Chapter Text
The following day they visited Bilbo’s Bolger and Proudfoot relatives. He would have sworn on his father's swords that they’d already visited this hole if not for the fact that the furniture and occupants would need to have changed from a few days previous, but at least the conversation seemed to be the same.
Upon waking that morning, Thorin had found himself dealing with a sour mouth and pounding head. As soon as they'd arrived, he'd let himself rest his head against his palm as the conversation in the room continued without him (sensitive hobbit manners be damned, his head hurt). Thorin had to admit that Bilbo had warned him against drinking so much of the hobbits’ wine the night previous, but he still found himself in a foul enough mood that he wasn’t able to tamp down the temptation to be stubborn and refuse seeking any help. He would let Bilbo take care of the conversation today. Just until his head was better.
“Now tell us, Thorin dear, what flowers did Bilbo put in his bouquet for you?” Belba asked from the seat next to him.
Thorin looked up at her in confusion. Had Bilbo given him flowers last night? His memories were somewhat cluttered when it came to the later hours of the night but. But didn’t remember any…
“Ah,” Bilbo interrupted with a hesitant tilt to his head. Was he nervous? “Dwarfs, they don’t exchange flowers. Not the same interest in them, I’m afraid,” he told her with a tight smile.
“Well what is it you did then, if not exchange flowers?” Bodo asked from his seat next to Bilbo. “Surely you did something.”
Thorin gingerly lifted himself from his chair to take a few steps closer to where Bilbo and the crowd of relatives were standing, his stomach moving with him. “I gifted him a mithril shirt,” he answered, pressing a finger to his temple. The hobbits turned to face him with uncomprehending expressions, Bilbo included.
“Mithril is the most precious of metals gifted to the stone, as strong as it is light,” he explained, blinking back the fog in his head. Bilbo was looking at him now in askance, as if he was still unsure that the gift had been intended that way.
“At the time I'd been plagued with the same illness of the mind that claimed my grandfather and cost my people the loss of their homeland. And…” Thorin paused, glancing at the other hobbits in the room before returning his attention to Bilbo, whose eyes were caught on his. “War was upon us, no matter what else was happening. And the only thing that was able to break through the sickness,” Thorin took a breath, pushing against the unsteadiness he felt in his head, “was the thought that I had to keep the one I loved safe.”
There was a pause before Thorin snapped his mouth shut and a sudden bolt of fear shot down his chest. Bilbo only looked at him with a stuttered hope though, breaking eye contact to shake his head and run thumbs against fingers, brows drawn tight. When he looked back to Thorin though, there was at least a smile there, caught up with no small amount of trepidation and incredulity.
“Truly, Thorin?”
Thorin let his breath escape him, relieved even as his heart continued to race, “Truly.”
“Well,” Bodo interrupted them, and Thorin couldn’t help but close his eyes against the stab of pain in his head, “I would say that is certainly romantic enough for the son of Belladonna Took, wouldn’t you agree?” The hobbits around them laughed and agreed in a jumble of assenting answers. Thorin wasn’t certain whether he should be offended, but he only managed to sit down in his chair again and clutch his forehead.
“I know what we’ve got yet to do, though,” Bodo continued. “Can’t leave your match waiting any longer now that you’re back here, now can we?” he asked, presumably to Bilbo from his adamant stammers of really, he’d be quite alright staying inside, and No, no no no, he should really stay here with Thorin, when one of the other relatives leaned over to Thorin.
“A bit much to drink last night?” he asked in a thankfully soft, if altogether too amused tone of voice. Thorin only grunted and turned his face further into the hand he was leaning on, blocking just a little more light from reaching his eyes. “I know the feeling,” the voice continued. “Wouldn’t want to be out in the sun right now, would you? I’ll make sure Pa doesn’t try to drag you out there with cousin Bilbo. You just stay here, I’ve got something that will fix you right up.”
“He’s feeling ill, is he,” another voice asked.
“Just a headache Aunt Belba, I’m going to go fix him a pot of my mother’s tea mix.”
A face ducked down into his field of vision, and Thorin startled back into the chair.
“Did you eat your first breakfast this morning?” she asked.
Thorin shook his head. He hadn’t, he’d slept through it. Thorin got only a disappointed expression for his efforts as Belba tutted at him. “Well that will do it! You can’t skip a meal like that in the morning, it’s bad for your health. Especially at your age! Did you get enough for second breakfast at least?”
Thorin frowned at the noise and contemplated lying just to get rid of the noise.
“Uncle Thorin slept through second breakfast!” Frodo squealed as he ran up to hang off one of Thorin’s knees. “And he wouldn’t eat anything at elevensies either,” he informed his aunt earnestly. “Mom said his tummy hurt even if he was hungry so he couldn’t eat it.”
Thorin did his best to restrain the scowl that was fighting its way onto his face. Belba was already directing a disappointed expression in his direction though, so he settled on sulking instead.
“Frodo, why don’t you go help your cousin Odo get something ready for Thorin. And make sure there’s food on the plate, I won’t have your Uncle Thorin waiting until luncheon just for a bite to eat.” Frodo nodded and scampered off between the legs of the other hobbits in the room, and Belba turned to face him again. “As for you,” she scolded. Her voice fell to become much softer, “I would think that a lay down would help that head of yours until the tea is ready, hm?”
Thorin let out a harsh breath of relief. But, “I should stay with Bilbo-“
“Oh, Bodo’s already dragged him out, pushy thing he is. They’ll be back soon, though. Just gone out to get you a little something,” she said with a delighted grin. “Alright then,” she said, lifting herself and pulling at Thorin’s arm. “Up you get. You can lie down in the guest room for now,” she said, leading him down a winding hallway. “I’ll send the boys back with some tea and pies in a few minutes, you just rest.”
. o O o .
Thorin woke again to the sound of raised voices, but thankfully his head had all but cleared.
He took a moment to sit up and rub his face before he heard the muffled sound of Bilbo’s voice through the door. It was difficult to tell what was going on without words, but there was definitely some sort of argument. Thorin shivered as his bare feet hit the cold ground, and he made his way toward the voices.
“It’s because he’s a dwarf, isn’t it?” he heard one of them ask, although it didn’t really seem to be a question.
“It’s- no. It’s certainly not, and it wouldn’t be any of your business anyway if it were, this is-“
Before he could make his way to the main hall of the house, Thorin was stopped.
“Uncle Thorin,” a wobbly voice interrupted. Thorin looked down to find watery eyes and a mop of dark curls huddled against the frame of a nearby door. What had happened? “You said that you were Uncle Bilbo’s soul-match,” the boy whimpered.
Thorin stooped to scoop Frodo into his arms, “I am, mamamûn, and he is mine. Who told you otherwise?”
“Grampa Bodo was mad when he came back,” Frodo mumbled into the side of his neck. Thorin reached his hand to cradle the back of Frodo’s head and murmured reassurances against his tiny ear as he started toward the center of the house.
Thorin’s footsteps were loud with the weight of his boots, and the voices quieted when he entered the room. Bilbo stood with a stricken look on his face, clutching a rumpled bunch of… Well they were likely flowers, he supposed.
One of the younger relatives, head topped with tight brown curls, was the first to turn away from him. “You’ve been lying to us ever since you returned, haven't you?” they sneered, breaking the sudden lull. “How could you try to fool your own family. Having us believe you had been matched with a dwarf prince of all things. Have you no shame?”
Thorin could feel a tide of anger building up in his chest, not only at Bilbo’s supposed family treating him in such a manner, but also at himself for putting Bilbo in such a position in the first place. Thorin let Frodo down to the ground near his father and continued into the room.
“And you would have gotten away with such lies if Bodo hadn’t tried to help you. That bouquet is shameful,” another scoffed. “A child without their colors could do better.” What was it about the flowers?
Thorin's stomach sank when he realized; Bilbo couldn’t see his colors. Had he not…?
Thorin tried to think back to the last time they had touched hands. Surely they had at some point? Surely he hadn’t let Bilbo go since the previous night? But Thorin hadn’t woken up until well into the day, and even then Bilbo had kept his distance knowing that he was in pain.
The flowers plucked at something else in his memories, but it slipped and flitted about his memory, never quite in focus. The bunch was composed of several different types of flowers, all different but for the fact that they were all missing any hues of red or orange or… or yellow.
Thorin shook his head. He was- Bilbo had said something about that last night amid the drinks they’d shared, hadn’t he?
“I…” Bilbo pursed his lips, running the fingers of his free hand over the stem of a pale green, spidery looking flower. They’d seen several patches of them in reds and pinks a few days ago in the Bolgers’ garden. Thorin remembered telling Bilbo that he’d never seen such a flower before.
“They look lovely to me,” Bilbo argued now with a downtrodden, but defiant glint to his eye.
“Of course they look fine to you,” one of them jeered, snatching the bunch of flowers out of Bilbo’s hands. “You can’t even see them. You would think anything passable with eyes like that.”
Thorin took the last step forward. “They are not for you,” he growled, not bothering to soften his tone. He grabbed the bunch of flowers in one hand, Bilbo’s in the other, and led him out of the room. He reached the front door door and paused. “Good day!” he spat, swinging the door open and marching out, leaving the stunned hobbits behind them.
. o O o .
Thorin took angry strides far past the house and gardens and further off the roads, Bilbo plodding along beside him without complaint. Thorin waited until his temper had cooled enough to speak calmly again, and found himself at the top of what looked like a fairly isolated patch of grass.
“You do realize we’re standing atop Andwise Roper’s smial,” Bilbo posited in a testy voice after a moment of silence, pulling his hand free. Thorin let out a groan of frustration and sank down on the grass.
"It is a good thing I am returning to the mountain," Bilbo muttered, face pinched and cheeks flushed in shame. "I'll never be able to face my family now, not after that fiasco." He paced across the top of the hill while Thorin replayed what he'd just seen in his head. How could they have treated Bilbo in such a way?
“And you can get rid of those flowers, they are quite embarrassing now that I can actually see them now,” he groused, flicking his hand over to the bunch of pale flowers.
“I won't be rid of them,” Thorin snapped. He let his jaw tense and relax before continuing. He wasn’t upset with Bilbo. “Your kin should not treat you in such a despicable way. You shouldn't have been made to feel as though you need to lie to them in the first place.”
Bilbo scuffed an angry foot against the grass, face turning sharply to the side even as his face started to smooth. “Well it’s not as though they were wrong,” he grumbled. “I did lie to them.”
“We both lied to them,” Thorin interrupted, “though they directed their ire solely at you.”
“They are my family,” Bilbo replied with an annoyed shake to his head, hand flying outward as he paced across the grass. “They couldn’t very well be angry with a guest, now could they?”
"Why is it that your kin should be allowed less benefit of doubt than a stranger in your home? Such thinking is backward."
Bilbo didn't answer him, instead stopping to stare down at the flowers in Thorin's hand. Bilbo had picked them when he still hadn’t been able to see any color hadn’t he? But the colors of the flowers didn't seem common, too many blues and greens interspersed among white and violet blooms.
- They won’t fade all at once Thorin, you can let go now -
But then why were none of the flowers any of the bright oranges or pinks or reds that dotted the hills of the Shire? It was common enough to find a purple or a white bloom growing in a garden or in a patch alongside the road. But in order to find the green flowers - And the blue ones. What had Bilbo said about the blue ones?
Bilbo reached down to pluck the flowers from Thorin’s grip, but Thorin swung them out of Bilbo’s grasp. He instead used the moment to tug lightly on Bilbo’s vest, pulling him to sit on the grass as well. Thorin had only to take a light hold of Bilbo’s shoulder to keep him from snatching the flowers away, making sure to hold him just far enough that his arms couldn’t reach. After a few failed attempts, Thorin gently settled the flowers before them in a matter of truce. When he looked over at Bilbo, Thorin found him looking morosely at the flowers, still shamefaced as he'd been back at the house.
“Your kin may not recognize their value,” Thorin told him, nodding at the flowers leaning to touch their shoulders together, “but I can see it plainly, Master Baggins. I won’t have my gift parted from me so soon.”
Bilbo’s eyes darted away from the flowers and up to Thorin under a concerned brow. “Has someone taught you to read flowers then?”
“No,” Thorin assured him. Thorin looked again at the flowers in askance of some sort of hidden meaning, but he wasn’t sure that Bilbo had even mentioned such a thing even if he had made some note of them before… But Bilbo had told him something about blue flowers the night before, of that he was sure.
“These ones,” Thorin said, separating a small bunch of white flowers connected by stems as thin as lace, “I remember seeing them before. Do they have a special meaning to hobbits?”
“Oh! No, no, no,” Bilbo said. “I wouldn’t have given those to you for their meanings, that would be…” Bilbo’s face cracked into a reluctant smile then.
“If my relatives tried to read half the flowers in that bunch, especially with the colors I managed to pick, I imagine they would be quite horrified. No, I only chose those because they,” Bilbo’s words hung for just a moment, a look of trepidation coming over his face, “they grow outside of Erebor."
Thorin settled the flowers back into the bunch. “Do they all have such meanings?”
“No. The rest of them, I simply chose whichever flowers had any color leftover from last night, for all the good it did me.”
- What do you see when the colors fade?
It’s different for each hobbit, Bilbo had told him. But reds, they always fade first for me -
Bilbo had said reds faded the quickest. He hadn’t been able to see their color.
Thorin looked at the flowers again. What had Bilbo seen when he’d been picking the flowers?
- Oranges and yellows tend to fade close after red, violets soon after that.
But blue, Bilbo had murmured with a flicker of that familiar gaze, blue always lingers -
Thorin shifted to look at Bilbo where he was smoothing his hands down his pant legs, caught up in his own thoughts. After a few moments, Bilbo noticed the attention and looked up at him.
“Did you really mean it?” Bilbo asked. “What you said about the mithril shirt?”
“I…” Thorin looked over at Bilbo and found he was only able to nod. He hesitantly grabbed Bilbo’s hand, and when he was met with no resistance, he cradled it between his own.
“I have not yet apologized for the way that I treated you,” Thorin confessed.
“I told you all was forgiven, you were not yourself-“
“Not just at the gate,” Thorin interrupted. “Did I not dismiss you before I had even the chance to know you? I was unwilling to see the blessing that had been given to me, and only your suffering has come from it. You are brave,” he said, reaching up one of his hands to run a thumb against Bilbo’s temple, “and loyal. And I was blind to think you a misfortune for being part of my life.” Bilbo's gaze didn't waver now, his eyes a deep sapphire and cheeks flushed as a garnet. He was beautiful.
“I would give anything to have you keep your colors,” Thorin told him, “anything to bring a smile to your face again.”
Bilbo’s eyes flitted incrementally down for just a moment, and when he looked back to Thorin’s eyes he leaned forward on his knees with only the slightest of hesitation. “There is something,” Bilbo told him in a hush, and Thorin’s heart picked up.
“Anything,” he promised.
Bilbo closed the distance between them and Thorin had to suck in a deep breath as his eyes fell closed, Bilbo’s warm scent and the soft press of lips overtaking all thought. Bilbo’s free hand came up to run over the bones surrounding his eye as he pulled back again, but Thorin didn’t let him go far, bringing the soft skin of their brows to skim against each other as their noses bumped and lips tingled.
“I would have you with me,” Bilbo hummed with a tentative smile in his voice. He tilted his head, brushing their noses together, “Always, if I could.“
Thorin couldn’t hold back the elation he felt, a grin cracking over his features as he gathered his One closer. “You have me,” he assured Bilbo, the sounds of birds and wind and insects brighter than they’d been before.