Remember
When
Author: wanderingsmith
sep 2014
Summary: Thorin woke with the fading echo of strange words in his
ears, and the image of a hobbit throwing himself at an orc at the
forefront of his mind.
Only the habits of a lifetime kept the blood-curdling terror from
making him howl some variation of 'nononononono danger get away!'
and instead had him scrambling up, roaring fury to shield the
grief. The half-familiar group of dwarrows, as well as a Man of
all things, crowding around him and not getting out of his way had
him swinging at them without hesitation; did they not understand
he needed to get to his mate??
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to
pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the
toys, I play with 'em.
AN: Fíli is 82 at the time of the quest.
Thorin woke with the fading echo of strange words in his ears, and
the image of a hobbit throwing himself at an orc at the forefront of
his mind.
Only the habits of a lifetime kept the blood-curdling terror from
making him howl some variation of 'nononononono danger get away!'
and instead had him scrambling up, roaring fury to shield the grief.
The half-familiar group of dwarrows, as well as a Man of all things,
crowding around him and not getting out of his way had him swinging
at them without hesitation; did they not understand he needed to get
to his mate??
"Do not fight him! I could only heal him enough to survive, you will
re-injure him!"
Thorin ignored the Man's nonsense and finally got to his feet.
Seeing the hobbit standing near with a worried frown, seemingly
unharmed, his terror dissipated and he limped forward, smiling with
breathless relief, "Mahal praised!" Still breathing hard from the
panic of his waking, he pulled the unresisting smaller creature to
him in a hard hug, though his voice could not be anything but soft,
"Ghivashel! Are you well? Never do that again!"
He *was* very faintly aware that the earlier crowd was still there,
silent. Could almost feel their shock on the wind whipping at him in
bursts. But at that moment, the remnants of that panic, as well as
pain and confusion that were not yet registering as anything but
battle-noise, had his focus strictly on his mate. Finally, he
reluctantly pulled back from the tight hold to cup that soft,
beardless face and examine the features for hurt before leaning
their foreheads together in relief, closing his eyes to the sight of
the hobbit's unnervingly wide eyes, "You cannot throw yourself into
danger, sanâzyung, I need you safe." He felt a burst of warm breath
on his lips and tilted his head, calming even more at the accepting
tenderness of their noses brushing.
"Thorin??"
At Dwalin's familiarly sharp voice breaking the silence, Thorin,
keeping one arm around the hobbit, turned to him.
Or tried to. Instead, lifting his left arm from his mate sent
stabbing pain down his side and he flinched with a curse.
Of course, that sent everyone rushing toward him, but *now* Thorin
started to frown. Looking first at his disgusting attire and
mysteriously bloodied state, then at the valleys surrounding their
high perch... then actually paying attention to the crowd. The frown
turned to a glare as confusion bred fear into anger. Then he looked
at his mate and his eyes slowly widened with knee-weakening shock.
"What.. where.. how.."
Thorin stared at the halfling, shock reverberating through him with
the certain knowledge that something was very wrong.
Because he *knew*, was categorically *certain*, that he loved the
golden-haired creature...
But he **had no idea who he was**!!!
That he also had no idea what he was doing in the outlying hills of
the Misty Mountains with kin and some unknown dwarrows that he
actually seemed to feel trust for, was entirely secondary.
With a hard swallow, ignoring the dwarrows nattering at him, he kept
his eyes glued to the worried brown ones of the hobbit, speaking in
as controlled a tone as he could manage, "Who are you?" -'other than
my mate', a shamefully hysterical voice added at the back of his
mind.
The silence that rippled out from those damning words was at least
restful to his aching head. And why he was so badly injured was
another secondary concern.
Before the hobbit could answer, he heard Balin hiss, off to the
side, sounding far more panicked than his old adviser usually
allowed himself to be, "Gandalf??"
"Umm. I did as much as I could to set all physical injuries on the
path to healing. His head very likely *did* hit that rock quite
hard, it is not rare for such injuries to result in temporary memory
loss. It will likely pass as the injury that caused it heals fully."
"But if he doesn't remember our burglar, why was he hugging him?"
"Not to mention calling him ghivashel?"
At Nori's leering add-on to Kíli question, Thorin turned to his
distant cousin with a snarl, "Why would I *not* call him so?" The
troublemaking thief knew a dwarf would no more forget his love for
his One than he could fail to recognize them! How *dare* he-
The return of the resounding silence and disbelieving stares from
everyone unnerved him away from his fury that any would challenge
his choice of mate, but before he could demand answers, the hobbit
finally spoke, "What, exactly, does 'givshel' mean?"
Much preferring the peace he felt looking at his soft-speaking mate,
Thorin turned back to him, shifting their positions so that he could
lift his less painful arm from around the creature when next he had
to turn to their confounding companions. Meeting the confused, and
oddly *wary* eyes -that he surely should recognize!-, he answered
the question without hesitation; secrets were well and fine, but he
recognized the name Gandalf enough to know the Man was a wizard and
no doubt already knew at least *of* Khuzdul, and Thorin's mate was
by that fact one of the Khazâd.
"Ghi-va-shel. Treasure of treasures." The way utter shock widened
the hobbit's eyes, to the point that the creature stepped back from
Thorin, made him frown, inadmissible fear niggling at him,
"Ghivashel, what is wrong?" He had not recoiled when he heard Thorin
did not recall him, why would he *now*?
"I- You-... you-" Thorin tried to keep his lips from twitching at
the fish imitation. Though he suspected he didn't keep his
expression clear enough of the amusement, considering the way his
mate straightened with a sudden glare. But that only made Thorin
release the grin; *his* mate. Pride echoed in him for the temper to
match his own. "Why would you call me that??"
Closing the distance between them, Thorin frowned, reminded of the
worrisome confusion of the moment, "Why would I *not* call you
that?" He frowned harder, "What.. did I call you?" Though he had not
thought of the chance of finding the one who could wake him in more
decades than he wished to remember, still, ghivashel was the
endearment that felt most natural to him, even now; surely he would
have used it with this so-long-awaited mate!
Before the hobbit could do more than sputter, it was one of the
unknown dwarrows that replied with what sounded like choked humour,
"Well, there was 'grocer'."
"Bofur! Now is not the time." Gandalf's admonishment came too late
as the king spun, flinching at the foolish move, but still ending
with his death glare on the strange dwarf. Trust of unknown source
would not keep the king from repaying such an insult to his mate!
Before Thorin's fury could erupt, Balin stepped in front of him with
a worried look, "Thorin, we- who do you think Master Baggins is?"
Baggins. Finally he at least had a name! Though Thorin was
disappointed that hearing it did not open his memory. "He is my One.
The One that has Woken my adult body and love." Seeing the stunned
amazement spread on his old friend's face was warning enough, but
hearing a choked gasp sent Thorin back around to his mate. Stepping
close, and this time not stopping until he had his arms wrapped
around Baggins, worried at the suddenly flushed, and as stunned as
Balin's, features. "Baggins? Are you well?"
"Wizard?!"
"Do not be foolish, I did not *do* this, Dwalin! I am not some foul
sorcerer!"
"Then what- how??!"
Thorin spared only half a second to glare at his snarling cousin,
returning his gaze to more important features that were still
staring at him in mute shock, even as he snarled behind his shoulder
at the bald warrior, "How *what*, Dwalin?"
"..Why would you suddenly love our burglar?"
Suddenly?? Would the strangeness never cease? He was becoming
annoyingly fatigued with the repeated shocks, which was quite an
unpleasant statement of his physical state. For a moment he could
not help leaning some of his weight on his mate and letting his
features sag with his confusion. "Did I- did we not tell them,
Baggins?" -only why was the hobbit looking so surprised as well?
The surprise turned to worry in the blink of two brown eyes and the
shifting of bare feet to a more solid stance to support the dwarf.
"My name is Bilbo Baggins." Taking an obviously steadying breath,
the hobbit reached up with a very hesitant hand that Thorin met
halfway with his cheek in encouragement, finally reassured to have
his mate responding. Those brown eyes met his with a confusing
bravery underlying the worry. "You contracted me as a burglar to
help you reclaim your home from the dragon. We all just now escaped
from a goblin trap in the Misty Mountains, only to be cornered by
orcs riding wargs, from whom we were rescued and brought here by
giant eagles. ..You have never, in the weeks we have travelled
together, spoken to me of affection, or in any way given any
indications of such toward me."
The shock held Thorin frozen, staring for long moments, hardly
feeling that soft hand slide to his nape and tug him to rest his
forehead on his mate's.
But when he did begin to think again, the first thought was still
utter certainty at his feelings for this soft hobbit with warm,
guileless eyes. He sighed, shoulders hunching under an unpleasant
mix of fear and shame, whispering for Bilbo alone, "Then I apologize
and beg forgiveness. That was not honourable behaviour. I should
have let you know how I felt. It is the dwa-"
"By my beard! Thorin, look!!"
Tempted to growl, more tempted to ignore the cry in favour of
resting with his ma- No, he had no right to think of him as such.
Resting with his *One*. Thorin saw a hint of delighted teasing
appear on his Bilbo's expressive features, and, with a sigh that his
father would have been very disappointed in him for letting free,
made himself straighten to follow his old healer's arm.
And caught his breath at the sight; it had been too many decades
since he'd travelled close enough to even hope to see the mountain.
Thorin smiled, joy rising in him, "Our home." Wanting to be as close
as possible, he started to walk to the edge of the spit of rock,
only to stop and look back when Bilbo did not follow him.
And then he turned his head slowly back to the mountain, his smile
dying.
Hobbits lived in the Shire.
Suddenly the mountain was a bittersweet sight, an ache cramping
through his chest.
So.
..There was always a chance he could convince the hobbit to come
live with them, assuming they survived and reclaimed the mountain.
But he knew the other races were not happy living under stone.
"Fíli?"
"Uncle?"
He turned from the mountain and looked at the lad -he'd not yet
turned 80! Far too young to be on any quest, to say nothing of
Kíli!!- tearing his wide, eager eyes away from the horizon, "Had I,
by chance, been telling you more of ruling Erebor, as we travelled?"
His nephew's surprised jerk was answer enough. He might not have
told anyone, including his One, but he believed he *had* been aware
of who Bilbo was, and had started to make plans. Else he should not
have been distracting Fíli with such instructions before they even
regained the mountain.
--
Gandalf had browbeat everyone off the chilly peak so that they could
make a more secure camp before any further revelations could come to
light. Then, once into some sheltering trees and on steady enough
ground, he and Óin had impressed on everyone that telling Thorin of
his missing past risked damaging his own memories of those events.
Which led, once camp was set, to a conversation filled with silences
where Balin could not tell him even the simplest detail of the
quest. Giving up, Thorin went to sit besides Bilbo on his log by the
fire, automatically seeking peace for his aching head and heart. But
then he hesitated, the expression he'd just left on his old
adviser's face coming back to him as Bilbo looked up with surprise
that made him flinch inside. His One should expect him to seek him
out; what had he been thinking to not.. not show him...
*affection*... "If I... say or do anything to make you
uncomfortable... since I did not speak before.."
Bilbo waved Thorin down before seeming to once again focus on trying
to mend his waistcoat, his tone sounding a little too carefully
casual for Thorin's heart. "This must be confusing for you."
Staring for a moment at the fire-shadows playing over the smooth
planes of of the hobbit's features, he tried to deliberately
remember another such sight. But all that came was the undeniable
physical draw, not felt since he'd reached stress-hastened adulthood
at the young age of 65, that named the other his One. Bilbo's name,
race and current appearance were all he knew of him. That his soul
already loved him was all that made this anything but a normal first
meeting.
How could you love someone you did not know? How could their
survival be critical to your sanity? "Confusing. Yes."
Seeing the hobbit's activity pulled him out of his self-pitying
woolgathering and Thorin drew the wondrous sword he had discovered
on his back as he stumbled down the Carrock, as Gandalf had named
the spit of rock he had woken on.
No one, of course, would tell him where it came from or what had
happened to his own weapons, but a warrior took care of his tools.
He found his sharpening stone and oil in the same place he had kept
them during his years of travel, and set to cleaning the already
clean blade.
"Why did you attack the others when you woke?"
His hand paused for a moment at the question, but then a pleased,
relaxed smile curled his lips to know that the one he would have for
a mate thought of him, even as he worked. "Because the first..
memory I had was," he turned to look at Bilbo and waited for him to
meet his eyes, "Watching, in terror, as you leapt on an orc."
Bilbo grunted, nodding with what appeared to be understanding;
though Thorin noticed that no apology was forthcoming for the rash
act. Instead, curiosity stared back at him thoughtfully, "Earlier,
when you ... 'declared' me your One... it sounded as though a dwarf
would somehow recognize.. their One."
"Yes. I have always been told I would feel the Draw, feel arousal as
a dwarfling feels before his body matures and begins waiting for its
One, from our first meeting," Thorin grimaced, impatient with his
mind's betrayal, "Ironically enough, that is still all I can say of
it. Why?"
The hobbit hesitated, as though he were debating answering, and
Thorin braced himself for another silence-filled conversation. But
then Bilbo's chin rose with a stubborn frown, ".. You.. had an odd
look on your face, for a few moments, when we first met."
With little hope, Thorin waited for the memory to appear. Finally
giving it up, he refocused on his One's pensive features and thought
through what the statement implied, with what he *had* been told;
his jaw clenched, "..And obviously I did not behave.. as a suitor,
after that."
"I can't answer that, Thorin," Bilbo grimaced, his nose twitching so
adorably that Thorin felt his eyes widen with helpless pleasure, "I
shouldn't have said what I already did."
Thorin's lips twisted with a bitterness he had barely felt since
waking, "You do not need to say more. I do not.. I do not understand
WHY-"
Frowning in sad concern, Bilbo set aside his abandoned mending,
hesitating a moment, then slowly reached a hand toward Thorin,
looking as though some great courage was being called upon as he
laid it on the dwarf's knee, "Well, I *will* say you were not
impressed with me."
"Impressed??" he looked at the hobbit with astonishment, even as his
hand grasped the one on his knee greedily, a burst of loving joy
flowing through him, "Bilbo, you are my ONE. 'Impressed'.." he shook
his head, "You were MADE for me, half of my SOUL." he laughed
painfully, "You have nothing to prove to me."
Bilbo's silent wide eyes would have worried him were it not for the
amazed pleasure he could see just peeking through before Bilbo
turned to look into the fire. Whatever he had done ..*to* the
hobbit, perhaps... Was it possible he still had a chance? Did he
dare, without knowing what memories the hobbit saw when he looked at
him?
He knew he was allowing his body to twitch visibly, but it was
instinctive to trust his One with his true self rather than hide
behind the demeanour that had been ingrained in him. To offer all
that he was.. in desperate hope of being accepted; for what wretched
mess had a dwarf made of himself if the one made for him found him
lacking? What wretched life would be left for him to live in that
knowledge?
Already he could not imagine even being separated from Bilbo, not
even for Erebor. Therefor if he returned to the Shire, Thorin would
follow, even if it was to live out his life as no more than a
neighbour. He had lived so many years alone, now, that he could not
fathom deliberately choosing more such.
Not unless his One demanded it.
But.. If he were not too late... He glanced at the hobbit, catching
him doing the same and making himself speak, "Would you.." he
swallowed some mix of melancholy, grief and fear, "Would you allow
me to court you? After my obvious failure to-"
"Yes!"
Thorin's mouth hung open for a moment before a smile broke free at
the almost fierce response.
"Although.." Thorin froze before Bilbo waved a hand at him, "Nono,
I'm not objecting to your courting. I just.. thought of some of the
odd things I've seen your countrymen do.. and wonder what exactly
dwarven courtship entails."
Relief made him more enthusiastic in his response than he had felt
in many years. He had a chance! Whether they stayed in the Lonely
Mountain or returned to the Shire, he would have his mate! His One.
*If* he could win him. "Gift giving, mostly, I suppose. Proving
one's worth." Gifts would be difficult while they travelled.. But he
was a mighty warrior. A good leader for his people. He could prove
his worth!
Bilbo gave him a steady stare that made the dwarf blink in
confusion, snapped out of his embarrassingly exuberant thoughts. "I
have no interest in gold and gems, Thorin. And less in watching you
hurt yourself to *prove* anything to me."
Oh. Thorin resisted tugging at his braids as he had done as a
dwarfling, frowning, ".. That does.. rather limit the traditional
gestures." His One's clear laughter sounding out made his eyes widen
and a smile ease his tension. Happiness suited the hobbit. "Well..
what does hobbit courtship entail, then?"
Bilbo's smile widened at the question, watching Thorin with growing
fondness that was slowly losing its painful-to-see disbelieving
edge. "Food, flowers. Showing off their gardens; or their ideas for
one, in the case of tweens. I suppose they must show off the results
of their trade, those as have them," a surprisingly warm glance slid
to the strange sword Thorin had forgotten. "One of my cousins taught
the fellow she was courting how to make a chest of drawers. Took
them most of a year to work through all the details," laughing brown
eyes met Thorin's, "And all the fights! Right stubborn, those two
are."
Thorin was still a moment, but finally had to grimace, "..Cooking
would not endear me to you. And I know nothing of gardens." Bilbo's
barely-choked snicker was both embarrassing and a pleasure; to know
he gave his One joy, even at his own expense. Twinges to his
princely pride were better than his One keeping his distance from
him.
Thinking of the hobbit's words and slowly remembering the orc, and
the unschooled way the hobbit had been holding his blade in Thorin's
only surviving memory, the dwarf lifted his own blade up slightly
and met the gaze of his One. "Would you allow me to teach you
something of swordplay? It would not be harming myself..." he tried
to bury the wince at the thought of the discomfort the *hobbit*
would feel, just as every new student did. But he would then be able
to defend himself. And Thorin could prove his skill at arms and at
teaching. And spend time with his One without the silences of their
missing past between them.
Again that warm glance at the exquisite blade that played mighty
temptation with his exhibitionist instincts. Balin would glare,
Dwalin would wax sardonic, and his injured body would scream bloody
murder at him... But still he was tempted to stand and discover just
how beautiful it would feel to dance with such a weapon.
And the suddenly eager smile and bright eyes of his One were no
discouragement. "You... you are-" Thorin's breath stopped at the
momentary sight of burning admiration. That was for *him*! Bilbo
smiled sheepishly; perhaps Thorin's pleasure had been too obvious.
"Well. You are a.. an inspiring sight with that sword. Even for a
hobbit." *Inspiring*! "I would.. be.. honoured. To.. well," Thorin
tried very hard to keep the urge to do.. very *intimate* things to
that wriggling nose, from showing on his features, lest it stop the
intensely attractive twitch. "To attempt to learn to use my..
letter-opener. At your.. side."
Thorin reached over to lay a hand over Bilbo's as he uncomfortably
fumbled at the hilt of his sword. When the hobbit's embarrassed eyes
met his, Thorin shook his head, "You are my One, Bilbo Baggins. I
would teach you if you were a one-handed clubfoot; and be glad for
the honour you offered me. As it stands, you and your letter-opener
saved my life. You have no need to be bashful. I can share positions
and movements that might be useful, but you've already shown the
world you have a warrior's heart; you need never think of me as
having shown-" One hundred and thirty years since his body had
responded to another; little wonder that his One's fingertips on his
lips would make him gasp and lose his train of thought.
"But you did." The fingers dropped away with a shy smile on
beardless features, "I would never have run out my door.." Thorin
grimaced at the sudden silence, but then stubbornness that was
almost dwarven in its fierceness replaced it, "No. I never told you
this and you were not there to have a memory of it. I ran out my
door after an adventure because of you. Your.. voice. Your story.
You say you remember me jumping on that orc... I most certainly
would never have done *that* without.. without your presence.. to
inspire me."
Thorin shook his head, "I would I never again inspire you in such a
way."
"Agreed. *I* would you never put yourself in such danger again!"
Thorin grimaced, unable to make such a promise, even for his One. He
almost recoiled at the sudden fierce scowl directed at him for his
silence; though he would take it, and gladly, over Bilbo's earlier
hesitations. He remembered his fierce pride shortly after he'd
woken, when he'd thought the hobbit his won mate and had so enjoyed
his glares. He wished-
Bilbo's annoyance faded at the sight of the wistful sadness on
Thorin's battered features.
It was so very strange to feel himself welcome to speak his mind to
the dwarf. Disconcerting to try to convince himself that he need not
keep his admiration to himself, nor curb his opinions.
And... and he need not keep quietly distant when Thorin so obviously
needed succor.
Jaw set in determination, Bilbo shifted a knee up on the log and
leaned over, a hand going to Thorin's shoulder, the other into his
tangled mane to gently encourage him to stay still. And he touched
his lips to the dwarf's.
A slow innocent press, finally knowing the faint scratch of that
beard on his tender cheeks. Pulling back slightly, he waited, but
Thorin did not move, only breathed quicker; and parted his lips
faintly, eyes almost closed but staring at him. And Bilbo leaned
forward again, breathing quickly himself, to tilt his head and press
a kiss to the upper lip, before daringly wrapping his lips around
the soft bottom and giving it a suck.
Was Bilbo Baggins really kissing a dwarven king so brazenly in spite
of the laughs and moans of dwarrows nearby, a faintly hysterical
voice in his mind asked. Yes, he is. And he will continue to do so!
---
And indeed, weeks later, when the first snowstorm raged around
Erebor's walls, blanketing the remaining orc bodies from a great
battle -quite a few of which had been felled by a hobbit's
half-trained Sting-, there was a hobbit by the name of Bilbo
Baggins, sporting a braid with a dwarven bead, kissing a king laying
on a wide, soft bed as he recovered from numerous injuries.
AN: sanâzyung -
perfect/true love
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