bakerstreet | The Picture Prompt Meme

The Picture Prompt Meme

the picture prompt meme

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[ Revelry goes late into the night in the halls of Erebor, Bilbo finds, sometimes until, walking out alone onto the battlements for a breath of fresh air and a quiet refuge from the singing and laughing and the blows of feet upon sturdy tables, he sees that the pale gray of dawn is beginning to show in the east. Sleeping in is inevitable after such celebrations and a groggy day to follow, with the pounding head that results from too much ale and a body aching with tiredness, for Bilbo simply refuses to sleep it off as long as he might like: he is a hobbit of routine, and rising well past any reasonable hour simply will not do. At least he is appointed a room with a balcony and not quarters buried deep inside the mountain where he would never guess the time of day.

And when at last Dain Ironfoot's dwarves take their leave and Bilbo does not go with them, the celebration goes late indeed. He is feasted, he is toasted, he is sung to and coaxed to sing, and he drinks a great many dwarven pintfuls of their excellent beer, until he is flushed and unsteady on his feet, helplessly waving away more when Bofur would keep refilling his tankard or Fili and Kili would insist he share theirs. Then at last when a new song is begun and the Durin brothers are jumping from table to table with wild enthusiasm, he slips out of his place with no one the wiser, intending to walk off the beer through the halls of Erebor for a little while before finally seeking his bed.

But Thorin has occupied a chair near the door, and the glow of firelight is on his face, his expression softened by drink and amusement, and when Bilbo is near him he feels all the more unsteady on his feet, he feels he knows that he is not going to slip away unnoticed, not by Thorin; and a moment later their eyes meet, the weight of that gaze making his heart thump in his chest. Giddy with revelry, Bilbo surreptitiously touches his hand. ] I think I will take a little walk. If you would like to join me--that is, your company would be very welcome--

[Endless tables have been set, candles lit and torches blazing. There is more food than any army of Men could eat, yet it presents as no problem to the Dwarves, who are quick to clear plate after plate, chicken wings and whole fishes flying across seats and over heads, landing on other's plates and faces. The singing is so loud, and springing from so many different places on the hall, that it is difficult to understand which song is being sung at this or that moment, although the name of Bilbo Baggins is often repeated in all of them. Thorin cannot help the hint of amusement from showing in his face, especially whenever he steals a glance at Bilbo and finds him puffing his cheeks and rolling his eyes at yet another verse that praises his deeds and his bravery, just as well at the others that mention his stature or the size of his hands.

It is an odd place to find peace, yet Thorin does so. Many years have been since he has seen a celebration such as this one, as even when there were banquets and festivities back in Ered Luin he would always feel an emptiness, for it had not been home, no matter how joyful an occasion it was. This is, mainly by insistence of Kíli and Fíli, a celebration of Bilbo's decision to stay, but to Thorin, as he walks around the room, from table to table and from song to song, it is so much more. The laughter and noise sparks and flares up like their forges, and as the lights draw patterns across the walls, he can see, in the sparkle of the stone and the warmth in the air, Erebor coming back to life, as if the mountain has just gained a life of its own.

He finally takes a seat by the door, far from his own table, and is content with watching his folk and Dáin's just as well blasting their voices and stomping their feet to their heart's content, his jug empty and settled on the floor next to him. He spots Bilbo long before he is even close to the door, and finds himself sitting more upright when the hobbit's footing wobbles slightly, ready to stand and offer support should he have to. But Bilbo's hand is touching his own before he does anything, and Thorin cannot help the crooked smirk on his lips when he realizes, all things combined, that Bilbo is a bit drunk. Slowly, he stands, coming to tower close to the hobbit as he is after all standing so close to him.] Then we ought to leave quick, Master Baggins, before my nephews notice you gone.

Oh yes. [ The response is quick and heartfelt. ] Yes we ought. [ If they don't escape quickly they never will, knowing Thorin's nephews: very sweet they are to want to celebrate his staying, but all too eager to have Bilbo drink and eat and linger for hours of debauchery, which is simply too exhausting for a hobbit of the Shire.

So Bilbo curves his fingers around Thorin's and draws him with him out the door, slipping away as quietly as a hobbit knows how. Less quietly than if he were not a touch tipsy, perhaps, but fortunately the dwarves are very loud, and it is good enough. In the hall outside the sudden hush is abrupt, almost startling; he can still hear the echoes of shouting and laughter, but the walls of Erebor are thick, and he and Thorin might well be far away from all else. ]

Well. [ Even a hushed voice echoes some, in these vast halls of carven stone. He is still trying to get used to it, the difference between the grandness of the dwarf kingdom and the coziness of living in Bag End. His fingers tangle in between Thorin's, and that is a contrast he very much likes, his own very small and Thorin's thick and a little rough. ] I have perhaps indulged too long, I'm afraid. Your nephews are very persuasive when they want to be.

[Even in his tipsy state, Bilbo can still call much less attention to himself than Thorin. Not only is he a dwarf, and that in itself means he has a heavier step and a larger figure, but also he is King, and naturally there is at least one pair of eyes on him at all times, even when the room is reigned by complete chaos. Thankfully Kíli and Fíli's hopping from table to table garners the attention of all but one, Balin, who hardly would follow them out of the room. It actually may be a good thing, for when someone eventually does notice the missing King, Balin can soothe their worries and assure them that he is quite alright, and would much rather not be disturbed right at this moment.

The quiet of the hallway washes over him with a pleasant cool once the door is shut behind them. The voices and stomping of feet is muffled to the background, but soon enough Thorin sees them replaced by the loud thumping of his own heart when soft fingers thread though his own. He still stands close to Bilbo, even in a space so wide, and the small smile remains on his lips even now.]

They do seem to forget you have limits, yes. [He tugs on Bilbo's hand as he slowly makes his way away from the room. If someone else has spotted them leaving, they may very well try to follow them outside, and Thorin would like to be gone if an inquisitive head happens to poke out of that door.] Are you well enough to walk?

[ He goes along at Thorin's side quite willingly, the sounds fading behind them as they walk, and if he is a little unsteady on his feet he can at least keep them under him, and Thorin's hand is good support besides. Bilbo can feel it in his veins, in the somewhat over-warm color in his cheeks and his ears and in the pleasant aching tug in his heart, which makes him desire not to walk but to simply lean into Thorin and bury his face against his throat and breathe the scent of his skin. Overindulgence can be perilous. ]

Ah, yes, yes, I'm quite well. Nothing to be concerned about. [ His voice comes out a little dreamy, and he walks close enough at Thorin's side that his shoulder brushes his arm. ] We hobbits are fond of revelry ourselves, you know. I've been known to have one too many of an evening on the green, once the fireworks get started. [ Of course, he would have to admit that even a large gathering of hobbits tended to be rather more civilized than a party of dwarves. It was simply that fine people such as Thorin's company seemed to find the most fun in putting away as much beer as possible as fast as possible, whereas all but the youngest and most foolish of hobbits drank at a much more sedate pace.

But it is very flattering to be celebrated, so perhaps that is why he has indulged more than he ought. He has not spoken to anyone else his reason for staying, not the particular reason, though surely some of them—Balin in particular—have looked at him and Thorin and their comfort with one another and guessed it. He has simply smiled when others exclaimed in disbelief and pleasure and said that he has grown too fond of dwarves to turn right around and go home, which is very true even if not the entire truth. ]

[It is a contrast like day and night, nearly eerie, how the stone around them feels so cold now. When before in the room, Thorin felt that if he touched the walls he would feel the heat thrumming through them, warmed by the songs and the dances and the fire of the candles alike, and now, in the much dimmer light that is offered only by the small and rare torches they pass as they walk, and with just the two of them, it feels as if they have stepped into an entirely different world. They are far enough from the party now that no noises can be heard, not besides the shuffling of their feet and Bilbo's voice echoing sweetly all around them, and Thorin thinks that if that ought not to warm the walls, then at least it warms him, and that is more than enough.]

Far from me not to believe you, Master Baggins. [He keeps to the title entirely out of jest, his own step and presence much more solid and balanced than Bilbo's. He is hardly touched by the alcohol he's had, and even if he'd had as much to drink as Bilbo he is sure it still would not affect him as much as it does the smaller hobbit.] I must say I am impressed you have managed to keep up with the others so far. I was sure that Nori would win his bet against Dwalin that you were going to pass out after your tenth jug.

[It is a recurring joke amongst those that had been part of the Company by now, he realizes, taking bets as to what Bilbo will or will not do, or what should or should not happen to him. He suspects the hobbit is not even aware of half of those, if that many. Once at the end of the large hallway, Thorin guides them to take a turn to the left, disappearing into a smaller corridor, and then they are well and truly out of sight.]

Pass out? How embarrassing. I'm sure I've never passed out from drink in my life. [ And he's not about to start now, no matter how much alcohol the dwarves ply him with. Oh yes, he knows that they still joke and bet with one another over him, even if he isn't half aware of the extent of it. Bilbo doesn't mind, though, not now that he understands it is for affection of him, not for the sake of mortification. They love him just as dearly as he loves all of them.

Though once they are far away from the hall where the others still feast, the noise behind them and all the grand echoing quiet of Erebor around them, he feels all the more how much he has indulged; and Thorin, of course, seems so very solid and steady, so unwavering in his steps. Bilbo toys a little with his fingers, lifting up his other hand to hold Thorin's between both of his, glad that he has taken the lead. ] We should go up to the battlements for some air, if you'd like. It's a clear night, I think; Dain's folk will have fine weather for travel tomorrow. [ His mood is a far cry from the time he stood on a balcony with Thorin and wished for a rainstorm to wash away the road. He would wish the travelers all the sunny days and clear warm nights they could desire, now that he knows he will not be going with them. ]

That is good to know. But do keep in mind that if it should happen I will gladly carry you to safety. [There is a lilt to the words, as he glances at Bilbo, eyebrows raised, grin half-formed on his face that only widens when he sees the color across Bilbo's cheeks and rising up to the tips of his ears. He would point it out, perhaps, if only he were not so focused on suppressing the urge to lean down and kiss his blush away. Besides he does not wish to tease the hobbit too much.

His steps seem random, as those of one getting lost, but Thorin remembers these walls better than he does anything else. He could be taken blindfolded to anywhere, even the smallest of corners, and he would know exactly how to find his way. So when Bilbo mentions the battlements he is already mapping which turns to take, and what stairs must be climbed to get there, his fingers curling a little tighter around softer and smaller ones as he leads the way there.]

No, no, that wouldn't be necessary. [ He protests the thought, blushing all the more fiercely if that is possible, while secretly thinking that it would be rather nice, actually, to be carried by Thorin, even if he did embarrass himself utterly by swooning. Thorin wouldn't tease him about it (well, not much) and he could lean his head against a great broad shoulder and perhaps toy a little with his hair, run his fingers over the braid that Thorin wears at his temple: lately every touch he allows himself to indulge in, even the littlest brush of their fingers, seems a source of terrible exhilaration.

Bilbo trusts Thorin to bring them where they ought to go. He has watched him move about these halls, so familiar and so certain, with purpose in his steps even when he seems to be wandering aimlessly. Bilbo himself has already gotten lost a dozen times, but he always finds his way back to where he needs to be; hobbits have a good sense of direction even if they rarely flex it by traveling, and if he is truly castaway he can always follow the source of heat and sound that thrums through the stone like a heartbeat, leading him to the center of the mountain where the great fires always burn, the forges of Erebor. Right now he is paying no attention to where they are going, though, but following trustingly after Thorin, and hesitating only when they come to one of the winding stone stairs that will lead them up, very steeply. In his state—tipsy, only a bit tipsy!—it does seem perhaps a bit much for him to handle. ]

[The reply is a mere hum and no more, as he turns his head to look at the path ahead. Thorin entertains the thought that he would not at all mind to carry Bilbo as well, but perhaps he would see it as mockery, and find it quite offensive. A hobbit's pride is a curious thing indeed, or perhaps to Thorin it is only curious to find it in a creature so gentle. He had never before thought that it could even exist, but with time he had seen so, in little moments and expressions, although many of them laced with embarrassment, that he sometimes is just as proud and resilient as any other dwarf living beneath the mountain. It is a musing thought now, that he once was so sure Bilbo would never fit in, when they are in fact so much more alike in some things than even Bilbo himself might realize.

They reach the stairs and Thorin, without a second thought, already begins to make his way to the first step. He is held back by Bilbo's hesitance, though, and he halts, turning slightly to look at him. He slips his hand from between Bilbo's, replacing it with his other so he can slide his arm around the small of his back, fingers curling, soft and supporting, on his side. Bilbo does not seem as steady now as he attempted to convey earlier, while Thorin is sure the hobbit is a little more touched by the drink than he even realizes himself.] You do not seem so sure of your step now, Bilbo.

[ It is less pride, perhaps--pride meaning something different to hobbits than to dwarves, he thinks--than a simple unwillingness to be the source of burden or trouble, especially to the ones he loves most. Or to call untoward attention to himself: though of course it is rather nice to be feasted by dear friends, all gathered for love of him, because they are glad to have him about. But there is indeed a resiliency in him, more than he even knows, and an adaptability very unusual for his kind and for one who spent all of his life but for the past year in one place and one home. It is still so strange to think that he has been so uprooted, and by his own choice; but he knows he could have done no differently.

Bilbo looks up when Thorin turns back, smiling now in a sheepish sort of way, though the brush of Thorin's hand at his waist is a pleasurable sensation and the swimming of his head is not a bad feeling particularly, only befuddling. ] No, I suppose not. [ Ten mugfuls is quite a lot for a creature of his size. The stairs now seem insurmountable on his own wobbly legs, and he knows that he could ask that they go back and he be permitted to seek his bed and sleep off the drink, but time alone with Thorin is rare and precious here under the mountain where there is always so much to do, and so many demands on the king's attention. And now, it seems, that he has talked himself into a corner, there is nothing to do but renege and ask. ] Will you help me up?

[Although he knows it is far from Bilbo's wish to burden him, and that he asks for help with reluctance, the king is thankful that Bilbo does not insist on trying to climb the stairs himself. Thorin is sure that he would become too dizzy and fall - or pass out, rather, for Thorin would be there, and he would not let the hobbit tumble down one single step. Surely Bilbo sees that outcome just as well, and chooses between the lesser of two embarrassing situations.

But Thorin does not mind at all; he does not see it as a burden, has not seen Bilbo in that way in a long time. Thinking that he once did, saw him as no more than weight holding them back and slowing them down, seems like so distant a memory that it almost strikes as entirely foreign to him.

He answers Bilbo's request with a simple nod, and slowly, as to not surprise him, locks his arm a little tighter beneath Bilbo's arms, lifting him up from the ground just enough that he can lean down and curl his other arm under his knees, picking him up from the ground entirely. It is almost surprising how Bilbo is so light, and Thorin might have worried if he didn't know that hobbits are much smaller and skinnier than dwarves.] Let us hope this is not too taxing for me. [He looks on ahead and begins to climb up the stairs as he speaks, amusement in his voice, for though his wound is yet not fully healed it hardly bothers him anymore, surely not to the point of barring him from doing anything.]

[ Bilbo knows this too, objectively: that he is indeed quite small and light in comparison to dwarves, who possess all the brawn of smiths and warriors. Yet in spite of it all the sheer ease with which Thorin lifts him is still a startling, almost giddy sensation, all the more so for the lightheadedness that comes of too much indulgence and the feeling that he is being teased with those words, the same words he had said to Thorin in his worry over his injury not too long ago. Bilbo smiles and touches one of Thorin's braids, lifting it up off his shoulder to let it pass gently over his fingers as Thorin climbs. His head tucks itself quite naturally against the dwarf's shoulder, now that he has accepted his fate. If he must be carried, he might as well enjoy it. ]

Yes, you must be sure not to strain yourself. [ he teases gently in return, toying with locks of Thorin's dark hair. ] Do put me down if you begin to tire. [ The scent of the dwarf king is like the scent of a forge, hot, wild, molten. Mysterious to a hobbit, a temptation too great to resist, and Bilbo turns his face a little towards his hair to breathe it, to nuzzle carefully in those heavy strands. ]

[Thorin follows Bilbo's hands for a moment when he reaches for the braid, but makes no comment to it. He welcomes the touch, truly, as minute as it may be. It is oddly comforting, how softly Bilbo reaches for him each time, how light his fingers are as they distract themselves with strands of his hair. Thorin can barely feel it yet he would be content to simply rest next to one another and have the hobbit continue that for the rest of the night, and, if only he had no other duties to tend to, late into the morning.]

Do not worry, Master Baggins. [He responds in a tone light, and indeed it does seem that Thorin has no difficulty carrying Bilbo up the stairs. His steps are slow but they are certain, with no break to it and no ache blooming on his side. The wound there is much better now, though perhaps an effort greater than this one could prove too much. As it is, the hobbit in his arms poses as no problem at all.] I can still very well handle one small burglar.

[ It makes him smile that Thorin still cause him that from time to time, teasing him, though Bilbo feels his burglaring days are well behind him (and were rather short from the start). If he never has to see a dragon again, much less steal a jewel from beneath its nose, that day will not come soon enough; his comfort is in knowing how unlikely it is that a serpent such as Smaug will ever return to the mountain. ]

Yes, I think you can. [ Thorin is so much stronger now, healed at last, or nearly. What a marvel it is that he could have healed from such terrible injuries, and how relieved Bilbo is that he did. It is the nearly most perfect thing imaginable to be held by arms that want to carry him and are strong enough to do so, while the stroke of his own fingers runs along Thorin's braid and the long dark strands of his hair brush his cheek. He has dreamed of things like this, hardly able to imagine better contentment; like Thorin, he would be very much pleased to spend the rest of the night resting against the dwarf's shoulder and running his fingers through his hair, letting the dark curtain of it fall around him. ]

[Thorin did not mean it in any other way than light teasing, of course. That Bilbo will no longer have to sneak into places of danger and death to retrieve single items that, he is aware now, hold such little meaning when compared to lives of loved ones, is a thing that brings him great joy, still the memory that he once did, and that Thorin all but shoved him in front of that great dragon without so much as a kind word or a thought to it, is one that still lingers unpleasantly in his mind, and always will. But he does not push to forget it. He cannot forget the things he did wrong before, so that he may never do them again.

He steps up the stairs in comfortable silence, barely feeling the touches of Bilbo's fingers, which is perhaps for the best. He would feel himself tilting towards it, slowing to a halt or, in worst situation, losing his balance entirely. It is an odd thing to want stairs to go on forever (or at least for a little longer), but Thorin does, when they so soon reach the top, an arch ahead of them leading to the battlements, and he is perfectly aware that he now has no reason to keep carrying the hobbit in his arms.] Safely in one piece. [With that he lowers just enough that Bilbo can put his feet to the ground, though, keeping his tipsiness in mind, he will wait and offer his support for however long it may take him to regain his balance.]

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The Picture Prompt Meme

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