Work Text:
yuletide
The days and weeks it had taken to travel from the Shire to Erebor had felt like years in each passing moment, but the following years they had spent in Erebor felt like mere stolen moments. There would be times when Bilbo would look at Thorin, usually doing something terribly mundane like brushing his teeth or lacing up his boots, and he would nearly convince himself that it was all a dream, that any moment then he would jostle himself the wrong way and it would all fade away.
(Most of those times, Thorin would look up and see him staring, then smile softly and lean in and press a kiss to his nose, and it would jostle him just the wrong way to remind him that he was very awake and Thorin was really there, alive.)
There were also moments when Bilbo thought that it all was just too perfect for a dream, of course, times like when Thorin wrapped his arms around him from behind and kissed the crest of his ear or when Thorin would pause in his work to look up and stare at him for a long moment before leaning in and kissing him gently or when the fauntlings all ganged up on Thorin and tickle him so mercilessly that the poor thing had to beg for mercy.
Bilbo often wondered how long it would take for him to not openly stare, for twenty years of hard, stubborn refusals to even think in that direction to be replaced with the open admittance that no one had died after all, that they were all alive and well, that the warmth on the other side of his bed wasn’t just the fire.
Then there were the moments when Bilbo would catch Thorin staring, and it always invariably led to a blush on his part and a warm smile on Thorin’s. Those were his favorite moments.
(Sometimes they would lead to Bilbo being pressed against the nearest surface while Thorin left trails of kisses down his neck, and technically those were Bilbo’s favorite moments, but he wasn’t so uncivilized as to admit it.)
Even amongst all those moments, Bilbo found that his favorite part of each and every day was probably the most mundane of all. It was when the sun was just beginning to creep over the mountain and its light would slip through the window of their bedroom, to illuminate their bed, waking him up just gently enough so he could appreciate just exactly where he was, the arms wrapped tightly around his waist, the quiet snoring of his husband. It never failed to make his heart skip a beat and his lips curve into a smile, and often he would just fall asleep again, his fingers tangled with Thorin’s, and his heart content.
“Uncle Bilbo, Uncle Thorin, get up, get up!”
Apparently, this was not going to be one of those mornings.
Bilbo gave a snort as he woke up and Thorin sat up rapidly, one arm flying out to block Bilbo from sight and the other snatching for a sword, only for a gaggle of small children to leap onto their bed and commence bouncing upon it; Pippin and Merry and Kíli’s twins, Víli and Lilì.
“It’s Yule, Uncle Bilbo, Uncle Thorin!” they shouted in unison.
Bilbo blinked blearily. Thorin groaned and collapsed back onto the bed, only to have Merry grab at the shoulder of his night shirt and tug on it. Víli climbed onto Thorin’s back and started to bounce up and down on the balls of his feet.
“Come on, get up!” cried Víli.
“It’s Yule!” shouted Merry.
“We’ve got presents!” Pippin called.
“Adad said we couldn’t open them until you got up!” said Lilì.
“Couldn’t’ve he said you had to wait for us to wake up on our own?” Thorin grumbled into his pillow.
“No,” Lilì said. “We want to open up our presents!”
Bilbo covered his eyes with a hand, saying a quick prayer to Yavana before sitting up and grabbing Thorin’s hand. “Come on, love, they’re not going to stop until you get up.”
“Yeah!” shouted Pippin. Thorin let out another loud groan, muffled by the pillow, and Pippin poked the back of his head with a foot.
“This is priceless,” came Kíli’s voice.
“This is your fault,” Bilbo told him.
Kíli, standing in the doorway, laughed. “I’ll accept it, it was worth it to see this.”
“Alright, get off of him,” said Tauriel; the elf had just ducked into the room and approached their bed. “Off! If Uncle Thorin and Uncle Bilbo wish to sleep a while longer we will let them!”
“Aw, but we’ve got presents!” Víli said. Lilìpouted at her mother.
“No buts,” Tauriel announced. “We’ve got to have breakfast before you can open your gifts, now come along.”
“Fine,” the four children said, and clambered off of the bed. Bilbo mouthed thank you to Tauriel, who gave him a smile before ushering the children and Kíli out.
Bilbo flopped back onto his pillow and looked at Thorin. His husband lifted his head and peered at him with one eye.
“Are they really gone?” Thorin hissed.
“Really,” Bilbo assured him. Thorin sighed in relief and shifted onto his side to drape an arm over Bilbo’s waist.
“Thank Mahal,” Thorin sighed, before burying his nose in Bilbo’s curls. “Breakfast should take at least an hour.”
“I’m sure they’ll come back after breakfast,” Bilbo said.
“Mmm,” Thorin grumbled. His fingers curled on the hem of Bilbo’s shirt, his breath falling on his neck quite pleasantly. “They’ll wake us up when they need us.”
Bilbo chuckled and shifted onto his side to face Thorin, smiling warmly. Thorin echoed the smile and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. Bilbo would take excitable children bouncing on their backs and shouting about Yule gifts over the years of silence and solitude where Thorin had been dead.
“Of course, we could take advantage of this hour of peace,” Thorin murmured.
“Why, whatever do you mean?” Bilbo asked, a grin forming on his lips.
Thorin’s hands slid up his nightshirt. “I think you know exactly what I mean, kurdulu.”
And if hearing Thorin whisper that soft word, his deep rumbling voice rolling in the gravel of the Dwarven tongue tended to send shivers down Bilbo’s spine, no one could blame him.
They emerged from their bedroom within the hour, finding that their family had once again gathered in the sitting room around the Yule tree. The six children were all sat on the ground, from the nearly grown Sam to the tiny figures of Víli and Lilì. Fíli was also sat on the ground, but that was because he was holding his wee babe, little Lȍri that he and Ori had adopted together just after they'd married. (Their wedding two years ago had been the affair of the decade, excluding Bilbo’s own wedding to Thorin three years before that.)
“Took you long enough,” Kíli called as they walked in. “Were you having some particularly nice dream or something?”
“I’m not sure you’d really like to know the answer to that,” Thorin said calmly.
Kíli went red while Fíli laughed at him and Frodo and Sam, who were plenty old enough now to understand what Thorin meant, pretended to gag quite spectacularly. “Never mind!” Kíli said hastily. Tauriel rolled her eyes dramatically.
“Dwarves,” Bilbo sighed to her as he joined her on the couch.
“It’s a wonder why we love them,” Tauriel agreed.
“Oi!” Thorin and Kíli said together. Bilbo giggled.
Pippin sprang to his feet and set his hands on his hips much like Bilbo did, his lips curling in a scowl much like Thorin did, and announced: “Are we going to open our presents or what?”
“You’re lucky you’re so adorable, tiny Baggins,” Fíli told him. Lȍri made a gurgling noise in agreement, it seemed.
“Go ahead and start, then,” Dís said. Pippin squealed and dove into the pile of presents.
The two youngest fauntlings and the two older dwarflings made quick work of the gifts hidden beneath the tree, passing out gifts until they came upon one labeled as theirs at which point they would stop, plop upon their bums where they were, and rip away the paper covering the gift, after which they would shout THANK YOU to whoever had given the gift, and when they found one they were particularly grateful for, the giver often found them the victim of a very tight hug round the neck.
Bilbo smiled as Merry and Pippin hugged Thorin tightly all the while squealing their thanks, then let his eyes roam the room. Fíli and Ori were trying to teach Lȍri how to use the rattle Dís had gifted her, Kíli was currently buried under a mountain of wrapping paper as Víli and Lilì added to the pile and Tauriel was laughing at the whole affair. Dís was sitting with Sam on one of the couches with knitting kit that Sam had been given, teaching him how to hold the needles. Frodo was sitting in front of the fire with a book, already absorbed into its pages.
“Uncle Bilbo!”
Bilbo looked down, seeing that Lilì had abandoned burying her father and approached him with a square package in her hands. “Yes, darling?”
“This is the last one, it’s for you!”
“Why, thank you, dear,” he said, taking it from her. Lilì dropped onto the ground in front of him, her eyes wide and expectant. He chuckled and turned his gaze onto the package. The tag had only his name on it, the name of the giver somehow absent. He untied the ribbons and pulled aside the paper, revealing a wooden box inside. He unlatched the lid and lifted it, then gasped and his hands flew to cover his mouth.
Inside were pouches of seeds.
“The last caravan from Ered Luin brought them.”
Bilbo looked up to see Thorin watching him, his dwarf smiling softly.
“Are these – They’re from –?”
“The Shire,” Thorin answered.
Bilbo’s eyes were suddenly watering as he looked back to the box of seeds. “I don’t even have a garden to plant them in,” he said, sniffling a little, but he was smiling. He closed and latched the box, then pulled Thorin to him and buried his face in his chest. “Thank you,” he murmured.
“There’s more,” Thorin said. “Come with me.”
Thorin pulled him off the couch to his feet. The others in the room were getting up as well, as if they had been expecting this; Ori took Lȍri from Fíli, who lifted Pippin into his arms, Kíli and Tauriel picked up their children, Dís took Merry by the hand, Frodo and Sam followed just behind Bilbo and Thorin, who led him out of the sitting room and almost all the way out of the Royal Apartments, to a door that Bilbo hadn’t really ever noticed before.
“Close your eyes,” Thorin said quietly. Bilbo obeyed, letting Thorin lead him blindly. “Open them.”
Bilbo did, and then had to blink at the light. Then he had to gasp again and spun around. They stood upon a terrace that had been framed off with panels of glass so that the cold could not reach them. The stone of the mountain floor had been replaced with yards of fresh soil, with only a path leading through and around what was undeniably a garden.
“The soil came from the Shire as well,” Thorin said to him.
Bilbo turned and threw his arms around Thorin’s neck, lifting on his toes to press a kiss to Thorin’s lips. There were cries of indignation and disgust from the faunts and dwarflings, but Bilbo couldn’t have cared less. Thorin’s grip on him was tight, and when they broke the kiss, his dwarf was smiling at him the smile that meant i love you .
“This is the greatest gift I have ever been given,” Bilbo said, blinking away happy tears. “ Thank you , Thorin, thank you .”
“For you, I would do anything,” Thorin said.
Bilbo grinned, and he could swear he heard Frodo saying: “Gross!”
Spring came soon that year, and Bilbo wasted no time in digging his toes into the dirt, planting and watering his new garden, often with Sam’s help and sometimes Frodo’s. The flowers bloomed and the vegetables and herbs grew, and soon he had his prize winning tomatoes growing on the mountainside far away from the Shire where Lobelia Sackville-Baggins could never huff about how hers were plumper ever again.