Hazy Shades of Summer

APRIL TO MAY

The hobbit could barely look at Thorin - at least, when he knew Thorin saw him. The dwarf caught him throwing quick glances at him many times over the first few days of their quest, but every time Bilbo noticed Thorin watching him watching him, he'd flush and look away, down at his feet, giving Thorin only the faintest flash of stormy grey eyes.

Thorin ignored him, for the most part; ruffled that Gandalf thought this soft creature could do a better job of burgling than a practiced, successful thief but also reluctant to show acceptance too early on. After all, he had yet to prove himself and just because Thorin found his head of barley curls endearing was not a reason to accept him so soon.

And so when he saw his companions gathering around the hobbit one evening, he declined to join and moved off away from the group and the horses and cleaned his sword on his whetstone. It was noisy and he couldn't hear what was being said, but he looked on in interest as his companions looked flummoxed for a moment before Bilbo proceeded to undo his shirt cuffs, revealing something that Thorin couldn't see from his angle. He doubted it was anything significant, however; the hobbit was too soft for inks and had never fought and won scars. He returned to his cleaning and sharpening, ignoring the slight feeling of intrigue that remained in his gut at what Bilbo had told his companions that had made them all so confused.

He sidled up to Fíli later that night as his nephew was preparing to take over the watch.

'Fíli.'

'Uncle.' Fíli nodded at Thorin as he continued to sort his watchpost, glancing up at him when no further words came.

Thorin cleared his throat as his gaze flicked quickly to Bilbo, now rolling himself up in his bed roll near the fire and then back again. 'What... what was the halfling talking to you about earlier?'

Fíli sighed, his eyes also finding Bilbo, now snuggled up and breathing gently. 'Bilbo was telling us about hobbits. He-'

'I doubt there can be much to tell,' Thorin said archly, raising an eyebrow at his oldest nephew. 'And surely nothing that should warrant such obvious confusion on your part.'

'You'd be surprised,' Fíli muttered. 'But it doesn't matter, Uncle. I doubt you'd be interested anyway.'

Thorin ignored the hard glare Fíli sent after him as he left, making his way to his own bed roll. He didn't regret his words - really, he'd seen the people of the Shire and apart from the fact they at least had the sense to live underground, they didn't appear to be very interesting at all. All Bilbo seemed to be able to talk about was food and books, and Thorin had more important things to deal with. Such as trying to work out how to stop those eyes the colour of heavy rain-clouds glaring at him in his mind.

JUNE TO AUGUST

Gradually Thorin stopped outright ignoring the hobbit, nodding at him once or twice and in return being graced with small, shy smiles that made him jump at their sudden sweetness. The weather grew warmer, reflecting (not that Thorin would admit it to anyone, least of all himself) the dwarf's thawing feelings for Bilbo. He had stopped fussing quite so much and had proved himself useful on a couple of occasions, and Thorin held him in a higher regard than he had before.

But never had Thorin been so pleased to see anyone as he had been when he stood upon the Carrock, facing Bilbo. The hobbit once again looked uncertain, staring down at his feet as Thorin approached. In the early summer morning, his hair looked positively golden and Thorin longed to run his hands through it, lift the hobbit's chin so he could look into those eyes and press his lips to those pointed ears. This small being, whom he'd ignored and mistrusted, had saved him from the Pale Orc and that made him more than worthy of Thorin's affections. His more-than-affections, Thorin knew.

'Halfling,' he said, his voice coming out rough and gruffer than it should have, emotion choking him as he looked at Bilbo.

Bilbo raised his head, jutting out his jaw in defiance and his green eyes meeting Thorin's straight on-

Wait. Green?

Thorin did a double-take. They were grey before...but now he looked closely at Bilbo - and he thought with a guilty twinge that those were tears Bilbo was swallowing down - he could see that his eyes were definitely green now. It didn't matter, he decided, not when the hobbit - his hobbit - felt so warm and pliant in his arms, his smaller ones reaching around Thorin's middle to return the hug. Thorin didn't want to let go, the warm, sunny curls tickling his nose; but he eventually released him and was met by a smile of such simple joy it made his toes curl in his thick boots. Smiling suited Bilbo, no matter his eye colour.

He'd get to the bottom of the matter at some point, but first he had to work out how to get to the bottom of the Carrock. Preferably all in one piece.

Dwalin stayed close to him, probably to make sure he didn't fall - which Thorin was grateful for - and he used this opportunity to ask Dwalin about Bilbo.

'Dwalin,' he said conversationally, but his old friend knew him too well and looked at him expectantly. 'What...what colour are the ho- Bilbo's eyes?' As he spoke he kept his eyes fixed downwards, navigating a particularly slippery rock step. Still, he could practically feel Dwalin's smirk.

'I do believe they're green,' he said, just as nonchalantly.

'Am I right in thinking that they were grey before...?' Thorin asked, looking at Dwalin sharply. His friend just smiled.

'I'm sure I don't know,' he replied, this time Dwalin's turn to fastidiously study his footing. 'I suppose you'll have to ask him.'

Thorin scowled. He could do no such thing! That'd imply that he'd been looking, and he most certainly didn't want Bilbo to think him...strange.

He did look, though, as they rested at Beorn's and prepared to enter Mirkwood. The hobbit's eyes were now a leafy green, the colour of the sun shining through the huge leaves on the trees of Beorn's gardens. Thorin kept his suspicions to himself however, and just accepted the fact that he must have made a mistake the first time around. They'd probably been green the whole time, and it was just now that he was noticing. Although Bilbo's now golden hair, lighter and brighter, was certainly delightful.

When they entered the dark of Mirkwood it was too dark and dangerous to think to think of much else beyond keeping together and not dying (although when they rested in the blackness, Thorin bemoaned the lack of light which meant he couldn't see his hobbit's eyes). Later, when he was imprisoned in the elf's king's deep dungeons, it was only the thought of Bilbo's smile, the crinkles that formed around his gorgeous eyes, that kept him strong as he made do with all he had of his burglar - the whispered sound of his voice in the dark, the feel of a warm hand through the wrought iron bars and reassurances of his and the others' safety. If anything kept Thorin sane through the long weeks they stayed in the dungeons, separated from one another and surrounded by everything elvish, it was the hobbit.

During the rescue, Bilbo was too busy getting them securely into barrels to pay Thorin much mind beyond what he gave the others, which Thorin refused to admit hurt him, and he most certainly was not sulking (he was, and he regretted it when it led to a tired and sopping Bilbo snapping at him in the bright air of Lake-town).

SEPTEMBER TO OCTOBER

When the dwarves and Bilbo had been given a house to stay in, Thorin meant to find the hobbit and talk properly - and thank him, for he'd been ungrateful before, he knew - but Bilbo was indisposed with a terrible head-cold, and sent Thorin away with a waspish curse before closing his eyes and settling back against the pillows.

He looked very pale against the white cotton of the sheets, emphasised by the darkness of his hair. Thorin would say it was almost auburn now, and he stood in the doorway for a minute longer, staring at the hobbit intently. Until Bilbo opened one eye - and it was brown. Warm and homely and most certainly not green.

'Are you going to stand there and watch me all day?' Bilbo asked bitingly from his nest of blankets, although the effect was muffled somewhat by his blocked nose.

Thorin quickly left after that, instead seeking out his younger nephew. The two youngest of the group seemed very close to Bilbo, closer than he was (a point he was definitely not sore about) and perhaps Kíli wouldn't laugh at him like Dwalin definitely would.

He found Kíli with his brother out the back of the house in what constituted as a garden in this wooden town, sparring and rough-housing. He watched them for a bit until Kíli noticed his gaze and the boys stopped.

'Uncle,' the boys greeted in unison and Thorin didn't reply, instead merely stepping closer.

'I have a question,' he stated and immediately Kíli looked guilty. Deciding to ignore whatever mischief his youngest nephew had got himself into, Thorin continued, 'about the hobbit.'

The guilt morphed into a knowing smile, mirrored on Fíli's face too, and Thorin did his best to look disinterested and nonchalant as he asked the question.

'Has Bilbo... Has the halfling told you anything...about hobbits, for example, and why...their eye colour seems to change?'

He looked at them before quickly looking down at the at the ground, scuffing the dirt floor with his boot while he waited for them to answer.

'Actually, now I think about it, I believe he did,' Kíli said thoughtfully, a smirk playing on his features.

'Yes, it was something to do with why he keeps his wrists covered, wasn't it Kee?' Fíli nodded in agreement, an identical grin on his face.

'Pretty sure it was,' Kíli said. 'This was the thing he asked us not to talk about, wasn't it?'

Thorin looked up sharply. 'When did he tell you this?' he demanded.

'Quite soon after we met him, I should think,' Fíli said.

'You were cleaning your sword at the time,' Kíli supplied helpfully; Thorin turned back inside and left them sniggering outside. He peeked in a couple of times to Bilbo's room - bringing him food, of course, nothing more - but he was asleep and buried so far under the covers that Thorin wouldn't be able to get to his wrist. (Not that that was his intention, at all.)

He missed being the one to take Bilbo his evening meal, Bombur instead claiming that honour as the chef who made Bilbo's broth, but Thorin was secretly pleased when he returned only a very short while afterwards.

He tossed in his sheets that night, thinking about Bilbo. The hobbit had never been very far from his thoughts recently, but now he was never absent.

The next morning he was up early enough to be the one to take him his breakfast. He carried up a tray of soft eggs and bread and butter - and a large pot of tea - and was infinitely relieved when the hobbit called out 'come in!' when he knocked. Bilbo sounded much better, to his pleasure, and he even smiled at Thorin when he saw him, although he was also evidently surprised.

'Good morning,' he said, almost as chipper as normal, although he still had a blocked nose. 'What's all this for?' he asked when Thorin placed the tray on his lap.

'Someone has to bring you your breakfast,' Thorin said, then added hastily - 'not that I mind, it's no trouble at all and I wanted to see you anyway-' then stopped, fearing he might begin blushing if he carried on. Bilbo's smile had just gotten slightly wider at that and his eyes (definitely now brown) shone with mirth.

'Well, that's very kind of you,' he said, and began eating. Thorin stayed sitting on the chair next to the bed, trying to ignore the way the hobbit looked so blissful as he sipped at his tea. When Bilbo was nearly done he tried (very subtly, of course) to bring up the subject of Bilbo's...changing eye colour; but he was Thorin and social interactions never seemed to go his way.

'Your eyes are brown.' He hadn't meant to blurt it out so suddenly, but he did and he hoped his beard covered the beginnings of fhe blush that was starting to form as Bilbo froze, spoonful of egg halfway to his mouth. He set the spoon down and met Thorin's gaze, warm brown eyes looking into cold blue ones.

'Yes, my eyes are brown,' he confirmed, as if Thorin had stated the obvious.

'But they were green before, I'm sure of it. And now they're brown,' Thorin said; he didn't mean to sound so gruff but now he was uncomfortable (embarrassed).

'Yes, they were green; but that was then, and this is now.' Bilbo spoke with an air of long-suffering patience, as of one who is used to explaining things to small children.

'How... Why...' Thorin tried to ask, but instead he found himself staring at Bilbo's wrists, covered by his shirt sleeves and giving no clue as to what lay underneath.

Bilbo made a soft noise as he brought his hand up to his mouth - if Thorin hadn't known better he'd have said he was stifling a laugh - and stared at Thorin in amusement. 'You don't know...'

Thorin stiffened and tried to look haughty, although the effect was rather ruined by the crimson blush gracing his cheeks. 'Don't know what, burglar?'

Bilbo didn't even seem upset by the use of 'burglar' again. Instead he - he laughed! Thorin couldn't deny that he enjoyed the sound of that laugh very much - too much - but he maintained his stony composure as Bilbo's shoulders shook in suppressed mirth.

'You didn't... You didn't hear about hobbits,' he said.

'I don't believe there's much to hear.' Thorin was damned if he believed that now, but he didn't want to lose face in front of Bilbo.

Bilbo shrugged lightly and made to roll over, turning his back to Thorin. 'Well then. You don't have to know-'

Thorin grabbed his arm, stopping him from turning over. 'No. I want to know.' He paused, looking at Bilbo's brown eyes, thinking of the sunny green they'd been before. Did that mean they had been grey, too? 'Please.'

Bilbo looked pleased and sat up again, but didn't try to remove his arm from Thorin's grip. Instead he glanced at his wrist and then at Thorin in a silent invitation, a small smile on his face. Breathing suddenly unsteady, Thorin released his arm and with his large fingers - too clumsy for such small buttons - undid the cuffs, albeit with difficulty. When it was open Bilbo seemed to hold his breath and Thorin did too, Bilbo's skin being bared to him and making his thoughts wonder off on different paths entirely. Shaking himself and feeling Bilbo's gaze on him he pulled up the sleeve, revealing Bilbo's forearm.

And sat there dumbly, taking it in.

Because there, on Bilbo's forearm, grew leaves. Proper, living leaves grew from Bilbo's wrist up his arm. They were a golden, reddish brown now, matching his eyes; Thorin stared at Bilbo.

Bilbo's smile faltered as Thorin continued to stare at him dumbly and he started blushing scarlet, fumbling with his cuff to get it closed again.

'I'm sorry, I didn't think - I didn't tell you because-'

'Bilbo.' Thorin once again caught Bilbo's arm, stopping him from closing his cuff. Bilbo froze and gave a little gasp at the contact, looking at where Thorin's hand was now touching his skin - and one of the leaves. Thorin stared again at the leaf and then ever so gently, he touched it with his forefinger. It felt crisp and dry as real autumn leaves but softer, and it made Bilbo's breath catch.

'Do you have them on the other arm too?' Thorin whispered softly, and Bilbo nodded mutely, his eyes never leaving Thorin's even as the other moved to undo his other shirtsleeve. Thorin glanced down when it was open, seeing the other arm with its golden brown leaves. He looked back at Bilbo, who was chewing his lip as he watched Thorin.

Thorin let go of Bilbo and was grateful when he didn't move to cover his arms up again.

'Hobbits are creatures of the earth,' Bilbo said quietly, his smile once more returning to his face. 'We're connected to the seasons.'

'So these...leaves, they change with the seasons? And your hair and eyes, too?' Thorin asked. Bilbo nodded. 'What happens in winter?' he asked curiously.

'Well, the leaves drop off until spring-'

'They drop off?' Thorin asked in alarm. 'Doesn't that hurt?'

Bilbo laughed. 'Of course not! They grow back in the springtime anyway, so-'

'Still sounds painful to me,' Thorin said.

'Yes, well, I thought that about having a head as thick as rock, too,' Bilbo muttered, and smiled as Thorin scowled. 'But I appreciate your concern, Thorin,' he said lightly, and took Thorin's hands in his own. Thorin could feel where the stems sprouted from Bilbo's skin and he couldn't help himself; he stroked it ever so gently with the pad of his thumb. He was quite unprepared for the reaction it elicited from Bilbo, a sudden gasp and his head to fall back, eyes closed.

'I'm sorry,' he said immediately, but Bilbo just tightened his grip on Thorin's hands, preventing him from drawing away.

'You know, it'll be winter soon,' he said breathily, smirking at Thorin through his still half-closed eyes. 'They won't be here for much longer, and there's a lot you can still learn...' He looked at Thorin, his chest rising and falling sharply and the creamy triangle of his neck on display, driving Thorin to distraction. He hoped he wasn't misinterpreting Bilbo's message.

'Well then,' he replied, more than a little huskily. 'I suppose I'd better start right away.'

Bilbo smirked, and luckily for him, Thorin was a very quick learner.

Finis

A/N: I don't know what I've written. I just really liked the idea of hobbits being so linked to the seasons that they change with them.. ugh what is even my brain. Anyway, I do hope you enjoyed, and please let me know what you thought. :3