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heartoferebor · 9 years ago

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[Fic] At night

Happy late Birthday dearest Radio (aka @radiorcrist)! I didn't quite manage this in time, I hope you'll forgive me ><. But I hope you had a lovely day! <3333

Series: The Hobbit Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Oakenshield, Dwalin, Bofur Pairing: none Rating: G Length: 1,490 words Summary: The first night after the Carrock. Bilbo has a nightmare - and discovers that others have trouble sleeping, too. Warnings: mentions of death, nightmares, PTSD Notes: Just a random scene I had in mind, basically. I think Thorin always tried to keep himself tightly under control when it's amongst others, but sometimes that control is slipping.

Read here on Tumblr.

Fire was in his dreams, the stench of smoke in his nostrils and the weight of his small sword in his hand. There was a trembling in his fingers that he seemed to be unable to still, the surge of adrenaline in his body painting every detail with strange clarity. He saw himself running forwards once more to save the leader of their Company, a part of his mind screaming that this was going too far, that his Tookish side would finally cost him is life. However, it seemed the right thing to do, especially when he saw the despair in Balin's, Dwalin's and the others' eyes, unable as they were to help. Any of these dwarves would have laid down their lives for Thorin Oakenshield in a heartbeat and it seemed only fair that he would do so too, a member of the Company as he now was. Thorin might not see him as that but that didn't change what he had come to realise in the darkness of the goblin tunnels - that the warmth and camaraderie those dwarves had given him was worth a lot more than his comfortable armchair and books, even though he would always keep missing the latter.

However, in his dream there was no miracle of eagles in the sky and the luck his own courage had brought him; instead he saw the mighty warg's jaws snap shut and teeth bury themselves deeply into Thorin's body, the dwarf's scream choked off by his own blood. Bilbo could feel the flames hot on his skin, and watched with wide eyes as the fire leaped forward to take hold of Thorin and the other dwarves behind him, burning too fast and far away for him to save any of them and hot, so hot-

He awoke with a gasp, his mind reeling as it tried to find its way back into reality. Bilbo took a moment to understand that he was not, in fact, on fire and that everyone else was fine, too. His heart still racing he closed his shaking fingers around the ring in his pocket, feeling its reassuring weight, almost like a promise that it would be able to help him whatever came. He felt his breathing calm down slowly again as he fixed his gaze on the flames of the little fire in the midst of the sleeping dwarves. They had been lucky to find a little cave this night that would hide the flames from the view of the orcs that were on their heels.

Bilbo turned to his side and let his gaze travel over the shapes around the fire and towards the mouth of the cave, trying to keep himself awake for a while longer so that the nightmare would not claim him again. He noticed two bulky shapes sitting at the entrance of the cave, obviously keeping watch - one of them was Dwalin and the other Bofur it looked like from the silhouettes against the lighter dark of the night sky. Most of the other dwarves seemed to be sleeping, brothers and friends huddled close to each other after the horrors of the previous night. Bilbo could see Thorin leaning against the wall of the cave not far from him, his eyes closed and seemingly asleep, although his entire posture still spoke of alertness. Bilbo had observed throughout the journey that Thorin seldomly slept lying down and never without any of his armour on. Even now that he was injured, that didn't seemed to have changed.

Bilbo was just about to drift back to sleep when one of the branches in the little fire crackled loudly, causing the flimsy construction of burning wood to collapse onto itself. Bilbo only flinched, but Thorin was on his feet within seconds, his grip around Orcrist firm as he jumped up with a wild and almost haunted look in his eyes. Dwalin and Bofur had turned around to see whether everything was alright, but it was only after an almost imperceptible nod from Dwalin that Thorin sat down again, this time a lot more carefully. Bilbo guessed that the sudden movement must have pulled at least a few stitches.

The fire was now markedly smaller and Bilbo frowned, thinking to himself what a shame it would be for it to go out. He peeled himself out of the bedroll with a sigh, noting with dismay that his hair was still plastered to his forehead from the nightmare's sweat. Giving a little half-smile in Thorin's direction he shuffled over towards the fire and the small stack of wood next to it, spending the next few minutes pointedly trying to rebuild the fire with the skills Glóin had taught him.

"You should try and sleep." Thorin's voice was still raspy and Bilbo remembered with a little shudder how he had strained to keep himself from screaming when Óin had looked after his wounds earlier in the evening. "I fear there will be precious little opportunity left in the next days to get some."

"I was just thinking about the cliff top again." Bilbo heard himself say, faintly surprised that he would share such a detail. Maybe because it was late at night and he still felt the tendrils of dread that the nightmare had planted inside his mind sneaking around his throat and constricting it. He finally looked up at Thorin. There was no reproach at the supposed weakness in his eyes however, just the same veiled gaze that made it impossible to discern what was going on in his head.

"Was this the first time you killed?" Thorin asked him, shifting slightly and taking in a sharp breath in the middle of a sudden movement. Bilbo knew better than to ask Thorin if his injuries still pained him; he knew the dwarven king would not welcome such an inquiry from anyone, least of all the little hobbit. Furthermore, the slightly strained expression in his face and tense sparseness of his movements were answer enough.

"You mean not just animals?" Bilbo shrugged. "Yes."

Thorin kept watching him and waiting for him to go on, the gaze from his eyes still hard to interpret.

"I was thinking more about how we were all saved mostly by luck and Gandalf's eagles. I guess I hadn't realised how quickly death can come."

Thorin nodded and for a moment he was staring into the flames of their little fire again that Bilbo was still poking vigorously, not so much because it needed it, but because it gave him something to busy his hands with. For an instant the dwarven king looked like his gaze wasn't directed at the present reality at all anymore, but looking back into a past that Bilbo could not even begin to fathom. He remembered well the almost panic in Thorin's eyes at the sound earlier and for the first time he wondered how terrible the dragon's flames had truly been when Erebor fell. He felt his throat go dry.

"The veil between the worlds is indeed much thinner than many might think." Thorin replied suddenly. "There are many here amongst us who wouldn't be alive if it weren't for luck. And some others who would be."

He broke off as if the last sentence had brought an image to his mind that he had rather wanted to forget. Then the hint of a smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

"It seems like having a hobbit is useful too." he admitted. Bilbo thought to himself that this was probably one of the highest praises that Thorin could give and he returned the smile gratefully.

"To be honest, I never thought I could be that useful either." he admitted. "This journey has taught me one or two things about myself already."

Thorin inclined his head, the slight smile remaining on his face. Bilbo finally dropped the piece of wood that he had been poking the fire with and sighed.

"I'd better try and catch some more sleep." he murmured, getting up to return to his bedroll. Thorin's voice caught him when he was drawing the cover back over himself.

"If you cannot sleep, consider those things that make you feel safe and imagine they were here."

Bilbo turned, but Thorin did not say anything else, having settled back against the stone again and closed his eyes, as if he were about to nod off as well. Bilbo wondered for a moment what things Thorin would think of before he fell asleep and shook his head slightly. There was no saying of what it might be, but he hoped there were things that the dwarven king could take comfort in as well.

To his surprise, sleep and his dreams found him again soon, bringing warmth with them and the happiness of the sunlight on his skin as he was working in his garden at Bag End. That night, no more nightmares visited him.

#radiorcrist #Thorin Oakenshield #Bilbo Baggins #The Hobbit #my fic #augh is this is different from what I usually write #I hope you'll still enjoy it ><#I actually love writing Bilbo a lot hhhhhhhhhh

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hildyj · 9 years ago

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Belated happy birthday to @radiorcrist - one of the most talented artists in the Hobbit fandom (and that’s saying a lot!) and one of the first people who welcomed me to tumblr. A very warm, funny and supportive person. <3

And I have a gift. A small fic I wrote inspired by Radio’s Thorin-as-a-harpist AU and art.

Monday, 7:03 AM

Thorin pulled the bottom of his foot closer to his behind, feeling the worn muscle stretch. The bricks of the wall he was leaning against had grown warm under his prolonged touch.

He checked his watch again and looked back towards the door to the building. Suddenly, the light turned on in the hallway, the yellow glow coming through the small window at the top of the door and onto the murky pavement.

Thorin pushed away from the wall quickly as he saw the door open up and the front wheel of bicycle pushing through the doorway.

He jogged closer.

‘Good morning,’ he said to the smaller man who was struggling to hold the door away from his bike.

‘Oh.’ The man smiled as Thorin grabbed hold of the door and held it open for him. ‘Morning. Out for your usual run?’

‘Just finished,’ Thorin said, fudging the truth.

‘And how’s the weather this morning?’ The bicycle hit the pavement and turned towards its usual direction.

‘Still chilly.’ Thorin nodded at the man’s hands. ‘You’ll still need your gloves.’

‘Good thing I brought them,’ the man answered.

They stood like that for a breath or two, Thorin still holding the door open while the stranger fiddled with a bit of loose tape around the handlebar.

‘Well, I have to get going,’ the man finally said.

‘Right,’ Thorin said, ‘and I have to- you know.’

The stranger smiled again and walked away.

The door shut with an unsatisfying bang behind Thorin as he trudged up the stairs, the sweat on his neck uncomfortably cold.

Another opportunity wasted.

Monday, 1:14 PM

Thorin stretched and warmed his fingers as he looked over the score to his solo piece in the second movement of the concerto for Friday night. The dangerous thing about Mozart’s music was that any diligent musician can learn to play it with ease but the lightness of touch between the notes – that infuriating playfulness – was something that only a talented musician was able to achieve. At least, Thorin thought as he arranged the score on the music stand in front of the harp, he didn’t have to have the entire spotlight to himself. Bofur and his flute – always an audience favourite – would be there, too, sharing the solos with Thorin.

He let his fingers glide over the strings, listening to the well-tuned hum that followed as he sat down. He took a deep breath and placed his fingers in the correct position and began.

He played the first sixteen bars and stopped. Not quite right. It needs to be more shy and halting, like the fingers are afraid to touch the strings. He went back and started again.

The same sixteen bars but he stopped again, feeling like he was lagging behind the beat.

Thorin took a deep breath and closed his eyes, knowing that he needed to know this by heart by Friday. He allowed his fingers to work by muscle memory and his internal beat alone. Passing the first sixteen bars, the music began to take shape as he grew more confident that he was heading in the right direction. One of his fingers slipped, souring the end of a note, but he took no notice as he continued where he needed to go, sure that he would reach the ending this time.

The last note of the movement vibrated through the room as Thorin sat back on his chair, buzzing with satisfaction. For the first time since getting the job to play the solo in Mozart’s concerto for flute and harp, Thorin wasn’t feeling like he was going to die from nerves.

Suddenly, as if from his own imagination, the sound of applause came from his open window. Two hands clapping together from some other open window in the same block of flats.

Thorin grinned, dipping his head against his chest and feeling slightly flushed. I better get used to that sound, he thought.

On a whim, he stood up and sketched a small bow in the direction of the window, the breeze cooling his still-warm cheeks.

And when he sat back down and positioned his fingers on the strings, he was still smiling widely.

Tuesday, 7:08 AM

By now, Thorin had exhausted all the different ways one could stretch one’s body after a morning run, and the bicycle still hadn’t appeared.

Sighing, he pushed through the door into the dark hallway. His eyes ran idly over the row of letter boxes, wondering which one belonged to the smiling stranger.

Tuesday, 6:32 PM

Thorin finished off his last part of the concerto with a flourish, almost snapping the strings together in his joy at finally feeling on top of the whole thing. He smiled lightly as his head naturally angled towards the open window, wondering if the music lover would be at home today.

But there was nothing but the sound of a bus going by on the street outside.

He shook his head at his own silliness as he stood up to stretch after sitting down for a full concerto. Outside on the stairs, someone was walking, the old wood creaking through the thin walls of the ancient building was a usual part of Thorin’s daily life, so he paid it no mind.

Until there was a knock at his door.

The creaking hurried away again, the sound carrying upwards as Thorin went to open his door.

There was nothing outside but a plate with two Cornish pasties, obviously homemade, sitting on his welcome mat with a folded piece of paper on top. Thorin picked up the paper and read it.

For the harpist, as a thank you. And a humble request: something by Dussek?

Thorin smiled as he looked down at that simple message. He had worried when he first moved into this block of flats with his harp that his daily playing would start to annoy his new neighbours but now… Thorin ran a thumb over the cursive thank you as he looked up to the ceiling at his unknown admirer.

He was still carrying the plate as he thumbed through Dussek’s sonatas, trying to find his favourite to play for his music-loving neighbour. Once he had decided on no. 3, he sat pouring over it as he bit into the warm, crispy pastry and the generous filling. He almost closed his eyes in bliss as he chewed. Such food deserved two sonatas, not just one.

Wednesday, 6:58 AM

‘Hello!’

Thorin looked up, his pulse still speeding as he slowed from a run to a walk. The stranger had just opened the door and was once more pushing his bike through it.

‘Hello!’ Thorin pulled at his t-shirt, hoping that it wasn’t too obviously sweat-stained. ‘Off again?’ He grabbed hold of the door as a matter of habit, allowing the man to get through without crushing his bike.

‘Yes,’ the stranger smiled as he held up one bare hand, ‘And look, no gloves!’

Thorin chuckled. ‘You risk taker, you.’

The stranger ducked his head and smiled. ‘I don’t know- it just feels warmer today. Don’t you feel warmer?’

Thorin pulled at his sweaty shirt again. ‘Very warm.’ He cocked his head as he studied the stranger, hesitating before saying, ‘but you do seem very happy. Had any good news lately?’

The stranger grinned. ‘Oh, it’s nothing. It’s just – I don’t know if you’re ever home during the day, but have you heard the harpist on the second floor?’

Thorin blinked in surprise.

The stranger continued, ‘It’s the most beautiful music, enough to lift anyone’s spirits.’ He moved closer to Thorin. ‘And he – the harpist, that is - takes requests,’ he finished with an eager nod, as if he had just handed Thorin a special present.

A flurry of thoughts had taken over Thorin’s brain, though none of them seemed to be making their way towards his mouth. His first inclination was simply to shout into the stranger’s face, I’m the harpist! I’m the one making you happy! Please love me and keep feeding me pasties!, but the only statement that amassed enough brain power and forward movement to exit his mouth was a simple, ‘Oh?’

The stranger nodded as he checked the time. ‘I have to go,’ he said, his voice deflating as he turned the bike in the usual direction. But before he went, he placed a careful hand on Thorin’s bare upper arm. ‘I hope you get to hear the harpist one day. I really think you’ll like it.’ He glanced up into Thorin’s eyes for a second before walking away.

Thorin stood as if he had been nailed to the floor, staring after the other man as he mounted his bike and rode away. He brushed a hand over the sliver of his arm which still bore the stranger’s touch.

All this time, all these mornings, all these short meetings, Thorin had been trying to find the right words to give to the other man, had tried to expand their short, polite chats into something more. He had worked so long to find the right thing to say that would make the stranger look into his eyes and simply declare, ‘You. It’s you I want to know better.’

And now it suddenly seemed so simple.

Wednesday, 6:14 PM

Thorin rested his forehead against his harp and grinned as he listened to the clapping of two hands coming through the open window. Now that he knew who was doing the clapping, it had become even more dear and special to him.

Paying close attention, he heard a door shut above him and stood up at hearing the steps down the creaky stairs. He moved quickly to his own door and waited until the steps stopped just outside with a rustle of paper.

Taking a deep breath, Thorin slowly opened the door to see the stranger with the bike (though obviously without his bike at the moment) crouched down in front of his door, a plate in one hand and a piece of paper in the other.

‘Hello?’ Thorin smiled.

‘Oh.’ The stranger’s mouth fell slightly open. ‘Oh.’ He blinked several times. ‘It’s you.’ He stood up, still grasping the rim of the plate and crinkling the edge of the folded paper. ‘You’re the harpist.’

Thorin nodded, his mouth twitching with the beginnings of a smile. ‘Yes, I am.’

‘Uhm, good.’ The stranger nodded quickly. ‘That’s…good.’

Thorin stood back from the doorway. ‘Do you want to come inside?’

‘Yeah.’ He gestured slightly with the plate. ‘This is getting hot.’

Thorin took the plate from the stranger and deposited it on his kitchen counter. When he turned around, he saw the other standing still in the middle of the room, staring at the harp.

He noticed Thorin looking and tore his gaze away from the instrument. ‘Sorry, this is just…wild, you know? I’ve only been working from home for little less than a week, but I’ve already gotten to know more about you in that time than the entirety of the last 6 months of our random meetings on the door stoop. Except I didn’t know I was getting to know you, you know?’ He stared at Thorin for a second before shaking his head. ‘You don’t look like a harpist.’

‘You’re not the first to tell me.’ Thorin shrugged. ‘But I like playing.’

‘And you’re good!’ the stranger hurried to say, ‘very good! Like, concert level good!’

Thorin chuckled. ‘That’s a reassuring thing to hear since I’m playing a concert two days from now.’

The stranger glanced down at the sheet music. ‘Oh, right.’

Thorin bit his lips shortly before it burst out of him. ‘Do you want to come?’

The stranger’s brow furrowed. ‘Come?’

‘To the concert?’ Thorin felt his courage flagging. ‘Because the musicians always get free tickets so it wouldn’t be a big deal at all if you wanted to go. It’s just- you seemed to like the music…’ His voice grew quieter. ‘But it’s no pressure if you don’t want to.’

‘Oh.’ The stranger smiled for the first time since entering the flat. ‘Yes, thank you. I’d love to go.’ He took a step closer. ‘But only if you’d let me cook us dinner after the concert?’ His smile grew warmer as he gazed up at Thorin.

Thorin couldn’t help but grin. ‘That would be nice.’ He gestured at the plate on the counter behind him. ‘You want to have the dress rehearsal now?’

The stranger nodded. ‘Just let me run up and get my plate.’ He turned around and moved towards the door.

‘Wait!’ Thorin called after him.

The stranger tensed in the open doorway and turned slowly around. ‘Yes?’

Thorin shrugged self-deprecatingly. ‘I don’t even know your name.’

‘Oh!’ He let out a breathy laugh. ‘It’s Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins in 4A.’

Thorin held a hand to his chest. ‘Thorin Oakenshield in 2A.’

Bilbo grinned as he pointed a finger at the bronze name plate on the door. ‘Yeah, I kind of already guessed.’

And he turned to spring upstairs, the creaking wood a fine accompaniment to the string of Thorin’s harp as he gave it a clear and triumphant pluck.

#bagginshield #radiorcrist #writing

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