The Last Snowfall
Some two years after the reclaiming of Erebor, Bilbo Baggins finally returns to the mountain kingdom late in winter to the great surprise of Thorin. Upon their parting he was offered something; now, he has returned to give his answer.
Originally released August 1st 2014.
It was late on one cold afternoon of February, just when the clouds in the horizon had the slightest hint of pink as a sign that the daylight was soon dying to make way for another long night. Light snow, as pale as the surrounding mountains, had begun to fall when the messenger had finished his hasty gallop to Erebor and ran up the stone steps to pass on his message to a guard by the reclaimed kingdom's entrance. Thus the word has travelled fast, from guard to guard, all the way to the throne room and Balin had finally been the one to deliver the message in person to the king. Thorin had sat up from his throne with such haste that he had sent the scrolls on his lap flying and he'd marched out without so much as a backwards glance, despite the feeble protests of his startled scribes, and Balin had merely chuckled, shaking his head slightly as the king stormed towards the entrance hall and out of the gates.
On the stone steps he found the messenger still catching his breath, looking very much like he'd been expecting Thorin to show up at any given moment.
"Where are they?" the king demanded, his voice a touch breathless.
The messenger pointed towards the valley, wiping sweat from his brow with his other hand. "On their way, your majesty. They will be here very soon."
Thorin nodded and marched past him, down the stone steps and towards the broad lane leading towards Dale.
Snow was still falling, not as a thick flurry but as small, slowly descending clouds that muted all sound, wrapping the landscape in its soft silence. On the lane he stood and waited, quietly, eyes watchfully observing the deserted plain.
One by one there seemed to emerge a great company, like phantoms from mist, amidst the falling snow. Thickly fur-coated figures on ponies, the king noted, with large, bulky and heavily snow covered saddlebags hanging on both sides. More and more of them came in slow succession from the main lane like a great caravan across a desert of snow; the dwarf king counted their strength to be at least forty heads. Smaller but no less stuffed figures ran right on the heels of the ponies on the front and the childish shrieks of joy suddenly filled the air as the riders finally came to a halt and started dismounting their steeds. He heard a voice gently chiding the enthusiastic children crowded around their feet and the figure at the very front gathered the reins of their steed before advancing briskly on foot towards Thorin.
"I bid thee good evening, your majesty," the stout fur-covered figure greeted him. A woman’s heavily weather-beaten face grinned up at him behind a short, neatly cut beard and her beady black eyes twinkled good-naturedly as two young ones kept tugging at her pants’ legs impatiently. Much of her hair was covered by a thick fur-and-leather hat pulled past her ears, though several frosty braids hung down to her waist.
"And good evening to you and your company, honoured matron," Thorin replied somberly, tilting his head slightly in greeting. "We received a word not too long ago that your company has come to seek accommodation from Erebor for the time being."
"That we are, indeed, your majesty," she said, her teeth flashing as she smiled. "Spring is on its way already, yet a fell snowstorm has followed in our wake for the past week and the little ‘uns could do with some proper rest in the warmth of the mountain. The yurts do well enough for the riders, for we are used to the ways of the mountains, but we can offer very little in the way of shelter to the ponies in these conditions."
"Your kindred will be welcomed amongst my people with joy, however long you wish to remain with us," Thorin replied. "It is no small task to brave the mountains in winter, and your journey has been long."
"We are used to it, your majesty. Our home is the road and has been since the Years of Exile, and I’m afraid we can no longer feel at ease remaining in one place for too long. Not now, Féir," she bent down to scold the little frowning boy tugging at the hem of her tunic.
"Regardless, we extend our welcome to your entire company." He turned around and bellowed sharp Khûzdul words towards the gates, and two heavily armoured guards came clattering down the stairs after a while.
"Let us not keep you and your youngest ones from the comfort of fire and food no longer, matron. The guards will guide you to the stables so that you may unload your burdens first, and after that, there shall be a feast to quench your thirst and to fill your bellies."
"You are most kind," the matron said graciously, gathering her son into her arms. "Up you go, little friend. Thank you and well met, your majesty."
"Well met, honoured matron."
She turned around sharply, whistled and her companions looked up. "Come, all of you!" And in orderly fashion they all followed the guards, the matron in front with the dwarfling in one-armed grip whilst her other hand guided her still-laden pony towards the stable house. They were all of them heavily fur-clad and their hairs and beards tousled by wind and snow; all of them except one, clothed in a thick traveling cloak of deep burgundy, who remained standing barefooted in the snow as the rest of the company departed, taking his pony with them. Thorin froze on the spot and simply stared at him, taking in the altogether too familiar form of Bilbo Baggins.
There were no exclamations of joy exchanged, no shouted greetings or rushing forwards to greet one another with tight embraces that might have indeed suited old friends meeting again after being parted for so long. Instead they simply considered each other for a while, not calculating, but taking in the sight of each other with warm eyes, and finally, Bilbo’s face broke into a wide smile. "Well met, Thorin Oakenshield. It has been a while since our last meeting."
Thorin could not help returning the smile, and he could only marvel at how natural it felt even after such a long time. "Well met, Bilbo Baggins. Where have you left your bags, or have you truly come all this way without any of your treasured belongings with you?"
"I have entrusted my traveling companions to bring them indoors along with their own possessions," he said simply, never taking his eyes off the king. Though there was perhaps a little more silver in his grizzly hair and a line or two more etched around his eyes, Thorin looked very much the same as he had by the time of their parting and the breaking of the company after the war, and if anything his eyes had grown warmer, kinder, than they had been before the reclaiming of his ancestral home. His beard was longer than it had been, tied into a single braid that was now gently streaked with silver, too. Despite the crown perched on his head and the customary beads clasped to his braids he wore very little jewelry, and his garb was plainer than before, a simple tunic underneath an intricately patterned breast plate and a heavy, fur-adorned coat.
"I never imagined I would see you return in the company of nomads," Thorin said, casting a glance after the matron and her folk.
"They were passing by the borders of Buckland last autumn, coming to the markets of the Shire to sell their livestock. I had spent the greater part of the past two years making arrangements and well, I thought that if I planned on leaving anyway, that time would be as good as any, and so I finally departed with them," Bilbo answered conversationally. "Their matron told me they pass close to the Lonely Mountain once a year, so my coming along would not force them to stray from their usual route.""I am glad you have come, whatever the route you had to take to reach the mountain," the king said, and he sounded it too. "Will you walk with me, long though your road has been already?"
Bilbo nodded eagerly and when Thorin turned and began to tread slowly across the empty plain with his eyes on the distant mountain ridge, Bilbo fell into a step beside him with practiced ease.
"You came back," Thorin said, and there was a tone of subdued of wonder in his voice.
Bilbo hummed his agreement. "I thought the time for accepting the offer you made upon our parting had at last arrived."
"You have given it consideration, then?"
"Yes, yes, I daresay I have," Bilbo replied softly and took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he did so. "I have very dearly missed the mountains. Nowhere else does the air smell so fresh!"
"The heavy snowfalls this year seems to have finally washed off the smell of ash and fire that always lingered in this valley before," Thorin said quietly. "The last remaining stains of Smaug are beginning to vanish from all but the memory of my people."
He felt a warm hand brush against his own and after a moment's hesitation he took it, fingers curling around the hobbit's much smaller hand. Like this they walked for several long minutes, and the silence between them was comfortable. At last they came to a halt upon reaching a small hill overlooking the valley below; from this height, under a thick cover of snow, Bilbo would have had the impression of looking at a collection of gingerbread houses if it hadn't been for the golden light streaming from the windows, and smoke and steam rising from chimneys here and there. Daylight was waning fast and the sky was now turning a lilac shade.
"Night comes so soon here," the hobbit noted casually.
"The day is short on winter, Master Baggins; you would do well to get used to it."
"Bilbo, please."
"Pardon?"
"Just call me Bilbo. We are quite beyond formalities already at this point, aren't we? Or would you prefer that I call you 'king'?"
"I am not your king," Thorin grunted. "Just call me Thorin."
"No, I suppose you are not, Thorin," Bilbo admitted and he couldn't keep his smile from showing in his voice. The name rolled from the tip of his tongue as naturally as though it had always been there, simply waiting for permission. "I am but a common hobbit of the Shire, and I'm afraid we hobbits have very little need for kings and queens in our simple lives, as good and fulfilling as they are, no doubt."
"Why have you come, Bilbo?" Thorin asked abruptly, fixing a hard look at him. Once upon a time Bilbo might have confused his glare for contempt or anger and quailed in front of it, but he could see the searching, blazing look in the dwarf king's eyes that had been there every time they had spoken to one another ever since Bilbo had visited the wounded king in his tent. The hand curled around Bilbo's betrayed only the faintest of tremors, and the hobbit laced their fingers together, giving the other's hand a firm, reassuring squeeze.
"For the same reason that you invited me to remain here in the first place," he finally answered, turning to stand face to face with Thorin. The dwarf king looked wary, almost hesitant, the expression so uncharacteristic on him that something in Bilbo's chest tightened at the sight of it.
"Yet before I unjustly cast you out of my sight, cursing you and your kin in my madness," the king said bitterly, his eyes darkening at the memory. "I did not invite you to remain at Erebor out of courtesy, or in an attempt to make amends for my errors."
"I know," Bilbo said, his free hand coming to rest against the thick fur of Thorin's coat.
"You do know, then? Why I invited you to remain?"
"Yes."
Bilbo felt strong arms gathering him close and into a tight embrace, a warm hand coming to rest at the nape of his neck, fingers curling softly into his hair. Thorin's forehead was pressed against his and Bilbo let his arms wrap themselves around the dwarf's waist; a gesture that felt much more familiar than he should have thought before.
"Do you forgive me?" the king whispered, and if his voice was a bit hoarser than usual, well, Bilbo would put it on the cold weather if anyone asked.
"My dear friend, I have forgiven you a long time ago," he answered and their noses rubbed together as he leaned forwards. "I did not come all this way with half my belongings just to forgive you of a sickness that I never blamed you for to begin with!"
Thorin swallowed, his grip on Bilbo tightening momentarily. "And will you stay here, at Erebor? With us?" A small, hesitant pause, and sweet Yavanna, his breathing was deliriously warm against Bilbo's mouth. "With me?"
"Yes, I will," he answered, and the cold must be something contagious, the way the words caught in his throat like he had not uttered a sound in years. But it did not matter, not when a warm, demanding mouth was pressing against his own like that, the scrape of Thorin's beard ticklish against Bilbo's skin and his hand still firmly at the nape of his neck. Bilbo's hands dug into the thick mane of Thorin's hair and pulled him closer, and he heard with no small amount of satisfaction the dwarf groan right into his mouth. Smirking, Bilbo pulled away from the kiss, just to be coaxed into another one by the king, and then another, and another, until their joined breathing escaped as little gasps and pants that released small clouds of vapour into the cold air. Finally, feeling Bilbo shiver slightly in his light traveling clothes, Thorin kissed his forehead and pulled him beneath his fur coat, allowing him to burrow against his chest.
"Your armour is icy," Bilbo complained, feeling the cold metal beneath his palms.
"Did I not just warm you up efficiently enough, you greedy little thing?"
"Shush, you, you're not the one pressed up against a frozen breastplate," he grunted and Thorin wrapped the fur more tightly around his shoulders, stifling a chuckle. "Do you truly need to wear your armour still? I thought your people were living times of peace and prosperity these days."
"We are, but as you may remember I am still king, and certain things are expected of me," Thorin replied, his voice rather heavy with amusement.
"And is your wardrobe among those expected things, o’ mountain king high and mighty?"
"Perhaps you might consider that I need to dress to match my status."
"Oh, yes, I am sure your citizens would confuse you for a tapestry if it weren’t for the crown upon your head," Bilbo said sarcastically and Thorin laughed, his shoulders shaking. His fingers gently ruffled the hobbit’s hair and Bilbo let out a small, content sigh, and they stood like that for a time, watching the sky turn a deeper shade of purple and finally break into royal, velvety blue, until all they could see was whiteness falling thickly from the sky and before long obscuring the town below from view.
"The snow is falling more heavily now," came Bilbo's muffled voice from inside of Thorin’s coat, and sure enough, the front of his coat had received a smooth coating of cold, white dust that now glistened on Bilbo's curls as well. He sounded as if his mouth was full of fur. "We should properly consider retreating indoors, lest your servants start thinking I've performed my finest bit of burglary and stolen their king."
"I know you are a burglar quite worthy of your title, but I doubt even you could slip a king into your pocket without anyone noticing," Thorin laughed softly, pressing a small kiss on the top of his head despite a low protest from the hobbit that he was not a child. "But come; a poor host would I be indeed if I let you freeze on your first day back in my kingdom, and there is still much for us to talk about."
"You would be quite right about that," Bilbo agreed and disentangled himself carefully from Thorin’s coat. "And I think I should enjoy it rather more if along with it came supper and a warm fireplace, and a place to lay down my things."
Thorin smiled, the creases around his eyes deepening. "Then allow me to offer you the hospitality of my kingdom once more."
And back they walked, slowly, speaking with quiet voices and Thorin’s hand still lingering against Bilbo’s back as though guiding him though he would have known the way even in pitch darkness. The smell in the air was somehow changed, Thorin thought, as though spring was already on its way.
Quietly, the last snowfall of winter wrapped the mountains in its final embrace.
