Chapter Text
As the air turned crisper every morning, drafting through the little cracks of windows and doors that Thorin was convinced Bilbo kept open purposefully to enjoy the smell of autumn, the time for apple picking crept ever closer. By now, Thorin was well aware of the major events of each changing season, though he knew it would never be second nature to him as it was to the Hobbits. Sometimes, he could have thought that the heightened awareness that was necessary for him to keep pace with his agriculturally minded neighbours allowed him to appreciate the ritual more, but as he noticed every day, there were none on this earth more adept at savouring the little pleasures of life than Hobbits.
Proving support for Thorin’s musings, Bilbo stretched in bed beside him, yawning slowly. He pulled his arms over his head, popped his wrists, then settled right back down into the blankets.
“Good morning,” he said at length, smiling sleepily at Thorin, who was already sat propped against the pillows, waiting to watch this, perhaps his most favourite daily moment.
“Good morning,” Thorin rumbled in reply, his voice as deep as the morning mist across the mountains.
Bilbo stretched his toes next under the covers, his eyes finishing their journey toward wakefulness at Thorin’s greeting. Maybe that was his favourite part of the day, actually.
Those warm brown eyes tracked across Thorin’s face, his unbound hair, and his bare shoulders sharply, taking their time to absorb every inch. Then a yawn cracked Bilbo’s concentration, and he rolled onto his back, stretching again almost regretfully. He pulled himself into a slightly more upright position and pulled the blankets up to his chest.
“What time is it, do you think?” Bilbo had many clocks, but only one in the sitting room that kept proper time, and none at all in the bedroom.
He did not need any, in truth. “Around half past six, I’d say,” said Thorin, whose internal clock was near-perfect from growing up in a mountain.
Bilbo ‘hmm’ed. Thorin had a mental catalogue of all Bilbo’s many ‘hmm’s and ‘huh’s and ‘well I should say!’s. This particular ‘hmm’ was of the ‘this is a slight inconvenience to me, but a tolerable one’ variety.
“We really should get up,” Bilbo said, making no move to get up, “If we don’t get moving, all the good apples will be gone before we can get there. Lobelia’s been making a fuss about how her cider will be better than mine this year.”
“Now that won’t do,” said Thorin grimly, putting all his years of diplomatic training into keeping a straight face.
“It most certainly won’t!” Bilbo agreed, pulling the blankets tighter to his chest, looking adorably rumpled in his annoyance, “If she thinks she can improve on Bungo Baggins’s cider recipe, she’s dreaming!”
“Quite right you are, love,” said Thorin, taking it upon himself to get the household moving, or no one else would. He stepped out of bed and drew the covers back quickly so the warmth didn’t escape. He leaned over to brush Bilbo’s bed hair out of his face, and planted a quick kiss on his forehead. Bilbo’s responding ‘harumph’ was one Thorin was most familiar with, meaning either ‘foolish dwarf,’ or ‘I love you too,’ or a combination of the two.
It was Thorin’s turn to stretch as Bilbo watched him, so he made sure to turn around and give a good show of flexing his back, eliciting a more dreamy ‘hmm’ from his appreciative audience. Thorin smiled to himself as he slipped a shirt over his head.
“I’ll go grab the little one out of bed and get him ready for the day,” he said, tying his hair back loosely as he walked toward the door.
An amused ‘hmph’ followed. “I’m sure he’s already waiting for us,” Bilbo said, watching the door expectantly.
Thorin raised an eyebrow and opened the door to their bedroom.
Sure enough, with his toes nearly touching the line of the doorframe, a tiny hobbit jumped up and down, his dark curly hair rioting around his head.
“IS IT TIME FOR APPLE PICKING TODAY?” Frodo asked, trying to control his excitement even though he was almost shouting.
“Today is apple day, little one,” Thorin said in what Bilbo liked to refer to as his ‘king voice,’ staring down his nose solemnly at the bouncing ball of Hobbit excitement.
Frodo stilled slightly in response to the gravitas of the king voice, which Thorin took as his opportunity to catch the little boy off guard and swing him up in his arms, producing squeals of joy.
“Today is apple day! But we have to get some breakfast in you first...” Thorin walked off toward the kitchen with a squirming Frodo over his shoulder, listening to the sound of Bilbo’s soft chuckling for as long as it would carry through the hallways.
Perhaps Thorin was able to find as much joy in the little things as Hobbits were, and to him, it was all the more special for knowing he’d had to work at it. He’d toiled long and hard in his life, but in the end, everything fell softly into place – into drowsy mornings and cozy evenings, good food and good company, no worries and an abundance of love.