The Journey

Mirkwood

They stood in front of the towering trees, foreboding growing within them with every passing second. Gandalf had gone, and they were left alone, packs shouldered, waterskins full, gathering enough courage to step forwards onto the dark path.
"Well, we are losing daylight," Thorin said grimly, then turned to look at Bilbo, who stood beside him. "Will you...walk with me?"
"Of course," Bilbo said sincerely, relieved to be near him.
"We will need your sharp eyes at the front," Thorin said, turning back to the forest, and Bilbo's spirits fell. Was it for only practical reasons? "And I enjoy your company," Thorin added rather shyly. He glanced sideways at him, and Bilbo once again was filled with relief.
"Well, I enjoy yours. Very much, in fact," Bilbo replied mischievously, meeting his eyes. He looked back at the forest and blew out a long breath. "Shall we?"
"We shall," Thorin said grimly, the eerie feeling returning. "Everyone—let's move on! We want to make it as far as we can before nightfall." And with that, the company filed into the forest, taking last long, wishful looks at the sunny glade that they were leaving.
Immediately, the light faded, the branches closing in around the path like so many grasping hands, leaves dark, unfamiliar sounds echoing around them. Though the path was clear, it was narrow and winding, snaking through the trunks of the enormous trees, Bilbo stared around him in wonder and fear. There were no trees like these anywhere in or near the Shire—none this old and wild, yet spooky and strong, their untamed branches spreading like searching tendrils of smoke after the fire has been blown out. Unconsciously, he pressed closer to Thorin.
Their every sense was alive, every crunch of lead or snap of twig causing them to jump with alarm, quick flashes or angry screeches punctuating the darkness. Once, something brushed past Bilbo's elbow and he lurched forwards in shock, his heart leaping into his throat.
"Whoa," Thorin said concernedly, catching him before he fell, "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Bilbo breathed, eyes wide, "something just went past me is all."
"Stay close," Thorin replied warily, stepping out in front again, and Bilbo did, pressing close to his side, and he found himself winding his fingers through Thorin's once again. That was much better—and he felt Thorin relax, too, their steps becoming stronger, shoulders falling back as they became more confident, shoulders still pressed close together, their presence and touch comforting the other. It would be a long walk, yes, but hand in hand, it would be a lot shorter than if they walked it alone.
     Far into Mirkwood, they threw down their bedrolls, exhausted and ready for sleep. It was still very dark, but the light seemed to be fading more with every passing minute.
     "Everyone get some rest," Thorin instructed, "we have a long walk tomorrow."
     No one objected and almost nothing was spoken as they spread their blankets. Bilbo and Thorin spread theirs next to each other, as was their habit, now, but though Bilbo lay down immediately, Thorin sat awake on the edge of the blanket, listening to the breaths of the other dwarves become steady and mingled with snores.
     Bilbo was so tired that he lay awake as well, wishing heartily he could just drop off, but Thorin still sat, awake and attentive.
     "Thorin," Bilbo whispered finally, "are you awake?"
     "Yes," came Thorin's clear voice.
     "You said yourself we have a long day tomorrow. Come get some rest."
     Thorin didn't move, but the faint outline of his head shifted as he nodded. "I will, lo—" but he cut himself off and became quiet again.
     Bilbo sighed and turned onto his back, listening to the quiet of the woods around him and the comforting sounds of the dwarves. It was long before either of them moved.
     "Mahal help me," Thorin whispered suddenly, and then swiftly he was on top of Bilbo, straddling him, his hands on the ground hear his face. Bilbo was startled, drawing back, then had to clap a hand over his mouth as he felt Thorin pressing into him, his breath hot on his neck, Thorin's hair falling onto his shoulders.
     Thorin rubbed his face against his cheek, breathing hard, legs tightening around him, fingers kneading the ground beside his head. Bilbo felt himself responding, beginning to arch into him, his eyes closing, his own breath quickening, filling suddenly with a surging love and desire—
     But then a great fear overtook him, and he stiffened with terror as Thorin drew his lips over his neck. What was he thinking? What was he doing? He tried to speak, his eyes wide, but his voice caught in his throat.
     "Thorin," it emerged at last as a squeak, "stop. Please stop."
     "Mmm, why?" Thorin's voice came is a low hiss, his breath moving towards Bilbo's face, "why? No one can see us here."
     "It's too soon," Bilbo stammered, his voice high with fright, "please. Please wait."
     "But I don't want to wait," Thorin murmured, leaning closer, Bilbo pressing his away as hard as he could, "I love you and I want you."
     Desire rose up in Bilbo again, but fear still gripped him and he gently shook his head. "It's too soon," he repeated, "I need some time to think. I—I don't yet know how I feel."
     "At least let me be near you," Thorin pleaded, pressing close, "give me that, please."
     "That is fine, Thorin, but—it's just too soon for anything more. Please, stop," Bilbo whispered, his eyes finding Thorin's in the dark.
     The dwarf lord was silent, his breaths still ragged, his thighs still tight around Bilbo's waist, the faint shine of his eyes still fixed upon his face. Slowly, he relaxed, sliding off of him, pulling away from his face, taking a deep breath. "I am sorry, I don't know what came over me," he sighed fearfully, sitting back and passing a hand over his eyes, "Please forgive me."
     "I am fine," Bilbo said timidly, still frightened and frozen with shock, "you are forgiven. Just—I am not ready."
     "I understand," Thorin said respectfully. "Good night." He lay down upon his side of the blanket, his back to Bilbo, a respectful space in between them. It was some time before Bilbo's breathing returned to normal and he relaxed somewhat. What was that? Did he do the right thing? What was he feeling? Did he love Thorin, or was it just friendship? Would Thorin leave him be if he said no? And what would happen if he gave in?
     Bilbo turned to face Thorin's broad back, still unable to relax completely. Everything would turn out all right—hopefully nothing would change tomorrow. What if he had pushed Thorin too far away from him? Surging pity swelled in his heart, and he gently reached out a hand and slid it across Thorin's back, nestling closer to him, wanting the solid presence and warmth. Thorin turned over, shifting around him, then softly placed an arm around his shoulders, Bilbo leaning his head on his chest, closing his eyes. They relaxed together, thoughts and worries still spinning in their minds, falling restlessly asleep.