alkjira:

It started innocently enough,
like most things do.

–

 "Darling, could you dig up the dead rose bush at
the back? Next to the tree. You can’t miss it, it’s the only dead one. There’s
daisies on the other side of it; they’re the white ones.“

Thorin did not look up from the book he was reading.
“Of course. Would you like to further clarify how a dead bush looks? Draw
me a picture? Or should I wait for you to send a message to Ori and ask that he
draw it? Perhaps a map as well?”

“Like you know how to follow maps,” Bilbo
sniffed and Thorin’s mouth quirked up at one corner.

“Yes, dear.”

–

Armed with a spade Thorin made the short journey to
the back garden, not bothering to change clothes. Digging up a bush would be
easy enough.

–

Thorin had dealt with stone less stubborn than these
damned roots. And the thorns hadn’t had the sense to die with the rest of the
accursed plant, or perhaps they were now evil undead thorns, as they were
clearly out for blood.

“Do you know how many Orcs I’ve killed,” Thorin said as he glared down at the
stubborn undead weed.

The stubborn undead weed did not reply.

The scrapes on Thorin’s hands stung when he curled his hands in fists.

–

An hour later Bilbo went in search of his husband as he had no idea where
Thorin was and the rosebush was still standing; a grey-brown miserable
collection of sticks amongst the green.

Surely Thorin could not have gotten lost on his way to
the garden? 

Bilbo snickered a bit to himself. No, that would just be silly.

However, considering that he eventually found Thorin down in the
smithy he had to wonder if he’d been a bit too hasty.

“What are you doing?” Bilbo asked, after allowing himself a few moments’
observation of the way the muscles of Thorin’s arms and chest coiled and
bunched as he banged a hammer down at a red-hot piece of metal lying on the anvil.

“I’m making a new spade,” Thorin growled.
“I need a better weapon to deal with the monstrosity in your garden.”

For
a moment Bilbo thought that Thorin had found an actual monster in the garden.

“Oh, you mean the rosebush?”

“It’s evil,” Thorin said darkly.

“It’s a bush.”

“It’s
an evil bush. I think it’s undead.”

“What?”