Clarity of Vision, Chapter 26

[mithen]

Title: Clarity of Vision, Chapter 26
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Thorin, Kili, Fili, Balin, Dwalin
Fandom: Hobbit
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count: 4300
Story Summary: In a Middle-Earth where Erebor never fell, a shadow remains in the heart of the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo Baggins finds himself drawn reluctantly into a quest that will lead him across the continent--from Bree to Lake Evendim to the icy North and beyond--with a party of five dwarves searching for an artifact that will cure the ailing King Thrór.
Chapter Summary: Yuletide in the Shire: dancing, skating, and an exchange of stars (and perhaps a little more). A joyous Star Festival to all of you kind enough to come along on the journey so far!



"...and then dodge to the right, and turn, and retreat once more." The paper spread on Bilbo's dining room table was covered with crosses, circles, and lines; Thorin drew another arrow from one of the circles with emphasis and nodded.

"And after that?" Fíli and Kíli leaned over the table, their faces creased in worry. Balin was chewing on a pencil, and even Dwalin looked concerned.

"After that, as near as I can tell, it will become necessary to pivot to the left and advance boldly to engage the opposing party once more in the center, here." Thorin's pen gouged a hole in the paper and he frowned at the blotted surface. "No hesitation, do you understand?"

"Yes, Uncle!"

"What's this?" Bilbo said, peering around Dwalin without warning. The dwarves all jumped. "Sorry. But I don't really think it's 'sneaking' in my own home," he added.

"Of course not," Thorin said. "We were just discussing...strategy."

"Aren't these dance steps?"

Fíli cleared his throat. "Portula mentioned there might be dancing tonight. She told Uncle Thorin the basic steps, and he was teaching us."

Bilbo looked at Thorin, who was studying the diagram with narrowed eyes. "It's easier to show than explain on paper," he said.

Almost before the sentence was done, Fíli and Kíli had pushed the table to the wall to clear the room. "Show us!"

Bilbo laughed. "I'm not the best dancer in the Shire. Far from it. But here--let's go through the basic steps. You start with two lines of dancers--the Dusk line and the Dawn line, we choose by lots." He herded them into two lines of three. "Dawn always makes the first move, of course--step forward like this and then…"

A half hour later everyone was breathless and rosy-cheeked from swinging each other around and stamping their feet.

"You'll do fine," announced Bilbo, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. Then he glanced at the clock and straightened up hastily. "Oh, we must get back to the tailor's! She said your clothing would be ready by now. It's a shame we don't have time to make you proper calling cards as well, but we're just lucky Miss Rosamunda was willing to make a rush job on those clothes."

He was chattering happily as he shooed them out the door and back into the cold, but Thorin was still going over dance diagrams like battle plans in his head.

Thorin looked at himself in Bilbo's bedroom mirror and frowned. The dark gray jacket and trousers were cut correctly, and the sapphire-blue silk waistcoat was a trifle snug but seemed to fit him well. The pale gray piece of cloth Bilbo had called an ascot seemed to be tied properly, at least based on the tailor's instructions. And the gray silk gloves were large enough for him, thank Mahal. And yet--scowling, he tied his unruly hair back with the blue ribbons the tailor had included, until it hung straight down his back in a long queue. That looked--well, at least more consistent, he concluded, examining his image grimly one last time before going back to the parlor.

What he found there made his jaw drop. "By Durin's beard, what are those things?"

Fíli and Kíli lifted the offending items in a brief salute before settling them firmly back on their heads. "They're the most fashionable top hats in all of the Shire, Uncle!" Kíli announced. "All the young people these days are wearing them."

"You look ludicrous," Thorin grumbled. "Promise me you're not wearing one," he said to Balin, who was dressed in russet wool and a cream-colored waistcoat.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Balin said with a wink.

"Oh!" said a voice behind them. "You all look quite fine. Quite fine indeed." Bilbo was smiling at him and tugging at the lapels of his own bottle-green suit, looking pleased. "Now remember, just follow my lead and do as I do, and you'll be on your way to becoming honorary hobbits in no time."

The evening was going better than Thorin had expected, to be honest. There had been some small errors of social manners--apparently blowing your nose loudly was considered rude in hobbit society, but Thorin wasn't sure how Kíli was supposed to have known that; and Dwalin managed to offend some hobbit lady with a perfectly reasonable compliment.

"But fortunately he picked Lobelia to say it to," Bilbo explained in a whisper as she flounced off, "And frankly, no one cares if Lobelia Sackville-Baggins is offended."

But other than these minor trespasses, there had been no major problems, and the good people of the Shire had seemed to decide that such "colorful and fascinating characters" (Citrine Took's words) were allowed to be a bit unorthodox.

And so Thorin found himself in a corner of the Great Smials, sipping a cup of mulled cider and watching a variety of young hobbits flirt outrageously with Fíli and Kíli. Dwalin was having an animated conversation with one of the musicians currently on break, and Balin was--Thorin blinked--deep in discussion with the Widow Bolger. Bilbo was at the center of a ring of wide-eyed hobbits, relating tales of his adventures. From his gestures, Thorin inferred that he had gotten to the undead of Fornost stealing his mother's umbrella.

Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, Thorin thought, taking another sip of cider and trying to look regal and aloof rather than awkward and uncomfortable.

As no one was approaching him, it seemed to be working. Good.

Yes. Good.

There was an imperative clapping sound, and the hubbub faded as Adalgrim Took, Citrine's partner, stepped forward. "If everyone has had enough to eat--"

"--Never!" came a faint cry from the crowd, and everyone laughed.

"--and is feeling relaxed and merry, we are ready to begin the dancing!" Applause broke out as Adalgrim waved to where Citrine stood with a basket filled with slips of paper. "Draw lots to see who is in which line!"

From the buzz of anticipation and giggles among the young hobbits, Thorin gathered that it was of vital importance that you draw a different line than one's current object of affection, as members of the same line never met in the dance. A rosy-cheeked lad with straw-colored hair was trying to sneak an unobtrusive peek at Kíli's slip, and others were comparing theirs with squeaks of delight or pouts of disappointment. Thorin took another sip of cider and--

--a basket appeared in front of his nose. "You'll be joining us, of course, Mr. Thorin?" announced Citrine Took, shaking the slips of paper at him.

"I--" Thorin looked around for someone to inform his hostess that the Heir of Erebor was a notorious killjoy and grouch who never participated in such frivolous activities. No one seemed inclined to do so. "I thank you," he said, and took a slip.

"You're Dusk!" Bilbo was at his elbow without warning. "I drew Dawn," he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet and smiling.

"I hope I don't smash anyone's toes," Thorin said as Bilbo grabbed his arm and dragged him to the center of the hall.

"Impossible. We have pretty sturdy toes."

Thorin harrumphed. "Most people would reassure by saying 'Of course you are far too graceful to trample anyone,' not 'Don't worry, you won't hurt us much.'"

Bilbo laughed. "You have pride to spare, my Prince, I don't need to coddle it," he said, tugging him into line. As he released Thorin's arm, he leaned close and murmured, "You look spectacularly handsome this evening, by the way."

Then he took his place near the end of the opposite line, his eyes crinkling at the corners, leaving Thorin utterly dumbfounded--both at being called "my Prince" and at being told he was handsome by Bilbo Baggins.

The first notes of the fiddle and drum sounded and he was nearly caught flat-footed before bowing to a smiling Citrine Took and stepping forward to meet her as boldly as one would step onto the field of battle.

They turned and pivoted, and Thorin touched his fingertips to Citrine's for a moment as they circled each other and then changed partners. He linked arms with the next person in line, who happened to be a young hobbit who giggled all the way through their turn together. Small talk and flirtation buzzed around him under the music; the dance was clearly an excuse to have a brief moment of intimacy with one's light-o'-love, to exchange a compliment and a glancing touch.

Bilbo was six people away from him in the line.

Kíli was up next, his lips moving slightly to himself as he recited the steps of the dance. "Relax," hissed Thorin as they passed by each other in the middle, and Kíli shot him a sour look.

"You're one to speak, as you look so very at ease," Kíli muttered as they touched fingertips. He pivoted wrong, banged hips with Thorin and growled a Khuzdul curse under his breath as Thorin swung away once more.

Bilbo was four people away.

After two more changes, Thorin was starting to feel safe enough to actually manage a small smile and nod for his next partner.

Bilbo was the next person in line.

"You are looking well yourself," Thorin observed as casually as if picking up the conversation where it left off, as if he hadn't been practicing it for the last five minutes.

Touch fingertips. Touch palms. Pivot.

"Kind of you to notice," answered Bilbo as they moved past each other.

Turn and return. Link arms.

Thorin realized he had prepared no second comment and found himself looking at Bilbo's smiling face instead. He stumbled and had to force himself to keep moving. "Not particularly," he managed before they parted.

Then he had to spend the rest of the dance wondering what in Durin's name that even meant. It wasn't particularly kind? He hadn't particularly noticed? He caught a glimpse of Bilbo's puzzled face receding down the line and hoped the halfling wouldn't be insulted at his lapse into gibberish.

Compose yourself, Thorin, he thought sternly. You're a prince and heir to a throne; a scholar and a warrior. You will not be defeated by a simple country dance!

As the dance ended, the lines broke down into laughing and chattering. Thorin watched Bilbo laughing with a young woman, his cheeks red with warmth and exertion, comfortable and at home. He looked over the girl's shoulder and his gaze met Thorin's, and he winked at him.

Thorin started to look for the exit.

There was a tug at his back; he turned to find Balin behind him, tweaking his long queue of ribbon-bound hair. "And where do you think you're going?" Balin said. "Oh, don't deny it. I know what it looks like when you're scanning for escape routes."

"Everything here is fussy and delicate. I fear I shall break something," Thorin growled. "I am going to the forge."

"The forge?" Balin's face wrinkled in confusion. "Dressed like that?"

"I'll change first, of course. I have things I need to do. Would you please tell Bilbo I'll return late to Bag End?"

"Very well, but--"

Thorin didn't wait for him to finish; he paid his regrets to Citrine Took with a courtly bow that he hoped made up for his rudeness, and then fled into the icy night under the brilliant stars.

"Miss Rosamunda says she can't make you a second waistcoat until Yule Week is over," Bilbo said to a crestfallen Fíli. "She's low on cloth and time--apparently stars made from cloth-of-gold are all the rage for youngsters to give their sweethearts at Star Festival this year, and she's busy teaching a variety of sewing classes. Cloth-of-gold," he snorted. "Paper was good enough for us when I was a boy, and--"

The door banged open and Thorin entered, along with a cold wind and a fair amount of snow. "It's snowing again," he announced as if this were news to the party. "We shall never get out of the Shire at this rate." He threw himself into the armchair across from Bilbo's in front of the fire, making it creak at the impact.

Bilbo felt his chin lift. "I'm aware that life here is rather tedious to one as sophisticated and glorious as yourself, but you don't have to be so eager to escape."

Thorin shot him a glowering look. "And you do not have to be so eager to take offense, Bilbo. The Shire is quite pleasant. But I must return to Erebor as soon as possible." He scrubbed at his face with black-smudged hands.

"You're covered in soot," Bilbo said, wrinkling his nose. "You've been at the forge again--just what exactly are you doing there at all hours?" For Thorin would not say, no matter how much his nephews nagged at him and Balin gave him curious looks. "And look at you--look at your hair, you're getting black all over my nice upholstery!" He tsked in annoyance and Thorin twisted to look at the sooty marks on the beige cloth. "That's it, that is the final straw," he announced as he grabbed Thorin's arm.

Quite soon Thorin was sputtering as Bilbo dunked his head into a bathtub filled with hot water. "I'll refill it and get all of you in there after," Bilbo fussed. "Look at this, look at this water."

Thorin blinked at the dark gray water, then winced as Bilbo started scrubbing soap into his hair. "I'm capable of washing my own hair," he growled.

"Could have fooled me," Bilbo retorted. "How you manage with this…mane, I have no idea. You could at least tie it back when you're working. What are you working on, anyway? New weapons? A nice royal teapot?"

Thorin chuckled and scrubbed at his hair, upending a smaller tub of water over his head into the bath. "It is on the unruly side," he said, addressing Bilbo's first point and leaving the second markedly unanswered. "Perhaps I should cut it short, hobbit-style."

Bilbo felt his jaw drop. "Don't you dare!" he gasped without thinking, and Thorin shot him an odd look from between dripping strands of hair. "It's just--you wouldn't look like yourself without it, that's all." He grabbed a towel and started to dry Thorin's hair, running damp strands through his fingers. "I haven't combed your hair out since--since we left Khazad-dûm," he murmured.

He caught a glimpse of Thorin's face as he lifted the towel and was surprised to see there again that shadow of shame. "It is a servant's job," said Thorin. "I should have never let you do it."

"I don't care about such things," Bilbo scoffed to cover his confusion. "Come now, I'll prove it, you stiff-necked dwarf." He shooed Thorin to a chair, grabbed a comb, and began to work the tangles out of it. "The skating party is tomorrow night, and then Yule Eve carols," he said once the worst of the knots were out.

"What is a skating party?" Thorin asked as if the word were utterly new to him.

"Oh, it's a new fad from Bree, you'll like it, it involves wearing shoes. The oldsters refuse to do it, say it's unhobbitish, but the kids love it. Unless you refuse to go, of course. You're not going to snub the Boffins, are you?"

Thorin chuckled. He sounded sleepy. "Are the Boffins particularly dangerous to snub?"

"Well, they're safer than the Brandybucks, and you didn't deign to go to spend an evening with them. A shame, really. It was great fun. You should have seen Kíli playing squeak-piggy-squeak."

"I was busy," said Thorin. "But I shall make sure to go tomorrow. My work at the forge is done."

"Well, good." Bilbo took a last few passes with the comb through the heavy, clean hair. It smelled of camomile soap, and he resisted a sudden impulse to run his fingers through it instead of the comb. "I'm sure you'll have a lovely time."

"I...am not...having...a lovely...time," Thorin announced as he sailed majestically (and inexorably) past Bilbo, doing his best not to gyrate his arms like an idiot. Where in the world would a people get an idea to strap blades to their feet and slide around on ice? Hobbits were mad, all of them.

There was a shriek of laughter, and Thorin looked over to see a line of people skating, with Dwalin at one end. As he watched, Dwalin dug his skate into the ice and held steady, and the end of the line rotated in a dizzying circle around him, picking up more and more momentum until--

"Oh gracious," Bilbo had time to squeak before the line broke and a small hobbit hurtled into him and knocked him into a snowbank. Thorin managed to avoid a variety of skidding, flailing hobbits, only to have a dizzy Dwalin grab his arm and send them both crashing to the ice.

"Mr. Dwalin! Mr. Dwalin! Me next!" cried a chorus of young hobbit voices.

"You appear to be much in demand," Thorin said, disentangling himself, and Dwalin grinned sheepishly at him.

"Are you all right, Bilbo?" called Dwalin, struggling over to where Bilbo was extricating himself from his snowbank.

"Perfectly fine, thank you," Bilbo said, dusting himself off.

Kíli and Fíli were playing some game involving a wooden disk and sticks on the far end of the pond. Balin had bowed out of the evening, announcing that he would prefer not to break any of his old bones. As he struggled to his feet, Thorin wished for a moment he had stayed back at Bag End with him.

An arm looped through his. "I'm not terribly good at this," Bilbo said. "Always preferred conkers to skating." His feet slipped and his free arm waved in the air. "Whoa. Thanks for--for keeping me steady. Shall we take a turn of the pond together?"

Thorin had some severe doubts about which of them was actually keeping the other steady. But as they joined the other pairs of hobbits skating arm-in-arm, he had to admit it seemed easier to keep his footing when he was skating by Bilbo's side. Was it that they could balance each other? Or perhaps that he was making an extra effort because he didn't want to let Bilbo fall? Yet it no longer felt like an effort at all.

They made the first turn without incident, and Thorin could feel Bilbo laughing quietly at his side. "Oh, I was just thinking," Bilbo said at his quizzical glance. "If someone had told me that the dwarf who knocked me down in Bree would be the only thing keeping me upright months later...well, I would have laughed at them."

Thorin remembered for a moment the bedraggled, mud-splashed, infuriated hobbit sitting in a puddle in the street of Bree, and found himself chuckling as well. He dug his skate in, pushing off, and they were skimming along the ice together, soaring like birds, and maybe it was just that everything was easier with Bilbo there.

"Good morning!" Bilbo called out into the stillness of Bag End. "And Happy Star Festival!"

Thorin pulled a pillow over his head. "It isn't even dawn yet," he said. Similar vociferous complaints from the other dwarves echoed through the hobbit-hole.

Bilbo grabbed the pillow and hit him over the head with it. "Yarndo's Star will fade away soon, we have to go see it now!"

Buttoning his jacket, he hurried to the front door and threw it open. "Oh!" On the doorstep was a tidy pile of packages: what seemed to be a rather large assortment of cloth-of-gold stars for Kíli and Fíli, and a plate of star-shaped biscuits from the Widow Bolger, addressed to "Mr. Balin."

"Hm," said Thorin's voice behind him. He was wearing his coat and boots, and looked moderately awake. "How do you feel about acquiring an Uncle Balin?"

"Oh dear," said Bilbo, blushing a bit. "Biscuits aren't that serious as a star gift." He put the presents on the table and grabbed his cloak, throwing it around his shoulders. "Aren't the rest of you coming to look at the stars?" he called. A chorus of negation answered him, and he shrugged. "Your loss."

He and Thorin went out into the dim and silvery pre-dawn together.

Even in the lightening sky, the stars were clear and lovely, and the squeaking sound of Thorin's boots on the snow was the only thing that broke the hushed stillness.

At the crest of a low hill, Bilbo stopped. "That's Yarndo's Star," he said, pointing. From where they were standing, it seemed to be resting almost on top of a great fir tree, as if one could climb up and pluck it from the sky. Bilbo looked at it and felt a strange sense of familiarity. Where had he seen--

That's right, it was one of the flashes of vision he had seen in Galadriel's Mirror, the morning star shining from atop a tree. He was still staring at it in wonderment when Thorin cleared his throat. Bilbo looked at him and he made the same sound again, opened his mouth as if to say something, closed it once more.

"This is for you," he finally said, pulling a small black velvet bag from his pocket.

As Bilbo opened the drawstrings, something fell into his hand, and his polite thanks faded into a wordless gasp.

It was a brooch, a star made of delicate filigreed silver. On each of its myriad swirling arms were set clear gems that might have been taken for crystal but for the purity and depth of their luster.

Bilbo held the glowing diamonds in his cupped palms and felt his fingers begin to tremble.

He looked up at Thorin's face. "This is--I mean--Do you--" He knew what he was about to say was rude, but he had to say it, had to know. "This is not...a gift for a friend, you know."

"I was paying attention when you explained hobbit customs," said Thorin. He looked faintly amused. "I understand what it means." He looked up at the star tangled in the tree branches. "I swear this shall not change anything from now, and I will not speak of it again. But you are...my heart's ease, and I wished you to know it. Just this one moment." He smiled at Bilbo, a small smile that seemed to take some effort. "A joyous Star Festival to you, Bilbo."

"Wait."

Thorin looked down at his sleeve where Bilbo had caught it as he turned to go.

"I just wanted to make sure you knew what it meant," Bilbo said. "Before I gave you this." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the little paper star he had hidden there, its silver foil intricately folded. "This is--well, this is for you."

Thorin turned it over in his fingers, then let it rest in his broad palm. He gazed down at it without speaking for so long that Bilbo started to talk again to fill the silence: "It's just paper, of course--cloth seemed so trendy this year, and I have no skill with wood, and a macrame star seemed a bit odd, so I went with paper--certainly not as durable a material as silver and, um, diamonds, but I rather liked the final result. I mean, it's hardly fit for a prince, but--"

"--Bilbo," said Thorin. His voice was very low and his eyes were a great deal more beautiful than the sea. "You're chattering." He took the paper star and touched it briefly to his lips, then slipped it into his breast pocket, just over his heart. "I shall treasure it always."

"Well then." Bilbo bounced slightly on the balls of his feet. He could tell that he was grinning at Thorin like a lunatic, but he didn't really care, and Thorin didn't seem to either. "I'm glad that's cleared up." He undid the wooden brooch holding his cloak in place and pinned it with Thorin's gift, where it shimmered in the dawn like a star indeed. Then he looked up at Thorin and cleared his throat. "Shall we...shall we head back?"

They walked back to Bag End, side by side in the dawn, and when the sun broke across the horizon and bathed the snowy fields in light, Bilbo's hand found Thorin's. Thorin's fingers tightened around his and despite the cold, Bilbo felt warm right down to his bare toes.

Bag End was bustling by the time they got home, and if any of the party noticed that Thorin helped Bilbo out of his cloak and brushed some snow from his hair with fingers that might have lingered slightly, or that Bilbo happened to be wearing a brooch that could purchase Bag End, they chose not to mention it. Kíli fetched them both mugs of heated chocolate and Fíli pulled a platter of cheese and meat from the pantry, and everyone sat down to what Bilbo happily called the best Star Festival breakfast he had ever eaten.

They were clearing up the dishes when there was a knock at the door, and Balin opened it to find Portula Pott on the doorstep. "Big news!" she called. "The road to Bree is finally open once more, and the first wagon from there just arrived. But that's not the most interesting news," she added triumphantly. "The most interesting news is that there's a party of dwarves in Bree right now, on their way back to Erebor, traveling under a blue banner with a raven sigil."

Kíli and Fíli jumped to their feet as one.

"It's mother!" cried Kíli.