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Bilbo Baggins woke up happy. It felt like he had had some very nice dreams and as he opened his eyes, he found himself in his sunny bedroom in the Shire…
…with a dwarf in his bed.
Bilbo blinked. There was a dwarf in his bed. A dark-haired, bearded, braided dwarf in his bed. Most surprising of all: He knew the dwarf was kind.
…but he could not think of the dwarf's name. How could he know the dwarf was kind, but not know their name? This was all very embarrassing.
The dwarf’s eyes slowly opened. It felt familiar, the way those eyes slowly revealed their blue colours, as the dwarf awakened.
“Good morning, Bilbo.” a deep voice rumbled from the dwarf. This, too, felt familiar and it sent shivers down his spine and flutters through his belly, but… Bilbo could not remember who the dwarf was.
“Good morning.” Bilbo replied, slowly, trying to think of a name, any name, for the dwarf… but ‘Dwalin’ was someone else. Of that, he felt sure.
“Pàpa! Pàpa!” a young voice shouted and a small boy came bursting through the bedroom door and jumped onto the bed. “It's sunny outside! It's sunny outside!”
The dwarf chuckled with his deep voice. “So it is, Frodo.” the dwarf said. “So it is.”
It felt like a knife had lodged itself into Bilbo’s chest. The boy was clearly hobbit, but his hair was as dark as the dwarf’s and his eyes were nearly as blue and he had called the dwarf his father. Something was very strange.
…Bilbo was forgetting something really important.
As the child climbed up the bed, the dwarf sat up and caught him in a tickle, which, after much laughter, became a seated hug on the bed. Dwarf and child sat there, smiling, the dwarf’s chin resting on the child's raven-haired head.
“Is it a good day today?” the child asked, quietly, glancing at Bilbo before looking up.
“It is a quiet day today.” the dwarf answered, hugging the child tighter, rocking them both sideways and back. “But I think there might be pancakes.”
“Really?!” the child asked, so excited he near broke out of the hug to turn to look at the dwarf.
“Oof!” the dwarf protested, before settling with a smile. “Yes, really. They will be ready by the time you finish your bath, I think.”
“You promised!” the child called out, slowly sliding backwards off of the bed. “Pancakes! You promised! Enough for a feast!”
“Enough for a hobbit.” the dwarf laughed and the child cheered and ran back out, leaving the door slightly ajar.
The dwarf leaned back against Bilbo’s headboard and ruffled his dark hair before looking at Bilbo. “Are you alright?” the dwarf asked, voice so deep… “He can have a lot of energy, in the morning…”
“I…” Bilbo begun, then… ran out of words, in a strange way. Bilbo blinked.
“Bilbo, are you alright?” the dwarf asked, growing slightly worried, shifting around to take him in fully.
Bilbo knew this dwarf. He felt certain of it. He knew that child, too, and he thought he might really love them both, but… what were their names? Where did they come from? Why did he think the dwarf should have hugged him then and why did it worry him that the dwarf kept a respectful distance and wore a nightshirt?
“I… think I'm alright.” Bilbo said anyway, because those questions were too much to burden someone with on such a nice morning.
“...no, you're not.” the dwarf stated, eyebrows a flat line above stubborn eyes. “Bilbo, may I hold you? Is that okay?”
The dwarf should not have to ask. This was wrong, but the dwarf’s dignity and decency were all sorts of right. This was all too confusing to Bilbo.
“Yes… I think so.” Bilbo answered, hoping his feelings were right, though his memories struggled. “I think… you should.”
“Oh, thank you, mizimê .” the dwarf sighed and pulled Bilbo into his arms, shifting him against his side beneath the covers. “I… missed you.”
They both had nightshirts on and that felt wrong, but Bilbo could not think of why. It was perfectly decent.
“Why would you miss me?” Bilbo asked, curling against the very handsome dwarf. “I'm right here.”
“You're right.” the dwarf sighed, hugging Bilbo even closer, leaning his chin on Bilbo’s head. “You are right here. My dear Bilbo. Perfectly safe in my arms.”
The dwarf really was very handsome and Bilbo found his head fit very well in the nook of the dwarf's neck, beard like a pillow to Bilbo’s cheek. It would be so nice if they were close.
“What do you remember today, Bilbo?” the dwarf asked in his rumbling voice and the world shifted.
He knew. The dwarf knew Bilbo had forgotten something. He knew and… it sounded like… the dwarf had asked that question before. Many times before.
Bilbo felt tears building in his eyes. If the dwarf had asked many times before, that meant Bilbo would keep forgetting. Bilbo would keep forgetting and this lovely dwarf would keep asking.
The child had asked if it was a good day. The child knew something was wrong. The dwarf had said it was a quiet day. That meant it was not always. How much of a mess had he made for these lovely people?
“Nothing.” Bilbo admitted and begun to sob into the dwarf's nightshirt, clinging to him by a fistful of shirt beneath his finely braided beard. “I don't remember anything.”
“Oh, my dear…” the dwarf rumbled and held Bilbo even tighter, rocking him back and forth. “It's okay. It's okay. We'll be okay. We will be okay. It will be a nice day, and we will spend it together, and we will figure it out.”
Bilbo nodded against his body, still sobbing.
“My name is Thorin, just Thorin.” the dwarf said and Bilbo cried even harder. “His name is Frodo, just Frodo, and he's okay. Frodo is okay. Thorin is okay. We're in Bag End and we live here, and we will keep living here for a long time. For as long as you like, mizimê . For as long as you like. Just Thorin, Frodo, and Bilbo.”
He knew. He really knew. Thorin had offered their names, just like that, and kept repeating them, and they weren't “just” Thorin and “just” Frodo. They were Thorin Baggins and Frodo Baggins or whatever equivalent Thorin might have brought with him. Bilbo felt certain, just as he felt certain Thorin was leaving that out to take the pressure off.
“...how long?” Bilbo whispered after many sobs, both deep and rough. “How long have I been like this?”
Thorin was quietly stroking his back, stroking his hair, keeping him close. “It has been… some time.” the lovely dwarf hedged. Bilbo made a sound and he relented. “It has been some years.”
“I… years?” Bilbo asked, ashamed. “But… Frodo is still so young. He cannot be older than ten. Has he ever known me?” New tears brimmed in his eyes, though Bilbo had already cried quite enough.
“Oh, he knows you, my darling.” Thorin assured and kissed the top of his head. “We had years together, good years, and he knows. He knows your stories by heart. Just ask him. He is so proud of them. Only… maybe ask for just one, today.”
Bilbo chuckled through his tears and sniffled his nose. “Why?” he half-asked. “Did I live a wild life, at some point? Will I be shocked?”
“Well.” Thorin drew out, easing Bilbo far enough out to meet eyes with him. “You went on an adventure, master Baggins.”
“An adventure?” Bilbo asked, voice ringing with envy at who he had been. He had always wanted an adventure, though he had never dared any big ones.
“Yes.” Thorin chuckled and Bilbo swooned at the light in his eyes. “An adventure with me, and a wizard, and twelve other dwarves.”
“Twelve?!” Bilbo asked, scandalised. “So many! Where did we go? What did we do?”
“I would tell you.” Thorin teased, slowly disentangling them and handing Bilbo a large, clean handkerchief from a bedside table. “But I promised Frodo pancakes after his bath.” ...and with those words, Thorin slid out of bed and tied back his hair with a leather strap and a few clamps.
“I can make the pancakes!” Bilbo volunteered, eagerly jumping out on his own side, wiping the rest of his face clean from tears and… snot. “I can cook and… you can help… by telling me stories.”
Thorin smiled at him and Bilbo realised what he had meant. Frodo did know Bilbo, probably better than Bilbo did himself. Bilbo had been perfectly maneuvered by the handsome dwarf.
“Do I… always cook?” he asked his… something. Something intimate. They wore no necklaces to bed, but there were jewelries on both nightstands. There might be necklaces, with dried wedding flowers in them. Thorin certainly knew him well enough. They shared a bed. Wearing nightshirts had felt wrong. Frodo… was undoubtedly a Baggins, with the dwarf's colours, though Bilbo had never expected to make that choice.
Thorin looked very good, surrounded by sunshine. His hair glowed like polished flint and his eyes echoed the blue of his shirt and his smile… shone with the warmth of a thousand suns…
“Did… we stop… because of me?” Bilbo asked. There was only one Frodo. Had it been a choice or… had Bilbo… changed before… another…?
Thorin’s smile faltered and he walked over and pulled Bilbo back into his arms with a stubborn set to his face. “You are not at fault.” Thorin rumbled in his deep voice, holding Bilbo close against his chest. “We made a choice. You are not at fault. It was enough. Frodo is enough and you are perfect, just the way you are.”
Bilbo indulged in the embrace for a while, sighing into the rumpled, blue shirt. Thorin… really was very, very handsome. Would it be…? Yes, it would. Bilbo barely knew the dwarf, even if his body recognised the dwarf’s.
“...he really is very lovely.” Bilbo said instead and took a step back before his thoughts could really go astray. “...and he's expecting pancakes. …and I want my stories.”
“Bilbo.” Thorin interrupted, voice rough with some intense feeling. “May I kiss you?”
Bilbo blinked then smiled. “You may.” he replied, then quickly added: “After the pancakes.” It felt right. Frodo came first. Kissing… should take time: Time they did not have. Frodo would be finishing his bath, soon.
Thorin smiled and kept his arms around Bilbo. “After pancakes?” the dwarf asked, something lurid about his voice. “Might be dangerous.”
“M-Maybe I like danger.” Bilbo tried, though he felt pretty certain he did not like real danger at all. He did, however, feel equally certain that the danger the dwarf spoke of was not very dangerous at all. Indeed, the greatest danger of all might be how much Bilbo might enjoy it…
Thorin laughed and kissed the top of his head. “Maybe you do.” the dwarf indulged before releasing Bilbo and offering him a hand. After a second of staring, Bilbo recognised the invitation and took it, sliding his hand into Thorin’s, fingers lacing experimentally. Thorin’s fingers clenched his with appreciation and, when he looked up, he saw a small smile on Thorin’s face.
“...how long since my last… quiet day?” Bilbo asked, voice quivering. Thorin’s smile was so small, almost shivering, as though waiting for something to go wrong. Bilbo felt steady, though. Would he suddenly fade, while they were walking?
“...a while.” Thorin sighed. “A long while…” Then he lifted their hands and kissed Bilbo’s hand in his and smiled the tiniest smile at him. “But you're here now. That's what matters. You're here now.”
…and they walked down the hall of his parents’ smial…
…wearing nothing but nightshirts, down to their knees…
…and made pancakes for their boy.
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