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The anniversary creeps up on them, as it always does, slowly and out of nowhere, like the first frost painting hesitant sketches on the windows one morning. There is an ache within Thorin, older than his oldest scars, that always makes itself known this time of year, but he can sense this – its edges have been dulled, its impact lessened, over time.
Still, he need only wake up to know. Bilbo will be gentler around him today, more careful, as if it hasn’t been over a decade, as if Thorin still wakes up with the memory of dragonfire coursing through his veins.
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