Chapter Text
This was the first morning that it’d been quiet since the dwarves had arrived. They weren’t awoken by the loud jests of Kíli and Fíli, or by the sound of clinking dishes as breakfast was prepared for them by Bombur. The Company had departed yesterday afternoon, under threat of snowfall. It had been a bittersweet affair, with Bilba nearly crying in front of most of her friends. (She didn’t; Ori, however, did, and had to be consoled by Dori as they said their goodbyes.) She extended the open invitation for tea once more before they’d left, and that had been that.
So Bilba was a little more than disoriented when she awoke to complete silence in the middle of November when she’d been living the past two months in constant noise. Thorin was still deeply asleep next to her, and she rubbed her eyes and groaned before rolling over onto her stomach and pulling the covers over her shoulders. The room was unusually cold, and, frankly, it made her want to fall back asleep under the blanket. She knew that she should probably get up, though, no matter how much the cold wanted her to sleep.
Wind rattled against the window, sending the sound throughout the room. A small hum emerged from Thorin as the window rattled again. Bilba turned to face him as he blinked open his eyes and yawned. “Windy this morning, isn’t it? Windy and quiet,” he remarked, before yawning once again.
“That’s what I thought when I woke up, too. How was your sleep?” He pushed a few curls off of her forehead, closing his eyes momentarily before he answered.
“It was peaceful. Didn’t dream at all. I kept feeling a draft, though.” Bilba nodded thoughtfully in agreement.
“It’s getting cold enough for the cracks to make themselves known. There’s always at least one, usually. Mm.” She stretched, before pulling the blankets tighter. “I’m not really in the mood for getting out of bed yet, are you?” He shrugged and shook his head, before giving her a small smile.
“I wouldn’t mind a few more hours of sleepy relaxation, no.”
“Good.”
“Your hair’s still wet, we don’t need firewood that desperately,” called Bilba from the sitting room. “Tea’s ready, by the way.” Thorin slowly braided his last bead back into place, before smoothing his damp hair down.
“I’m sure everything will be fine if I just step out for a moment to get more, right? I’ll have tea when I come back in. With the wood.” Bilba raised her eyebrows at him, one hand patronizingly on her hip.
“Have you glanced out a window this morning, Thorin? Have you seen the snow?”
“Yes, and I’ve dealt with worse.” He pulled on his thick furs, the ones that had been hung in the closet since April. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, after putting on his boots.
“You’re going to catch a cold, Thorin!” she shouted at him as he went into the snow. “Such a stubborn one you’ve married, Bilba, good on that,” she murmured to herself. She shook her head and closed the door against the drifting snow, turning back to the sitting room and dusting off her hands. I suppose we are low on firewood, but still. No reason to get dumb about it.
The tea sat steaming in its cups and she sat in front of the fire for a good long while before the door opened again, and Thorin grunted as the sound of wood hitting the floor echoed through the smial. “Bilba!” His voice was strained, and she could practically hear the shiver in his voice. And she couldn’t help but laugh when she found him in the front hall.
“What did I tell you?” she chuckled, pulling his coat off. His hair was practically frozen solid, his beard and eyebrows frosted with a thick layer of snow. “Go in front of the fire, I’ll stack the wood.”
“Bilba, I want to help-”
“No, no, no,” she tsked, “you brought it in, and your need to sit in front of the fire and drink your tea. You’re hair is literally frozen to your head. Go on, then.”
The wood was somewhat damp and mostly cold, but she carried it to it’s place besides the fire to dry, and placed in a few of the pieces that had already been inside. Thorin sat, dripping, in front of the flames. “This was a bad decision on my part, I think,” he said, after a moment’s hesitation. Bilba laughed and nodded, handing him his tea before sitting down on the sofa opposite. He sipped his rather sullenly while Bilba giggled.
“You are going to catch a cold, though, for sure.”
“Mm.” He looked up at her as he took a sip of his tea. “I should always listen to you.”
“Yes,” she nodded in amused agreement. “Yes, you should. Oh! I hope you don’t mind, but I told Holman that we’d keep the children when Lenora has the baby.”
“How long would that be?”
“A day, more likely than not. Probably overnight. Nothing we can’t handle. I’ve already set a few of the guest rooms up for them.” Thorin nodded, before standing to come sit himself next to her.
“I don’t mind. The Greenhand’s are marvelous anyhow. And speaking of children..”
“It’s not been that long, these things… take some time, you know.” She stared into her cup.
“That’s not where I wanted the conversation to go, actually. If we can, and I hope we can, how many would you want?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never put much thought into it. I never thought I’d have the chance. It’s the same for you, I suppose. But honestly. I’d want to have more than one child, I think. I didn’t have any siblings growing up. Plenty of cousins, but to come home and only have your parents was sort of.. I don’t know.” She looked at him then, frowning slightly. “At least you had your sister.”
“Would you mind turning, amrâlimê?” She shook her head and did what he asked, and he combed his fingers through her hair before separating the strands. He began braiding slowly and rhythmically. “I actually had a brother as well.” Bilba nearly turned around in surprise, but the braid stopped her.
“Really?”
“Yes. Younger than me, but older than Dís.” His voice was neutral, but Bilba desperately wanted to see his face.
“What was his name? Where-where is he?”
“He died in the same battle as my grandfather. The Battle of Azanulbizar. He fought bravely, and nearly made it out.” Bilba turned to him then, and the braid unraveled down her back. “He didn’t, though. He was lost, as was my father and grandfather before him.”
“You have lost so much.”
“That is life; is war. I have mourned for them. It is better, I think, to live with who I have left. I have lost, yes, but I still have my sister, my nephews. The Company. And you. I avenged my lost family when we took back the mountain. And now, I think, it is time to live for myself. And for our future, not for my past.”