Well, I am afraid you're quite stuck with me. [ He makes effort at a light tone of voice, while within his chest his heart beats with happiness so great it is almost painful; he feels it all the more with every touch between them, little intimacies tested and found to be wonderful and wanted. There is a great pleasure to be had in caressing a dark strand of Thorin's hair between his thumb and his forefinger, tucking it gently behind his ear, and to feel the dwarf toying with his curls in turn. If Bilbo smells of spring, of things soft and growing, then Thorin's scent is of iron and fire: familiar and, he thinks, beloved ever since the first embrace on the Carrock.

It pleases him that Thorin speaks of living for now. Perhaps it means he has found at last that which he sought over all the unimaginable years, all that drove and tormented him. Perhaps there is happiness for him here in the Lonely Mountain after all, when for a time it seemed there would be nothing but violence and death. His hand comes back to Thorin's cheek and Bilbo looks up at him from beneath his lashes, his head still bowed forward a little to let Thorin's brow rest against his. ] That is as hobbits see things. A very sensible outlook, I think, not to worry so over what the future brings.

[ For it would come whether or not you were prepared for it, and catch you up in its bright long arms, and fling you out into a waiting world. His gaze drops again to the hollow of Thorin's throat where the pulse beats, about the highest point of him that he could kiss without standing up on his toes, and Bilbo does so, tremulous and unthinking. ]