The Hobbit One Shot, Bilbo/Thorin
AO3 link to be updated, AO3 is down
For #anunexpectedanniversary I wrote this at 10.20 last night on the back of my study cards so it may be a little unstructured!
The first knock comes as Bilbo Baggins is making a cup of
tea. It is quarter past eleven and any respectable hobbit would be well into
elevenses by now. But not Bilbo. He has not taken elevenses since his
unexpected return a little over a year ago.
The knock is sharp, purposeful, and Bilbo knows who it is
before he is even out of his seat.
Lobelia Sackville-Baggins is as frustrating and flamboyant
as ever, bursting into the cosy hobbit hole with flair. She wears a garish
yellow and large, ugly hat. Bilbo sighs.
“Hello Lobelia,” he begins as cordially as he can. “What can
I do for you toda-”
“There are dwarves in town!” she interrupts. “Dwarves!
Again! Bilbo, if these intruders have anything to do with you, I command you to
remove them! I will not have those monsters
messing up my peonies again!”
Bilbo’s heart drops, partly from fear, partly from
excitement. He has missed his dwarvish friends, yes, and he greatly hopes it is
Balin or Ori bringing news from Erebor. But also…he cannot face them just yet. It
is too soon.
After a good ten minute rant on ill treatment to her ‘poor
petunias’, Bilbo loses it with Lobelia, and they spiral into a passionate
argument about the so called ‘unruly and disgusting manners of dwarves’. An
insulted Lobelia leaves, taking at least one lace doily and a china dog with
her. Bilbo doesn’t mind, however, too caught up in his thoughts to care.
The second knock comes as Bilbo settles down with a good
book. At first he thinks he has imagined the sound, but then it comes again, a ‘rat-a-tat-tat’
on the window pane. Angrily, he storms to the door, almost afraid it might be
one of his old friends. But it is far worse.
“Bilbo Baggins, my old friend!”
“No! None today thank you! I will have no more adventures!
Whatever it is, you will not rope me in this time!”
He slams the door shut, just like he should have done the
last time the wizard came to his door.
Gandalf the Grey taps the window with his staff mouthing
something through the glass, but Bilbo ignores him. I am looking for someone to share in an adventure, oh yes, an
adventure. I will never forgive you for your adventure, good sir.
“Be off with you! I need no more daring escapades, no more
hairy situations and NO MORE HEARTBREAK!”
The meddlesome wizard does not press further, and Bilbo is
left alone with his thoughts once again.
It is dark when he hears the third knock. The weather has worsened
considerably, it’s now rainy and windy, stormy conditions for the Shire. It
reminds Bilbo of the Storm Giants in the mountains and their terrible battle.
He remembers a pair of warm, rough hands holding him tight, keeping him safe…
He is awake, staring blankly at the patterned drapes around
his small warm bed, and when the knock comes it startles him. He rolls out of
the quilt and shrugs on his patchwork dressing gown, shivering as he slides
into his slippers. The little hobbit makes his way to the round door, ready to
unleash a tirade of fury upon whoever it is this time. But when he opens the
door he forgets everything.
A gust of wind blows raindrops onto his nice clean doormat,
dampening the carpet. Bilbo doesn’t care.
“But…but you were dead.”
“No. Not quite.”
Thorin Oakenshield stands in the doorway, his majestic
profile framed by the turbulent skies. He smiles softly, his blue eyes warm as
he gazes at the hobbit. At his hobbit.
“I came back for you.”