The Journey

Beorn's House

     Finally, at last, they reached the house of Beorn, after more long, tense hours of creeping through the woods, cautiously checking behind them every few seconds for fear of being followed, everyone quiet except for the occasional nervous whisper. Though it was difficult at first to become accustomed to and relax in their new surroundings (especially with the unpredictable Beorn presiding as their host), but inevitably, the relief from the stress of the trip showed through and their first full day of rest was a happy one. Beorn and Gandalf were no where to be found, so the dwarves made themselves at home, taking care, of course, not to disturb anything that might upset their great host in the slightest.
     Bilbo woke at dawn, as was his habit now, the sky still a dark blue, the house around him quiet, and abut he soon fell back asleep despite the bumps and sounds in the night. The next time he awoke, the sunlight was streaming through the windows, sunbeams filtering down through the warm morning air. It felt so good to sleep in—and many of the dwarves felt the same way. Bilbo's mattress was not the only empty one, and the quiet sounds of birds and voices and snores echoed peacefully around the wide hall.
     It was such a relief to wake here, not having to worry about cold or rain or goblins or Wargs or having no breakfast. Bilbo closed his eyes again and laid back in bed, enjoying the softness of the small mattress, the gentle feel of the sunlight on his face and the quiet sounds of the morning.
     His stomach growled, however, and he finally pulled himself out of bed, carefully folding his blanket on top of his bed and stretching and yawning greatly, carefully stepping around the occupied mattresses and walking rather sleepily to the long table at one end of the hall. The rough table was still filled with flat plates of honey cakes that had made up much of dinner last night, as well as a few large jugs of mead. Dori was the only one sitting at the table, comfortably smiling a pipe, smiling as he spotted Bilbo.
     "Good morning, Master Baggins," he said cheerfully. "Sleep well?"
     "Yes, actually, very well," Bilbo answered, peering across the spread on the table. "And you?"
     "Much better than the past few nights, I can tell you that," Dori said wryly, blowing a perfect smoke ring that the both of them admired as it floated up to the ceiling.
     "Good one," Bilbo commented.
     "Thank you," Dori replied, then motioned towards the wide doors. "The weather was such a nice change from the past few days, so they are all outside, if you would like to join them."
     "I think I will," Bilbo said thoughtfully, grabbing a few pieces of the honey bread off the table and making his way towards the doors. "Thank you!" he called over his shoulder as he left, smiling.
     "You're quite welcome!" Dori said after him, smiling to himself as he puffed on his pipe. The hobbit was fitting in very well, bless his heart.
     Bilbo padded outside, a warm breeze ruffling his hair as he peered about for the others. Fili and Kili were sparring back and forth under the spreading branches of the surrounding trees, while Bofur, Gloin, and Oin sat in the golden grass a ways away, smoking and chatting good-naturedly. Thorin and Balin sat easily against another tree, watching Fili and Kili.
     Bilbo chose a tree removed from the groups, giving him a good view of the others, the sunlight shining through the gold and orange leaves, the grass waving around his ankles as he crossed from the house. He grinned and waved in answer to the shouts of greeting echoed his way, then sat down with a sigh under the tree, leaning up against the rough bark and closing his eyes, feeling the warm air play across his face and the sunlight dappling the ground around him.
     Turning matter-of-factly to his breakfast, it did not take long for him to polish off the honey bread, and he was soon licking the stickiness from his fingers and brushing the crumbs from his clothes. He nestled back against the tree with a contented sigh, his stomach full, watching Fili and Kili dart back and forth, swords flashing. It was so nice not to have to run anywhere—they had not had the chance to sit and relax since Rivendell. Goodness—how long ago that seemed! The light and peace of the elves could not be more than a few weeks behind them, and yet it felt like months. Through the mountains, through the dark tunnels—Bilbo shuddered at the memory of those, and the goblins, and Gollum and those riddles by the pool. Absentmindedly, his hand crept to his pocket where he had placed the ring, but he soon drew it out again as he adjusted his position against the tree. Then there were the eagles, thank goodness for them, and the one night holding hands with Thorin...Bilbo smiled to himself. That was nice. Very nice. They had slept next to each other the few nights coming here, and he found Thorin's presence comforting, being able to sleep more soundly when he was pressed back to back with the dwarf lord. Honestly, he was surprised at the amount of rest he had gotten last night without Thorin at his back.
     He smiled again, the waving grass brushing against his legs, reminding him of the soft touch of Thorin's fingers. Shaking himself, he looked around, admiring the fall flowers that peeked through the green stems, the long stems bowing in the soft breeze. Bilbo picked out the familiar yarrow blossoms, coreopsis, cornflowers, and anemone waving among the green. A good mood washing over him, he suddenly remembered a small gesture he had done often at home. Smiling with memories, he tilted his head and decided to do it here, and picked some of the yarrow and cornflowers, making sure to leave them stems long. Humming to himself, he twisted the stems together, fumbling at first, then weaving them tightly into a wreath. He remembered sitting on the front steps of Bag End as a child, weaving flowers together to hand on the front door or on the mantle, picking the best blooms to hang on his door as an adult, sitting on the bench outside.
     Carefully bending the stems into a circle and weaving the ends together, he sat back against the tree and turned the wreath around to check his work. It was nice—not quite as nice as the ones he had made at home, but good enough. He tucked the ends of one stem in, and tightened another, staring at it critically. Deciding it needed more color, he chose some coreopsis and slid the shorter stems among the longer ones, the yellow setting off the blue and white quite nicely. Yes, it was nice, he thought happily to himself, turning it over in his hands.
     "Master Baggins!" a voice called, and Bilbo looked over to see Thorin and Balin staring over at him. Clambering to his feet, he quickly hid his wreath behind his back as he walked over to them.
     "We saw you sitting off by yourself," Balin said, smiling, "we thought you might want to come join us."
     "Oh, well," Bilbo said, thinking to himself how he had wanted to be by himself on purpose. His gaze flicked involuntarily over Thorin, who was lounging against the tree, his legs stretched out in front of him. Bilbo turned slightly pink and looked away to Fili and Kili.
     "What do you have there?" Thorin asked suddenly, glancing behind his back.
     "Oh—this—" Bilbo blushed harder and pulled his wreath out, careful not to crush any of the blossoms. "It's something I made, just now..."
     "May I?" Thorin asked holding a hand out for the wreath.
     "Hm? Oh, not at all," Bilbo answered quickly, placing the wreath in his hand, then tucking his hands behind his back and turning away, not wanting to see Thorin's reaction to his handiwork.
     "It's quite good," came Thorin's voice from behind his back.
    "Really?" Bilbo asked excitedly, turning back around to find Thorin turning the wreath over in his hands.
     "I've made a couple in my lifetime," Thorin admitted, "but that was a long time ago."
     "Well, this is something I know nothing about," Balin chuckled, "I myself have no experience with anything having to do with gardening." He peered over at Thorin. "When did you make these? Surely you had no time for these at Erebor!"
     Thorin laughed. "Indeed, I did not. No, I sat and wove a couple for my sister during our wanderings. I haven't made one since. Although..." He leaned forwards, reaching for some red anemone blossoms. Carefully sitting back, he tucked them in along the yellow, blue and white, the red peeking through prettily. Bilbo blushed harder.
     "There," Thorin said, admiring it, "almost finished." He glanced up at Bilbo, who was still standing nervously at his shoulder, then motioned for him to sit down. Bilbo obeyed, then scooted closer at Thorin's gesture, their shoulders brushing as Thorin turned towards him. Slowly, Thorin reached out and placed the wreath atop his head, Bilbo blushing red and trying to calm his pounding heart.
     "Now it is perfect," Thorin said quietly, smiling at him, careful not to let his touch linger as he pulled his hands away, brows slightly furrowed as he made sure the crown was straight and center. Bilbo's breath caught in his throat as Thorin smiled at him, admiring how well it looked upon him. Thorin's gaze flicked to rest on his lips, but a chuckle from Balin broke them apart and they both turned quickly away.
     "I daresay, Thorin, you have seen nothing more beautiful," Balin said kindly, twinkling over at Bilbo.
     Thorin just cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably, looking away to Fili and Kili. He didn't like being read so easily, but then again, you were rather an open book there, he scolded himself. He needed to put these things aside for right now, to focus on the quest at hand; but his gaze inexplicably floated back to Bilbo, and he watched him from the corner of his eye.
     The hobbit was pointedly turned away, staring off into the forest, but the sunlight played across his shoulders and profile, just a hint of those lovely brown eyes visible from where Thorin sat. The flowers nestled in among his curls like they were meant to be there, the blue and red shining out against the brown of his hair. This light was flattering, too; soft shadows shaded his face and neck, the folds of his coat darkening as they fell gently around his knees. Thorin's gaze trailed back up to his face, and he scolded himself again for being so forthright. Maybe if they were alone, yes, but not now, in front of everyone. It would most likely distract them.
     Bilbo forcibly kept his mind off of Thorin, despite the tall figure sitting at his elbow. He made himself admire the shapes of the trees and bowing of the grass, the sturdy wood fence that encircled the house and the clearing, the footprints in the dirt road leading to the open door. He enjoyed the slight weight of the crown upon his head, folding his hands quietly in his lap as he felt the wind finger the flowers, a couple of curls brushing against his forehead as another breeze passed through. Confident that he had gotten himself back under control, Bilbo looked out towards Fili and Kili just in time to see Fili flip Kili's sword out of his grasp.
     "That was nice," he said admiringly, then chuckled as Kili tackled his brother with a yell.
     "Get to your sword," Thorin shouted across to them.
     "Should you be encouraging them?" Bilbo asked rather worriedly as Kili dove across the ground for his blade.
     "They're fine," Thorin said reassuringly, leaning his head back against the tree and watching the two tussle through half closed eyes, a smile touching his face.
     "Oh." Bilbo turned away.
     "They may get rather rough, but they have good hearts," Balin chuckled. "Thorin made sure of that."
     "We all know it was the talents of many that helped," Thorin said, glancing down. "I had little to do with it."
     "We both know that's not true," Balin sighed. "You were, and I am sure are, like father to them."
     "What happened? If you don't mind my asking," Bilbo interjected.
     "No, it's no trouble. Fili and Kili's father died in battle when they were very young," Thorin said, "My sister did not marry again, and so she and I were left with two young boys. We worked our hardest, and many others helped us raise them. They make me proud every day," Thorin finished.
     "They have a great role model," Bilbo said simply, smiling.
     Thorin, to his surprise, laughed and shook his head. "You have no idea how hard it was for me. I was used to being a leader, that was no trouble, but they taught me more than that. I did my best, and if it wasn't for you, Balin, and many others, well..." He sighed, his eyes full of sadness. "You have no idea how much I regret."
     Something deeper sounded in his voice, and Bilbo felt pity swell in his chest. Should he do something to comfort him? Maybe hold his hand, no, or put a hand on his shoulder?
     Uncertainly, Bilbo touched his arm, his fingers softly pressing against the dark fabric of Thorin's shirt. "You're not talking about just them," he said quietly.
     Thorin smiled and glanced down at his hand. "It will all be fine once we get to Erebor," he sighed.
     "Erebor," Bilbo mused, withdrawing his hand and tilting his head in thought. Thorin wished he would put his hand back, then slide it down his arm and wind his fingers through his own, pressing up against his side and leaning his head on his shoulder....realizing that he was losing control of himself again, Thorin turned quickly to Balin.
     "When do you think we will be ready to leave?" he asked, focusing on, he told himself, more important things.
     "Within two or three days, I should think," Balin answered, looking over at him. He would have to be blind to not notice the spark between the two—but it seemed as if they thought that they were doing a good job hiding their feelings, so Balin decided not to intervene. He would do his own part, and they would come together on their own time. And quite soon, too, perhaps...
     The morning passed quickly, sun and wind warm and relaxing, Bilbo dozing against the tree, the breeze gently tossing his hair, the flowers still sitting atop his curls, the soft chatter of dwarven voices blending with the sounds of the forest. Eventually, he decided that he would go inside and eat a second full meal for the first time in many long days, and fetch his pipe. He hoped he had not fallen out of practice of blowing smoke rings.
     Sighing slightly, he stood, stretching, aware of Thorin's eyes upon him.
     "I'm going to head inside," he said absentmindedly.
     "Go ahead," Balin said encouragingly, "We've all been outside quite a bit lately."
     Bilbo chuckled, and nodded to the both of them, careful to keep his bow to Thorin short and respectful. "See you later," he said, the corner of his mouth quirking in a smile. He turned towards the house, trotting down the dirt road to the large door. Smiling to himself, he carefully removed the flower crown from his head and, on passing the door, paused for a moment, then quickly grabbed a stool to stand on and after clambering up, gently hung the small wreath on Beorn's door. There. That was some payment for their host's kindness, the wreath adding a bit of color to the large wooden expanse. Smiling again and blushing at the memory of Thorin's touch as he placed it on his head, he crossed the hall to retrieve his pipe from his pack, the sunlight filtering in long, lazy beams across the rough wooden floor, the hobbit humming to himself as he walked, a skip or two making their way into his step at the memory of a pair of dark eyes.