Fic: ‘Tis the Season: At the end of the day.
Title: ‘Tis the Season: At the end of the day.
Fandom: the Hobbit (movies).
Rating: (G)
Time Period: After the events in The Hobbit.
Summary: Comfort and firelight conspire.
Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q.).
What is it with Bilbo and sleep in these stories?
Disclaimer
All characters contained herein are the intellectual property of JRR Tolkien, the Tolkien Estate and the Tolkien Trust & Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens & Guillermo del Toro (their interpretations); I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by them.
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He stretches before the fire, his dressing gown snug and warm about him. He yawns, settled in the encompassing comfortable chair, his pipe in one hand. He feels solid, warm; his supper settling comfortably within.
Snapping and popping, the flames stretch and laze, casting shadows about the room. They flicker over the long ... claw? Tooth? (did it really come from Smaug, the dragon in his tales?) ... shadows dancing along its edge. His eyes droop. His fingers loosen on the pipe. It droops along the rich fabric.
Rich food and good company had been the order of the day; Dwarven toys and gay chatter had filled his home until quite late and he had seen everyone to the door with genial farewells and waves. Then he had cleaned up, had his supper and fell into this chair by the fire.
The light sneaks over his face and his eyes slowly close. The crackle of flames, the heavy rich food in his stomach, the dressing gown ... all conspire, in their comfort and warmth.
He mumbles and pulls the dressing gown closer while the pipe falls to the floor.
Fandom: the Hobbit (movies).
Rating: (G)
Time Period: After the events in The Hobbit.
Summary: Comfort and firelight conspire.
Author's Note: This is quick ‘n’ dirty (for definition see the F. A. Q.).
What is it with Bilbo and sleep in these stories?
Disclaimer
All characters contained herein are the intellectual property of JRR Tolkien, the Tolkien Estate and the Tolkien Trust & Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens & Guillermo del Toro (their interpretations); I am not affiliated with nor endorsed by them.
_______________________
He stretches before the fire, his dressing gown snug and warm about him. He yawns, settled in the encompassing comfortable chair, his pipe in one hand. He feels solid, warm; his supper settling comfortably within.
Snapping and popping, the flames stretch and laze, casting shadows about the room. They flicker over the long ... claw? Tooth? (did it really come from Smaug, the dragon in his tales?) ... shadows dancing along its edge. His eyes droop. His fingers loosen on the pipe. It droops along the rich fabric.
Rich food and good company had been the order of the day; Dwarven toys and gay chatter had filled his home until quite late and he had seen everyone to the door with genial farewells and waves. Then he had cleaned up, had his supper and fell into this chair by the fire.
The light sneaks over his face and his eyes slowly close. The crackle of flames, the heavy rich food in his stomach, the dressing gown ... all conspire, in their comfort and warmth.
He mumbles and pulls the dressing gown closer while the pipe falls to the floor.