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atlantablack) wrote2024-06-19 07:11 pm
Chapter 1: only been a moment // only been a lifetime
Rating: T+
Word Count: 3,720
No Content Warnings:
Story Status: complete
Summary:
Bilbo Baggins likes to think he’s a rather sensible sort of hobbit. But he must admit that falling asleep two days after the battle and then blinking awake to his bed in his hobbit hole at Bag End was quite more than his sensibilities could really handle.
Beginning Notes:
well, here we are folks. I've done gone and fallen down the rabbit hole. But I love this ship and I love time travel and so really I was screwed from the start
Bilbo Baggins likes to think he’s a rather sensible sort of hobbit. But he must admit that falling asleep two days after the battle and then blinking awake to his bed in his hobbit hole at Bag End was quite more than his sensibilities could really handle.
He spends a quiet hour just wandering through rooms, staring in bewilderment at his reflection, at his hands, running fingers around books that he’d nearly forgotten he owned or over pieces of furniture that he’d particularly missed. Sting is nowhere to be seen and he knows, he knows, he wouldn’t have left his sword behind. His pantry, when he walks in, is perfectly stocked and organized in a way it hadn’t been when he left. And so, his sensibilities quite shaken, he’s not quite outside when Gandalf arrives.
There are no pipes or smoke rings or good mornings in this version of the story. There is only a knock on the door, Gandalf’s expectant smile, and a very quiet, very shaken, oh.
Because Bilbo thinks he knows what day it is now and he isn’t quite sure his sensibilities or his poor nerves or his shaken heart can handle this. Not quite so soon after having no idea what is happening at all.
But unfortunately time doesn’t wait for anyone and he’s rather run out of it.
“What do you mean oh?” Gandalf asks, as if he’s trying to recreate a scene that simply can’t be recreated. “One might say you were expecting me or feel as if you should have been expecting me. Which is quite ridiculous as I’m sure that hobbits have not yet learned how to read the future.”
“No,” Bilbo says faintly, “we rather haven’t. Unfortunately, it seems we rather have learned to travel back in time. So I suppose, in a way, I was expecting you and the dwarves I’m sure you’ll insist on bringing later.”
He’s not sure he’s ever seen Gandalf look quite as shocked or taken aback as he does in that moment and he has seen Gandalf in very many moments.
“I suppose I better come in then,” Gandalf says, moving to come in before Bilbo has even agreed.
“Yes,” he says, “yes, I suppose you should.”
☀︎
The whole sorry story doesn’t quite get rung out of him. By the time he’d finished making them tea he’s actually quite resolved to not tell Gandalf a single thing at all. He’s not sure how this knowing the future stuff works but he’s quite sure it doesn’t involve telling everyone about it.
And so he doesn’t. And Gandalf doesn’t pry, only looks at him with a strange look. “I’m not quite sure I believe you, Bilbo Baggins,” he says, voice mild.
“That’s alright,” he answers. “I’m not quite sure I believe myself.”
“I suppose then, that you’re agreeable to an adventure?” And it’s a test. Bilbo knows its a test.
“I’ve been reliably informed before that I make quite a decent burglar, one might even say the best burglar,” he says and he doesn’t realize he’s crying until Gandalf hands him a tissue, looking worried in that mild mannered way of his.
“I see.” Gandalf folds his hands in front of him and doesn’t say anything else until Bilbo has gotten control of himself, not even quite sure why he was crying to begin with.
But it makes him think of two days ago, the ice underneath him, and all that crying, Thorin dead at his side, and he’s really not quite sure he’ll make it through the rest of this day without crying some more if he’s forced to face a Thorin that is alive and well.
“Right,” he says, once he’s gotten himself together. “I suppose you should go let the dwarves know that you’ve found their burglar. And I suppose I should, well… well I suppose I should figure out what to do in the meantime.”
“Food perhaps,” Gandalf says, still watching Bilbo with that strange look. “I’m sure they’ll all be quite hungry.”
“Ah, yes, I suppose it is better if I cook myself rather than waiting on them to raid my pantry like last time. Perhaps I can even save my dishes from being thrown about.”
“Perhaps,” Gandalf agrees. And that’s that.
Or rather, that should be that. But Bilbo can’t quite stop himself from asking, “Is Thorin…” and then he stops, the rest of the question dying in his mouth. Is Thorin alive, he wants to ask. Is Thorin okay? But what a silly question. Because here sits Gandalf in front of him, in Bag End, instead of back at Erebor where Bilbo knows he had been and so it stands to reason that Thorin is also exactly where he should be instead of where Bilbo remembers him having been.
Gandalf huffs, looking rather put out. “You rather do seem to know quite a few things you should not,” he says. “I suppose I must believe you when you say you have traveled back in time. However preposterous that may sound!”
“Yes,” he says, his throat dry. “Yes, I suppose you must.” And that’s that.
☀︎
He almost thinks it’s going to all be okay.
☀︎
Later, after the food is made, after the table is set, after he’s changed into decent clothes, later. Later, the first knock on his door comes and his heart suddenly gives up on being anything other than a bruised mess.
But he still walks forward, shores up all his bravery that he hasn’t had to use in far too long, and swings open the door. And there on his doorstep is Dwalin, looking just the same as he had a year ago the first time he’d turned up on Bilbo’s doorstep.
“Dwalin, at your service,” he says, bowing. Bilbo resists the urge to mouth the words along with him. Something about this first night is forever engraved in his memory and he can’t recite everything everyone said but he knows how this night goes.
And Bilbo, Bilbo doesn’t know if he can do this. It’s simply not right to be back in this body that has never been on an adventure and that he never thought he’d be in again and to have Dwalin standing in front of him as if they’ve never met. Which they haven’t. But they have. And Bilbo knows too much about the gruff dwarf to be able to deal with this.
But deal with it he does. “Yes,” he says, clearing his throat right before the silence manages to hit the point of awkward. “Yes, do come in. There’s food that way and drink. Do, do make yourself at home.”
He knows he sounds off and knows it even better when Dwalin gives him a rather strange look. But there’s no comment and so Bilbo keeps his silence on the matter as well. Watches Dwalin walk toward the dining area feeling oddly disconnected from the entire thing.
He’s still standing in the hallway, just staring into air, when the second knock comes. And there’s Balin, bowing in that casual way the dwarves had bowed the first time around and making his way inside as soon as Bilbo waves a hand in a trembling greeting. The feeling of disconnect is becoming rather hard to hold onto if he’s being quite honest and he’s really not sure what he’s going to do if it snaps away.
He watches Balin and Dwalin bash their foreheads together, a custom he’s still only half-sure he understands, and then. Then. Then there’s a third knock, the noise doubled and resounding and his heart lands somewhere near his ankles and Bilbo is suddenly, excruciatingly aware of his own self-control and how little of it he has left. But he still, as if from far away, watches himself open the door and there, as if nothing bad has ever happened to them, stands Fili and Kili, smiling and healthy and everything abruptly snaps back into place like a bow string let go.
“Oh,” he says, an echo of earlier. “Oh my,” and he must sound distinctly off because Fili stops halfway through his bow to give him a rather concerned look. Kili is already pushing his way in but Fili stays standing there, watching Bilbo, and Bilbo, with all the grace of a dying goblin, simply bursts into tears.
It’s perhaps the most dramatic thing he’s done ever and a stunned silence descends over his home like a cloud. The only noise his sobbing that he’s desperately trying to muffle with his fist.
“Uh, listen, hey,” Kili says from behind him, before desperately hissing, “What’s his name?”
“Master Baggins,” Balin says, shuffling closer and looking quite confused. “Are you quite alright? Did they say something to you?”
There’s loud twin noises of protest from both Fili and Kili and Bilbo shakes his head. “No,” he manages to get out. “No, no they didn’t–” and then he just can’t keep going, all the words bubbling to a stop in his throat. The sobs getting caught behind them and choking him. “Oh dear,” he manages to say before stumbling to a chair and dropping into it, bending over and burying his face in his hands.
There’s a lot of furious whispering happening to his right but he simply can’t deal with any of it. When he looks up some indeterminable amount of time later the rest of the company has arrived and they’re all staring at him with varying degrees of confusion and concern.
“I–” he starts, opening his mouth to try and spit out some kind of excuse, but he makes the mistake of meeting Kili’s concerned gaze and instead, simply starts crying again.
“It is your fault,” Dwalin says accusingly, following his gaze. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything! He just started crying!”
“Can’t even let you two look at people now huh?” Nori says, amusement in his voice despite the considering gleam in his eyes as he watches Bilbo.
Bilbo just buries his face in his hands again and tries to take long, deep breaths. It really isn’t helping but he certainly tries.
“Perhaps, we should all give master Baggins some space,” Gandalf says from his spot next to the door. “I’m sure that would help more than this aimless standing around.”
Everyone grumbles a bit but does as Gandalf says, drifting back towards the dining area. Everyone except the two ridiculous dwarves making him cry in the first place.
“No really master Baggins, did we do something? I can’t imagine what but…” Kili says, stepping forward, his hands twitching at his sides.
“Really, really can’t imagine,” Fili says, shadowing his brother.
And then wondrously, horribly. There’s one more knock on the door and Bilbo’s heart stutters, falters, stops. Returns with a passion and starts galloping away in his chest. Gandalf meets his eyes and there’s something perilously close to sympathy in them. He rather dreads to think of what his face is doing.
It’s like he’s watching everything through water, the slow way that Gandalf moves toward the door, the slow swing as it opens, and then he’s looking Thorin Oakenshield in the face. For a minute he can feel blood on his hands again, can taste it in his mouth. The aftermath of battle a shroud that tries to retake him.
This is, as far as first impressions go, quite possibly the worst first impression he could be giving. He’ll be lucky if Thorin allows him on the quest at all.
“What,” Thorin says slowly, taking in the scene before him, “in Mahal’s name did you two do to him?”
“Nothing!” Fili and Kili chorus, sounding quite frustrated with the entire matter. “He opened the door for us and just started crying!” Fili says, Kili furiously nodding in agreement.
There’s a strange moment, Bilbo struggling for some kind of self control and Thorin watching him with parted lips, a moment where Thorin looks at him and Bilbo swears, he swears, he sees recognition. He swears that Thorin knows him. Which is insane. Absolutely crazy. But it’s rather helped along by Thorin striding forward and dropping to one knee in front of him, something that he knows Thorin would never have done at the beginning last time.
“I fear master burglar, that you are handling this in a better way than I have.”
“Excuse me?” he says automatically, manners taking over for a brief moment before his eyes blur with tears again. “What on earth do you mean,” he manages to say, blinking away the tears, confusion getting the better of him for a moment and clearing the grief.
“You cry for us,” Thorin says, pressing a fist to his chest. “I’m afraid I destroyed a workshop in anger rather than doing something quite as noble.”
“Noble,” Bilbo snorts, the sound disgustingly wet. “There is nothing noble about this.”
“I’m afraid here we must disagree.”
“Oh dear,”Gandalf says in the background, “this is most unprecedented.”
“We do that a lot huh,” Bilbo says, chest tight with some sticky feeling. Caught between elation and terror. “Disagree that is.”
“Indeed,” Thorin says with a meaningful look. “However, I find that I often am on the wrong end of those disagreements, and so I shall have to tread more carefully in the future.”
“The future,” he says with another snort, “or the past?”
“Both I would say.”
And it hits Bilbo suddenly, with all the weight of a stone to the head. It hits him what is happening here. “You really remember?” He barely dares to ask, voice coming out too quiet, too high. The room is deadly in its quiet.
“Aye,” Thorin says, giving a solemn dip of his head. “I remember. And I once again must ask your forgiveness for everything that transpired between us. I would take back my words.”
“Yes, yes I know. I know. And I already forgave you.” He had. But something quietly resentful still unfolds itself in his chest and tries to lunge for his tongue. He bites it down and tries a smile instead. “You truly remember?”
“Truly,” Thorin says, his hands twitching.
“Remember WHAT,” Kili finally cries out, clearly sick of being left out of the loop. “What in Mahal’s name are you two talking about?”
“Do you know each other?” Fili asks.
“Aye laddie, I think we’d all like to know that,” Balin says, all of the dwarves having migrated back to his front hallway at some point. Bilbo had barely noticed.
“I am afraid that is a long story,” Thorin says as he rises, the bulk of him concealing Bilbo from everyone’s eyes. Bilbo takes the offered respite and scrubs at his face, pulling out a handkerchief and blowing his nose.
He’s feeling only slightly more settled now that someone else remembers. Feels like he’s been tethered to a support beam but he’s still floating precariously in the wind, tempted to fly away.
“Well good thing we have all night to hear it then,” Dwalin snaps and Bilbo can hear the glare in his voice.
Thorin sighs and strides forward, pulling his nephews to his chest. There’s some confused grumbling from them both but they go easy enough, both of them clearly sensing the importance of the moment.
“I think you better explain what’s going on,” Dori says, leaning to the left so that he can make eye contact with Bilbo as well. “I think you both should explain what is going on.”
“Hear hear!” the rest of the company cries.
“Well,” Bilbo says, feeling a bit calmer now that he’s cried, now that he knows at least one person will believe him, “you see, we’ve already gone on this adventure once. And now it seems we’re back to do it all over again.”
“It is as Master Baggins says,” Thorin says with a solemn nod, “the Valar have seen fit to give us a second chance. For what reason I cannot guess, but we are blessed regardless of the why.”
There’s a beat of dead silence and then everyone erupts with questions. Thorin allows it for a few minutes, something incredibly fond to be found in the corners of his eyes and the uptick his mouth. Thorin watches the company and Bilbo watches Thorin and for a moment he’s back in Lake Town, water in his lungs, eyes constantly straying towards Thorin to make sure that he’s okay.
“Enough,” Thorin finally says. He doesn’t raise his voice but it silences everyone just the same. “I won’t say anymore on it at the moment. Not until I’ve had a moment to speak with master Baggins about it. But,” and he pauses, eyes dark as he considers them, his eyes lingering on Fili and Kili. “But I will say that our quest will succeed. Of that I am certain.”
He doesn’t say at what cost.
“And we’re just supposed to believe this?” Dwalin asks, scowl set firmly on his face.
“You really have already lived this life once?” Bifur asks skeptically.
“You don’t have to believe us,” Bilbo says, shrugging when everyone looks at him. “We’ll prove it soon enough.”
“Doesn’t explain the tears though,” Balin says solemnly, eyes drifting thoughtfully between Bilbo and Fili and Kili. “But it would explain your familiarity with our Thorin here I suppose.”
“The tears–” he cuts himself off, meets Fili’s eyes and feels his own try to water in response. In his mind he can still see Fili’s bloodless fingers, his arms crossed on his chest, the medical tent smelling of herbs and death.
Balin, when Bilbo looks over, looks like he already knows the answer, and like it isn’t a riddle that he wanted to solve.
“Is it because,” Bofur starts and then trails off when everyone looks at him. He visibly braces himself and then says, “Did they die?”
There’s a ringing silence, Thorin’s face stony and unmoving. Bilbo’s breath hitches, catches, stutters to a stop. Fili and Kili have gone pale, tragedy already pulling at their mouths and Bilbo doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want these possibilities hanging on their shoulders but all the things he doesn’t want to say are too easy for the company to infer.
“We will discuss this later,” Thorin says after another moment of horrified silence. “But that will not be happening. Bilbo, a word?”
He nods, motioning Thorin to follow and trying to ignore all the eyes that follow as he leads them to his room. He’s sure even with a door between them there’ll still be nosy dwarves at the door trying to listen, but at least he’s tried.
The door closes behind them and before he can even blink Thorin is in space, pulling him into a hug. It’s only the second time they’ve hugged and it’s the first time Thorin has touched him since the battlements, unless one counts the dying and the feather light touch of fingers on his elbow. Still, regardless of how hard he tries not to, his mind flashes to heights and falling.
He stiffens and Thorin makes a wounded noise, immediately moving to draw away, but Bilbo grabs on, his fingers moving without his permission.
“Give me a minute,” he gasps out and once again he swears he can feel blood on his hands, tacky and all consuming. “Just give me a minute.”
“If I could take back my actions,” Thorin says softly, hands unbearably gentle against Bilbo’s back.
“I know,” he says, mouth tasting of iron. “I know.” And he does. It doesn’t stop that same resentful beast in his chest from unfurling and hissing venom. He still bites it down, shoves it away, refuses to put more venom between them.
He breathes in deep, holds it, breathes out, lets himself relax and listens to the steady ba-dump, ba-dump of Thorin’s heart strong and healthy and real under his ear. “I watched you die,” he says very quietly, finding himself completely unwilling to be the one who ends this hug.
“I know,” Thorin says. “I am sorry for that as well.”
Bilbo sighs. “You don’t have to apologize for that. Just don’t do it again.”
There’s a long silence and he knows Thorin’s response before it comes. That doesn’t stop it from stinging when Thorin says, “I cannot promise that, master burglar. We do not know what will happen this time.”
Something very small and very loud inside of his soul snaps. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen,” he snaps, pulling back even as his fingers refuse to relinquish their hold on Thorin’s armor, something inside of him convinced that if he lets go, Thorin will simply disappear and this will all have been a dream. “You’re going to not die. None of you. I’m not crying over your dead bodies again, I refuse.”
Thorin stares down at him, eyes dark and troubled. “I will promise to do my best to stay alive,” he offers and Bilbo knows that’s fair, knows that any other promise is too easily broken, but he still wants to rage. It’s a feeling so unlike anything that he’s ever felt before. Even when they’d been on their adventure there’d been so few instances that he’d felt truly furious.
He’d felt sadness and grief and fear and worry and annoyance. But he doesn’t think he’d ever felt rage. It’s such an un-hobbit like feeling to feel and he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. Doesn’t know how to make the embers in his belly die out.
“If you die again,” he says quietly, voice trembling, “I will never forgive you.” He’s not even sure if it’s a lie but Thorin must hear the grain of truth in the words because he goes very still under Bilbo’s hands and then nods once.
“As you wish. And as I said, I will do my best to ensure that I stay by your side.”
“And I by yours,” Bilbo says, throat tight. And it doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t erase all that they remember happening and all the ways Bilbo feels drastically underprepared to deal with it all again. But it settles something loose and flighty inside of him. Makes him feel more at home in his own skin.
It doesn’t fix everything but that’s okay. They have time now. They have time. And that makes all the difference.
☀︎
Originally posted on AO3