was taken aback. That his leader would stop to assist him, a mere Hobbit, was both flattering and unusual. Still, he was not one to refuse free help. Murmuring his thanks, he followed Thorin and the others as they continued though the oppressive gloom of Mirkwood.
Dinner was scarce that night. The Company’s supplies were nearly depleted, and there was little game to be caught in the dark, murky forest. As Bilbo picked timidly at the chunky stew, Bombur spoke up from across the fire. “Are you going to finish that, master Hobbit?”
Bofur winked from his place beside Bifur; “Why would he want to? Our burglar is used to the finer things in life, and this supper certainly doesn’t rank.”
“If Mister Baggins has a problem with my stew, let him address me directly,” Dori grumbled, poking at the fire and glaring at Bilbo. As the others chimed in, each adding his own opinions on the meal, the Hobbit began to feel quite overwhelmed. He set his bowl carefully on the ground and rose, ready to slip away from the argument. He turned to leave… and ran headlong into the fur-clad wall of Thorin’s chest. Bilbo jumped back with a squeak, hoping that the Dwarf King was not too cross, but Thorin’s gaze was directed elsewhere. Even as he reached out to steady the Hobbit, he was glaring out at his bickering kinsmen. Spinning Bilbo to face the fire and keeping a possessive grip on his shoulders, the Dwarf addressed his Company sternly.
“What in Durin’s name are you fools playing at?” he demanded. “Do you think this is some child’s tea party? Have you forgotten the creatures that lurk in these trees?” The Dwarves had fallen silent, shuffling their feet and gazing abashedly at the ground. Finally, Bifur gathered the courage to speak up. “We were only enjoying a moment of jest. The Hobbit—”
“Don’t you drag him into this!” Thorin thundered. “The Halfling was only minding his manners, you bungling fools nearly chased him off. I wager he’s still trembling.” Bilbo halfheartedly tried to protest the Dwarf King’s assumption, but he was weary from travel. And besides, his tired brain supplied, if he told Thorin he was alright, he would lose this wonderful warmth… some time during his lecture, the Dwarf had unconsciously pulled Bilbo flush against his chest, holding the Hobbit possessively against himself. Bilbo, too tired to protest, leaned back into Thorin’s arms, closing his eyes and letting his mind wander. He had a nice, soft bed back home. It was nearly as warm and comfortable as the Dwarf’s embrace…
Thorin’s voice snapped the Hobbit out of his reverie. “…Halfling? Bilbo? Are you listening to me?”
“What?” the Hobbit murmured, blinking up at his companion. “You dozed off, you foolish creature,” Thorin clarified, “the others are preparing for sleep. I would too, but I feared you would collapse if I released you.”
Fili and Kili, rolling out their bedding nearby, grinned cheekily at their uncle. “If he’s tired, we can look after him,” Kili offered, his eyes glinting with mischief. Thorin sent them a glare that would have sent many men running for cover. “You mind yourself,” he growled at the young dwarves. Bilbo looked between them in confusion, but shrugged it off as mere family banter. Stumbling slightly, still weary, he set off to wash and prepare his bedroll.
The rough cloth and bucket that the Dwarves used to wash their hands and faces was nothing compared to his nice clean bath at home, Bilbo mused, splashing coldwater into his face to rouse himself. Though it was nighttime, he resolved that he should be at least conscious enough to find his bedroll. Yawning and stretching, the Hobbit trotted over to his pack – abandoned where Thorin had dropped it as they made camp – and unrolled his thin bedding. He lay down uncomfortably, wishing more than ever for the downy quilt of his own bed.
As Bilbo was mourning the hard ground and rough blankets, he was interrupted by the sound of another bedroll tossed down beside his. One glance at the heavy fur blankets made the owner of the bedding obvious. “What are you doing here, Thorin,” the muttered, trying to hide his embarrassment. His earlier actions had finally dawned on him, and the little burglar was thoroughly mortified. To think he’d practically fallen asleep on Thorin’s shoulder, just when the Dwarf King was finally gaining some respect for him. He was surely judging Bilbo now, thinking of him as weak and unworthy of his trust…
But Thorin’s eyes were smiling as he lowered himself onto his bedroll. “I noticed you looking uncomfortable, Halfling,” he said, “My blankets are thicker; you may share them, if you wish.” Bilbo noted with some consternation that the proud Dwarf looked almost nervous. Even so, he had his own pride to think of.
“There is no need to insult me, Thorin,” the Hobbit huffed, “I may not be as accustomed to travel as you, but I am not a child. I can handle a few sore muscles.” Thorin looked almost hurt as Bilbo turned his back on him. “I meant no offence,” he assured the small burglar, “I was merely trying to help.”
“You’ve been awfully nice today,” Bilbo noted, turning his head back towards Thorin, “Is there any particular reason?”
To his surprise, the Dwarf let out a sharp bark of laughter. He was smiling on earnest now, his eyes warm as he gazed upon his confused little companion. However, rather than give him an answer, Thorin simply pulled Bilbo onto his bedroll, tucking the Hobbit into a firm embrace. The smaller gave a startled squeak, which was muffled against the Dwarf’s shoulder. Thorin had one arm about the Hobbit’s shoulders, the other gently grasping his waist, and had turned slightly so that Bilbo was lying nearly on top of him.
“We seem to be making a habit of this…” Bilbo squeaked, attempting to dissipate his own embarrassment. Thorin merely hummed his agreement, the sound sending vibrations rumbling pleasantly through the Hobbit’s frame. Without thinking, he snuggled deeper into Thorin’s embrace.
Suddenly freezing, Bilbo leaned up as to look his leader in the eye. “You never answered my question, you know,” he prompted. “Why are you being so nice to me?” He let out another quiet squeak as Thorin deftly flipped them on the bedroll, so that the Hobbit was beneath him and gently enveloped in his arms.
“Because I am comforted by your presence, Halfling,” he admitted softly, “and because of all the familiar things on this wild quest, you are the one to remind me the most of home.”
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