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English
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Published:
2020-04-12
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1/1
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on the sowing and reaping of a dwarven king

Summary:

There are rumors about where Hobbit faunts come from, and more rumors than that about what happens to their dead.

Notes:

A write-and-post, please forgive any mistakes.

Work Text:

-z-

 

Gandalf is the first one to find him. After the battle.

Bilbo just looks up at the wizard, says, “Help me move him.”

Gandalf, his voice sad and gentle, says, “I do not think—”

“Blast what you think,” Bilbo shouts, rising to his feet and curling his hands into fists. For a moment, they stare at each other, Gandalf pitying and Bilbo furious, but in the end—

 

Bilbo ignores the rest of the Company as he wanders about Erebor, selecting various stones and rocks by no particular criteria other than instinct – filling his pack until he can no longer lift it, but has to instead drag it back to the plot he’s chosen. Bofur goes to step forward, to help, but Gandalf puts his hand on Bofur’s shoulder and whispers a warning:

When a Hobbit goes to Garden, touch nothing.

 

-

 

There are rumors about where Hobbit faunts come from, and more rumors than that about what happens to their dead.

 

-

 

The soil of the Lonely Mountain won’t grow much of anything, but it’s the soil on which Thorin was born and so it is to this soil Bilbo returns him.

Bilbo buries Thorin naked and deep – not knowing if this will even work – laying Thorin down amongst rock, rough and smooth, worked and unworked, and stones, plain and precious, from lowly pebbles to the Arkenstone itself, stolen by Bilbo once more and placed with purpose on Thorin’s ruined chest.

Bilbo sings as he works – he sings the song of death and healing, of loss and rejuvenation, of turning time back and enjoying a new tomorrow, of the moon and the sun in the sky at once.

His tears and his blood soak the soil as he pushes it over Thorin – his fingernails have long fallen off, for this sort of Gardening can only be done by hand and the soil of the Mountain is unyielding – but the pain is inconsequential, and the task must be completed.

He sings and prays that Yavanna can hear him, that she will grant him this.

 

-

 

There’re reasons more on why Hobbits have such large families – every cousin, distant and close, counts – for it’s never known when one will need to be Planted and Sown. And then Reaped.

 

-

 

Bilbo doesn’t move from the plot and Gandalf does a well enough job keeping the Company at bay – not that he needed to work too hard, the Princelings were in dire shape, but they yet lived, and there were plenty of other wounded to care for amongst the army of the Iron Hills. Meaning: there was plenty for the Company to occupy themselves with, all they had to do was trust Bilbo one more time.

But Dáin wasn’t of the Company and he had no cause to trust Bilbo.

He manages to slip Gandalf’s guard, advancing on Bilbo with a righteous fury, intent on reclaiming his cousin. But a Hobbit in the midst of Gardening is a dangerous one, and they’ll guard their plot without fear or hesitation and, as Dáin learns, with a certain amount of cruelty.

 

(Bilbo takes to the bow with ease and even Thorin finds himself impressed.

“Looks like we have ourselves a new archer,” he smirks.

Bilbo accepts the praise with a humble bow as the Company gathers around him – pointing out new targets and letting loose uproarious applause at each bullseye hit.)

 

Bilbo takes out first Dáin’s right knee, then his left, and as Dáin falls, Bilbo hits his right shoulder and then his left elbow. It’s only Gandalf’s staff that stops the arrow from hitting Dáin between his eyes.

 

-

 

If Reaped too early, the body pulled up will be grotesque and disfigured; too late, and it’ll be rotted.

Timing is everything.

 

-

 

Bilbo watches the moon wax and wane and begin to wax once more, tracking its phases carefully.

After Dáin, no dwarf dares to approach. Bilbo had chosen this plot because it lay in a small valley, protected (well enough) from wind and rain by rocky ridges that separated him and his charge from the dwarves. There wasn’t much sun, but Bilbo doesn’t think that will be a problem – dwarves are creatures of the dark, after all, and Bilbo doesn’t want to risk changing that.

Bilbo tills the soil with his fingers, forcing his hands to work through their injuries, turning over rock and dirt, keeping it aerated.

 

Bilbo begins getting restless, no longer quite able to simply sit still in his watch. He finds himself putting on his Ring and stealing into the camps for food and water more and more often.

It was almost time.

 

Bilbo jerks awake just as the third full moon reaches its zenith.

It was time.

 

Bilbo works frantically, he scoops large swathes of dirt away, throws rocks over his shoulders – and he feels tears in his eyes when his sharp ears pick up noises coming from below.

Bilbo shouts Thorin’s name, yells encouragement, and then comes that moment, that sweet, beautiful moment where they grasp each other by the forearm and Bilbo, sobbing, pulls Thorin from his plot and into his chest, stroking Thorin’s hair and cradling Thorin as the dwarven king shivers and stutters, trying to remember how to talk.

“It’ll pass,” Bilbo says, gently lifting a skin of water to Thorin’s lips, “take it easy, Thorin. I’m here. I’m right here. I’ll get you through it. It’ll pass.”

And Thorin clings to him and Bilbo loosens his grip just long enough to grab Thorin’s old cloak and wrap it around him, pulling it tight.

They stay like that – Bilbo holding Thorin and Thorin trying to work out sounds as his mind slowly catches up to his awakened and, thank Yavanna and all the skill and ability she so thoughtfully and kindly bestowed upon her Hobbit children, healed body.

 

That bright, full moon is low on the horizon when Thorin finally finds his first word.

“Bilbo,” he says, voice hoarse as one of his hands reaches up, his thumb brushing over Bilbo’s cheek. Bilbo laughs as he places a hand over Thorin’s, turning his face into Thorin’s palm.

 

When morning comes, Bilbo helps Thorin dress and they exchange a few chaste kisses that turn slow-sweet when Bilbo returns to the plot and pulls the Arkenstone from the soil and presses it against Thorin’s chest.

“I won’t steal it again,” Bilbo says, his voice barely above a whisper, once Thorin lets him speak. “This was the last time. Promise.”

Thorin gestures at the plot, asks, “And what is all this? You haven’t said.”

Bilbo smiles softly. “Just a bit of gardening.”

 

-z-

 

End.