Fic: By the Light of this Small Flame
Title: By the Light of this Small Flame
Fandom: The Hobbit
Pairing: Gen, Friendship
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Oakenshield
Rating: PG
Summary: Bilbo has a hard time sleeping under the shadow of Mirkwood. He finds himself sharing a pipe and memories with a surprisingly amiable Thorin Oakenshield.
Notes: Movie-verse, though I have read the book. It's just been about ten years now, so if I have gotten anything wrong in my descriptions of Mirkwood and their journey, blame that.
Mirkwood was dark. Even during the day their path was covered by shade so thick that what should be the brightest part of the day seemed like dusk. It made them all uneasy, though the dwarves tried to hide it: using loud, boisterous jokes and old songs to distract themselves from the ever present urge to look over their shoulders. But at night the darkness pressed upon them, and they huddled together in groups in the center of the path they dare not stray from, and all around them the world was as black as oil, and could not be fought by their meager campfires.
It was their fifth night camping under the trees of Mirkwood, and Bilbo could not sleep. He still wasn’t used to how eerily silent the woods were, and the snores of Nori and Bofur beside him were not enough to block out the strange quiet. He rolled over to his side and attempted to peer past the shape of Bofur’s ridiculous hat and into the trees beyond, but soon gave up. It was too dark to see anything. Finally, with a huff, he sat up. Picking up his bedding and throwing it around his shoulders as a sort of makeshift shawl, he walked over to the dying campfire.
He stirred the coals hopefully for a while before finally deciding to sacrifice a log from their precious firewood stash. Gandalf had warned them about straying too far from the path while they were in these woods and so they were restricted to collecting what they could find along the road and perhaps two or three feet from the path when it was during the day and they could see it. The one time Gloin had suggested they just cut down the wood that they needed it had immediately seemed to go darker in the forest, despite it being midday, and the air around them suddenly seemed heavier, as if the trees themselves were pushing it down on them. It made Bilbo shudder to even remember it.
No one has said a word about cutting anything down since.
Bilbo watched mournfully as the fire started to eat up the sole branch he’d thrown on the coals, and was guiltily considering throwing another one on there when he heard a twig snap behind him. Without a conscious thought he jumped up and around, one hand already on the hilt of his sword.
“Who’s there?” he gasped out, heart racing.
“Easy, Master Baggins,” rumbled out of the darkness. “It’s only me.” A few footsteps and then Thorin stepped into the circle of light from the fire. Bilbo had a brief thought about how even the firelight didn’t seem to reach as far in these woods as it did anywhere else before he relaxed, fingers releasing their grip on the sword.
“Oh, thank goodness,” he breathed out. He shot the dwarf a half smile. “Sorry,” he muttered. “These woods make me nervous.”
Thorin walked around to other side of the fire. “They make everyone nervous.” He reached over to their dwindling wood pile and grabbed the same log Bilbo had been considering and tossed it into the flames. “There is an ill presence in this place,” he muttered darkly as he sat down.
Bilbo nodded as he sat back down, eyes flickering past Thorin to the trees all around them. “Yes,” he said as he rubbed his palms together and scooter closer to the fire.
Thorin eyed the tiny sword attached to Bilbo’s belt. “Your reflexes are getting better,” he said gruffly.
Bilbo chuckled uncomfortably. “They would have to, wouldn’t they? After all that has happened on this adventure of yours. Who knows, I might have been able to get one up on you, had you not told me you were there.”
“I doubt it,” the dwarf dryly replied. “Azog’s minion might have been surprised by your foolhardy bravery, but I will not be again. I know what to expect from you now, Master Hobbit.”
They fell silent as Bilbo tried to figure out if he’d just been insulted or complimented.
The mention of the pale orc reminded Bilbo that it had not been that long ago that Thorin had nearly had his arm ripped off by a warg and he looked at the leader of their company in concern. “You know,” he offered slowly, “I could keep watch, if you would like to sleep.”
“Thank you, but no.” Thorin stiffly replied. Bilbo opened his mouth to protest-really, he’d only fallen asleep during watch once and it certainly wasn’t going to happen now-when Thorin continued. “I am not likely to sleep easily in these woods tonight,” as he said this Thorin turned his head to glare at the darkness surrounding them.
Bilbo leaned more comfortably against the pack he was sitting against. “Well, then. That makes two of us.”
“Then it seems, Halfling, that we shall have to be each other’s company tonight.”
Bilbo smiled a little at that. Not even three weeks ago Thorin would have huffed and sent him back to his bedroll with just a few gruff words. Things had certainly changed. Shifting forward a little, he dug around in his jacket pocket. “Well, if we are to keep a night’s vigil, might as well make it a more pleasant one.” With that he pulled out his pipe and a small leather pouch.
He offered the open pouch to Thorin first, who raised his eyebrows in surprise but took it, pulling out his own ornate pipe and packing it full of leaf. He handed it back to Bilbo who took it gratefully, preparing and lighting his pipe with efficiency before settling back against the pack behind him.
They puffed together contentedly for a few moments. Bilbo stared at their tiny fire and felt himself truly relax for the first time in days.
It was Thorin who finally broke the silence. “This is good,” he murmured.
Bilbo smiled across the fire from him. “Beorn provided it for me before we left. It is good, but what I wouldn’t give for just a little of some Old Toby.”
Bilbo could see the dwarf’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Old Toby?”
He nodded, taking a long puff from the pipe and blowing out a perfect smoke ring. “The best pipe weed in the Shire. Or, anywhere, I dare say.”
“That’s quite a claim,” Thorin grumped at him.
Bilbo pointed the end of his pipe at the dwarf. “But true, none the less,” he told him firmly. “If there is one thing we Hobbits know, it is pipe weed.”
“I shall take your word for it, Burglar,” Thorin replied, humor evident in his voice.
Bilbo hummed happily and leaned his head back, hooking one leg over his knee. “Yes,” he mused out loud, “Some Old Toby and a nice pot of tea. And maybe some of Marigold Cotton’s cinnamon apple tarts. It would be about the time for apple picking now. The orchards are probably full of hobbits eager to help out and get their share of old Fastolph’s apples. Not to mention all the little ones waiting in line for hayrides and apple cider. Why I remember when I was just in my tweens…” he trailed off, staring up in to the black of the forest and wishing intensely for a moment that he could see the stars. He could see the stars from every window at Bag End, not a single thing to block the view.
“You miss your home very much,” Thorin said quietly.
Bilbo sat up, coughing, embarrassed to have gone on like that. “Yes, well,” he waved nervously at the smoke around him. “It’s home. I suppose you always miss it when you are away for a long period of time.”
Thorin didn’t reply, staring deep into the fire. Bilbo thought that was to be the end of their conversation when the dwarf finally spoke.
“It has been more than 60 years since I have last laid eyes on my home,” he murmured quietly. “More than 60 years since I have been surrounded by the stone of the Great Halls.” He slanted a look at Bilbo. “You probably think the halls were cold, deep within the mountain as they were. But our forges burned hot all day and all night and it was warm as if mid-summer, and bright: the halls lit by the glow of a thousand torches.”
The small campfire lit up Thorin’s expression at the same time it cast it into deeper shadows, and Bilbo had no trouble imaging him in that mountain, face ruddy from the red glow of the forge, the light glinting off the precious jewels weaved into his braids. He forgot, sometimes, that Thorin wasn’t just the leader of their motley group, but a King, responsible for an entire nation of dwarves who had lost their home, not just the twelve that Bilbo had come to befriend.
Thorin seemed to shake himself from his reverie. “I hope, Master Baggins, that when we reclaim the halls of Erebor, that you will not dash immediately off to your beloved Shire. I would like to extend the hospitality of my home to you, and have you see it, as it once was years ago.”
Bilbo smiled around his pipe. “I would like that. Very much indeed. And perhaps, when I do return to the Shire, you might visit me again someday, and I can show you more of my home.”
Thorin inclined his head, the embers in his pipe sparking red as he took a deep breath of smoke. Bilbo puffed at his own pipe for a few minutes before he suddenly yawned. “Oh, my apologies,” he said, covering his mouth as he yawned again.
Thorin smiled slightly at him. “Perhaps you should attempt to get some sleep. We have a long day’s travel in this forest tomorrow.”
Bilbo nodded, surprised to find that he did indeed feel like he could sleep, the good pipe weed and conversation doing for him what the late hour could not. “I think I’ll just lay down here,” he said as he put away his pipe. He stood up and arranged the bedding he took with him to the fire and then lay down again, wrapping the blanket tight around him.
He did fall asleep, but was woken up a short time later when it began to rain. Lifting his head up slightly, he looked around. Thorin was still up, sitting across from him, the dying fire just barely outlining his figure as he kept watch over the group. Around them Bilbo could hear the sounds of wet, discontented dwarves as they tried to go back to sleep. To escape the rain Bilbo pulled the blanket over his head, leaving only a small crack for his nose and eyes. He soon fell asleep again, the light of the small fire burning red-gold against his eyelids.
Fandom: The Hobbit
Pairing: Gen, Friendship
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Oakenshield
Rating: PG
Summary: Bilbo has a hard time sleeping under the shadow of Mirkwood. He finds himself sharing a pipe and memories with a surprisingly amiable Thorin Oakenshield.
Notes: Movie-verse, though I have read the book. It's just been about ten years now, so if I have gotten anything wrong in my descriptions of Mirkwood and their journey, blame that.
Mirkwood was dark. Even during the day their path was covered by shade so thick that what should be the brightest part of the day seemed like dusk. It made them all uneasy, though the dwarves tried to hide it: using loud, boisterous jokes and old songs to distract themselves from the ever present urge to look over their shoulders. But at night the darkness pressed upon them, and they huddled together in groups in the center of the path they dare not stray from, and all around them the world was as black as oil, and could not be fought by their meager campfires.
It was their fifth night camping under the trees of Mirkwood, and Bilbo could not sleep. He still wasn’t used to how eerily silent the woods were, and the snores of Nori and Bofur beside him were not enough to block out the strange quiet. He rolled over to his side and attempted to peer past the shape of Bofur’s ridiculous hat and into the trees beyond, but soon gave up. It was too dark to see anything. Finally, with a huff, he sat up. Picking up his bedding and throwing it around his shoulders as a sort of makeshift shawl, he walked over to the dying campfire.
He stirred the coals hopefully for a while before finally deciding to sacrifice a log from their precious firewood stash. Gandalf had warned them about straying too far from the path while they were in these woods and so they were restricted to collecting what they could find along the road and perhaps two or three feet from the path when it was during the day and they could see it. The one time Gloin had suggested they just cut down the wood that they needed it had immediately seemed to go darker in the forest, despite it being midday, and the air around them suddenly seemed heavier, as if the trees themselves were pushing it down on them. It made Bilbo shudder to even remember it.
No one has said a word about cutting anything down since.
Bilbo watched mournfully as the fire started to eat up the sole branch he’d thrown on the coals, and was guiltily considering throwing another one on there when he heard a twig snap behind him. Without a conscious thought he jumped up and around, one hand already on the hilt of his sword.
“Who’s there?” he gasped out, heart racing.
“Easy, Master Baggins,” rumbled out of the darkness. “It’s only me.” A few footsteps and then Thorin stepped into the circle of light from the fire. Bilbo had a brief thought about how even the firelight didn’t seem to reach as far in these woods as it did anywhere else before he relaxed, fingers releasing their grip on the sword.
“Oh, thank goodness,” he breathed out. He shot the dwarf a half smile. “Sorry,” he muttered. “These woods make me nervous.”
Thorin walked around to other side of the fire. “They make everyone nervous.” He reached over to their dwindling wood pile and grabbed the same log Bilbo had been considering and tossed it into the flames. “There is an ill presence in this place,” he muttered darkly as he sat down.
Bilbo nodded as he sat back down, eyes flickering past Thorin to the trees all around them. “Yes,” he said as he rubbed his palms together and scooter closer to the fire.
Thorin eyed the tiny sword attached to Bilbo’s belt. “Your reflexes are getting better,” he said gruffly.
Bilbo chuckled uncomfortably. “They would have to, wouldn’t they? After all that has happened on this adventure of yours. Who knows, I might have been able to get one up on you, had you not told me you were there.”
“I doubt it,” the dwarf dryly replied. “Azog’s minion might have been surprised by your foolhardy bravery, but I will not be again. I know what to expect from you now, Master Hobbit.”
They fell silent as Bilbo tried to figure out if he’d just been insulted or complimented.
The mention of the pale orc reminded Bilbo that it had not been that long ago that Thorin had nearly had his arm ripped off by a warg and he looked at the leader of their company in concern. “You know,” he offered slowly, “I could keep watch, if you would like to sleep.”
“Thank you, but no.” Thorin stiffly replied. Bilbo opened his mouth to protest-really, he’d only fallen asleep during watch once and it certainly wasn’t going to happen now-when Thorin continued. “I am not likely to sleep easily in these woods tonight,” as he said this Thorin turned his head to glare at the darkness surrounding them.
Bilbo leaned more comfortably against the pack he was sitting against. “Well, then. That makes two of us.”
“Then it seems, Halfling, that we shall have to be each other’s company tonight.”
Bilbo smiled a little at that. Not even three weeks ago Thorin would have huffed and sent him back to his bedroll with just a few gruff words. Things had certainly changed. Shifting forward a little, he dug around in his jacket pocket. “Well, if we are to keep a night’s vigil, might as well make it a more pleasant one.” With that he pulled out his pipe and a small leather pouch.
He offered the open pouch to Thorin first, who raised his eyebrows in surprise but took it, pulling out his own ornate pipe and packing it full of leaf. He handed it back to Bilbo who took it gratefully, preparing and lighting his pipe with efficiency before settling back against the pack behind him.
They puffed together contentedly for a few moments. Bilbo stared at their tiny fire and felt himself truly relax for the first time in days.
It was Thorin who finally broke the silence. “This is good,” he murmured.
Bilbo smiled across the fire from him. “Beorn provided it for me before we left. It is good, but what I wouldn’t give for just a little of some Old Toby.”
Bilbo could see the dwarf’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Old Toby?”
He nodded, taking a long puff from the pipe and blowing out a perfect smoke ring. “The best pipe weed in the Shire. Or, anywhere, I dare say.”
“That’s quite a claim,” Thorin grumped at him.
Bilbo pointed the end of his pipe at the dwarf. “But true, none the less,” he told him firmly. “If there is one thing we Hobbits know, it is pipe weed.”
“I shall take your word for it, Burglar,” Thorin replied, humor evident in his voice.
Bilbo hummed happily and leaned his head back, hooking one leg over his knee. “Yes,” he mused out loud, “Some Old Toby and a nice pot of tea. And maybe some of Marigold Cotton’s cinnamon apple tarts. It would be about the time for apple picking now. The orchards are probably full of hobbits eager to help out and get their share of old Fastolph’s apples. Not to mention all the little ones waiting in line for hayrides and apple cider. Why I remember when I was just in my tweens…” he trailed off, staring up in to the black of the forest and wishing intensely for a moment that he could see the stars. He could see the stars from every window at Bag End, not a single thing to block the view.
“You miss your home very much,” Thorin said quietly.
Bilbo sat up, coughing, embarrassed to have gone on like that. “Yes, well,” he waved nervously at the smoke around him. “It’s home. I suppose you always miss it when you are away for a long period of time.”
Thorin didn’t reply, staring deep into the fire. Bilbo thought that was to be the end of their conversation when the dwarf finally spoke.
“It has been more than 60 years since I have last laid eyes on my home,” he murmured quietly. “More than 60 years since I have been surrounded by the stone of the Great Halls.” He slanted a look at Bilbo. “You probably think the halls were cold, deep within the mountain as they were. But our forges burned hot all day and all night and it was warm as if mid-summer, and bright: the halls lit by the glow of a thousand torches.”
The small campfire lit up Thorin’s expression at the same time it cast it into deeper shadows, and Bilbo had no trouble imaging him in that mountain, face ruddy from the red glow of the forge, the light glinting off the precious jewels weaved into his braids. He forgot, sometimes, that Thorin wasn’t just the leader of their motley group, but a King, responsible for an entire nation of dwarves who had lost their home, not just the twelve that Bilbo had come to befriend.
Thorin seemed to shake himself from his reverie. “I hope, Master Baggins, that when we reclaim the halls of Erebor, that you will not dash immediately off to your beloved Shire. I would like to extend the hospitality of my home to you, and have you see it, as it once was years ago.”
Bilbo smiled around his pipe. “I would like that. Very much indeed. And perhaps, when I do return to the Shire, you might visit me again someday, and I can show you more of my home.”
Thorin inclined his head, the embers in his pipe sparking red as he took a deep breath of smoke. Bilbo puffed at his own pipe for a few minutes before he suddenly yawned. “Oh, my apologies,” he said, covering his mouth as he yawned again.
Thorin smiled slightly at him. “Perhaps you should attempt to get some sleep. We have a long day’s travel in this forest tomorrow.”
Bilbo nodded, surprised to find that he did indeed feel like he could sleep, the good pipe weed and conversation doing for him what the late hour could not. “I think I’ll just lay down here,” he said as he put away his pipe. He stood up and arranged the bedding he took with him to the fire and then lay down again, wrapping the blanket tight around him.
He did fall asleep, but was woken up a short time later when it began to rain. Lifting his head up slightly, he looked around. Thorin was still up, sitting across from him, the dying fire just barely outlining his figure as he kept watch over the group. Around them Bilbo could hear the sounds of wet, discontented dwarves as they tried to go back to sleep. To escape the rain Bilbo pulled the blanket over his head, leaving only a small crack for his nose and eyes. He soon fell asleep again, the light of the small fire burning red-gold against his eyelids.