Chapter Text
He felt sick just looking at it and, yet, Fili was strangely fascinated.
He also felt like a creep, sneaking around boulders and trees to stare at their tiny hobbit burglar sitting at the river’s edge in naught but his skin, – but that was a minor thing right now. They were all in various states of undress at this point, for it wasn’t a common occurrence on this journey to find a secluded, safe spot to bath in.
And after escaping the goblins, battling with the orcs and wargs – all of them sweaty, smeared in sooth, blood and guts of their opponents, -the Company needed a bath.
Gentle river at the bottom of the rock the eagles have left them on was a godsend. Fili was in the water before he’s managed to dislodge his sticky shirt, Kili and the rest of the Company right on his heels.
Their hobbit, though, was a little less enthusiastic, even if his face brightened considerably at the sight of clean water. And when it reddened considerably at the sight of naked dwarvish backsides – which was quite hilarious in itself.
But they’ve all washed and dried, then washed and dried again.
Now, as the day neared the end, all dwarves were seated on the grassy bank, busy with stoking fire and taking care of their wet hair. Fili and his brother were not greatly inconvenienced by the task – to the eternal shame of the younger of them – as their beards were short and manageable. Kili barely took time to brush his own hair with a small comb made of bone that every dwarf kept close to their heart, and chased to help their uncle deal with his long, unruly mane.
Fili snorted in amusement, intending to follow his lead when he’s finished his own braids. His gaze softened at the sight of their unmovable uncle, great Thorin Oakenshield, sitting so patiently while his hair was being brushed and arranged by rough fingers. Kili was young and unskilled, but his gestures were full of care and Thorin took them as that – as a sign of deep affection. Just as any dwarf would.
This picture brought smiles on more than one face, – Bofur even chuckled a little, busy with making sure that Bifur’s hair won’t catch on the axe sticking out of his forehead. The Ri brothers were probably the most amusing thing to watch, however. With Nori whining and complaining all the time as Dori stood behind him with fingers tangled in the red mane, recreating his complicated coiffure. The oldest brother easily ignored complaints sent his way, taking time to explain his every move to very attentive, if slightly dishelved Ori.
Fili felt his face stretch in a smile while he looked at his companions, who at this point were more a family than just friends, as they took precious time to care for their loved ones. Even Balin found a moment to run a hand over his brother’s wild mane laughing easily at the exasperated look he’s got in return.
It was all good, then.
There was just one thing missing.
Namely: their burglar.
So Fili took it upon himself to find the hobbit before they lose sight of him yet again. For such timid creature, Bilbo Baggins was entirely too skilled at finding trouble where none else has managed to.
His short search brought him to the small, quiet spot hidden behind a big boulder where the river was slower and the shore less steep. There he’s found their hobbit, sitting on a fallen log, busy with doing something to his face.
And that something, after closer inspection, froze Fili in his place.
Was Bilbo… shaving his face?
Fili felt cold shivers going up and down his spine at the sight.
Up until this point they’ve all assumed that hobbits simply don’t grow beards. Bilbo’s face was always smooth and, well, slightly girly. Kili even commented on it, glad that he won’t be the last one in the Company in terms of facial hair; silly sod that he is.
They never thought about it, Fili was sure, just took it as one more strange thing about hobbits – like having round doors to their homes and wearing nightgowns, and crying after lost buttons. Something exotic and curious, but essentially unimportant.
But to have this belief turned on its’ head like that…
Fili felt sick. But he was also fascinated.
Didn’t it hurt? Or was their burglar made of stronger stuff they’ve first assumed?
What about that small blade he used? It was sharp enough to cut through hair – who made it? Was it elvish? It had to be elvish, they were masters at overcompensating. Ha, ha, my blade is the sharpest, even though I am scared to use it, ha, ha!
But, the biggest question remained, why?
Why would Bilbo do something like that to himself?
Was he punishing himself or mourning like uncle Thorin who kept his beard from growing for decades now?
Why would anyone…?
Fili wanted to just walk to the hobbit and ask – demand answers – but he wasn’t sure if the sight of the blade won’t be enough to make him faint. He was a brave dwarf, but there were lines one shouldn’t cross. And staring at the smooth beardless face of their burglar would be too much right now. So he turned around and marched back to the impromptu camp where Kili has just about finished with bushing Thorin’s hair for him and stared curiously at his nearing brother.
Fili suspected that he looks shaken, he felt blood leave his face at some point, but he tried to smile for his family anyway. His feet carried him over to Kili – who barely had time to react when he was burdened with an armful of clingy brother.
“Fili? What is it? Brother?” asked Kili with growing alarm, trying to make sense of the situation. “Come of it, tell me what’s wrong!”
“I’ve seen something scary,” whispered Fili into his shoulder. “Shut up and let me hug you.”
Oh, well, when put like that…
Kili adjusted his hold on Fili and managed to shrug a little in response to his uncle’s questioning look. When the hobbit joined their party, freshly scrubbed and beaming like a young maiden, Fili clung tighter, but didn’t say a word.