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Bilbo had no idea of the hour when he woke, only that the fire was low and the empty blankets next to him were already cool, not a hint that anyone had been sleeping on them. It was an oft-told tale, this one, of waking alone to be left wondering where Thorin had gotten to this night. For all that the beds were comfortable and the rooms where warm, nothing at all like the misery of sleeping upon the ground, Thorin did not rest easily or well. This meant that occasionally Bilbo did not sleep easily or well and that was one problem at least of keeping company in one's bed.
On those nights when sleep was at its most elusive, Thorin was like to be anywhere; in the kitchens, sometimes, picking over a plate of last night's warmed-overs or out on the King's walk, contemplating ravens and the mountain, listening to the hushed night over Erebor the way Kings do. The point being, he could be anywhere and there was no map that could lead Bilbo to him.
Bilbo groaned and buried his face into his pillow in a moment of drowsy contemplation. On one hand, he was perfectly within his rights to simply roll over and drift back to his dreams. It was not as if Thorin expected him to traipse off in search of him in the wee hours of the night; no, truthfully, it was more likely to be the opposite depending on Thorin's mood, on what visions had driven him from their bed, on whatever blasted thing had kept him from sleep this time.
As many times as Thorin had welcomed Bilbo's company on nights such as these, he had equally shunned him with a scowl and a foul temper, and honestly, Bilbo preferred to save any moment of argument went he wasn't in a strop himself. Lack of sleep did not make for a companionable mood.
Still, even as Bilbo burrowed into the comfort of his blankets, snuggled into soft, clean linen and down pillows, the bed felt achingly empty without soft, even breathing next to him, nor a wealth of hair to tangle his sleepy fingers through. Try as he might, Bilbo could not find his sleep again and with an irritated sigh, he flung back the blankets and staggered to the floor, nearly tripping over a pair of slippers that were obviously not his own.
Which meant Thorin was wandering about in his bare feet, which also meant when he deemed himself fit to return, he would bring a pair of bare, cold feet with him, how perfectly unlovely. His temper was already churning in his belly, grumpy words that wished to be spoken grit between his teeth and with a fumblingly lit candle, Bilbo set out on what he hoped would be a quite short-lived quest in search of the King of Erebor.
To his relief, he'd only gone as far as the first hallway when he heard it, the low, deep croon of Thorin singing, too softly yet for Bilbo to make out any words. Something in that sonorous thread of song loosened the tight band of his irritation and Bilbo sighed to himself, knuckling the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes as he followed the low call of Thorin's voice.
It had been something of a surprise to Bilbo when he'd first arrived in Erebor how few doors their rooms possessed. Aside from the one leading into the King's quarters, all the other rooms, bedrooms included, had only long hallways leading to large, open archways and strange as it had seemed, Bilbo had at least understood how difficult it would be to make a door to fit what Dwarves considered a doorway. Privately, he wondered why any Dwarf would even need an entryway that size to begin with but he'd learned very quickly it was pointless to argue with a Dwarf over absurd matters of height.
In any case, the lack of door or even a heavy curtain allowed the firelight from the sitting room door to pour out into the hallway, Thorin's voice edging that very light and Bilbo followed it, his mind only on listening for a time, perhaps seeing what sort of mood Thorin was in this night and if he would welcome company. So intent was he on his plan, that the realization that Thorin was not alone came almost a moment too late. He fumbled so hastily with his candle that he nearly dropped it, blowing out the flame before sharp Dwarven eyes caught sight of it and he stepped back into the shadow of the archway, peering in at the sight that lay before him.
The sitting room was a private one, not filled with the large golden statues and uncomfortable stone chairs of the King's parlor, but one with seats cushioned enough to satisfy any Hobbit and low tables perfect for tea and a snack beside each one. In the largest chair sat Thorin, bare-footed, his heavy robes swirling softly around his ankles. His head was bowed, sleep-tangled curls falling in a dark cloud over his shoulders and his bearded chin was resting atop a small head of shorter curls.
Frodo was curled into Thorin's lap, wrapped up warmly in a blanket and Bilbo could just see the drowsy blink of his eyes as he rested his head on Thorin's chest. Whatever song it was that Thorin was singing was not one Bilbo knew, neither the tune nor the words, and yet, Bilbo did not need to understand the language to know a lullaby when he heard one, crooned soft and sweet into the night to soothe a weary child.
His breath stirred Frodo's hair as he sang, unknown words tugging at something inside Bilbo much the same as they had a long-ago night at Bag End, only this time they did not waken a desire for adventure, a longing he'd never known. This time they clenched at his heart, and his love was fierce enough to choke in his throat, to send a burn of tears to thicken in his eyes.
If a King of Dwarves and a Hobbit child could have any one thing in common, Bilbo wished that it was not nights of tangled dreams and terrible sleep, nights of Frodo waking Bilbo with tears and cries, nights of Thorin thrashing away to visions of dragon's fire.
The softness of the lullaby faded away and for a long moment there was only silence broken by the crackle of the fire. Then Frodo stirred, shifting unhappily in Thorin's lap and the song rose again, carried through the air as soft and gentle as dandelion fluff.
With the back of his hand, Bilbo scrubbed impatiently at his eyes, stepping back silently through the darkness with the very lightness of foot that had brought him to Erebor in the first place. The both of them would find their beds and their sleep when it was time, and while neither of them would say a word to turn him away, Bilbo knew this was not the place for him, not this night.
Bilbo crept back to his own bed, burrowing alone into the blankets even as his ears strained for a soft melody, a lullaby meant to chase away darkness and bring to them all the sweetness of sleep.
-finis-