Comes Around Again (Gigolas & Bagginshield)

Bread and Honey

Gimli woke later than his usual, but still earlier than he had expected, considering how tired he had been. Several of the others were already up and about, murmuring quietly to themselves, but Gimli was not the last one awake. Bilbo was still burrowed into his blankets, and Bofur was snoring in the loft above him. Beside Gimli, Kíli lay sprawled, and Gimli realized that the weight on his leg was actually Kíli's foot. Fíli lay curled next to his brother, one hand tangled in Kíli's curls, and the other resting on the hilt of a knife still tucked inside his coat.

Rolling his eyes, Gimli moved to push his leg away and then had to stop as his muscles protested, a groan caught in this throat. Oh, merciful Mahal, he couldn't remember the last time he had been so sore—running across Rohan, maybe? He remembered pain, but not like this. Every limb had stiffened in the night, and when he forced himself to stretch with gritted teeth, his spine popped in several places. It took him several tries to get his left knee to pop, and his neck cracked loudly enough to wake Fíli.

Blearily, the blond raised his head. "You a'right?" he muttered.

"Aye," Gimli said tightly. "Just a little stiff 's all."

Fíli snorted. "Yeah, it takes some getting used to," he said, and settled back down. "'specially the way you fight." He was asleep again in minutes.

Gimli sat up slowly, rolling his right shoulder and shaking his head at his own foolishness. Just because he could still fight like he once did, it did not mean that his body was used to such stress. No wonder he felt like three miles of bad mine.

Beorn's house looked different in the morning light, open and airy and welcoming. The far wall opened as a great door to a shaded veranda. There, a table had been set with breakfast, and those who were awake were clustered around it.

Breakfast seemed like a wonderful idea, and the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach seemed to agree. Since breakfast would not come to him, Gimli pushed his way to aching feet to go to it. He staggered briefly before he caught himself. By the time he made it to breakfast, he was moving with most of his former ease, though the pain remained a constant background noise.

Glóin sat at the table with Nori, Bombur, and Balin. Bifur sat whittling on the steps that led down into the garden, and Thorin sat with him, smoking his pipe and watching Dwalin show Ori how to stand when wielding a war hammer, off in a clear spot among the flowers. Óin and Dori were walking in Beorn's garden with one of the dogs, inspecting various plants that Gimli was sure could become ointments and teas respectively.

"Morning, lad," his father greeted him and shuffled over to make room on the bench. Gimli dropped into the seat and blinked blearily at the table. "This Beorn fellow doesn't seem to hold with kafé," Glóin said, "but this isn't bad." He poured Gimli a mug of something steaming.

"Tea?" Gimli asked, sniffing it. It was floral and herby and sweetened with honey.

"Of a sort," Glóin said. "Gandalf called it something odd, but he assured us it was fine."

Gimli hummed and took a sip. If it wasn't a type of tea, Gimli would be very surprised. He looked around, but saw no sign of their wizard. "And where is our wizard?"

Glóin pointed off to the West. "He went off that way not too long ago. We're to remain here until he returns, whenever that is." He took a bite of fresh sour-bread. "Thought Thorin would put up more of a fight, to be honest."

"Our illustrious leader? Put up a fight?" Gimli said dryly, staring into his cup. "Perish the thought."

"It's because of Bilbo," Bombur said, pointing a bread crust at Gimli. "Either because he's finally noticed that our dear hobbit needs a break, or Bilbo's convinced him that he needs to heal before tackling that." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the treeline.