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my late entry for the 5th day of the bagginshield week!!! One time when Thorin took Bilbo’s advice :9 @mcmanatea suggested this one, and I loved drawing it! it helped me show their snark towards one another
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Day 7: Free day!! Anything you want. (Set during the quest, pre-relationship)
While most of the company settled into makeshift beds for the night, Bilbo found himself oddly restless. He ambled over towards the collection of ponies, something which was quickly growing into a nightly routine. During the day, he stuffed his pockets with any fallen fruit he could find, when they were lucky enough to be given breaks. It was hard to ration such meager pickings amongst thirteen ponies, so he had to alternate who was fed each night. (Bilbo absolutely refused to go anywhere near Gandalf’s horse - the ponies were smaller by comparison, yet still dauntingly huge to Bilbo’s practical sensibilities. That horse was just - just monstrously ginormous! …But every so often, he would roll an apple its way - from a safe distance. He did not want to anger the beast, after all.)
Tonight he had three bruised, withering apples. He first gave one to his own steed, Myrtle, who Bilbo was afraid had grown rather spoiled. She had not been given anything special for a few days now, and had taken to jostling her rider in his seat and moving restlessly any time he tried to mount or dismount.
“Now enough of that,” Bilbo murmured as he stroked the pony’s broad face. “You get your turn, just like everyone else, Myrtle.”
Next he moved onto Thorin’s pony, whom he had named Bungo. The creature had a funny shaggy coat, which ignited the hobbit’s allergies terribly if he ever touched it. “Now remember our deal,” Bilbo whispered as he offered the largest fruit to the animal’s large, searching lips. “I give you an apple, and you make Thorin take that giant stick out of his arse.”
The pony snorted as it took a huge bite of the apple, wetting Bilbo’s whole hand with the effort. The hobbit sighed, shaking his head. “Who am I kidding?” he muttered. “Not even the Valar could do such a feat!”
“What are you doing, Halfling?”
Bilbo jumped at the sudden voice, hand clamping down on the soggy remains of the fruit as he spun around.
“I, ah,” he stammered, staring up at none other than Thorin Oakenshield, rightful King under the Mountain - and rightful pain in the arse. Bungo’s large head nudged at his back, blunt teeth nipping at his enclosed fingers. “Oh, there’s no point in hiding it!” he muttered, turning back to the remarkably hobbit-ish creature. “I am giving the ponies some treats,” he admitted.
“Treats?” the King echoed, hands clasped behind his back as he approached his steed.
“Just some old apples I found on the forest floor, hardly anything special,” the hobbit mumbled.
As he glanced up, he saw Thorin raise a thick brow. “Do these animals not make you ill?”
The hobbit frowned for a moment, before realizing what Thorin meant. “My allergies, you mean?”
The dwarf nodded slowly, as if the term were unfamiliar to him. “Allergies,” he agreed.
“Well, yes,” Bilbo admitted. “Their hair makes me all stuffy! But that’s hardly their fault.”
“We feed them more than well enough, if that is your concern,” Thorin declared.
“Oh, I’m sure you do!” Bilbo replied. “But that doesn’t mean they shan’t want a treat, every now and then!”
“I see you with them every night,” the dwarf rebutted.
Bilbo’s cheeks flushed at the thought of Thorin watching him from across the camp, night after night. “Perhaps a little more often than now and then,” he admitted. “But while I may not have been raised dealing with livestock, I should think all hobbits have a natural desire, if you will, to care for animals.”
They fell silent as Thorin reached out, hand trailing lightly down Bungo’s unbridled face. Bilbo watched the large, thick fingers as they drifted up and behind the pony’s ear, giving a soft scratch.
“Spoil them, you mean,” the King insisted softly.
Bilbo’s lips curved ever so slightly as Thorin echoed his earlier thoughts. “Yes, I’ll admit Myrtle has become rather demanding.”
“Myrtle?” Thorin paused in his ministrations, relaxed features pulling into a frown once more.
“Oh,” Bilbo murmured, nose twitching as he tried to tamper down his embarrassment. “Well, yes,” he mumbled awkwardly. “I had to name them!”
“You have given them names?” Thorin asked, more intrigued rather than condescending, as Bilbo had been expecting. “Tell me,” the dwarf demanded.
Bilbo licked his lips nervously. “Myrtle is my pony,” he began. “And there’s Daisy, and Minty.” He raised his finger, pointing out each animal. “Bella, Mungo, Ponto, Pansy, Bingo -”
“And what of mine?” Thorin interrupted, heavy gaze turning away from the hobbit as he inspected his pony, perhaps a little too casually.
“Bungo,” Bilbo declared with a soft smile.
“Do these names hold any meaning to you?” the dwarf asked, continuing to examine Bungo’s chestnut mane.
“Mostly just distant relations and such,” Bilbo replied breezily. “But Bungo is actually - ahem, was, I should say…” Bilbo’s fingers toyed with his braces. “That was my father’s name.”
Thorin had been listening mutely, yet the silence seemed to grow heavier after the soft declaration. Bilbo cleared his throat, rocking back on his heels as his eyes flickered to the King’s blank face before returning to the ground.
“Well!” he exclaimed suddenly. “I ought to be heading off - it’s rather late, and we always have such an early start.”
Just as he turned to go, Thorin’s deep, gravelly voice had him freezing in place. “Master Baggins,” he called, as close to a entreaty as the displaced royal likely ever got. Bilbo hesitated before finally turning around, fingers fidgeting in his pockets as he tried to appear politely listening.
“You bring me a great honour,” Thorin said. Hand resting over his heart, he bowed his head ever so slightly. “I only hope I can live up to it.”
Bilbo blinked. Once, twice. “Ah.” When nothing else seemed willing to come out, he gave a small, awkward laugh. “Oh, that’s - hardly necessary!” he said, waving a hand.
Instead of relieving the tension in the air, Bilbo’s flippancy had the dwarf frowning. Oh, dear, now I’ve insulted him! Bilbo fretted.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he managed to say, the words stilted and foreign on his tongue. Thorin only frowned deeper.
Bother it! he cursed internally, turning on his heel and storming away. He barely managed a few feet, however, before he found himself stopping. Turning back around, he found the dwarf still staring at him, head cocked slightly to the side in contemplation.
“Thorin,” he called back. Thorin blinked, head righting as if he had been lost in thought. “I already know you are full of honour, and my father would be proud to have your majestic steed carry his name.” He smiled then, a full and honest smile, something he had not been fortunate enough to feel for many years.
Then the King did something unexpected, which had Bilbo smiling even wider.
