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Chapter Text

Chapter 1

“What do you mean he’s asking for me? He shouldn’t be asking for anyone! He should be asleep, healing.” Bilbo Baggins propped his fists on his hips and glared up at Dwalin, his entire body trembling under the stress of the day, The Battle, Thorin’s condition.

“Laddie, you need to face it. He may not pull through. He wants to see you, just in case he doesn’t.” Dwalin placed a hand on his shoulder and tried to steer the hobbit towards the king’s tent where healers still worked diligently to save Thorin’s life and those of his nephews.

Bilbo froze at Dwalin’s words. His trembling increased and blood rushed loudly through his ears. “Right then,” he said. “Right. I’m coming.” He let his hands fall down to his sides and walked into the tent.

Chaos reigned inside the fabric walls and roof. Oin worked diligently over Fili, trying to save the prince. Others worked on Kili, including the elf maid he’d taken a shine to. Neither prince was awake, their skin pale as the ice and snow they’d been found on, and blood drying on their skin as fresh was quickly staunched as healers applied pressure to wounds.

“Bilbo.”

He fought to turn his gaze over to the king. Thorin lay prone on his back, thick bandages making his body bulkier than normal under the furs of his cot. They’d cleaned the blood from his face and arms and hands. Evidence of Oin’s work showed in all the bindings and stitches littering the dwarf’s body. The parts of it he could see at least.

“I’m here,” Bilbo said and knelt next to the cot, reaching for the hand struggling to rise. “None of that now. Save your strength,” he ordered.

Thorin’s smile bordered on a grimace. “I will try, but first I must make sure my kingdom will be secure in the event of my death and that of my heirs.”

“No. No.” Bilbo shook his head violently. “Don’t you even consider that a possibility. You’re going to get better.” He could feel his mouth setting in the hard, mulish line that had gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion during their journey and after, before the. Well. Before everything went pear-shaped.

“I must,” Thorin rasped. “Erebor needs someone to lead. I am told Fili and Kili’s chances are worse than my own so I must find a way to be sure Erebor will survive and thrive in our absences. Will you help me with this?”

Bilbo squared his shoulders. “What do you need?” he asked.

Thorin’s eyes drifted to the side and Balin stepped forward, mouth a grim line. Watching him, Bilbo knew the old advisor did not agree with the current course of action. Balin handed a   wooden box to Bilbo. He opened it and peered inside.

“Beads,” he said as a spark of alarm flashed through his head. “Why are you giving me beads? They look important. Thorin why are there beads?”

“I entrust my kingdom to you, Bilbo Baggins of Bag End,” Thorin said and coughed. Blood flecked his lips. He raised his hands, motioning for Bilbo to come closer. He did so, leaning over the injured and quite possibly dying king. “There is only one way to make sure Erebor goes to your hands and not to another not directly in my line, such as Dain.” He fell silent, as he clenched his jaw as if unable to continue.

“What? What is it?” Bilbo asked glancing between Thorin and Balin. “What must I do?”

“Marry him, laddie,” Balin said, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the admission.

“Ma-? Marry‽” Bilbo stammered. “I can’t- I’m not- Marry? But we’re both males!”

Balin tucked his thumbs into his belt. “We’ve told you how scarce dwarrowdams are,” he reminded Bilbo. “For us, such a relationship is entirely respectable and accepted. I take it hobbits are different?”

“I should say so!” Bilbo said and swallowed back the sudden tremor trying to infect his voice. “I mean, they exist, but they’re not acknowledged or spoken about. Completely unrespectable for us. No offense to your people.”

“I thought as much,” Balin said with a nod and a sigh.

Thorin closed his eyes, agony marring his features momentarily. “Then Erebor will fall into Dain’s hands, to be managed and ruled by the Iron Hills,” he sighed and another racking cough surged through him.

Bilbo stared at the dwarf, a strange pain flaring inside his chest. Thorin had worked so very hard to reclaim Erebor for his people, not for those in the Iron Hills. The sacrifices he’d made, the pain he’d endured, the humiliation, the degradation, everything to keep his people and his family alive. “It can just be a marriage in name, right?” he asked, his eyes shifting from the dwarf lying prone in front of him to Balin.

“Aye, it can be,” Balin said. “In times like these, our people would accept you as Prince Consort Under the Mountain, no matter the circumstances of your union as long as you both are willing.”

Bilbo’s nose twitched as he thought through the implications. He could marry Thorin. It could just be a marriage in name. No romance. No love. No nothing. Just a title given to save a kingdom. He fought down the choking feeling in the back of his throat. “I’ll do it,” he said and looked back down at Thorin in time to see a smile stretch across his lips, “but you must promise to try to live. I’d really rather not have to rule an entire mountain all on my own if you don’t mind.”

Thorin huffed a laugh and then grimaced in pain as the muscles around his lungs tried to contract in their half-destroyed state. “Balin will be by your side,” he promised, looking at his old friend who nodded in return.

“You have my word,” Balin said.

“Good. Good.” Bilbo said, nodding his head and trying to ignore the nervous butterflies battering the walls of his stomach. He looked down at his hands, at the box. “So, uh, why the beads?” he asked.

Thorin reached for the box and Balin took one of the beads out and handed it to him. “Come closer, Burglar,” Thorin ordered and Bilbo did as he was told.

“Weddings can be simple for us,” Balin explained as Thorin reached up and pulled out a section of Bilbo’s hair that sat next to his ear. It was getting long. The hobbit had intended to cut it once things settled down after they reached the mountain. He hadn’t had a chance yet. “All that must be done is a set of specific braids put in each other’s hair.”

Thorin tugged at his hair a bit, arms trembling from the effort of setting the braid in Bilbo’s hair. He held still, doing his best to make the process easy on Thorin, bending closer still. Finally, Thorin secured the bead to his new braid and his arms dropped to his sides, exhaustion pulling him into unconsciousness.

“So that’s it?” Bilbo asked, blinking in confusion. “Why is there another bead?”

“I’ll show you how to do the braid,” Balin said, “but you must put it in Thorin’s hair yourself.”

Bilbo watched as Balin went over to a bag and pulled out nine lengths of bandaging. He tied one set of the ends together on the rail of Thorin’s cot and told Bilbo to take the braid already near Thorin’s left ear and unravel it. Once Bilbo had done that, Balin started a complicated braid, going slowly so Bilbo could match the movements, combining some of the nine bandages into a single piece at times and separating it out at others. “Our marriage braids show who we are and to whom we are married. The first pattern is the braid that describes Thorin. King Under the Mountain, eldest brother, fighter, Oakenshield, master blacksmith, Azanulbizar survivor, and so on. He can tell you all of them when he recovers. The second pattern describes you. He has put together a very good start for yours,” Balin said and glanced at the braid in Bilbo’s hair. “Undoubtedly he’ll expand on it once he’s prepared to do so.”

“What does it mean now?” Bilbo asked, scrutinizing Balin’s work as they talked. He struggled to keep Thorin’s hair in order, to keep all the strands in his fingers. It was odd handling the king’s hair. As far as Bilbo knew, none of the others had touched each other’s hair except maybe Dori had done something with Ori’s a time or two.

“Not much,” Balin admitted. “Prince Consort to King Under the Mountain, sword fighter, story-teller, landowner, dwarf friend, fighter, shield braid, husband. A good start, as I said.” They worked in silence for a while. “Now you just repeat the patterns over until you reach the end of his hair.”

“Thanks,” Bilbo said, still concentrating on the hair in his fingers. He was careful not to pull. He wished he were better at this. He’d rather be taking the time to study his new husband, keep an eye on him and make sure he slept easily.

Finally, he reached the end of Thorin’s hair and placed the bead.

“I hate to drag you away laddie,” Balin said, “but there is work to be done and you must do it, now that you’re Prince Consort.”

Bilbo nodded, patted Thorin’s hand once, and left the tent, feeling a bit sick to his stomach. What had he just done?

 ~*~*~

Thorin, Fili, and Kili survived the night and were moved into the mountain along with all other wounded the next day. The process took the entire day and into the night. Bilbo directed people towards the Hall of Kings where the least grievously wounded would remain in the large room. Other smaller rooms near the forges were cleared out as best as they could be due to the short notice for the more seriously injured, the royal family included. Once all the healers knew where to go, he turned his attention to the kitchens, going to Bombur to find out how many supplies they had and how long they would last. The situation did not sound very good. He went to Dain and requested he return to the Iron Hills with those that were able and send back a supply of goods. He left Balin to work with the Dwarf Lord over price.

Nori found him at lunchtime.

“You’re doing good,” the former thief said, dropping into the chair next to Bilbo and digging into his own portion of that afternoon’s stew. “Current atmosphere in the mountain indicates no issues with you acting in place of your husband.”

Bilbo almost choked at the last word. He swallowed thickly and cleared his throat. “Are you spying on people?” the hobbit hissed.

“What?” Nori asked. “You thought I was brought along to just look pretty?” He smirked. “No, My Prince. Ever since I went to Thorin after he signed Ori on, he’s planned for me to be his spymaster, which I’m not supposed to know. You know, if we all survived.”

“Which we did,” Bilbo said, his eyes involuntarily flicking in the direction of the infirmary. He hadn’t had a chance to check on Thorin or the boys yet. He wondered if he could sneak away for a few minutes after lunch to see them. He doubted it. Balin seemed to have tasks for him at every turn.

“Aye, that we did,” Nori said with a chuckle. “Still amazes me at times. Thought for sure this was going to be my last heist.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you came along and I’m glad you’re now spymaster. I don’t think I would trust anyone else to do a better job.”

“Flatterer,” Nori accused. “Here comes Balin. Don’t work too hard.”

Bilbo wolfed down the last of his stew, using the chewy piece of flatbread he held to wipe up the last of the gravy in his bowl before Balin reached him.

“Come on laddie,” Balin said, “We’ve work yet to do this day.”

Bilbo nodded, going to pick up his bowl and return it to the kitchen staff.

Nori’s hand reached out and gathered the bowl towards him. “None of that now,” he said. “Let one of us lesser mortals take care of your dishes.” He winked up at Bilbo who huffed.

“That’s ridiculous. I can take care of my own things.”

“Worry about it later,” Balin ordered. “Bard is here to see you about aid for his people.”

 ~*~*~ 

The nights were the worst, Bilbo decided. He worked from sun up until well after sundown. When he was finally able to rest, he went to the infirmary where he would sit with Thorin, Fili, and Kili. More often than not, the elf maid Tauriel was there, hovering over the younger prince. He read to Thorin to pass some of the time. Sometimes, Bilbo fell asleep sitting in the chair next to Thorin’s bed, his schedule and the vigil he kept next to his friend, now husband (he still balked at the word) draining him of all energy. He dreamed of fire and gold and a dragon. He dreamed of dark caves and blood and a spindly creature that liked riddles. He dreamed of enormous spiders with burning blood and terrible voices. He dreamed of endless elven hallways and trapped friends he could hear but couldn’t find.

He woke one such night in the middle of facing down Smaug again, an ache in his back, but to the feel of fingers ghosting against his cheek. He blinked blearily in the dimmed lantern light, wondering if Balin was trying to gently wake him instead of the usual rough shake to the shoulder that usually earned the dwarf a solid hit to the arm or chest for his troubles.

“Am I late?” he asked groggily and rubbed his eyes, sitting upright.

“Can’t imagine you being late for something at three in the morning.”

The rough voice woke him entirely. He whipped his gaze up to meet tired, pained blue eyes.

“Thorin,” he breathed.

“Bilbo,” Thorin replied, a small smile tugging at his lips and removing some of the pained lines marring his features. His eyes shifted around the room. “Fili and Kili?” he asked.

“Still alive,” Bilbo said. “Tauriel has been helping. I hope you don’t mind I told her she could stay.”

“Tauriel?” Thorin asked, confused.

“The elf captain. Well, not captain anymore. Apparently threatening Thranduil is a good way to be banished from his court.”

“She threatened him?” There was a small amount of grudging glee in Thorin’s tone. Bilbo nodded. He sighed. “Must not be too bad a sort, as far as elves go.”

“Good,” Bilbo said, knowing better than to elaborate on the seeming devotion the elf had for Thorin’s youngest nephew. “Wait just a moment. I’ll send someone for Oin.”

He stood and started for the door but Thorin’s hand caught his wrist, the grasp weak but sure. “I did not dream it?” he asked, his eyes drifting over to the left side of Bilbo’s head. “We are married?”

Bilbo returned to his chair. “Yes, we are,” he said, as heat flooded his cheeks. Really? Thorin wakes up after days of unconsciousness and this is what he wants to talk about?

Thorin released him and relaxed back into his pillows. “Good,” he said.

With a raised eyebrow, Bilbo went to the door where one of Dain’s apprentice healers sat dozing in a chair, just in case something in the room happened. Bilbo roused him and sent him for the elderly healer before returning to Thorin’s side.

“Fili,” he said as he tried to look over at the young dwarf. “How is he?”

“He still sleeps,” Bilbo said. His throat tightened and hoped Thorin wouldn’t press for more. It would be better for Oin to tell him, knowing more in depth what was wrong with the two princes.

Thorin studied the sleeping pair. From here, Bilbo was sure that even Thorin would be able to hear the rattle that had settled into Fili’s chest whenever he breathed. “He’s worsening, isn’t he?”

Bilbo flinched. “Oin knows what-”

“Put them in the same bed.” Thorin turned back to Bilbo. “They have been together since Kili’s birth. Let them draw strength from each other or perish together.”

Bilbo nodded. “I’m sure we can arrange that.” He looked over at the boys. His nephews, he realized for the first time. He’d already thought of them as his family but now they were. He chuckled a little.

“What amuses you, Husband?” Thorin asked, fingers reaching out again, this time for Bilbo’s hand.

There’s that word again, Bilbo thought. Out loud, he told Thorin, “I was thinking of the boys. I’ve considered them family for months, but now they are. I don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me sooner.”

“They will be pleased to know you are now their uncle,” Thorin said with a warm smile.

Bilbo opened his mouth to reply but Oin bustled in at that moment and set him to getting supplies to help in checking Thorin over. By the time Oin was satisfied with his improving condition, Thorin looked absolutely drained and ready to fall back into unconsciousness. He even seemed to doze for a moment while Oin looked at his foot, examining the stitches carefully. He startled awake when the healer started wrapping clean bandages across the injury, bumping it slightly.

“You’ll survive,” Oin finally decreed. “Give him this for the pain after he eats,” he said and handed Bilbo a little bottle. “I’ll have the kitchen send something up that he should be able to handle without problems. Send for me if anything changes. I’ll send someone in to move the princes.” He left.

Thorin looked up at Bilbo, eyelids already drooping as sleep pulled him back into oblivion. “Will you wake me when the food arrives? I’m starving.”

“Can’t have a starving king in his own kingdom, now can we?” Bilbo asked. “Sleep Thorin. I’ll wake you.” He placed his hand on Thorin’s forehead and drew it down his long nose. The dwarf’s eyes closed at the motion and remained that way until Bilbo woke him a short time later, only to eat, take the painkiller offered, and fall asleep once again.

He’ll live, Bilbo thought, relief surging through him as he watched the king sleep for a time. Anxiety chased the feeling. He was married to the King Under the Mountain who was now expected to survive his wounds from battle. How in Yavanna’s Garden was he supposed to explain that to his relatives back in the Shire? The breach in propriety was undoubtedly going to turn him into a social pariah. And what of Bag End? His books? His armchair? He was Prince Consort to a kingdom halfway across the world. Did he just leave it all behind? Clearly, he hadn’t thought everything through when he’d married Thorin.

“Well done Bilbo,” he murmured to himself and heaved himself up from his chair. He’d return to his own bed, really his bedroll on a cot but who really cared? He needed sleep if he was going to function through all the meetings and decisions he’d need to make the next day. Hopefully, his nephews would pull through now that they were together. He’d start his day by checking on them, no matter what Balin wanted him to do.

Chapter Text

Surprisingly enough, it took an entire week for Thorin to decide he was sick of the infirmary and was leaving. Fili and Kili were improving ever since their uncle suggested they be put in the same bed. Almost instantly from the moment they were placed side by side, Fili reached out for his brother, even in sleep. They’d been holding each other’s hands ever since.

Thorin fought and argued with Balin, Bilbo, and Oin until they relented and allowed him to leave the infirmary as long as he promised to return daily for Oin to check over his injuries. He also had to rest regularly and was forbidden from any and all physically straining activity until further notice from the healer.

Bilbo met him as he was readying to leave late one evening after dinner had been served to all.

“I have a surprise for you,” he said, linking his hands behind his back and rocking onto his toes and then back to his heels.

Thorin took a moment to enjoy the small but eager smile on the hobbit’s face. “Do you now?” he asked and accepted the cane passed to him by one of the healers under Oin. He felt underdressed in only a tunic, trousers, and a light pair of shoes. He wanted his armor and furs and heavy boots. He felt vulnerable dressed so lightly. Is this how Bilbo felt all the time with nothing more than a shirt, waistcoat, and breeches? He’d taken to wearing a coat at all times, Thorin noticed, even now wearing one in wine red, similar to the one he’d been wearing when he’d chased them down all those months ago.

“Yes. Follow me.”

Thorin limped along next to the hobbit, shaking his head to the offered assistance. He was injured, not dying. He could handle walking a bit through his own mountain.

He regretted his decision less than ten minutes later. He’d forgotten how draining deep wounds and long healings were. The deep aches in his chest started to spread to his limbs and his foot throbbed with each step. Still, he gimped on, refusing to show weakness to his husband.

And wasn’t that still an amazing adjustment? Bilbo had agreed to marry him. Had married him. Granted that had been on what should have been his deathbed and only for the good of the kingdom, but the union still existed. Now that Thorin would undoubtedly survive his wounds, barring some stupidity on his part, he wondered what the hobbit thought of their marriage. Should he bring it up? Should he leave it alone? Should he-

“Ah, here we are.”

Thorin blinked and glanced around his surroundings. They were familiar in the way remembering a childhood dream is familiar. He studied the hallway, so like many others in the mountain but with subtle differences. He reached out a hand and touched one of the doors, fingers tracing along an ancient engraving of seven stars.

“I know this place,” he said. Phantom laughter barraged his ears and he glanced to his right, half expecting to see a young dwarf, beard barely growing in, and overall appearance rather reminiscent of Kili’s if one ignored the blond hair and blue eyes on the ghost of memory. But the bone structure in his face was almost identical. Except the shape of the nose. Kili had his father’s nose. Frerin had Thrain’s. “Is it really still intact?” he asked as he tried to banish the ghostly fantasy.

“See for yourself,” Bilbo urged, nodding at a door. A door Thorin had opened countless times as a youth with little to no thought of the action. Apprehension flared inside him. Did he dare? Would the memories be too much? Did he deserve to remember some of the better things that had happened here? Would he only remember the hardships? Steeling himself, he reached out with a shaking hand he blamed on his fatigue and twisted the handle. The door swung in easily, the hinges not making a single sound. A shiver ran down his spine as memories bombarded him, even before he stepped into the room. Memories of Frerin standing in this very doorway with the devilish smirk that said he was up to no good. Toddling Dis, little more than a pebble, peaking around the jamb as she observed her much older brother don the light armor he wore for court appearances. His father standing straight and strong, ordering him out of bed and to the training yards. His grandfather walking past the doorway, seemingly in a daze as he sank deeper into gold madness.

It took Thorin a moment to beat the memories back enough to step into his old rooms. Rooms he’d left over a century before.

Someone had cleaned. No dust clung to the walls and floors. There were no cobwebs, no present signs of decay. Some of the furnishings had been removed, probably rotten over time. Some had been replaced by pieces that must have fared better in the long absence of any living dwarrow.

The sitting room was almost bare. The armchairs would have been eaten by moth and any small vermin that would have invaded the mountain through the ventilation system. No evidence showed of their presence within his rooms, however.

A few books sat atop his old, little-used desk, just as he’d left them, a miracle they had survived over the years. Someone had painstakingly cleaned them, probably Ori. Weaponry gleamed from the racks around the room and a set of plate armor stood at attention on the dummy in the corner. He took it all in, breathing deeply as he tried to keep the memories under control. He didn’t think he would be able to escape them for days if he allowed them to swamp them like they threatened to. He went to the double doors on the far side of the room and shoved them open.

Very little had changed in here.

His bed still remained but the blankets had changed, been stripped and replaced by what looked like bedrolls that had been pulled apart. None were near large enough to cover the overly large mattress. Still, it looked like the most comfortable thing he’d seen since Bilbo’s home in the Shire. The chest holding the beads, jewels, and rings of his youth sat on a small table next to one wall. He wondered if it all still remained or if someone had chosen something new from the treasury.

“Thorin?” Bilbo’s voice broke through his musings and the edges of memory.

“How did you find the time?” he asked. “Balin said you’d taken over all aspects of ruling while I recovered.”

Bilbo stepped up next to him, eyes darting around the spacious room, taking in the carvings and tapestries along the walls. “I had help,” he admitted. “You brought us all here, gave your people a home again. The others, that is, the rest of the Company, wanted you to have your own space. Balin mentioned that the royal quarters seemed undamaged so I thought it might be comforting to you to return to these rooms. Dwalin told me which were yours.”

Thorin took a moment to swallow back the thick sensation in the back of his throat. He’d have to remember to thank his oldest and dearest friends when next he saw them.

“Thank you,” he finally said, and almost cringed at how horribly choked and raspy his voice sounded. Hardly befitting of a king.

But then, at this moment, he didn’t feel like a king. Just a dwarf finally returning home after a far too long absence. Home. He was finally home. It was time to bring his people home too. Should he wait to write Dis until Fili's and Kili’s fates were known? Should he write to her immediately? He frowned at the thought. The last thing he wanted was to be murdered by his sister the moment she arrived, even if her sons survived, just because he’d let them get so grievously injured.

He pushed the thoughts away. The letters could wait until tomorrow at the very least. He wandered deeper into his rooms, fingers trailing across familiar surfaces and carvings. He poked his head into the bathroom and nearly sighed in delight. The plumbing seemed to be intact. At least, the tub still had water circulating through it and it looked clean. Steam wafted from the surface faintly.

He continued his walk around his room until he returned to Bilbo’s side. The hobbit hadn’t left the doorway. The familiar warmth invaded him at the close proximity of him and he couldn’t help wrapping his arms around his husband at that moment even as more memories bombarded him from every direction. He breathed deeply, letting the familiar smell of the hobbit wash over him and push the memories away briefly, clearing his head.

“I could not have asked for a better gift,” he said softly. He started to gather his will to pull away when small arms hesitantly came up to lay parallel along his spine in an awkward hug. They stood there a few moments more until the ache in Thorin’s foot started to become more painful than he really cared to experience any longer, not with a real bed right behind him.

He released Bilbo slowly, moving his hands so that they rested on his upper arms. He pressed their foreheads together gently, a wide grin spreading on his face when Bilbo did not pull back but pressed back slightly. He shifted his weight just enough that he could lift his injured foot off the floor slightly.

“Everyone’ll be happy to know you like it,” Bilbo said as he leaned back and Thorin released him.

“I’ll thank them all personally in the morning. Now, I think I’d like to make use of a real bed for the first time in what feels like an Age and a half.”

Bilbo laughed. “That I can understand,” he said. “I’ll leave you to it then.” He turned to go.

“Burglar?” Thorin asked. “Where are you going?”

“To bed,” Bilbo said uncertainly, his eyebrows coming together in confusion.

Thorin paused for a minute, thinking of why he would leave. Perhaps it was a cultural difference? “Do hobbits not share a bed after they’re married?” he asked, trying to understand.

Bilbo’s face flushed instantly and Thorin tried not to scowl. Why in Mahal’s name would Bilbo think he should sleep elsewhere? When Bilbo’s fingers seemed to involuntarily reach for the braid near his left ear, Thorin became even more confused. Were his memories wrong? Or perhaps this was just hobbit propriety reasserting itself? He could remember Bilbo balking at marrying another male but ultimately acquiescing, couldn't he? Had he missed something?

“Hobbits do,” Bilbo said and cleared his throat. “I just – we aren’t – oh dear.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “Are you sure you want me here?” he asked.

Thorin looked over at the bed. “Of course I do,” he said. “You’re my husband and there’s plenty of room for both of us.”

Bilbo flinched at his words.

What was going on with the hobbit?

“Right,” Bilbo huffed and then, “Right then,” and started toward the door again. “I’ll just get my things, shall I?” He didn’t wait for Thorin to respond, just scurried out of the room.

With confusion swirling around in his head, Thorin went over to the large chest of drawers and started inspecting the contents. He found clothing, styles from centuries before but still serviceable. Items that must have been packed away in such a way that they would withstand time. He pulled out a clean shirt and trousers and started changing, cringing as his wounds protested the movements. He still finished well before Bilbo returned. He sat down on the edge of the bed, breathing deeply and pushing the pain away. He needed to think.

If Bilbo didn’t want to share his bed, then why did the hobbit agree to marry him in the first place? As husbands, they would be expected to share quarters. Granted, he could move them into the king and queen’s rooms where they would have separate bedrooms but even then, if anyone realized both of the beds were regularly being used, it could cause problems for Bilbo. Thorin knew his own mind, but the hobbit seemed confused at the very least.

Could it be Bilbo was worried about a physical relationship with him?

He’d said that two members of the same gender didn’t openly have a romantic relationship in the Shire. At least, that’s how Thorin had interpreted what he remembered of the hobbit’s statement. Some of those moments were still a bit blurry, with bits and pieces missing. He’d seemed almost appalled by the idea.

Thorin swung his legs up onto the bed and started burrowing under the blankets there, groaning in pleasure as he stretched out on his back. A bed. A real bed. Such a luxury it seemed.

“Enjoying your gift?”

Thorin looked to the side and brought his arms back down to his sides. “I cannot remember the last time I was so comfortable,” he admitted to the hobbit that gently closed the bedroom door behind himself. “Wounds and all.”

Bilbo’s smile was shaky but present and Thorin frowned a bit. “Do you have a preference on which side to sleep on?” he asked. Perhaps if he just ignored Bilbo’s discomfort all would be well. Something inside him squirmed at addressing Bilbo’s hesitation to sleep next to him. He wasn't sure he wanted the answers to his questions.

“No, not really,” Bilbo said and hesitantly climbed onto the bed as far from Thorin as possible.

“Extinguish the lamp when you’re ready to sleep,” Thorin said and rolled onto his side. Maybe if he treated the entire experience as if nothing were different, Bilbo would calm and find contentment. A few minutes later, the light went out, leaving only the fire in the grate to provide light. Bilbo shuffled and shifted for a while before going still. Thorin continued to wait until the hobbit was completely asleep before rolling back to his back and staring up at the ceiling.

Assuming Bilbo’s hesitance wasn’t due to Thorin almost killing him in his madness, it was clear the hobbit saw their marriage as purely political. The former seemed unlikely, considering how often Thorin had woken after The Battle to find the hobbit at his side or learned that Bilbo had spent time waiting for him to come around between each moment of lucidity. The latter, the exact opposite. Thorin had told him he needed someone to rule Erebor in the event of his and his sister-sons’ deaths. Which was true. It really was. But not the entire truth.

He’d known since he’d walked through the hobbit’s door.

Bilbo was his One.

And what a shock that had been. He'd spent weeks trying to push Bilbo away, protesting to Mahal at the difficulty, the unfairness of the situation.

But that was in the past. Now, he was married to his One, already deeply in love with him. Anyone with eyes could see that whenever they caught a glimpse of the mithril shirt Bilbo wore. Even in his gold-induced psychosis, he’d recognized the need to give courting gifts. Granted, he hadn’t made the relic but it could be argued the value of it as well as the practicality made that tradition unnecessary to follow that strictly. Still, he’d get to the forges as soon as Oin allowed him to work and make something for the hobbit with his own hands.

The problem in the situation lay in Bilbo’s seeming absolute abhorrence for having such a relationship with another male. The idea that Bilbo wasn't comfortable with the notion grated against Thorin. He’d heard Men frowned on such relations but hadn’t heard of it in other cultures. Dwarrow had no such reservations. It was impractical with how few dwarrowdam there were.

But back to the matter at hand. If Bilbo truly was against a relationship with him, what would he do? Could Thorin handle being this close to his One, to be married to him, to share a bed with him, but never know the depth of intimacy that true partners experienced? Not just the physical aspects but the emotional and intellectual as well? Thorin heaved a sigh. For Bilbo’s sake, he would.

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to win the hobbit’s affection. Oh no. He had refused to offer courtship (no matter how often Dwalin poked and prodded and teased him to do so during the quest) until after the mountain was claimed. He couldn’t bring himself to win Bilbo over only to have him taken from him when they faced the dragon.

Perhaps he should have done so anyway. Perhaps, if he’d had that kind of bond with Bilbo he wouldn’t have endangered his life the way he had in his madness.

But hindsight was useless in this. All he could do now was try. Try to win Bilbo’s heart, to see if he truly did not have an interest in another male (a rare occurrence but still possible when considering dwarrow Ones), or if it was just his cultural expectations keeping him from displaying his true affections.

First, Thorin needed to heal. He needed to be able to work. To function without assistance. To fulfill his role as King Under the Mountain.

Mahal, give him the strength to accomplish those tasks placed before him.

~*~*~

When Thorin woke, Bilbo was still asleep but had rolled toward him. Still not close enough to be touching but perhaps close enough to gain some warmth or comfort.

Gingerly, Thorin climbed out of the bed and dressed for the day. He spared a longing look at his armor. He would feel absolutely exposed without it but he did not believe for one second he was strong enough to wear it.

Still, he took up Orcrist and strung the blade onto his hip, the weight of it familiar and comforting.

Dwalin waited for him out in the corridor.

“You keep to Oin’s orders?” the taller dwarf grumbled. “Or am I going to find popped stitches on you because you were too eager to finally have the burglar in your bed?”

Thorin glared at Dwalin. “Nothing happened,” he groused, unable to decide if his sudden bad mood was due to Dwalin’s reminder of his condition heaped upon his inability to don his armor, his current limited abilities, or the despair at knowing Bilbo obviously had no desire to be intimate with him at this point in their relationship, even if he were properly healed. Dwalin rubbing in the fact didn’t help at all. “You can tell Oin I slept without interruption for the entirety of the night.”

Dwalin snorted.

Thorin ignored him. “What needs seeing to first?” he asked. “I assume Balin sent you up here to follow me around?”

“You’re King now,” Dwalin reminded him. “You have to have a guard with you at all times.”

“And Bilbo?”

“Balin will stay with him. Has been so far since you married. Only expected anyway, considering he’s the most knowledgeable in running a kingdom.”

Thorin nodded. “Where to first?” he asked again.

“Right here.” Nori stepped away from the doorway he’d been leaning against and held up a bit of parchment. “Just got word from Lira. She sends details of the current state in Ered Luin.”

Thorin noticed the bottom of the parchment was torn. Probably a personal portion of the letter that the thief had removed so Thorin wouldn’t be privy to his private correspondence with his One. He cringed internally, still not feeling settled about Nori’s acceptance of having signed the contract to go on the quest when he’d met his One only weeks before their departure. Maybe he should have let Lira accompany them.

“Quit brooding,” Nori quipped. “Lira and I can handle being apart for a while yet.”

“Years?” Thorin asked.

Nori’s mouth settled into a determined line. “We’ll manage,” he said and handed over the letter.

Thorin read the neat, angular runes.

N-

EL still standing. D competent ruler in face of adversity. D still waiting on correspondence from TO. Send word soon. Small pockets of unrest. Dealt with. Details to follow by secure means. First group set to depart upon D’s orders. Two watchers in group. Possible issues in four. Names below. Roads wet but passable. Send word of conditions your side of MM. Will advise D.

Wudgurd, son Furgurd

Kur, son Kuwah.

Iondrood, son Iondrawl

Omri, daughter Bainri

The note ended after the four names. Thorin looked up at Nori. “I’ll send word to Dis. I assume you’ll write your own response to Lira?”

“Already started,” Nori said. “I’ll advise they not journey until the spring thaws in Ered Luin.”

Thorin nodded. “I’ll make sure my sister is given the same advice.”

The former thief nodded and turned to walk away.

“Nori,” Thorin called and he stopped to look over his shoulder. “Thank you, for your sacrifice. If you wish to return to Ered Luin now that your contract is fulfilled, you may.”

The dwarf smirked and sighed. “My Lira would get mad,” he said. “There’s work to do here, just as there’s work for her to do there. We’ll keep your kingdoms under control while they’re separate.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and sauntered away, disappearing into a darkened hallway.

Thorin had no doubt Nori had already started mapping out Erebor’s ways, finding hidden places that would be useful to him. He sighed, wondering, not for the first time, just how smart it was to have Ered Luin’s arguably most talented thief as a member of his company, let alone to be considering asking him to remain as permanent spymaster once his One arrived in the mountain. The two were invaluable with their abilities to find any information they weren’t supposed to have.

Well, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. If things went according to the plans he and Dis had made, the final caravan would arrive in around three years.

Shaking his head at the dwarf, Thorin continued to his first meeting with dwarrow lords since he’d left Ered Luin and asked help from the other dwarrow lords before meeting up with his Company in the Shire.

Either he was out of practice with dealing with bureaucracy or he needed more time to heal. He’d been doing well, following the line of conversation and making his own comments as he saw fit as he was updated on the repairs to the front gate and other important areas of the city when suddenly, he blinked, and Bilbo was at his side, trying to get him to wake.

Thorin sat up straight in his chair, his eyes turning toward the hobbit in distress. How long had he been asleep? Dain and his men, as well as the members of his Company that had been present for the discussion, were all standing and milling about, preparing to leave.

“No one minded,” Bilbo told him. “They all know you’re still recovering and apparently pushing yourself too hard.” His eyebrows came down in a disapproving scowl.

“I’m fine,” Thorin grumbled, more embarrassed than anything at his actions.

Bilbo snorted. “Of course you are,” he drawled. “Come on. Let’s get you something to eat and then you can sleep in your own bed for a while. Get some real rest.”

He let the hobbit tug him to his feet and hand him the blasted cane he needed in order to walk. They made their way to the old dining halls near the kitchens. Bombur had been hard at work since the end of the Battle and soldiers and healers and all others that marched with armies needed to be fed. As soon as he had the workers, he set them to cleaning the ancient kitchens, testing everything to see what worked and what didn’t. It wasn’t long before he had a mostly functional kitchen and a clean dining room where all could eat.

Once situated at a table, Bilbo went to fetch food for them. Thorin looked around him at the scarred faces of soldiers, the tired faces of dwarrow accomplishing tasks that they had originally not planned to do, and tried to see the rising of his people. Erebor had once been a great kingdom with artisans and craftsman, engineers and architects, entertainers and soldiers, and all other manner of dwarrow. Now there were so few to start the work. Could he rebuild the entire kingdom with such a mismatched populace?

“Stop your brooding,” Bilbo ordered as he took a seat next to Thorin and passed him the bowl of thick, hearty stew and the large slice of dark, warm bread studded with dried fruits he carried.

“I’m not brooding. I’m thinking deeply,” Thorin groused and bent to his meal. Fatigue still pulled on his bones and his foot ached fiercely, let alone his chest.

Bilbo snorted. “If you say so,” he said, not sounding the least bit sincere as he tore a small piece off his bread and popped it into his mouth, sighing in satisfaction. “Bombur is amazing,” he declared. “The things he can make with such little to work with.”

“Are we in danger of running out of food?” Thorin asked as he tried to ignore the delighted sound Bilbo made when he tasted his stew. He couldn't quite remember what had been said about their rations.

“No,” he said. “Dain went back to the Iron Hills while you were unconscious. He came back with enough supplies to withstand a siege apparently. He also brought foods that would last and not a wide variety of them at that.”

Thorin nodded, relief crashing through him for a moment. One less thing to worry about. They’d have the food to survive the winter. After that, he could work on starting trade routes with the nearest cities and spread his work outward. He would have to consult Balin and Ori about any maps and trade reports that still existed and what trade they may be able to reopen. It would not be an inexpensive endeavor, but they had the funds to do so.

“Stop your worrying for ten minutes, would you?” Bilbo asked. “Eat.”

Thorin took a bite of the bread automatically.

Bilbo sighed. “If you can’t leave the problems alone, tell me what you’re thinking. Perhaps I can help.”

“Establishing trade come spring,” Thorin said. “We will not be able to live off Dain’s supplies much after the thaws and we will want to have trade open with other cities before the first caravans arrive from Ered Luin.”

“That’s a priority to worry about in a month or two,” Bilbo said. “Perhaps we should worry more about the mountain itself for now.”

“What do you mean?” Thorin asked as he absently took another bite. He didn’t miss the smile tug at Bilbo’s lips at the sight though and bit into his bread, hoping to prolong the expression.

“Smaug damaged a lot of the mountain, both when he first arrived and when he was chasing us around. According to Bofur, not everything is structurally sound. He’s hoping to be able to put a team together to start finding out what areas are safe and what repairs are needed.”

“The gate must be repaired first,” Thorin said. At Bilbo’s irritated look, he held up a hand to forestall the angry tirade he expected was coming. “Not because we don’t trust the men or elves to not take advantage of our vulnerable position. I’d imagine that any day the snows will start in earnest. We will want the gates repaired to keep out as much of the cold as possible. The forges, when all are lit, can keep the entire mountain warm. We will limit which are burning for the time being to the areas we inhabit in order to conserve fuel but we will also need to start mining coal again before too long so those mines should be a priority for Bofur to check over. Balin should be able to find the records of which mines those are. We will consult him after lunch.”

“I will consult him,” Bilbo said. “You will go back to bed and rest.”

Thorin thought about arguing but the embarrassment from that morning still burned in his gut. He agreed reluctantly.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Thorin healed slowly. Bilbo watched him surreptitiously but attentively. Thorin still noticed the attention but chose not to comment.

For his part, Thorin worried over Bilbo and his continued unease in his presence when they were alone. A week or so after Thorin quit his sick bed, a runner sprinted into the meeting he was having with some of Dain’s men and the Lord of the Iron Hills himself. Thorin shifted in his seat, fighting the drowsiness pulling at him. He still struggled to stay awake for an entire day’s worth of work.

The runner went to Bilbo as another shouting match broke out between Dwalin and Dain’s guard captain. Others joined in until Bilbo climbed onto the table and shouted “Enough!” Every eye turned to the hobbit who just glared at them all.

“This is Erebor,” he reminded the dwarrow of the Iron Hills. “Captain Dwalin leads the soldiers and guard within the mountain. You were told that if you could not serve under him you were welcome to stay out of these meetings and prepare to return to the Iron Hills where your station is greatly appreciated I’m sure. Now, make your choice. Will you stay and serve beneath Captain Dwalin or will you remove yourself from this meeting and from Erebor with the first group that leaves in two days?”

A few sat sullenly back in their chairs, arms crossed and practically pouting in defiance but not leaving.

Thorin fought down the proud smile that tried to overtake his face. It seemed that Bilbo had no trouble handling dwarrow style negotiating on a basic level. He’d taken charge very well during his absence, he’d been told. Now he just had to convince the hobbit he’d get more done if he were to occasionally brandish the little letter opener he liked to call a sword.

“Good,” Bilbo said. “Right. This meeting is being adjourned for today. We will reconvene tomorrow morning.” He climbed down from the table and went over to Thorin. “Come on,” he said, trying to lever the king out of his chair. “We’re heading to the infirmary.”

“I’m fine Bilbo,” Thorin said a bit exasperatedly. “Just a bit tired is all.”

Bilbo huffed. “Not for you. Fili’s awake.”

Thorin lurched to his feet. “Why didn’t you say so?” he asked and grabbed his cane. He limped as quickly as he could out of the room with Bilbo jogging to keep up with him.

They arrived just in time to hear Fili ask, “Three?” in a small, hopeful tone of voice that Thorin hadn’t heard in years, despite the hoarse quality of it. He leaned against the door jamb as memory washed over him, a young dwarfling, little more than a pebble asking if he could hold his new baby brother, a dwarfling being handed his first practice sword, a mature dwarf eager to prove himself to his king-uncle against a dragon and other unknown perils.

“Aye,” Oin said, catching a glimpse of Thorin from where he worked. “Three.” He jerked his head toward where he and Bilbo stood.

Fili looked horrible. Pale with red-rimmed eyes and sunken cheeks. He still held his brother’s hand, Thorin noticed. “Uncle Thorin?” the dwarf asked in a choked voice, sounding even more like the dwarfling of so long ago.

“You had us worried, Fili,” Thorin tried to sound stern but only fondness and relief managed to bleed into his voice.

“Sorry,” Fili croaked and a hint of the familiar only partially apologetic smile tugged at his lips. He seemed to be trying not to blink and Thorin could easily understand the feeling. He feared that if he were to look away, his nephew would disappear, or fall back asleep and never wake again. “The others?”

He should have known. “All survived,” Thorin told him, proud of his nephew for his concern for his closest companions. “You and Kili are the worst.”

“Bilbo?” A strange strangled note entered his nephew's tone.

Thorin moved aside as his consort moved forward. “Here, Fili. I’m here,” the hobbit said and Thorin let his hand drop onto his shoulder, trying to hide the fact that he still needed to lean on Bilbo or his cane for help with his balance. Fili’s eyes widened and Thorin wondered if he were being as subtle as he had hoped. Apparently not.

Thorin gave his nephew one last smile and shook his head when Fili’s eyes focused on the dwarrowdam at his feet that was preparing something for him on Oin’s orders. Bilbo wrapped an arm around Thorin’s waist and started pulling him away from the doorway. He tried to ignore the heat that spread across his back at the contact.

“What a relief,” Thorin said once they were alone, or as alone as they were able to get outside their rooms. Dwalin stood nearby, as always. Thorin really needed to make him take a day to himself on occasion. “Fili will recover.”

“Dis is still going to kill ye,” Dwalin muttered from nearby.

Thorin ignored him but Bilbo cast an irritated glare at the tall dwarf. “I’m sure they knew the risks when they joined the mad venture,” the hobbit sniped right back at the dwarf.

“They may have been warned of the risks but I doubt they fully understood them,” Thorin conceded. “They are young yet.”

“She’s still going to chop ye into tiny bits with that ax of hers.”

Thorin rolled his eyes at his friend’s far too delighted tone. “Don’t you have a thief to catch or something?” he demanded.

Dwalin shook his head as he once again took up his position behind Thorin as they headed to find something to eat. “Nope. The only thief in the mountain is off limits for me to arrest. King’s orders apparently.”

Thorin grumbled under his breath but continued walking.

~*~*~

A week later, a runner came to find Thorin and Bilbo in their rooms in the dead of night. If it had been for any other reason, Thorin would have taken the lad’s head off. As it was, Thorin barely took the time to throw on his lightweight shoes before heading for the infirmary, limping heavily on his aching foot.

Bilbo caught up to him and passed him his cane not too far into his rushed gimping along the corridors. He paused long enough to thank Bilbo before taking off again.

Fili and Kili still lay next to each other but this time, the younger prince blinked blearily at the doorway when Thorin came to stand there and drink in the sight of his nephew with cautious optimism.

“Uncle?” Kili asked quietly. “Is it really you?”

Thorin breathed a bit easier. “Yes, Kili. It’s me.”

The dwarf scrutinized him, blinking heavily. “Why is there a marriage braid in your hair? And who is it for? I don’t recognize the second pattern.”

An awkward cough next to Thorin drew Kili’s attention. “That would be me,” Bilbo admitted, hands fidgeting as if he didn’t quite know what gesture to use in the situation.

Kili looked back and forth between the two, taking in their appearance before sighing. “Took you long enough Uncle,” he said with a small smirk and a chuckle that set him wincing against the pain in his still-healing chest.

“None of that now.” Thorin fought to keep the growl out of his voice and to not glance guiltily at Bilbo. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” Kili admitted. “In pain.” He raised one bandaged hand to touch at the thick bandages covering his chest. “Feel like I got stomped on by a dragon.”

“Not quite,” Bilbo said with a smile. “You should rest. We just wanted to see you awake for ourselves.”

“Here I am,” the dwarf said with weak cheer, raising a hand in greeting from his prone position. He refused to release his brother’s hand. “Oin said Fili woke?”

“About a week ago,” Thorin said. “You’ll both survive, though some wounds will take longer to heal if they ever do.”

“Fili’s leg?” Kili asked quietly.

“Aye, that’s one of the worst ones,” Thorin confirmed.

“Oin said if he works hard he may heal entirely from it,” Bilbo added quickly.

“That’s good,” Kili said. “I’m glad.” He relaxed his head back. “I’m so tired,” he added.

“Sleep,” Thorin ordered. “There will be time for further words later.”

Kili nodded, eyes already drifting shut. Oin nodded from across the room. “They’ll both pull through,” the healer confirmed when Thorin looked to him.

The king took his leave then and he and Bilbo walked back to their rooms at a much slower pace.

Once they were back in the room alone, Thorin sat heavily on the bed, his head falling into his hands and a deep sigh escaping him as his shoulders slumped in relief. He heard Bilbo shuffle around for a minute before their door opened and closed again. He didn’t know if he should chase after the burglar as dismay coursed through him or thank him when he returned for the opportunity to deal with the turmoil of guilt, relief, happiness, and lingering fear churning inside his aching, healing chest.

He decided on the latter, taking as deep of breaths as his wounds would allow. He could deal with this. His sister-sons, his heirs, would live through their injuries. He wouldn’t have to tell his baby sister that he’d gotten her little dwarflings killed. They would live and grow and, someday, Fili would be crowned king after him and Kili would be there to support him, perhaps rule alongside if that was Fili’s wish. It wasn’t unheard of for siblings to rule together if the royal heir was unwed. Fili had once confided that he had never felt the Longing. Kili had never admitted one way or the other.

But he was getting off topic. He needed to deal with the feeling that was threatening to overwhelm him in either a fit of hysterical laughter or guilt-ridden relieved tears. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

The door opened and the sound of china clinking caught his attention. He peaked over the tips of his fingers and met Bilbo’s eyes briefly before the hobbit turned to set the tea service he carried onto a table.

The laughter sounded like a much better choice all of a sudden.

“I have found a good cup to tea helps,” Bilbo said as he started pouring two cups for them.

“Helps what?” Thorin asked gruffly, amused despite himself. His fussy hobbit once again showing the genteel nature he’d had at the beginning of everything when Thorin and his company had invaded Bilbo’s little hole in a hillside.

“Everything,” Bilbo said. “Come. Sit.” He indicated one of the two chairs placed before the fire. Thorin did as ordered. He watched as Bilbo fixed a cup of tea the exact way Thorin took his before handing it over to him. Bilbo joined him with his own cup moments later.

Bemused, Thorin sipped at his tea and let the warmth dig its way into the cold that had settled in his chest, the cold that he struggled to chase away that clung around his healing wounds. Oddly, sitting there before the fire next to his husband with a dainty cup of tea in one hand did seem to help settle the turmoil that was his emotions after some time. It was no keg of ale and a good brawl with Dwalin, but it did seem to help in its own quiet way.

“Better?” Bilbo asked as he set his own cup aside.

Thorin hummed noncommittally and set his cup on the little table between the chairs next to Bilbo’s. “Not my usual preference,” he admitted but continued when Bilbo’s expression took on a forced edge to it, “but satisfying in its own way.”

Bilbo only smiled and stared back into the fire. “If you want to talk, I’m here,” he said after a time.

Thorin looked at the hobbit, turning just enough that his husband would see his raised eyebrow. As he suspected, Bilbo flushed bright red when he saw the expression. “Not that you need to talk or anything but if you do- that is to say- what I meant was...”

“They are my sister’s sons,” Thorin said, taking pity on the flustered hobbit. “Their father died before Kili was born, before Dis even knew she was carrying him. She loved Vili deeply and will probably never marry again, not where he was her One. I knew this would be the case when I heard of his death. With no one else there, I took on the responsibilities of their father. As such, I have a hard time remembering that they are not my own at times.”

“And to see them so injured is difficult for you,” Bilbo surmised.

Thorin barked a short laugh and groaned as his chest protested. “Injuries can heal. If that were all, I wouldn’t have worried, but they were fading Bilbo.” He dropped his head back into his hands, fingers sliding into his hair. “I could not have faced Dis again if they had perished after following my orders, if I had truly gotten them killed and lived when they did not.”

Bilbo was shaking his head. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said adamantly and Thorin wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe that Fili and Kili made their own decisions upon their own thoughts without outside influences, but he knew better. They were impulsive and young. Worse, they were desperate to prove themselves to their uncle. He knew how much they sought his approval. Knew that if it had been any other dwarf that had suggested an attempt to reclaim Erebor, Kili would have laughed himself sick at the notion and Fili would have just raised his eyebrows in mocking disbelief. No. Thorin and his pride had brought them to the mountain. Had endangered their lives to a dragon. Had led them into battle that almost got the three of them killed.

As if he could hear the mental berating Thorin was giving himself, Bilbo spoke again with more conviction. “It wasn’t, Thorin. They are grown dwarrow-”

“Barely,” he groused.

Bilbo continued as if he hadn’t said anything. “-and are more than capable of making their own decisions and defend themselves. I’ve seen them fight. They are strong and skilled. I would wager you are responsible for much of their ability to survive.”

Thorin smiled, still not convinced but unwilling to argue the point. He reached out and placed his hand over Bilbo’s in a sudden moment of madness. Hadn’t he decided that just being near Bilbo was enough? That he didn’t need to push any other feelings upon the hobbit? Hadn’t he-

Bilbo turned his hand over under his and laced their fingers together tentatively. Thorin did his best to heave a sigh discreetly, afraid he’d failed miserably in the act.

~*~*~

Bilbo swallowed at the sound of Thorin exhaling a bit shakily. What had he been thinking? What had possessed him to make him return the king’s grip by tucking his fingers between the dwarf’s when emotions were so thick in the room? He could only blame a bout of madness.

The feeling was nice though, he had to admit. The fluttering in his chest ached as his heart slammed against his ribs and he worried that Thorin would notice the slight shake to his nightshirt created by the strong palpitations.

Bother it all, this wasn’t right! How many times had he convinced himself of that? How many times had he torn his eyes away from another hobbit, cursing himself mentally until he was blue in the face at his own foolishness? Having any such inclinations was highly improper and not at all respectable. What would his neighbors think? His family? How would he ever explain this to them? He was a Baggins of Bag End, for crying out loud!

But Thorin’s hand was warm and large and comfortable in his own, despite its larger size. This could be fine. Right. Thorin was his husband – cue the inner thrilling panic and balking at the title – and he had every right to hold his hand. It didn’t have to mean, well, that he loved him. It didn’t have to mean that he was attracted to him. It didn’t have to mean that his mood always lifted dramatically when the dwarf walked into a room. It didn’t mean that Bilbo could easily picture himself curled up in Thorin’s arms in a blissful haze after an intense bout of sex.

It could just mean that he cared. Right. That was it. He cared. This was just an act to comfort the dwarf king while he sorted through emotions he probably wasn’t used to feeling so intensely. Nothing romantically meaningful in that at all. No. None.

Right.

Bilbo sat and shoved away the turmoil in himself for a while, not releasing Thorin’s hand for a good amount of time. When he noticed the dwarf yawn, he untangled his small fingers from the larger hand and picked up the teacups. “Right. Back to bed, I think,” he said, half relieved for the excuse to let go of Thorin’s hand, half disappointed for the necessity.

Thorin hummed in agreement and stood as well, wincing as he put too much weight on his still-healing foot.

“Be careful,” Bilbo admonished. “Stay there a moment while I take care of this and I’ll help you.”

He expected Thorin to bluster and grumble and walk the few yards to the bed without any assistance, just to be obstinate and prove that he could. Instead, Thorin stepped forward slightly and leaned against the wall next to the dying fire and watched as Bilbo returned everything to the tea tray and took it out into the hall. Someone would retrieve it soon, the hobbit knew, and he tried to ignore the scrutiny.

Thorin leaned against him a bit when Bilbo pulled the dwarf’s arm around his shoulder. Thorin limped back to bed and sighed when he took his weight off his leg. Bilbo fussed with his covers, trying to ignore the flush threatening under his skin.

“I don’t think I’ll ever take the comfort of a real bed for granted again,” Thorin rumbled as he reached up and pulled his mess of black and silver hair out from under his back, leaving it to fan out and tangle around his head.

To distract himself from the near incessant desire to run his fingers through the strands, Bilbo rounded the bed to the other side and climbed under the blankets. For the first time since his first night in the room, he turned on his side to face Thorin. “I am relieved they’ll survive,” he said, realizing he hadn’t mentioned the boys himself.

Thorin turned his head and smiled a bit drowsily. “Me too,” he admitted and stretched a hand out towards Bilbo again.

He stared at the great paw before him, warring with thoughts of respectability and the utter desire to return the grip the king sought so casually.

Just for comfort, he reminded himself and placed his hand in Thorins. That’s all it was. Comfort. Never mind that it was comfortable and comforting and warm. Never mind the stirring in him that he’d fought against and ignored for a great deal of his life. He could just be here for the dwarf.

The smile that tugged at Thorin’s lips set Bilbo’s heart to beating fast and heavy. Sleep eluded him for a time after Thorin had drifted off.

He didn’t release his fingers.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

In order to give them peace to heal, Fili and Kili’s expected survival and overall recoveries were kept quiet.

As the lads had healed, Bilbo had started a tradition of an evening cup of tea with Thorin before bed after they visited the infirmary. The calming effect seemed to help Thorin after his daily visits with his nephews. He always returned to their rooms looking a bit haggard, as if he were placing blame upon his own shoulders again and again, day after day. Some evenings were worse than others. Regardless of how bad they were, Bilbo always greeted his husband kindly and brewed tea for them over their fire with the kettle and tea set he’d acquired the day after Kili had woken. Some nights they spoke, often of the princes. Others nights, they sat in companionable silence and worked through their own thoughts.

The table between the two armchairs before the fire became neutral territory to Bilbo. He considered it a place where, if one of them felt the need for physical contact and reassurance, they could place their hand there and the other would take it if they were willing. More often than not, Bilbo initiated this action, especially on the nights when Thorin stared into the fire as if contemplating throwing himself into it as penance for the injuries others incurred during The Battle. Thorin always took the opportunity to hold his hand, no matter how deep in thought he seemed to be.

The contact also seemed to pull the king from his more morose ponderings. He would shift and blink when his fingers curled around Bilbo’s, often a sigh escaping him as if it suddenly became easier to breathe, easier to exist.

Fili and Kili were released from the infirmary on the same day after weeks of convalescence. The elder walked with crutches and only for the shortest of distances, pain lining his face any time he tried to stand but unwilling to be coddled any longer, unwilling to let his aching leg and hip remain still and stiff any longer, unwilling to let the wound in his chest keep him on his back any longer. Bilbo could see the terror in Fili whenever he reached the limit of his physical abilities. Bilbo also noticed that Fili was able to do more each day, even just the slightest bit. He worried Thorin’s heir apparent didn’t see the progress himself and despaired.

Kili had stayed in the infirmary longer than he needed to, unwilling to leave his brother. His chest was healing well, his sternum and ribs gaining strength every day and the infection left by the filth on Bolg’s weapon completely purged from his system. He walked out under his own power but didn’t offer Fili any help, knowing it would only anger the other at his limitations. Still, he stayed nearby just in case he was needed. Four days after their release, Bilbo suspected Fili had finally had enough of his little brother’s hovering and had told Kili to spend time elsewhere. To the youngest son of Durin, that translated into spending time with Tauriel. If Kili wasn’t with Fili, he was with her, much to Thorin’s growing irritation.

Bilbo enjoyed a week of peace and calm after the boys’ release. He was reluctant to claim that the worst was behind them. Memories from the top of the Carrock haunted him. He couldn’t bring himself to utter the words again, knowing that if he did, everything would spiral out of control and he’d find himself once again being hunted by orcs, sneezed on by trolls, or in the deep depths of the elf-king’s dungeons again.

As it turned out, he could have said something about the worst being behind them. Even without saying it, turmoil and chaos erupted on the eighth morning during a council meeting.

“Your heirs are well! They will live. Your line is secure. Your marriage to this, this, this Halfling is no longer required. You must have the contract annulled and take a proper dwarrow spouse.”

Bilbo jolted slightly in his seat next to Thorin. He’d been daydreaming of the garden he hoped to plant in the spring, he had to admit, only paying attention to the proceedings with one ear but that particular demand caught his attention.

“I beg your pardon,” he said sitting up straight.

“He is not half of anything,” Thorin beat him to the next words sitting on the tip of his tongue, “and I will not annul anything. He is my husband and will remain so.”

Bilbo set his features in a calm mask he had only ever used when speaking with Otho Sackville-Baggins and his irritating fiancée Lobelia Bracegirdle. He almost shuddered at the memory of the odious hobbits. Instead, he glanced at Thorin. The dwarf looked over papers for a meeting not scheduled until that afternoon, not even bothering to look up at the older dwarf that had spoken, as if he didn’t care to debate the notion at all, as if there was no debate to be had, that their marriage was final, that he hadn’t married Bilbo out of desperation on what had seemed like a deathbed, that he actually cared-

“The Durin line must continue-”

“And I have two heirs that are alive and well, making my line secure, as you have just reminded all in this room,” Thorin said and if Bilbo didn’t know him better, would have taken his tone as a rather bored, snarky drawl instead of the mask over his irritation and uncertainty that it was. “Fili is my heir. He will marry, hopefully have dwarflings of his own, and the Durin line will be secure. If he does not, then Kili may. If he does not, we are not the only Durin’s left. If my sister-sons fail to produce an heir, Dain is next in line, followed by his own son. If their line dies out, there is Balin and Dwalin, the sons of Fundin and cousins to me, and Oin and Gloin after them, one of which already has a son. The Durin line is not in danger of falling any time soon.”

“But you are Durin the Deathless’ direct descendant. For the line to remain strong-”

Thorin set his papers down and glared so darkly the dwarf closed his mouth midsentence, bristles from his grey mustache catching between his lips and giving the illusion that he had no mouth, just a great, bushy beard sprouting beneath the rather bulbous and crooked nose.

“Have you forgotten the madness that overtakes my line?” Thorin demanded. “My grandfather, my father, myself?”

Bilbo swallowed. For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to him that Thorin still worried and watched for the madness that had gripped him after Smaug’s rather timely demise. They would have to have a conversation about that and soon. For now, he would stay by Thorin’s side in silent support, not questioning him until they had a chance to speak in private, even if letting it sit for even a short amount of time grated against his nature.

“I would not risk another to suffer that madness,” Thorin continued, shaking his head, his hands clenched into fists. “Fili and Kili seem immune to it but they are young yet. Pray that it will not touch them. I will not bring a life into this world and risk it to the dark fate. It is bad enough I risk Bilbo’s safety.” He stood from the table, his chair grating loudly against the stone floor. “If this is what you intended when calling this meeting, you have wasted all our time.”

Bilbo stood easily even before Thorin glanced at him to make sure he was following. When their eyes met, Bilbo struggled to keep the mask in place. It was definitely time for a calming cup of tea.

Thorin swept out of the room.

Bilbo looked back to the gathered dwarrow that stared after their king. “I think we know where the matter stands. Good day,” he said and followed his husband from the room without looking back. He refrained from running a hand through his overly long hair until he was out of sight and into the more private area of the mountain set aside for the royal family.

He reached up and pushed his curls out of his face as he rounded the final corner to their rooms, and when had it become their rooms and not just Thorin’s, he wondered absently. He caught sight of a familiar quilted blue surcoat disappearing through the door. He followed swiftly, wondering if he could get Thorin to let him cut his hair finally or if he was doomed to let it grow out to the epic lengths all dwarrow seemed to favor. He hoped they wouldn’t expect him to grow a beard as well. That was simply impossible for him.

Thorin was already in his usual chair when Bilbo entered the room and set about making tea. He waited for the dwarf to start the conversation if he desired. Neither of them said anything as Bilbo finished with the tea and set Thorin’s cup near him.

It wasn’t until they’d finished half their drinks each that Bilbo finally gave in and spoke. “They have a point, you know,” he said.

Thorin made a noise that, in a lesser dwarf, would have been considered a derisive snort. “You were there. You suffered the most from my madness. You know what gold lust can make a dwarf do.”

“I also know the strength it took to break free of it,” Bilbo remarked. “Strength, may I remind you, that you seem to have in spades, once you put your mind to it.”

Thorin didn’t respond for a time, staring at the fire burning in front of them. Bilbo wondered if he could purchase yarn from someone, perhaps Ori. He could use a blanket on one of these chairs to help chase off the mountain’s chill in the evenings. Really, the cold temperatures seemed to be getting worse as the-

“Do you want me to have our marriage annulled?” Thorin interrupted his musings.

“I want to know what you want,” Bilbo hedged, honestly unsure of what his answer would be and buying time to think.

“I married you,” Thorin said, his gaze flicking towards Bilbo briefly before returning to their persistent attempts to make the fire burn hotter if the intensity with which he glared was any indication, “and I will not go back on my word.”

Bilbo huffed a laugh. “Thorin, I married you so there would be someone you trusted left to rule Erebor in your stead. You have healed, as have Fili and Kili. I won’t hold you to that marriage if you don’t want it. You’re king now. You can probably marry any dwarf you desire.”

Thorin stared at the delicate cup in his hands as if willing it to turn into a mug of very strong ale or some of Beorn’s mead. “It is not a dwarf I desire,” he finally said quietly and looked up at Bilbo with those bright blue eyes of his and the sincerity and hope and resigned determination in his face struck Bilbo almost physically. “I have desired you since I entered your cozy little home in the side of a hill over a year ago, though I loathed acknowledging those feelings for so very long. You are my One.”

Bilbo gaped. He knew he did. He knew how improper it was but couldn’t seem to stop. The expression felt as frozen on his face as any coherent thought was in his brain. “I- I- I need air,” he finally stammered before standing and leaving the room abruptly. In his haste, he knocked over his teacup which he’d left perched on the arm of his chair. The shattering of the china followed him out into the hall as he searched desperately for a way out of the mountain and into fresh air.

He ended up making his way to the treasure room and then finding the corridors and paths leading up to the secret entrance to the mountain. He shoved the door open and then kicked a rock into the way of it closing, making sure he had a way to return inside without having to hike down and around the mountain in the snow. That done, he started pacing back and forth along the ridge, digging a trench in the waist deep snow as he went.

Thorin desired him and he’d waited well over half a year to tell him. Why did he wait so long? Couldn’t he have said something, oh, Bilbo didn’t know, maybe six months ago? In Rivendell or back at Bag End even? Before all the madness began? Before all the misunderstandings and hurt feelings?

And how could Thorin be so calm about admitting it after all this time? Oh, Bilbo’d had an inkling. Back on the Carrock for sure, but possibly even back in Rivendell. Still, the king couldn’t have just said something sooner?

And his words! By all that was growing and green, did he have to admit out loud that he hadn’t wanted to admit he had feelings for Bilbo? Was Bilbo supposed to be flattered that Thorin had finally deigned to accept strong emotions towards him?

But that wasn’t the real problem, now was it? Bilbo had to admit to himself that Thorin’s timing did not produce his hesitance, his sudden fearful aversion to the dwarf’s presence. He groaned and kicked at a bit of snow, only to have some cling to the hair on his foot and start to melt, sending icy water dripping down his arch and toes.

The problem, he admitted, lay in the Shire. Or rather, lay in the mentality that existed in the Shire as dwarrow didn’t seem to have any issue or, rather, detestation for romantic relationships between two members of the same gender. It happened in the Shire, of course, and Bilbo’d had a few secret youthful flings when he was a tween and even one or two after his majority. He’d enjoyed them at the time but felt ashamed of himself after, knowing that the expectations of all the hobbits, especially the Baggins family, the morals he’d been taught young, went entirely against his amorous relations with the very few hobbits who he’d managed to learn felt some of the same urges he did or were at least curious enough and adventurous enough to experiment. Now that he was well past the age when he could get away with such acts by letting others blame his Took blood if he were caught, there was a reason he was a confirmed bachelor.

All his life, he’d been told, he’d been taught, that he should marry a fine hobbit lass to be mistress of Bag End, that anything less or anything abnormal would be beneath him. Special emphasis on lass. So he’d done his best to be the upstanding Baggins that was expected of him, especially after his supportive-in-all-things mother had passed away too young, almost a decade after his father. He had lived in Bag End alone and given up on ever finding someone to share his life with.

He’d spent decades shoving aside any and all thoughts or attractions he had ever experienced until he had convinced himself that he did not desire other males.

He never could convince himself to try to love any of the pretty hobbit lasses though.

And here was this dwarf, grumping and grousing his way into Bilbo’s life in all his majestic stubbornness. With his long hair and stern features and glare so strong it could almost make one burst into flames by the intensity. With those strong features, too long nose, and the icy blue eyes that watched, always keeping an eye on those that served him. And- and-

And he’d gone and made Bilbo question his efforts to smother that part of himself even as all the feelings and emotions he’d been shoving aside for the dwarf came surging forward again. Half of a lifetime of squashing the desires of the heart and, admittedly, the flesh all undone in the matter of a few months.

For truly, when Gandalf had opened the door of Bag End to allow Thorin entrance and Bilbo had first laid eyes on the dwarf, he had found himself struggling to swallow even as his feet carried him to stand directly in front of the noble dwarf with the richly deep voice and the remains of a smile directed at his younger nephew just fading from his lips. It hadn’t been love then. Just sheer attraction on a very base and physical level.

He should have known he’d never be respectable again after meeting Thorin Oakenshield.

“Oh, confusticate all dwarrow,” Bilbo groaned despairingly and kicked at the snow next to his trench. The small wall collapsed, burying him up to the knees.

“I’m willing to bet you don’t really mean all of us.”

Bilbo yelped and spun, overbalancing as his feet didn’t move as fast as he’d intended, weighed down by the snow that covered them and all. He fell sideways into the snow.

“Nori!” he shouted and started to fight his way free of the wet, white stuff that was now clinging to the curls on top of his head and dripping down the collar of his coat. He’d made it as far as his hands and knees when the dwarf in accusation hauled him free and set him back on his feet in his little ditch.

“What are you doing out here Bilbo?” Nori asked as he brushed some of the snow off Bilbo’s now shivering shoulders.

“I needed air,” Bilbo said, opting on the truth as much as he felt he could.

“Aye, I see that,” Nori said. “And what was all the muttering about His Majestic Grouchiness?”

Bilbo glanced up at Nori briefly as he continued to brush the snow off his clothes. Of all the dwarrow he’d followed halfway across the world, Nori was probably the best one to trust not to spread gossip, as long as he didn’t do something to anger the dwarf, or as long as it wasn’t something Nori could use against him to get a leg up in the world if need be. Where Thorin hoped and planned to appoint the dwarf as his official spymaster, Bilbo had a feeling all his secrets would soon be known by the middle Ri brother, if they weren’t already.

Bilbo shifted his weight a bit, taking a small step toward Nori and leaving his hands to hang tensely at his sides, unsure of what to do with them as he came to his decision on what to say. But first, he needed to know the exact implications behind one thing Thorin had said.

“What is a One to dwarrow?” he asked and tried not to swallow nervously.

“I think most other cultures would call it a soulmate but it’s not quite as accurate a term,” Nori said with a knowing lift to his smirk. “It’s more than a compatible match for us. It’s literally believed that a dwarf’s One is the other half of his or her soul, split from us when Mahal forged us. Why? Has the King of Emotional Distance finally fessed up and told you you’re his?”

“You knew?” Bilbo demanded.

“Of course I did!” Nori said sounding offended. “The moment he laid eyes on you he could barely bring himself to look away. He wasn’t at all subtle in the way he took in every inch of you as he questioned you, trying to be majestic and aloof and intimidating and all.”

Bilbo groaned and crouched down, running his hands through his hair. “Am I the only idiot that didn’t realize?” he asked.

Nori snorted. “Doubtful,” he said. “Most of the Company probably has no clue. Kili suspects I’m sure, and maybe Balin and Dwalin, but I doubt any others. They just don’t take in the details.” He sighed as if it were a great failing on their parts.

“This is not good,” Bilbo said and stood straight again, running a hand across his mouth and chin and sniffing slightly against the cold. He probably should go back inside before he started turning blue.

Nori leaned against the wall right next to the door into the mountain. “Now what’s not good?” he asked. “I’ve been trying to figure out why the two of you haven’t ended up abed together before now. And don’t think I don’t know you two have yet to break in the marriage bed, so to speak. What’s the holdup?”

Bilbo clenched his teeth and did his best to smother the shushing building inside him. He’d started this conversation. He needed to finish it, no matter how Nori wanted to word certain things. “Because it’s not done in the Shire!” he said instead, irritated with himself for instinctively lowering his own voice to a harsh whisper. “Lads aren’t supposed to find other lads attractive.”

Nori’s mouth opened in an understanding ‘o’ before twitching up into his usual smirk. “But you’re not in the Shire anymore, Your Highness,” he said. “You’re in Erebor. You’re married to a dwarf king. No one here will care that one of you isn’t a lass. Well, no one that doesn’t have a political agenda for their own daughters anyway.”

Bilbo stared, his breath caught somewhere between his throat and mouth. Not in the Shire. He wasn’t in the Shire anymore.

Bilbo reached up and gripped Nori’s shoulder’s tight. “You’re brilliant,” he said and then gave the dwarf a good shove to the side into a snowbank so he could get to the door.

“Give your handsome husband an extra big smooch from me!” Nori called from his position in the snow. Bilbo’s indignant squawk was quickly drowned out by Nori’s delighted cackling.

 ~*~*~ 

When Bilbo failed to so much as pause at the sound of old china shattering on the stone floor on his way out of the door, Thorin let all the hopeful tension slide from him in one long, depressed sigh. He’d made a mess of things, hadn’t he?

He could almost hear Dis berating him loudly for absolutely destroying any chance he had at courting his husband properly by not telling him about his affections from the beginning. Either that or her maternal instincts would overwhelm her as they occasionally did when his heart was part of the equation of whatever folly he’d created.

He’d been a fool for not telling Bilbo he loved him when he’d had the opportunity in Bag End.

Thorin slumped in his chair and stared morosely into the fire.

Time passed, he didn’t know how long as he despaired.

When his door opened, he climbed to his feet, ready to take whatever words Bilbo had for him with the dignity befitting his station.

He stumbled as the small body slammed into him and a pair of hands gripped the braids next to his ears and yanked. He shouted as he bent to escape the pain, only to have his voice swallowed when Bilbo kissed him hard.

Thorin flailed, trying not to overbalance as Bilbo pulled him closer to him still. He managed to snag the high back of Bilbo’s armchair for balance before they both went sprawling to the ground in an undignified heap.

Bilbo didn’t seem to care one way or another if they stood or not, clinging as he did to Thorin’s hair, his fingers now digging into the thick mass at the nape of his neck. Thorin tentatively placed his hand not helping them stay upright on Bilbo’s hip. When Bilbo’s tongue swept across his lower lip, he didn’t question, just responded to the kiss, opening his mouth to his husband’s desires and returning the affection in kind.

When Bilbo rocked back onto his heels, breaking the heated, desperate kiss, Thorin pressed their foreheads together, breathing heavily.

“This won’t be easy for me,” the hobbit said without preamble, his entire body shaking in Thorin’s arms. “I’ve spent too much of my life being told and telling myself that loving another male can’t be who I am. Can you be patient with me? Help me know that loving you is not something to fear or to shun?”

“Givashel,” Thorin murmured in a worshipful prayer and pressed another kiss to Bilbo’s lips, “I will do anything you ask of me. Just tell me I have not fallen into madness again and that this is not some fevered dream.”

Bilbo laughed and kissed him again. Thorin pulled him close, lifting him off his feet. “I quite like this particular dream,” Bilbo said once they parted. This earned him another laughing round of kisses.

When they finally managed to pull apart from each other, Thorin let Bilbo drop back to the floor and they reluctantly returned to their chairs, Thorin turning his so he could more easily face his husband. They didn’t release each other entirely, hands still clasped over the space between their chairs.

“So, what happens now?” Bilbo asked, completely unsure of how their relationship should progress now that their mutual affection had been revealed.

Thorin smiled at him, a tinge of bashfulness in the tilt of his head and the slight rise of his eyebrows, let alone the smile that he tried to hide. “I would like to court you properly if you’d allow it.”

The hobbit blinked, surprised. “You want to court me?” he asked and something suddenly occurred to him. His jaw dropped. “Thorin, by any chance are you a romantic at heart?” he asked, clear amusement in his tone.

Thorin’s eyes dropped to their joined hands. “I wish to do things properly,” he said a bit defensively. “I know we’ve done a few things backward.”

“Getting married before we even tell each other we love the other,” Bilbo remarked.

The dwarf’s head whipped up, hope shining in his eyes and his grasp on Bilbo’s fingers tightening. It took the hobbit a moment to understand why and then let a smile touch his lips, releasing the usual sarcastic set to his jaw for something softer, gentler. “Yes, I love you,” he said quietly and turned to receive the fervent kiss Thorin gave him.

When they parted, Bilbo squeezed Thorin’s fingers gently for a moment. “I’d like to be courted,” he admitted, both to the dwarf king and to himself.

Thorin raised their hands to his lips. “Then I shall court you,” he said and placed a kiss across Bilbo’s knuckles, the smile still lingering on his lips.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Dwalin waited for Thorin when he left the rooms later that afternoon, an amused smirk playing at his lips. Thorin didn’t even bother asking, just raised his eyebrows at the Guard Captain. Dwalin’s grin grew wider still. “Nori stopped by earlier,” he said. “Said you and the Burglar might finally be getting your acts together.” He scanned Thorin’s figure and his face fell. “Didn’t go well then?” he asked.

“It went fine,” Thorin replied and he couldn’t keep the smile from his face. Dwalin, however, just looked puzzled.

“And yet you’re wearing the same clothes and your hair is only slightly messy,” he remarked.

Thorin punched Dwalin in the shoulder. “Clean up your thoughts,” he groused and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to return it to its pristine glory. “Just because I finally told Bilbo he’s my One and he admits he loves me in return does not mean we went straight to bed.”

“By Mahal’s pants, why not?”

Thorin punched him again. “I will court him properly,” he said and started down the hall. “He may already be my husband but he deserves that at the very least.”

“Oh aye,” Dwalin said, nodding sagely. “In the meantime, you’ll pine and moan to me about how hard it is to be near him but not have him, just as you did for the entire blasted trip here.”

Thorin glared at his old friend. “I did not pine and moan,” he said.

Dwalin snorted. “Then what do you call all that belly-aching and brooding?”

“Retaliation and distraction,” Thorin said. “I could barely hear myself think with how loudly you grumbled over not being allowed to chase after Nori any more. He found his One. You’ll have to accept it eventually.”

Dwalin choked on air and his own spit, stumbling a bit. “Oi!” he managed after regaining his breath. “That was uncalled for!”

“Was it not?” Thorin asked mildly. “I felt it was quite appropriate.”

“You’ve been hanging around Balin too much,” Dwalin groused and then glanced around. “And where do you think we’re going?”

“To the forge, of course,” Thorin said. “I have a handsome husband that deserves a proper gift.”

“None of that,” Dwalin said and grabbed Thorin’s collar, dragging him to a stop. The king glared at the guard, a protest already forming on his lips. “You have to talk to Oin about stuff like that first. I’ll not have you injuring yourself again, not when you’re under my eye.”

Thorin huffed, his mouth set in a stubborn, almost petulantly line but ultimately acquiesced, turning to head to the infirmary without another word. Dwalin nodded sharply in satisfaction to no one in particular and followed.

~*~*~

They left Oin with Thorin in an extremely foul mood, having not been cleared for any work more strenuous than what he’d already been allowed. Nori found them before they got far.

“Oh good. You’re in a bad mood. That will make this easier.”

Thorin rubbed at his forehead. “What is it Nori?” he growled.

“Normally, I’d just take care of the problem myself but with you being king and all and with my brothers demanding I turn respectable,” he said the word as if it coated his tongue in the slime left on his knives after gutting an orc, “I thought I’d come to you with some news before I act on it.”

“What kind of problem?” Thorin demanded.

Nori motioned for Dwalin and Thorin to follow him into another room with a quick tip of his head. Thorin led the way, heading towards the throne room. When Nori shook his head subtly, he changed course, instead heading towards the kitchens. There would be enough noise in there to mask their conversation and Bombur was good about making sure no one bothered the king on the rare occasions he came down to see of their progress in repairs and cleaning as well as their stores.

Nori drifted away from them and disappeared entirely after it was clear what their destination was. Thorin tracked his movements for a moment until the former thief disappeared down another hallway.

“How many ways do you think he’s discovered to reach the kitchens?” Dwalin asked.

“Probably more than we want to think about,” Thorin admitted and continued walking.

They made it to Bombur’s domain swiftly enough. With so few dwarrow in the mountain, they rarely found themselves slowed down by crowded paths through the mountain.

The head chef spotted them the moment they walked through the door despite being up to his chin in some form of bread dough he’d just turned out of a bowl that was as large as his belly. He punched it back as he called a greeting. “Your Majesty! Master Dwalin! Welcome! What can I get for you? There’s some lovely leek, potato, and venison pasties that just came out of the ovens and are resting for this evenings meal if you’d care to have a bit while they’re still piping hot.”

Thorin nodded. “I think we will try them,” he said, taking the hint for what it was and heading into the separate room from the main kitchens used for storage for dishes cooked in advance for meals, away from the chance of being ruined by accident by other dishes being created in close proximity.

Nori sat on a wheeled cart off to one side, one of the pasties wrapped in a bit of clean cloth to protect his fingers from the warm food. Dwalin didn’t waste time and picked up one of the golden brown pastries with another cloth that hung off the handle of one of the many carts. He bit into it with a snuffling grunt, sucking in air to cool the hot gravy now threatening to burn his mouth. Thorin ignored him and left the pasties to cool a bit further before he would take his own to eat. No reason to repeat the guard’s mistake or waste Bombur’s offer for a bit of a snack. He’d missed lunch after all.

“What have you learned?” he asked.

Nori lowered the pasty he’d just been about to take another bite from, looking at it a bit longingly and with a certain amount of hesitance to take his eyes off it. Thorin wondered if the dwarf fought long ingrained worries of where he’d get his next meal or if he’d have to fight someone off the one he currently held should his attention wander.

“I’ve been hearing rumors,” Nori said, and set the pasty on the cart next to him, not bothering to get off and show more respect to his liege. He also ignored Dwalin’s dark glare and the casual attitude. “Not everyone in the mountain is thrilled with your consort’s race.”

“We knew there would be talk,” Thorin said, eyes drifting around the room, taking in the improvements and repairs already completed there even as he started thinking through ways to counter the mild rumors. Why Nori had brought them to his attention baffled him.

“True,” Nori nodded, “but there’s also movement to do something about it.”

Thorin bristled. “Who?” he asked. “We cannot allow such treachery, not to a member of the Company, let alone of the royal house.”

Nori shrugged. “Not sure yet. I’ve started looking but I keep finding dead ends as Dain’s people come and go. Everything seems to point to someone that hasn’t left Erebor since the battle though.”

“Give me the names of who you know are involved,” Dwalin said. “I’ll make them talk.”

Nori shook his head. “You’re not thinking it through. If you arrest the little fish, you’ll never find the big fish behind it all. Let the guppies lead you to the sharks. Let them do the work for you.”

Dwalin bristled, not liking being told how to do his job. He opened his mouth to growl something out when Thorin lifted a hand to silence him. “Nori, you are sure you can find the source?”

“Given enough time and resources, yeah.” He shrugged carelessly.

Thorin’s scowl deepened as he thought before shifting his eyes back to the former thief. “I’d intended to wait to do this, but as you are already performing the work, I’ll offer it now. I need a spymaster. Would you care for the position?”

Nori’s lips twitched up in a smirk. “Spymaster eh?” he asked as if the idea had never occurred to him in the slightest, all innocence, shock, and gratitude. “Now isn’t that the perfect solution to so many problems. I keep doing what I do and suddenly it’s all respectable. Not even Dori can complain.”

Dwalin snorted.

“Bring any and all information you deem worthy to my attention. If arrests need to be made or interrogations performed, bring the matter to Dwalin. For now, we will defer to your experience in the matters concerning Bilbo. What do you suggest we do?”

“Let the rumors go, spread a few of our own to boost Bilbo’s reputation amongst the people, and see what happens. I’ll keep my eyes open for the source of the more threatening talk. In the meantime, make sure Bilbo has a guard at all times, whether he knows it or not.”

“Who do you suggest stays with him?” Thorin said, mind already listing out the possibilities, all of which were members of his Company, excepting his nephews who still struggled to heal, especially Fili. He needed to go visit the lad, see how his recovery faired.

“You, of course,” Nori said. “Master Guardsman here can keep an eye on both of you. If you can’t be near Bilbo, make sure Balin or someone else is with him. Ori, for all he prefers the company of books to others, is a good choice as well. They get along and the lad’s stronger than the looks. Underestimated a lot.”

“I’ll see it done,” Thorin said. “Do you need anything more?”

Nori shook his head. “Not from you, Your Kingliness. From your guard, however.” He grinned up at Dwalin who glared in return.

“And what do you want from me?” he grumbled.

“I want you to do your job and try to arrest me on occasion, catch me stealing or passing on information or something. Make up charges. Can’t be seen being too chummy with the king or the law. It’ll come out soon enough that I’m not as crooked as I’d like to think I was. Need to prolong the inevitable as much as we can until Lira gets here.”

“Lira? What has the dancer got to do with anything?” Dwalin asked.

Nori grinned. “How do you think she survived the first few decades after Azanulbizar?” he asked. “She, with no kin or aid in Ered Luin, having freshly lost her leg, and trying to relearn her craft?” He was met with blank stares and he shook his head in dismay. “She turned to thieving for a while. Hadn’t any other choice and was selective of her targets, only ever stealing from wealthy Men.”

“I thought the two of you met only a few weeks before we left Ered Luin,” Thorin said.

“Aye, that’s true,” Nori said. “Our paths never crossed when she wasn’t right with the law. She didn’t stick around other dwarrow at the time, grieving her family too much and working to relearn to dance, traveling to learn her craft from others. Didn’t meet until Master Guardsman was chasing me down and I needed a place to hide. Was the work of a minute to disguise myself and hide in the Dancer’s Guild. Just so happened she was there and needed a partner.”

“I knew you’d hidden in there somewhere,” Dwalin grumbled. Nori smirked at him.

“Walked right by me four times.”

Dwalin growled.

“We will do what we can,” Thorin said before an argument could erupt between the two. “Dwalin, next time you see Nori in public, find a reason to try to arrest him. Succeed if you can, but don’t break anything.”

Dwalin nodded, not taking his eyes off Nori and picking up another pasty to eat. When he bit into it and didn’t immediately start making a fool of himself due to the gravy on his tongue, Thorin picked up his own and started to eat with a bit more dignity.

“If that’s all,” Dwalin said around a mouthful of pastry, potato, gravy, and venison, “you have meetings you need to be getting to.”

Glancing at Nori who shook his head and grabbed another pasty to carry with him besides the half eaten one still in his hands, Thorin sighed, nodded, and started heading back out the kitchen, thanking Bombur as they went. The rotund dwarf smiled and waved at them absently before going back to carefully braiding pastry for the edge of a large pie of some sort.

~*~*~

When Bilbo left his and Thorin’s rooms, he went straight to the library. With the new realization that he was no longer in the Shire, that the expectations concerning personal matters were now different, he decided to see if he could find information that would help him understand his feelings better.

He found Ori deep in the rows and rows of shelves and tomes, carefully wiping away over a century’s worth of dust, spider webs, and detritus off a shelf that had been cleared of books. Fortunately, dwarrow engineering in the library was such that most of the books were in good condition. With the mountain’s wealth of knowledge not being of any interest to Smaug, it had been left alone and his bedroom had been far enough away from the library that the heat that naturally rolled off the dragon did not affect the books in the rather cool but well ventilated and dry rooms. Mostly, it just needed a good cleaning with the occasional repair from mouse nibbled spines.

“Hello Ori,” Bilbo greeted.

Ori yelped and slipped, almost falling off his ladder. Only a quick grab for the shelves he was attending to kept him in place. Once he was stable, he looked down. “Your Highness!” he said and started to climb down. “What can I do for you?”

“For starters, you can never call me that again,” Bilbo said, propping his hands on his hips. “Honestly, just because I married Thorin doesn’t mean I’m a different hobbit. I’m still Bilbo.”

“I- yes. I’ll do that,” Ori said. “What brings you to the library, Master Baggins?”

Bilbo smiled at that. “I was wondering if you could help me with some research.” He stopped, trying to decide how to word his request. His own embarrassment rose as he realized just what he would be requesting. He took a deep breath, reminding himself once again that he was no longer in the Shire and the mentality there was not one he had to adhere to any longer.

Ori took a moment to scrub his hands on his trousers after shoving his cleaning cloth into his pocket and the bottle of cleaner aside. “What kind of research?”

Oh, the options on how to handle this, how to make his request. Bilbo shifted his weight to one foot and then back again, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Thorin has said he’d like to court me properly considering the circumstances of our marriage,” he finally said. “I’d like to find information on dwarrow courtships.”

“That’s easy enough,” Ori said and started his way over to a staircase that led up to the second floor of the library. “Any subject in particular or are you just trying to learn the basics of our customs?”

That’s a loaded question, Bilbo thought. “I was wondering if there was any information on relationships like Thorin’s and mine.”

Ori hummed as he climbed the steep steps with ease but going slowly to accommodate Bilbo’s shorter legs. “I can’t say that I’ve ever heard of a hobbit being someone’s One,” he said. “Maybe Balin has. I could ask him.”

“That’s – that’s not quite what I meant,” Bilbo said as his nose twitched involuntarily at his discomfort. Really, that particular tell was annoying. It was a miracle none of the Company had picked up on it yet. He’d felt himself doing the exact same thing often enough during the quest when he was upset, scared, or distressed. He could control it, really he could, but only when he was concentrating on it in the first place.

“What did you mean?” Ori asked.

Bilbo longed to bash his head against the wall but resisted as they came up to the top of the steps and started heading along one railing, passing up stone shelving units carved out of the mountain that held more books than Bilbo had ever dreamed of seeing. Part of him wanted to stop and peruse, reading at his leisure but he resisted. Heaving a slow, quiet sigh, Bilbo said, “Relationships between two males.”

Ori didn’t pause in his walking but he did glance over his shoulder in confusion. “Why would you need information about that? Don’t hobbits know how to court each other?”

“Same-gender relationships are highly frowned upon in the Shire,” Bilbo admitted. Ori’s confusion didn’t clear but he kept walking.

“That’s peculiar,” Ori said as he finally turned down a stack. He grabbed one of the many rolling ladders as he went. “I have what you’ll need to get a basic idea of our courtship rituals, I think, but you’ll have to have someone translate for you. It’s in khuzdul.” He stopped and looked up the shelves, searching. Finally, he seemed to locate the book he was seeking and climbed up the ladder. He retrieved a decent sized book and brought it down with him.

“We have records of how the library was organized,” he explained. “I memorized them the first week after The Battle. Come back any time you need something to read. I’ll probably always be here.”

“Thank you, Ori,” Bilbo said and held the dusty, dirty book close to his chest, not caring of the mess it would make to his jacket. He just wanted to get out of there and have a nice, settling cup of tea. Really, he could face down orcs and goblins but make him tell someone he didn’t know how to court his husband and he was an absolute nervous wreck. He really needed to get ahold of himself.

“Come back downstairs and I’ll clean that up for you,” Ori offered and led him back to the main level. Inside a room that had been cleared out, cleaned, and converted into a nice little office, the scribe went to work with quick, efficient movements, removing centuries of mess from the book in movements that wouldn’t harm it. Finally, it was clean and he handed it back to Bilbo. The hobbit thanked him again and headed back to his rooms, leaving the book on the desk before racing off to the meeting he was now late for.

~*~*~

Meetings for Thorin ran late so when he finally managed to return to his rooms and his husband, he expected to find his husband settled in next to the fireplace with something to occupy his time, assuming he hadn’t retired early. To his surprise, Bilbo wasn’t there. The rooms were empty, the fire almost down to nothing more than cold ash. Bilbo hadn’t been there at all that evening then.

Thorin crossed the room to stoke the fire, knowing Bilbo would appreciate the extra warmth in their room. Thorin really should consider figuring out a way to warm their room more consistently for his husband. Once that task was finished, he turned to change for the evening, ready to don the lighter shoes or to simply wander around in his socks, to take the pressure off his aching foot. The scar was still a bright and angry red, the bruising having faded a few weeks prior but the flesh around it still tender, still healing in the tissue between his bones.

He couldn’t find one of his shoes. He looked around the room, knowing he must have kicked it at some point that day in his hurry to and from the room after he and Bilbo had talked earlier in the day when he’d had to return for some documents briefly.

He found it near his desk. He took a seat in the chair their as he pulled it carefully on, trying to avoid causing any more pain. Once finished, he leaned back, enjoying the relief on his foot.

A book caught his eye. That hadn’t been there that morning or even that afternoon when he’d come back to get the papers there. He lifted it and read the title. Surprise made his eyebrows rise. Where had this come from?

He opened it and started scanning the pages, making sure he remembered the book correctly. Sure enough, it was what he thought it was. But why was it on his desk? Was this Dwalin’s idea of a joke? Intimating that Thorin needed a refresher on how to court someone?

Now that he thought about it, the idea had merit, even if it was just Dwalin mucking about. He took the book with him as he went over to the armchairs before the fire, propping his foot up on one of the footstools there. He should put ice on the injury, but there wasn’t much he hated more at this point than putting ice on his injuries and holding still long enough for it to do him any good.

He’d gotten about ten pages into the book when the door opened. He finished the sentence he was reading and glanced over the top of the pages.

Bilbo stared back at him, fingertips tucked into the pockets of his waistcoat. What was the point of such a garment anyway? Perhaps it helped to keep the hobbit warm. A proper, thick, warm shirt would go a long way to accomplishing that. Thorin really had no idea.

When Bilbo didn’t move from his spot by the door, Thorin set the book aside. “Something wrong?” he asked. Should he be embarrassed about reading the book? Doubtful. For starters, it was in khuzdul. Beyond that, well, it never hurt to make sure he was remembering all the particulars of courting.

Bilbo shifted his weight from one foot and back again and his nose did that little twitching, rolling thing it did whenever Bilbo was unsure of a situation. He wondered if Bilbo knew he did that.

“The uh, the book,” Bilbo said and cleared his throat, lifting his chin slightly and straightening his spine.

Thorin glanced at it. “What of it?” he asked, a gruff note entering his tone that he hadn’t quite meant to allow. He was not embarrassed. Not at all.

Bilbo took a deep breath and released it through his nose as if annoyed before his shoulders sagged. He muttered something too quietly for Thorin to hear before he walked over and sat in his chair. “I’d meant to ask you to translate it for me,” Bilbo admitted once he was settled.

Thorin blinked once, the only indication of his surprise. “You want me to translate a book on dwarrow courtship for you.”

“Is that something I shouldn’t be asking? Ori made it seem like it would be all right.”

Thorin set the book on his lap, letting it fall closed. “No, it’s fine,” he said. “I just am trying to understand why.”

“Shouldn’t I learn how to court you?” Bilbo asked.

“You could have just asked,” Thorin said. “Not that I mind you visiting the library and seeking information through books, but it would be faster just to tell you.”

Bilbo’s eyes flickered towards the fire before determinedly returning to Thorin’s. “It’s not just dwarrow courting I’m trying to learn. I don’t know how to court another male,” he admitted in a rush.

Ah. That was it. Thorin stilled his facial expression before it could shift to one of somewhat shocked incredulity, his first reaction to Bilbo’s words. It wouldn’t do to make his husband more uncomfortable with the topic. Bilbo had asked him to help and be patient as he overcame half a hobbit’s lifetime of conditioning against his heart’s natural inclinations.

“I will translate as many books as you would like, Ghivashel,” Thorin said instead of questioning Bilbo’s motives further, “But first, have you eaten?”

Bilbo smiled at him, gratitude lining his features. “I haven’t. I was going to head down to the kitchens to beg something off the cooks once I’d grabbed my coat.”

“I’ll go with you,” Thorin said, his own stomach feeling empty. He went to the door and waited for Bilbo. They strolled to the kitchens together, Dwalin shadowing them the moment they left their rooms. Bilbo seemed a bit annoyed by this but didn’t comment.

It wasn’t until they were on their way back to their rooms after eating their share of the same pasties Thorin had sampled earlier as well as part of one of many large pies made from the last of the cherries that Nori found them.

“I see Dwalin failed to arrest you,” Thorin murmured so that only Nori, Dwalin, and Bilbo would hear.

Nori snorted. “I can’t let him start to nab me now. Anyone that knows my reputation will think something’s fishy if he suddenly manages to cart me in for me crimes.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Dwalin groused. “If you’d let me use lethal force, I’d probably manage it.”

“No killing the spymaster,” Thorin snapped.

“He’s new. You can replace him quick enough.”

“Are you volunteering?” Thorin asked. “Somehow, I don’t see you jumping in to bend certain parts of the law to gain information we need.”

“Is something the matter?” Bilbo asked Nori before Dwalin could growl something in return.

“Nah, just another letter from Ered Luin.” He passed a letter to Thorin, once again the bottom half of it was ripped off and missing.

Thorin took the parchment and read.

N-

Got letter. Will set ears and eyes. No signs as of yet. D has yet to hear from HRG, F, and K. Urge to write. EL prepping to send first batch in early spring. Will remain in EL as planned.

Thorin scowled at the parchment.

“‘HRG, F, and K’?” Bilbo asked, reading over his shoulder.

“His Royal Grumpiness, Fili, and Kili,” Nori said. “Dis hasn’t heard from them yet.”

Thorin could almost feel the disapproving glower Bilbo was surely directing at him. “You haven’t written your sister since you retook the mountain?”

Dwalin chuckled at his side. “Dis is going to kill you.”

“I’ll make a run for it while she goes after her sons,” Thorin said.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

Bilbo stood next to Thorin as he took out parchment and pencil to write to his sister.

To Dis, Daughter of Thrain, Son of Thror, Princess Under the Mountain, Regent of Ered Luin:

Dear Sister,

Nori has told me you have been informed of the retaking of our home, the ensuing battle, and of the boys’ and my injuries. We are all three on the mend and now of sound enough mind and body to write to you.

Fili and Kili would have made you proud. Their loyalty and fierceness in battle were unparalleled. I could not ask for greater spirit and dedication than what they have shown and will, I am sure, continue to show. I will leave them to address the telling of their current states.

As for myself, I am healing still. I was stabbed through the foot and in the chest in the final battle in addition to many other minor wounds. I am told I am lucky to survive. The scars are sure to be impressive once the worst is finally healed. I blame stubborn Durin folly that somehow always garner enough luck to continue our line along.

The last thing I must tell you, I do not think you will believe. I am married. I found my One during our journey in the hobbit hired by Tharkun to be our burglar. His name is Bilbo and I look forward to the day when you will meet him.

-T

Once Thorin finished his letter, he set it aside only to realize that Bilbo had sat down next to him at some point, and was writing as well. Upon looking at the top of his husband’s letter in curiosity, Thorin felt a bit light headed as a small wave of panic threatened to swamp him.

“You are writing my sister?” he asked.

Bilbo ignored him for a moment as he finished the sentence he was writing, his handwriting flowing with odd little dots in different places, giving the overall appearance an admittedly refined and pleasant look. Still, dread welled up in his suddenly aching chest.
“Of course I am,” Bilbo said. “It’s only proper for me to write your sister and ask for her blessing on our marriage as I cannot write to your parents. From what I understand, she is your next of kin.”

Thorin scowled. “What blessing could my sister bestow on our marriage, months after it has taken place I might remind you, and what does it matter?”

Bilbo’s shoulders tensed and his head dropped a little as he muttered something about an insufferable dwarf. “Because it’s the proper thing to do,” he finally snapped.

“I fail to see why her opinion matters,” Thorin said, leaning back in his chair, “but write to her if you feel you must.” He snatched his own letter up from the desktop and prepared it for a raven to take back to the Blue Mountains in the morning.

He went over to the armchairs and sat in his, still trying to puzzle out Bilbo’s reasons for writing to Dis. When he glanced over at Bilbo’s chair, a book sitting on the table between their chairs caught his gaze. The book Bilbo had retrieved from the library and asked Thorin to translate so Bilbo could better understand dwarrow courting and the courting of another male sat there.

Could it be?

Thorin cleared his throat to catch Bilbo’s attention, feeling a bit like he’d overreacted in the slight anger and panic over Bilbo writing his sister. “Is this a,” he paused, trying to decide on the proper syntax and connotation he wanted to bring into his next words so as to hopefully avoid further confrontation with his One, “custom of hobbits to seek approval from kin upon a marriage?”

He heard a rustling of papers from the desk and the gentle tap of a quill being set into an ink well.

Bilbo joined him moments later, silent as always on his overly large, furry feet. “It is,” he said, taking a seat in his chair and turning his body towards Thorin with his arms crossed over his chest defensively. “Although it usually happens before the wedding. Family is one of the most important things to hobbits. When we want to join two families together through marriage, approval is sought from parents or, if they are absent, the closest family member available.”

“I see,” Thorin said, his hand coming up to rub along his mustache and beard as he thought. He let his hand fall back to his lap.

“When we find our Ones,” he began and looked over at Bilbo to make sure he wasn’t ignoring him in a sulk as had been Thorin’s first inclination, was still his first inclination. “There is no contestation. The families can be mortal enemies, waging war against each other. If someone finds their One in the opposing side, nothing else matters. There is no point in keeping someone from the other half of their soul. Forgive me for not seeing the point in asking for a blessing for what is to my people the inevitable.”

Bilbo’s arms relaxed and dropped into his lap but he didn’t say anything. Thorin watched him, trying to figure out how to help Bilbo understand. But then, maybe it was no longer about making him understand, Thorin realized. There was no longer any petulance or irritation in Bilbo’s posture. So what could he do now?

Bilbo had asked for Thorin to help him along in their relationship, their marriage. Their mutual affection something he had convinced himself that should not, could not exist within himself as it was shunned and considered unrespectable amongst his own kind. Could this be part of that? He tried to think from Bilbo’s perspective and realized what might be the problem. Bilbo’s culture demanded that he write to his relatives and tell them of his marriage. To another male. Whom he wasn’t supposed to love and yet did.
Perhaps Thorin could take some of the burdens upon himself.

“Would you like me to write your relatives?” Thorin asked. “I’m sure there are those that would want to know of your wellbeing and happiness.”

“Wellbeing, yes. Happiness, yes,” Bilbo admitted. “But my marriage? I’m afraid we will not receive any blessings for it, not even from my mother’s side of the family.”

“As it seems important to you, I will write them,” Thorin said. “If and when they send a reply, I will read it first if you wish, in case there are sentiments within it that would upset you.”

The smile Bilbo directed toward him was full of relief and a great deal of appreciation. “I never knew you could be so diplomatic,” Bilbo said.

Thorin cocked an eyebrow. “I can be very diplomatic as long as I see it necessary and of use to me.” He picked up the book still on the table between them. “Now, shall I translate more of our customs for you?”

“You need to work on your subtlety when it comes to changing the subject,” Bilbo said wryly. “I would appreciate it if you translated for me. Please don’t leave anything out.”

Smiling, Thorin pulled the book into his lap and opened it to the first page.

~*~*~

Bilbo took an extra few minutes readying for bed later that evening. Excitement, anticipation, and nerves warred within him. For the first time in decades, he was going to bed with amorous intentions. More than that, his partner, his husband, seemed disinclined to worry about hiding their relationship. The notion sent a thrill of desire through him.

Listening to Thorin’s beautifully rich and deep voice translate to him for over two hours hadn’t helped. The book had not been what he’d expected. Instead of the dry depiction of courting traditions he had expected, Ori had given him a love story of apparently epic proportions that detailed dwarrow courting perfectly while still giving the characters realistic and loving interactions with each other and those around them.

It had definitely set a tone for the rest of their evening of which Bilbo intended to take every advantage.

So Bilbo took extra care, combing his hairy feet, cleaning his teeth, washing his face, and choosing the nightshirt he wanted to sleep in, picking one that was a bit short but still within the lengths of propriety. He wished he had the courage to just walk into their bedroom with nothing on. He’d work up to it. For now, he took a deep breath, licked his lower lip, flexed his fingers, and walked back into the bedroom.

Thorin sat on his side of the bed, one foot still resting on the floor, the other bent at the knee, his still healing foot tucked against the opposite leg on top of the blankets and first. He ran his fingers through his hair, detangling the black and silver mass. Before he could be spotted, Bilbo ducked back into his dressing room and retrieved his brush and comb. It wasn’t something in the tale Thorin had translated for him earlier, but he knew from their travels that hair was important to dwarrow. Perhaps he could help Thorin with his and make his intentions for the rest of the night clear at the same time.

“Would you like help with that?” Bilbo asked, keeping his tone neutral, his eyes fixed on the hand Thorin still had tucked into his hair when the king looked at him.

If the visibly convulsive swallow was any indication, Bilbo was on the right path. He resisted the urge to stammer out something more along the lines of only if Thorin wanted or if it was okay and so on, knowing it would probably only serve to make Thorin believe he didn’t really want to help.

Thorin recovered quickly and when he spoke, his voice was steady and full of delightfully concupiscent promises. “Only if you allow me to return the favor.”

Bilbo cleared his throat, lifting his chin a bit even as his steps faltered. He regained his balance and climbed onto the bed next to his husband. “That is entirely not fair,” he groused as he reached to pull the bead off the end of Thorin’s marriage braid.

“What isn’t?” Thorin asked and Bilbo had the impression of a large dog settling in for a thorough and longed-for grooming with the way Thorin’s shoulders shifted and rolled at the sudden attention.

“No one should be allowed to have such a carnally tempting voice, especially when discussing something so mundane as brushing one’s hair.” Thorin’s laugh was rich. Bilbo sighed in mock exasperation and started unraveling the braid carefully. “That’s exactly what I’m referring to.”

“Ghivashelê, for my people, there is very little that is more sensuous than caring for another’s hair.” Thorin leveled his gaze on Bilbo from beneath his lashes, a devilish smirk tugging at his lips.

Bilbo fought to keep his hands steady as he ran his hands through Thorin’s hair with the utmost care, finding the occasional braid or clasp to remove and undo. He tried to ignore Thorin’s eyes that always watched his face. As disconcerting as that gaze should have been, Bilbo could only find himself basking in the intensity, the attention, and the obvious desire.

When his fingers passed easily through all of Thorin’s hair, Bilbo reached for the brush. Thorin’s hand caught his before he could find it. “I would return the favor,” he reminded Bilbo.

Bilbo stilled for a moment before nodding. Thorin released him and he returned his fingers to Thorin’s hair, finger combing the black and silver waves.

Thorin removed the single braid in Bilbo’s hair with the ease of long practice. He ran his fingers through Bilbo’s curls, blunt nails scraping along his scalp and Bilbo leaned into the attention. He ignored the feelings of fear and shame that stemmed from his adult life in the Shire, instead focusing on the freedom of finally indulging and accepting the part of him that wanted Thorin in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to want anything in all his life. He had to consciously remind himself to keep moving his hands through Thorin’s hair.

Bilbo hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until a long nose brushed his cheek, all the warning he received before Thorin’s lips pressed carefully, tentatively across his own in a fleeting, exploratory kiss. Bilbo sighed at the contact, tilting his chin towards Thorin and finding his lips again easily. He kissed with more resolve, increasing the duration and strength of the contact. He felt Thorin’s lips shift away from him slightly in a smile.

Thorin pulled away briefly, one hand sliding to rest on Bilbo’s cheek, his thumb running along Bilbo’s lower lip. He pressed his forehead gently against Bilbo’s. “I am truly blessed to have found my way to you, Bilbo Baggins,” he said, his smile joyous and a bit disbelieving in the set of his jaw as if he could not fathom Bilbo returning his feelings.

“Oakenshield,” Bilbo said and explained when Thorin leaned back a bit, his expression turning questioning. “Hobbits take their husband’s last name when they marry. I’d like to take yours if you’ll allow it.”
“We will discuss it later,” Thorin promised as he pressed his lips to Bilbo’s once again.

~*~*~

Dwalin greeted Thorin and Bilbo the next morning with a wide grin. “Mahal be praised! You finally got your acts together,” he said and threw his arms into the air.

Thorin’s eyebrows lifted as if to ask what Dwalin was talking about even as Bilbo blushed the color of his prize tomatoes.

“Don’t give me that look, Thorin. You’re strutting like a peacock this morning and I can smell sex rolling off the both of you.”

Thorin couldn’t even bring himself to scowl or hide his smirk. Bilbo buried his face in his hands. “Can we just go to breakfast?” The hobbit demanded, not wanting to discuss his and Thorin’s private matters, especially when it came to their bed and what went on in it.

Thorin pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s curls before straightening and linking his hands behind his back. “Of course, Ghivashel,” he said and started down the hall with his consort at his side.

They were about halfway to the dining hall when Dwalin suddenly swore vehemently. Thorin reached for Orcrist and scanned the area, looking for the threat. His other hand went to make sure Bilbo was still next to him. A quick glance showed the hobbit had already unsheathed his little letter opener and was glancing around as well.

“I lost the bet,” Dwalin grumbled.

Gleeful cackling preceded Nori’s sudden appearance behind them. “I’ll say you did.”

“Wait, what bet?” Bilbo asked.

Thorin smirked down at his husband. “Did you learn nothing of my people during our journey here? I recall them making a bit on you the first day or our travels together.”

Bilbo glared at him. “You do realize they were betting on whether we would, if we,” he couldn’t find a way to discreetly and tactfully describe what they’d done.

“That you were shaking the sheets? Riding below the crupper? Did the-”

“Yes, we understand Dwalin. Thank you very much for that.” Thorin punched the guard firmly in the shoulder. “You’re making my husband uncomfortable.”

Dwalin looked at Bilbo to find him with his face buried in his hands. “Sorry about that,” he said, sounding truly contrite. “Won’t happen again.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo said and pulled his hands away from his face as the blush receded.

“You’re all despicable,” Thorin grumbled at Dwalin.

“I don’t know why you’re complaining. You won.” Nori grinned at the king.

Bilbo’s jaw dropped. “Thorin!” he cried, voice thick with disbelief and scandal.

Thorin shrugged, not at all apologetic. “It was just a friendly wager.”

“About our sex life!” Bilbo hissed and buried his face in his hands.

“Won’t happen again Ghivashel.”

Bilbo just groaned.

~*~*~

The winter, up until then, had been fairly mild with no major storms blowing across the mountain for which Bilbo was grateful. There was plenty of snow on the ground in his opinion, and it had arrived in small increments of a few centimeters at a time. There was still more out there than the Shire received at a time during most winters but he could still walk outside of the gates and enjoy some sunshine on the odd occasion.

So when Bard, the new Lord of Dale arrived at Erebor’s gates to talk to Thorin about refuge for his people during an upcoming storm, he found himself a bit confused.

“How do you know a storm’s coming?” Bilbo asked as he sat at the small table with Thorin and Bard.

“You learn to read the signs in these parts, Your Highness,” Bard said. “Such a storm can kill if you are not prepared.”

“How soon will it be upon us?” Thorin asked arms crossed loosely over his chest, ignoring Bilbo’s irritated expression when Bard used his official title.

“I’d say in two days at the latest. We’ve been lucky to not have one this bad yet this season.”

Thorin nodded and looked at Bilbo. “You know how our stores are better than I. Could we support Bard’s people for the winter?”

“We would have to be a bit more careful, but we should be able to. I had Dain bring back enough food for Bard’s people when last they went to the Iron Hills.”

“I thank you for your foresight,” Bard said, inclining his head towards Bilbo.

Thorin stood from the table and started towards the doors, Bilbo on his heels. “I’ll send a contingent of my men with you back to Dale to help your people travel here. We will want to have time to get them settled before the storm breaks on the mountain.”

Bard blinked in surprise. “That’s generous of you,” he said a bit skeptically as if he expected Thorin to ask for compensation for aiding his people. When none seemed forthcoming, he too stood and followed Thorin out of the meeting room. Dwalin fell in step with them.

“Gather twenty of our men and any volunteers willing to go to Dale to aid Lord Bard’s people. They will be coming to stay in Erebor until the snows abate come Spring,” he ordered. “Send as many carts and wagons as possible as well.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Dwalin said and hurried away.

“How soon can we expect your people to arrive?” Thorin asked, turning a corner.

“My family would be among the first. Sigrid said she would have Bain and Tilda ready to move by midday. They would be here before nightfall. I would estimate about fifteen among those that could reach the mountain before dark. I won’t allow any to travel after the second bell today. There are still too many orc packs roaming nearby that would take advantage of the darkness.”

Thorin reached out and grabbed a passing dwarf. “Send word to Master Bombur in the kitchens,” he ordered. “He is to expect an extra fifteen two twenty mouths to feed for the evening meal tonight.”

The dwarf bowed and murmured a quick, “Yes, Your Majesty,” before dashing in the opposite direction.

“Your people will have to stay in the King’s Hall for now. It is near enough to the forges to be warm but not so close as to be stifling. Once the mountain is sealed against the storm, we will shift our efforts into more suitable living quarters for your people. Have you any ill or injured?”

“Just a few head colds,” Bard said, “and only a few are still suffering from their injuries from The Battle. They will need the most assistance to the mountain.”

“Women and children?”

Bard smiled. “They are hearty. They can travel without assistance with only one exception. There is one young woman who is soon to give birth.”

“We will have her taken straight to the infirmary. She will be more comfortable there than with the rough conditions that will be had for the rest of your people for the time being.”

Bard again looked stricken with surprise. “Thank you, on behalf of her. I do not doubt she will remember your kindness.”

Thorin did not comment. They were almost to the front gates. “Kili!” he shouted when he saw his nephew and Tauriel coming into the mountain, a couple of skinny hares slung over their shoulders and snow and water dripping off their boots and the hems of their cloaks.

“Look Uncle!” Kili said brightly. “We thought Bombur could use a bit more in the stew pots.”

Thorin nodded. “Have another take them down. There’s a storm coming. I need you to go to Dale to help evacuate the city. Dwalin is gathering men as we speak. As soon as Lord Bard is prepared, you will leave.”

Kili nodded and dashed off to do as he was told, Tauriel following closely.

“Bofur!” Thorin called, having caught sight of the dwarf.

“Your Majesties! Lord Bard!” Bofur said happily as he climbed down from his perch on a scaffold. “What brings you to the gates today?”

“How soon can the gates be ready to be sealed against a winter storm?” Thorin asked.

Bofur scratched at the scruff along his chin. “We’ve made enough headway with the gates we could actually have them sealed in three days. It won’t be pretty, but it’ll be done.”

“Take men off other projects. They need to be sealed in two.”

“I’ll get right on it, Your Majesty,” Bofur said and immediately he turned and shouted up at someone on top of some scaffolding constructed near the wall. “Brokkat! Go fetch those working on the private residences. We need these gates sealed by tomorrow night!”

“I thank you, on behalf of all my people,” Bard said. “We will return to Dale as soon as we are able to clear the road after the storm.”

“Nonsense,” Bilbo said before Thorin could reply. “Your people will spend the rest of the winter in Erebor. When Spring comes, you can return to Dale. In the meantime, when the weather is agreeable, we’ll send groups to Dale to continue repairs on the city so you’ll have at least some work done before you return.”

“I wouldn’t want to overstay our welcome,” Bard said, glancing at Thorin.

“We have space and the means,” Thorin said. “If it will ease your mind, we can find tasks for your people here in the mountain through the winter, cleaning and such. They will be paid for their work and they can clear places for them to stay for the winter as well.”

Bard opened his mouth, seemingly prepared to argue but stopped. He nodded his head. “Again, I thank you.”

Dwalin assembled his men quickly and soon they were setting out toward Dale with ten wagons. Bard, Kili, and Tauriel led the group.

“I’m very impressed,” Bilbo said as they turned away from the gates, a worker dodging around him and Thorin as he went. “I wondered if I would need to convince you to let Bard and his people stay.”

Thorin shook his head, linking his hands behind his back. “My people know what it is like to be turned away in their time of need. We will not do so to others.”

“Even Thranduil and his people?” Bilbo asked.

Thorin scowled at him. “I’ve already allowed one of his kind into the mountain or have you forgotten the she-elf my youngest nephew has started shadowing everywhere?”

“Tauriel,” Bilbo said. “Her name is Tauriel and she’s really quite nice.”

Thorin grunted noncommittally as they entered the Hall of Kings where what few dwarrow that could be spared were busy assembling cots and putting up screens that could be placed to create some privacy. Bilbo must have arranged that while he spoke with Kili and Bofur.

“Your people work fast, I’ll give you that,” Bilbo said, taking in the sight of the quickly growing accommodations.

“They are your people now too,” Thorin reminded him as they turned away.

“I suppose they are,” Bilbo said, feeling a bit odd at the reminder, and, admittedly, a bit proud to think of the dwarrow in such a way. “Well, I’m off then,” he said.

“Where are you going?” Thorin asked.

“We have foreign dignitaries coming to visit,” Bilbo said. “We should prepare suitable rooms for them as soon as possible.”

Thorin nodded. “I’ll show you to the area where such rooms exist. Hopefully, Smaug did not destroy anything there.”

Bilbo smiled. “I don’t suppose I can’t convince you to give me a hand with it?”

With a sigh, Thorin nodded. “I’ll see if Fili is feeling up to helping as well. Oin should be finishing with him about now.”

“Thank you Thorin,” Bilbo said and stood on his toes so he could place a kiss on Thorin’s cheek.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

True to his word, Bard’s family arrived that evening along with another fourteen people, including the pregnant woman. The Bowman stayed behind in Dale to assist those that were still preparing to leave. He would come with the last of his people the next day.

Bilbo was at the gates, talking to Bofur about the faster progress on the work there when Kili and Tauriel arrived with Dale’s winter refugees. Bard’s youngest daughter perched on Kili’s shoulders, talking a mile a minute with Tauriel. As the group made their way into the mountain’s safety, Bilbo stepped forward to direct their new guests to their new accommodations where they could set their meager belongings before he sent them to the kitchens to get some dinner.

“You seem to be settling into your role as Prince Consort,” Tauriel remarked, coming to stand next to him in the dining hall once the humans were all settled in and eating.

He tipped his head back, craning his neck to look up at her. “I wouldn’t call it that.”

“Then what would you call it?” she asked, turning her head to look down at him instead of out at the people in the room. Her lips tipped up at the corners in bemusement and her eyebrows raised to emphasize the humor she must have felt.

“Knowing how to be a decent host to guests in one’s home,” he said.

Her smile grew. “Yes,” she said with a fond smile and her eyes lingered on a dark head of hair near Bard’s three children. “Kili told me of how he came to meet you.”

Bilbo just shook his head. “There’s nothing quite like testing your abilities against a group of thirteen dwarrow suddenly tromping into your home and demolishing your larder,” he admitted. “Handling as many humans is nothing compared to that.”

She placed her hand against his shoulder as they continued to survey the room. Kili soon bounded over to take a place next to Tauriel. The look on his face was so adoring and besotted that Bilbo quickly made an excuse to step away from the couple or risk laughing, which would not be at all polite.

He started wandering over to where Bard’s children were seated, intent on saying hello to them. He’d only taken a few steps when Fili limped into the room on his crutches. When he spied his brother talking to Tauriel, he grimaced, scanned the room, and found Bilbo. When Fili’s eyebrows rose in a pleading question, Bilbo nodded and waved for Fili to join him.

“Thank you, Bilbo,” Fili said once he managed to hobble his way over. “I know that she’s his One and everything, but do they have to be so disgustingly besotted with each other?”

Bilbo did laugh at that. “I was just thinking the same thing not that long ago,” he admitted when Fili cocked a questioning eyebrow at him. They started walking again. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Stiff,” Fili admitted, pausing in his shortened strides to shake his injured leg a bit. He winced in pain and Bilbo fought to keep the pity and fear from his expression.

“Is there any way I can help?” he asked instead as they started moving again.

Fili shook his head and Bilbo found himself once again wondering how he managed to do that without whacking himself in the eye with one of the many clasps and beads in his hair and mustache. Practice, he supposed. “Not really. I need to take more time to stretch it. Oin thinks I’m pushing myself too hard too and that might be adding to it.”

Bilbo frowned at him. “I suggest you listen to him,” he said, “or you’ll undo all the progress you’ve made.”

Fili snorted. “Progress? What progress? Besides, taking things easier is boring. I want to be able to walk again and not with these cursed things or a cane!”

“Then perhaps Sigrid can find a way to keep you company,” Bilbo snapped and nodded toward the young woman as they reached the table.

She looked up, surprised and confused. “I’m sorry. What?” she asked.

Fili shut his mouth against the angry retort and glanced at the girl. He almost turned his eyes back to Bilbo before fully looking at Sigrid again, eyes wide and lips slightly parted.

It’s an expression Bilbo hadn’t seen from him before. Fili, like his brother, always seemed to have something witty to quip, charm to throw around, something, anything to say. “You wouldn’t mind, would you Sigrid?” Bilbo asked to break the sudden staring contest in front of him. “Fili won’t stop trying to kill himself while he works that leg of his. Can you keep him under control a bit for me? I’d ask his brother, but it’s far too easy to persuade Kili to spend time with Tauriel.”

Sigrid set her spoon back into her mostly empty bowl of stew. Bilbo glanced at her siblings’ bowls. They too were almost empty, their thick slices of bread little more than crusts. “I’m not sure what use I’ll be,” she hedged.

“You don’t need to do anything,” Fili said before Bilbo could give her instructions. “Bilbo’s just being too much a worrywart.”

“Worrywart‽” he demanded. “You almost died-”

“See what I mean?” Fili asked with a smirk. “Can’t stop living in the past.”

Words failed Bilbo. He threw up his hands. “Fine. Don’t come to me when you’re stuck back in a bed because you won’t do as Oin says.”

“I won’t be going to anyone if I’m stuck back in bed,” Fili pointed out with a bit of a cheeky grin.

Tilda and Bain laughed. Sigrid, her eyes still lingering on Fili, smiled a little before looking at Bilbo. “Did you need something, Your Highness?” she asked.

“I haven’t finished with you yet,” Bilbo said as Fili started to move away, heading for the servers and his own dinner.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” Fili called over his shoulder and lengthened the length of the swing of his crutches.

Bilbo huffed, his mouth setting in a mulish line briefly before turning back to Sigrid. “First, stop calling me that. My name is Bilbo and I prefer to keep it that way amongst my friends,” he said with a smile. “Second, how are you three doing? Will you be all right without your father here?”

“Sigrid looks after us just fine,” Tilda said around a mouthful of potato.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Sigrid scolded and reached over to wipe some gravy from her face. The smaller girl cast a look at Bilbo that seemed to say, “See what I mean?”

“If you need anything at all, let me know, especially while your father isn’t here. Your family did a great deal to help regain the mountain. The least we can do is see to your needs while you’re with us.”

“Thank you, Master Baggins,” Sigrid said. “We will let you know.”

He nodded, knowing he probably wouldn’t get her to call him anything else that day, and moved away. He knew that in all likelihood if the situation was anything short of life-threatening, the small family would not come to him. He made a note to keep an eye on them, even after Bard arrived back in the mountain with the last of Dale’s citizens.

~*~*~ 

Thorin spent the next morning with Bilbo, checking on those that had arrived from Dale so far and making sure preparations were being made for those that would start arriving as early as midmorning. Bard’s children seemed fine, Kili having taken a shine to the youngest and vice versa. The pregnant woman was settled inside the infirmary where Oin could monitor her until her midwife could arrive from Dale.

Outside, the winds started to pick up, whipping what snow already on the grounds but not packed down by booted feet into freezing clouds, ultimately settling near walls and depressions in the land, creating drifts that slowly spread. It would only grow worse once the imminent snowstorm arrived.

After checking the progress on sealing the gates with Bofur (“On schedule, Your Majesties. We’ll have them ready by nightfall. Don’t you worry about that.”) and eating lunch, Thorin set off to his afternoon meetings, Dwalin still tailing him. Before he left, Balin arrived to stay with Bilbo and to assist in making sure the refugees that were slowly trickling into the mountain found where they needed to go and that their needs were met.

The final meeting of the day turned out to be absolutely pointless, in Thorin’s opinion. When he arrived and the formalities were dealt with, the intended topic of discussing food stores quickly devolved.

“They have no right to be in our mountain,” Brugaat, Son of Turgaat, growled from his position midway down the table. The dwarrow around him nodded in agreement. “They should not be allowed in our hallowed halls, and definitely not without a guard set on them to keep them contained.”

Thorin bristled but kept his stoic mask in place. To his left, Gloin grumbled, “Your halls, Brugaat? Since when are they your halls? You did not reclaim the mountain from the dragon. You didn’t even fight in The Battle. These halls are King Thorin’s,” here he nodded respectfully at the king, “and the Line of Durin. Not to some upstart Broadbeam who blundered into the Iron Hills and somehow managed to marry into a noble family.”

Brugaat spluttered indignantly, climbing to his feet. "She's my One you-"

“Sit down,” Thorin ordered. Brugaat sat but continued his glaring contest with Gloin.

Streknuls cleared his throat, drawing attention. “Brugaat has a point. We cannot trust these Men. We should send them back to Dale. That is their home. Let them weather the storm in their own homes, as must we all.”

Considering that the conversation had been circling back to the same point for almost an hour, Thorin sighed internally. He cast his eye around the table. “When Smaug destroyed Dale and took our home from us, no one aided our people. The elves-” he tried to keep the utter hatred from his voice out of habit even though Bilbo was not present “-turned their backs on us and on Dale’s survivors. Men’s cities cast us away or treated us as beggars. The Iron Hills took what refugees they could but we were left scattered across the land. I remember watching our people die on the road from exposure as the winter drew on and the nights grew cold and we traveled on, looking for any shelter we could find, any aid that would be willingly given. None came.

“Our actions stirred the dragon, sending it on Esgaroth and destroying the city. Their people are without shelter. The winter grows harsher every week. If we leave them to fend for themselves, they will die as we did. Are we so bitter and deep in our hatred that we will not give aid where it is needed? To those that we set a dragon upon and thus lost their homes? Are we so without honor?”

The room remained silent as the dwarrow stared at him with varying expressions.

“We will render aid to Dale’s citizens, give them shelter during the harshest part of winter at the very least. No additional guard will be posted unless we are provoked. We have more than enough space and I am told we have the resources to keep us all alive through a long winter. If you cannot abide by this, I suggest you head back to the Iron Hills as soon as the storm abates, clear roads or not.”

Mutterings rippled along the table until Thorin clearly heard someone say a bit louder, “I’ll bet it’s that halflings doing, letting those people come here.”

Dwalin didn’t even have a chance to pull Grasper or Keeper from his back before Thorin slammed his own ax into the scarred table’s surface and leveled Orcrist at Brugaat. “Bilbo is my consort,” Thorin growled deeply. “You will show him the respect his title is due or I will have your beard and cast you out of this mountain for treason. I do not care if the coming storm will kill you or not.”

Brugaat stared wide-eyed, swallowing convulsively against the threat to his honor and life. “Of course, Your Majesty,” he finally managed to say.

“And if I hear of anyone referring to Bilbo as a halfling ever again within these halls, I will not hesitate to exact any punishment he may demand for the slur against him. Do I make myself clear?”

A quick chorus of, “Yes, Your Majesty,” sounded from around the room.

“Good,” Thorin growled. “The humans will stay in Erebor with no guard placed on them. They are our allies and will be treated with the respect they are due. This meeting is over.” He slid Orcrist back into its sheath before sweeping out of the room, Dwalin on his heels.

“About time you got that lot in order,” Dwalin grumbled as they headed towards the royal wing.

“I fear it will be an ongoing fight for the rest of my rule as King Under the Mountain,” Thorin sighed. “Would you mind having Bombur send something up for me? I have correspondence to write before I send Carc off with the letters to Dis.”

“I’ll pass the word along once you’re in your rooms,” Dwalin said. “Tell Dis I look forward to her return.”

Thorin nodded. Soon they reached his rooms and he went inside. Another guard waited there to take Dwalin’s place for the night.

Once he’d removed the dratted, heavy Raven Crown and the royal robes Dori had managed to make for him with what little material was brought from the Iron Hills and what was salvageable within Erebor, he settled at his desk and pulled out parchment and quill and set to work.

Bilbo found him still at the desk nearly two hours later, his dinner sitting on a tray on the table between the armchairs, untouched and cold, a growing pile of discarded, balled-up parchment behind his right shoulder as well as a couple of broken quills.

“Writing to Thranduil?” Bilbo asked curiously as he went to start a kettle warming for their evening tea and to see if he could find a safe way to reheat Thorin’s dinner. If this was going to be a regular occurrence, he would have to have some basic cooking equipment made for their hearth.

Thorin grunted and tossed another piece of parchment over his shoulder and dragged another clean one out of the stack on the desk. He dipped his quill, tapped off the excess ink, and held it poised over the parchment again, prepared to write. Seconds later, he growled and set the quill back in the small, almost empty bottle. “This is hopeless,” Thorin muttered.

Bilbo came over to stand behind him, resting his hands on his shoulders. “What’s hopeless Love?” he asked and placed a kiss on Thorin’s forehead when the dwarf leaned his head back to look at him upside down.

“What in Mahal’s name am I supposed to put in a letter to your family? Whom should I address it to? Your next of kin? Do you have a patriarch or matriarch? I don’t know nearly enough about hobbits to properly address your traditions.” He lifted his head back upright and shoved the parchment away from himself in disgust at his own failings.

Bilbo blinked in surprise. “My family? Why are you writing my family?”

Thorin climbed to his feet with a groan, stretching his arms above his head and hearing the joints creak and groan in protest all the way down his back. His chest wound gave a twinge at the motion but otherwise didn’t cause any discomfort. A good sign, he thought. “I told you I would,” he reminded Bilbo as he wrapped his arm around the hobbit’s shoulders and led him over to the armchairs. “It is only right that I honor your people’s traditions as you honor mine.”

It took Thorin a bit by surprise when Bilbo turned into him, stopping his progress, and kissed him quite thoroughly. “Come by the fire,” Bilbo said once he dropped back to his heels. “You need to eat.”

“Is it your purpose in life to make sure I eat?” Thorin asked with a small smile.

“You’re a king,” Bilbo retorted as he set about pouring tea for the both of them and serving Thorin a tureen of the hearty fish stew he'd managed to reheat near the fire. “We can’t have you missing meals and passing out from hunger.”

Thorin snorted. “I’m not about to pass out from a missed dinner here and there,” he said but took the stew without further comment. “Now, to whom do I address that letter?”

Bilbo thought for a moment as he took his own seat, letting the warmth seeping through the delicate china of his teacup warm his cold hands. He must have found the set tucked away in the kitchens when they’d been cleaning the place after Smaug had vacated the premises. After so long on the road, Thorin imagined Bilbo longed for a sense of civility and had found it in the fragile, white and black filigreed dining set. Thorin had allowed it without comment, knowing his grandmother would have wanted someone to make use of her grandmother’s dishes.

“Well,” Bilbo started slowly without looking at Thorin. “My next of kin is my cousin Otho Sackville-Baggins but is probably a poor choice.”

“And why is that?” Thorin asked before taking a bite of the simple, grain-filled bread that accompanied his meal. Bombur must have put honey in with the sweet oats, wheat, and barley. Someone must have found a beehive while out scouting or Bard’s people had brought it in and offered it up to their stores. The sweetener had not been in the stores Dain had brought.

“If he were to get a letter stating that I had married a dwarf king and was now living in said dwarf’s kingdom, he would burn the letter, have me pronounced dead, and take possession of Bag End. No one would know any different and I would have to travel back to the Shire to straighten everything out before I could reclaim my possessions and home. By the time I would reach Bag End, I’m sure Otho and his horrid fiancée would have sold everything that they thought didn’t hold enough value socially.”

Thorin stared in disbelief.

“What?” Bilbo asked.

“That’s awfully petty.”

“It’s true though.”

Thorin huffed, settling deeper into his chair and letting his spoon drop back into the mostly empty tureen. “When we return to the Shire to retrieve your belongings, remind me to inform this Otho of your station. If he is a societal climber as you have indicated, he will be horrified to know he will never reach your status,” he smirked.

Bilbo snorted into his cup of tea. “I will gladly watch you do that,” he said with a grin. “As for your letter, you should probably send it to my cousin Fortinbras Took. If you send your letter by way of Bree, you’ll want to address it to the Thain of the Shire. It’ll reach him faster that way.”

“Thain?” Thorin asked. “What does that mean?”

“It’s sort of our ruler, I guess you could say,” Bilbo said.

“Ruler, as in king?”

“We don’t have kings,” Bilbo said.

Thorin shook his head. “Dwarrow law considers the highest-ranking leader of any given land a king. Your Fortinbras Took is the leader of the hobbits. We would consider him a king. How exactly is he related to you?”

Bilbo frowned. “His father and my mother were siblings. What else would I mean by saying he’s my cousin?”

Thorin waived a hand. “Just being thorough. Thain is a hereditary title?”

Bilbo shrugged. “These days it is. Why?”

“Your grandfather was Thain two generations ago, correct?”

“Yes. Where are you going with this Thorin?”

A slow smile started to spread across Thorin’s face. “By Dwarrow law, your grandfather was king, making your mother a princess, and, depending on the timing of your grandfather’s death in relation to your birth, making you a lesser prince. Now, you would be considered high ranking nobility in dwarrow eyes at the very least.”

“High ranking?” Bilbo asked.

“It would put you on the same level as Dain in my kingdom, essentially. A landowner in your own right. We can fudge the details and consider you as a lesser prince in your homeland in the eyes of my people.”

“Why in the name of the Valar would we need to bother with such a thing?” Bilbo demanded, setting his teacup aside.

“Appearances, mostly,” Thorin said. “It will be easier to convince my people to accept you as Prince Consort when we hold a coronation if you are royalty in your own land.”

Bilbo shook his head in dismay at the politics. “If it helps, I do own land in the Shire and have several tenants. Dear me, I do hope someone has been taking care of them properly in my absence.”

Thorin caught Bilbo’s hand before it could disappear into the pocket of his waistcoat to worry at whatever odds and ends he had in there. The acorn perhaps? He kissed the hobbit's palm with a wicked grin. “You have just made my life a bit easier where it comes to dealing with my council.”

“Yes, well,” Bilbo said, fighting against his own smile. “We can’t have you at odds with them, now can we?”

“I can be at odds with them all I like,” Thorin retorted, “but I would rather they stopped trying to make me renounce our marriage and just agree with me.”

“Stubborn,” Bilbo accused and was rewarded with an amused lift of Thorin’s eyebrows and the feel of the dwarf’s fingers tickling his palm. “Oh, stop that and eat your dinner.”

Thorin laughed and released Bilbo’s hand, turning back to his meal.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

“Morning laddie,” Balin greeted Bilbo the next day when the hobbit left his rooms.

“Good morning, Balin,” Bilbo said. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

Balin smiled at him. “We will be readying you for your coronation tomorrow.”

Bilbo stopped in his tracks and blinked. When Balin turned to find out what the matter was, he managed an uncertain, “Oh?”

“Of course. Didn’t Thorin tell you?” Balin asked.

“He did mention something about a coronation yesterday. I didn’t realize he meant we would actually be holding one any time soon.” And suddenly, the extra warm greeting he’d received from his husband that morning made a great deal of sense. “Oh, he is going to pay,” Bilbo muttered as he followed Balin down the corridors, headed to wear Dori had apparently been busy making clothes for the royal family for the occasion with whatever suitable materials he could find.

While Dori fussed and fitted the dwarrow style tunic and trousers to Bilbo’s frame, he looked to Balin. “Is Fili going to be up for this?” he asked. “I know he still has trouble standing for long periods of time.”

“I’ll be fine,” Fili groused from where he limped his way into the room, crutches tucked securely under his arms. “I’m injured, not made of glass, Bilbo.”

Concern slithered its way into Bilbo’s chest. Fili didn’t normally snap. Looking closer, he saw the skin around the dwarf’s eyes and mouth seemed tighter than usual. Pain, Bilbo decided. His leg. “I didn’t mean you weren’t strong,” Bilbo said. “I’m just concerned for your well-being.”

Fili sighed heavily next to him, some of the tension seeping from his shoulders. He shook his head, casting an apologetic look at the hobbit. “I’m just sick of being treated like I can’t function without help.”

“I know, Fili, but you must understand we worry. The last thing we want is for you to work yourself so hard you make matters worse.”

Fili’s mouth set in a familiar, stubborn line and for a moment, Bilbo saw a great deal of Thorin in the expression. It wasn’t very often Fili’s appearance reminded Bilbo of the king.

“Just take it easy. You promised to teach me how to throw axes and I don’t think you’ll be able to do so on crutches,” he said quickly before Fili could launch into a stubborn, defensive tirade.

It worked. Fili relaxed, a chuckle escaping him. “I can still teach you,” he said. “Even with these blasted things.” He lifted a crutch.

“You’re done, Your Highness,” Dori said and motioned for Bilbo to step down from the stool he’d been standing on so Dori didn’t have to crouch as low to reach the cuffs of his trousers.

“Remember what I said,” Bilbo said, wrapping Fili into a quick hug. “Why don’t you join me for tea some time,” he suggested. “I feel like I haven’t gotten to talk to you or your brother in ages.”

Fili smiled and Bilbo felt all the better for his efforts in cheering the dwarf, even for just a moment. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

Bilbo patted Fili's shoulder and left Dori’s temporary domain, Balin joining him as he exited. “Come on,” Balin said. “We have a lot to teach you and very little time.”

Bilbo stifled a groan.

 ~*~*~ 

Bilbo fiddled with the sleeves of his new tunic nervously as Thorin carefully braided bits of his growing hair. “So, what should I expect about today? Balin told me about the importance and duties of a consort yesterday, but he didn’t really tell me much about the ceremony itself.”

Thorin added a bead to another braid and let it fall. It brushed against Bilbo’s ear, sending a strange thrill down his spine. Really, he needed to warn Thorin about the sensitivity there one of these days. Granted, he also feared the ramifications of his husband finding out about that little bit about hobbit anatomy.

“Honestly, there’s not much participation from either of us. We will kneel on the steps by the throne, Balin will go through the ceremony, we will swear to serve Erebor and her people – he did teach you the proper responses, yes? Good – and then he will crown us. We will take our place on the thrones, Fili will be crowned as my heir, and Kili will be crowned as a prince of Erebor and heir behind Fili.”

“That seems simple enough,” Bilbo said. “Hardly worth the fuss Balin was making it out to be.”

Thorin chuckled. “Yes, he likes his pomp and circumstance on occasion. It’s rather longwinded. Time could be spent more productively, but it is a necessary thing we do today. It will help solidify your place at my side and my place in the eyes of the dwarrow from the Iron Hills.” He dropped a kiss to Bilbo’s head and sectioned out another lock of hair, this one near the top of his head.

They remained silent for a time as Bilbo hesitated, unsure if he should voice his worries. “Help me keep an eye on Fili?” he asked finally. “He seemed to be in a lot of pain when I ran into him yesterday.”

“I will help,” Thorin said, “but I doubt he will need us today.”

Bilbo nodded absently and got a tug on his hair in response.

“Hold still,” Thorin admonished as he continued working with Bilbo’s curls.

“Being married to you means I’m no longer allowed to cut this mess, doesn't it?” Bilbo asked, fingering one of the curls hanging in his face.

Thorin snorted. “Absolutely not. Besides, it’s much easier to grip when its long,” he said and slid his fingers into the mass at the back of Bilbo’s head, gripping a handful gently and tipping Bilbo’s head back so he could kiss him thoroughly.

“Your argument has merit,” Bilbo said a bit unsteadily when Thorin released him. Thorin smirked at him and went back to placing the final braids in his hair.

When he finished, he placed a quick kiss on Bilbo’s neck before stepping away from the chair where Bilbo sat. “As much as I would enjoy staying here and showing you how much I appreciate you allowing me to properly braid your hair, we had best leave or we’ll be late.”

Bilbo nodded and stood up, heading toward the door. He glanced back at Thorin. Pale blue eyes darted up to meet Bilbo’s innocently. Bilbo huffed and scowled. “Quit your ogling and let’s go,” he ordered. “You’re the one that said we’ll be late.”

Thorin nodded once, a smile tugging at his lips before he adopted his usual glower, and he caught up to Bilbo, following him out of the room. Dwalin waited for them outside, ready to escort them out of the royal wing when more guards would join them to escort them to the throne room.

“You can hardly blame me,” Thorin said softly. “Seeing you dressed like that is very attractive.”

Bilbo rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at his husband. “You think so?” he asked. “I feel a little foolish.”

Thorin slid his hand across Bilbo’s lower back and let it rest on his hip, pulling him close. “Trust me, Ghivashel. The clothes are very becoming,” he growled lowly in Bilbo’s ear.

Bilbo cleared his throat noisily. “Yes, well,” he managed to say but couldn’t think of anything more.

“Would the two of you mind saving that until after the coronation and you get back to your rooms?” Dwalin asked from behind them. “I don’t need your sickening displays of affection so early in the day.”

“Is that a hint of jealousy I hear in your voice, Dwalin?” Thorin asked over his shoulder.

Dwalin spluttered something incomprehensible but didn’t comment further.

 ~*~*~

For all the time and effort Thorin had spent to reclaim Erebor, the coronation was a bit of a waste of time in his view. The ceremony was one of the more boring as far as dwarrow traditions dictated. Nothing at all like weddings or coming of age ceremonies.

About halfway through the ceremony movement caught Thorin’s eye toward the very back of the platform of the throne room where every dwarrow within the mountain was gathered except a chosen few that were left to keep guard at the gates.

Thorin watched a dwarf shift and move, carefully making his way through the crowd, as if trying to get a better look at the proceedings but somehow always moving further to the back of the masses. He wasn’t the only one moving though. Nori slid easily through the crowds on a line that would intercept the other dwarf close to the doors to the throne room. Carefully keeping his expression neutral, Thorin turned to stand on the step below Balin and face his people. He started talking, words of devotion and honor for his people, of protection of their rights and of their lands. The khuzdul rumbled easily from him, the speech one he’d been taught as a dwarfling and forced to repeat often during his lessons, and then used as a litany to help calm himself in times of stress.

Nori pounced on the moving dwarf when they reached the edge of the crowd near the door at the walkway’s edge. Nori wrapped an arm around the dwarf’s neck and leaned back, away from the gaping chasm beneath the walkway. The dwarf started to fall but Nori planted his feet and started dragging the struggling dwarf out of the open doorway, his other hand over the dwarf’s mouth. He almost made it out of the room when the dwarf suddenly went still, falling limp in the spymaster’s grip.

Thorin finished his speech and Balin set the heavy Raven crown on his head. Thorin tried to not show his displeasure as he stepped up to the throne to take his place as Bilbo stood to take his position and swear himself as Thorin’s consort before Balin set one of the lighter and smaller crowns from the treasury on his mass of braided curls.

Then it was Fili’s turn. He climbed the steps carefully on his crutches and set both feet on the ground when Balin started the ritual that would name Thorin’s nephew as Crown Prince Under the Mountain. Thorin watched intently. Fili’s bad leg started to shake, his hands gripped the handles of his crutches in a white-knuckled grip, and sweat dripped down his face, now drawn and pale in agony.

Dwalin caught Thorin’s eye and then glanced quickly at Fili, a question there. Thorin gave the smallest shake of his head even as he shifted the slightest bit in preparation to move. If Fili needed help, Thorin would give it himself. As it was, he wanted to give his nephew the opportunity to stand on his own as he was finally, officially crowned as Thorin’s heir, and the Crown Prince Under the Mountain.

Thorin gripped the armrests of his throne, ready to launch himself towards his nephew when Fili started to sway slightly on his feet. Balin lowered the golden coronet Thorin had once worn onto Fili’s head and finally, finally, Fili took his seat on Thorin’s left.

As he passed, Bilbo lifted a hand just enough to touch Fili’s wrist. The young dwarf looked at Bilbo with a strained twitch of his lips that would have passed as a smile if he weren’t in so much pain. Thorin breathed a discreet sigh of relief once Fili had settled in the smaller throne at his side.

“Well done, Nephew,” Thorin murmured in khuzdul. “You have shown strength, courage, and honor this day.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Fili said, equally quiet. Something inside Thorin warmed. Rarely did Fili ever refer to him as such outside of anywhere that was truly private. Thorin nodded once and turned his attention to where Balin was just starting the much shorter speech to crown Kili as a lesser prince.

Finally, Balin finished his speech and Thorin stepped forward with Bilbo and his nephews to be presented to the assembled dwarrow.

“Behold the Line of Durin, Rulers Under the Mountain.”

A rousing cheer erupted when Balin stepped aside. Dwarrow chanted war cries and various versions of “All Hail the King.” When the din finally died down, Thorin led Bilbo, Fili, and Kili from the throne room.

And everyone returned to work.

There would be no feast, not with their food stores limited in case of a long winter. The would truly celebrate once the final caravans from Ered Luin arrived, bringing the last of his people home when another coronation would be held in honor of them and of Dis' return. The rest of the Company would be granted titles then as well.

Nori caught up to Thorin outside his personal office. The never dying beast known as paperwork awaited him in a large pile, even if he only had about an hour before his next council meeting. He welcomed the spymaster’s intrusion.

“What happened?” Thorin asked once the door shut behind them. “Was it an assassination attempt?”

Nori sat on the armrest of a chair without asking, slouching slightly. “Doesn’t seem like it,” he said.

“Then what? Why did you subdue a dwarf?”

“He was carrying this,” Nori said and pulled something out of his bag. Thorin took the cloth-wrapped package and frowned. He pushed the material aside and his eyebrows rose.

“This is,” he murmured.

“Aye,” Nori said. “It’s a replica of Bilbo’s crown. Nothing nefarious here that I can tell, other than an attempt to claim the hobbit not crowned as consort properly. Found him trying to switch it out a few hours before the ceremony. Stopped him and let him get away, see if he’d lead me to anyone else. Unfortunately, seems to be working alone.”

“Sabotage.” Thorin didn’t know if he should feel relieved or upset. “At least no one was trying to kill him. Still, it is treason.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Nori said with a smirk. “That reminds me. The Captain has a present in the guardhouse, all wrapped up nice and tight for him. Has he started using the cells yet? I didn’t see anyone in there.”

Thorin scowled. “Not as yet. Who’s occupying them now?”

“Just a common crook that somehow made his way into the last group from the Iron Hills. Hired knife and not a very good one at that. Inexperienced. Was hired to make a swap but didn't succeed. Barely got in the front gate before I sniffed him out. The Captain can handle him just fine. If he needs my help with it, I’ll find him.” Nori stood from his perch and went towards the door. Just before opening it, he turned back to Thorin. “You might consider letting your council know about that,” he said with a nod towards the fake crown. “We’ll see if anything shakes loose from them. Just because our crook didn’t rabbit directly to someone doesn’t mean he isn’t working with them. Had to have gotten that sorry excuse for a crown from somewhere.”

Thorin nodded and Nori left.

He made an honest attempt to finish some of the paperwork but only managed to make it through a single page. He kept looking over at the false crown, irritation flaring at each glance. Finally, he gave up and went to the council meeting.

Bilbo wasn’t there. Good. Thorin took his seat at the head of the table. Instead of waiting for yet another rehashing of the appropriateness of having Men in the mountain or the useless concerns for their food storage and so on, Thorin stood once the last dwarf took a seat.

He pulled the fake crown from the inner pocket of his surcoat where he’d hidden it. It rang loudly when it hit the scarred table. Every eye in the room turned to the crown and then shifted to him. “Someone tried to sabotage the coronation,” Thorin said without preamble. “Someone tried to leave that in place of Bilbo’s crown, hoping to claim he was not crowned properly. He was caught and is in custody.”

No one spoke a word.

Thorin’s scowl deepened and he braced himself on the table, knowing full well that the strength of his arms would be on full display. “There is a traitor in our midst,” he continued through gritted teeth, “and when I find out who it is, they will be shaved, branded, and thrown out of the mountain. Am I understood?”

Protestations of innocence and accusations flew across the table wildly, sparing no one but Thorin himself, and Ori who sat off to the side, recording the meeting’s events as quickly as he could. Someone even accused Dwalin of duplicity to which Thorin leveled a deadpan stare at Brugaat as if to ask if he’d lost his sanity.

“It must have been one of those Men who did it!” Streknuls cried, leaning across the table to stare at Thorin.

“How do you figure?” Dwalin demanded. “The dwarf was from the Iron Hills.”

News to Thorin, but then, he hadn’t been down in the guard house for the last hour grilling the accused dwarf for information.

“Impossible,” Brugaat snapped. “No dwarf from the Iron Hills would dare defy their king!”

“And yet, you’ve been very vocal about His Majesties choice in consort and his decision to aid the Dalesmen,” Dwalin drawled.

Brugaat closed his mouth, refusing to utter anything more on the matter as he stared down at the table.

“Bring forth the accused,” Streknuls demanded. “Let us ask him ourselves why he would do such a thing.”

The rest of the council agreed readily and Thorin nodded at Dwalin. He sent another guard outside of the room to fetch the dwarf Nori had caught. Arguing continued while they waited. When the guard returned with the bound dwarf, Thorin had retaken his seat and summarily ignored the council. He couldn’t wait until dwarrow from Ered Luin started to arrive and he could include their number in the council and send some of the current fools back to Dain and the Iron Hills. Brugaat and Streknuls were at the top of the list.

Finally, the guard arrived with the accused dwarf bound at wrists and ankles. Dwalin stepped forward to take custody. The guard stepped back to take a position alongside the other guard already stationed in the room.

“Jubral?” Brugaat asked incredulously, once again jumping to his feet. He glared at Dwalin. “What’s the meaning of this? He can’t be your saboteur.”

“I am, Cousin,” the dwarf said. “I intended to keep the Halfling from being crowned as prince consort. No non-dwarf should rule Under the Mountain.”

“And there’s that word again,” Thorin muttered to himself.

“Enough,” Brugaat growled. “Don’t say another word.” His eyes flickered briefly toward Thorin and then to Dwalin before settling back on Jubral. “There must be a mistake. We’ll find the true culprit.”

“There is no one else,” Jubral said and turned to look at Thorin. Immediately, he dropped his eyes and fell to his knees. “Your Majesty. I meant no disrespect to you or the Line of Durin. I only wish to keep our home free of those that would tarnish Durin’s Folk.”

Thorin glared at Jubral. “It is not your place to make such a decision,” he snapped. “Jubral, you are forthwith banished from Erebor. Your beard and hair will be shorn and you will be branded a traitor for your treason against the line of Durin.”

Dwarrow around the table lurched to their feet outraged in their protests.

“Silence!” Thorin roared over the din and all eyes turned to him. “He has knowingly committed treason. The punishment is clear. As he did not attempt to murder the Royal Consort, he will be given enough rations to last a week.” He turned and nodded at Dwalin who motioned for the guard to return Jubral to the cells to wait for his sentence to be carried out.

“Your Majesty. Could we wait until the storm passes at the very least?” Brugaat asked.

Thorin’s mouth set in a hard line. By law, he should throw the dwarf out immediately. But to start his reign in Erebor by basically sentencing a dwarf to death did not sit well with him. “The moment the storm abates, he will be cast out,” Thorin said. He stood and left without another word, unwilling to listen to his council protest the matter further.

He wanted to be near Bilbo.

Thorin found Bilbo sitting in a chair in the Hall of Kings. A ring of human children sat at his feet, their parents milling around nearby, folding laundry, resting, mending, and generally completing tasks that didn’t take a lot of concentration while the watched their children and listened to the tales being told. All listened attentively to the hobbit. Even the teenagers who tried to believe they were too old to be told stories hovered just too close to be truly disinterested to listen as Bilbo spoke.

Thorin watched, too far away to truly hear what Bilbo said, but could gather what it was from the gestures he made. The fight with Azog and the other wargs and orcs on the mountainside down from the goblin caves. He watched as Bilbo stuck one arm up in front of him and then tipped it backward in the similitude of a tree falling over. His audience gasped aloud, even some of the teenagers.

Thorin was about to silently leave when motion off to the side caught his eye. He turned and watched Fili sink to the ground, his bad leg stretched out in front of him as he listened to Bilbo spin the tale. Something shifted in his chest as he remembered a much younger version of his nephew sitting on the dirt floor of a forge many years ago, listening as Thorin told him of their histories, of the people they must honor, and the dwarf the little Fili should someday become. Would someday become.

Had become.

Had surpassed.

Thorin left the Hall, his mood greatly improved at the reminder of his nephew’s courage and strength, of his determination to stand with Thorin as they defended Erebor.

He would remember to thank Bilbo later for telling stories to children. Endearing in and of itself, the action had also brought an amused smile to Fili’s lips as he listened to the hobbit’s version of their quest on a day where he’d had to banish one of his own from Erebor. That alone deserved some form of recognition.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

Bilbo left his and Thorin's rooms early the next morning while Thorin still slept, closing the door quietly behind him with a fond smile. Thorin had been such a light sleeper on the journey but now, Bilbo suspected he would sleep through a dragon attacking Erebor once again. He let his husband sleep as much as possible.

Dwalin waiting outside their rooms was a bit of a surprise. Normally, Balin met Bilbo. Dwalin, unperturbed by Bilbo’s stunned expression, nodded a greeting. “You’ve been slacking, Your Majesty,” Dwalin rumbled.

“Slacking?” Bilbo demanded, his nose scrunching and his eyebrows drawing together in a perturbed scowl as he thought of all the work he'd done around the mountain and the lessons he'd been taking from Balin in various matters of all things dwarrow. “I beg your pardon!”

“Oh, aye,” Dwalin said. “Haven’t seen you down in the training yard once since Thorin was dragged off the ice. Can’t have the prince consort of the mightiest dwarrow kingdom turning to flab.”

Bilbo sputtered even as Dwalin nudged him down the hall. “Now wait just a- I am not- Now you listen- Will you stop that!” He swatted at Dwalin’s prodding hands. Dwalin folded his arms across his chest and stared down at Bilbo with raised eyebrows and a deep frown. Bilbo ignored the look and straightened his waistcoat. “Now you listen here,” he told Dwalin, “I am perfectly fine as I am, thank you very much. I don’t need you dragging me off to be beaten to a pulp by some bruiser with permission to swing a sword at me.”

“Look laddie. It doesn’t matter how much exercise you’re getting with Thorin in private.” Bilbo told himself he was imagining the slight leer Dwalin gave him at that. “If you’re not seen training alongside the rest of us, you’ll be seen as weak. We can’t have a weak monarch while we’re still so newly returned to our homeland.”

Bilbo cleared his throat, his nose twitching slightly as he realized how true Dwalin’s words were. Part of him wanted to continue arguing. No self-respecting Baggins was as thin as he was or had the hard muscles (small though they were compared to his husband’s) or trained with any sort of weapon other than the pen or a well-executed social dinner party.

But he was no longer a respectable Baggins, he reminded himself. He had yet to talk to Thorin about the particulars yet, but he still planned to take his husband’s name. Granted, Bilbo Oakenshield didn’t sound nearly as heroic as Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, Restorer of Erebor, blah, blah, blah did, but that wasn’t the point.

According to Balin, all dwarrow trained, especially the royal family. A Baggins he had been, but a member of the line of Durin he was now. He needed to adapt to more than just accepting the part of him that loved Thorin in a way that frightened him and would have his relatives gasping in dismay at the scandal of it all.

Bilbo’s lips thinned for a moment in a grim, determined line before relaxing. “Let me get Sting,” he said and ducked back into his rooms as quietly as he could.

“Tell that lazy husband of yours to get his sorry carcass out of bed. He’s due to start training today as well. Oin’s orders.”

Grumbling, Bilbo went into the bedroom to do as ordered.

Thorin slept peacefully on his back, one arm stretched out to the side, the other hand resting on his stomach. The position begged Bilbo to climb back into bed and lay next to Thorin again as he had through the night, head cushioned on the pillow next to Thorin’s (and admittedly on top of some of that mane of glorious hair) and fingers laced with the hand resting peacefully on his husband’s body. After taking a few minutes to admire the shirtless view and knowing there was nothing beneath the blankets and furs draped across anything below Thorin’s waist except a deliciously strong body, Bilbo sighed and went to sit on his side of the enormous bed.

“Thorin,” he murmured quietly and reached out to run his fingers along the coarse beard. “It’s time to wake up Love.”

The arm stretched out along the bed reached up suddenly and pulled Bilbo down to the bed. “Too early,” Thorin grumbled. “Sleep now.”

Face now pressed against shoulder and neck, Bilbo smiled and placed an open-mouthed kiss to the stubble-roughened skin, tracing his tongue along one of the thick muscles below Thorin’s ears.

“I’m awake,” Thorin said and turned to return the kiss, slinging a leg over Bilbo’s and drawing him closer.

“Good,” Bilbo said, “because Dwalin is outside waiting for us. Apparently, we both return to weapons training this morning.”

Thorin groaned and rolled back onto his back. “Tell him he can namin men burk.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’ve just said and I don’t think I want to know,” Bilbo said. “Get up. Get dressed. I thought you’d be pleased Oin has cleared you for weapons training.”

“I am pleased,” Thorin said and sat up, “but I have never enjoyed early morning training sessions, especially after severe injuries. And all I said is that Dwalin can kiss my-”

“Thorin!”

“Ax. What vulgar things do you think I would have you repeating?”

Bilbo retrieved Sting from the chest at the foot of the bed. “Going by the things you were saying last night that I could understand, let alone what I couldn’t, I wasn’t sure.” Even thinking about their time awake in bed the night before made Bilbo’s ears redden. When he glanced up, Thorin just smirked at him in the most self-satisfied way.

“I don’t recall you complaining,” he rumbled in that horribly unfair, gorgeously deep voice of his.

“Yes, well,” Bilbo cleared his throat and turned his attention to buckling Sting’s sheath to his side. “I’ll expect you to thoroughly educate me on your language later.”

Thorin grinned wolfishly at that before climbing out of bed. He sauntered over to an openly staring and blushing Bilbo to place a deep kiss on the hobbit’s lips. “I’ll be sure to do that tonight,” he promised and went to get dressed, smirking with self-satisfaction at Bilbo’s whine at the loss of contact.

 ~*~*~ 

Thorin grimaced as he took the flat of Dwalin’s sword solidly against his shoulder.

“You’re slipping,” Dwalin said and darted away from Thorin’s return thrust. “Sitting around too long in meetings with not a threat in sight has made you slow and soft.”

“I was stabbed in the chest,” Thorin growled, panting and limping. His foot, though healed enough he didn’t feel pain from it in his regular daily activity, ached every time his weight rested fully on it during the strain of training. He grimaced through the pain, knowing the ache come from atrophied muscles he needed to rebuild. In the meantime, Dwalin was partially right. He was slow.

Dwalin charged again and Thorin met him with a snarled curse in khuzdul. He jerked his elbow up, trying to bash Dwalin’s jaw but the larger dwarf skipped backwards, away from the blow. Thorin waited where he was, knowing better than to follow the motion. Weakened as he was, tired as he was, he knew following Dwalin would only make matters worse. Better to let Dwalin move more, expend more energy and act defensively than to charge blindly at a larger opponent with greater endurance.

Dwalin darted in again, silent except his booted feet scuffing on the hard-packed dirt floor of the training arena.

“Thorin!”

Bilbo’s shout drew his attention enough to make Thorin glance aside. Still, he swept his sword up in a wide arc, knocking Dwalin’s blade aside and sending it spinning and sliding along the dusty floor. “What is it Bilbo?” he asked, ignoring Dwalin’s amused chuckle as he went to retrieve his blade.

Bilbo caught his arm and drew him to the far side of the training arena, near the archery targets where only Kili and Tauriel worked, so caught up in their little competition that they wouldn’t notice the hushed conversation behind them.

“What is going on?” Bilbo asked once he deemed them far enough away from the dwarrow in the room that he wouldn’t be overheard.

“What do you mean?” Thorin asked, one eyebrow drifting towards his hairline.

Bilbo huffed and glanced around before meeting Thorin’s eyes again. “Is there danger here? In the mountain I mean?”

“What would give you that idea?”

Bilbo scowled at the question. “I don’t know. Perhaps I’m being paranoid or perhaps you just had a fancy to watch Nori teach me how to locate hidden weapons on a person, how to notice signs of someone trying to murder me, and ways to keep that from happening,” he hissed angrily. “Now, am I being paranoid or is there a reason you seem to think I need to be able to notice assassination attempts?”

Thorin’s lips thinned down to a mulish line as he thought over what to say.  “Nori has heard rumors that there may be some in the mountain that are less than pleased with our marriage and may attempt to remedy it by taking matters into their own hands.”

Bilbo sighed. “Right,” he grumbled. “Now I really am going to be paranoid about everyone around me except the Company.”

Thorin pressed a kiss against Bilbo’s forehead. “I hardly think you will be in any true danger. You are capable of protecting yourself as you have shown us all time and again. Having Nori teach you is just a precaution. And it’s not paranoia if someone really is out to get you.”

“Thank you for that wonderful thought,” Bilbo groused as he leaned his forehead against Thorin’s chest with a sigh.

Thorin wrapped his arms around Bilbo and rubbed the tip of his nose against Bilbo’s hair affectionately. “If you wish it, I will not leave your side Ghivashel.”

Bilbo tipped his head back and stood on his toes, catching Thorin’s lips with his own as he placed his hands on the dwarf’s hips. He sighed at the contact, releasing tension and as much stress as he could at the same time before leaning away a little and breaking the kiss. “You would get absolutely nothing done. No. You’ll have to continue going about your kingly duties. Brooding majestically during dull meetings, sweeping dramatically through the corridors of your kingdom, reclining nobly on your throne, that sort of thing.”

Thorin’s lips twitched up at one corner. “I can think of other things to do on that throne if you’d be willing,” he rumbled with a suggestive lift of his eyebrows.

Bilbo swallowed against the sudden image in his head before clearing his throat and licking his lips. He reached up to rub the tip of his nose, disguising the twitch of the muscles there. “Yes, well. We’ll talk about that later. For now, I think Dwalin’s ready to thrash you again.”

“If you’ll remember, I disarmed him before this conversation started,” Thorin remarked as he followed Bilbo.

Bilbo waved a dismissive hand before rejoining Nori who said something that made Bilbo glare and snap something at the spymaster.

“What had your pretty little husband’s knickers in a twist?” Dwalin asked as he came to stand next to Thorin. He didn’t even see the flat of Thorin’s blade until after it had slammed into the back of his knee, sending him into an undignified heap at the king’s feet.

“That’s my pretty little husband you’re eyeing,” Thorin remarked. “I suggest you remember that.”

Dwalin laughed as he stood up again. “Aye, I’ll remember. Forgive me for admiring the view.”

Thorin didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he said, “He wanted to know why I’d set Nori to teaching him to detect those that may be attempting an assassination.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“The truth,” Thorin said as he turned towards Dwalin. “I’ll not lie to him again if I can help it. Besides, the more prepared he is, the less likely an attempt on his life is to succeed.”

“Aye, makes sense,” Dwalin said, scratching his chin through his considerable beard as he glanced at Bilbo again, watching as Nori swung a hand towards Bilbo’s neck from the side. Bilbo blocked the blow but winced when Nori stepped into his space, his booted heal resting on the top of Bilbo’s large, bare foot.

“Back to work,” Thorin ordered after a moment and leveled his sword. “I’ll wager I can best you even with a gimpy foot.”

Dwalin hefted his own sword. “I’ll not be taking money from my injured king,” he said but lunged in to start the next bout.

 ~*~*~

Bilbo stood with Nori near a wall in the large room. “He’s not wrong, you know,” Nori said.

“About what?” Bilbo asked.

“You are capable of protecting yourself.” Nori didn’t even look at him, eyes tracking a dwarf that was watching Tauriel and Kili. “Tell me what you see.”

Bilbo turned, following his gaze. “How did you know what he said? You were too far away to hear us. He’s got a knife at his lower back, under his tunic.”

“Good. There’s more than one way to overhear a conversation without being within hearing distance. What else?”

Bilbo watched the dwarf closely, looking for the tells Nori had warned him about. “Boot knives. Do you read lips?”

Nori smirked. “I’ll not answer that in so public a place,” he said. “Don’t forget to check beyond your target. Don’t get fixed on one person just because I’m watching them.”

Bilbo scanned the room. “Could you teach me? To read lips I mean.” Who was carrying hidden weapons besides the dwarf Nori had been watching and Dwalin? “Oh! Fili’s here and he’s only got a cane instead of those dratted crutches. I hope he’s not overdoing it. He was in a lot of pain at the coronation. I’m sure he’s got a small armory on him. Don’t even have to guess at that.”

“Find them all anyway,” Nori ordered. “Fili’s a fair hand at hiding them when he wants to be.”

Bilbo scrutinized the prince and started listing the numerous weapons he could tell were hidden beneath Fili’s clothes. He managed to identify nine knives of various sizes. When he told Nori he was finished, the spymaster smiled. “Close. You missed four, including the one in his belt buckle and the sword inside his cane.”

“A sword cane,” Bilbo said. “I can’t say I’m surprised.” He huffed at his mistake. “Where are the other two?”

“Hidden under the fur of his coat. Those are probably the hardest to notice, especially when the blades are thin and small, as Fili’s are. His uncle’s a master at weapons smithing.” Nori nodded absently in appreciation. “For that, I’ll teach you what you want to learn."

“Wonderful. When do we start?”

“Slow down there, Your Highness. We have other lessons to finish first.”

Bilbo groaned. “Can we not take a break? All this talk of hidden weapons and possible assassins is not how I expected to spend my morning.”

“Not many other weapons to be looking for at the moment,” Nori said as he pulled one of his own knives out and started fiddling with it. “I just want you to look around the room. Tell me if you see anything of note.”

Bilbo glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Have you planted things around the room to test me?”

“Just tell me what you see.”

Bilbo grumbled under his breath before turning his attention to the training grounds. “Thorin is tired,” he said first. “He’ll fall asleep in his first meeting at the rate he’s going. I’ll have to send him back to bed instead. He’s useless in meetings when he’s exhausted. No sense of diplomacy whatsoever.”

“Is the exhaustion perpetual, I wonder,” Nori murmured almost too quietly for Bilbo to hear. He decided to ignore the remark.

“Dwalin is going easy on him. He just checked that last strike.” He pulled his eyes away from his husband and the guard sparring with him, looking around. “Kili and Tauriel are both still at the archery targets. He seems determined to best her. Fili is doing the stretches Oin has ordered him too. Looks like his leg is paining him more this morning. I’m sure the snow outside the mountain isn’t helping with that. I’ll have to bring him some rosemary tea later.”

“All good details to know, but look for the abnormal,” Nori reminded him.

Bilbo nodded and tried again. “There’s a raven in here. There shouldn’t be a raven in the training grounds unless its delivering a message. This one is just sitting there.” He waived a hand at the bird perched on a barrel on the opposite side of the room. “Bard’s son Bain is training with the guard. I’m surprised Dwalin is allowing it. Oh, and so is his sister Sigrid.”

Nori followed Bilbo’s line of sight and saw the young woman hefting a practice blade in one hand. Her stance was a little off balance, but she corrected without being told, her hand shifting on the hilt as she faced off against the straw dummies often used for sword drills. Nori was about to return his attention to Bilbo when he noticed that Fili had stopped moving, sitting on the ground, leaning over his straightened, injured leg. As he watched, the prince blinked, shook his head, and reached for his toes again. “Well, now,” Nori drawled. “That is interesting.”

“What?” Bilbo asked and looked at Fili as well.

“Looks like the Crown Princeling may have found his One.”

“Really?” Bilbo demanded. “In whom?”

“The eldest Bardling.”

Bilbo scoffed. “I doubt Fili found his One in Sigrid. From what I understand, there’s a sort of pull you dwarrow feel towards them, right?”

“Usually,” Nori said. “Not all of us feel it though. I never did. Lucky for me, my Lira had the Longing or we may never have sorted ourselves properly.”

“Clearly, I have more studying to do,” Bilbo groused. “I still don’t think anything will happen between Sigrid and Fili. They barely even glanced at each other while we were in Bard’s home in Laketown.”

Nori just shook his head. “You’d be surprised at what can be said by a lack of looking,” he said.

Bilbo shook his head. “I still don’t agree.”

“Care to make a wager on that?” Nori smirked. “I’m willing to bet the two of them end up married and happily at that within a decade.”

“What are the stakes?” Bilbo asked.

“I don’t want much,” Nori said with a shrug. “Just when Thorin gives you your garden, you grow strawberries and make me something with the first harvest of each year.”

“That’s assuming Thorin gives me a garden. And strawberries? Reallly?” Bilbo asked.

Nori shrugged. “I’m filthy rich now. Don’t have to worry about making sure Ori’s fed anymore. Coin doesn’t matter anymore. Figure I’d ask for something that does matter, even if it’s just that it tastes good.”

Bilbo smiled. “You know I would bake something for you any time you asked anyway, right?”

“But where’s the fun in that?” Nori countered.

“All right,” Bilbo said. “If you win, I’ll make you something with strawberries from my own garden with the first harvest. If I win, you return all the items you’ve stolen from me since we met, including the fountain pen you nicked from my study in Bag End.”

“I’m glad you don’t want your pen back too badly,” Nori said. “You’ll not be winning it in this bet.”

“It’s too bad you won’t be getting any of my famous strawberry crumble,” Bilbo replied. “It really is delicious.”

 ~*~*~ 

Thorin spent the rest of his day avoiding the monotony of meetings and paperwork as best he could. He started by visiting Bombur and learning of their stores.

He never made it to the kitchen.

Ori intercepted him as Thorin left his and Bilbo’s rooms, having taken the time to clean up after training.

“Your Majesty? Might I have a word?” Ori asked, standing away from the wall where he’d been leaning while he waited for Thorin. Dwalin stood a few paces down the hall, respectfully giving them a modicum of privacy.

“We’ve talked about this Ori. I wish you would not call me that.” Thorin said as he finished doing up the clasp on his cloak. He had every intention of hiding in the depths of the mountain with Bofur after he visited Bombur, where it promised to be colder without all the forges being lit. It would be all too simple to just have the miner put together a report and give it to Balin, but Thorin needed an excuse to be away from dull meetings with stuffy nobles from Dain’s court. He would learn the mountain’s condition at his friend’s side as they worked their way through and planned the next repairs.

“I couldn’t! You are my king and deserve my respect. Besides, some of the others still call you that,” Ori protested.

“Your elder brother, Bofur, and Dwalin do it out of sarcasm, humor, and spite respectfully.”

“And Dori?”

“Is far too focused on propriety.” Thorin shook his head. “I’ll convince him to stop calling me that someday if it kills me.”

“It better not!” Bilbo’s voice came from the open door to their rooms.

Thorin shook his head, amused. “The point, Ori, is that when I called for aid to take back our home, twelve dwarrow, a wizard, and a hobbit answered. I can no more ask them to defer to me in such a way than I can consider any of them as less than kin.”

Ori cleared his throat, fingers fidgeting slightly on the cover of his book. “Sir?” he asked tentatively.

With a sigh, Thorin motioned for Ori to join him as he walked back towards the library. No one seemed interested in the state of their vast and valuable knowledge held within those walls apart from Ori. It seemed an ideal place to avoid certain dwarrow and their idiotic ideas about his marriage. He could work on getting Ori to use his name at a later time. “What is it you wished to speak to me about?”

“Did you know we had information on hobbits in the library?” Ori asked quietly, casting a glance back down the hall. He waved, a nervous smile plastered on his face. Thorin looked back and saw Bilbo wave as well before heading in the opposite direction. Dwalin followed behind Thorin and Ori and Balin appeared a moment later to join Bilbo, distracting the hobbit with a paper in his hands. Ori heaved a sigh of relief.

“I was not aware of that. Why do you ask?”

Ori showed him the book in his hands. The cover, now dull with lack of proper care, might be able to be restored to what was probably a vibrant green. Its spine and pages creaked and crackled in the way old, dry books tended to when Ori opened it. “This is one of a few. I found them a few days ago and thought it might be a good idea to know a little more about Bilbo and his people. I was writing a report for you when I came across distressing information.”

Thorin paused in his walking. “Distressing? In what way?”

“Well, two ways actually. One may not matter at all in fact. It all depends on certain factors and it may just be a rumor, but why someone would want to start such a rumor is a mystery. It would only serve to damage-”

“Ori,” Thorin admonished gently when it seemed the scribe wouldn’t get to this point. “What is it?”

Ori smiled a little. “Sorry. Do you happen to know if Bilbo belongs to a clan called ‘Took’?”

“He said his mother was a Took before she married his father. Why?”

Ori swallowed and opened the book to a page he’d marked with a bit of parchment. “According to this, a member of the Took family may have married a- a-”

Thorin waited for Ori to finish. “A what?” he asked when the scribe seemed unable to continue.

Ori glanced around before whispering, “A faerie!”

Thorin’s eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

Ori nodded. “There’s no proof or real record of it happening, but members of the Took family are considered odd by other hobbits. The author suggests it may be the reason.”

“How interesting. I will talk to Bilbo about it and find out what his people think of it. Don’t take it seriously for now, Ori. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”

“There is one other thing, Sir,” Ori said when Thorin seemed disinclined to add anything further. “We may be unintentionally starving Bilbo.”

Thorin’s head whipped around so fast his hair flipped around in front of his face, one bead smacking him on the cheek. He shoved the mass out of his eyes as he demanded, “What?”

“Well, hobbits eat seven meals a day.”

“We knew that,” Thorin said with a frown. “What makes you think we’re starving him?”

Ori flipped a few pages in his book and held it out to Thorin. “That’s how much they typically eat at each meal.”

Thorin’s eyes widened as he read the page. “Mahal! It’s a wonder he isn’t skin and bones!” He looked up at Ori. “Thank you for bringing this to me. I’ll talk with both him and Bombur this afternoon and make sure these numbers are correct.”

“No reason to believe they aren’t,” Ori said. “The author was a hobbit. How it got to Erebor is beyond me.”

Thorin turned to the front of the book. “Perhaps Bilbo knows who the author was,” he said. “Do you need this back now or may I borrow it?”

“You’re the king,” Ori reminded him. “You may borrow whatever you like from the library and keep it as long as you want.”

“I’ll return it later. Thank you, Ori, for bringing these concerns to me,” Thorin said, even while thinking the excuse of returning the book would be a good way to skip a useless council meeting in the future.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

Bilbo yawned behind his hand the moment Balin turned away to retrieve a slate and chalk for him. He needed to be going to bed earlier. Well, to sleep at least. He wasn’t a young tween anymore and the last few nights, as late as it was when he finally went to sleep, were starting to take a toll on him. It was difficult to concentrate enough on his khuzdul lessons to really understand the minutia of the language.

“Am I boring you, Your Highness?” Balin asked mildly without turning around from his search.

Bilbo instinctively pulled his hands off the table in front of him, feeling all too much like a naughty fauntling caught daydreaming by the teacher during class and was now in danger of having his knuckles rapped by a ruler or other wooden implement. “Now don’t you start that nonsense,” he griped in order to try to dispel the feeling.

Balin turned back to Bilbo, a benign smile showing beneath his beard as he waited for a proper answer.

Bilbo ducked his head a little. “Just a little tired. Won’t happen again.”

“Good,” Balin said and took his seat. He handed over the slate and chalk he’d found and waited for Bilbo to set them how he liked. Balin picked up his own chalk and wrote a rune onto his slate.

The door behind Bilbo opened and Thorin stepped inside.

“Balin, I need to borrow Bilbo for a few moments,” he said. Bilbo’s eyebrows rose. Thorin had yet to interrupt any of his time spent learning about dwarrow and their language and had gone as far as to ask the rest of the Company not to interrupt as well.

Balin nodded at Bilbo when he glanced back at his main instructor. He set aside his materials and went over to Thorin.

“Hello,” Bilbo greeted once they were out in the hall. A quick glance showed that no one was nearby other than Dwalin, and perhaps Nori who liked to lurk in all sorts of shadows at inconvenient moments. Bilbo stretched up onto his toes to place a kiss on Thorin’s lips, smiling when Thorin placed a hand on his hip and pulled him closer before tilting his head so their foreheads pressed gently together.

“Hello Ghivashel,” Thorin said with a fond smile and then shifted back. He held a book out to Bilbo. “Could you look at this for me?”

A bit surprised, Bilbo took the book and opened. “Where in Yavanna’s name did you find this?” he asked with a grin, a small chuckle escaping him.

“Ori found it in the library. You know it then?”

Bilbo chuckled. “I can’t say I’ve read it but I am somewhat familiar with the author.” He pointed to the flowing script naming the writer.

“You know of this Isengrim II?”

“He was the tenth Thain of the Shire,” Bilbo told him and ran his fingers across the familiar hobbit style lettering with its loops and curves and dots, “and my fourth-great-grandfather on my mother’s side. But how did it end up in Erebor of all places?”

“I’ll have Ori check the records of how the book was acquired.”

Bilbo held the book out to return it to Thorin. “Was there something in particular about the book?” he asked. “It’s not like you to ask something that simple unless you have another reason.”

“Ori was curious about a few things it claims about hobbits.” Thorin admitted. “Would you mind looking at two passages in particular and telling us if it is true or not?” At Bilbo’s nod, Thorin reached over and opened the book to the first marked pages.

Bilbo read silently, his smile widening into an amused grin. “This old tale,” he said finally and looked up at Thorin. “That’s all it is. An old wives’ tale to explain away a Took’s need for a bit of adventure and fun. I’ve no more faerie blood than you.”

Something inside Thorin eased the slightest bit. He turned the pages of the book to keep Bilbo from seeing anything of the sort. Even if his husband did have faerie ancestry, Thorin would still love him. Bilbo was his One after all. Nothing would ever change that. Knowing the tale wasn’t true just took away some possible complications with his council if they ever found out. “This was the other part that had Ori curious,” Thorin said once he found the pages detailing hobbit eating habits.

Bilbo read and his face took on an expression Thorin couldn’t quite describe. Almost awkward, sheepish, and defensive all at once. “Ah, yes, well,” Bilbo cleared his throat. “Numbers are often, um, exaggerated. Shouldn’t believe everything you read. Who wrote this again?” He flipped to the beginning of the book, presumably to search for an author’s name.

“So it’s not true?” Thorin asked as he placed his hand on the book and gently pushing it down from where Bilbo had pulled it close to his face. “Hobbits don’t eat this much?”

Bilbo shifted his weight from his right foot to his left and back again as he licked his lips. Thorin’s eyes narrowed. “Bilbo?”

“Most of us only eat six meals regularly,” he finally admitted, scowling at the pages. “Sometimes we indulge in a midnight snack or a late supper to make the seventh.”

“Mahal, forgive me, I’ve been starving my One,” Thorin groaned. “Why didn’t you tell us you needed more to eat?”

“If I recall correctly, I did tell you all that I eat six meals a day but I was promptly ignored and told how much we could eat given our rations along the journey,” Bilbo huffed, irritated. “And you are most certainly not starving me,” he added. “Not anymore anyway.”

“But you have lost a great deal of weight from the day we met,” Thorin said, his hand coming to rest on Bilbo’s stomach. There was very little difference between the bottom of his ribcage and his hips, almost no pudge at all, something that was fairly normal on a dwarf but was apparently not for a hobbit.

“Traveling will do that to anyone,” Bilbo retorted but still refused to meet Thorin’s eye.

“Have you looked at Bombur lately?” Thorin asked, arching an eyebrow.

Bilbo’s nose wrinkled and twitched in distress. “I’m fine, Thorin. I don’t deserve any more food than any other person in this mountain. I will not take more than my share.”

“I’ll not watch you waste away when we have the means for you to eat properly.” Thorin pulled Bilbo close, dropping his head enough to rest their foreheads together. “I’ve watched too many of my people go hungry and starve. You do not need to, not here. Everyone should be able to maintain a healthy weight in this mountain.”

Bilbo stopped himself from arguing further. Thorin had told him of the hardship his people had seen, the deaths, the levels they had to stoop to in order to merely survive. Nori was a prime example. A talented embroiderer, younger brother of one of Ered Luin’s best weavers, and he’d had to give up his craft and resort to thieving in order to provide enough food for young Ori to not go hungry. He remembered how quickly the Company had descended upon his pantry, stripping it bare in what felt like a matter of minutes.

And Fili and Kili were so thin compared to the others. Yes, they were young with metabolisms that burned off food faster than even a hobbit could consume them, but they should still have more substance to them. Royal though they were, even they showed signs of being underfed as dwarflings.

Bilbo sighed and stepped back in Thorin’s grip, relenting. “All right,” he said. “I’ll eat more often but my portions should be smaller. Hobbits like to indulge, but we typically eat six smaller meals a day instead of the two or three larger ones you dwarrow and the Men eat. Understand?”

Thorin relaxed slightly. “I’ll tell Bombur. Will you allow Oin to monitor you? Make sure you regain the weight in a healthy manner?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Bilbo said, waving a hand absently. “If it will make you feel better.”

Thorin’s answering smile was saturated in relief. “Thank you, Givashel,” he said. “Is there anything else we are depriving you of?”

“Sunlight,” Bilbo blurted before he could think better of it and winced. The last thing he needed to do was add more troubles to Thorin’s already growing list.

Instead of the confused look Bilbo expected, Thorin smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I had forgotten how much you enjoy the light. Is there more to it than just seeing the sun?”

Bilbo shook his head. “Hobbits need sunlight or we tend to feel depressed or anxious. My mother would become weepy when the clouds hid the sun too long in the winter. You really don’t need to do anything Thorin. I’ll just make sure I visit the front gates or the secret door more often.”

Plans already started forming in Thorin’s mind. He’d have to talk to Bofur about it. “I’ll go with you outside as soon as the storm abates and the clouds move on,” he promised.

He was rewarded with a smile. “I’d like that,” Bilbo said and stood on his toes to kiss Thorin’s cheek.

Thorin returned the kiss with one a bit more enthusiastic before tucking the book under his arm. “I think I will take the liberty of reading through your ancestor’s work, see what other glaring differences there are between dwarrow and hobbits.”

Bilbo snorted. “You’ll need more than just that one book to learn it all,” he said. “That is a very brief overview of hobbits. I wonder why it was written in the first place.”

“Perhaps we will find the answer to that when Ori finds the information pertaining to how it became a part of our library.” Thorin bent and kissed Bilbo one more time, only leaning back when Dwalin cleared his throat loudly, announcing the imminent approach of someone else. Grumbling under his breath, Thorin bumped foreheads with Bilbo one last time before straightening. “I’ll see you this evening?” he asked.

“I’ll expect to see you at dinner,” Bilbo promised.

~*~*~

“Afternoon tea,” Bilbo sighed happily and sat down in the armchair in his room, a small plate of bread, cheese, and ham sitting on the table next to him. He held his teacup and saucer in hand, taking careful sips as he warmed his feet by the fire. He was starting to understand why dwarrow wore boots everywhere. The stone floors inside the mountain were cold and even his thick-soled hobbit feet weren’t entirely impervious to the low temperatures. He was just starting to feel the heat trickling into his toes when there was a knock on the door.

“Now who could that be?” he wondered. He set his teacup aside with a huff and went to answer the door.

Kili grinned at him as soon as the door was open. “Uncle Bilbo!” he crowed happily.

“Hello Kili,” Bilbo said and stepped aside. “Come inside and join me for some tea, won’t you?” He tried to hide his delight at being referred to as “Uncle Bilbo.” It was the first time he could think of that either of the two princes had referred to him as such. For some reason, it warmed him in a way his tea never could.

“Thanks!” Kili said and went over to the armchairs by the fire, sitting in the one Thorin usually used. He accepted the freshly poured cup of tea Bilbo handed him and took a sip as Bilbo sat.

“What can I do for you?” Bilbo asked.

“Can’t I just spend time with my favorite hobbit?” Kili asked.

“You could,” Bilbo said with a nod, “but I know you better than that. You are too like your uncle and you don’t typically use your manners when you’re just here for a social visit.”

Kili ducked his head, red flooding his cheeks. “All right. That’s true,” he said. He fiddled with the teacup for a moment, staring into the reddish liquid before he looked up at Bilbo with a sheepish smile. “I was hoping you could help me with something.”

“That would depend on what you need help with,” Bilbo said and picked up some of the bread, motioning for Kili to help himself to the food as well.

“You can’t tell Uncle Thorin what I’m about to ask,” Kili said. “He’ll be unhappy with me if you do.”

Bilbo’s eyebrows rose. “Well now,” he said. “You can’t start a conversation that way and expect me not to wonder at what I’m agreeing to. What is it?”

Kili set his teacup on the table and rubbed his hands together nervously. “Would you teach me to speak Sindarin?”

“I see,” Bilbo said with a smile. “I assume you want to be able to talk to Tauriel in her native tongue. Why not ask her to teach you?”

“I’d like to surprise her,” Kili admitted. “Will you help me?”

Bilbo patted Kili’s hand. “Of course I will. Get a slate and chalk from the desk and we’ll get started. You can help me with my khuzdul at the same time.”

~*~*~

“What happened to you?” Thorin asked the next day when the spymaster met him in the halls near his rooms.

“Doing my job,” Nori groused and rubbed at a cut on his cheek, wincing when he bumped his blackened eye. “Which is also why I’m here.”

Thorin stopped in his tracks. “What has happened?”

Nori jerked his head toward a doorway to their side. Thorin took in the doorway, swallowed, and nodded. When Nori tried opening the door, it didn’t budge and Thorin breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t ready to enter those rooms quite yet. Instead, he led the way further down the hall to another set of rooms he’d been thinking of having cleaned soon. Their doors were unlocked, the rooms untouched other than the footprints Thorin had left in the entry’s dust a few weeks prior in his explorations of the royal wing.

Nori closed the door behind them and produced a candle from somewhere on his person, lighting it carefully with a match. He set the dark chamberstick on a shelf near the doorway, freeing his hands. “I left the Captain a present yesterday afternoon. Not sure if it survived more than a few hours though.”

“Nori, what did-”

“He tried to kill Bilbo.”

Thorin froze, blood pounding in his ears and an old anger, one he’d thought he’d let go of decades ago when he’d finally come to terms with Frerin’s and Thror’s deaths, seared through his veins. His stomach dropped heavily, seemingly low enough that he would find it in his boot but somehow still staying in his torso. “Who?” Thorin growled. “Where is he?”

“Leave the sword where it is, Thorin,” Nori said evenly, leaning against the door casually. Thorin snarled in response, his hand on Orcrist’s hilt, the blade half drawn. “Dwalin has him. He’s not going anywhere except maybe back to Mahal where he will be judged.”

Thorin dragged air into his lungs, trying to regain control of the fury threatening to blind him. “Injured?” he asked, latching onto details. “How?”

“By his own hand,” Nori admitted grimly, a frown tugging at his mouth. “I tried to keep him from succeeding. Only just managed to keep him from hitting his heart but there’s nothing that’ll save him now. Not unless he’s as lucky as you and the lads were.”

“If he survives, he’ll wish he weren’t by the time I’ve finished with him,” Thorin snapped. “Tell me what happened.”

“I caught a whiff of an attempt early yesterday morning. No, I’ll not be telling you my source. Less that know the better. Just know it’s reliable. They didn’t know when the assassin would strike or where, just that it would be that day. So I shadowed Bilbo. He went down to the kitchens to talk to Bombur about something or other in the afternoon. Balin made sure Bombur was aware Bilbo was there when he left back to take care of paperwork. It wasn’t long until our would-be assassin showed up. Saw him slinking around the halls, trying too hard to look casual. I tried to take him clean and quiet but the bugger was fast, slipped free of me. Made a bit of noise in the hall, probably hoping to draw attention. I gave Bombur a signal though, and he made sure to make his own din. Thing of beauty, the timing of those dropped pans. Made quite the bang. Caught the assassin’s attention too. I managed to grab him again, more securely but he managed to put a knife in his chest. Only missed his throat because I hit his arm.”

“And Bilbo?” Thorin asked, his stomach shifting back into its rightful place.

“None the wiser anything even happened, I believe. Head back to him. Spend some time with him. I’ll check in with Dwalin and then let you know if we’ve learned anything else.”

Thorin heaved a sigh of relief. “Well done, Nori.”

They headed back into the hallway where Thorin stopped. “We need to find a way to keep him safer,” he said.

“Good luck with that,” Nori said with a snort. “The lad’s too bent on being useful. He ranges all over the mountain where he thinks he’s needed. Needs a project, he does, or he’ll always be out and about.”

“A project,” Thorin echoed, his eyes going to the door they’d just walked through, a former, half-formed idea taking clearer shape. “I’ll take care of it.”

“I’ll hunt Bilbo down and shadow him around once I’ve finished with Dwalin if you like,” Nori said.

Thorin shook his head. “I’d rather you continued your work. You’re more valuable in the field than being a bodyguard. Besides, Bilbo won’t be leaving the royal wing much if I can manage it.”

Nori smirked. “You’ve had a thought on that already, haven’t you?”

Thorin nodded once and turned back towards his rooms. Dwalin caught up to him. “Nori said he left an assassin in your cells. Did you manage to extract any information?”

Dwalin shook his head. “Mostly dead by the time he was brought in to us. He wouldn’t give us a name of anyone else that may have been involved, just that a noble dwarrowdam deserved to sit at your side.”

“Find out who they were and tell Nori. Perhaps he can find out more.”

“I’ll do that,” Dwalin said.

“Do it now,” Thorin ordered. “Cancel all council meetings until further notice. I won’t be leaving my rooms until noon at the earliest. Tell your brother Bilbo won’t be leaving either.”

“Aye,” Dwalin said. “I’ll set a guard outside your door too. Try not to scar them with too much noise.”

Thorin refused to respond as he entered his rooms.

“Did you forget something?” Bilbo asked when he saw Thorin. He squeaked when Thorin wrapped him in a hug and pressed his lips to Bilbo’s.

“I changed my mind,” Thorin said. “I’m going back to bed and spending time with my husband. I’m tired of listening to my council talk themselves in circles and complain about my marriage.” He kicked his boots off without releasing Bilbo.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Bilbo asked even as he helped Thorin slide the heavy, furred surcoat off his shoulders. He moved to pick it up and place it over a chair but Thorin drew him away, very intent on the bed in the next room.

“I know it’s a perfectly good idea. Dwalin and Balin will handle them.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Bilbo said with a smile and let Thorin pull him along. They tumbled together onto the bed, still clothed. Thorin struggled with the blankets briefly until he managed to pull them over them both. He curled around Bilbo and pressed a kiss to his forehead, a sigh rumbling out of him.

“Is everything all right?” Bilbo asked, one hand rubbing up and down Thorin’s side absently.

“Hmm? Yes,” Thorin said, shifting his shoulders a little and settling deeper into their bed. “I need some time away from my council as all. I think I’ll inform them that unless they have something that really needs discussion, no further meetings will be held. My time can be spent in more productive areas.”

“Like lazing about in bed all day with your husband?” Bilbo asked with a smirk.

“Yes,” Thorin said and kissed Bilbo firmly.

They lay together for a while, enjoying each other’s company in the quiet of their rooms. After a while, Thorin pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s hair. “I was wondering if you would help me with a project,” he said.

Bilbo jerked violently as he came fully awake, apparently having fallen into a doze while they rested. “What was that?” he asked, rubbing a hand down his face as if to banish the exhaustion. Thorin repeated the request and Bilbo nodded. “I’ll do what I’m able.”

“There are rooms in this hallway for the rest of the royal family. More rooms than there is family actually. Some meant entirely for individuals like these were once meant solely for me. Others were meant for families though they haven’t been used since before Thror was king. Would you mind cleaning a set of them for Dis, Fili, and Kili? I’ll enlist more of the Company of course, but I would feel more at ease if you were to head the project.”

“You want me to prepare rooms for your sister, the princess, and her sons? What makes you think I’m anywhere near the right person to do that?”

“I can’t think of anyone I would trust more to make sure those rooms are thoroughly cleaned for Dis’s arrival. She can be rather fussy about that sort of thing.”

“Ah, I see,” Bilbo said nodding. “You’re taking advantage of my natural inclination to have everything neat and tidy, aren’t you?”

“Perhaps,” Thorin said, fighting the smirk that tugged at his lips.

Bilbo jabbed an elbow into his stomach and he groaned. “Glad to know I’m good for something,” he grumbled and started to climb out of the bed.

Thorin wound his arm tighter around Bilbo and pulled him back. “Where do you think you’re off to, Master Burglar?”

Bilbo huffed and struggled a bit, trying to squirm his way free. “No time like the present to get started,” he said. “Come on. You can give me a hand.” He slipped free by ducking low out from beneath Thorin’s easy reach. He stood up from the bed and straightened his rumpled waistcoat the best he could and waited for Thorin to follow.

With a groan, Thorin got up went to retrieve his boots. “You take the enjoyment out of a nice day of leisure,” he growled as he tightened the straps that held them to his feet. He winced a bit as it constricted around his foot. It had been aching since the storm had blown in and continued to do so as the snow continued to drive against the mountain. If it didn’t stop, he’d have to consider going back to Oin to make sure he hadn’t reinjured it.

“I can’t even fathom what it would be like to be asked to work while enjoying a nice midmorning nap with one’s husband,” Bilbo retorted, giving Thorin a deadpan stare. “It boggles my mind trying to think why that would be upsetting in the least.”

“Point taken,” Thorin said. “I did not mean for you to start work immediately,” he added and grabbed a lantern and lit it before they left their rooms. He led them down the hallway, the guard Dwalin had left in his place tailing behind them.

“I’d prefer to see what I’m dealing with this morning so I can spend the rest of the day finding supplies,” Bilbo said. “That way, I’ll be ready to start first thing in the morning tomorrow.”

“I see,” Thorin said and pushed the door to the rooms open. He held the lantern high to display it more fully.

Bilbo looked around, examining the space. He sighed heavily. “I don’t know why I hoped it would be better than the condition we’d found yours in,” he said and then shook himself as if to clear his mind of despair. “No matter. Help me get some more light in here and we’ll get started. I assume you want this to be a surprise for the boys?”

“If at all possible,” Thorin said. “They’ve worked hard and continue to do so. They deserve a reward.”

~*~*~

Bilbo quite literally stumbled over Fili that night in the kitchens, having headed down there for a cup of tea.

“Fili, what are you doing here at this time of night?” Bilbo asked, rubbing his shin where he’d accidentally knocked it on the dwarf’s outstretched leg.

“Can’t sleep,” Fili said with a grimace. He shifted his leg back towards him. “Bombur told me earlier that we have enough apples that we could take an extra here and there as long as we didn’t make a habit of it.” He held up a piece of the red fruit before twiddling with the stem, rotating the apple around and around until it broke.

Bilbo gave Fili a half smile. “I couldn’t either,” he admitted. “Nightmares.” Het set about making his tea.

Fili sighed behind him. “Battle dreams can take some time to get used to,” he said. “I don’t know how dwarrow like Dwalin and Uncle do it. If I’d seen as much as them, I think I’d never be able to sleep again.”

Once he had the kettle settled over the fire, Bilbo came to sit next to Fili, plucking an apple from the bowl on the table and polishing it on his sleeve briefly. He didn’t question Fili’s knowing what type of nightmare had woken him. “Is that what dwarrow call them? The dreams about being caught in a battle you’ve lived through but strange things are different?”

Fili nodded. “What’s different about yours? The people involved?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” Bilbo said with a shrug. “The one that woke me tonight was in the Shire and Lobelia Bracegirlde was there, fighting alongside dwarrow, elves, and men alike, whacking orcs with her ridiculous umbrella. Surprisingly effective actually.” He laced his fingers across his stomach and leaned back against the table, staring into the fire as Fili did. “And then it changed. Sort of warping around the edges and suddenly my parents were there and it was snowing and my father was being ripped apart by a warg that was the size of a wolf and Mother was screaming at me to get back inside but the door was burning and Smaug was climbing over the top of Bag End and I couldn’t find Sting and the air was so thick with smoke and Thorin was-”

“Come out of it, Bilbo.” Fili snapped his fingers in front of Bilbo’s face and the hobbit jerked, startling violently enough he almost fell off the wooden bench they shared.

“Thank you,” Bilbo said and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t know as I’ll ever get used to those.” He dragged a hand down his face.

“You will, in time, or so I’m told. Most do at least. Or so Dwalin told me.”

“You know you can always talk to me about these things,” Bilbo said after a few moments of silence stretched between them. He stood to brew the tea, making a spare cup for Fili, just in case he wanted some.

“I know and I appreciate it,” Fili said. He accepted the teacup Bilbo handed him but didn’t drink any right away, just warming his fingers around it as he stared at the fire. “Kili doesn’t have battle dreams,” he said after Bilbo had slowly sipped half of his tea. “We share just about everything, but this one thing. He tries hard to understand, does what he can, wakes me from them when he hears me.”

Bilbo didn’t respond, just sat quietly and listened as Fili continued.

“I can tell him almost anything about the dreams. About the ones where I wither and die alone in Thranduil’s dungeons, that I don’t wake up after being thrown from the tower on Raven Hill, that I watch our Company disappear under a wave of orcs.” His mouth set into a hard line. “But I can’t tell him I dream about him dying in Laketown from the poisoned wound in his leg. That Tauriel walked away instead of saving him.” He threw back the contents of his teacup and grimaced. “What is this stuff?” he demanded, glaring at the empty cup as if it had personally insulted him, his brother, his mother, his uncle, and the entire line of Durin in a single swallow.

“Tea,” Bilbo said. “If you want stronger, you’ll have to get it yourself but I don’t recommend it.”

“Tastes awful,” Fili grumbled and set the teacup aside.

Bilbo shrugged and took another sip of his tea. “I watch your uncle be consumed by the gold in the King’s Hall at least once a week,” he said. “Sometimes he drags me down with him and I wake up choking on nothing.” He set his teacup aside and picked the apple back up. “Thorin wakes me up sometimes before it gets that bad. I can’t tell him what I dream. Not yet, but it is a comfort that he is there every time I regain my senses. I have told him it is bad, and it involves him but nothing more. He always makes sure I know he is there and that we are both well. I draw comfort from that.”

“You think I should tell Kili that I dream about him.”

“I think you should suggest he remind you that it’s him when he wakes you. It may help. It may not.”

Fili nodded and set the apple he’d been holding back into the basket. “Thanks, Bilbo,” he said.

Bilbo gathered the teacups and other dishes and set them in the sink. He’d come down early the next morning to clean them if one of the kitchen staff didn’t do them first. “You can always come to me Fili. No matter how late at night or early in the morning. I will help you in any way I can.”

Fili nodded and groaned as he went to stand, leaning heavily on the cane he pulled off the table. “I know,” he said and the two hobbled back out of the kitchen to return to their own beds.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

True to his word, Thorin avoided his council at all costs. He started by walking through the mountain, checking on repairs, on their stores, and on the people. He often met Bard in his endeavors to stay busy. Bard seemed just as determined to keep busy as if trying to prove himself to be just the hardworking bargeman he’d been before he’d killed the dragon.

“Your people will want you to lead them more for helping them with their daily tasks,” Thorin warned him as they helped sort through furniture that had been locked away long before Smaug’s arrival. The pieces had been dated, even then.

“I can’t bring myself to sit idly by while those around me work,” Bard said. “Help me lift this thing.”

“That thing is a harpsichord. Don’t drop it. Wait a moment and I’ll come help,” Dori said as he walked by, arms loaded down with a large table with a stone top.

Bard watched him go by curiously. “Are all dwarves that strong?” he asked.

“Dwarrow,” Thorin corrected absently, “and no. Dori is exceptional in that aspect. His youngest brother has shown moments of the same strength.”

Bard nodded, a contemplative look on his face.

Sigrid raced into the room before Dori returned. “Da!” she called, scanning the area.

“Over here, My Girl,” Bard said, pulling her attention away from the other gathered dwarrow and men. “What is it?”

She dodged around a couple of men carrying an armchair that was so riddled with holes Thorin was surprised it still held together.

“It’s Nanna. She’s gone into labor.”

Thorin turned to face the young woman as Bard paused. “Nanna?” he asked. “The young woman who is pregnant?”

Sigrid nodded. “She won’t be for much longer,” she said and turned to Bard. “You’re needed Da.”

Bard nodded and stepped around the old harpsichord. “Send for Ragna. Have her come to the infirmary immediately.”

Thorin caught Bard’s arm before he went by. “Send for Oin as well. He will differ to your physician and assist in all that he can.”

“Ragna’s not a physician,” Bard said. “She’s the closest thing we have to a midwife. All others were lost with Laketown.”

“Oin is our best healer. He can assist and possibly avert unforeseen danger to the woman and child. Will you send word when the babe arrives?”

Bard tilted his head to the side slightly, perplexed.

“We value children above all else,” Thorin explained quietly. “I would mark the first birth in Erebor after its reclamation, no matter the race, as a sign of good fortune and would acknowledge it as such.”

With a nod and a slight smile tugging at his normally grim expression, Bard left the room just as Dori returned. The dwarf huffed. “And there goes one of my best workers,” he groused and turned back to Thorin. “No matter. Captain Dwalin, please stop your lurking and help His Majesty and I move this.”

Dwalin slunk out of the shadows where he’d been leaning against a convenient wall. “Can’t keep him safe if I’m weighted down with furniture,” he grumbled.

“If an assassin strikes in broad daylight near so many witnesses, you may drop the entire thing on me,” Dori retorted and stepped over to one side.

Dwalin cast an irritated glance at Thorin who just grinned in return. He couldn’t complain. He was at least doing real work for what felt like the first time in ages. If it also meant annoying the dwarrow in the council, well, that was just extra enjoyment for him. Irritating Dwalin was just the extra polish to the ruby.

Thorin worked alongside Dori and Dwalin until lunch was served. He headed to the kitchens and took a seat next to Bilbo who struck up a very tentative and slow conversation in broken khuzdul. Thorin beamed with pride, kissing Bilbo warmly in reward for his efforts.

“Oh, stop that,” Bilbo huffed in Westron when Thorin released him. “People are watching.”

“Let them watch,” Thorin retorted and pressed another kiss to Bilbo’s lips.

The hobbit sighed and sagged slightly against Thorin in contentment. Bilbo wrapped an arm around Thorin’s waist, pulling the dwarf closer before they parted again. “As much as I’d love to continue,” Bilbo murmured, “I’m afraid I have more lessons with Balin today. Apparently, someone canceled all the council meetings leaving us both free so he thought it would be a good idea I studied more about dwarrow culture.”

“Sensible, but don’t let him keep you all afternoon. You promised to work on that project for me,” Thorin said and tapped his forehead against Bilbo’s briefly. “I’ll see you this evening.”

Bilbo kissed his cheek as he stood to leave, humming a bit as he walked away.

Thorin watched out of the corner of his eye, admiring his husband’s figure as he left. Once Bilbo was out of sight, Thorin returned to eating his meal, ignoring Dwalin’s knowing, amused snicker.

“Enough of that,” Thorin growled when Dwalin didn’t cease his irritating ways. “After you eat, I want you shadowing him for a while.”

“Can’t do that,” Dwalin grunted, his mirth disappearing.

“You can, and you will,” Thorin said. “I’m capable of defending myself as you well know. Bilbo is not.”

“Thorin-”

“Don’t argue, Dwalin,” Thorin said, setting down his utensils and glaring at his friend. “Bilbo is being targeted, not me. It would ease my mind if you were to be his guard in my absence, especially when he’s roaming the mountain.”

“He’s staying in the royal wing for lessons,” Dwalin groused even as his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“He’ll be looking for cleaning supplies and helpers once he manages to escape Balin’s clutches. Encourage any free members of the Company to volunteer if you will.”

Dwalin grumbled some more but didn’t resist, agreeing reluctantly to guard Bilbo against harm.

“Thank you,” Thorin said quietly so only Dwalin would hear. “I know it grates against your very nature to leave me without a guard.”

“Aye, it does.”

Thorin nodded. “I will take special care to keep from having my head parted from my neck.”

More grumbling escaped Dwalin, but so did a small smirk.

Once he’d finished eating, Thorin hunted down Bofur. “Afternoon, Your Majesty,” Bofur greeted with a grin. “Come for a report on our progress?”

“To assist, actually,” Thorin said. “Now that the gates are sealed for the winter and most of our workers are busy restoring homes for our people with help from the citizens of Dale, I thought I would lend my assistance where it might be useful.”

Bofur’s smile only grew wider. “Shirking meetings, Your Majesty?” he asked in a stage whisper, then louder. “I was hoping to start work searching out other weaknesses within the mountain. I could always use help, especially from someone with stone sense as strong as yours.”

“Excellent,” Thorin said rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Movement beyond Bofur’s shoulder caught his eye. Streknul walked through the doorway leading from the Hall of Kings to the vestibule where they stood. “No better time to start than now,” he said refocusing on Bofur. “Lead on. Preferably that way.” He pointed over his shoulder, away from Streknul’s searching eyes.

Hefting his mattock, Bofur nodded once to Thorin and they made a hasty retreat deeper into the mountain, towards where the market once resided.

~*~*~

Their footsteps echoed loudly off the empty stone halls, the flickering flames of the candles in their lamps illuminating the mountain around them only so far. Old, derelict stalls with rotting, hanging awnings and over a century’s worth of dust stood sentinel between the storefronts behind them. Windows that once reflected firelight could no longer be seen, the grime lay so thick on the panes. Still, Thorin stared around him in wonder, fighting memories of walking these same streets, looking at the goods on display, now scattered about the ground and across surfaces, all covered in dirt and cobwebs, like so much of the mountain.

“Your Majesty?” Bofur called.

Thorin blinked, turning away from the remains of a baker’s stall he’d often frequented when young. He’d been rather fond of them and had never learned what went into the dough that gave their sweet rolls the texture they’d had. Perhaps he’d search their home or shop where they’d prepared their goods. If he could find it. If it wasn’t ruined. The recipe might be somewhere and Bilbo or Bombur could try to follow it. Recreate it.

“Thorin?” Bofur asked, striding down the street towards him.

“Ah,” Thorin said, somehow caught betwixt nostalgic memories and hopeful daydreams. “I was just remembering,” he explained, eyes once again on the baker’s stall.

Bofur joined him and took in the decrepit streets around them. “Well, wishing for better days won’t do us any good until we can make sure the mountain’s safe for your people.”

“Indeed,” Thorin said. “Lead on.”

He tried to focus on Bofur’s chatter as they walked but phantom sounds and smells assaulted him as he passed familiar ground. In an attempt to help ground himself in the present, he let his fingers trail along filthy tabletops, against shredded and rotting awnings, across wares that were abandoned in haste when his people fled.

“Almost there Thorin.” Bofur’s cheerful voice pulled him from his thoughts once again. “The market won’t last much longer.”

Thorin nodded but kept one hand extended slightly at his side, still somewhat desperate to touch and feel the current condition of his home instead of wallowing in the overwhelming memories of the past.

Bofur led them away from the market stalls and shops not long after. “From here, we have choices,” Bofur told him. “I’ve done a bit of exploring, as has Nori. Together, we’ve a pretty good idea what’s in the area but you’ll know the mountain better than us. From what we gathered, there are the guildhalls, a training ground, an armory, some homes, and the beginnings of some mines nearby. Where would you like to start?”

Taking hold of his memories and his bearings, Thorin turned to the side. “This way,” he said. “We may find something useful for our current circumstances down here.”

Bofur kept pace with Thorin as he worked his way down another corridor. Boulders and debris littered the hallway and they had to climb over certain areas filled with the remains of columns and walls and structures, going carefully. On more than one occasion they stopped and took a moment to read the stone, to feel for dangers and weaknesses caused by the dragon’s rampage and the slow death of time. Finally, Thorin stopped them next to a set of doors.

“What’s in here?” Bofur asked, running his hand across the carvings showing miners and their work. “It’s not a mine, is it?”

“Go in and see,” Thorin said opening the door.

Bofur walked inside, raising his lamp high to better see the room’s contents. “Why, it’s miners’ gear. Everything from helmets to parts for the pulley systems for the lifts for the deep shafts.”

“Heat lamps too,” Thorin said, stepping around a few barrels of pickaxes and mattocks to inspect items on the shelves. “Bard’s people will be especially grateful for them, I’m sure. They feel the mountain’s chill more keenly than we do.”

“Oh, aye,” Bofur nodded, “as does Bilbo.”

Thorin glanced at Bofur but saw no ill intent in his expression. They continued to explore the storeroom’s contents, picking their way through shovels, hammers, drills, timbers, pulleys, wheels, gears, helmets, and all other manner of equipment in barrels, in crates, and on shelves before Bofur shouted delightedly.

“Lamps! Big ones that will brighten up the large rooms like the Hall of Kings and the kitchens and such. These’ll be appreciated by everyone. Oh! And more unbroken mirrors! If we can find safe ways up into the ceilings we can replace any that broke and bring natural light back into the mountain again.”

“We’ll gather carts together and a few dwarrow to help move them. Leave them for now.”

“Think we can get carts through all the mess out there?” Bofur jerked a thumb at the doorway.

“We may have to carry the lamps and mirrors part of the way or we can try to move the rubble. Either way, it’ll be hard work. Think you can manage to put a team together for it?”

Bofur scratched at his neck, a grin on his face. “I think I can manage. What other treats are around that we can use?”

“It depends on what we can safely reach,” Thorin said and they left the room again.

~*~*~

Once they’d inventoried two more storerooms for their useful items as well as that which was unbroken, Thorin and Bofur went back the way they came and headed deeper into the mountain, testing the stone as they went, feeling for weakness singing in their surroundings. For the most part, they only heard the easy calming tones of ancient rock weathering the ages and holding strong in melodies and harmonies. The occasional dissonant chord snaked its way into their stone sense and they paused, searching for the source and examining it and the stone around it, looking for dangerous areas or just small cracks that would not be a danger to any within the mountain without more serious deterioration or damage. Often, as Thorin explored the stone’s strength, Bofur would pull out large sheets of parchment and charcoal sticks, mapping out their route and marking where they found even the slightest weakness as well as doors and connecting corridors to explore later.

As evening drew closer, they ceased their search and started heading back the way they came. Bofur hummed, pleased with the progress they’d made. “Good amount of work for today,” he told Thorin with a grin after a while. “Much easier with someone else with strong stone sense. Helpful when I don’t have to search and map at the same time.”

“Is that an invitation to join you again in your work?” Thorin asked.

“I’d be happy for you to come along. I’d imagine you’d appreciate the break from your council.”

Thorin smiled, nodding once. They entered the main atrium. “I will be sure to join you again sometime.”

Bofur grinned, nodded his head respectfully, and left for the kitchens to see if he could help Bombur. Thorin headed for the royal wing, intent on finding Bilbo so they could enjoy their evening meal together.

He started his search in their rooms, wondering if Bilbo had gone there to clean up after an afternoon of work on the project Thorin had given him. Instead of his husband, he found Carc sitting on the desk, looking a bit worse for wear and with his feathers puffed out in an attempt to warm up from whatever heat could be found in his rooms.

“Your sister was most adamant I return to you as soon as possible. Next time, I’m finding shelter if there’s a winter storm,” the bird croaked.

Chapter Text

 Chapter 12

Bilbo managed to escape Balin’s lessons a few hours after lunch when the dwarf was called away to settle a dispute amongst a pair of Dain’s men that sat on Thorin’s council. Apparently, Thorin had disappeared and they were trying to decide if they should send out a search party or not. Bilbo did not envy Balin the almost guaranteed headache he would receive after mediating between Streknuls and Drybmut.

Dwalin appeared at his side once he made it into the hallway outside Balin's office.

“Oh! Hello,” Bilbo greeted with a smile. “Where’s Thorin?” He looked around, fully expecting to see his husband lurking majestically nearby.

“Off with Bofur to check the mountain's stability,” Dwalin said.

Bilbo blinked, confused. “Shouldn’t you be with them? You are Thorin’s guard, aren’t you?”

“No laddie. As much as I don’t like leaving him on his own, he’s sent me to guard you.”

“That hardly seems necessary,” Bilbo said, frowning. Dwalin just grunted in reply. “Well, if that’s what’s to happen we can’t very well argue with Thorin while he’s not here. I’ll have a word with him when I see him this evening. In the meantime, let’s be off. I have work to do.” He went to step around the dwarf.

Dwalin caught him by his shoulder before he could get far. “You should never go around someone in this mountain unless it is Thorin. As his consort, all should defer to you.”

Bilbo huffed irritably. “That’s just poor manners.”

“Not if you’re royal,” Dwalin told him and Bilbo made a face at the second reminder of his station in as many minutes.

“Yes, all right,” Bilbo sighed. He started off down the hall again, Dwalin in tow. They headed back to the royal wing and the rooms Thorin had asked him to clean out for Dis, Fili, and Kili.

Grit and grime slowly gave way as Bilbo worked his way into the room bit by bit, scrubbing everything in reach, only pausing to empty his bucket of filthy water and refill it with clean. He worked his way around the edge of the room, starting with the shelving and furniture that lined the walls. When he came across something movable, he and Dwalin hauled it into the hall where Dwalin promised one of his guards would take it down to the appropriate location in the mountain, either for repairs or for it to be broken down into useable pieces, even if those pieces were to be burned or melted down.

They’d been working steadily for an hour when Bilbo broke the silence. “So, how many people have tried to kill me so far?”

Dwalin didn’t so much as flinch at the question. “Before or after Thorin hauled his pathetic carcass out of his sick bed?”

Bilbo glared out of the corner of his eye. “Since the orcs and goblins stopped being an immediate threat.”

“Five or six that I know of,” Dwalin admitted. “You don’t need to be worrying yourself over it. We’ll keep you safe.”

“I’m not worried about me,” Bilbo said, indignant at the slight. He caught sight of Dwalin's approving smirk out of the corner of his eye. “I’m more concerned with how Thorin reacts each time it happens.”

The sharp look Dwalin directed at him didn’t surprise Bilbo in the slightest and he returned the look with an unimpressed one of his own. “I’m quite aware that his sudden detestation and refusal to sit in on council meetings had more of a catalyst than just him finally reaching his limit of patience for them.”

“And what would bring you to that conclusion?” Dwalin asked and went back to pulling wall anchors from a rotted shelving unit.

“I love Thorin,” Bilbo said as he went back to scrubbing at what looked like an armoire, his ears burning and his insides squirming even as he admitted it to someone other than Thorin. He’d have to see if he could find a way to open it in the future. If nothing else, he’d ask Nori to come in and try to pick the locks. “He’s surprisingly affectionate but even he will take the time to properly care for his clothing before…”

A few beats of silence passed. “Before,” Dwalin prompted, a wicked leer starting to edge into his expression.

“Well, the most accurate word I can think of seems a bit juvenile to use when referring to Thorin,” Bilbo admitted. “The only word that comes to mind is 'cuddle'.”

“That’s no surprise to me, laddie,” Dwalin told him, looking slightly disappointed at the lack of anything scandalous.

“Ah, of course not,” Bilbo said. “I forget how long the two of you have been friends.”

Dwalin shook his head. “It’s not just Thorin,” he told Bilbo. “Most dwarrow have a desire for physical contact. We just tend to not let outsiders be privy to that information, especially when it comes to our dwarflings. Didn’t you notice Fili and Kili couldn’t stop climbing all over each other, especially at night?”

“I thought they were just really close as brothers. You mean you all are like that?”

Dwalin nodded. “Used to pile in with Thorin and Frerin when we were little.”

“Huh.”

“Is there a problem with that, Your Highness?”

Bilbo’s glare almost matched the level of one of Thorin’s. “Don’t start that,” he scolded. “And no, there’s not a problem. I just didn’t realize you were all so tactile with each other.”

“And hobbits aren’t?”

“Not at all. Especially not in public or with people not in our immediate families. We’re very fond of our personal space most of the time. There are a number of couples I know that don't even share a bed because they can't stand the thought of being that close to someone in their sleep.”

“Noted,” Dwalin grunted. “I’ll let the others know before they start up with you.”

Bilbo shook his head. “No, don’t. It’s all right. I’ve found recently that I quite like a bit of physical affection. Besides, if I am to live amongst dwarrow, I should do my best to adopt as many of your customs as possible.”

“If you say so. Don't be afraid to speak up if it gets to being too much.”

It wasn’t until they decided to stop working some hours later that Bilbo realized that Dwalin hadn’t helped him solve the original problem he’d wanted to discuss. He still had no idea what to do about Thorin when someone threatened Bilbo’s life. Knowing Thorin and his tendency to brood himself into a majestic snit, Bilbo felt he had to figure out something even if he did it on his own. He just didn’t quite know what that was yet.

~*~*~

After gently toweling the bird off, Thorin placed a bit of food in front of Carc and took the small canister sealed with wax tied to the raven’s leg. “What news from Ered Luin?” he asked as he worked.

“Read the letter,” Carc squawked between bites. “We can discuss the rest when I’m not so bone weary and after my stomach stops trying to digest my back.”

Thorin nodded, trying to suppress his smile. He cracked the wax around the metal tube and fished the letter inside out, thankful the seal had held, keeping everything undamaged from the winter storms.

Four separate letters came out; the first three were written in Cirth. Each one was addressed to Thorin, Fili, or Kili. Letters from Dis then, going by the handwriting. The third letter sported the oddly rounded Westron characters from the Shire and also had Thorin’s name on it. A reply from the Thain?

He set Fili and Kili’s letters aside. He’d find them later to deliver them. Settling into his armchair, Thorin cracked the seal on the one from Dis first and started to read.

To Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, King Under the Mountain, called Oakenshield

Dear Brother,

Be grateful our acquaintance N detailed the extent of your injuries in his correspondence and that you both lived. Otherwise, I would be on my way to Erebor right now entirely prepared to take over the rule of The Mountain after your untimely death.

I had no doubts in my sons’ abilities but I am grateful to know of their fate and their prowess. I await further details of the journey and battle. Their own letters were about as useful as yours, claiming a desire to defer the details until I arrive.

On that note, after much thought and consideration, those of our people currently residing here in Ered Luin will begin preparations to return to Erebor. The first caravan will leave here when the weather starts to turn for the better. It is hoped we will arrive there before the leaves start to change color and fall this autumn. I will come in the first group. Another will follow the next summer, and a third the year after. It is our plan for all those that desire to reside there to reach the Mountain before four years have elapsed from when you first took your throne. A suitable regent will be chosen to take my place and rule over all those that remain in Ered Luin. They will ultimately still be considered Erebor’s citizens but will remain here. I hope this is acceptable to you and I await your input on who you think would be suitable.

There is not much other news to address at this time here in Ered Luin that you do not already know about.

You are correct. I would not have believed your claim to be married if I hadn’t received similar reports from my sons and our mutual acquaintance. I look forward to meeting this Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. For him to be able to put up with your brooding moods and to indeed brighten your dour countenance as my sons claim, he must be a fearsome creature to behold. I would not have thought it possible, especially not from a hobbit. I demand more details of him immediately. I mean it. Do not put off writing to me about him for a "more convenient moment."

I understand your wedding was not what it should be. Once I return to the mountain, we may have to remedy that. Our people deserve to celebrate all that is good, especially when it comes to you and your Company for retaking our home from the wyrm.

Do try to be more regular with your correspondence in the future.

-D

Thorin sighed in relief. Dis’ letter had not left him feeling filleted and open to the cruel elements as he had expected it to. She’d been very kind, if a bit formal, in her words. Then, with a sinking feeling of dread, it occurred to him. She’d been deliberately distant. She was going to destroy him when she arrived.

Shoving the dread aside, knowing he could not do anything about it at the time, he turned his attention to the other letter addressed to him. He cracked the seal and unfolded it.

Even before he started reading, Thorin knew something about the letter wasn’t right. It was short. Too short to hold anything of any significance other than perhaps a complete dismissal of the letter he’d sent to the Thain. Unconsciously gritting his teeth in dread, he started reading.

To Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, King Under the Mountain, called Oakenshield

Sir:

I regret to inform you that you seem to have addressed your letter to the wrong person. The only Bilbo Baggins known to us here is a fine, respectable hobbit that would no sooner marry another male than I would willingly give up my family’s delicious, award-winning secret cherry pie recipe. If this is meant to be a joke, it is in very poor taste.

Sincerely,

Fortinbras Took II

Twenty-ninth Thain of the Shire

Infuriated, Thorin read through the paragraph again and again. His anger only grew and he moved to crumple up the parchment and throw it into the fire in a fit of temper when the door opened. He glared at the intruder only to realize it was Bilbo.

“Hello,” Bilbo said absently as he closed the door behind him. When he glanced at Thorin, he stopped in his progress across the room. “What’s the matter?” he asked, drawing the first syllable out slightly, unsure of his footing in the situation, whatever it was.

Thorin stood from his chair and met Bilbo halfway across the room. He handed him the letter, more a short note really, and waited for Bilbo to read it.

Bilbo snorted. “I’ll write to him myself,” he said, crumpling the note into a ball and tossing it into the fire with none of the frustration or anger evident in his body language that seethed and roiled under Thorin’s skin. He moved over to the writing desk.

“That’s all you have to say about that note?” Thorin asked, fighting to keep his tone level.

“What else should I do about it?” Bilbo asked, already pulling quill and parchment close. “I’ll tell you one thing though. I’m calling him out on that cherry pie recipe. It’s atrocious. The only award it deserves is most disgusting pie in all the Shire. Delicious. Ha!”

“Bilbo-”

“I warned you Thorin.” Bilbo turned in the desk chair to fix his husband with a knowing and tired look, his eye brows raised. “Hobbits do not take kindly to anyone implying anything unnatural about them.”

“There’s nothing unnatural about our marriage!”

Sighing, Bilbo set his quill back in the ink jar before standing and approaching his husband. “I’m well aware of that now,” he said before adding with a slightly pained grin, “most of the time. But to other hobbits, it’s not.”

Thorin placed his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders, drawing him closer and letting them run down Bilbo’s arms to his elbows. “Most of the time?” he asked, the words somehow draining the frustration from him.

Bilbo scowled. “I've spent a lifetime – my lifetime – being told that my preference for other males is entirely improper, that it’s something to be shamed. In my youth I did my best to ignore all the whisperings about my oddities, my love of adventuring and such. But I didn’t dare admit to having feelings for a certain Brandybuck lad when I was a tween. Even the Tooks, my mother’s side of the family, are very foolhardy and brave about being different about most things, but not this. A Baggins would allow even less liberties. Had my tastes been known, I would have been a social pariah at the very least. A complete outcast shunned by all and hated, possibly imprisoned or institutionalized at the worst.”

Thorin pulled Bilbo into his arms, holding him close. “No one here would ever think less of you for who you are, including your romantic inclinations. Especially that. Will you tell me when you struggle? I would be there to help you if you’d allow it.”

Bilbo returned the embrace, briefly leaning into the contact before pulling away. “I will do my best,” he said and went back to the desk. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a cousin to set straight in his misguided views of your words being a poorly delivered joke.”

Thorin leaned over and placed a kiss on the side of Bilbo’s neck. “Don’t take too long,” he asked. “I’ve letters for Fili and Kili from their mother. I’ll be back shortly.”

Bilbo tipped his head back and accepted another kiss, this one on his lips, before returning to his letter, waving a hand absently at his husband in a shooing motion.

Clearly dismissed, Thorin picked up the letters for his nephews and went in search of them.

~*~*~

Bilbo glared at the parchment in front of him. “This shouldn’t be this hard,” he muttered, eyeing the small pile of crumpled attempts sitting next to his right elbow. He needed to dispose of them before Thorin returned. He needed to finish this dratted letter before Thorin returned.

But writing to his family was hard.

Especially about something so un-Baggins-ish.

Like his marriage to a dwarf king.

Especially his love for said king.

Not to mention his absolute abhorrence for that dratted and disgusting cherry pie.

For all that he’d traveled literally months with dwarrow, he still struggled with the kneejerk reaction to be unfailingly polite. Anything less and he felt as if he were besmirching his father’s memory.

And yet, advice from his mother from long ago when he’d gotten into a fight with Fatty Bulger rang in his memory. The next time he’d come face to face with the bully, he’d followed her advice. Gleefully, he flipped the almost obscenely rotund hobbit a rude hand gesture and told him to go jump in the Brandywine. He’d received the pounding of his young life up to that point for it but the look on Fatty’s face had been priceless. He'd been mostly left alone by the bully from then on as well.

But he was procrastinating the letter again.

“Just write it for now,” he muttered and picked up his quill again. “Go back and write a second draft later.”

Thorin found him writing furiously a few minutes later, having found Fili and Kili and delivered the letters. The brothers had been thrilled to get word from their mother and had sat down right where they'd stood in the middle of the hall to read them.

Bilbo’s pile of balled up parchment had only grown in his absence. A great temptation to say something along the lines of ‘it’s not so easy now, is it’ marched its way through Thorin’s mind. Instead, he said, “May I help in any way?”

Bilbo growled and balled up another piece of parchment. He lobbed it over his shoulder. “I can’t seem to find a way to say what I want to without coming across entirely unhobbitish,” he groused. “I swear, being around you dwarrow has completely fouled up my ability to subtly insult someone through a letter.”

“You wish to insult them?” Thorin asked, interest now doubled. “Why would you want to be subtle about it? It would seem a bit pointless to me. What if they didn’t realize they were being insulted?”

Tossing down his quill, Bilbo rubbed his hands over his face with a sigh. “Hobbits are all about the underhanded dig when it comes to such matters,” he admitted.

“Would you rather I took matters into my own hands? I hold no issue with telling off your Thain in as colorful a way as possible.”

Bilbo gave him an exasperatedly fond look. “I don’t doubt that,” he said dryly before sitting back up in his chair. “No. No. I really must do this myself.” He bent to work again.

Knowing Bilbo would seek his help if required, Thorin turned his attention away from his husband and went to read another chapter of the book he’d been translating for Bilbo, intent on preparing another chapter for them that night.

“Ha!”

Thorin jerked slightly in his chair, barely managing to keep the book from sliding off his lap. He turned to glare but stopped at the triumphant look Bilbo was giving him as he waved his letter back and forth a bit to help it dry. He’d have to search around the mountain, see if he could find some drying sand. He’d start with Balin and Ori in the morning. Surely they had found some by now for their work.

“I take it you finished your letter,” Thorin remarked as he tucked a piece of paper into the book, holding his place.

“Yes,” Bilbo said, grinning widely. “I do believe I’ve found the right balance between dwarrow bluntness and hobbit underhandedness to do the reply justice.”

“May I?” Thorin asked, nodding at the parchment.

Bilbo held it out to him. Taking it, Thorin read.

To: Fortinbras Took II, Twenty-ninth Thain of the Shire

Dear Cousin:

It has come to my attention that you have recently been informed of my recent nuptials and have discounted them out of hand, purely out of stubborn, conservative principle. I would have thought that, taking into consideration the actions of my mother, your favorite Aunt Belladonna, in her own marriage, you would have been a bit more willing to realize that not every hobbit is as bent on following tradition as some. As you are a Took, I am disappointed to see that is not necessarily so.

So let me assure you, Cousin-mine, of my marriage to one Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, King Under the Mountain, called Oakenshield. Our marriage was quite consensual and unsullied by rumors of impropriety that may or may not surround those of others that I’m sure will be privy to this letter at some point or another.

How is your sister by the way?

As far as my being missing, I’m sure this could easily be refuted if you were to actually take the time to investigate and speak to my neighbors that asked where I was going on the morning of my departure. I distinctly recall informing them that I was going on an adventure. Your own adventuring days are not so far behind you and again, I ask you to once again remember my mother and her own days adventuring into the world. This is one of the Thain's duties, is it not?

As for the cherry pie recipe you mentioned, you may keep it to yourself, even though you may be assured that I did indeed marry another male. From what I recall of that loathsome dish, not even Fatty Bulger could stomach more than three bites of it when he was so pissed up he was barking at the moon. If it has won an award, I am fair certain it would be for the worst pie in the entirety of the Shire. You may also keep your good day to yourself.

Sincerely,

Bilbo Baggins

He Who Walks Unseen, Luck Wearer, Riddle Maker, Barrel Rider, Dragon Riddler, Consort Under the Mountain

PS- Please make sure the Sackville-Bagginses stay out of Bag End. I would not be surprised if they tried to steal it away in my extended absence.

“I take it this Fatty Bulger is a less than reputable judge of fine cuisine?” Thorin asked once he’d managed to reign in the laughter that threatened to ruin his stoic demeanor. Either hobbits weren't as subtle as he'd thought or Bilbo didn't realize just how blunt and dwarrow-like he was being.

“Think Bombur but without any functioning taste buds whatsoever. I'm almost certain he’d have eaten what the trolls were cooking and probably enjoyed it, floaters and all.” Bilbo said as he absently flipped through the book on hobbits Thorin had placed on the table between their chairs while Thorin read, completely missing the gagging that overcame Thorin briefly at the very idea of eating the slop that had been in that oversized pot as if he could still smell its contents. He shook his head as he skimmed it. “This is utterly underhanded,” he muttered.

“What is?” Thorin asked once he’d gotten over the sudden feeling of nausea and disgust, setting Bilbo’s letter aside. He’d show Bilbo how to prepare it for a raven to take it to the Shire later. The original missive Thorin had sent had been left in Bree but Carc had followed its progress to learn its final destination. The Shire was not a place known to the birds before Carc’s arrival there.

“This book,” Bilbo said. “Nothing in it is a lie, technically, but it’s presented to make us seem vastly different from what we really are.”

Thorin looked over Bilbo’s shoulder, curious. “Really?” he asked.

“Yes,” Bilbo said and snapped the book shut. “But let’s not worry about that now. I think we need to talk.”

“Oh?” Thorin stepped back, giving Bilbo some space. Unease settled into the pit of his stomach. “What about?”

Bilbo set the book down and turned to fully face Thorin. “Your attempt to keep me out of the common areas of the mountain after all the assassination attempts.”

“And what would give you that idea?” Thorin asked, careful to keep his tone neutral and to make eye contact with his husband.

“I talked to Dwalin,” Bilbo drawled. “You’re not fooling any one. Neither is Nori.”

Thorin sighed and turned away from Bilbo, rubbing a hand across his mustache and down his beard. “I only wish to keep you safe,” he said at length, unable to find anything else to tell Bilbo. It was the truth, after all.

Bilbo caught his wrist, pulling him back toward him. He smiled up at Thorin, reaching to run his hand through the loose hair near his ears. He dug his fingers in until he scratched and massaged Thorin’s scalp. “You cannot keep me prisoner up here,” Bilbo said. “I understand your concern and I will be careful to never go anywhere without a member of the Company with me, but I cannot stay in the royal wing alone. There is too much to be done around the mountain and I'm determined to do my part.”

“You will abandon working on the rooms I asked you to clean?” Thorin asked.

“I will finish them, but I will find something else to do when I’m done. Something that doesn’t keep me separated from everyone. If they are to be my people too, I can't hide away in fear. Besides, if I don’t see sunlight soon, you’re going to find yourself with a very irate hobbit.”

Thorin leaned into Bilbo’s massaging fingers with a sigh. “I understand. The storm should abate in the next day or so. We will find a way for you to see sunlight then.”

“And the rest?” Bilbo asked.

“I will not hold you prisoner here. If you wish to roam the mountain you may.”

Bilbo stood on his toes and kissed Thorin’s forehead, lingering an extra moment. “Thank you for seeing my point of view.”

Thorin shifted his stance so he could kiss Bilbo’s lips. “I will strive to always listen to your words,” he promised.

Chapter Text

 Chapter 13

It wasn’t until late that night with Bilbo curled up next to him, head resting on his bare chest, that Thorin wondered if Bilbo had intentionally massaged his head in order to put Thorin in a more agreeable mood while discussing Bilbo's safety and desire to not be kept secluded in the royal wing. Looking down at his husband’s sleeping face while running a hand through the soft curls he thought it through. No. Bilbo hadn’t done it out of manipulation. He’d started to learn the significance of hair among dwarrow, but he couldn’t know of the sensitivity that surrounds their heads.

He let his hand drift a little until he touched the curve of Bilbo’s pointed ear. Absently, he ran his finger along it until he reached the junction with his head before reversing the motion, trailing soft touches to the tip of his ear.

Bilbo shifted against him, muttering something. Curious, Thorin caressed Bilbo’s ear again in the same motion. Again, Bilbo shifted and muttered, this time distinctly rolling his hips for friction against Thorin’s side.

So hobbit ears were sensitive. He made a note to explore that later, perhaps in the morning if they’d both recovered from their evening together.

When Thorin leaned over to blow out the candle, Bilbo wrapped his arms around him tighter and scrubbed his nose against Thorin’s hairy chest until Thorin relaxed back into the pillows again. Bilbo always latched onto him at night, especially after they’d made love.

Dwalin had told Thorin about his and Bilbo’s conversation about the tactile nature amongst dwarrow and the almost abhorrence for it amongst hobbits. Yet here was his husband who was once one of the stuffiest hobbits in existence (Bilbo’s words, not Thorin’s), curling around Thorin and refusing to release the fistful of hair in his right hand like Kili used to do when he was a dwarfling no more than five years old.

Was Bilbo touch starved?

He’d have to make sure to find excuses to touch his husband at any given opportunity and examine his reactions. Perhaps he could enlist his nephews to help, see if Bilbo was just as physically affectionate with him within the bounds of acceptable contact in public as he was with his nephews. He might even encourage them to be a bit more affectionate in private as well. He wondered if they would be able to entice Bilbo into a family Pile. It would be interesting to see.

With a sigh, Thorin pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s head and settled back to try to sleep.

Not five minutes passed before someone was knocking gently on their door as if whoever it was didn’t want to wake anyone inside.

Bilbo startled awake, eyes flying open as he shifted to look at the doorway that led to their sitting room and thus the front door to their apartment. He looked up at Thorin, eyes wide and questioning.

Thorin shook his head, not knowing who was at the door either. He slid out of their bed, grabbing the soft trousers he’d been wearing and pulling them on before retrieving orcrist from the weapon rack in the corner. He heard Bilbo carefully sliding from the bed as well and retrieving his own trousers and sword behind him. Thorin held up a hand when Bilbo moved to follow him into the sitting room, motioning for him to wait there. He didn’t want to take any chances with their late night visitor.

Thorin opened the door, orcrist held firmly in his hand.

“Bard?” Bilbo asked from his vantage next to their bedroom door.

“Your Majesties,” Bard greeted them both. “I’m sorry to intrude so late at night.”

“You look horrible,” Thorin told him. “What’s happened?”

“Thorin!” Bilbo snapped. “That’s no way to treat a guest!”

Bard shook his head and held up a hand to forestall further argument, a small smile tugging at his expression. “It’s all right. I’m sure I’ve looked better.” He turned his eyes to Thorin. “You asked me to tell you when the baby was born. She screamed her way into the world about half an hour ago.”

Thorin couldn’t help the relief that showed clearly on his face. “I am glad to hear it.” He stepped aside and motioned for Bard to come inside. Bilbo had disappeared at some point and now returned, no longer carrying his little letter opener of a sword and with a shirt covering his torso. He carried another shirt for Thorin who shrugged it on without much care. “And Nanna?”

Bard’s eyebrows rose slightly, showing his surprise that Thorin remembered the young woman’s name.“Tired but well. Your Master Oin did a great deal to help her along.”

Thorin nodded as he joined Bard by the fire. Bilbo pulled the chair from the desk over. “You said the babe was a girl?”

Bard nodded and let his head fall back against the chair. He was tall enough that his head rested along the top of the chair instead of against the backrest. Still, he seemed to melt in comfort briefly as if exhaustion dragged at his bones.

“I will take it as a good omen,” Thorin said, already sending a silent prayer to Mahal in thanks for the blessing that would undoubtedly help raise spirits during the winter storms raging outside the mountain. “I would like to see them both when Nanna feels up to it if she is agreeable.”

“I’ll pass that along,” Bard promised before tiredly pulling himself to his feet. “As much as I’d like to just fall asleep right here, I should go find my children. Sigrid especially.”

“Is something the matter with her?” Bilbo asked as he stood as well, looking up at Bard.

He shook his head. “No. Sigrid’s a tough girl. She can handle just about anything. She helped with the wounded after the battle in the healing tents. Went so far as to help with a few amputations and such. But have someone vomit around her and she’s done and heading for the nearest bucket. Poor girl just can’t handle it.”

“Vomiting?” Thorin asked.

“Nanna threw up at one point during her labor. Oin said it’s not common, but it does happen and we probably don’t need to worry about it. He’s watching her just in case though.”

Bilbo gave Bard a sympathetic look. “My father was that way. I have a bit of ginger tea stashed away if she needs it.”

“I’ll let her know. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Bilbo scowled, his nose twitching in his irritation. “None of that now from you. My name is Bilbo. I expect my friends to use it. None of this ‘Your Majesty’ nonsense.”

“As you wish,” Bard said and inclined his head respectfully to Bilbo. “I will tell Nanna you would like to visit and send word of her reply tomorrow morning. Good night.”

“Good night,” Thorin said, following Bard to the door. He closed it behind the man before walking over to Bilbo and taking the desk chair from his hands. He set it in its proper place and led his husband back into their room. Thorin pulled off his shirt and Bilbo his trousers before they climbed back into bed. Immediately, Bilbo curled up against Thorin, placing his head back in its former position on his chest just below his shoulder.

“A new life,” Bilbo remarked as Thorin pulled him close and placed a lingering kiss to his forehead.

“Assuming Nanna doesn’t mind, I’d like to hold a celebration in honor of the occasion. Will you help me plan it?”

Bilbo tipped his head back. “If there’s one thing hobbits like more than food, it’s a good party,” he informed Thorin. “I’m sure I’ll be able to whip something together. Do you think the storms will pass soon? Could we send hunters out for extra game when it does?”

“I’m sure and yes,” Thorin said with a fond smile and kissed him warmly. “Go to sleep, Bilbo. We’ll worry about the party tomorrow.”

~*~*~

They visited Nanna the next morning and she readily agreed to celebrate the birth of her child, claiming that Dale’s people could use some joy in their lives about then. She volunteered her husband to help with the party planning and Bilbo agreed to find him later that afternoon. He and Thorin spent a good half an hour holding her daughter Hope (appropriate, even if it was rather cliché in Bilbo’s opinion) and discussing human traditions concerning celebrating newborn children before they took their leave.

As they left the room, Bilbo couldn’t help but note Thorin’s reluctance to return the baby back to her mother.

“Are you sure you’re alright with our marriage?” Bilbo asked once they were alone again in their rooms where they’d decided to enjoy tea together before they went about various duties in the mountain.

Thorin choked on his tea. “What‽” he wheezed between coughs.

Bilbo set his teacup back in its saucer and selected one of the little meat pies Bombur had included for him that day. Not something he would necessarily serve with tea, but it would do. He had come to understand the dwarrow love of meat and also their need to eat such heavy foods to give them energy for their busy, often strenuous, days especially now that they were busy trying to return Erebor to its former glory with limited numbers and very few natural craftsmen. “You can’t have children with me,” Bilbo said and took a bite, doing his best to seem unaffected by the conversation.

“Mahal,” Thorin muttered. “You think that matters to me? That I would ignore my love for you, my One, because we cannot produce a dwarfling of our own?”

“Doesn’t it?” Bilbo challenged. “I watched you with Hope. You seemed reluctant to let her go.”

Thorin’s lips thinned. “Children are precious to dwarrow,” he reminded Bilbo in something close to a low growl. “Especially girls. Any and all dwarrow would be reluctant to let go of such a gift, even when she isn’t a dwarfling.”

Bilbo released the breath he hadn’t been sure he’d been holding, relief infusing the air between them. “You don’t regret not finding a dwarrowdam to give you heirs then?”

Thorin set his teacup aside before he could smash it in a fit of high emotion. “I have heirs,” he reminded Bilbo. “Fili is young yet and has not chosen a spouse, has not found his One if he has another half to find. He may be complete and free to find love wherever he chooses. Kili has found his one and may be able to have dwarflings of his own. Even if they do not have their own dwarflings, my line is secure in my cousins. Dain would rule after Kili and he has his own son. There is no lack for Sons of Durin.”

“But they are not your own,” Bilbo protested, examining his tea thoroughly.

Thorin took the cup and saucer from Bilbo, setting them aside. He then carefully curled his large hands around Bilbo’s smaller ones as he came around to crouch in front of his husband. “I raised Fili from when he was little more than a pebble and Kili practically from birth. Though they are my sister’s sons, I often forget they are not mine as well. I need no other dwarflings to feel complete. Does that put your concerns at ease?”

Bilbo’s lips twitched up tremulously. “I suppose it does.”

“Good,” Thorin said and leaned up to kiss Bilbo.

Bilbo instinctively drew away slightly and winced when Thorin sank back, hurt and puzzlement lining his features.

“No, don’t take it personally,” Bilbo pleaded, squeezing Thorin’s hands. “I am still trying to remember that the things I was taught as a child and a tween are not the truth, that it really is all right for me to love you. That I won’t be punished or shunned.”

Thorin placed a broad palm along the side of Bilbo’s face, his fingers sliding into Bilbo’s hair and touching the marriage braid there. “No one will think less of you for loving me, least of all me.”

Bilbo smiled and pushed the sudden anxiety down. He really needed to learn how to banish it from his person. In order to prove to himself that he truly could show affection to his husband, he bent and kissed Thorin, hands carding through the fur of Thorin’s surcoat. Thorin went willingly but didn’t press, allowing Bilbo to dictate their actions.

When Bilbo broke the kiss, Thorin caught his cheek in one large hand before he could retreat too far. “Do not force yourself to do anything you are uncomfortable with,” he urged. “I will be patient for you, Ghivashel.”

Bilbo huffed a small laugh. “It doesn’t make sense. We’ve slept together. Last night even. Why would a kiss today be any harder?”

“I don’t know, but take your time. Every day is new and we will learn together.”

Bilbo leaned forward until his forehead rested against Thorin’s. “Thank you.”

~*~*~

Dwalin greeted Bilbo the next morning with little more than a grunt but told him they needed to wait for Thorin.

“Why? What’s going on?” Bilbo asked.

“Storm broke last night. The traitor Jubral will be banished this morning. The two of you should be present.”

Bilbo frowned, a sick feeling entering his stomach. Internally, he scolded himself, trying to keep in mind his new station in life. As Thorin’s consort, he’d be expected to be part of significant events in the mountain. Jubral’s traitorous actions and subsequent banishment required his knowledge and ultimately his presence. “I’ll get Thorin then,” he said a tad morosely and went back into their home. He leaned against the door once it had closed.

“Bilbo?” Thorin called from their bedroom. “Did you forget something?” He looked around the doorway, tightening the straps to his vambraces, only one arm inside his surcoat.

“The storm’s over,” Bilbo said. “Dwalin’s waiting for us.”

Thorin’s eyebrows drew together in confusion briefly before his expression cleared into something more resigned. “Ah, yes. Jubral’s banishment. You need not attend.”

Bilbo was already shaking his head. “No,” he said, not quite questioningly but not all that confident either. “As your consort, I should be there.”

Thorin had disappeared back into their rooms. “We’ll need to change clothes,” he called. “Come in here and I’ll help you find something more suitable.”

Bilbo did as he was told and allowed Thorin to pick out the clothing he would wear, including a thick coat in a lovely brown color Dori called fawn that had soft wool trimming along the cuffs and inside the hood. Just looking at it made Bilbo feel warmer. He shrugged it on and moved to leave their rooms when Thorin caught his arm.

“You’re not quite ready,” he explained at Bilbo’s curious look. He led him back into their dressing room and went over to a chest in there, pulling out two smaller boxes. He examined their contents before handing one to Bilbo. “You’ll need this.”

Bilbo opened the box. “Oh,” he said. “Right. Completely forgot about this.” With a grimace, he pulled his crown out. He set it carelessly on his head and set the box aside. “Let’s go then.”

“Come here and let me fix that for you,” Thorin admonished with a bit of humor lacing his tone. He’d carefully donned his own crown so it sat straight and so it didn’t mess up his hair. He reached for Bilbo’s crown and adjusted it, turning it so it sat the right direction and arranging Bilbo’s curls properly. “There,” he said, tugging one last lock of hair straight. “Better.” He kissed Bilbo’s cheek quickly before heading towards the door.

Dwalin didn’t comment when they exited their rooms, only followed behind them as they started their way towards the throne room where Jubral’s sentence would be read for all those present and be meted out in due course.

As they approached the more public areas of the mountain, Dwalin coughed. Bilbo took the cue for what it was and reached up to hold Thorin’s elbow so they would be seen as a more united couple. Thorin shifted his arm, guiding Bilbo’s hand down until their fingers were interlaced. “I would have you as my equal,” Thorin murmured at Bilbo’s puzzled glance.

Bilbo swallowed against the something that had risen into his throat, staring briefly at the ground as the sudden stinging in his eyes dissipated. Taking a fortifying breath, he straightened his spine and tried to remember the lessons Balin had been giving him in portraying a royal bearing. He was sure he paled in comparison to Thorin’s naturally majestic presence but he hoped he didn’t make his husband seem a fool for marrying a simple hobbit from the Shire.

They entered the throne room through a side entrance, away from where most of the public would be, and took their seats on the thrones. Within minutes, Jubral was led inside in shackles. Dwalin took one step forward at Thorin’s side, holding his ax firmly as Balin took his place across from him near Bilbo with a scroll in one hand.

As Balin read the charges and what had already been decided as Jubral’s sentence, Bilbo studied the dwarf before him. He seemed no different from any other in the mountain. Why would he decide that Bilbo was unworthy to be Thorin’s consort? Well, besides the fact that he was a hobbit. He puzzled on it as the ceremony drew on in khuzdul and Thorin ordered for the sentence to be carried out. The guards that had escorted Jubral took tight hold of his arms while Dwalin approached with a sharp knife and proceeded to hack off Jubral’s hair and beard before switching to a straight razor and shaving off anything that remained. The beads and braids were kept separate from the rest and ultimately handed to Bilbo as the wronged party. He accepted them gravely before turning and placing them in a box that Balin held. The hair would be burned later and he’d have to decide what to do with the beads.

Jubral was from a powerful family. At least one member of which was on Thorin’s council. If such important dwarrow doubted him, what of the common folk? In the Shire, the more common folk often followed the lead of those of better standing. Many, in fact, had looked up to Bilbo’s father in his time and then had transferred that same respect onto Bilbo after his father’s passing. He’d felt the weight of it on more than one occasion when some hobbit or other had come to him for advice or to mediate a dispute. His tenants especially sought him out more often than anyone with actual authority.

He’d have to talk to Thorin. Yes, he’d finish the work on the rooms for Fili, Kili, and Dis, but he also planned to take a more active role amongst their subjects within the mountain. There was no reason he couldn’t spend time helping out in the kitchens or taking time to teach little ones Westron once families started to arrive. He’d also do his best to help small businesses grow and to take a special interest in relations between dwarrow and men. He’d also do what he could to help with the elves of Mirkwood. He glanced briefly at Tauriel, standing to the side closest to where Kili sat in his own small throne. Perhaps he’d enlist her help with the matter if only to seek her advice on how to deal with the irritating, pompous, stuck-up, stick in the mud Thranduil. He could also-

Thorin stood, pulling Bilbo’s attention away from his musings. He took his place next to Thorin as the King Under the Mountain led the way to the front gates, now shorn up against the winter’s worst bite. Once there, one massive door was pushed open with a little difficulty. Proper repairs would be underway come the spring thaws.

Jubral was given a pack with one week’s provisions and nothing more. He took his punishment without complaint. He offered one more apology to Thorin, bowing deeply to his King. Jubral spared one hard glance at Bilbo and seemed about to say something. He seemed to think better of it and instead shouldered the pack and started trekking through the snow towards Mirkwood’s distantly visible mass.

Despite the solemnity of the event, Bilbo couldn’t bring himself to care of Jubral’s opinion of him any longer. Cold as it was outside, the sunlight beating on Bilbo’s face, lifted his sagging spirits. Thorin seemed to notice and did all he could to prolong their stay outside the comforting security of the mountain for which Bilbo was grateful. He would do all he could to support his husband.

~*~*~

Thorin continued to avoid his council. With Bilbo safely back in the royal wing, this time with Bifur and Dori there with him to help with the repairs in the other rooms, Dwalin followed him down to the forges.

He’d found his way to the royal forges shortly after he’d been able to walk again. Since then, he’d had a team clean them out and make any repairs as well as track down a full complement of tools and basic supplies for forging.

“What do you think you’re doing Thorin?” Dwalin asked exasperatedly.

Thorin didn’t even look at his old friend, pulling his surcoat off and reaching for an old leather apron that had been salvaged. He tied it on and started working to light up the forge. “I have a handsome husband who deserves to be courted properly,” he said as he started laying kindling. “I intend to do so, starting with a courting gift.”

“You’re a daft old softie,” Dwalin grumbled and settled in to wait for Thorin to decide he’d done enough for one day, hooking a stool over to a nearby workbench with one foot and taking a seat.

Thorin didn’t bother to reply, focusing on his task. Soon the forge fire was roaring, the room sweltering, and metal bars were heating until they would be ready to be shaped according to Thorin’s will and skill. With a grin, he pulled out the sketches he’d made for the two sets of knives he’d made and set to work. It felt good to be productive again.

~*~*~

It took a few weeks, but Thorin managed to finish the blades before Bilbo finished work on Fili, Kili, and Dis’ rooms. It was there that he found Bilbo one afternoon, two boxes tucked under his arm and Dwalin trailing behind him.

“You’ve made a great deal of progress,” Thorin commented, looking around. The walls, ceiling, and floor were clean with no sign of dust or neglect. The old furniture had been removed to be cleaned, stored or disposed of. Now the large main room sported a grand table that Bifur was helping Bilbo polish to a high shine. From the looks of it, they’d sanded the entire thing down and given it a fresh coat of stain as well as some sort of protective lacquer and were just finishing up the final repairs to it. Chairs waited near one wall to be placed around the table.

On the other side of the room, a large sofa had been placed facing the equally massive fireplace. Its leather looked worse for wear.

Seeing his gaze Bilbo patted his arm. “Dori said he found something suitable to reupholster it with that will do until Dis and the boys can decide what they’d rather have. All this is just so they have something here when Dis arrives, same with the furnishings in the bedrooms. I figured they would want something instead of blank rooms to start with, especially where Dis will have just traveled halfway across the world.”

“I see,” Thorin said.

Bifur, seeing the boxes under Thorin’s arm, made an excuse about finding something to put on the table so it wasn’t so boring and left for which Thorin was grateful.

“I have something for you,” he said and set the two boxes down on the table before turning and taking Bilbo’s hands in his own. He tried to push away the sudden nerves roiling in his stomach. “I know we’ve done things a bit backward, but I still intend to do things correctly.”

He turned to the boxes and opened them, displaying the two sets of knives. “My first courting gift to you. I made it willingly by my own hand and give it freely in hopes that you may find joy in it. May it serve you well and perhaps remind you of me and my devotion to you.”

Bilbo looked at the knives. In one box sat two blades, smaller than sting but no less deadly looking. Thorin had obviously done his best to copy Sting’s style in its shape but had changed the markings to something distinctly more dwarfish. In the other box, Bilbo found a complete set of kitchen knives of the best steel. He looked up at Thorin. “Normally I would say I can’t accept something so fine, but I don’t think I can bring myself to. These are beautiful Thorin.”

“Do you accept the gift?” Thorin asked.

“No. I’m going to make you try again,” Bilbo drawled, shaking his head. “Of course I accept them.” He turned and walked into Thorin’s space, reaching to embrace him, stretching up onto his toes to kiss Thorin thoroughly, intent on showing his delight at the gift.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14

“Uncle! Bilbo! Look what we brought back!”

Thorin turned, looking for Kili. His nephew bounded up to him as best he could with a small stag and a couple of snow hares draped across his shoulders. “You managed to find all that?”

“And more!” Kili grinned and looked over his shoulder. Tauriel stood back a little, another stag over her shoulder as well as a few pheasants on a line. “Think Bombur will be able to make it feed everyone for the party?”

Despite his utter and complete reluctance to praise Tauriel for any contribution she may make, Thorin nodded. “Take it to the kitchens. I’m sure he’ll be pleased.”

“Thanks, Uncle!” Kili said and he and Tauriel left, taking their game with them.

Bilbo’s eyes followed them and a small sigh escaped him.

“Would you like to go to the kitchens as well?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo jumped slightly and looked up at Thorin. “I would. Do you mind? You don’t need to come of course.”

Thorin shook his head. “I’ll come. I’d like to see what you and Bombur have cooked up for the festivities tomorrow.”

“It was Tyrone’s idea as well,” Bilbo reminded him, naming Nanna’s husband. “He had a lot of thoughts about the food. I guess he has hopes to be a baker once Dale’s repairs are far enough along for them to start businesses.”

Turning the way Kili and Tauriel had gone, Thorin nodded. “I would imagine many of Dale’s people will be trying new professions once the repairs are far enough along. Will you be sharing any of your recipes with him?”

“Certainly not!” Bilbo snorted. “Share any of my family recipes with anyone indeed! No one will pry any Baggins secrets from me. No sir!”

Thorin chuckled as they went into the kitchens to see if they could assist with preparing the meat Kili and Tauriel had managed to bring in from their morning’s hunting trip. Thorin wondered if others would have as much luck as they had. Their stores were fine for the winter, but extra food never went amiss amongst dwarrow, especially with the addition of the humans inside the mountain for the duration of the winter.

~*~*~

Bilbo’s early morning sword lessons with Dwalin expanded to include private lessons in knife-wielding with both Nori and Fili once they learned Thorin had made him a pair to go along with Sting. Though he thought them highly unnecessary, Bilbo studied under his instructors dutifully, learning what he could, just in case. Traversing across half of Middle Earth in the company of thirteen dwarrow and the occasional presence of a wizard did not in any way instill any confidence in him to refute the idea that sometimes the world really was just out to ruin his day. Being sneezed on by a troll especially solidified that particular notion. So he studied and he worked.

He taught as well. Kili sought him out during any spare minute he had and, whenever Bilbo was also free, they sequestered themselves into either the library or Bilbo’s rooms to work on Kili’s slowly progressing Sindarin.

“When will you try to talk to her?” Bilbo asked one afternoon as they sat in Bilbo’s room enjoying a simple afternoon tea. “You’re good enough to hold a simple conversation by now.”

Kili stared into his teacup a bit morosely. “I don’t know what I’d say,” he admitted. “Talking to her normally, in Westron I mean, is so much simpler. I don’t have to think about it as hard, or really at all. Any time I think of talking to her in Sindarin I just can’t seem to find the words.”

Humming in understanding, Bilbo nodded.

“Have you talked to Uncle in khuzdul yet?” Kili asked.

“A bit,” Bilbo said with a slight nod. “I’m still poor at it but I can manage a little here and there. It’s good practice because I have to think so hard at what I’m trying to say.”

“I don’t want to be fumbling over my words when I talk to Tauriel. I don’t want to seem the fool.”

Bilbo hid his smile in his teacup. “Even if you say something incorrectly she will still be pleased that you are making the effort, especially, I would imagine, as it is something that goes against convention.”

Kili set his teacup aside and rubbed at his face with both hands. “I know,” he said, voice muffled by his palms. “It’s just still hard to think about what to say.”

“You will think of something,” Bilbo said. “Or you could start with bringing a book of poetry and reading aloud to her.”

“Where am I going to find a book of elvish poetry?” Kili groused.

Bilbo huffed. “You could just ask, you know. I have one or two. Ori has found even more in the library. He brings them to me so I can translate them into Westron and then he decides if it’s something they have in khuzdul as well or if he should make his own translations. Eventually, I may take over that role if I can learn the language that well.”

“You will,” Kili said confidently. “You’re clever enough.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo said. “Now, here’s a book that may suit your needs.” He stood and went over to the desk and retrieved a very small book. “I’ve marked a few pages that would be good ones for you to read to her. Practice before you go see her.”

Kili shook his head. “You had this planned all along, didn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say I planned for this but I had my suspicions it might happen,” Bilbo conceded, retaking his seat.

“We’re lucky to have you here, Uncle Bilbo,” Kili said as he started to look through Bilbo’s selections, translating them carefully, making sure he knew the meaning of each word before he would take them to see Tauriel later that evening.

~*~*~

The entire mountain attended the party for Hope in the grand hall where most meals were held. The tables were pushed to the edges of the room, leaving space in the middle for dancing. Human children raced underfoot as everyone gathered, chasing each other in their games.

Thorin suppressed a chuckle as he heard one child chasing after another, ordering “Smaug” to stop or “The Great Bilbo Baggins” would teach him a lesson with his “sword” which was no more than a wooden replica carved neatly into the semblance of Sting. He wondered absently if the word was Bifur’s or Bofur’s. He had a feeling that wooden weapons made after the Company’s would be well received amongst dwarrow children once they started to return to the city. Some might even consider taking up archery as he and Kili did once they learned the Bowman had felled the dragon.

The few musicians in the mountain that had managed to find working instruments were off to one side of the room preparing for their part in the festivities. Looking closely, he even saw Fili and Kili there playing a simple song together on a pair of fiddles they must have found somewhere or been loaned by one of Bard’s people. By the looks of the instruments, they’d been in the mountain, the carvings he could see at this distance seeming distinctly dwarfish.

“What do you think?” Bilbo asked, coming to stand next to him and surveying the room. “Not too bad considering our resources, if I do say so myself.”

“You’ve done well,” Thorin said and started to reach for Bilbo unconsciously but stopped once he noted the careful distance between them. Bilbo glanced at him and gave a sad, apologetic smile but Thorin just shook his head. “We will take things at your pace,” he reminded Bilbo. “If you are not yet comfortable with physical affection in public then I shall refrain.”

Bilbo nodded. “Thank you for understanding,” he said. “Some days are easier than others. This just reminds me a bit too much of parties back in the Shire and I just can’t seem to- I don’t know. I can’t bring myself to-”

“Relax, Bilbo,” Thorin said when words continued to fail the hobbit. “There is no need to rush.”

Bilbo heaved a sigh, his shoulders dropping. “Now, why don’t we find something to eat. Or would you like to address the masses first?”

“Once the food is served no one will care a whit of what anyone has to say,” Thorin said. He looked around until he found Bard near the long high table that was reserved for him and his family as well as for Thorin, Bilbo, and the two princes. Catching the Bowman’s eye, he jerked his head toward the center of the room, indicating they should gather there. Bard excused him from his conversation with his eldest daughter and came to stand with Thorin and Bilbo in the open space in the room.

“They are your people,” Thorin said in way of greeting. “Nanna and Hope are from Dale now, though we celebrate the new life in Erebor. Would you care to do the honors of beginning the celebration?”

Bard shook his head emphatically. “This is your mountain. I wouldn’t dare think to address your people within it, even if it is a human child that brings on the celebration.”

“As you wish,” Thorin said, inclining his head. He went toward the stage where the musicians were still preparing. When he climbed the makeshift steps, they fell silent, drawing every eye towards him. He glanced at Bilbo who now stood next to the stairs, watching him with a smile.

Taking a deep breath, Thorin shifted his stance slightly and pitched his voice as he would when addressing troops awaiting orders so all within the room would hear. “Dwarrow of Erebor and the Iron Hills and people of Dale. We welcome you tonight to celebrate the beginning of new life within the mountain for the first time in over a century.”

Cheers erupted from all and Thorin waited for them to die down. He motioned for Nanna to join him on stage, Hope bundled securely in a warm, faded green blanket in her arms.

“The first new life brought forth in the Mountain,” Thorin introduced, “Hope, daughter of Tyrone and Nanna Mason. We take her birth as a good omen of the years to come, not only of the new lives that will be rebuilt in Erebor but also in the relations between our peoples. We are honored to receive them and offer them protection from this day forth, no matter what paths lay before them.” He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a small box. “As such, we offer this to your family,” he said and opened it, displaying it to all in the room. Agate, garnet, and lapis lazuli rested in a silver chain necklace, bracelet, and ring. “Should you ever need anything, come to the mountain with one of these and we will do all in our power to assist you.”

Nanna’s jaw dropped as she stared at the box’s contents before glancing at her husband. He too looked stunned as Thorin handed it to him. “And now, let us enjoy the evening’s offerings.” Thorin stepped quickly down from the stage as more cheering erupted and people started flooding towards the servers’ tables.

“That was very nice,” Bilbo said and stood on his toes to kiss Thorin’s cheek, his hand resting on Thorin’s arm. “I didn’t know you planned to give such a thing to them.”

Thorin covered Bilbo’s hand with his own. “We honor life, especially those of children,” he reminded Bilbo. “Now come, let us feast.” He led the way to the high table where food already waited for those of the noble family.

The evening progressed with a great deal of merriment. Bilbo and Thorin enjoyed the feast provided by Bombur and his kitchen staff, bolstered by the game Kili and Tauriel had brought in as well as a little from Bard and one of the other hunters that had been sent out. Following a human tradition, gifts were given to Nanna and baby Hope by the women of Dale. There wasn’t much, a blanket here, a pair of knitted baby booties there and so on and so forth. Still, the joy rolling off the young family was a near physical thing.

Musicians played and soon dancing started. Fili and Kili took their turns playing their fiddles for a while before passing their instruments to other skilled dwarrow, just as other musicians rotated through so that no one had to miss out on dancing because they were required to play the entire evening.

Bilbo watched the dancers, wondering if someone would take the time to teach him some of the more complicated steps. Dwarrow dances were apparently very different from hobbit ones. He glanced around the room, searching out those he knew. Most of the Company was eating with a few exceptions. Kili was dancing with Tauriel, laughing as he taught her the steps. He caught a glimpse of Nori’s distinctive hairstyle darting away behind the crowds and thought nothing of it until he realized the spymaster was moving away from Thorin who was now walking toward Bilbo. Dwalin was on the move too, heading in the opposite direction Nori was, a determined scowl on his face.

“It occurred to me,” Thorin said taking a spot next to where Bilbo sat leaning against the table, “that I have yet to dance with my husband.”

“So it would seem,” Bilbo said, still tracking Dwalin. “It doesn’t help that I don’t know the steps to most of your dances.”

Thorin made a noise that in a lesser dwarf would have been a snort. “You’ve learned a dance or two of ours on the journey. I saw Bofur teaching you. So will you?”

“Will I what?” Bilbo asked, trying to hold the smirk from his face.

“You’re going to make me work for it, aren’t you?” Thorin asked with a dramatic sigh. “As you wish. Bilbo Baggins, will you do me the honor of dancing with me?”

Bilbo sat up a bit straighter and looked at Thorin. “I guess as far as distractions go, dancing does seem a rather pleasant one.” He took Thorin’s outstretched hand, ignoring the slightly slack-jawed expression. Pulling him out to the dance floor as the next song started, Bilbo moved easily into the opening stance, waiting for Thorin to take his place and lead.

“What would make you think I’m trying to distract you?” Thorin finally managed as he caught Bilbo’s arm with his own and started into the first steps of one of the simpler dances that Bilbo had learned.

“Really now, Thorin. I’m not an idiot.”

Thorin just blinked blankly at him, trying for innocent.

“I’m not blind. I saw Nori running out of the room just after he talked to you, and Dwalin, who is normally so firmly attached to your side I’m surprised he hasn’t actually grown physically attached, just raced off in the other direction. So really, you should probably just tell me what’s going on before I have to drag it out of Nori later.”

Thorin sighed as he switched arms with Bilbo. “Here I was hoping to have a nice, enjoyable dance with my husband without the threat of death looming over it.”

“I hardly think there’s much of a threat if Dwalin and Nori are taking care of things,” Bilbo said.

Thorin nodded his head once in acceptance. “Nori heard rumor of an attack happening during the party. He knows those involved and has gone to make sure they don’t move earlier than they’d planned. Dwalin has gone to retrieve a few soldiers to arrest the group.”

“Now was it so hard to just tell me that instead of attempting to keep me distracted?”

Thorin didn’t deem it necessary to dignify that with any sort of response as he led them through the rest of the dance.

They’d just returned to the table where Bilbo was eyeing the remains of an apple jalousie when Nori suddenly appeared near Bilbo’s side. “Arm yourselves and get out of here,” he said before disappearing again amongst the crowds.

Thorin’s eyes widened and his hand went immediately to Orcrist.

“Not here,” Bilbo hissed as he moved away from the table. “The last thing we want to do is cause a panic amongst all these people. Head to the side door. Get out of the Hall.”

Thorin followed, still fingering Orcrist’s hilt and pleased to see Bilbo had pulled Sting partially from its sheath to make for a faster draw. They were almost to a side door when Fili and Kili caught up with them, the former leaning on his cane heavily but making good progress. The pain lining his face did nothing to instill confidence in his current skill level though and Bilbo made a point to take a spot next to the crown prince to help defend him on his weak side as Thorin took to Kili’s far side, keeping the two princes between them.

“None of that now Uncle,” Kili said brightly as he grabbed Bilbo’s arm and somehow managed to spin them around and trade places with him so he walked on Fili’s left side and Bilbo walked between Thorin and Fili. “The attack will be aimed at you. You stay between us.”

Bilbo glared, ready to retort but they skirted out the side door at that moment.

And into chaos.

Dwalin had three dwarrow dressed in dark robes with hoods thrown back pressed against one wall with the haft of his war hammer, one of his axes out and pounding on unprotected skulls with the intent to incapacitate rather than kill. Two soldiers worked further down the hall to hold back at least nine more robed dwarrow, a few with hoods still drawn over their faces.

“What in the name of Mahal are you lot doing out here?” Dwalin snapped when Thorin suddenly lunged forward and bashed one of the dwarrow he held over the head with Orcrist’s hilt, sending him sprawling, dazed to the ground. “The spymaster was supposed to get you out of here!”

“He didn’t specify which way to go,” Kili said as he stepped forward to take on one of the robed figures that had gotten around Dwalin’s soldiers. Snarling, he engaged him, coming hilt to hilt at the first strike.

Bilbo moved then, trying to get Fili back between him and Thorin but stopped abruptly when Fili shifted his stance and a knife blurred from his fingers, slamming deeply into a robed dwarrow’s gut. Fili pulled another knife out of, well, somewhere on his person, and prepared to throw it too.

“Don’t worry about me, Bilbo,” he said, tracking the movements of another assailant. “Just because I’m lame doesn’t mean I can’t fight.”

“You’re hardly lame,” Bilbo said but didn’t have time to say anything else when the two guards fell and four more robed figures pushed into the hallway, overwhelming them by sheer numbers.

Next to him, Thorin unsheathed Orcrist and placed a hand in front of Bilbo’s chest, trying to push him back.

“I beg your pardon,” Bilbo snapped and freed Sting. “I haven’t been training every morning before dawn without even first breakfast for you to tell me to stand back while you take care of this lot.” He lunged forward and joined the fight before Thorin could stop him. Bilbo heard Thorin say something in khuzdul and made a mental note to ask Fili and Kili to teach him the curse words. Undoubtedly they would delight in expanding his education in such a way where Ori would balk.

The fight was quick and with surprisingly little blood. Bilbo faced off one of the larger of the dwarrow and did as Dwalin and Nori had taught him early. He stepped back a bit and waited for his opponent to make the first move. Instead of a sword, the dwarf wielded an ax. Bilbo danced out of reach of the first few swings, relying on speed to keep him safe. He harried the dwarf with Sting when he could, darting in and slicing at his arms and chest before skipping back out of reach. When the dwarf raised his ax high with a frustrated curse, Bilbo darted in and stabbed sting into the dwarf’s lower ribcage with all the force he could muster, shouting wordlessly as he did. At this distance, he saw the surprise on the dwarf’s face under the depths of the hood before he dropped the ax behind him and started to fall backward.

“Give that back,” Bilbo growled to the corpse as he lost his grip momentarily on Sting. He stepped onto the body and tugged his sword free with some difficulty only to bring it up abruptly to catch the side stroke of a sword aimed at his stomach.

He pulled out one of the knives Thorin had made for him, shifted it so he held it in a reversed grip, and attacked the swordsman without further thought, dancing back and forth in the limited space, trying desperately not to trip over a body or to slip in blood pooling on the floor.

Sweat dripped into his eyes and he did his best to blink it away, knowing from experience from training with Dwalin that an opponent wouldn’t wait for him to clear his vision. He shifted and caught the sword on Sting again. He spun and sliced, reaching well above his head in the motion until he buried his knife in the dwarf’s neck. He yanked it forward and grimaced as blood splattered across his head and the dwarf dropped his sword, falling back and clutching at his neck as he fell to the floor and bled out.

“You do your instructors proud,” Thorin remarked while wiping Orcrist clean when Bilbo finally lowered Sting, seeing no further attackers still on their feet. Two more bodies lay at Thorin’s feet.

Bilbo looked over as he retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at the blood on his face and then went to work wiping it off Sting and his knife. “I’d hope some of that training is paying off,” he said. “They wake me up early enough in the morning for it.”

“So you’ve said,” Thorin replied. “Well done.”

“You lot should get to the royal wing,” Dwalin said as he finished binding one of the survivors with a set of leather thumb restraints. “I’ll manage with this lot.”

“Did any escape?” Thorin asked.

Dwalin grimaced. “Not sure. Never got a good count of them all.”

Thorin nodded and looked to his nephews. Fili was busy pulling a knife from an attacker’s leg, grimacing in pain as he bent, holding his left leg stiffly out to his side. “Kili, help your brother. Let’s go.”

The four of them quickly made their way back to the royal wing, using less used halls to do so, hoping not to alarm anyone with their bloodied appearance.

“Well,” Bilbo said once they reached his and Thorin’s rooms. “So much for a lovely party.” He heaved a sigh and looked at Fili and Kili. “Come on. Let’s all get cleaned up. Find something of your uncle’s to wear after you bathe. We’ll all sleep in here tonight.”

~*~*~

“What did you learn from them?” Thorin asked the next day down in the kitchens. Once again, he, Dwalin, and Nori met in one of the side rooms where prepared food waited to be served later that day.

“Load of fanatics, the lot of them,” Dwalin spat. “Kept going on about the usurping of the line of Durin and cleansing the mountain of filth and such. Couldn’t get a sane word out of any of them.”

Nori nodded from his perch on one of the carts. He toyed with a pasty absently, his gaze distant.

“Anything to add?” Thorin asked him.

“Nothing but theories at this point,” Nori said. “From the lack of whisperings and movement this morning I’d say we’ve pretty much gotten rid of any attempts they may make until they can recruit more members or bring them in from the Iron Hills and elsewhere. Should remain quiet for a while but I’ll keep my ear to the walls and ground.”

Thorin nodded. “Let me know what resources you need. You did good work last night but I’d prefer to have more warning next time.”

Nori shrugged and met Thorin’s eyes. “Can’t really do much about that until dwarrow we can trust arrive. I’ll manage with what I have until Spring and more dwarrow start coming into the mountain.”

“Keep me informed,” Thorin prodded and Nori nodded, hopping off the cart and leaving, munching on the pasty as he went.

“I’ll keep leaning on the ones we caught last night,” Dwalin said before Thorin could ask. “We’ll figure out who’s behind it all before too much longer.”

“I know you will,” Thorin said with a nod. “I just worry the one behind it isn’t in the mountain currently.”

“We’ll deal with what we can now,” Dwalin assured him. “Once Nori has more to go on we can do more. Just keep your pretty little husband safe.”

“Stop ogling my pretty little husband,” Thorin said with no heat behind his order and got up to leave as well. “He’s taken.”

“Obviously,” Dwalin muttered as he followed his friend and king.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15

Dwalin’s assertion that they would find the ringleader behind the assassination attempts proved false. Winter dragged on after the one celebration Bilbo managed to pull together with the limited resources available. When the snow storms blew past the mountain and left freezing cold, still air behind them, hunters would leave the mountain in search of game and fishermen headed to the lake in an effort to add to their slowly dwindling supplies. Some ventures were more successful than others.

The mountain’s inhabitants did make the best of their situation, especially the children of Dale. When the weather allowed, they went outside and played in the snow. Often, Fili and Kili were found among them, the elder of the two brothers limping along and trying to not show his pain too much, even though the cold ate into his still healing injuries.

Thorin hated the winter that year more than any other since the first winter after Smaug ransacked his home. His foot ached with every passing storm and every dip in the temperatures. On the coldest nights, even his chest ached under the massive scar left by Azog’s blade. He thanked Mahal daily for Bilbo’s presence in his life, finding it easier to withstand the pain when Bilbo greeted him with warm tea to fight off the chill in the evenings and helped warm their bed at night when the fire dwindled to embers in their fireplace.

The worst part was watching Fili suffer through the inclement weather and the process of healing all at once. Where Thorin’s foot ached, Fili’s leg and hip throbbed, occasionally leaving him bedridden when he tried too hard to ignore the pain and continue with his duties without any aid.

The long stretches of time with the sun hidden behind dense cloud cover wore on Bilbo as well, Thorin soon realized within the first few weeks. Even when Bilbo managed to make his way outside, his mood soured and slipped towards depression. Thorin did what he could to bolster his spirits. When nothing he tried seemed to work, Thorin despaired until a rare sunny day broke against the mountainside. Bilbo came inside after an afternoon of joining in snowball fights and snow sculpture building with Dale’s children and a few of the dwarrow including Thorin’s nephews, cheeks pink and a grin stretching across his face.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so very down lately,” he apologized to Thorin that evening as they readied for bed. “Hobbits are meant to be in sunlight. Some of us suffer emotionally when the winters are long and dark.”

Thorin had sighed in relief and made a note to make sure he was informed any day the sun shone outside so he could make sure Bilbo experienced it.

Fili’s moods didn’t rise with sunny days as Bilbo’s did. As the months stretched and Fili seemed to slide backward in the recovery process, Thorin watched his nephew start to wither away, becoming listless and losing interest in just about everything until he only went through the motions of his life, attending meetings and to other duties but not doing anything else. His appetite dropped and his cheeks started to thin out and Thorin was sure his body was losing mass beneath the growing numbers of layers Fili wore. The skin around Fili’s eyes tightened and he stopped smiling near as often. The few smiles Thorin did see on his nephew’s face were tight-lipped and strained. Fili’s overall appearance was all too familiar to Thorin.

“What am I going to do?” Thorin asked Bilbo one afternoon as they stood on the cliff’s edge outside the secret door, soaking up what little sunlight the day offered. “Fili’s slipping away. What will I tell his mother if he survived his wounds only for her to return to find a shell of the lad he once was?”

“It’s more than just a need to be useful,” Bilbo mused. “He has plenty to do but that’s all he does. Just the tasks required of him. Kili’s worried about him too.”

“If only his leg would heal,” Thorin grumbled. “I fear that may be what is dragging at his spirits.”

Bilbo nodded. “I’ve never seen him look so despondent as when Oin put him back on crutches last week.”

Thorin nodded and wrapped an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders. When Bilbo didn’t stiffen or shrug or indicate in any way that the contact was unwanted, Thorin pressed a kiss to his curls. He sighed into Bilbo’s hair, trying to think of a solution.

Dwalin poked his head out the door. “Speaking of the lad, you’d better head down to the infirmary. Runner just came and said Fili’s been hurt.”

Thorin and Bilbo exchanged a quick, alarmed look before racing into the mountain, going straight to the infirmary.

Oin met them at the door and stopped them before they could start demanding answers. “Daft lad’s gone and aggravated his injury,” he growled. “Nothing serious but he needs to stay off the leg. I’m restricting him to bed rest for the foreseeable future.”

Relief coursed through Thorin and, by the sudden loosening of the death grip on his hand, Bilbo felt the same. They nodded and went toward the room Oin indicated. Outside the door, Bilbo hesitated.

“I’ll wait out here,” he said. “I think he’d probably talk to someone that’s gone through something similar and I wasn’t injured like you all were.”

Thorin nodded and pushed the door open.

Misery radiated off Fili as he lay in the bed, his left leg held in place by a splint to help support his knee and hip. He frowned fiercely at the ceiling. Thorin pointedly ignored the wet trails that led from his eyes into his hair and ears.

“Go ahead,” Fili groused, voice clogged and choked. “Say it. Remind me that it’s my own fault that I’m stuck in this bed again.”

“I think you’ve taken care of that particular lecture well enough on your own,” Thorin told him. “Will you be more patient with your recovery now?”

“Recovery?” he scoffed and another tear slid from his eyes into his golden hair, further darkening it to a muddy blond. “What recovery, Thorin? I can’t even limp anymore with this thrice-cursed leg!”

“What did you expect lad?” Thorin asked gently as he took the vacant chair by Fili’s bedside. “You were dropped at least fifty feet where you landed on that leg, breaking it in multiple places and damaging the joints, and you’ve been so bent on being healed in a week instead of giving it the proper time that you’ve undone all the healing you’ve managed so far. Why are you so determined?”

Fili swallowed, visibly forcing away frustrated tears and anger. “We almost died, Thorin. We almost didn’t survive for our people to arrive, for when Amad arrives. I don’t want to be lame when she reaches the mountain. She shouldn’t have to be reminded of what happened. I don’t want to be reminded of what happened and every day I have to live with this pain and the limp and have to use crutches or a cane or stay in bed it just eats at me and I can’t take it any longer. I just want to be free of it like you and Kili.”

“My foot still aches in the cold and probably will all my days. On the coldest days, my chest aches as well. However, you are young yet. You may yet heal without adverse effects from your injuries. Give yourself time,” Thorin said, gripping Fili’s shoulder. “That is the best thing you can do now. Be patient and ask for help when you need it. There is no honor lost in knowing your limits.”

“You always taught us to push ourselves beyond them.”

“Not when it comes to healing, I didn’t. Listen to Oin. You will regain your strength in time.”

“But Amad-”

“Would rather see you limping with a cane for a few months than for you to lose the use of your leg entirely. She already plans to take your and Kili’s injuries out of my hide. Don’t make it worse.”

Fili huffed a wet laugh. “It’s not like you stabbed me in the back and threw me off the tower.”

“I may as well have,” Thorin said, the scene Fili reminded him of flashing through his memory. He pushed back against it, reminding himself that Azog was dead and would no longer be able to harm their family. It didn’t matter that he’d told his nephews to scout the tower where the trap lay waiting for them. That he’d sent them to almost certain death. It was over. Azog was gone, as was his spawn.

“Uncle,” Fili admonished.

“I know. I know,” Thorin conceded, raising his hands in surrender. “Will you listen to Oin now? Or do I need to make sure one of the Company is with you at all times to make sure you don’t do something to aggravate your leg further?”

“I’ll listen,” Fili said and all petulance and anger vanished as contrition saturated his tone.

“Good. In the meantime, I’ll send Balin in with reports for you to look over. You may as well stay busy while you’re stuck in bed.”

Fili groaned and pulled the pillow over his face. Thorin patted his uninjured leg and stood.

“Uncle?”

He turned back at the small, soft plead in the one word. “Yes, Fili?”

One half of his face peaked around the pillow’s edge and the scared lines around the bright blue eyes wrapped a tight cord around his heart. He often forgot just how young Fili truly was. “Would you find Kili for me? Or send someone else?”

Thorin smiled and nodded, knowing Fili would need to see his younger brother, inseparable as the two were. “I’ll make sure he’s found and comes to you immediately.” He returned to the bedside and leaned over to press his forehead to Fili’s gently once the pillow was out of the way. “Rest, Nephew.”

Fili reached up and gripped one of the braids next to Thorin’s ear as he’d often done when he was a dwarfling. “Yes, Uncle,” he said and released his hold.

Thorin left the room, only to just about run straight into Bard’s oldest daughter.

“Sigrid?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” she said. “Master Nori suggested I come keep Prince Fili company for a time. For some reason, he thought I would help raise his spirits.”

“Really?” Thorin asked, eyebrows lifting in slight confusion.

“I haven’t the faintest idea why he thinks I’d be any help but I had nothing else to do at the moment so here I am. Not that I’ve had more than a few words with Prince Fili. Now, if you’ll excuse me Your Majesties?” She dipped into a small curtsy and ducked into the room.

“What in Mahal’s name are you doing here?” Thorin heard Fili demand just before the door shut.

“Dirty, rotten, cheater,” Bilbo muttered along with a few other choice words not typically meant for polite company.

“Who?” Thorin asked as they started their way out of the infirmary.

“Nori of course! That’s completely underhanded. Why, I’ve a mind to make sure he never eats another strawberry again, let alone any that I grow.”

Thorin blinked at Bilbo’s grumbling. “I feel as if I’ve missed something,” he admitted.

“It’s a silly bet,” Bilbo said. “Nori is under the impression that Sigrid is Fili’s One. He thinks they’ll be happily married within ten years. I think he’s off his rocker and so we made a small wager. If he wins, I have to make him something with the first crop of strawberries from my garden every year, assuming I even plant a garden.”

“Do you not want a garden?” Thorin asked, wondering if he should scrap the idea he’d had for his third courting gift.

“No, I do,” Bilbo said quickly but continued with a note of resignation coloring his tone. “There just aren’t a lot of places to grow one inside the mountain. But that’s beside the point. Nori is cheating!”

“By suggesting Sigrid keep Fili company?”

“Yes!”

Thorin shook his head. “If she is his One, it wouldn’t matter. Longing or not, there is a certain subconscious instinct that can overwhelm a dwarf who has found their One.”

“What do you mean?”

Thorin thought for a moment, trying to decide how to explain. Then something occurred to him. “Fili’s despondency will probably lessen now that Sigrid is near and speaking to him, assuming Nori is correct. It is not uncommon for dwarrow to become depressed if they are separated from their One for long stretches.”

“But Gloin and Bombur seem fine,” Bilbo protested.

“They still struggle but are able to cope better than most dwarrow as they have enjoyed long relationships with their Ones as well as through other means. Gloin through speaking of his wife and son whenever he has the chance and Bombur through cooking his wife’s favorite foods. They do what they can to feel close to them. They will be more and more irritable as time passes, however. The first caravan of my people can’t arrive soon enough with their families.”

“And Nori?” Bilbo asked.

“Is a mystery to me. By all accounts, he should be at least half insane by now, unless they didn’t form a bond before they parted.”

“We met by dancing.”

Bilbo squeaked in alarm and spun to find Nori stepping around a corner behind them just inside the halls to the royal wing, hands in his pockets and a morose look on his face. “Would you not do that?” Bilbo demanded.

Nori shrugged. “Turnabout’s fair play, Your Majesty,” he said.

“You danced? What dance?” Thorin asked.

“Our dance,” Nori said. “We bonded, but we’re both very practiced in patience. We’ll muddle through, don’t you worry, Your Majesty.”

Bilbo looked back and forth between Nori and a concerned looking Thorin. “You danced with her, bonded with her and think you won’t be affected?”

“Living the way we did for years, being thieves, we learned to be patient. We also learned to wear a mask so convincing no one knows that we’re one wrong step away from digging through a mountain with nothing but a month old fish.”

“Nori-”

“We made the choice, Thorin.”

“I didn’t give you much of a choice.”

“And Lira could have followed along with us, independent and determined dam that she is. Would have gladly been the fourteenth member of the Company when she learned I’d signed on. Almost went straight to you. But we talked it over and agreed she’d be better use in Ered Luin if we succeeded.”

Thorin glared at Nori, jaw working as he fought the urge to continue the argument.

“That’s all well and good,” Bilbo interrupted and pulled their attention away from each other, “but what do you mean ‘bonded’? We haven’t gotten to anything that mentions it in the book.” He looked over at Thorin.

Reluctantly, Thorin looked away from Nori and to Bilbo. “Bonding occurs in stages when a dwarf finds their One. Just seeing your One and recognizing them for who they are not the same as bonding. They start forming after the first physical contact. The more intimate a couple is, the more bonds are created, culminating in consummation. After the initial bond is forged it is very difficult to be parted.”

“So, you’re saying that if I went back to the Shire now, it would eventually drive us mad?”

Nori clapped Bilbo on the back. “Exactly! Now you have to stick around with us.”

Bilbo snorted. “I had no intention of returning permanently to the Shire but I had thought to go back and set my affairs in order before much longer. Bag End needs taken care of better than just locking the door as I did before I went racing after you lot.”

“You hadn’t mentioned this to me,” Thorin said.

Bilbo patted his arm absently. “It’s just been an idea I’ve been toying with, Dear. Nothing to be worked up about, especially now that I know being away from you for any length of time would not be good for you.”

“Once our people have returned to the mountain and Fili is recovered enough and secure enough in his position as my heir, we will return to the Shire together,” Thorin promised. “It may be a few years yet, but we will. In the meantime, if we write to Dis now, she can see to any tasks you would like completed there when the caravan passes by the Shire.”

“The caravans wouldn’t follow the same path we did, would they?” Bilbo asked, a bit of dread sinking into his stomach. To send anyone but hardened warriors over the Misty Mountains as they’d gone would be suicide.

“They would go by safer paths. We attempted one of the shortest paths but, due to the perils we faced, it took longer than it should have.”

“Not to mention His Majesty’s horrible sense of direction.”

“Yes, thank you for that Nori.” Thorin pointedly turned away from his spymaster. “Dis will lead them along safer roads. They will still pass through the Shire. Come, we’ll write to her now.”

Bilbo grinned and waved to Nori as he and Thorin entered their rooms.

~*~*~

“Carc’s back.”

If it weren’t for the muttered cursing, Bilbo would have thought Nori’s fall from one of many broken pillars near the armory had been a very deliberate jump, considering the spymaster’s gracefully catlike landing.

“Sorry about that,” Bilbo said, not sounding the least bit repentant.

“No, you’re not. Where’s my letter?” Nori snatched the stack from Bilbo’s hands and started thumbing through them to find his.

“You’re right. I’m not,” Bilbo said and snatched the letters back but not before Nori triumphantly pulled out his. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Nori said and sat down on the ground where he stood, cracking open the plain grey seal on the letter and reading it greedily.

Bilbo tipped his head to the side and continued his rounds, handing a letter to Kili from his mother, as well as one for Fili that Kili promised to deliver, another to Bombur, and another to Gloin. Both married dwarrow stopped what they were doing and sat where they stood, reading their letters and ignoring those that stepped around them.

Finally, Bilbo reached Thorin at the back of the room.

“What is everyone doing in here anyway?” Bilbo asked as he held up the letter from Dis that was addressed to both of them as well as another addressed only to Thorin. He had one final letter from the Thain as well, or so it seemed.

Thorin accepted the letter Bilbo handed to him absently. “I don’t know about the others but I’m finding any excuse to stay away from my council. Inspecting the armory seemed like a good choice for the day.”

“In other words, you’re shirking your duties again,” Bilbo said with a pleased smile.

“You are more than welcome to take my place in those meetings,” Thorin told him as he broke Dis’ seal. “As my consort, you are more than qualified to do so. You may even get more done.” He started reading the letter and then, oddly enough, his cheeks turned a bright pink above his beard before he hastily refolded the letter and shoved it into his pocket.

“Thorin?”

He shook his head and cleared his throat. “My sister has an interesting sense of humor. I’ll finish reading that later.” He turned his attention to the other letter and opened it, holding it low so Bilbo could read it too.

To Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, King Under the Mountain and Master Bilbo Baggins, Son of Bungo Baggins of Bag End, Consort Under the Mountain.

Dear Brothers,

You are fortunate to have written your letter when you did. Carc did not find us in Ered Luin as you probably expected him to, but rather on the edges of the Shire as we spoke to the Rangers that patrol the borders there. They wanted our assurance that we were passing through peacefully. Your letter delivered to me by Carc including Bilbo’s signature helped ease the way of the first of three great caravans to head to Erebor from Ered Luin.

As for Bilbo’s favor that I stop at his home to retrieve a few belongings and to deliver papers, I was happy to oblige. Per his request, I procured the asked for items as well as spoke to a master Gamgee who was present at the time. He promised to deliver the documents you sent along to the proper people. He asked that I tell Bilbo that a Misses Lobelia Sackville-Baggins has been “stirring up trouble and trying to have Master Bilbo pronounced dead so she can have Bag End.”

(“That horrible, greedy poor excuse for a hobbit!” Bilbo growled outraged and waved off Bofur’s concerned glance before returning his attention to the letter.)

If the two of you would like, I can send word to our favorite dancer and have her speak to this “Misses Lobelia Sackville-Baggins” and inform her of Bilbo’s new station. I was given the impression that the aforementioned hobbit is a social-climbing pariah. I would do it myself but I, unfortunately, do not have the time at present and have no current plans to ever return this way once I reach Home.

If all goes well, we will reach Erebor well before Durin’s Day. I look forward to meeting Bilbo and seeing Thorin again. Take care of each other until I arrive.

-D

“Favorite dancer?” Bilbo asked. “Who is your favorite dancer?”

Thorin folded up the letter and tucked it in his pocket next to the one Dis had written to him alone. “Lira. Any time Dis refers to a dancer or the one-legged woman in public or message, that is who she is referring to. Sometimes she will also just refer to her as L or our mutual acquaintance.”

“Makes sense,” Bilbo said as he turned his attention to the letter from the Thain, feeling a bit of dread at the thickness of it. Carc hadn’t made the trip to Ered Luin alone as more and more letters had been sent back and forth between the Company and missing family and friends. It was a good thing he had as the Thain’s letter almost exceeded the carrying capacity of a single raven on its own.

“Something wrong?” Thorin asked as he went back to inspecting the suits of armor laid out on the table in front of him. He searched the metal for weaknesses, the straps for the need of repair.

“Fortinbras finally replied,” Bilbo said.

Thorin’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh?”

Bilbo’s nose twitched, displaying his nerves. “Not a word from him almost the entire winter and suddenly he sends this behemoth.” He held up the letter as evidence. “What am I to make of it?”

“I believe you’ll need to actually open it in order to find out,” Thorin said as he feigned going back to his inspection.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” Bilbo groused but turned the letter over anyway and broke the green and purple wax seal.

Multiple sheets unfolded in Bilbo’s hands. He started with the letter sitting on the top.

To the presumed Mister Bilbo Baggins

Mister Baggins,

I am sorry to have taken so long to reply to your previous letter. Enclosed you will find the proper forms needed to verify your identity and to register your marriage within the Shire as well as other documents pertaining to the event. We have taken the liberty to fill in certain portions of the paperwork for you in order to save time and to prevent any sullying to the name Baggins as we are sure the previous letter we received had some details misrepresented. Please review the changes and approve them.

Bag End has been maintained and awaits your return with your new spouse, assuming you really are Mister Bilbo Baggins. We are willing to consider your claim to be him as we are familiar with his mother and the possibility that he has inherited some of his mother’s wanderlust. We hope that such inclinations are no longer present and that he will return to retake his place as the owner of Bag End including all titles and responsibilities related to it.

Good day to you, sir.

Fortinbras Took II

Twenty-ninth Thain of the Shire

Bilbo looked through the included documents and started cursing up a storm, ending with, “I’m going to owe Carc my portion of the treasure by the time he’s done carting this load of nonsense back and forth to the Shire.”

“What nonsense would that be?” Thorin asked as he picked up a helmet to inspect the padding inside. It had rotted. With a grimace, he set it aside for repairs.

“This pile of bureaucratic rubbish. Forms to file for a marriage license? Change of address? Proof of life? Change of name for my wife?”

Thorin choked on air. “Your what?” he demanded between spluttered coughs.

“Congratulations Dear. You just became Thorin Baggins, Queen Under the Mountain called Oakenshield.” Bilbo said, reading the blanks that someone had so kindly filled in for him.

“What‽”

Bilbo spun to see Kili standing slack-jawed in the doorway next to a deviously grinning Nori.

“Wait until Amad hears about this,” Kili said as his surprise turned into absolute unrepentant glee.

“You inform your mother and I’ll make you my heir apparent,” Thorin threatened.

“Worth it!” Kili shouted as he darted away from the room, presumably to write Dis.

Thorin grimaced and rubbed at his eyes with one hand. “Could this get any worse?” he asked.

“Wait until he tells Fili,” Bilbo said.

Thorin groaned, dragging his hand down his face and tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling as if looking for guidance. “I’m going to have to find new heirs.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 16

To Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, King Under the Mountain

Dear Brother,

I hope this letter finds you well. I am entirely aware that we have been corresponding regularly but I must admit that I don’t know how you are as you have not shared anything at all personnel in any of your letters since you informed me you were married to a hobbit named Bilbo Baggins. My sons have been little better, deferring any details of the nature of your relationship with him other than to say that they were not invited to the wedding itself and that they were unaware of the true depth of your feelings for him until after they regained consciousness from their wounds during The Battle.

Which makes me wonder. Did you sleep with the hobbit and then feel you needed to marry him in order to salvage his honor? Unless you refute it, I must assume this is the case. So, do give me the details of your relationship with your hobbit. I can’t imagine it is a marriage of state. You’re too much a deep mineshaft romantic for that to be the case.

I look forward to hearing from you, and if I don’t receive the answers I seek from you, I will take it upon myself to write your Halfling.

-D

Bilbo almost spat out the mouthful of tea he’d been drinking once he reached the second paragraph of Dis’ letter to Thorin. “So that’s why you decided to read it outside of everyone’s view,” he said in understanding as he skimmed through the rest of the short message. “Did you worry she’d get worse?”

“I wouldn’t have dared to hope otherwise,” Thorin drawled as he thumbed through the book he’d been translating for Bilbo, trying to remember their place. “Dis can be a law unto herself when it comes to such matters.”

Bilbo grinned. “If she’s regularly this candid, I can’t wait to meet her.”

Thorin hid behind the book, knowing full well that if Bilbo and Dis got along as well as he feared they might, his life was going to get very complicated and possibly very embarrassing upon his sister’s arrival in the mountain.

A soft tapping at their door pulled Thorin’s attention away from his despairing thoughts.

“Now who could that be at this hour?” Bilbo wondered aloud as he stood and went to answer it. Thorin followed close behind him, prepared to pull his husband away from an attack.

As soon as the door opened, a black shape flew past them and landed on the back of Thorin’s armchair.

“Roojawk?” Thorin asked once he realized what he was seeing. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you with Dis? We just got Carc’s letter yesterday.”

“Cursed Wing-Brother,” Roojawk squawked angrily. The young bird danced in place in a fit of irritation. “Couldn’t catch!” The bird cawed angrily and stuck a leg out. “Letter for Oak-shield.”

Bilbo darted forward to take the letter only to get pecked for his trouble. “Not Oak-shield!” Roojawk squawked, flapping her wings in an attempt to drive Bilbo away from her. “Letter for Oak-shield. Not nasty, short person. Mean to Roojawk. All short is!” She snapped her beak at Bilbo again.

“That’s enough,” Thorin said gently and came to take the letter himself, placing a hand on Roojawk’s back and gently smoothing the ruffled feathers down. “Bilbo will not harm you or any other of your people.”

Roojawk didn’t look impressed or convinced, fixing Bilbo with a beady-eyed stare.

“I’d imagine you’ve had dealings with other hobbits,” Bilbo said. “They have a tendency to dislike birds that help themselves to their produce. You don’t need to worry about that from me. I’ll gladly share my vegetables with you.”

“You need to read this,” Thorin said as he handed Bilbo the letter Roojawk had carried.

Bilbo scowled at Thorin, unable to decide what the expression directed at him was. He slowly turned his attention to the letter.

To Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, King Under the Mountain

Dear Brother,

I don’t know if Roojawk will catch Carc or not. If not, feed her and send her back as soon as possible. I rely on her too much to be without her for long. I felt you and your hobbit should know of what I’ve just witnessed with all speed.

It is fortunate that I had forgotten a few items Bilbo requested in my haste to visit the Thain and secure permission to have our caravans travel through the Shire. Upon my return to Bag End after my visit with the Thain yesterday, I was shocked to find that the dreaded Misses Lobelia Sackville-Baggins ne Bracegirdle had somehow managed to have one Mister Bilbo Baggins pronounced dead, have his Last Will (I think that’s what they called it) read and overturned, and had started an auction for his belongings in order to empty his home all within the time between my arrival there yesterday morning and my return this morning. This she-Halfling dared to try to inform me that my papers must be forged and that I was too late in any case. I soon set her to rights and managed to have all of Mister Baggins' belongings returned to his home and had the interloper and her husband removed from the premises.

To say the least, she was not pleased. After some very tense negotiations, she agreed to leave Mister Baggins’ home and not return until granted permission by Mister Baggins. She has asked that I enclose a letter to Mister Baggins. I am not privy to the details of this missive as she left my presence to write it. I do not have any illusions that it is pleasant. Please read with caution. I will speak with the Thain one last time before the caravan finishes passing through the Shire to ensure such a thing never happens again. Please send further instructions to him.

-D

Bilbo stared at the letter, mouth open in utter indignation. “That thieving, conniving little witch!” he shouted and looked at Thorin, his expression unchanged for a moment before his jaw snapped shut. He pointed the letter at Thorin. “If I weren’t married to you I’d be on my way back to the Shire this instant and I’d give Lobelia a piece of my mind. The nerve of her!” He looked back at the letter. "Barely married into my family, distantly mind you, and she's already after my house."

Thorin held up the folded parchment Dis had included with her letter. It hadn’t been sealed and Bilbo growled at the impropriety and rudeness of it. He unfolded it and scanned the letter, his expression only darkening further before looking utterly stricken. His shoulders slumped and he set the note aside, tipped his head back, and breathed deeply in an attempt to control his emotions.

“Bilbo?” Thorin asked.

He held up the letter. “The drivel I expected from Lobelia,” he said, “denouncing me as entirely improper and no longer worthy of having the Baggins name.”

“What? Why? Because you went on an adventure and helped us retake our home?” Thorin reached for the letter but Bilbo shook his head and folded it back in half.

“Because you’re my husband,” Bilbo said as he stared at the letter, tapping it against his open palm a time or two, breathing out a few short, sharp exhales through his mouth. He swallowed thickly, shifted his weight back and forth, and then set the letter on the table, pressing down on it with his fingertips. “Apparently,” he turned his head towards Thorin but couldn’t raise his eyes beyond Thorin’s knees. “She is not the only one to think so. Included in her letter were the thoughts of various relations, neighbors, and friends, all informing me that I should consider never returning to the Shire again unless I want to be cast out again.” He let his hand fall away from the letter and walked into their bedroom, still unable to look Thorin in the eye.

Thorin stared at the offending folded letter, debating on throwing it into the fire or reading it himself and then throwing it into the fire. A soft sniffle pulled his attention from his own angered musings. He quickly directed Roojawk to the kitchens with instructions to retrieve food from Bombur before she flew back to Dis. After letting the bird out of their rooms, Thorin went to the bedroom.

Bilbo sat on their bed, legs drawn up enough that he could lean forward on them and rest his forearms on his knees, the heels of his large feet dug into the mattress. As Thorin approached, Bilbo scrubbed at one cheek and the underside of his nose with the back of his forearm, sniffing again.

Without a word, Thorin slid onto the bed just behind Bilbo and wrapped the hobbit in his arms. He pressed his lips to the back of Bilbo’s head and just sat with him, seething internally but doing all he could to hide it in the need to comfort his One.

“They’re my family, Thorin,” Bilbo said quietly after a few moments, his voice surprisingly steady despite the occasional scrubbed cheek and sniffle. “I don’t know why, but I’d hoped they would have been a bit more accepting of my choice in spouse.”

Thorin set his chin on the top of Bilbo’s head, ignoring the hairs that tickled his nose as he breathed. “What can I do?” he asked.

Bilbo didn’t reply right away, just leaned back against Thorin’s chest and gripped his forearms. He breathed slowly, consciously modulating his inhales and exhales in order to help control his emotions. “More than one of them claim that I’m not fit to have the name Baggins.”

“I feel it’s the other way around,” Thorin told him and pressed another kiss to the top of Bilbo’s head, taking in the scent of the honey curls to keep him grounded from his anger. “You are too good to share a name with them.”

Bilbo snorted. “Good thing I married you then, isn’t it?” he asked. “I think I’d much rather take your name than for you to take mine anyway.”

Thorin’s brow furrowed. “My name?”

“Of course. Oakenshield.”

“‘Oakenshield’ is an epithet. Dwarrow don’t have surnames.”

Bilbo looked up at Thorin a bit perturbed. “I think I knew that,” he admitted and sat up. “Still, I’d rather not be called Baggins if that’s how my family feels. I guess, considering I live with dwarrow, I might as well be introduced as one. Bilbo, Son of Bungo, at your service.”

Thorin’s lips twitched a bit. “No, you shall have an epithet as well. You who outwitted a dragon and the entirety of the Woodland Realm deserve no less. You shall be Bilbo, Son of Bungo, Consort Under the Mountain, called Silvertongue. Bilbo Silvertongue for daily use.”

Bilbo’s answering smile was amused and he stretched up to kiss the corner of Thorin’s mouth. “I’ll think on it,” he promised. “For now, we better get to bed. We have a lot to do tomorrow and I for one would like a good night’s sleep.”

~*~*~

Less than two weeks later the snows started to melt in earnest. The occasional nighttime snowstorm renewed the drifts but soon, the temperatures started to rise consistently and the snows lost their hold over the Lonely Mountain and its occupants.

With the warmer weather, Bard and the strongest, healthiest members of his people returned to Dale to restart the reconstruction. Thorin sent as many dwarrow as could be spared from their own efforts.

Word had traveled fast, as had been predicted. Slowly, dwarrow that had found homes in settlements along the road to Ered Luin started to return to the mountain, bringing craftsman and their families to live alongside the Company and the soldiers from the Iron Hills. Trading caravans traveled to the mountain and Dale as well, bringing much-needed materials as well as some extravagancies.

With repairs underway and Thorin still refusing to meet with his council except on matters that truly needed attention (biweekly updates on mapping the structural integrity of the mountain, progress reports on restoration, food stores, trading requests, population increases, etc.), Erebor started to feel more like a home to those that lived there and those that arrived.

Even Fili started to mend. He listened to Oin better, following the old healer’s orders and only pushing beyond them a little instead of the headstrong, overly-determined efforts he’d made before his relapse. Nori, (the "cheating cheater face" according to Bilbo) continued to suggest Bard’s daughter Sigrid keep Fili company and even assist him in his exercises when she was available. Confused, she did as Nori asked until she too returned to Dale to help her father run and rule the recovering city. Fili, hobbling around on crutches, gifted her a silver and emerald brooch as thanks for her help in his ongoing recovery.

Thorin’s only issue for most of the time other than his council was Tauriel. He struggled with her presence among his people but could not bring himself to order her out of the mountain, not when she’d saved Kili not once, but twice. He owed her a debt and he felt honor bound to pay it. It also helped when Kili told her the reason she’d been banished from Thranduil’s court was that she’d threatened the pompous, leaf-eating, tree-shagging excuse for royalty. So he grudgingly allowed her to stay in the mountain. He tried to turn a blind eye to the romance that grew slowly between her and Kili, knowing nothing could come of it until after Fili married or until Fili declared he would not take a spouse. Thorin made no attempts to rush his heir’s decision and made sure his council didn't pressure Fili either.

Roojawk interrupted a meeting in the middle of July concerning the imminent withdrawal of the majority of Dain’s men. When Thorin read the small scroll attached to the bird’s leg, he immediately dismissed the meeting, postponing it for the next day at the earliest.

“Send for my Company. Have them meet in the southern stables,” Thorin ordered one of the soldiers in the hall. The dwarf saluted his king before heading off to do as ordered.

“What is it, laddie?” Balin asked as they left the meeting room and headed back towards the royal quarters. Fili, Kili, Dwalin, and Bilbo followed along.

“Roojawk brought word from Dis. They’ll reach the road from the Long Lake to Erebor this afternoon. We will ride out to meet them.”

“Amad?” Kili asked excitedly. “She’s almost here?”

Thorin gripped his nephew’s shoulder as they walked, a smile brightening his face as well. “Yes. Go change to greet her properly. Let’s not keep her waiting.”

With a whoop, Kili ducked into his and Fili’s temporary rooms to do as ordered. Fili struggled to keep up behind him, leaning heavily on his cane that Oin had finally allowed him to return to only three days prior.

Thorin and Bilbo went to their own rooms to change, quietly discussing Fili’s recovery. He’d made a great deal of progress since the day he’d been put back on bed rest. Thorin wondered if Nori’s meddling in Fili’s relationship or lack thereof with Sigrid had something to do with it. He’d seen the young woman heading towards the infirmary with a confused look on her face on more than one occasion in the earlier days and often saw her in the training grounds the same time Fili was going through the exercises Oin had given him. They usually ended up in a conversation by the time they were meant to leave to attend to other duties.

“It’s not your fault,” Bilbo reminded Thorin as he grumped about Fili’s lingering injuries.

“I am aware,” Thorin murmured back as he lifted an arm so Bilbo could fasten the buckles of his armor for him. “It is still hard to watch him struggle.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Bilbo said and stepped back, handing Thorin a fur-trimmed surcoat. “He’ll take you to the training grounds and then use that cane of his to send you sprawling.”

“You, maybe,” Thorin chuckled. “Fili still has a bit of training to do before he’ll beat me in combat.” He led the way out their door and started heading toward the stables. They looked into Fili and Kili’s rooms as they passed, only to find the princes had already left. They continued on their way until they reached the stables.

Kili worked alongside some of Dain’s men to prepare the war rams they would ride. Thorin went to his own mount and took over the task, sending the stable hand to help Balin.

Bilbo rocked back onto his heels, hands clasped behind his back and upper body tipped forward. “I’ll just uh, wait here then, shall I?” he asked, eyes darting furtively to the animal as he shifted his body weight in the opposite direction, coming up onto his toes and leaning back.

“Nonsense,” Thorin said and grunted as he tightened the saddle girth. “You will ride with me.” When Bilbo didn’t respond, he looked up to see Bilbo pale and refusing to take his eyes off the ram. “Bilbo?”

“I’m not sure I’m cut out for riding,” he said and his nose did the small nervous twitch that always gave away his uncertainties. “You remember how I was on pony back.”

Thorin nodded. “Aye. I remember we made a respectable rider of you by the time we reached Mirkwood.” He stepped around the ram and wrapped an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and using his other hand to tip Bilbo’s chin up to face him more fully. “I will be with you through the entire ride. I will not let you fall.” He pressed his lips to Bilbo’s forehead.

Bilbo swallowed visibly. “All right,” he squeaked. Thorin smiled and went back to saddling his ram after patting Bilbo’s shoulder. Soon, he led his mount outside and he swung up into place with practiced ease before scooting back a bit so he sat more on the rolled blanket behind the saddle. He reached down for Bilbo and pulled him up in front of him, caging him into place with his arms. Once the entire company had gathered and was mounted, he gave the signal for them to move out.

The road from Erebor to the Long Lake needed repairs but the rams managed the rocky terrain without any difficulty and they kept to an easy trot as much as they could so as to not tire their mounts. Thorin did have to remind Fili and Kili to slow down a few times. He understood their eagerness to see their mother again but they needed to stay with the group, just in case any orc packs still wandered around the area.

At last, the caravan came into view. Feeling the excitement to see Dis again almost as keenly as his nephews, Thorin kicked his ram into a faster pace. Bilbo reached out and gripped his forearms. Shifting his hold on the reins, Thorin wrapped an arm around Bilbo’s midsection to help him stay steady. Bilbo clutched Thorin’s arm harder, trying not to fall off.

As they drew closer to the caravan, three riders outpaced the slowly lumbering wagons. Soon, the two groups came within shouting distance and everyone pulled their mounts to a stop.

Kili jumped from the saddle first and went to steady Fili’s mount, bouncing impatiently on the balls of his feet as he looked over to the approaching group. Finally, Fili climbed out of the saddle and the two of them took off, Kili sprinting ahead of his older brother who followed along the best he could without his cane that he'd forgotten in his haste. A dwarrowdam started running too and she and Kili collided in a spectacular crash of dwarrow. Fili joined the pile, shouting “Amad! Amad!” at the top of his lungs and laughing when his mother pulled him into a resounding forehead smashing.

“I take it that’s your sister?” Bilbo asked as Thorin helped him out of the ram’s saddle. Near them, Gloin enthusiastically greeted a dwarrowdam as well as a young dwarf that must be his family, Oin standing to the side with a smile. 

Thorin smiled fondly as he watched Dis place her hand on the sides of her sons’ faces. “Yes, that’s Dis,” he said and took Bilbo’s hand, leading him forward to the three laughing and crying dwarrow, stopping a few paces away.

When Dis finally turned her attention away from her sons, she caught sight of Thorin. He braced himself for the tongue lashing he was sure was coming. He’d been preparing for months to take whatever she had to say (shout) at him. He braced himself, setting his feet for a physical assault as well.

Thorin blinked in surprise when Dis did nothing more than wrap her arms around him and hold on tight for a few moments before drawing away and smiling at him, tears in her eyes.

“Don’t cry,” Thorin admonished gently and knocked his head against hers with a bit of playful force. “Your arrival should be filled with nothing but joy.”

Dis laughed wetly and reached to wipe at her eyes only to pause when Bilbo offered her a clean white handkerchief from his pocket.

“Thank you,” she said to him, accepting it and wiping away the tears on her face. “You must be Master Baggins.”

“None of that now. Bilbo, if you please,” Bilbo said as he took the handkerchief back and tucked it away. “After the mess you sorted out for me in the Shire and with me being married to your brother and all, I think we could dispense with the formalities unless I’m stepping on some dwarf tradition?”

“You’re not Uncle Bilbo,” Kili said as he wrapped an arm around his mom, leaning down so he could prop his chin on her shoulder.

“Mum just has better manners than the rest of us,” Fili added, leaning heavily on his cane. Dwalin had retrieved it from where it was strapped to Fili’s ram’s saddle and handed it to the blond, saving him from trying to move any more than he had to without it.

“Not for lack of trying to teach you some,” Dis said and pressed a kiss to Kili’s cheek.

Bilbo smiled, keeping his thought of “Well that’s a relief!” to himself. “I am very glad to finally meet you,” he said and extended his hand to shake.

Instead, Dis gripped his forearm and his opposite shoulder before whacking foreheads with him, not as hard as she had with her sons but harder than she had with Thorin. “Well met,” she said with a grin.

“Likewise,” Bilbo managed before he fell to the ground, eyes rolling up into the back of his head.

Thorin looked down at his husband. “If this is retaliation for your sons’ injuries, I’d rather you took it out on me,” he said and bent to check Bilbo over before gathering him into his arms.

“Oh dear, he is a bit delicate, isn’t he?” Dis asked and hovered near Thorin.

“Don’t let him hear you say that!” Kili laughed. “He’s likely to take you to task with his letter opener.”

“Put him in one of the wagons. We’ll get him back to the mountain and Oin can look him over properly,” Dis said. “We’ll talk about my sons’ injuries later,” she promised Thorin as she went to her pony and mounted before heading back to the slowly approaching caravan and the first wagon, intent on telling the driver she’d soon have a passenger.

“And there’s the Dis I was expecting,” Thorin sighed and waited for the wagon to approach so he could load Bilbo inside for the trip back to Erebor.

Chapter Text

Chapter 17

Chaos reigned in the mountain for weeks after the first caravan arrived. Thorin placed Gloin over the distribution of homes, knowing the dwarf would be fair and honest in making sure each family received sufficient for their needs among the utilitarian apartments that had been cleaned and repaired in the more practical parts of the mountain city, close to the forges and the only market currently in use. Gloin also assigned merchants amongst the caravan stores and stalls, making sure everyone received the proper accommodations for their businesses. Repairs to that point had only been done with basic materials with no extra ornamentation involved. As more of the mountain was repaired and more people arrived, opportunities for more extravagant homes and businesses would become available.

Dis returned to her position as Princess Under the Mountain, assisting and supporting Thorin in public while challenging anything she thought unfair or inadequate in the privacy of the royal quarters, especially within the rooms Bilbo had worked so hard to restore for her and her sons.

“Perfect,” she’d declared walking into them the first time. Bilbo had beamed from where he leaned against Thorin, a cold compress held to his aching forehead. “It’ll just need a few personal touches. I didn’t realize you had an eye for interior design Brother.”

“Bilbo did it,” Thorin said, smiling proudly down at the hobbit. Dis had turned her thanks to him, a genuine smile and gratitude in her every motion and word.

Less than a week after Dis’ arrival in the mountain, Bilbo, Thorin, and Dwalin met in the large receiving room in the royal wing that had recently been cleaned under Bilbo’s supervision after the day’s open court. Dis arrived soon after.

“I swear they find the most inane things to bicker about,” Dis complained as she settled into one of the armchairs before the fire. Fili and Kili came in at that moment having spent the afternoon overseeing the installation of the newest members of Erebor’s troops into their quarters near the front gates and in the easternmost wing of the mountain by the infirmary and forges. They greeted their mother with a kiss to each cheek before sprawling on one of the couches, Fili setting his cane aside and bringing his leg up so it lay across his brother’s lap. Kili eyed it, clearly considering shoving it off him. Fili’s pained groan dissuaded him and he instead leaned to the side, shifting a little to force Fili to bend his knee so it wouldn’t stiffen up any more than it already had.

“Who’s bickering Amad?” Fili asked once he’d settled.

“Shopkeepers,” Dis said. “Why a butcher believed a toymaker’s shop was more a desirable location for his trade than a butchery is beyond me. There was no clear advantage over the location that I could see.”

“And so it begins,” Thorin intoned. “We should have anticipated this and appointed someone to take care of such disputes. We’ll soon be far too busy to attend to such matters on a regular basis.”

“Isn’t that what guild masters are for?” Kili asked.

“The guild masters are currently busy trying to settle their people into the guild halls and establish their authority,” Dis said. “Once that is accomplished they will deal mostly with small matters and matters within their own guilds. We’ll need someone to mediate the larger problems between the guilds.”

“Nori gave me a list of potential candidates he and Lira came up with,” Thorin said and patted at his pockets and came up with nothing. “Drat. I must have left it in Balin’s office after we reviewed it.” He went to stand.

“Don’t bother Dear,” Bilbo said. “I’m heading to the kitchens anyway for a late evening snack. Bombur promised to make me some of his delicious raspberry scones with clotted cream now that they are ripening.”

“Are you sure?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo waved him off with one hand as he shrugged his Durin blue coat (a midsummer gift from Thorin and wasn’t it sweet he’d started learning hobbit festival dates?) on before heading toward the door. “Balin’s office isn’t out of my way and I’ll be just a moment.” He left before any more protest could be made.

“I haven’t seen it,” Balin said. “I’d wager he left it in the lesser council room. We headed there after we spoke of the list. I caught him looking at it while Efni droned on about starting the repairs on the noble quarters as soon as possible so they’d be in proper order by the time the final caravan arrives in two more years. For the good of all our people of course. It has nothing to do with his daughter Ebni refusing to come sooner than the last caravan.”

“Of course not,” Bilbo snorted. “I’ll just head over there and get it then.” He ignored Balin’s request that he wait for him, that they could go together.

The halls where the administrators worked were silent for the most part by that time of night, only the occasional clerk or scribe in attendance. Guards patrolled the area on occasion but there was little need, especially when the royal family wasn’t present.

The lesser council chamber was closest to the public areas of the mountain, noise filtering into it more easily but still not very loud at that time of night. Bilbo walked inside and went straight for the desk Balin and Ori frequently used during the meetings, using it to store less sensitive documents and extra supplies as well as papers Thorin often left behind.

Bilbo picked up the first stack of papers and started thumbing through them, bent over the desk as he searched for the list Thorin needed. His progress was slow as, though his ability to speak khuzdul was improving daily, he still struggled to read it and most of the papers he came across were written in cirth.

He was so absorbed in his search that he almost didn’t hear the scuff of a boot behind him. He turned to glance over his shoulder and gasped when cold steel touched his neck.

Bilbo ducked and jerked back away from the feeling, falling backward against his attacker and probably saving his life as they tumbled to the ground. He squirmed and writhed as the garrote started to pull tight against his neck, despite the awkward angle.

“Our king should have a proper dwarrowdam at his side, not some jumped up hobbit consort,” a voice snarled in his ear.

The knife Thorin had given Bilbo was pinned against his side. He rolled even as the wire closed off his airway. He choked and gagged against the pressure and pain but grabbed the now free knife from its scabbard at his hip. He stabbed beneath him as Nori had taught him, careful to not hit himself. Bilbo struck again and again, each time hearing pained grunts, gasps, and cries before he had the sense to change his grip. He sliced at the hands holding the wires around his neck and the chest behind his head. His vision darkened, black spots bursting into red and grey edged in white. He couldn’t get free. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t-

His flailing feet knocked over a chair. He kicked it again in desperation and it slammed into the desk. An inkwell toppled off the edge, shattering on the floor and splattered black ink across Bilbo’s lovely coat, mingling with his attacker’s blood that now stained it.

His knife plunged into flesh again and again but still he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find a way to make the relentless grip on the wire loosen.

“Let him go!”

The wire went slack seconds later and Bilbo coughed, gagging and choking as he rolled away, one hand going to his neck as air flooded his system too quickly. He blinked against the spots still flooding his vision. Black and grey hair bushed out from his rescuer.

“Bifur,” Bilbo gasped in relief even as the dwarf lifted his attacker away from him and slammed her head against the wall.

“With you in a moment, Your Majesty,” Bifur said and snarled something in ancient khuzdul that sounded suspiciously like a rather filthy curse word Kili had taught Bilbo in the more modern version of the language. He slammed the other dwarf’s skull into the wall again and then dropped her when her eyes rolled up into the back of her head.

Bifur came over to Bilbo and tipped his head back a bit to get a look at his neck. “That’s going to be sore for a while,” he told Bilbo, his brogue as thick and rolling as Bofur’s though his voice was deeper and rougher. “Can you stand? We should take you to Oin.”

Bilbo sat back onto his knees, still raggedly pulling in breath after breath, fighting off dizziness. “It’s still a shock to hear you speak Westron,” Bilbo admitted with a smile and accepted the hand stretched out to him. He coughed again as his throat seized up again.

“Shock to me too,” Bifur said as he led the hobbit into the hall and towards the infirmary. “I still expect to see that thrice-cursed ax in my head every time I look in a mirror. Now stop talking until Oin looks at you.” He grabbed the first two guards they came across, sending one to the lesser council chamber where they’d left Bilbo’s attacker and the other to the royal quarters to fetch Thorin to the infirmary.

 ~*~*~

Thorin threw the infirmary door open and stormed into the room.

“Out!” Oin snapped without looking away from his examination of Bilbo’s neck.

“That’s my husband you’re examining,” Thorin growled as he prowled back and forth across the small room in agitation. “I have a right to be in this room and to know what happened.”

“Not when you’re acting like a Warg with a toothache. Out!”

Bilbo carefully moved Oin’s hand away from him for a moment, eyes fixed on Thorin. “I’m fine Dear,” he said, voice rasping through the swelling. “Hardly a scratch on me.”

Thorin threw his hands into the air. “You call that a scratch?”

Oin sighed. “Dwalin!” he called and the guard entered the room as well. “Get him out!”

“I am your king-”

“Not in here, you’re not. Or did you forget that part of my contract?”

Thorin moved to loom over Oin and stopped short when Bilbo’s balled up waistcoat smacked him in the face. He turned his glare only to deflate when he took in Bilbo’s raised eyebrows and unamused set to his jaw and mouth coupled with the pointedly displeased tilt to his head. Thorin stopped what he was doing and sat next to Bilbo, taking his hands in his and remained still and silent while Oin finished caring for Bilbo’s injuries. When finished, Oin left the room, grumbling about overbearing Durins.

“Are you all right?” Thorin said, his temper having cooled considerably.

“I’m fine Thorin,” Bilbo whispered in an attempt to keep some strain off his throat, squeezing Thorin’s fingers in turn. “Bifur showed up at just the right moment and even if he hadn’t I still had plenty of fight left in me. I would have gotten free sooner or later.”

Thorin nodded and leaned over to press a kiss to Bilbo’s hair. He lingered, breathing deeply and offering silent prayers of gratitude.

“What happened?” Thorin finally asked once his heart had slowed its frantic pounding a few beats per minute.

Bilbo told him, leaving out no details until he’d finished with Bifur’s arrival. “What happened to her?” he asked.

“Dead before the guard’s arrived,” Thorin told him. “Bled out from numerous stab wounds.”

Bilbo’s breathing shuddered as he exhaled. “I killed her then,” he said and Thorin blinked in surprise at the sadness in Bilbo’s voice.

“Yes, you did,” Thorin said. At Bilbo’s frown, he tucked a finger under the hobbit’s chin and tilted his face up until their eyes met. “You did nothing wrong.”

“I’d hoped to leave all the killing behind me after The Battle,” Bilbo confessed, his mouth set in a grim line. “It seems senseless now.” He looked away and his shoulder’s hunched slightly. “I’m starting to wonder if I should just hide in our rooms for the rest of my life.”

“Enough of that,” Thorin admonished and took Bilbo’s face between his hands. “You cannot blame yourself for defending yourself against her.”

“People hate me because I love you and we’re married.”

Thorin shook his head. “People hate change or that which they don’t understand or are used to. Their reaction to our relationship has nothing to do with you but only with their narrow-minded views.”

“People are trying to kill me for it.”

“Only because I love a hobbit and not a dwarf. What you are should not matter.”

“They said you should have a dwarrowdam at your side.”

“I love you and that is all that should matter.” He pressed another kiss to the top of Bilbo’s unruly curls. “It may not matter to others but it’s what matters to me. We will increase the guards around you. You won’t be attacked like that again.”

“Thank you, Dear,” Bilbo said and leaned into Thorin’s solid presence at his side. Somehow, Thorin felt Bilbo was giving in too easily. Normally, Bilbo would fight tooth and nail against any such inconvenience, especially to others. Either the attack had shaken Bilbo more than he was letting on or he really did plan to stay in their rooms as much as possible. He’d have to wait and see. For now, they remained like that for a time until Thorin straightened.

“Come,” he said. “I had thought to surprise you on Durin’s Day, but I see now is a better time.”

“What are you talking about?” Bilbo asked even as he let Thorin pull him off the exam table and out of the room. He absently accepted the bag of ointments and fresh bandages Oin handed him as he passed the healer as well as something for the pain.

“You will see,” Thorin said. They walked through the mountain, Dwalin and three other castle guards flanking them until they reached the door to their rooms. Once inside, Thorin walked to the blank southern wall.

“For you,” Thorin said and pushed against the wall. A seam appeared and quickly spread to become a large door in the stone. Bilbo gave Thorin a curious look before he walked through.

And out onto a series of small terraces dug into the side of the mountain and protected by a low wall. The first three were enclosed in a steel frame and glass. Greenery poked up through the dark, rich soil between walkways.

“A greenhouse,” Bilbo said, glee lighting his face. “But how? How long has that door been there?”

Thorin shrugged. “I’ve no idea. Since before I was born as far as I know.”

“But the door-”

“Dwarf doors are invisible when closed, Master Baggins,” Thorin said with a small smile. “Go, explore. There’s more beyond the glass.” He nodded towards a door at the far side of the greenhouse.

Bilbo did as suggested. Outside in the open air were four more terraces. Late evening sun slanted into the area over the natural wall created by the mountain, falling on rosebushes and flowerbeds, vines of squash and pumpkin plants, bushes of freestanding cherry tomatoes and sugar snap peas, rows of carrots and onions and beets. Everywhere Bilbo looked, flowers and vegetables grew, leaves turned towards the setting sun and thriving in the bowl in the side of the mountain someone had painstakingly dug who knew how long ago.

“Do you like it?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo found a bench near some raspberry plants and sat heavily, eyes wide in wonder as he continued to stare around him. “It’s beautiful, Thorin.”

Thorin cleared his throat. “My second courting gift to you,” he said simply.

“It’s wonderful and I love it. Thank you.” Bilbo wrapped his arms around Thorin’s waist and kissed him, enjoying the feel of his husband in his arms. When he pulled back he sighed contentedly. “Now I can enjoy the sunlight any time I want,” he said and leaned back on the bench to bask.

~*~*~

Bilbo spent most of the summer in his garden and greenhouse. His neck healed but he still found himself leery of leaving the safety of the royal wing. Only when he was truly needed to keep Thorin from maiming his council did he attend meetings and he always made sure to have at least two guards with him whenever he ventured to the kitchens of markets or library. His only regular time away from the royal wing was early in the morning before First Breakfast when he threw himself into training sessions with Nori, Dwalin, and Thorin.

Those mornings left him exhausted and he welcomed the feeling. Too often he feared he’d fall into nightmares if he wasn’t tired enough. Or that he would find too much time to remember what had happened to him.

So he trained diligently and make sure to pay extra attention, especially during Nori’s lessons on being sneaky and recognizing when others were trying to sneak.

They weren’t the only ones training that early in the morning. Kili worked on his archery with Tauriel (much to Thorin’s displeasure) and Fili stretched and worked his still healing leg. He walked more easily with his cane but still couldn’t take more than two or three steps without it before falling. As he’d healed, Balin had started giving him tasks to take care of that were fitting of the Crown Prince Under the Mountain.

One such morning, Bilbo faced off against Thorin to spar with Dwalin calling out instructions and corrections. They worked for over an hour with swords and hand-to-hand. Finally, Thorin pinned Bilbo for the, well, Bilbo had lost count after the first dozen or so times.

“I have you right where I want you,” Bilbo declared even as he gave up struggling to get free.

“I’m sure you do,” Thorin said and bent to kiss Bilbo, refusing to give the hobbit any room to get free. A shuffling sound sounded nearby.

When they parted, Bilbo looked over towards the noise he’d heard only to see Fili leaving the room. “That’s odd,” he said.

“What?” Thorin asked as he stood and released Bilbo.

“Fili,” Bilbo said and climbed to his feet. He looked towards the doorway where the blond prince had left. “That’s the third morning this week he’s left early.”

Thorin scowled. “I can’t imagine he would shirk his exercises. Oin was very clear that if he didn’t’ keep doing them he would relapse in his recovery. I’ll have a chat with him.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo said. “I hope he’s all right. Let me know what he says?”

Thorin nodded and went after his nephew. Dwalin followed him and Nori went to stand with Bilbo, pulling out blunted knives to continue with teaching Bilbo how to survive a knife fight when he was wielding a sword.

 ~*~*~

“Fili!” Thorin jogged to catch up to his nephew.

The tapping of Fili’s cane stopped as Thorin drew nearer. Fili turned to look at his uncle.

“Is everything all right?” Thorin asked when he came to a stop. He studied Fili, searching for any indication of further injury.

“I’m fine,” Fili said.

Thorin’s eyebrow rose skeptically. “Then why are you leaving without finishing your stretching?”

Fili leaned more heavily on his cane and looked down at his leg. “I’ve been splitting up the exercises Oin gave me. I’ve been getting stiff in the afternoons so I do them after lunch now. It helps.”

Thorin nodded, frowning slightly. When Fili refused to meet his gaze as a child he’d been hiding something. It’d been a while since Fili had done that but something about the way his shoulders were tensed had Thorin wondering. Without proof, he didn’t feel comfortable demanding an answer. “Does Oin know you’ve made this choice?”

Fili shook his head. “I’ll talk to him this afternoon,” he said. “It makes sense to.”

“Do you feel like you’re getting better?” Thorin asked.

 Fili sighed. “Some days are better than others,” he said. “I still just want to hide in my rooms some days but that’s happening less and less.”

Thorin placed a hand on Fili’s shoulder. “You can take a day off if you want, at any time. Bilbo and I will cover your duties for you.”

Fili’s lips twitched a bit and Thorin wasn’t sure if he was resisting the urge to smile or frown. His eyes didn’t give much away. “Thanks, Uncle,” Fili said. “Balin has me meeting with Lord Bard and his eldest daughter this morning about the progress on Dale’s repairs. I should probably bathe before then.”

Thorin tried not to smile. Fili was barely mussed. Perhaps Nori was right and Sigrid was Fili’s One. Poor Bilbo. He was going to lose the bet. Was it possible for him to make a wager as well? Perhaps Bilbo would make something for him with the blackberry bushes growing in his greenhouse.

“I don’t know what you’re plotting, but I’m not sure I want to be a part of it,” Fili interrupted Thorin’s thoughts. “I will see you this evening.”

“Yes, of course. Give Lord Bard and Lady- what was her name?”

“Sigrid,” Fili supplied immediately.

Thorin repressed a smile. “Yes, Lady Sigrid. Give them my regards.”

Fili nodded and limped away, the tapping of his cane sounding loudly compared to the soft noises made by his soft shoes.

~*~*~

Three times between the conversation with Fili and Durin’s Day Nori came to Thorin and told him of assassination attempts he’d thwarted.

“Where are they originating?” Thorin demanded as he entered the private office he’d given Nori after they’d discovered there were a number of hidden entrances to the room and looked like nothing more than a supply closet from the outside, the door plain amongst a hallway of ornately decorated offices. Thorin didn’t remember it being anything important before Smaug’s arrival but perhaps there’d been a reason for that.

Nori glared at the list of names and bits of string running between them and a hand-drawn map of the mountain nailed to a wooden board hanging on the wall. Stacks of notes sat on the desk he leaned against and glared at the information in front of them.

“It all seems random at this point,” he said. “Assassins range from soldiers from the Iron Hills to a cobbler from Ered Luin. There doesn’t seem to be any connection between them other than they all seem to want Bilbo dead.”

“The whispers have to be coming from somewhere,” Thorin growled.

“I’m aware,” Nori said. “The problem with something like this is we either need to get someone to turn-”

“Which isn’t going to happen considering they all end up dead within forty-eight hours of capture,” Thorin grumped.

“-or we have to wait for someone to make a mistake, get overconfident and say something in the wrong location, or try to recruit the wrong person.” Nori tapped a dagger against his open palm. “I just can’t figure it out yet.”

Thorin nodded. “Any word from Ered Luin?” he asked.

“Nothing more than I told you last time,” Nori said, glancing at the locked drawer on the desk where he’d put the letters from Lira. “She’s running into the same problems there.” He sighed. “Honestly, it’s getting harder for me to work here. People are starting to recognize me as part of your Company. Makes them less likely to want to talk to me.”

“When’s the last time Dwalin or one of the Guard tried to arrest you?”

“Two days ago,” Nori said. “Hasn’t helped. I need Lira here. She’s an unknown and even after people make the connection between us being One, she’ll still be able to move more freely, get more information. No one will suspect her as a part of your spy network.”

“No one?”

“Who is going to believe that Erebor’s best dancer has anything to do with the world of intrigue. They’ll see her lovely face and think she’s just another empty-headed twinkle toes.”

“All the better for us,” Thorin said. He looked at the board over one more time. “Keep me updated,” he ordered, clapping a hand to Nori’s shoulder before leaving through a side door. With Durin’s Day celebrations the next day, he worried about Bilbo’s safety. He wouldn’t leave his husband’s side for the entire day.

Chapter Text

Chapter 18

It snowed for the first time that season on Durin’s Day, leaving a few inches of wet snow on the ground and promising a long and cold winter. From the moment they woke up in the morning until they went to bed that night, Thorin stayed by Bilbo’s side and guards, both in uniform and some in festival clothing (Nori’s idea), trailed and flanked them. Lord Bard the Dragonslayer and his three children were in attendance to the festivities as well as an envoy of elves from Mirkwood (much to Thorin’s consternation), including Thranduil’s son and heir. Thorin let Bilbo take care of that particular conversation, preferring to just pretend to listen attentively when he was really just admiring the way the lovely quilted red coat Bilbo wore made golden tones appear brighter in his hair. Bilbo, who was not at all fooled by Thorin’s seeming rapture in the conversation, helped him by subtly twitching a finger on Thorin’s arm when he needed some sort of response. Really, Thorin had the best husband in the entire mountain. There was no competition whatsoever.

The conversation with Bard was much easier to endure and at times even pleasant as they discussed the repairs in both the mountain and Dale.

“That cheating cheater face,” Bilbo growled shortly after the dancing started early in the evening.

Thorin glanced down at the hobbit before following his line of sight only to see Nori smirking as he nodded towards Bard’s oldest daughter as he talked to Fili who nodded and turned toward the girl. Thorin watched as Fili handed his cane to his mother and limped to the young woman, bowing slightly and offering her a playful grin. Moments later, he led her to the dance floor where they joined those already dancing. Despite his still healing injuries, Fili did well, holding himself straighter than Thorin had seen in what felt an Age.

“I’m afraid you will lose this bet,” Thorin said, trying to sound apologetic but failing. It was hard to be upset when Fili looked happy for the first time in weeks.

“Only because Nori cheats!”

“I don’t believe Fili needs much encouragement.”

Bilbo glared up at Thorin before looking at the dancing couple. A moment later he sighed. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “I haven’t seen him laugh in well over a month.”

Thorin nodded. A flash of red hair caught his attention. “And then there’s my other nephew who seems completely besotted with an elf.”

Bilbo glanced around until he saw Kili and Tauriel dancing. As he watched, they spun away from each other only to return quickly, both smiling and utterly besotted with each other. “He does love her,” Bilbo said.

Thorin grumbled something unintelligible under his breath.

“You must admit she has been good for him,” Bilbo pressed. “According to Balin he’s working harder at his studies, his archery has improved, and he’s been to every meeting I’ve had with Thranduil’s people and actually paid attention to the proceedings.”

“But why does it have to be an elf?” Thorin demanded.

“She’s his One,” Bilbo said, “Or so Kili says. With how quickly he settled on her I wouldn’t be surprised if it were true.”

“But an elf.”

“And I’m a hobbit. And Sigrid is human. Is it so much worse for Kili’s One to be an elf?”

“Yes.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “You’re hopeless.” They watched the dancers in silence for a time until the next song started. Without any other warning than the opening strains of music, Thorin pulled Bilbo onto the floor and into the dance. Laughing, Bilbo followed, doing his best to follow Thorin through the steps.

“You need lessons,” Thorin said with a smile, carefully avoiding Bilbo’s toes, “and boots to protect your feet if you’re going to do any of the faster dances.”

Bilbo made a disgusted face at the very notion. “Hobbits do not wear shoes,” he said. “The very thought of it! So improper.”

Thorin’s smirk was entirely full of mischief. “I thought we were doing well at making you entirely improper or must I remind you of that tonight?”

Bilbo’s jaw dropped and color flooded his face all the way to the tips of his pointed ears. “Thorin!” he admonished and then flinched when the couples around them glanced towards him. “Do you mind?” he hissed.

“Not at all,” Thorin said and pulled Bilbo closer, bordering on improper, even for dwarrow. “It’s hard to when I have such a charming, pretty little husband with which to dance.”

If it were at all possible, Bilbo’s face turned to an even brighter shade of red even as his mouth tugged involuntarily into a bashful grin. “Keep talking like that and you won’t have to work hard to convince me later.”

Thorin laughed and spun Bilbo around, determined to enjoy the evening and forget the problems surrounding them.

~*~*~

Nori appeared at Thorin and Bilbo’s sides a time or two over the next few months, breathing heavily and once with what looked like blood splattered down one sleeve. He’d walked with them, talking hurriedly and making them move a bit faster in order to keep up with him.

“You’re not fooling anyone, you know,” Bilbo groused the third time Nori suddenly popped up next to them, this time with a gash on one cheek that still bled sluggishly. “How many were there this time?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Nori said, eyes wide in innocence but not too wide.

If Bilbo didn’t already know about the assassination attempts, he might have believed him. As it was, “You have a cut on your cheek that’s still bleeding.”

Nori touched his face and then looked at his fingers. He cursed colorfully when he saw the blood. “Fine, there are three this time. Keep moving. It’s harder to hit a moving target.”

Thorin glanced at Dwalin who nodded. The guards walking with them closed in tighter, bringing shields around but not yet unsheathing swords or taking axes in hand. They hustled to their rooms where Dwalin posted extra guards for the rest of the week.

Two weeks later, Thorin stayed behind in their rooms after breakfast to speak to Dis. Flanked by guards, Bilbo went to the throne room for that day’s public audience, arriving early as usual. He nodded to the guards who remained by the side entrance he and Thorin favored using. With guards posted at all doors to the room day and night no one worried about an assassination attempt.

Thorin wouldn’t be too long, Bilbo knew as he walked down the path to the thrones that waited for them. He’d almost reached them when a figure dropped from somewhere and landed right in front of Bilbo. He jumped back and pulled out one of the knives he now wore tucked up his sleeve at Nori and Thorin’s insistence, flashes of the foul creature he’d met in the depths of the goblin tunnels that he’d called Gollum running through his mind.

He barely managed to dodge the first lunge of the dwarf – for a dwarf it was - in front of him. He skipped backward and unsheathed Sting in the same motion. “Guards!” he shouted as loud as he could and knocked the ax aiming for his neck aside. “Guards!” He stepped back again. His heel dropped off the open ledge of the walkway. With a wordless cry, he fell, dropping his knife into the gaping chasm below. He scrambled, trying to find enough purchase on the smooth stone to pull himself entirely back up before the dwarf trying to chop off his head managed to do just that.

Bilbo glanced up just in time to see the ax coming at his face. He jerked to the side, away from his attacker and lost his grip on Sting but managed to pull himself up onto the walkway just as the guards crashed into the dwarf, tackling him to the ground.

Four more guards surrounded Bilbo and quickly ushered him back out of the throne room.

Thorin and Dwalin met them outside the doors.

“Bilbo? What-”

“Railings!” Bilbo shouted at Thorin, gripping the lapels of his surcoat and shaking. “Those dratted walkways need railings before someone falls off! Why in Mahal’s name do you dwarrow not put blasted railings on all these walkways above drops that will surely end in death? Railings, Thorin. Railings!”

“Why were you close to the edge?” Dwalin asked.

“I was pushed!” Bilbo shouted at him without letting go of Thorin. “I don’t go near the things if I can help it but it’s kind of hard when someone is trying to chop off your head!”

Thorin paled. He wrapped an arm around Bilbo even as Dwalin ordered the guards to escort them back to their rooms.

Hours later Nori entered their rooms, his clothing fresh and Bilbo decided not to think on that fact.

“Well?” Thorin asked. “How did they get in the throne room without anyone knowing?”

“He climbed,” Nori said.

“Climbed?” Bilbo asked as he set his book aside. “But isn’t that impossible? What’s even at the bottom of that room?”

Nori made a face. “There’s access to the river down there. No one has ever successfully made that climb before, not that I’m aware of, but I found the dwarf’s gear. He was a miner, specializing in exploring shafts and natural chasms.”

“Was?” Bilbo asked quietly.

Nori shook his head. “Dead. Poisoned himself. Like many of the others we catch.”

“Fanatics,” Dwalin groused, followed by what Bilbo was sure was a curse in khuzdul. Really, he needed to have Kili teach him those in exchange for the Sindarin lessons.

Thorin scrubbed his face. “How much longer until we find the one behind this?” he demanded.

“Can’t tell you,” Nori said. “We’re trying, Lira and me. Sorry I missed this one. Didn’t put the threads together until just before Dwalin came to me with the news.”

“This needs to stop.”

Bilbo nodded, agreeing all too readily.

~*~*~

Two months later, Nori came to their rooms shortly after they’d eaten a late dinner after a day filled with long meetings with Dain and his advisors, working out trade deals and routes between Erebor and the Iron Hills.

“Don’t leave your rooms,” Nori told them before disappearing again.

Perplexed but wary, Bilbo and Thorin did as he ordered, each of them waiting up most of the night for news. The hours passed and finally, the sun came up. Still Nori didn’t return and neither Dwalin nor Balin came to summon them to their duties for the day although Bombur did bring them meals.

“I prepared them myself,” he said. “No one else has touched these trays. They’ll be safe for you to eat.”

“What is going on out there?” Bilbo asked Thorin once Bombur left.

“I wish I knew,” Thorin said.

Late the second night, Dwalin knocked on their door. “The threat isn’t there,” he said. “You can resume your duties tomorrow.”

“What happened?” Thorin asked.

Dwalin shrugged. “You’ll have to ask your spymaster about it,” he said and left.

The next morning, Thorin went to Nori’s office before he was scheduled to inspect the progress on the guild halls. He found the spymaster standing before the wooden board with the strings and maps and lists and slips of paper. The amount of information had at least doubled since the last time he’d been in there.

“I don’t understand,” Nori said after a few moments when Thorin didn’t speak. “There should have been an attack yesterday. Everything pointed to it. I even heard whispers of it.” He glared at the board, eyes following along bits of yarn and scanning names and information.

“I believe you,” Thorin said. “I trust you.”

Nori sighed and shook his head before turning to Thorin. “I’m sorry for the false alarm.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t false,” Thorin said. “Perhaps you spooked them when you alerted us of the imminent attack.”

Nori’s mouth set in a firm line. “Maybe,” he said as he flopped into the single chair in the room, uncaring of sitting in his king’s presence.

Thorin looked closer at Nori. “You’re exhausted,” he declared, seeing the bags under Nori’s eyes and the pale cast to his skin. “When did you last sleep?”

“Hmm… What day is it?” Nori asked.

“Go. Sleep,” Thorin ordered. “Nothing will happen while you rest.”

Groaning, Nori clambered to his feet again. Thorin heard joints pop and crack at the motion. “I’ll try,” he said and climbed up onto the desk in the middle of the room. He moved some sort of false panel in the ceiling and pulled himself up into a narrow tunnel. “If you don’t hear from me by dinner, send The Captain to arrest me. I’ve too much work to be doing to be lazing about for that long.”

“I’ll send him in the morning,” Thorin told Nori. He didn’t get a response as the panel slid seamlessly back into place, leaving no sign that it even existed. Shaking his head, Thorin left to go meet with Bofur about the miner’s guild and their progress on restoring their guild hall.

~*~*~

“Bilbo?”

At the sound of Thorin’s voice, Bilbo looked up from the small patch of flowers he kept in his greenhouse, most of it was dedicated to vegetables and herbs to help the royal family subsist through the cold winters. “Over here,” he called and lifted a hand so Thorin might see him easier.

Slightly uneven heavy footsteps approached. Bilbo grimaced. It was cold and Thorin’s foot must be aching for him to be limping again. Which meant Fili was probably in agony. He’d have to remember to have some willow bark tea sent to the prince.

“You may want to get cleaned up,” Thorin warned. “We’re needed in a meeting in an hour. I’ve already drawn a bath for you.”

“Oh?” Bilbo asked as he stood and started stripping off his leather gloves. He gathered up his tools to place in their little cupboard. “What is this one about?”

“Fili,” Thorin said, voice bleak and expression bleaker.

Bilbo repressed a groan. “In what capacity?” he asked. “Is he in trouble or are people concerned for his recovery? Or am I unaware of some great deed he’s done?”

Thorin followed him back into their rooms and watched as Bilbo stripped out of the sturdy but plain clothes he wore while gardening. Bilbo placed them in the basket of their dirty laundry for cleaning later and went to the bathroom. He climbed into the large iron tub and started scrubbing immediately as Thorin leaned against the doorjamb.

“I wish it were something that simple,” he said, “or that he and Kili were in trouble for some of their old tricks. That is, unfortunately, not the case.”

Bilbo ducked under the water briefly to wet his hair before resurfacing and grabbing the soap. “Then what is it?” he asked as he worked up a lather.

Thorin heaved a sigh and Bilbo paused, looking over at him. Normally, Thorin openly stared at Bilbo with hooded eyes broadcasting his desire while Bilbo bathed or threatened to join him, making good on that threat on numerous occasions no matter how short on time they were. This time, however, Thorin’s gaze was clear, and his mouth set in a grim line instead of the almost leering grin he half expected.

“Thorin?”

“The council seems to have finally given up on swaying me in my choice in spouse. They’re moving down the line of succession.”

Bilbo’s shoulders tensed, his mouth set in a grim frown, his nose wrinkled, and he felt one of the deepest scowls he’d ever had pull his eyebrows together and down. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I were,” Thorin said.

“Is Fili going to be at this meeting?” Bilbo asked scrubbing with renewed vigor. If that council thought they were going to dictate who his nephew married they had another think coming.

Thorin shook his head. “I don’t want him there,” he admitted. “I’m hoping among Dis, you, and I, we can keep them satisfied and away from Fili long enough for him to find someone suitable on his own.”

“I thought you’d decided Lady Sigrid of Dale was his One.”

Thorin shrugged. “I’m afraid there’s no way to tell for sure without first driving him to the brink of madness by keeping them apart. Fili never had the Longing as far as I’m aware and she’s human so she wouldn’t have it either.”

Bilbo opened the tub’s drain and grabbed the pitcher set beside it. As the water drained out, he poured more into his pitcher and then over his head to rinse any lingering grime or soap off his skin. He took the towel Thorin offered him, drying quickly and heading back into their room and started to dress in the clothes Thorin had gotten out for him. “Well, let’s go and take care of this before it becomes a bigger problem,” he said.

“I’ll meet you in the larger council room,” Thorin said. “Balin is outside waiting for you with a few guards.”

“What about-”

“Dwalin is waiting for me. I have a task I must complete before the meeting starts.”

Bilbo grabbed Sting and buckled the sword belt on before checking his appearance in the mirror. His braid was still intact but the rest of his hair was hanging haphazardly around the rest of his head in a massive mess of curls. He ran a brush through it quickly before leaving their rooms, kissing Thorin on the cheek on the way. “I’ll see you down there,” he promised.

Balin greeted Bilbo as he entered the hallway. He looked as grim as Bilbo felt. “I take it you don’t approve of the council’s thoughts either?”

“Not in the slightest,” Bilbo said, his words over-enunciated in his irritation. “The lad’s barely past his majority. He shouldn’t be betrothed for decades at the least.”

Balin nodded his agreement and they walked the rest of the way to the council chambers in silence.

Ori waited for them there, already set up to take notes on the meeting. He too looked upset with the matter at hand. Bilbo took his place at the table to the right of where Thorin would sit and waited.

The lords on Thorin’s council still mostly consisted of Dain’s men but a few had been replaced with those of higher rank that had arrived from Ered Luin. As they trickled in, Bilbo ignored them, nodding only to Dis in greeting when she took her place across from him, at the left of Thorin’s chair.

Finally, Thorin arrived, took his seat, and called the meeting to order. “Lord Grurfastr, why have you called this meeting?”

Bilbo grit his teeth. They all knew the reason but ceremony dictated Thorin begin the dance with that question.

An older, grizzled dwarf from the Iron Hills dressed in fine clothing climbed to his feet, resting his only hand on the table and leaning forward so he could look Thorin in the eye. “You have stated repeatedly that you will not divorce your husband and take a proper spouse,” he started.

“His Highness is a proper spouse,” Dis snapped from her seat. “He is His Majesty’s One and no greater claim can be made.”

Grurfastr ignored Dis but Thorin nodded to his sister in acknowledgment.

“The line of Durin is not as deep as it should be,” Grurfastr continued. “We have come to discuss the need for Prince Fili to find a wife.”

Dis leaped to her feet and started shouting in khuzdul. Bilbo, who had a fairly good understanding of the language by now thanks to Ori’s tutoring, followed most of what she said with the exception of what he was pretty sure a large amount of very colorful insults and curses. More dwarrow joined the argument and Bilbo watched for a moment before glancing at Thorin. To his curiosity, Thorin didn’t seem all that concerned at the moment, refusing to take part in the argument other than to put in a token amount of resistance. Could he possibly want Fili married?

The door banged open and Dwalin strode in. “This meeting is canceled,” he said and guards flooded the room as Dwalin came to Thorin, Dis, and Bilbo. “You’re in danger. We need to leave. Now.”

Bilbo blinked. Danger? What danger? Another assassin? If they planned to strike during a council meeting they were losing their minds. Still, he stood and followed Dis, Thorin, and Dwalin out, guards following and surrounding them and Balin and Ori trailing behind. They hustled back towards the royal quarters and finally into the family’s receiving room.

“What was that all about?” Bilbo asked Dwalin.

“Nori said there was chatter of another attack. We couldn’t risk it,” Dwalin said. “You’ll be confined to the wing until we sort the mess out.” He nodded to Thorin and left again.

“Not again,” Bilbo groaned.

“Keeps us out of that pointless meeting,” Dis remarked. “What were you thinking letting Grurfastr call it with so little notice?” she demanded, turning on Thorin.

He shrugged. “I cannot cancel every meeting,” he said. “You reminded me of that very fact last week.”

“But this is different!” Dis shouted. “They’re talking about my son!”

“I’m aware,” Thorin said. “But now, thanks to this threat, we have time to discuss the matter and prepare our counter-arguments or other offers before we meet with them again.”

“If I may,” Ori said quietly from his position by the fireplace.

All eyes turned to him but he ignored them, studiously searching through his pile of notes and books until he found what he was looking for.

“What is it, lad?” Balin asked.

Finally, Ori found what he was looking for and held up an older book. “According to Ereborian law as established by Nain I, all those that wish to marry a member of the royal family must first defeat a member of the king’s guard, offer an acceptable gift to the intended, and then courtship may be started. If any of these criteria are not met, the courtship cannot happen.”

“We’re aware of the law,” Dis said. “What’s your point, Ori?”

“Fili has to approve the gift,” he said and looked up from his book. “The council does not have a say in it.”

“That’s not how it was for me,” Dis said, confused. “Vili had to be approved by Grandfather’s council before we married.”

“That’s Ered Luin’s law,” Ori said. “As your family ruled there at the time, you had to abide by the laws there, same as any other. He does have to have a plausible reason to refuse the gift though.”

Bilbo grinned. “Ori, you’re brilliant.”

“We’ll keep as many away from even making it to that stage of the Challenge,” Thorin said. “Dwalin will need to be standing as guard on as many of those occasions as possible.”

Dis nodded in agreement. “We’ll need to tell Fili,” she said.

“We hold off the council as long as we can,” Bilbo said. “The longer we’re able to, the longer Fili will have to heal and not have this hanging over his head as well. He doesn’t need any more reasons to struggle with his situation.”

Thorin nodded, taking Bilbo’s hand into his own. “We’ll support him in any way that we can. Prolong the inevitable and when it happens, we will be the ones to tell him of the news. He deserves our support.”

Everyone nodded and Bilbo started planning, trying to think of reasons to keep the council busy and away from the subject of Fili’s marriage for as long as possible. With the oncoming spring, he could stall with meetings on planting crops. The subject was important enough to garner priority for at least a little while. If there was one thing he could contribute, it was the ability to talk of gardening for hours.

~*~*~

They managed until the snows had melted but the grounds were still soft and muddy. Thorin’s council finally managed to bring the matter forward and push it to the point they couldn’t stall any more when Bilbo was forced to stay in their rooms with a cold for three days straight. By the time he recovered, Dis and Thorin found they had no choice but to talk to Fili about his impending marriage.

Bilbo sat with Thorin, Balin, and Dis as they met with Fili in the lesser council room, the one often reserved for business among the royal family and perhaps a guild or a single foreign dignitary.

“What’s this about?” Fili asked taking a seat and setting his cane against his chair. “Have I done something wrong?”

Dis couldn’t even look at her son, anger and sorrow rendering her mute for the time being.

“No, Fili,” Thorin said, “you haven’t done anything wrong.”

Fili’s eyes traveled between them and his scowl deepened. “Then what is it you wanted to talk to me about? More duties?”

Dis slumped further in her chair and Fili’s eyes darted to his mother briefly with a flash of concern before returning to his uncle. “Thorin?”

“The council has demanded that we make our line more secure, both by the possibility of more heirs as well as with a stronger connection with another kingdom, preferably one with Men,” Thorin said. He kept his hands clasped on the table. Bilbo couldn’t help but notice Thorin’s knuckles turning white as he spoke.

A flash of dawning comprehension and horror flitted across Fili’s expression before he schooled it back into neutrality. Bilbo felt a bit of pride over that, knowing how hard Fili worked to hide his emotions now that he was a more prominent figure than he’d been back in Ered Luin when he’d been no more than an exiled prince. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were telling me I must start considering marriage.”

Silence met his words and he paled slightly.

“You jest,” Fili said, trying to laugh off the situation.

Bilbo watched Thorin flinch even as he said, “Fili, it’s been a year since you recovered. The mountain is being rebuilt. More and more of our people return to the mountain each week. We must look to the future of our people now.”

“How does this affect our people?” Fili demanded. “It’s my personal life.”

“We must create strong political ties with other nations. The easiest way to do so is through marriage.”

Fili bristled. “You may have been willing to marry for political reasons,” he growled. Thorin and Bilbo both winced and glanced at each other furtively, knowing the origins of their own marriage, no matter how they felt about each other, “but I am not. You’ve got ties with the Shire,” he nodded at Bilbo, “and to the elves in Mirkwood through Kili’s engagement to Tauriel. We have Dain and the Iron Hills to the east and those that remain in the Blue Mountains. What more do you want?”

“We have alliances with elves, Hobbits, and dwarrow,” Balin said, voice apologetic but matter-of-fact, “but our ties with Men are still only in writing and thus not as strong as they could be. And you are without an heir beyond your brother.”

“Amad,” Fili said almost pleadingly.

“I am sorry Fili,” Dis said and refused to look up. “If you had found your One, maybe things would be different but as it stands, we must secure Erabor’s safety.”

Fili climbed to his feet, grabbing his cane and left the council room without another word. The door slammed behind him and they all flinched at the sound.

Balin sighed. “That could have been worse,” he admitted.

“But it could have been better,” Dis added and sighed. “Give him some time to calm down. We’ll need to explain that he still has time, that he still gets to pick his spouse, one way or another.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that now he has the pressure of having to marry,” Thorin said and rubbed a hand down his face. “Mahal, this is a mess.”

“It’s not about to get better,” Nori said and darted into the room. Blood dripped down his arm. “We’re about to have company.”

“Good,” Dis growled and picked up her ax from where she’d left it by the door. “I could use a good fight right now.”

Thorin stood too, orcrist ringing as he pulled it from its sheath. “I’ll join you,” he said and together they entered the hall to face off the next group of would-be assassins. With a sigh, Bilbo unsheathed Sting and followed, knowing he would probably need to stop his husband from doing something rash. Again.

Chapter Text

Chapter 19

“Not even a full day and the vultures are already descending,” Thorin growled as he headed toward the throne room. Dis, Bilbo, and Dwalin walked with him.

“Thorin, Dear, you’ve got a little-”

Thorin looked over at Bilbo, eyebrow raised in question. When Bilbo rubbed at his own cheek in a hint, Thorin wiped at the same spot on his face.

“Other side,” Dis said.

Thorin tried again. Reddish brown flakes came away on his fingers. Dried blood. Great. He’d missed a bit when he’d hastily cleaned up from the fight earlier. How much of it was in his hair? Did it matter? Perhaps the sight of it would scare off any of Fili’s potential Challengers. Surely someone would have to be mad to willingly join a family so often under attack.

“Here,” Bilbo said, stopping Thorin briefly and wiping at the spot with a pristine handkerchief. “There. All better.”

“If we’re all done primping?” Dwalin demanded, eyes scanning the halls around them. “Let’s get this over with so I can get down to the dungeons and see if any of our nasty little friends managed not to find a way to die in my absence.”

“We need to get our own soldiers on guard duty,” Thorin growled. “I don’t know as I trust the loyalty of Dain’s men. We’ve lost too many prisoners to apparent self-poisoning or hidden assassins for my own comfort.”

“I don’t trust them either,” Dwalin grumbled as they continued to the throne room, “but we barely have enough loyalists from Ered Luin to guard the royal quarters and yourselves. The caravan later this year will have more of our soldiers. We’ll have an easier time then.”

“Good,” Bilbo said. “It seems senseless that so many would die uselessly.”

“They may not see it as useless,” Thorin reminded Bilbo as a guard opened the doors in front of them just before they would have had to break stride to wait for him to finish. “They believe their cause is just.”

“I’ll never understand fanatics,” Bilbo sighed.

They took their places at the throne, greeting Balin and Ori as they did. Fili and Kili soon arrived, the former wearing a scowl very reminiscent of his uncle’s and the latter grinning as if the entire situation were all the most amusing joke.

“Let’s get this over with,” Fili groused as he took his place at Thorin’s left next to his mother. He glanced around and then a look of confusion briefly relaxed his features. “Where is your council?” he asked.

“You left before we could tell you,” Dis said. “Ereborian law states you will judge if the gift is acceptable or not.”

“Wait, what?” Fili asked, head whipping around so fast one of the beads on his mustache bopped him on the nose and some of his golden hair tangled in his coronet. It really did fit ill. Why hadn’t he made a new one yet? Thorin would have to remind him he was welcome to make something for himself if he so chose. Mahal knew Fili was a skilled enough jeweler to create a coronet fit for the crown prince.

“The council will not have the final say in your spouse. You may reject her as long as there is the minutest reason for you to refuse the gift.”

“Praise Mahal,” Fili breathed and wrapped his arms around his mother in gratitude. “I’m not doomed after all.”

Kili clapped Fili on the shoulder with a laugh as Dis pulled Fili’s hair back into order. “See? No reason to be plotting to escape with the next trading caravan.”

Fili turned, hand fisted and ready to strike when the doors at the far end of the walkway before the throne opened noisily.

“Behave,” Dis hissed, giving one of Fili’s braids a final, sharp tug. “Remember they have to get through Dwalin first.”

Fili’s grin was almost feral in its glee.

An entourage of dwarrow approached the throne and Thorin would have sighed if he hadn’t already spent almost two centuries having diplomatic lessons drilled into his head. “Lord Grurfastr,” Thorin greeted, somehow not surprised he was the one to already have a child prepared to Challenge for Fili. The social climbing, greedy, backstabbing dwarf that he was. “Why have you come before me?”

A dwarrowdam handed a scroll to Balin. He opened it and read the formal Challenge for the Crown Prince Under the Mountain’s hand in courtship by one Lady Burfastr and their hope for a continued alliance between Erebor and the Iron Hills and so on and so forth and Thorin was no longer listening. He glanced at Fili out of the corner of his eye. His nephew leaned against his cane, irritation still in the lines of his shoulders but absent from his face. Thorin made a mental note to remind Fili to work on his body language, not just his diplomat’s expression.

Bilbo discreetly nudged Thorin’s foot with his own, signaling that Balin had finished reading the grandiloquent scroll. He looked down at the dwarrowdam.

She was dressed in chainmail, an ax held tightly in her fist. She was pretty enough, as dwarrowdams went, but not nearly as beautiful as Nori’s Lira or even Dis and did not even hold a candle to his own Bilbo. Fili could easily do better.

“Do you know what you ask child?” Thorin asked.

“I am prepared,” Burfastr said.

“So be it,” Thorin said and waved Dwalin forward. “Let the trial begin.”

The fight was almost laughably short. Dwalin had Burfastr pinned to the ground with his axes at either side of her neck in less than three minutes. If that was the level of skill that would regularly be seeking Fili’s favor, Thorin might take on a few of the fights himself. Dwalin wouldn’t need to always be his guard after all.

Oin was soon called to attend to Burfastr’s wounds. Thorin and all other members of the royal family bid the Challengers a good day and left without further comment, ignoring the dark looks being sent their way.

~*~*~

“Whatever became of the bureaucratic nonsense your Thain sent you?”

Bilbo looked up from the book he’d been reading while sitting slumped deeply into his armchair, painstakingly trying to translate cirth into the proper sounds in khuzdul and then trying to remember what each word meant in Westron. “Pardon?” he asked and sat up a bit.

“Your Thain sent you forms to fill out last spring after Dis left the Shire. The ones you needed to fill out to prove you still live?” Thorin prompted as he took his seat. He had a sheaf of papers in his hands. Music, Bilbo realized, seeing the notes drawn on lines.

“Ah yes, the ones referring to you as Queen Under the Mountain.” Bilbo grinned widely and unrepentantly.

“Forget I asked,” Thorin grumbled and bent further over his sheet music, fingers twitching as he looked through it, perhaps mapping out how to play it? Though he could read music, Bilbo had no idea how to take those little dots and lines and squiggles and turn them into methodical plucking and strumming of strings on a harp. He left that to Thorin’s wonderfully talented fingers.

Bilbo resumed his slumped position, feet towards the fire and elbows barely keeping him in his chair with his book propped on his chest. “I sent them back with the proper corrections a month or so after we got them.”

A bit of tension fell away from Thorin’s frame.

“I’d never let your status as King Under the Mountain be in question,” Bilbo said and turned a page.

“That wasn’t my concern,” Thorin said. “Queens are just as powerful. Dis would make a perfectly adequate ruler of Erebor. I’ve no doubt she would make it thrive if she were to have been allowed and had been born first.”

Bilbo blinked at his husband, eyebrows furrowing as he thought. If Thorin weren’t worried about being emasculated, then why was he concerned about having his gender misidentified on the papers declaring them wed in the Shire? He thought and thought even as Thorin retrieved his harp and sat to play through the piece he’d been studying. He was on about the fourth page when Bilbo slammed his book shut. “Then what is it?” he demanded and Thorin startled, his hands immediately flattening against the strings of his harp, ceasing all sound.

“What’s what?” he asked.

Bilbo’s lips compressed into a thin line. “What has you concerned about that paperwork? If you aren’t worried about being referred to as a queen, then what is it?”

Thorin tipped his harp back up until it stood on its own, no longer resting against his shoulder. He ran a hand across his bearded chin and the rasp of his fingers along the course strands rivaled the soft crackling of their fireplace for the only sound in the room.

“Well?” Bilbo asked when Thorin didn’t respond.

Thorin breathed deeply, not quite sighing, more an attempt to control rampant nerves. “You’ve said yourself that your people do not acknowledge relationships such as ours, do not condone them,” he finally said and the tremor in his breathing lingered under his voice. “I worried that you would not correct them of my gender. That you would rather lie to your kin than to acknowledge the truth of our relationship.”

Bilbo set his book aside on the table, making a conscious effort not to slam it down before struggling to his feet. He started pacing. “I am not ashamed of our relationship,” he insisted furiously. “I love you. I married you. I left the only home I ever knew for you. I have sex with you regularly. By the Valar Thorin, I let you kiss me in public!”

“Yes, around dwarrow where we are not seen as something shameful.”

Bilbo stopped in his tracks and turned to glare at Thorin, tipping his head to the side and pressing his lips into a thin line. He jabbed one finger towards his husband. “And I would gladly kiss you in full daylight in the middle of the market in Hobbiton. I will never deny that I love you to anyone. I wouldn’t even lie to my own mother or father, Yavanna keep them in peace.”

Thorin pushed Bilbo’s pointing finger away as he stood. “And would they accept your choice?” he demanded.

“My mother? The quintessential Took who accepted everything and everyone she ever came across in all her wanderings? Yes. Perhaps? I can’t be sure as I’m her only son, mind you. My father? The quintessential Baggins who shunned all things unnatural, dangerous, and remotely strange other than my mother? Not a day in his life would he have been all right with our marriage.” Bilbo rocked back onto the balls of his feet, his hands going to bracers he didn’t wear. “In fact, he’s probably rolling in his grave as we speak.”

Thorin recognized the nervous habit for what it was. Still, he couldn’t keep himself from asking, “And you would still marry me if they were alive?”

“What kind of question is that?” Bilbo demanded. “Of course I would! I love you.”

“You didn’t always.”

“Yes, well,” Bilbo cleared his throat and looked away from Thorin. “You were a right pain in the beginning. Still thought you were too handsome for your own good.”

Thorin couldn’t keep the slow smile from creeping onto his face as relief pushed away the last of the doubts he felt, at least for the time being. “Too handsome for my own good?” he asked. “Does that still apply?”

Bilbo huffed and went over to Thorin. He nudged the harp out of the way and climbed onto Thorin’s lap, looping his arms around his neck. “What do you think?” Bilbo asked and leaned up to kiss Thorin firmly.

~*~*~

“Thorin hates Tauriel.”

“In Sindarin,” Bilbo said automatically, setting his teacup back in its saucer and then setting it on the table.

Kili glared at him but opened his mouth to do as ordered.

“Never mind,” Bilbo said, waving a hand absently. “It was a kneejerk reaction. Why do you think Thorin hates Tauriel?”

Kili snorted and turned the biscuit in his hands over a few times. That more than anything cued Bilbo into just how upset Kili was. Normally the prince devoured the biscuits with his tea faster than any other Bilbo had ever seen, including Bombur. “Have you ever seen him interact with her?”

Bilbo’s brow furrowed as he thought. “No,” he said, drawing the word out. “I can’t say that I have.”

“That’s because he doesn’t.” Kili broke the lotus biscuit in half, still seeking the answers to his problems in the ornate edging. “He avoids her at all costs. Never speaks to her, or of her. He won’t acknowledge her existence at all.”

Bilbo tapped a fingertip on the tabletop. “Perhaps,” he said and paused. “Perhaps he doesn’t acknowledge her because he doesn’t know how to interact with her.”

Dark brown eyes glanced up at him. “What do you mean?”

Bilbo stopped tapping his finger. “Thorin has detested elves for the vast majority of his life, right? Well, maybe because Tauriel saved his nephew, not once but twice, he finds himself in a difficult position of liking her-”

Kili snorted.

“Or at least accepting her usefulness and not outright hating her and not knowing how to show it.”

“I don’t know,” Kili hedged.

“He allows her to stay in the Mountain, doesn’t he?” Bilbo asked and retrieved a small sandwich from the plate in front of him, well, small by dwarrow standards. Kili shrugged. “It’s more than he lets any other elf without them being guarded or constantly watched.”

“Probably because she threatened Thranduil to his face,” Kili said with a small smirk, a bit of mirth creeping back into his voice.

Bilbo suppressed a chuckle but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. He hid it behind his teacup, looking to the side. “Yes, well,” he hedged and didn’t continue.

“I just wish he would acknowledge her,” Kili said. “She’s my One. I know he won’t grant special permission for us to get engaged before Fili marries or declares he won’t take a spouse but we already know that we want to marry. Uncle’s going to need to accept that or I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“I’ll have a talk with him,” Bilbo promised, setting his teacup aside again. “Now, when do you plan to put all these Sindarin lessons to good use and declare your undying love for Tauriel in her native language?”

Kili grinned and ducked his head. “I had this idea,” he said and Bilbo settled back into his chair to listen to the over the top romantic gesture his nephew had planned for the pretty elf.

~*~*~

“Where is that blasted letter?” Bilbo wondered aloud as he scoured the desk in their rooms. “It can’t have gotten up and walked away on its own.”

“What was that Ghivashel?” Thorin didn’t even glance up from the papers he was thumbing through, brow furrowed as he examined them.

Bilbo huffed and closed the second drawer. “You remember that nasty letter Lobelia sent all those months ago?”

Thorin stopped dead in his tracks and looked up at Bilbo from beneath his scowl. “What of it?” he growled.

Bilbo shuffled through the papers on the top shelf above the desk, standing on his tiptoes to do so. “Well, I can’t find it.”

“Why would you want to?” Thorin asked and set his papers aside on his armchair.

More papers shifted around. “We really need to clean this off on occasion,” Bilbo muttered. “I wanted to address the problem she and others that included their words in that letter have with me and my choice.”

“You mean us,” Thorin said as he too started going through the papers on the desk. When Bilbo glanced up at him in confusion, he elaborated. “We are married. Any problem they have with you, they also have with me, especially where it directly addresses our relationship.”

Bilbo smiled. “I knew I fell in love with you for a reason.”

“Here I thought it was because I’m too handsome for my own good.”

~*~*~

Dale’s midsummer festival promised to be entertaining, Bilbo thought as he looked over the list of events Fili and Kili had brought back with them, as well as news that vendors from the Mountain were welcome to participate. Already Fili was down in the markets talking to merchants and entertainers that might be good additions to the festival about seeing Lady Sigrid about joining in the merriment. He promised to join them shortly.

“Perhaps we should take the time to observe,” Bilbo murmured as he and Thorin walked to the throne room to once again receive a Challenger for Fili’s hand.

“Observe what?” Thorin asked as they passed a group of dwarrow who bowed low to their king and his consort.

“The festival in Dale,” Bilbo said. “It seems quite fun.”

Thorin nodded to the dwarrow. “Does it now?”

“Yes,” Bilbo said. “There will be games and performances, entertainers and competitions. All sorts of fun.” When Thorin didn’t respond, Bilbo glanced up at him. “Even a swordsman competition,” he said.

“That does sound promising,” Thorin finally remarked.

Bilbo stopped in his tracks when Tauriel bowed slightly to Thorin with a small smile. That in and of itself was not surprising. However, when Thorin – Thorin by Yavanna’s garden – actually not only acknowledged her presence with eye contact but nodded and smiled – smiled – in return, Bilbo thought he’d started hallucinating.

“Bilbo?” Thorin asked once he realized Bilbo wasn’t next to him any longer.

Flabbergasted, Bilbo glanced between Thorin and Tauriel for as long as the elf remained in the same corridor. “What just happened?” he asked, drawing out the first word a bit.

“What?” Thorin asked, his scowl deepening.

“You just smiled at Tauriel. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile at any elf.”

Thorin snorted. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asked. “She openly threatened Thranduil.”

“Which put her in enough of your good graces to allow her to stay in Erebor, yes, I’m aware but you’ve never so much as acknowledged her presence, let alone smiled at her.”

“Don’t be preposterous Bilbo,” Thorin said. “Why wouldn’t I acknowledge my nephew’s One? Come along. We can’t arrive after the Challenger.”

Bilbo allowed Thorin to hook his arm and pull him along after him, still trying to puzzle out the strange turn of events.

~*~*~

Over the summer and into the fall, they searched the desk for Lobelia’s letter together and came up empty. They searched the room and still, the letter didn’t resurface. They searched off and on for weeks between their regular duties, another assassination attempt (this one next to a mineshaft they were considering reopening. They’d been talking to Bofur about the possibility when an explosion had gone off overhead, dislodging part of the ceiling and sending it down on top of them. Nori’s sudden appearance seconds before the explosion and Dwalin’s quick reflexes and an open doorway leading to a supply closet saved the small group and their guards, but it did take the better part of the day to dig them out again.), and two false alarms from Nori (he had Bombur scrap any and all ingredients used for their meals for an entire week as well as insisted on a taster for all their meals and informed them that the road to Dale would be crawling with assassins during the midsummer festival and thus forcing them to not go) before they finally found it.

“Why on earth do you have this?” Bilbo asked as he examined the sheet of paper in familiar handwriting hanging on the wall at about the level of his forehead with strings and strings of different colors of yarn trailing off it to various areas of the room, even to documents and scraps of parchment hanging from the ceiling.

“I finally figured it out!” Nori declared as he tapped the letter with ink-stained fingertips. His normally perfectly styled hair and beard looked a bit disheveled with dust and bits of cobwebs clinging to them and his clothing like he’d been crawling around in abandoned narrow tunnels all day.

“Figured what out?” Thorin asked levelly but with a note of concern in his voice.

“Who the mastermind behind the assassination attempts is.”

Bilbo and Thorin exchanged a quick glance. “And what does a rotten letter from a woman I cringe to claim as a relative have to do with it?”

“Don’t you see?” Nori asked as he clapped a hand to Bilbo’s shoulder and pointed to the letter and then swept an arm out to encompass the entire web of information strewn across the walls and ceiling of the small room. “She’s the one! She’s behind everything!”

“Who? Lobelia?”

“You do see it!” Nori said. “Why didn’t you tell me? It would have saved me a lot of trouble. I had to do a lot of traveling and digging to find the pattern and the trail.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Thorin said. “Perhaps you’d care to explain, Nori?”

“It’s right here,” Nori said and touched a bright orange string and then pointed along its path to a rendering of a Man that looked to be around twenty-years-old if Bilbo had a handle on the way they aged.

“I don’t understand. Who is he?” Bilbo asked.

“This is Korin, a minor lord from somewhere near the Sea of Rhun. He accosted Lady Sigrid a few months back not long after Fili gave her that pup of hers. Fili asked me to check on Korin, make sure he left Dale and the area but that doesn’t really matter, what does is that he’s been passing messages about the royal families of Erebor and Dale along to that she-halfling!”

“Elaborate,” Thorin ordered.

Nori moved over to a corner of the room marked ‘Erebor’ and touched another orange bit of yarn. “See, the Thogrmill merchant caravan is the start of all the information movement. They came through here last spring and took messages from some of our friendly dwarrow that have since been locked in the dungeons and some that died one way or another when they tried to off you. Anyway, they traveled as far as the Sea of Rhun-” he followed the string to a map of the far east where it was pinned “-and visited Korin’s household to sell them nutmeg and thyme. That’s when they would have passed off the messages to a servant who gave them to Korin who gave the merchants-” here Nori followed the orange string to a parchment with the caravan’s leaders picture on it “-messages to take this rogue ranger-” he followed another bright orange bit of yarn, climbing over his desk to get to the farside of the room where another piece of parchment was attached to the wall close to the floor with a single word on it “-known as Bruiser who was in cahoots with Azog-” another length of yarn led to the Defiler’s likeness by way of crawling under the desk “-who was in league with one of Thranduil’s lesser foot soldiers-” another thread led to a map on the side of the desk with a pin where the elf’s kingdom resided in the forest “-who tricked the traveling minstrel Gentry-” another string to another drawing attached to another wall “-into passing the information along by coding it into a drinking song which I’m still trying to get the music for. The minstrel went through Rivendell-” back to the second map with another orange thread “-where she taught it to Elrond’s twin sons-” another thread led to two really good renditions of the elves hanging from the ceiling above Nori’s upturned chair “-who happened to sing it while on patrol only to be overheard by a mockingbird trained to cross along their usual route and learn any music sung by the elves. It learned the tune and went back to its master-” here Nori vaulted over his desk again and went to a picture of a greying Man “-this man in Bree who deals in pickled goods and-” he followed an orange thread back to the letter Bilbo and Thorin had been so desperately trying to find “-one Lobelia Sackville-Baggins buys pickled herring from him on a regular basis which is how he passes the final, decoded messages to her.”

Bilbo stared at the orange threads crisscrossing the room. “How do the messages get to assassins here?” he asked finally.

“That’s the beauty of it!” Nori explained. “They’ve had their orders all along! Ever since our first caravan went through the Shire over a year ago. She was seen among the dwarrow when they passed through and again when the second caravan went through.”

“And the assassination attempts before the caravan arrived?” Thorin asked.

“Still working on that one,” Nori admitted, fingering some fuschia yarn stretching in many different directions from Lobelia’s letter, “but I’ll figure it out! In the meantime, don’t go near any open mineshafts and stay away from water when Thorin’s not with you.”

“Right,” Bilbo said and shuffled his feet. “Right. Can I have the letter then?”

Nori crawled under his desk and emerged a moment later, holding up a copy of the letter. “This work?” he asked as he went back to staring at the threads and documents.

Bilbo took the paper and frowned at the back of Nori’s head. “Yes, this will do fine,” he said and looked to Thorin.

“Good. Good. Now out. I have to find the next attempt. One’s coming soon, I can feel it.” Nori pushed the two toward one of the secret doors before opening a trapdoor next to his overturned chair. “Don’t be alarmed if I disappear for a few days. It’s all part of the process. Mind what I said about water.”

“Good luck Nori,” Thorin said, a worried frown marring his face. He and Bilbo walked out and into the hall.

“Something’s not right there,” Bilbo said.

“No,” Thorin agreed. “I’m afraid Nori is feeling the effects of Lira’s absence much more than he’d like to admit.

“What can we do for him?” Bilbo asked as they slid into a public hallway from the hidden passage.

Thorin’s lips thinned. “Support him the best we can until she arrives next summer.”

Bilbo groaned. “It’s going to be a long winter, isn’t it?”

Chapter Text

 Chapter 20

“Wolves have started coming down into the lowlands.”

Thorin looked up from the mound of paperwork on his desk. Dwalin leaned casually against his door, both displaying his inability to show respect for Thorin’s office ut also effectively guarding the only obvious entrance to the room. Only a select few knew of the secret passages that ran through the mountain and Nori worked hard to keep it that way.

“Oh?” Thorin asked and went back to the document in front of him, already planning on setting it aside as absurd. Really, did the Iron Hills dwarrow think he was some lackwit that didn’t read the proposals placed before him by his council?

“Aye. They’ve attacked Dale.”

That caught Thorin’s attention. He froze and then set the paper down, leaning back in his chair, resisting to grimace when his spine cracked in protest when it was straightened. “Any casualties?”

“Just the wolves,” Dwalin said. “Apparently the Dragonslayer’s daughter was involved in the attack.”

“Sigrid? Did anything happen to her?”

Dwalin shook his head. “As I said, didn’t hear anything about anyone getting hurt other than the wolves.”

Thorin nodded, scowling down at his desk again without taking in any of the work before him. Finally, he looked back up at Dwalin. “Send a contingent of our soldiers to Dale to help bolster their guards and to help finish repairs to their walls and gates.”

“You expect that stubborn Man to accept our charity?” Dwalin snorted. “He’ll take one look at our soldiers and send them back.”

Thorin rotated one of his rings around his finger a few times, thinking. “Send Fili,” he finally decided. “He could use the diplomacy practice and Bard’s daughter likes him well enough. Maybe he can smooth things over.”

“And he’ll have a chance to see the lass and get that much closer to winning the bet you have with Bilbo.”

“I did not participate in any bet concerning Fili's future spouse. I learned my lesson with making wagers when Bilbo scolded me for winning the bet concerning our sex life,” Thorin said. “I’m just concerned about the safety of our allies and Fili has the best chance of smoothing over our attempts at assisting them.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Dwalin scoffed. “I’ll see it done today.” He opened the door and waved another guard into the room to take his place but this time on the outside of the room.

Thorin didn’t bother to reply but went back to his piles of paperwork.

“Time to go!”

Thorin jerked, his hand hitting his ink well and sending a splattering of drops across one of the documents and onto his sleeve. “Nori!” he admonished.

“Yeah, I know, now move!” Nori hissed and dragged Thorin from his chair and into the secret passage. “Head back to your rooms. Bilbo’s already there. I’ll let you know when the coast is clear.”

Anger flared in Thorin. “Another attack?” he asked.

“That’s what the patterns say,” Nori said and continued nudging Thorin along into the meter squared hole in the wall behind the stone panel. Thorin didn’t resist and climbed into the hole, feeling a bit like a dwarfling as he slid down the smooth stone that dropped him down three levels of the mountain and into the main hidden tunnels in the royal wing, tripping over Nori’s boots at the bottom and almost falling flat on his face at the bottom.

“Keep going,” Nori ordered, sliding down behind him and grabbing his boots off the floor. Their laces were already tied together so he was able to sling them over one shoulder and ignore them. He had a set of his throwing knives in his palms. Thorin didn’t argue and went to his rooms, coming out of the secret passage just inside the receiving room for the royal family, the closest the tunnels went to their private quarters.

“Thorin!” Bilbo threw crashed into him when he walked through their doors. “Are you all right? Nori said you were about to be attacked.”

“I’m fine. He must have made it to me before it could happen.” Thorin pulled Bilbo close, reassuring them both with the close contact. After a moment, he released Bilbo and turned back to the door, sliding the bolt into place, locking the door to any who would enter. They rarely used the bolt, for other security reasons. Dwalin and the other guards always hated it when they couldn’t enter the room, just in case.

They took their places by the fireplace. Thorin pulled his boots off, letting the fire warm his aching foot. The winter promised to be a bad one if his foot already ached this early in the season. Minutes passed in silence as they waited for Nori’s return or word from anyone really.

“This needs to stop,” Bilbo said after about thirty minutes when Thorin was contemplating getting some other paperwork done, writing a few letters that needed to be written.

“Hmm?” he asked, mind already drafting a letter to Bard about the contingent of dwarrow soldiers that would arrive in Dale that afternoon. “The attacks?”

Bilbo nodded. “Yes, and also Nori’s false alarms too. They’re starting to outnumber the actual attempts on my life.”

Thorin nodded, his lips thinning into a grim line. “His paranoia is starting to be detrimental to our work.” He thought of the pile of papers waiting on his desk a few floors above them.

“It’s not just that,” Bilbo said and he stood up, starting to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace. “He’s got me paranoid too. Everywhere I turn I expect to see someone coming at me with a knife or poison darts or something. Every time I see Nori I find myself preparing to either drop to the floor to avoid an attack, draw String to counter an attack, or start running for the safety of the nearest cluster of guards that will whisk me away to our rooms.”

“It’s not paranoia if there’s really someone out to get you,” Thorin reminded Bilbo.

“I know, I know. It’s just frustrating is all.”

Thorin watched Bilbo pace back and forth for a time before finally standing and catching Bilbo around the waist. “We’re safe here,” he reminded Bilbo. “The rooms are heavily guarded by dwarrow that are loyal to me and the servant stairs are still impassible. No one is making it into these rooms without us having ample warning to retreat out the far end of the royal wing.”

Bilbo nodded and leaned against Thorin. “I just don’t understand why they’re still attacking after all this time.”

“We are dwarrow,” Thorin said. “We weather storms and ages like the stone from which Mahal first formed us. As I know we will outlast those that wish you harm, they believe their cause will withstand the hammers of disappointment and failure. We just need to find the weakness in their plots and we will make them crumble.”

“If you say so,” Bilbo said. They stood before the fire until Bilbo drew in a deep breath before releasing it. “Well, that’s enough self-pity for one afternoon, I think. We should find some way to occupy our time for the remainder of our suddenly free afternoon.”

“Agreed,” Thorin said. He swept Bilbo up into his arms, shamelessly taking advantage of his superior height and strength, and carried him to their bedroom to hopefully work off some of their frustrations and pent up energy in more enjoyable pursuits.

~*~*~

“Will Dale and Esgaroth be all right?” Bilbo asked a few days later after Nori gave the all clear from another false alarm. He stood on the battlements, watching the snow fall in thick, wet fluffy pieces the size of acorns. Mercifully, the wind had finally died down after two days of it driving against the mountain. The roads in and out of Erebor were closed. The tops of the battlements were only open for a short time as engineers inspected the wall for ice damage, hanging from ropes and tapping at the walls with small hammers and other tools. Bilbo could only see about five meters down the wall before the snowfall became too thick. He hoped Bofur was keeping warm.

“If they aren’t, they know where to seek shelter,” Thorin said as he searched the area as best he could.

“I suppose,” Bilbo said and leaned against Thorin. “Perhaps we should send aid when the snow lets up a bit. It would be a gesture of good relations to act preemptively to aid our allies instead of waiting for them to come to us.”

“Not that anyone can find their way to the mountain in this – GET DOWN!” Dwalin grabbed Bilbo and Thorin and yanked them behind a pillar and shoved them to the ground. An arrow ricocheted off the stone behind where Bilbo and Thorin stood. Dwalin jumped back to his feet and leaned over the battlement, staring down into the mountain. “Get him!” he roared, pointing to a dwarf swathed in a thick grey cloak and hood. They dropped their bow and took off running into the mountain.

“Are you all right?”  Thorin asked, gripping Bilbo’s arms from where they lay behind the stone parapet.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Bilbo said as he looked at his husband before turning to Dwalin. “Thank you,” he said when Dwalin glanced back at them to make sure they were uninjured. “You saved my life.”

“Don’t get all sappy and beholden on me,” Dwalin growled. “Move! Off the battlements.” He waved a few guards forward and soon Thorin and Bilbo were surrounded.

“You are wearing your mithril shirt every time you leave our rooms from now on,” Thorin told Bilbo.

Bilbo opened his mouth to protest but Dwalin cut him off. “No more of your namby-pamby ways. You rule over dwarrow now. You should be dressing like the royal family anyway and that means armor every time you’re out in public.”

With a sigh, Bilbo nodded. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “I’ll grab it before we head off to that Challenge this afternoon.”

Dwalin cursed. “You’ll have to have someone else guarding you,” he said as they started down the steps off the battlements. “Assuming we’ve caught the bastard that just took a shot at you, I’ll be interrogating them. If we haven’t, I’ll be joining the hunt.” His grin showed all his teeth.

They ducked down a passage that led through the mountain along lesser used avenues, avoiding the general public. While the route was less safe for Bilbo and Thorin, it put less of Erebor’s common population in the line of fire. The last thing Thorin and Bilbo wanted was for an innocent to be hurt while Bilbo was being targeted.

Once in the royal wing, Nori met them. “Well?” he asked, looking at Dwalin.

“Half right,” Dwalin said. “It was an archer, but their shot isn’t near as good as the lad’s.”

“I wondered,” Nori said. “Kili’s probably the best in the mountain next to his One-elf.”

“We are not calling her that,” Thorin growled as he walked into his rooms. He ushered Bilbo into their bedroom with a small nod. Bilbo went willingly, presumably to get his mithril shirt and change into it.

“Would you prefer we refer to her as Kili’s fiancee? Your future niece? Or perhaps we could, I don’t know, call her Tauriel? You know, her name?” Bilbo called from the bedroom. He walked back into the sitting room, buttoning up his shirt over the mithril. “Or is that just too radical for everyone?” he asked.

“You’ve made your point,” Thorin said. “We’d best head to the throne room. Who will be taking your place?” he asked Dwalin.

Dwalin opened the door for them. “Keinget, daughter of Reinget. Fairly new to the guard but shows promise in combat and is loyal to you.”

Thorin nodded. “Can she handle the Challenger?”

Dwalin shrugged. “No idea but Fili can always say he doesn’t accept the gift.”

“I don’t imagine he’ll enjoy doing that,” Bilbo said. “He hates disappointing people.”

“Better he learns how to turn people down now instead of waiting until after he’s crowned king-”

“Which had better be in the distant future.”

“Yes, Ghivashel. -otherewise, people will demand too much from him.”

Dwalin turned away from them. “I’m off. Don’t go anywhere besides the throne room and back to your rooms until I send word.”

Bilbo and Thorin nodded as Dwalin headed off toward the Guardhouse. Nori tagged along behind them, eyes scanning their surroundings.

“So, you knew of the attack?” Thorin asked Nori quietly.

“I warned Dwalin, didn’t I?” Nori asked. “Let him arrest me last night so I could pass on the information. Need to be careful of that or I’ll be labeled a snitch.”

“Did you discover how dwarrow are escaping the prison?” Bilbo asked.

Nori shrugged. “I couldn’t find any secret passages but that doesn’t mean much. Could be the door only opens from the other side. Could be they escape in ways similar to me. Hard to tell when the lights all get doused at the same time.”

“Take a light with you next time,” Thorin ordered.

“Already have one stashed on me,” Nori said. “Cost me a pretty copper too.”

Thorin snorted. “You’ll be reimbursed,” he promised, “not that you need it.”

“I know,” Nori said with a grin. “I just like pointing it out. Besides, I’ve got to figure out how that Lobelia Halfling figured out the secret passages in Erebor without ever setting foot outside the Shire.” He ducked down a side hallway as Bilbo and Thorin approached the throne room.

“He’s completely off his rocker, isn’t he?” Bilbo asked.

“Entirely,” Thorin agreed. “I’m tempted to send word to Lira to have her start her way her as soon as the snows start to let up in the slightest or see if she can convince the Eagles of Manwë to give her a lift here.”

Bilbo nodded and they walked into the throne room, taking their places alongside Dis and Balin who already waited with a number of guards, including the one taking Dwalin’s place as Thorin’s personal guard, not moments before the rooms along the main catwalk to the throne opened.

“Where is Fili?” Dis hissed.

Thorin shook his head minutely and turned to greet the entourage approaching them. He was just about to make an excuse for Fili when he and Kili entered looking slightly disheveled like they’d just come from the training grounds and had done the bare minimum to make themselves presentable.

“Please excuse our tardiness, Your Majesty,” Fili said. “We were asked to assist with the capture of a dangerous criminal.”

Thorin nodded, wondering if they’d been in the assassin’s path and had helped the guards. Seamlessly, Balin stepped forward to smooth ruffled egos with Bilbo’s help.

Thorin waited for his part in the proceedings until the end of the Challenge was issued and he affirmed the Challenger’s intent before letting the fight commence.

Keinget did show promise for all she was young for a guard but the Challenger was of noble birth and had trained with the sword since she was little more than a pebble. Keinget, who’d spent her youth in the slums of Ered Luin and had only recently started weapons training, did not stand a chance against a classically trained swordsdam with well over seventy years of experience. She lost the fight after a good twenty minutes, her sword knocked from her grasp and a blow slammed to the side of her head, knocking her unconscious.

“I have a gift for the crown prince,” Yvoznre, daughter of Beiwilre said and retrieved a box from one of her staff. She handed it to Balin who opened it and searched its contents for anything nefarious before handing it off to Fili. The slight frown mostly hidden by his beard gave Thorin hope. Something was not right about the gift.

Fili opened the box and pulled out a golden crown studded with sapphires and diamonds. He turned it this way and that as Thorin watched. Finally, Fili set it back in the box and tossed it to the ground. “I don’t accept,” he said. “The workmanship is poor, the gems are low quality, the gold is impure, and the gift is thoughtless. What need have I of another crown and one created with such obvious little devotion?” He looked over at Thorin. “We’re done here,” he said and turned on his heal, leaving the throne room without another word.

The royal family followed the Crown Prince without further comment.

~*~*~

Tea with Kili a few days later took an interesting turn when Fili joined them, leaning his cane against his chair once Bilbo greeted him happily. They chatted about nothing in particular as they dined on small sandwiches, scones, and jaffa cakes and drank rooibos tea. When Kili dipped his jaffa cake in his tea, Bilbo scolded him, as only Brandybucks ever did something so tasteless. Fili laughed when Kili just dunked his cake in his tea the moment Bilbo wasn’t looking.

“All right,” Bilbo said once the majority of their tea was gone. “Not that I don’t enjoy having you both here, but what is it?”

“We were wondering,” Kili started and glanced at his brother.

“If you’d put a word in with Uncle Thorin,” Fili finished.

Bilbo’s eyebrow rose. “Regarding what, pray tell?”

“Letting us go to Dale for one day during Yule,” Kili said as he eyed the last scone.

Resisting the urge to sigh, Bilbo set his teacup aside. “If I understand this right, Yule is a week-long celebration for families and friends, isn’t it?”

“We’d be spending time with friends,” Kili said and reached for the last scone only for Fili to snatch it up before him. “Lady Sigrid invited us to join them for the holiday.”

“She actually invited the entire family,” Fili put in and bit into the scone. He tucked the bite into his cheek and added, “We just know that Uncle Thorin will insist on there being some of the royal family here for all of Yule.”

“It would help show solidarity between our kingdoms,” Kili added and snatched up the last jaffa cake before Fili could steal it from the plate.

Claiming the last sandwich before his gluttonous nephews, and cast a skeptical eye at the two. “This is the first time Erebor will properly celebrate Yule,” he reminded them.

“And it’s the first time Dale will celebrate their Midwinter Festival,” Fili countered.

“Be that as it may, I don’t know as Thorin will be thrilled with the idea, especially sending the two of you to Dale on your own for one of their holidays.”

“We’ll ask Mum and Tauriel to go too,” Kili offered and dodged the kick Fili tried to deliver under the table. “Make it a proper diplomatic effort. Please, Uncle Bilbo?”

“Please?” Fili added. The two princes leaned forward in their seats, giving Bilbo the most pitiful looks they could muster.

Sighing, Bilbo picked up his tea again. “Get your mother to agree first and then I’ll talk to Thorin,” he told them. “I can see you won’t leave me alone until I at least make an attempt.”

Fili and Kili exchanged huge grins before jumping to their feet and attaching themselves to either of Bilbo’s sides, thanking him profusely.

“All right, all right. That’s enough,” Bilbo finally said after a moment and gave them each a gentle shove so he could get some personal space. They stepped back after planting a kiss to each of his cheeks. “Go and ask your mother,” Bilbo ordered once he’d straightened his waistcoat with a harrumph.

“Thanks again, Uncle Bilbo,” Fili said as they left the room, excitement in each of their motions.

Bilbo shook his head fondly as they left. He gathered up the remainders of the tea service and set it back on the trays before sending for someone to retrieve it and take it back to the kitchens.

Once alone again, he went out to the greenhouse to inspect his plants, taking time to enjoy the flowers and what little sunshine made it through the overcast skies beyond the glass. He settled himself on a bench near the glass walls and stared at the greenery around him, a feeling of contentment rising as he did. He couldn’t imagine how he managed to survive the first winter with no greenery or sunlight. Hobbits were made to be in the sun, even in the dead of winter after all.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Bilbo jumped and looked towards the doorway. Thorin walked in, taking his furred surcoat off as he did. While the room wasn’t sweltering the humidity tended to leave Thorin uncomfortable when wearing his heavier surcoats.

“I just thought I’d enjoy what sunlight I could before duties called me into the mountain again.”

Thorin took the seat next to Bilbo. “You’ve done quite a lot in here,” he remarked as he looked around. “Do you still enjoy it?”

Bilbo smiled. “Very much,” he said and let his eyes follow the paths amongst the flowers again, taking in the alstroemeria, daisies, lilies, and many other plants. “This garden has been a welcome retreat on my more difficult days.”

“Was today difficult?” Thorin asked with a frown. “Has someone said or done something to make you unhappy? Have I?”

“I still struggle with physical affection at times,” Bilbo admitted, leaning forward so he could prop his elbow on his thigh and his chin in his hand. “Fili and Kili joined me for tea,” he admitted when Thorin gave him a questioning look. “They asked me a favor which I’ll need to talk to you about in a minute. I agreed to do it for them and they both decided that I deserved a hug. It made my skin crawl.”

“I’ll speak to them,” Thorin promised.

“No,” Bilbo said, catching Thorin’s arm before he could make good on his words. Bilbo urged him to sit again. “I’m doing better, really I am and I want to be comfortable to let them hug me. But some days I still can’t keep my initial instincts and reactions out of the Shire.”

“Explain,” Thorin said, settling into his seat.

Bilbo stood, nervous energy propelling him into pacing, his hands at his waistcoat pockets, fingers tucked inside and fiddling with the contents. He didn’t speak for some time, gathering his thoughts and trying to decide how to word what he wanted to say so he didn’t cause a misunderstanding due to the differences in their cultures. “Hobbits don’t show affection,” he finally settled on. “Not outside of close family and even then it’s rare, especially after a hobbit reaches their tweens.”

“So it bothers you when the boys hug you?”

“Not just the boys,” Bilbo admitted. “Anyone.”

“I’ve made you uncomfortable?”

“Please don’t take it personally,” Bilbo pleaded, coming over to Thorin and carefully taking his hands. “It’s not every time I’m touched either, not anymore. Some days are just harder than others.”

Thorin held still, carefully not exerting pressure on Bilbo’s hands so he could pull away at any moment he chose. “What makes a day difficult?”

Bilbo shrugged and let go of Thorin’s hands, returning to his pacing once again. “The phase of the moon? The direction of the wind? The number of blueberries in my scone in the morning? I really have no clue. Some days I just can’t seem to escape the Shire.” He took his place back on the bench and gingerly leaned against Thorin for a moment before straightening again. “I’m trying,” he said sadly.

Thorin turned towards Bilbo. “May I?” he asked, lifting an arm to wrap around Bilbo’s shoulders. “I won’t be offended if you say ‘no’ Ghivashel.” After a moment of hesitation, Bilbo shook his head and Thorin let the arm fall back to his side. “I can’t say that I completely understand. Dwarrow are tactile, as you know. We sleep in large groups as dwarflings. Some continue even into adulthood. You’ve seen the Company pile together.”

“I thought it was for warmth, not out of any desire for closeness,” Bilbo admitted, thinking back to the groupings he’d seen as they’d traveled, how Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur practically slept on top of each other, how Ori was always draped across Dori and Nori always had his legs thrown over the both of them, how Fili and Kili clung to each other and occasionally Thorin, Dwalin, or Balin. Even Oin and Gloin had often slept back to back. When the weather was really bad, the entire group had seemed to not care about personal space.

Thorin nodded. “That was part of it, but the act of sleeping in groups is natural. Touching is natural, especially amongst those we trust.”

“I had my own bed from the day I was born,” Bilbo said. “Couples share beds in the Shire but it's also not uncommon for them not too, especially as they get to the point where they don’t want more fauntlings.”

“How different,” Thorin murmured, trying to wrap his head around the idea of not sleeping with Bilbo at his side every night. His life as a prince had meant he’d had his own room and his own bed before Erebor fell but Frerin and Dis often climbed in with him or he with them.

“Hobbits just don’t touch if they can help it,” Bilbo said. “Anything more than a handshake in public is considered a scandal amongst acquaintances and only new couples hold hands.”

“That sounds so very lonely,” Thorin said as he fished out his pipe, looking for something to occupy his hands so they wouldn’t feel the need to stray to Bilbo.

“It is what it is,” Bilbo said and pulled his own pipe out as well. Soon they had smoke trailing up toward the glass in little puffs and smoke rings.

“You must tell me when you are uncomfortable with touch,” Thorin said. “I do not wish to cause you any distress.”

“How?” he asked. “It seems odd to tell you not to hug me.”

“Just say that you are having a Shire day. I’ll understand and inform the others so they know to leave you alone as well.”

“Thank you Thorin,” Bilbo said and settled more comfortably on the bench.

“You said Fili and Kili asked you for a favor?” Thorin prompted sometime later once their nerves had settled sufficiently from the tense topic.

“It’s about Yule,” Bilbo said and told him about Sigrid’s invitation.

Thorin smiled. “Here I thought you wouldn’t allow it.”

“And why wouldn’t I?” Bilbo asked.

Thorin tapped his pipe out onto the stone beneath the bench. “Yule is often a time for lovers,” he said. “I would think you would want to keep Fili away from Sigrid so you don’t lose your bet with Nori.”

Bilbo sighed. “I’ve given up,” he admitted. “Even if I did say they couldn’t go, Nori would find some way for them to communicate or be together at some point. I’ll just have to put up with his cheating. Besides, if Sigrid is who Fili wants, who am I to say no?”

Resisting the urge to lean over and kiss Bilbo, Thorin tucked his pipe away after making sure there were no more embers inside the bowl. “Rightly so,” he said. “Sigrid may be a kindred spirit for you though. I know Daughters of Men have certain rules they must follow in order to preserve some sort of reputation. Perhaps some of those rules are similar to those of hobbits.”

“Perhaps,” Bilbo said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 21

Twelve days of celebrating seemed a bit excessive to Bilbo. Hobbits liked a good party as much as the next person, but even they had their limits. For them, Yule lasted a week and even that seemed a bit much at times, especially when dealing with unwanted relatives that propriety demanded they be invited to at least one dinner for the holiday. Not that anyone came immediately to Bilbo’s mind. No. Nope. Lobelia had absolutely nothing to do with the irritation he’d suffered last Yule. Never mind that she’d invited herself over three times and tried to steal his silver spoons. When she wasn’t even married to Otho yet. Barely betrothed to him actually. No. No one. At all.

But that wasn’t the point! Twelve days was a lot of partying.

And dwarrow knew how to throw a good party.

Of course, he’d had a hand in most of the preparations, with Dis’s help of course. All the ceremonial candle lighting hoopla had gone without a hitch. The decorations were fantastic. Bombur and the kitchen staff had more than outdone themselves. The musicians sounded perfect. The dancers performed beautifully. Everything went off without a single problem whatsoever. It was perfect, even by Baggins’ standards.

And really, if he was being truly honest with himself, twelve days of celebrations really wasn’t that bad. With so many relatives and so many weddings and birthdays and other so-called special occasions in the Shire, Bilbo used to attend parties on an almost nightly basis, especially right after he’d reached his majority and the lasses had yet to realize that Bilbo had no desire to marry any of them and thoroughly enjoyed life as a bachelor in the large, lovely smial at the top of the hill.

No, the problem came with just how tactile dwarrow were. And apparently, Yule brought the worst out in them. Each night was a new feast, a new party, a new dance to learn, and new experiences for Bilbo.

The first night, Thorin pulled him aside before they left their rooms, stepping out of Dori’s earshot as he gathered up the tools he’d used to make final adjustments to their clothing before the festivities.

“You should be aware of what will be expected,” Thorin said, his hand on Bilbo’s elbow as he leaned close and spoke lowly to him.

“What do you mean?” Bilbo asked, a sense of dread filling him. Had he missed something? Was there yet another dwarrow secret he hadn’t been told about?

“Yule is not just a celebration for families in dwarrow culture,” Thorin told him. “It is also a time where we honor and publicly exult in our personal relationships.”

“Meaning?” Bilbo asked, drawing out the word as that feeling of dread intensified.

“Meaning that it is expected that all couples, especially those that are married, will be quite happy to display their affections.”

Bilbo’s eyebrows came together. “What exactly do you mean, ‘display their affections’?”

“It means there’s going to be a lot of snogging going on in public,” Dwalin drawled from the doorway. “Get a move on. You’ll be late and I don’t need my brother blaming me.”

Bilbo looked up at Thorin with wide eyes. “We’re expected to be physical with each other in public?” he demanded.

Thorin frowned. “We will not do anything improper,” he said, taking Bilbo’s hands before the hobbit could grab at his neatly ordered curls. “You may always say no to any advances.”

“But if I do people will think there is something wrong with our relationship,” Bilbo guessed.

“Yes, that is probably true but-”

“Gossip about the state of our marriage is not something we can afford when there’s already someone out there trying to kill me for being your husband!" Bilbo took a deep breath, straightening his already immaculate waistcoat. "I’ll manage somehow.”

Thorin leaned in and kissed Bilbo tenderly. “If it gets to be too much, squeeze my hand three times and we can leave under the pretense of finding somewhere more private to enjoy one another.”

“I don’t know as that’s any better,” Bilbo muttered, a blush staining his cheeks as they headed out the door.

“Better for public image though,” Nori said cheerfully as he appeared in the hallway. And how did he know what they were talking about? “In fact, maybe you should find a semi-private little alcove in the Hall of Kings. I happen to know a few myse-”

“Have any you news?” Thorin asked, cutting the spymaster off.

“Nothing much, really,” Nori said. “Nothing that can’t wait. No chatter about attempts tonight, or any night during Yule really, but still stay alert. I haven’t been on my best game lately.” He frowned and then shook himself. “Just checking to see if you’d gotten any more correspondence from the Shire.”

“Not yet, I’m afraid,” Bilbo said. “I only sent my reply to Lobelia and the others a week or so ago. Carc won’t make it to the Shire for a while yet, especially with how bad the weather’s been.”

“True, true,” Nori said, nodding. “I’ll be off then.” He ducked into an empty room and didn’t walk back out.

“He knows more ways around this mountain than anyone and he didn’t even grow up here,” Thorin remarked.

“Right pain about it too,” Dwalin grumbled.

“Evaded you again when you were trying to arrest him recently, I take it?” Thorin asked mildly as they left the royal wing. Four guards peeled away from the wall to follow them to the Hall of Kings.

Dwalin grumbled something under his breath but didn’t bother to respond otherwise.

They met Dis and the rest of the Company and their families just outside the Hall and greeted each other warmly before Thorin signaled for them all to enter.

The golden floor of the great hall was completely covered by dwarrow feet. Massive chandeliers hung from the ceiling and the tapestries around the hall had been cleaned, repaired, or replaced. Almost every dwarf in the mountain was in attendance. Tables lined the hall, loaded with food and drink. They’d be removed later to make room for dancing. Entertainers, jugglers, dancers, and musicians were dispersed throughout the room as well. Dwarrow turned toward the table at one end of the room in waves when word spread that the royal family and the Company had entered.

Thorin spoke briefly, and, though his understanding of the language had increased dramatically, Bilbo still struggled a bit to translate everything said. Overall, he understood the messages of peace, hope, healing, and prosperity for the people of Erebor as well as the strength, temerity, and perseverance of Mahal’s children.

Eyes stayed fixed on Thorin as he spoke and Bilbo continued to study the crowds. He recognized the look almost everyone wore. He’d worn it on occasion himself as he’d gazed at the dwarf king beside him. He remembered the feeling of pride in Thorin even as it burned anew inside himself. The fierce sense of loyalty and courage that had inspired brave and, admittedly, sometimes reckless acts (they tended to try to avoid mentioning that time Bilbo had thrown himself at an orc to save Thorin when he hadn’t any training with his little letter opener on top of a burning cliff).

Taking in the crowds of dwarrow around them, Bilbo noted that not all were as solemn and proud as others. He smiled to see small dwarflings sneaking around their parents’ legs and under tables, tugging at arms to try to get attention so they could complain of being bored or hungry, turning to run away from a parent that wanted them to please behave and listen, that’s our king.

Shortly, Thorin finished his speech and a great cheer sounded throughout the room and then there was a scraping of benches as every dwarf in the room hastily took a seat so they could enjoy the feast. Even those meant to entertain that evening took some time to eat before they headed to their places.

“It will be different next year,” Thorin remarked as he leaned back in his chair. A roll stuffed with bits of sausage and cheese flew passed his face and Nori reached out to grab it, laughing at Ori’s indignation, trying to steal it back.

“Hmm? How so?” Bilbo asked after swallowing his bite of garlic buttered red potatoes. What he wouldn’t do for a fresh salad, but that was living with dwarrow. He’d just have to grow his own lettuce in the spring or perhaps consider finding a spot in his greenhouse for it.

“The final caravan arrives this coming summer. It will be far larger than the two that have already arrived.”

Bilbo looked out at the veritable sea of dwarrow. “How many more?” he asked. He knew Erebor was huge. It was the Kingdom Under the Mountain, not just a simple city. Still, the population already outnumbered Dale’s four-to-one. How many more could arrive?

“All that has arrived so far are those that can aid in restoring the Mountain and most of their families. Stonemasons, carvers, cooks and the like. The bulk of our people have yet to make the journey. Our numbers will at least double before all have arrived.”

“Different indeed,” Bilbo said. “We won’t be able to fit everyone here in the Hall of Kings. Are there any other larger rooms in the Mountain?”

Thorin raised an eyebrow at Bilbo.

“One not currently filled with treasure, I mean. I don’t think we could move it all out in time to hold a party in the treasury in five years, let alone one.”

Laughing, Thorin leaned over and kissed Bilbo firmly on the lips. “Ghivashel, not everyone is going to expect to feast every night in the Hall in the presence of their King. Most will feast with their families or in their guild halls or with friends. Next year we’ll be able to hold smaller celebrations.”

“I see,” Bilbo said as he resisted the urge to hide his surely bright red face in his napkin.

“Bilbo?”

“It’s nothing,” he said and turned back to his food.

“It’s clearly not,” Thorin said. “You’re as red as your prized tomatoes. What’s the matter?”

Bilbo’s nose twitched and he cursed himself silently for not controlling the tic, especially when Thorin’s eyebrows rose expectantly. “I’m still not used to being kissed in public,” he admitted quietly, being careful to not move his lips too much as Nori had once taught him, to avoid people reading what he said on them. “I’m getting better but almost everyone in the Mountain is here. I’m still not the best at public displays of affection.”

Thorin leaned in close to Bilbo’s ear and whispered, “Look around you.”

Bilbo did as he was told and saw a fair amount of dwarrow exchanging kisses, a few in a way that would be considered quite indecent in the Shire, even if they had been different genders. As it was, most pairs consisted of males, including the pair that was- “Oh my,” Bilbo breathed, his face heating again as he quickly averted his eyes away from the pair only for him to see another group wrapped around each other except this time there were two dwarrow kissing a third.

“See?” Thorin asked, unaware of Bilbo’s sudden surprise at the trio. “We are all wrapped up in ourselves we don’t have time to notice others that are enjoying each other.”

“But there are dwarflings present,” Bilbo hissed.

“If anyone gets out of hand, they will be stopped and asked to act more discreetly around the little ones or to leave for somewhere more private. As it is, shouldn’t our young ones learn how love should appear in all forms as long as the relationships are healthy and consenting?”

Bilbo swallowed. “It’s so different,” he said, finding the courage to look back up at the tables. Not everyone was wrapped in a romantic embrace, obviously, but for those that were, though some were very close and hands wandered a little, nothing too untoward was happening, he decided. Even the trio seemed content with limiting their touches to hands, faces, or necks. His gaze shifted to a pair of dwarrow, shyly holding hands and staring besottedly at each other. As he watched, she leaned in and kissed him quickly on his bearded cheek before turning away, a bright blush rising behind her own impressive mustache and beard. “But it does seem nice. I wonder how different my life would have been if I’d been allowed to see any form of romance beyond that of seeing the occasional kiss shared between my parents.” He looked up at Thorin.

“How different indeed,” Thorin said, one corner of his lips tugging up into a half smile.

Gathering his courage, Bilbo leaned in and kissed that corner of Thorin’s mouth, placing his hand on Thorin’s cheek as he did so. The Mountain didn’t come crashing down on them. No dragon descended to scatter the dwarrow again. The earth didn’t open up and swallow them whole. Yavanna didn’t appear to smite him down in anger. Just like the other times Thorin had kissed him. Somehow it was liberating to be able to kiss his husband wherever he wanted as long as they didn’t get carried away.

“That little alcove I was telling you about is right over-”

Bilbo didn’t even look away from a smiling Thorin as he picked up a spoon and threw it at Nori’s head, hitting him squarely on the side of the nose. Bilbo ignored the laughter around them and leaned up to kiss Thorin again. They ignored the catcalls directed at them from down the table, even as Bilbo’s ears tinted red in embarrassment.

~*~*~

The fourth day of Yule brought snow back to the area. Fili, Kili, Tauriel, and Dis all joined Thorin and Bilbo for a quiet day before celebrations started publicly that afternoon.

As they dressed for the party that evening, Thorin heard Bilbo sigh. Glancing up from where he was buckling his belt, thinking Bilbo was enjoying the fine fabrics of his new clothes, Thorin frowned to find Bilbo looking rather morose.

“Bilbo?” he asked, straightening. “Is something wrong?”

Bilbo startled and looked up. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he said and Thorin raised an eyebrow at him, not believing him for a second. Bilbo heaved a second sigh. “I guess I’m just feeling a bit homesick for the Shire,” he admitted and hurriedly added, “not that I don’t love Erebor and being here with you. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. There are just… things, I guess. Traditions that I miss.”

Thorin settled onto the chest at the foot of their bed and pulled Bilbo over to him. “Such as?” he asked and tugged until Bilbo sat next to him.

Bilbo glanced around the room. “We celebrate Yule too,” he said, “just in different ways. Everything is so green in the Shire, even in the dead of winter. We have holly and evergreens and mistletoe to decorate our smials. We have Yule logs and food all the time. And the Yule tree with all the decorations. It was something I did every year with my parents and then, after their passing, I would invite some of my cousins over to celebrate or I would go to one of their homes.”

“I see,” Thorin said, remembering the book Ori had found so long ago that had detailed some of hobbit life, including their Yule traditions. “Would you like to do some of those things here?”

Bilbo shrugged. “It’s a bit late now to be cutting holly and evergreens and mistletoe,” he said. “I’ll be alright this year.” He leaned against Thorin for a moment before giving himself a shake and standing. “Come on, we’ll be late and I don’t dare think about what all these dwarrow will do if the feast doesn’t start when expected.”

~*~*~

Three days later, after the feast tables had been moved aside and the dancing started, Bilbo stood with Thorin, Fili, Dwalin, and Kili, watching the dancing as they took a break. The two princes draped themselves over Bilbo's shoulders happily ignoring his irritated glare at their overly tactile nature.

“You should have seen him, Uncle,” Kili laughed as they watched Nori and Dis dance around each other, laughing widely. “He pulled Lady Sigrid into the dancing and had taught her our steps within the first few bars. Smitten he is!”

Fili whacked Kili with his cane good-naturedly around Bilbo's back. “She was a quick learner and at least I managed to dance with more than one girl the entire night.”

“Why should I dance with anyone else?” Kili asked as he looked up at Tauriel. “I already have the best partner.”

“Don’t let Nori hear you say that,” Thorin said as he pried Kili off Bilbo and wrapped an arm around his husband. “He’ll take you to task for insulting Lira.”

Kili opened his mouth to protest, thought for a moment and then turned to Tauriel again. “I’m sorry my love, but he’s right. Lira really is the best at dwarrow dances.”

“Then I can’t wait to meet her,” Tauriel said with a smile. “It will be a treat to observe a true Master of the craft.”

“Nori’s not bad himself, is he?” Bilbo asked as he watched the spymaster with Dis as they whirled in a stomping, high-stepping, leaping dance.

Dwalin snorted. “That thief’s got more skills than he knows what to do with. He could be a Master in so many crafts and he throws it all away.”

“Quit your grumping, Brother,” Balin scolded as the song ended. “Go. Dance. No one’s going to try to harm our Consort tonight.”

Still grumbling, Dwalin stood and snagged Dis’ hand before she could return to her chair. He ignored the smirk Nori sent his way as Dwalin led Dis back onto the dancefloor.

“Did I hear someone insulting my lovely Lira?” Nori asked with a wide grin that was all teeth and slightly crazed eyes and suddenly he was flipping a dagger across his knuckles as if it were a coin.

Kili’s mouth dropped open slightly before he turned and grabbed Tauriel’s hands. “I think we should dance,” he said quickly. Laughing, Tauriel followed him amongst the dancers and far enough away from the group that they disappeared, even with Tauriel towering over everyone there.

“Go with them,” Thorin told Fili before they were completely out of sight. “Make sure they don’t get into too much trouble.”

Groaning, Fili straightened before leaning against his cane heavily. “On it,” he said. “It’ll give me an excuse to not dance anymore. Perhaps I overdid it in Dale.” He limped away after his brother and the elf.

The dancing continued for hours, the few members of the Dancer’s Guild that were present performed early on so dwarflings could watch before they were taken home to bed. Those dwarrow that remained danced for hours. Finally, Bilbo and Thorin left for their rooms close to dawn.

“I’m so tired,” Bilbo said on the tail-end of a yawn. He paused midstretch when he took in the room. An evergreen tree stood in the center of the room with berries strung along its branches as well as small tokens Bilbo recognized as ones often included on the yule tree – pinecones, apples, and small bundles of nuts and dried herbs, little sticks of cinnamon bundled with green, white, red, gold, and silver ribbons. He also found the flash of bright gems and small carved figurines of doves and ravens. Someone had raided his greenhouse and placed flowers amongst the branches. Evergreens hung along the walls and over the mantel. A wreath of it hung on their door with sprigs of holly interspersed. More bunches of holly were arranged amongst the pines around the doorways and on the mantel and mistletoe hung in the doors. A quick dash into their bedroom showed the same decorations with the addition of mistletoe over the headboard. Everything was strung up with white, green, red, gold, and silver ribbons braided in familiar patterns and woven amongst the greenery.

“When – how did you – Thorin!” Bilbo returned to the sitting room where Thorin stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “How did you manage all this?” he asked, still staring around them, trying to take everything in.

Thorin looked around the room. “It seems there is more than one benefit in accepting my nephew’s elf as she can retrieve such supplies in the middle of a snowstorm without too much difficulty.”

Bilbo stretched up onto his toes and kissed Thorin soundly, pulling the dwarf down closer to his height by gripping the collar of his surcoat and pulling.

“I take it you like it?” Thorin asked when they parted some moments later.

Releasing Thorin’s coat and smoothing out the wrinkles briskly, Bilbo smiled and cleared his throat, unable to meet Thorin’s eyes for a moment. “Yes, well,” he rocked back onto his heels. “I suppose it will do. How did you know what hobbits do for Yule? I don’t remember telling you all the details.”

“Have you forgotten the book Ori found that detailed hobbit culture?”

“Oh, right,” Bilbo said. “That one. It did detail Yule traditions, didn’t it?”

“Yes,” Thorin said. “We share some traditions, such as the Yule log which we will light the last night of Yule and, of course, all the feasting. Did we remember everything? We couldn’t find the book again for some reason. Ori suspects it was just shelved incorrectly.”

Bilbo nodded. “It’s wonderful, Thorin. Thank you.”

Pressing a kiss to Bilbo’s hair, Thorin looked around the room as well. “I hope you know we will do what we can to make Erebor feel like home to you as well. You just need to tell us if there is something you would like.”

"I'll be sure to let you know," Bilbo said, taking Thorin's hand and dragging him to their bedroom, impatient to show him how much he appreciated his efforts to make him feel at home.

~*~*~

When Yule finally ended, the mountain returned to a state of constant activity as everyone went back to work trying to finish repairs before the last caravan was meant to arrive in the middle or late summer, depending on the weather.

First on Thorin’s list of duties was to check with Nori. He found the thief turned spymaster in the little office he’d claimed, pouring over a book, his fingers running along the pages. Occasionally, he’d stop, turn the page back to the previous, write something down, and go back to reading the page his fingers were on.

“Any news?” Thorin asked.

Nori looked up, hands still tucked in the book. “Working on deciphering code from L now.” He looked back to the book. “And I hate this code. Why do we use it?”

“And what code would that be?” Thorin asked, looking at the book. It appeared to be a history of battles from the start of the Second Age.

“Not something you need to know,” Nori said as he turned the page back again, wrote something down in some strange symbols Thorin didn’t recognize, and turned back. “Just know that it’s as fiddly as your husband’s tea services.”

Thorin winced. “You’re right. I don’t need to know. I don’t want to know.”

“Good,” Nori said and reached the bottom of the page. He looked at the symbols he’d written down. He cursed. “Missed something in there,” he grumbled and flipped back a few pages. He paused before he started reading again. “There was one thing,” he said.

“Oh?”

“Seems there’s a rumor roaming around that your dear consort isn’t all that natural as he should be, being respectable and all that.”

Thorin’s eyebrows drew together. “Meaning?”

“Word around the ale barrel is that his family has fairy blood in it. If I didn’t already know better, I’d consider believing it myself,” he said and a mischievous smirk crossed his face, “what with how easy it is for him to disappear into thin air, evade elves for months in their own home, keep thirteen dwarrow alive as they crossed the wilds, and outwit a dragon. Stands to reason there’d be something unnatural about him. Might be unlucky for someone to harm him.”

Thorin nodded. “I see. Yes, well, it’d be a shame if such rumors were to continue to spread. Take care of that, will you?”

“Do my best,” Nori said. “Now out, Your Majestic Broodiness. I’ve work to do.”

“You’re lucky you’re the best at what you do and that I’d have to replace you,” Thorin muttered.

Nori didn’t even bother to respond, just flapped a hand in Thorin’s direction before returning to his book and the code it contained.

~*~*~

With the early spring thaw, trading caravans returned to Erebor. On a particularly nice day in early spring, Fili came barging into Bilbo’s greenhouse without knocking. Looking up to scold him, Bilbo stopped before he made any noise, taking in the massive grin on Fili’s face as he lifted both hands and spun around.

“No cane,” Bilbo said, a grin slowly overtaking his face. “Oin has finally given you permission to not carry it anymore?”

Fili's smile grew as he danced a small jig. “Says there’s nothing more to heal. It’ll still ache in the bad weather but I can run and fight and everything without worrying about damaging it again.”

“Good for you Fili!” Bilbo said, climbing to his feet. “We should celebrate. Just the Company, their families, and your mum, of course. I’ll talk to Thorin about it.”

“It’s not that big of a deal-”

“Oh, posh!” Bilbo said. “Nonsense! We're celebrating. You’ve been recovering from your fall for over, what, two years now? I think we deserve a chance to acknowledge the end of the physical signs of The Battle on our persons. Now, off you go. I have a party to plan.”

“Yes, Uncle Bilbo,” Fili said and practically skipped out of the room, whistling brightly.

Chapter Text

Chapter 22

News of Fili’s physical recovery spread through the Company quickly. Bilbo planned a quick party and had everything organized by that evening. It really was rather simple in retrospect. All he had to do was say the word “party” around Bombur and Bofur after sharing Fili’s news and suddenly everything was being done. Mostly, food and a few kegs of ale were brought up to the royal wing into the large reception room. The table was set for a grand feast that evening and soon everyone was filing in.

“I saw that,” Thorin murmured in Bilbo’s ear, coming to stand next to him and pressing close while wrapping an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders.

“I wasn’t trying to be sneaky,” Bilbo replied as he licked a deep purple sauce off his fingers. His brow furrowed. “That’s a different flavor. I’ll have to ask Bombur what it is. I don’t recognize the taste.”

“And here I thought desserts were to be saved for last,” Thorin said with a smile.

“Life is short,” Bilbo reminded him. “It seems silly to wait until after a meal to eat dessert when we are celebrating the final recovery of a battle that reminded us all of that fact a little too much.”

“You make a good point,” Thorin said and he reached over to his own place setting where a small pile of vanilla bean crème patissiere filled profiteroles drizzled in a purple sauce waited for him to eat. He selected one and ate it in one bite. “Blackberries,” he said with the bite tucked into his cheek. “Tastes like blackberry to me.”

“Are you sure?” Bilbo asked, looking back at his own pile of profiteroles and ignoring Thorin's bad manners. “It didn’t quite taste like that. A bit too sweet for my taste really.”

“Perhaps yours came from a different batch that had too much sugar added,” Thorin said.

“Possibly,” Bilbo said.

“There he is! Took you long enough!” Kili called as the door opened and closed.

Bilbo and Thorin looked over and saw Fili walk in, an old swagger back in his steps. Bilbo could only remember seeing that particular confident stride back when Fili had walked into his smial back in the Shire. The grin Fili wore, was a bit wider now than then but there was a strained feel to it around Fili’s eyes.

Everyone greeted Fili warmly. Tankards of ale and fruit juices (for Bombur’s dwarflings and young Gimli, much to his displeasure) were passed around and slowly everyone made their way to the table.

“A toast,” Thorin declared, staying on his feet before everyone could start eating, “to success beyond all our imaginations. Smaug is dead, the mountain reclaimed, and we all survived without losing a single limb.”

“Axes not included!” Bifur called.

A great cheer went through the group and they lifted their tankards in salute before quaffing them.

Thorin took his seat and everyone started eating. Rolls flew across the table. Plates of roasted meets, dishes of sautéed vegetables (mostly things like onions and mushrooms), tureens of a thick beef stew, and slabs of a chicken pie were passed around. Drinks flowed generously and stories of the journey were told once again. And nothing was embellished. Not a single thing. They would never do a thing like that.

Bilbo enjoyed the rest of his profiteroles through the dinner but didn’t bother trying to wipe up all the sauce as he normally would. He didn’t fancy the too sweet flavor but he did enjoy the pastries themselves. He noticed Thorin had eaten all of his as well. For some reason, Fili and Kili seemed to take this as permission to start with their desserts as well but were stopped when their mother noticed and smacked their hands almost absently as she laughed at Balin’s description of Dwalin’s protests when the goblin king’s body had landed on them. The two princes looked a bit petulant for a minute before shrugging and digging into the rest of their dinner with gusto.

“Your Highness?” Tauriel asked him quietly sometime later. “Are you well? You seem a bit flushed.”

“Do I?” Bilbo asked and took another sip from his tankard. His mouth felt so dry and his head was starting to ache. “It feels a bit warm in here, doesn’t it?” Which was odd because Bilbo was almost always cold in the mountain.

“Seems perfectly all right to me,” Thorin said. “Are you sure you’re well?”

Bilbo looked over at Thorin and blinked as he seemed to fall out of focus slightly. Bilbo shook his head to clear it and almost tipped out of his chair before he managed to grab the edge of the table. “What was that?” he asked. “What were we talking about?”

Thorin leaned closer to Bilbo, studying his face, concern furrowing his brow. “I think we should get you to bed,” Thorin said. “You don’t look well.”

“Perhaps that’s best,” Bilbo said around a tongue that didn’t seem to want to cooperate and his mouth felt dry again. Why? He'd just had a drink. Hadn't he? He let Thorin pull him up from his seat and guide him towards the door.

“Oin?” Thorin said quietly, touching the healer’s shoulder as they passed. “Would you come look over Bilbo? He seems a bit unwell.”

Oin looked up and nodded. The three left the room and went to Thorin and Bilbo’s rooms.

“I’m fine,” Bilbo slurred. “You should go back to the party or Fili will get upset.”

“Fili will understand,” Thorin told Bilbo.

“No!” Bilbo protested. “You have to go back. We don’t want to upset anyone.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin started.

“Please! There’s nothing wrong. Just go back and-” he staggered slightly, as they came close to the armchairs in front of their fireplace.

“Go on,” Oin urged Thorin. “I’ll send for you once I know what’s wrong with him. Better to keep him calm for the time being so we don’t aggravate whatever it is that’s bothering him.”

Bilbo sank into his armchair. He felt off. Something was wrong. And his stomach was starting to hurt. Hobbits never got stomachaches.

“If you’re sure,” Thorin said hesitantly.

“Off with you,” Oin said. “I’ll send word.”

~*~*~

Not too much later Oin rushed into the party again and went straight to Bilbo’s seat. He looked over Bilbo’s place settings until he noticed the plate where the profiteroles had been. Thorin frowned when he picked up the dish and sniffed at it.

Oin cursed loudly and threw the dish into the fireplace.

“Don’t let Uncle Bilbo catch you doing that,” Kili called with a grin.

“Bilbo’s been poisoned,” Oin snapped. “The sauce on the pastries. It’s banewort.”

Everyone’s eyes turned to their own plates where almost everyone had already eaten at least one of the profiteroles.

“Have we all-?” Ori started to ask.

“No, lad,” Oin said. “Mine, at least, was just blackberry sauce. Did anyone else’s taste different to them?”

Everyone shook their heads. Gloin tasted Gimli’s sauce and Bombur checked the sauce on the plates of his own dwarflings.

“Blackberry,” Bombur confirmed. “But how did this happen?” He turned to Thorin, alarm on his face. “Thorin, Your Majesty, I would never-”

“Peace,” Thorin said as he stood. “I know you wouldn’t Bombur, but I want to know who did. Work with Nori and Dwalin. Figure it out.” He turned to Oin and swallowed. “Bilbo?” he asked, fearing the worst.

“He’ll live,” Oin said. “He’s in for a very uncomfortable night at the very least and probably tomorrow too. I can send for a nurse to-”

“Nonsense,” Thorin said. “I’ll take care of him.” He left the room.

He found Bilbo curled up on their bed, moaning in pain as he curled up around his stomach.

Oin had apparently followed him. “Whoever did this, they didn’t get the amount right. Maybe if Bilbo had eaten all the sauce it would have killed him but, as it stands, he’ll be uncomfortable all night, taking a lot of trips to the bathroom. I suggest you walk with him. His balance will be poor. He may also hallucinate or be delirious. If he gets any worse, let me know. Let him drink as much water as he wants and it will be a lot. The poison will dry his mouth out something fierce.”

“Thank you, Oin,” Thorin said as he sat down next to Bilbo and started stroking his hair.

“I wish there were more for me to do beyond what I've already done and what his body will do on its own, but I don’t know as I dare mix anything with what he’s already ingested. I’m not sure what will make it worse. Not much is known about banewort because of how potent it is. I don’t know of anyone that’s done much, if any, experimenting with it.”

“You’ve done plenty for us, Oin,” Thorin said, keeping his voice gentle for Bilbo’s sake. “Thank you. I’ll send for you if there’s a change.”

Oin nodded and let himself out of their rooms, promising to check in the next morning.

“I’m dying,” Bilbo moaned a bit later as Thorin pulled his boots off so he could be more comfortably wrapped around his husband.

“Shh… No, you’re not. It just feels like it.”

Bilbo cracked one eye open. Just as Thorin had noticed at the table, Bilbo’s pupils were fully dilated, barely any color visible around the black. “Not helpful,” he said and groaned as he curled into a tighter ball.

“What can I do?” Thorin asked as he curled back around Bilbo, his boots now discarded on the floor.

“Water,” Bilbo said. Thorin reached over to a pitcher Oin must have left behind or sent for and poured a glass before handing it over. Bilbo drank it all and handed it back before curling back up with another moan.

“Sleep,” Thorin urged, pressing a kiss to the top of Bilbo’s head, worry and nerves squirming in his stomach. Beneath it all, he could feel fury trying to build but he pushed it aside. He could rage and scream and demand someone’s head be served up on a pike later. Bilbo needed him now.

“I’m never eating a profiterole again,” Bilbo declared, pressing his face into Thorin’s chest. “They’re all poisoned.”

“That’s just paranoia speaking,” Thorin told him. “Not all profiteroles are out to get you.”

Bilbo glared up at him. “Just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean there isn’t someone out there trying to kill me through poison-laced pastries.”

“That is indeed the case this time,” Thorin conceded, “but not every time.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to retort before he suddenly turned and tried to leap from the bed but staggered and almost fell before Thorin could catch him, rushing him to the bathroom. Someone was going to pay for the agony they were putting his consort through.

~*~*~

 Bilbo spent the next week in his rooms and greenhouse, not daring to leave their safety during his recovery. The attempted poisoning was kept as quiet as possible. Dwalin interrogated the entire kitchen staff only to discover that a young, unknown dwarf had been working in the kitchen that everyone just assumed was someone else’s apprentice. The dwarf had disappeared that evening. Dwalin got a pretty good description and handed it off to Nori as well as to members of the guard.

Even after Bilbo recovered, he made extra sure he didn’t go anywhere without someone in the company and only ate the food he or Bombur prepared and was either hand-delivered by one of the Company or that Bilbo retrieved himself. Thorin took the same precautions for himself.

Dwarrowdams continued to Challenge for Fili’s courtship and even a few human women did as well, all wanting the prestige of being married to Erebor’s next king. Dwalin beat every single Challenge he was present for but, on a few occasions, he was called away and couldn’t fight. Usually, his stand-in defeated the Challenger, but sometimes they were beaten.

Fili rejected every single gift that was presented to him. As each gift was presented, his expression became more and more contemptuous and Bilbo couldn’t blame him. A crown? Really? Did these Challengers not have any imagination at all? Why would the Crown Prince of the wealthiest dwarf kingdom want another crown?

“I know you’ve got to be someplace this afternoon-”

Bilbo yelped and spun, the pruning sheers he’d been using suddenly coming up in a defensive stance. He thought madly of trying to make a break for his room to retrieve Sting before he realized his visitor was still talking.

“-but I need to talk to you about something first. Got a minute?”

“Nori.” Bilbo heaved a sigh and set the pruning sheers aside, taking a forlorn glance at the dead branches left on his rosebush that still needed to be trimmed away after a winter of lying dormant just outside his greenhouse. “What is it? Not another attempt?”

Nori had been more and more adamant about attacks on Bilbo’s life ever since the poisoning, seeing plots where they didn’t exist. Bilbo and Thorin had endured a plethora of false alarms since Bilbo’s poisoning. It was getting rather tiresome.

“No, not today,” Nori said, looking at a small book. “Probably all right for another three days. No, I need to talk to you about a few months ago, when you were poisoned.” Here Nori looked up and he grinned with too many teeth. “I have a theory, you see.”

“Right,” Bilbo said, trying not to heave an exasperated sigh. Another of Nori’s theories. “What do you need to know?” he asked as he sat on a bench and waved for Nori to sit with him.

“How well do hobbits know plants?”

“That depends on what you mean,” Bilbo said.

Nori tapped his pencil against the little book he held. “How many hobbits would know banewort is poisonous?”

“Banewort?” Bilbo asked trying to think of the plant Nori was talking about. “You mean Belladonna?

Nori flipped a page or two and nodded. “That’s another name for it.”

“Just about everyone knows it’s poisonous,” Bilbo said. “We learn at a very young age what plants can hurt us if we eat it.”

Nori’s eyebrows drew together a bit. “Then why did you continue to eat the profiteroles if you knew the sauce was poisonous?”

Bilibo shook his head. “I didn’t know it was made from Belladonna. I’ve never tasted the berries before. Like most fauntlings, my mother warned me away from it long before I tried to eat any. That’s what the sauce was made of?”

“Yes,” Nori said, “and only a select few dwarrow would ever know that. Just healers and apothecaries really and I’ve already ruled all the ones in the mountain out as the assassin.”

“Then who-”

“No idea. One more thing though before you rush off to see the latest Challenger for Fili. Do you know who supplies smoked herring in the Shire?”

“Haven’t a clue,” Bilbo said. “I don’t care for it. Someone in Bree maybe or one of the families that fishes along the Brandywine, why?”

“Just pieces to the puzzle,” Nori said as he tucked his little book away. “Just trying to see if I can figure out how Lobelia Sackville-Baggins managed to start the assassination attempts before the first caravan arrived.”

By now, Bilbo knew better than to try to dissuade Nori off his theory that Lobelia was behind everything. Instead, Bilbo just nodded. “Well then, I’d best get changed. Won’t do to be late for Fili’s Challenger, now would it?”

Nori tailed behind Bilbo. “Lady Dis isn’t even going,” he said. “She’s in a council meeting that Thorin decided didn’t warrant his attention.”

Bilbo just shrugged. Dis had started avoiding the Challenges, unable to watch Fili’s growing despair and anger. Bilbo couldn’t blame her. He could, however, blame Thorin for having Dis take over Bilbo’s duties. Yes, there was danger in the Mountain, but he couldn’t very well hide in his rooms forever, even if there were days that he wanted to do just that.

After changing his clothes, Bilbo went into the sitting room where Nori waited. “You being my guard today then?” he asked as they left the rooms.

“Someone has to,” Nori said. “Just so happens I have some errands to run around the Mountain that start near the throne room. Walking you there gives me a good excuse to be down that way.”

“Right,” Bilbo said, trying hard not to think of what “errands” Nori might need to run.

~*~*~

Thorin considered reprimanding Fili for his obvious disinterest in the proceedings that were about to start. Really, Thorin couldn’t blame the lad for absolutely loathing the situation and the absurdity of having dwarrowdam after Woman throw themselves at him in such blatant fortune- and power-seeking stupidity. Still, diplomacy mattered and Thorin started to shift to talk to his nephew when he noticed Kili nudge Fili to get his attention just as the doors at the far end of the throne room closed.

Was that happiness? Excitement? Hope. Hope that he hadn’t seen in Fili since before The Battle and Fili’s injury. There was hope in Fili’s eyes as he took in the latest Challenger. Thorin had thoroughly stopped paying attention to who they were at least nine Challenges ago. He looked down the path to see who could inspire such a welcome sight in Fili. Lady Sigrid of Dale, Daughter of Lord (soon to be King) Bard the Dragonslayer, walked forward with her father and a small entourage.

That explained it.

Balin read the Formal Declaration of Intent to Challenge and Thorin ignored it entirely. Balin would attend to those details. That’s why Thorin appreciated his presence so much. Balin liked the nitty-gritty details. Ori did too. Thorin detested the paperwork and declarations and whatnot. He’d much rather glower someone into submission or beat them over the head with a war hammer if he had the opportunity. It worked well enough in most dwarven politics. If only it worked with the other races as well. Such was life, he supposed and shifted as he heard Balin winding down in the reading. He really hoped LadySigrid could manage to beat Dwalin but didn’t count on it. When she lost, he would encourage her to try again and hint at a specific day when he could make sure someone less accomplished in battle was at his side. Perhaps young Gimli?

He still had a job to do and he considered telling Dwalin to throw the match. Instead, he leaned forward and addressed Bard. “Tell me your reasons for being present for this Challenge,” he said, starting into the traditional questioning for the royal family and Bard answered in kind, declaring stronger ties between their nations and so forth. As Thorin only half listened, he watched Fili and Lady Sigrid out of the corner of his eye.

His nephew wasn’t listening. That much was certain. And by the looks of it, neither was Lady Sigrid though she did not stare at Fili as openly as he stared at her. She had her eyes fixed forward but her focus obviously wasn’t on him or Bilbo.

Finally, they reached the part that actually mattered in the proceedings.

“You know what you ask, child?” Thorin asked as he looked at Lady Sigrid.

Almost defiantly, she lifted her chin. Her jaw set in a determined line and the thinning of her lips looked so much like her father when he was being stubborn that Thorin would have laughed outright had he been someone disposed to such things. “I am aware,” Lady Sigrid said. “I come seeking the opportunity to court Crown Prince Fili, Son of Dis.”

“So be it,” Thorin said, regretting what he would need to say next. If he didn’t think Dwalin would ignore him, he’d ask his guard captain to go easy on the girl and let her win. “Let the trial begin. Dwalin.”

Thorin glanced briefly at Fili when his nephew turned sharply to look at Dwalin, his face paling and again Thorin regretted what was about to happen.

“I’ll not go easy on you, lass,” Dwalin said and Thorin wished he could kick him.

“I wouldn’t want you to,” Lady Sigrid said as those around them stepped back to give them room on the narrow walkway before the throne.

Dwalin rushed her as soon as he felt the others were far enough away.

Thorin leaned forward in interest when Lady Sigrid met Dwalin’s initial charge, holding him at bay. Her stance spoke of strength and training. The rumors of her killing two wolves could be true then. Thorin watched as Dwalin tried to break through Lady Sigrid’s defenses, keeping her mostly from making attacks of her own. He winced when she got too close to Dwalin and he rammed his knee into her ribs, knocking her down. She rolled away and stood again, ready to continue. Thorin almost cheered when Lady Sigrid clipped Dwalin on the side of his head with her elbow. Dwalin turned with her motion and knocked her flat again. Thorin flinched when Dwalin stomped on her unprotected leg and then stepped on her sword, effectively disarming and immobilizing her.

Pushing aside a sigh, Thorin moved to end the match but paused when Lady Sigrid twisted and wrapped her uninjured leg around Dwalin’s knees and threw her weight. Dwalin dropped his axes, lurched toward Lady Sigrid, and wrapped a hand around her neck.

That was it then, the end of the fight. Thorin opened his mouth to order Dwalin away.

Lady Sigrid’s whistle stopped him and this time, Thorin barked a short laugh when the mammoth of a dog Fili had given Lady Sigrid slammed into Dwalin and knocked him off the young Woman. Lady Sigrid regained her feet and took up her sword again.

“Magnus,” she called and the dog looked at her but did not release Dwalin. After a quick hand gesture that looked suspiciously like pebble Iglishmek, the dog returned to her side. She set the edge of her sword at Dwalin’s throat. “Do you yield?” she asked, breath coming in heaving gasps.

“Aye,” Dwalin growled and climbed to his feet when Lady Sigrid moved her blade away. “You cheated.”

“I was told to bring what weapons I would need in a fight,” Lady Sigrid said in a way that reminded Thorin of how Dis spoke when she thought someone was being especially boorish. “Magnus, for all that he is as dear to me as a friend, is still a weapon of protection.” She bent to scratch the dog’s head and face. “Aren’t you Magnus? Yes, you’re a good boy,” she cooed and the dog licked her chin happily.

Kili snorted and Bilbo sounded like he was struggling to cover a guffaw of laughter with a cough.

Grumbling, Dwalin took up his usual position near Thorin.

For the first time, Thorin sincerely congratulated a Challenger for winning the fight. He’d seen Fili’s relief when Dwalin had yielded. As Balin continued with the formal declarations of hope for a smooth courtship and the other boring bits. Thorin waited patiently, hoping against hope that Lady Sigrid’s gift would be appropriate and not some horrible crown as had been so far presented to Fili.

“I have a gift for his royal highness as well.”

And here it came. Thorin watched as she turned to accept a bundle from one of her father’s councilors, favoring her leg where Dwalin had stomped on it. Thorin would need to send for Oin to have her leg looked over.

Lady Sigrid handed the bundle to Balin who stepped forward to inspect it before he handed it over to Fili. Thorin looked over, glad his throne positioned him so he didn’t have to outright crane his neck to see what the gift was. By Balin’s expression, it was much better than anything they’d seen so far from others.

Someone had tipped the girl off, he was sure. Instead of something created by another’s hands, Lady Sigrid had gifted Fili with a grey coat, embroidery lined with tiny gems along the edges with what had to be fine silver and gold wire, so thin it almost acted as flexible as thread. Thorin had heard she embroidered and sewed. It seemed that Dis had been telling the truth. Speaking of whom, his sister was going to furious she’d missed this Challenge.

“What fur is that?” Thorin asked when he noticed the dark grey lining the coat.

 “Wolf, Your Majesty,” Lady Sigrid said, looking up at him.

Thorin’s eyebrows rose. “And where did you get it?” he asked. He wanted to hear the wolf story for himself.

“Off the two wolves I killed last winter,” Lady Sigrid said.

“You killed wolves?” Dwalin asked. “Or did your hound do it?”

“Magnus was only a few months old,” Lady Sigrid said. “I was caught outside when they first attacked. He held one off while I killed the other and then I killed the first.”

Thorin waited, holding back a sigh of exasperation. Fili, though obviously eager to anyone that knew him well, was taking his time to deliberate. Or trying to look like he was. Finally, Fili looked at Thorin and said, “I accept,” and took his dark coat off to replace it with the grey one Lady Sigrid had crafted. “Thank you, Lady Sigrid. The quality of your work speaks of your desire for success in our courtship. I will strive towards that success.”

“I thank you for your consideration, Prince Fili,” Lady Sigrid said.

Thorin stepped down from his throne and knew Fili and Kili followed him. Once he reached the Men, he extended a hand. “I look forward to the possible joining of our families, Lord Bard,” he said.

“As do I,” the bowman said and took Thorin’s hand.

Thorin released Bard’s hand and turned. “Congratulations Lady Sigrid,” he said. “You’re the first female to best Dwalin since my sister.”

“Only because she cheated,” Dwalin groused.

“Don’t be a sore loser Brother,” Balin admonished, laughter behind his voice. “Sit down lass before you make the injury worse.” He pointed to a chair. “I’m pretty sure I saw a runner leave to fetch a healer after your match?” he looked over at Fili and Kili for confirmation. Fili nodded. Good.

Lady Sigrid limped over to the indicated chair and sat, her dog at her side. Oin rushed into the room the moment she was sitting.

“All right. What poor lass do I have to patch up after Dwalin beat her to a pulp in a failed attempt to court the prince this time?” he asked.

“You are mistaken Oin,” Balin said loudly. “She beat him though it is her leg that needs looking after.”

Oin’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Did she now?” he asked and settled down in front of her. He took her foot and removed boot without addressing her. The swelling around her ankle made Fili visibly cringe.

“Next person to repeat that is going to have their arms ripped off,” Dwalin growled and Thorin fought off another smile

“Oh no,” Lady Sigrid said, shaking her head and giving Dwalin a wide grin. “I beat you in a fight. I’m taking those bragging rights with me to the grave. If that day arrives sooner than I’d prefer and I’m short a pair of arms, then so be it.”

Fili and Kili fell about laughing. Bard laughed as well, years dropping off his face in his mirth. Dwalin’s scowl deepened but a hint of humor tugged at the corners of his lips and Thorin lost his fight against the grin as well.

“A bad sprain,” Oin finally said after poking at Lady Sigrid’s ankle. “Stay off it for now. We’ll get you some crutches. Once you have them, come to the infirmary and I’ll wrap it up for you.”

“Thank you Master Oin,” Lady Sigrid said. She loosened the straps on her boot and carefully pulled it back on over the injury.

“We shall allow the time it takes to retrieve them for the two of you to be alone,” Thorin told Fili quietly. “I suggest you make the most of it.” He smiled a little at his nephew, wanting to congratulate him on the match but unwilling to do so, just in case Thorin and Nori had both misread the signs and Sigrd wasn’t Fili’s One. Thorin sent a quick prayer to Mahal, asking his blessing to be on Fili for clarity of mind and heart.

Chapter Text

Chapter 23

Thorin rarely had time to work as a blacksmith but he’d finally managed to squirrel away some time to work. He sat at the bench in his private workshop, bent over a pile of papers, each with scribbles of different designs in charcoal.

He’d made a mistake, giving Bilbo the garden as the second courting gift. Now he had to make something grander for the third.

He’d thought about weaponry and discarded it quickly, having already made a knife to accompany Bilbo’s sword. Besides, the joy Bilbo had found in the garden would outlast any blade Thorin could forge.

He’d thought of jewelry next but cast that thought aside as well. Bilbo had access to untold amounts of sparkly finery and had never seemed inclined to wear any of it, even grimacing every time he had to wear the thin Consort’s crown, let alone anything else.

He couldn’t outdo Bilbo’s mithril shirt either so armor was out as well.

There had to be something he could make that would bring joy to Bilbo beyond that of the garden. Didn’t there?

Grumbling, Thorin tossed his latest page filled with indistinguishable lines over his shoulder and onto the floor to join its fellows. He pulled another clean sheet forward and leaned over it to start again when someone knocked at his door. Before he could demand they leave, the door opened.

“There you are Uncle,” Fili said. “Do you have a moment?”

Casting an irritated eye at the massive pile of abandoned sketches and half-formed ideas scattered across his bench and on the floor, Thorin gave up his own time for creating as a loss. “Come in, Fili,” he said and nudged a second stool away from the bench. “What’s on your mind?”

Fili sat, carefully arranging the coat Lady Sigrid had given him so it didn't bunch beneath him. “I wondered if you could help me with something,” he said. “Mostly just the calculations for materials and a bit of advice. Weapons smithing is more your forte than mine.”

Intrigued, Thorin pulled the sketchbook Fili set in front of him closer. “Throwing knives?” he asked. “What’s wrong with the set I made you?”

“Nothing,” Fili said and started rolling a bit of charcoal back and forth on the bench with his fingertip. “I was going to make them for Sigrid.”

Thorin’s eyebrows rose a bit. “Just Sigrid now, is it?” he asked.

Fili directed a very unimpressed look at Thorin. “I’m courting her and, considering how things are going, I’ll marry her before too long as well. We figured given names were a good start to cultivating that relationship.”

“Mmm,” Thorin said, nodding. “Why throwing knives?”

“She has a real talent at it,” Fili said. “I taught her the basics today and she hit the target with every throw.”

Unlike Kili, Fili tended not to exaggerate. “Indeed?”

Fili nodded and Thorin watched a small, proud smile work its way onto Fili’s face. “It really was amazing,” he said and then looked up to meet Thorin’s eyes. “I want to make them as a courting gift.”

Thorin almost cursed at the words and then stopped. “I’ll help,” he said, “but only if you help me figure out what to make Bilbo for his third gift.”

Fili looked confused and a bit, well, something else that Thorin couldn't quite decipher. Irritated? Angry? Upset? “You’re already married,” he said. “Why do you need to make him courting gifts?”

“Bilbo and I didn’t have the chance to court properly, if you’ll remember,” Thorin said. Fili turned away but not before Thorin caught a displeased expression. He couldn’t quite pinpoint just how deep that displeasure went. “I know it’s not how we typically go about courting and marriage,” Thorin said gruffly, “but it is important to me. I’m trying to be as proper about our marriage as I can, even if I am going about it all in the wrong order. So far I’ve made him a dagger and kitchen knives for his first gift and the garden as his second.”

“Wouldn’t the mithril shirt have been the first?” Fili asked and there seemed to be a strained note to his tone, something that almost sounded like hope that Fili didn’t want to feel. Thorin decided to ignore it, knowing Fili preferred to follow tradition as much as possible. It made sense considering how hard he seemed to want to follow those traditions with his One, whether he recognized her as such or not.

“I’ll not include something given during a fit of gold madness and distrust as something meant to be done out of loyalty and with a willing heart.”

Fili nodded. “I can understand that. If you’ll look over the sketches and see if there’s one we can improve upon, I’ll brainstorm for your third courting gift.”

“It must be something that outshines the garden,” Thorin said, already flipping through Fili’s sketchbook. He paused when he came across a quick sketch of Sigrid. His nephew had found a quiet moment to draw the young woman while she’d been embroidering something. Thorin examined the sketch briefly, noting how good the likeness was before turning back to the sketches of various daggers and their sheaths. “You’ll need Dwalin’s help with the leatherwork, I take it?” Thorin asked.

“They’ll be simple enough,” Fili said as he scribbled a few ideas down on a spare bit of parchment. “I think I can manage. He did teach me some leatherwork and these are fairly plain after all.”

They worked in silence for a while, both absorbed in their thoughts and figures before they started talking through their ideas until they both settled on something.

“Where is your brother, by the way?” Thorin asked as he searched the shelves for the ore he intended to start with for his project. He would need Kili’s help for parts of it.

“He’s been working on something for Tauriel with Bilbo,” Fili said as he tucked his book away. “I’ll let him know you need him.”

“Thank you, Fili. Good luck with the smithing. Let me know if you need any more help.”

“Yes, Uncle,” Fili said and left Thorin to his forging. It was a good thing he did. Thorin had a great deal to make before he could present his work to Bilbo. He hoped Fili was right and that the massive undertaking would please the hobbit.

~*~*~

Kili and Bilbo were indeed working on something for Tauriel. However, they were not in a place where Fili was likely to find them if he were to search for them specifically, such as in Thorin and Bilbo’s rooms or Kili’s rooms or workshop. No, he’d only find them if he found himself a bit peckish and wandered his way into the kitchens to a secluded corner where the Mountain’s cooks didn’t work unless there was a massive feast. The corner’s distance from the rest of the kitchen made it ideal for Bilbo for the days when he wanted to do his own baking and Bombur could spare the space for him. Now, making a dish that was extremely undwarfish, the solitude mattered all the more.

“I’ve seen these things before,” Kili admitted as he helped Bilbo feed large sheets of some kind of dough through a hand-cranked contraption where it was pressed thinner and thinner with each pass through the machine, “but I can’t say I’ve ever tasted it. Elf food and all.”

Bilbo glared at Kili from where he was carefully making sure the sheets didn’t bunch up or feed poorly through the machine. “Hardly elf food,” he said. “Hobbits made pasta first. They got it from us.”

“Why didn’t we have it when we were at your little hole in the ground?” Kili asked, still cranking the handle until the last of the dough passed through. He moved aside as Bilbo started fiddling with it, changing out parts before picking up one of the thin sheets of pasta and feeding it through the back of the machine. Kili started turning the crank again and long thin noodles came out instead of making the sheet thinner.

“I was fresh out,” Bilbo said. “Made the last of the fettucini for lunch with a lovely pesto sauce, grilled chicken, and sautéed asparagus. I’d planned on making more the next morning but instead, I went haring off on an unseemly adventure. Imagine, a proper Baggins like me doing such an irresponsible, unrespectable thing like that.”

“And you loved every minute of it,” Kili said as he watched Bilbo drape the noodles over a board before moving to cut the next sheet of pasta dough using the machine.

Bilbo snorted. “Hardly,” he said. “I was miserable the majority of the time and outright terrified the rest.”

“What about that time we-”

“Terrified.”

“Or the time-”

“Horrified.”

“Or the thing-”

“Utterly. Disgusted.”

Kili glared at Bilbo for a moment before he thought of one thing Bilbo couldn’t protest against. “Beorn’s,” he said.

Bilbo opened his mouth to retort and stopped. “All right. You’ve got me there. Beorn’s was quite pleasant once I got passed the giant shapeshifter and the animals that didn’t act like animals.”

“Rivendel?”

“Oh, all right. Enough,” Bilbo said, flapping a hand at Kili. “Fetch that pan and that large pot, would you? Fill the pot about two-thirds with water and put it over the fire.” Bilbo dug under another cabinet until he found the little footstool Bombur had found for him after he caught Bilbo standing on a large pot to see what he was doing on the counter for the third time.

“So, remind me what this is,” Kili said a few minutes later as the water started to boil and he helped Bilbo add garlic and onion to a large frying pan that had melted butter already sizzling in it. A bowl of cooked chicken sat to the side, waiting to be used.

“Chicken scampi,” Bilbo said as he stirred the diced onions and minced garlic around. “Tauriel mentioned liking it once. Now, this is my mother’s recipe. Take it to the grave or I swear I’ll come to haunt you after I die.”

Kili shrugged. “Don’t know as I’ll remember it just from making this once. I’m not exactly the world’s greatest cook. I leave that to you and Bombur.”

“If she likes it, I’ll write the recipe down for you but do NOT, under any circumstances, pass it on to someone that isn’t your own child. This is a Took Family Secret Recipe. We don’t mess around with these things.”

“If you say so,” Kili said and handed over the lemons Bilbo pointed at.

“I do,” Bilbo said and tasted the sauce before chucking the tasting spoon into the sink. “Now, tell me what else you plan to do for Tauriel besides serve her dinner?”

~*~*~

“We have good nephews,” Bilbo said later that night as he and Thorin prepared for bed.

Thorin looked up from where he was shucking off his shirt to throw into the basket inside their washroom. Why they needed a basket, he had no idea. That’s what servants were for now that he was actual royalty again, or so he’d thought. Bilbo had other thoughts on the matter. “What makes you say that?” he asked.

“Nothing in particular,” Bilbo said. “They’ve just been doing well lately, with their duties and everything.”

“This wouldn’t have something to do with the surprise you and Kili have been working on for the elf, would it?”

Bilbo glared. “Fili has a big mouth. Forget what I said about him.”

Thorin laughed and wrapped himself around Bilbo once they’d climbed into bed.

~*~*~

After an impromptu trip to the markets ended with Thorin injured in the side when an assassin missed Bilbo when they threw a knife at him, Nori went berserk on security, confining Bilbo to his rooms until further notice. Which meant Bilbo lost out on what he deemed to be a great deal of fun, especially when he learned about the negotiations for Fili and Sigrid’s wedding. The way he found out about them, well, that was interesting in and of itself.

Dis barged into his and Thorin’s rooms one morning, interrupting Bilbo’s slog through the mound of paperwork Balin had brought him to look over as Thorin was suddenly too busy arguing with his advisors to do it himself.

“I need your help,” she said as she settled herself on the edge of Bilbo’s desk.

Startled, Bilbo looked up at Dis, unsure of what to say. After their disastrous meeting, they hadn’t had many interactions beyond royal and family duties with Thorin, Fili, and Kili acting as a sort of buffer between them. Bilbo thought it was absurd. So she’d knocked him out. It’s not like she’d attempted to throw him over the ramparts or anything (he kept such thoughts to himself, knowing it was probably still too soon to joke about the event in Thorin’s eyes).

“What can I do to help?” he asked finally, setting aside the report on the repairs to Dale’s walls. Apparently, they’d become a priority after Lady Sigrid had fought off two wolves that had somehow managed to make it into the city over the winter. Imagine that.

Dis rubbed at a silver bracelet of interlinked rhombuses. Some had small runes etched into them. The simplicity of it surprised him for a moment before he recognized it for what it was. Fili’s work. Probably something sentimental. Dis seemed to prefer less gaudy jewelry compared to most of the higher ranking dwarrowdams, at least when she wasn’t acting in a royal capacity. “I need help with Fili’s negotiations.”

“Negotiations?” Bilbo asked, leaning back in his chair to better watch her face.

“His wedding and marriage negotiations,” she frowned, not at all pleased.

“I’m afraid I’ve once again missed the details on some dwarrow tradition,” Bilbo confessed as he stood. “Why don’t I call for some tea and you can tell me what wedding and marriage negotiations entail and how I can help?” He indicated the armchairs sitting in front of the fireplace before heading towards the doors to his rooms. He asked one of the guards there to send a servant for tea before returning to his own seat across from Dis.

“Now, what is this about?” he asked once the tea arrived and they were settled.

Dis told him. Bilbo found himself frowning as she detailed contracts (and why did dwarrow need to insist everything be put in a contract?) that would be written up that would dictate how the wedding and some of the major points of the subsequent marriage would go, covering things as mundane as wedding décor and as serious as methods for rearing any possible children. When she’d finished, Bilbo poured her a second cup of tea.

“How can I help?” he asked.

“It’s Thorin,” she said. “He’s going to want to be present for the negotiations and I’m worried he’s going to try to dictate the entire affair into something grand for Erebor’s people and not something for my son and his future wife.”

Bilbo nodded. “Yes, yes. That does sound a bit like Thorin. However, I can’t keep him from going where he wants and I’m to stay here until we find who is behind all the assassination attempts.”

“I’m aware,” she said as she stared into her teacup. She traced along the filigree around the rim, some memory catching her briefly as they often did Thorin at the smallest things. She came out of it quickly and looked up at Bilbo. “Could you remind him that Fili is his nephew and not just the Crown Prince of Erebor and that Lady Sigrid was just a bargeman’s daughter a scant number of years ago?”

“That is something I can do,” Bilbo said as he took up a biscuit, “but I do believe you will need to bring some of the fierceness your sons often told me of in order to keep Thorin in line.”

“I’m afraid they exaggerate,” Dis said, setting the teacup down gently.

Bilbo snorted. “The tales the entire company told me about you have led me to believe you to be a force to be reckoned with and I’ve seen it myself. I think you can manage your brother. If nothing else, remind him that he is at the negotiations by your leave only and that you can throw him out at any time. He loves to be involved with everything so he should hold his tongue for a while after.”

“And all brothers love to meddle in their sister’s affairs,” Dis said with a resigned sigh. She remained silent for a time before lifting her hands above her head and then dropping them onto the arms of her chair. “Thank you for taking the time,” she said as she climbed to her feet.

“Think nothing of it,” Bilbo said. “Truth be told, I’ve been hoping for a chance to talk with you. Feel free to come to visit me anytime. I’m stuck in these rooms for the foreseeable future.” He cast a long-suffering eye around the green stone walls. Pretty as the carvings were and as hard as the Company worked to keep him entertained, he was still a bit bored.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dis said with a smile. “Thank you Master Baggins.”

Bilbo made a face. “Bilbo, please,” he corrected. “I’m not too fond of being referred to by that name.”

Dis nodded before she paused and turned to fully face Bilbo again. “I’d almost forgotten. Apparently, flowers are important in human wedding ceremonies. If it is decided to have them at the wedding, would you mind providing them or finding a way for them to be brought to Erebor? I’m afraid no other dwarf in the city grows them just for beauty.”

“I’d be happy to,” Bilbo said.

“Good. You can expect Fili and Sigrid just after the negotiations are done. Thank you again, Bilbo.” She left

~*~*~

The negotiations for Fili’s wedding hadn’t gone exactly how Thorin would have liked. But, as Bilbo had so graciously reminded him, Fili wasn’t just the Golden Crown Prince of Erebor, but also his nephew, the little lion cub that looked at him fiercely, ready to defend himself and those he thought of as his charge. He’d almost hit Thorin’s hand with that throwing knife after all.

Lady Sigrid’s knife almost hitting her father’s hand a moment later had been satisfying, to say the least. And the workmanship. If Fili hadn’t become a jeweler, he’d have had a promising career as a blacksmith.

That wasn’t the point though. Fili’s wedding would not be the massive State event that Thorin had pictured it when Sigrid had first beat Dwalin in combat. Still, there had to be something he could do that would help solidify Fili and Lady Sigrid’s future positions within Erebor.

He slowly made his way through the royal wing.

“Quit your brooding,” Dwalin griped next to him. “You’re darkening the entire mountain.”

“I do not brood,” Thorin responded automatically but without any heat. There had to be some-

He stopped in his tracks and looked to the side at a set of ornately carved doors painted Durin blue. Of course.

“Where’s Fili?” he asked before Dwalin could dish out a retort to Thorin’s denial.

Dwalin shrugged. “My guess would be his workshop, making something for his lovely girl.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “Do you ever stop looking?” he asked.

Dwalin shrugged. “Just because she’s not available doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the view. Strong lass like that, perhaps I’ll challenge Fili for her.”

Thorin snorted. “Lady Sigrid would eat you alive,” he said and turned back the way he’d come, intent on finding his oldest nephew.

“And I’d enjoy every minute of it,” Dwalin grinned. “Can’t resist cleverness and strength in the same package.”

Thorin thought of the years Dwalin had chased after Nori before Nori had stumbled on Lira. “You have a type,” he accused.

“Clever as your pretty little husband is, he’s not very strong,” Dwalin reminded Thorin.

Thorin drove his elbow into Dwalin’s ribs. “I thought I told you to stop ogling my pretty little husband.”

“Can’t help looking at him,” Dwalin said with a shrug. “Be a bit odd if I didn’t look at him when we talk.”

Growling, Thorin shook his head and continued stalking to Fili’s workshop. They passed a happy Kili on the way and barely stopped to knock on the door before barging inside.

“Really Kili, I said I would- Oh. Uncle. What are you doing here?” Fili set aside his project.

Thorin picked up the silver hairbrush Fili had been working on. “Your second gift?” he asked, eyebrows rising into his hairline.

“Third,” Fili said. “Still trying to think of the second.”

Examining the brush, Thorin nodded his approval. The carvings were beautifully detailed and Thorin could easily make out the scene. He wondered if the event depicted was important to Fili and Sigrid. He didn’t ask though, recognizing a private moment etched into a very personal gift. “I have something for you,” Thorin said and left the workshop, not waiting for Fili’s response.

“Uncle! Wait!” he could hear Fili scrambling from behind the workbench to chase after him. “At least let me lock up first!”

Thorin slowed his pace just enough for Fili to catch up to him before resuming his purposeful stride.

“What is it?” Fili asked as he fell in step next to Thorin, casting a questioning look to Dwalin who shrugged in reply.

“You’ll see,” Thorin said and refused to elaborate as they passed back into the Royal Wing. He led the way up to the highest level where he rarely went. He only ever walked the hall, knowing the rooms there would drown him in memories he didn’t want to have just yet. Finally, he stopped in front of the blue door.

“Uncle?” Fili asked.

“You will want new rooms once you’re married, I take it? I can’t imagine you would want to spend your wedding night in rooms attached to your mother’s or brother’s.”

Fili nodded, a flush rising up his neck and into his cheeks.

With a shuddering breath, Thorin pushed the Durin blue door, the door to the King’s rooms, open. “Then take these,” he said, “for you and your bride.”

Gold gleamed beneath the dust, bright and horrible in Thorin’s eyes. His grandfather’s rooms were ostentatious, to say the least. Gold fixtures, gold lining, gold furniture, gold threads. He knew it well and still didn’t want to see it. He turned instead to look at the only gold he ever really wanted to look at ever again. He placed an affectionate hand on Fili’s bright hair, pulling him forward until their foreheads met.

“You will be king one day and I cannot bear to be in these rooms. Take them and make them yours. I will have someone clear these and the attached queen’s rooms out before your Lady arrives in the Mountain again. You may do with them as you please.” He released Fili and stepped back so Fili could enter the rooms and inspect them.

Fili paused at the doorway, glancing inside. “You’re sure?” he asked. “They’re much larger than what you have now.”

“The memories in these rooms are too much to bear,” Thorin said honestly. “You have no memories of them or of the dwarf that occupied them before Smaug attacked. You can make them more of a home than I ever would.”

Nodding, Fili stepped inside the room and looked around. Thorin turned away, keeping his eyes averted, afraid the sight of golden hair in that room would bring to mind his brother as well as his grandfather. Dwalin caught his eye as he turned, his face as grim as Thorin felt.

It wasn’t long before Fili came back out, carefully closing the doors behind him. “Thank you, Uncle,” he said. “Lady Sigrid and I will be sure to put them to good use.”

Thorin nodded. “When you show them to her, make sure to tell her she may commission whatever furniture she likes. This will be her home too.”

“Of course. I’ll take her to the appropriate guilds myself.” Fili fell in step next to Thorin and they headed back toward Thoirn’s rooms where the family intended to meet for dinner.

Chapter Text

Chapter 24

Weeks. To Bilbo, it felt like weeks since the last time he and Thorin had gone to bed without the intention of falling asleep. It may have only been a few days but the utter stress of not knowing when someone was going to try to kill him coupled with the complete boredom of being trapped in his rooms for his own safety made it feel like an eternity. Now, well-

Thorin’s sleep shirt lay somewhere in the vicinity of their fireplace where Bilbo had carelessly thrown it after peeling it off Thorin’s back and Bilbo’s sleep pants, well, Bilbo was quite certain he hadn’t even had the opportunity to pull them on before he’d wrapped his legs around Thorin’s waist where he’d remained as Thorin carried him to their bed. Trading heated kisses, soft touches, and sensual sounds, Bilbo felt there was absolutely nothing that could upset him in this moment as he sucked a bruise onto Thorin’s shoulder.

“Out of bed now! We’re about to be attacked!”

Almost nothing.

“Nori,” Thorin (who had been nibbling quite nicely on the tip of Bilbo’s ear) growled and lifted away from where he lay over Bilbo, “I swear to Mahal if this is another false alarm I’m going to strangle you with your own-”

“Sure. Great. Just get up and arm yourselves. They’ll be here any second.”

“How in Yavanna’s name did you even get in here?” Bilbo demanded crossly, not even bothering to move even as Thorin sighed and climbed out of bed.

“Never mind that!” Nori snapped from the other room and Bilbo heard the locking bar fall into place over their door before he returned to the bedroom and slammed and locked that door too. “If you have your mithril shirt handy, I suggest you put it on before you get your little letter opener.”

“Nori-” Thorin started.

“Just do it!”

Bilbo turned to snap right back at Nori but paused. The crazed look Nori had worn for the past few months was completely gone, replaced with steel resolve and perhaps a hint of fear as he fingered a set of knives and turned around, searching the room. It took Bilbo a moment to understand what he was muttering to himself. “Where will they come from? Through the door? Through the garden? Blast through the ceiling? Blast through the wall? Did they find my passages?”

Without further complaint, Bilbo scurried out of bed and into the dressing room. He grabbed the mithril and threw it on before grabbing Sting and the dagger Thorin had made him. He was reaching for his trousers when glass shattered in the front room.

Bilbo swore. The only glass he knew of anywhere near their rooms was in his greenhouse.

Someone was going to pay for hurting his garden.

Discarding the notion that he needed to wear trousers to fight, Bilbo stomped out of his closet just as something smashed against the bedroom door.

“So who is about to come through that door?” Bilbo asked as he took his place next to Thorin.

Nori’s eyes flickered around the room, searching the stone for imperfections and weaknesses where someone might break through, or so Bilbo guessed. “Dwarrow, I’m assuming,” Nori said as he shifted his feet into a more balanced position. “Don’t really know to be honest.”

Bilbo straightened out of his guarded position, casting a look at Nori and opening his mouth to demand how in Yavanna’s name he could know there was an attack coming but not know what was coming to attack them.

“Focus,” Thorin snapped and Bilbo dropped back into a ready stance. Prepared for whatever might break through the door.

By now, he could hear fighting on the other side of the door as well as what sounded like muffled khuzdul shouting, though Bilbo couldn’t understand any of the words.

“Back! Get back!” Nori ordered suddenly, grabbing Bilbo by his nightshirt and throwing him onto the bed before grabbing Thorin and dragging him to the small table they kept in their room. Nori flipped it onto its side and pulled Thorin down behind it as Bilbo scrambled off the edge of the bed, placing it between him and the door.

Seconds later, their bedroom door and a third of the wall blasted its way into their room, sending rocks, iron pieces, and wood splinters crashing into everything. Bilbo ducked and covered his head as debris reigned down on him and the floor shook beneath his feet. When the larger chunks settled, Bilbo peeked up over the edge of the bed.

Greenish grey dust floated in the air, settling slowly. Blurry figures moved in the room.

Thorin and Nori shoved their table over and charged toward the doorway, weapons raised, mouths open in muffled war cries.

Bilbo rubbed the back of his hand across his ear, careful not to cut himself with the dagger he still held. He couldn’t hear Thorin clearly. Not through the strange, high-pitched tone he heard. He pulled his hand back with a grimace. Blood and a strange, yellowish goo smeared the back of it. His ears hurt horribly and that high tone wouldn’t stop. He shook his head, trying to dispel dizziness before climbing onto the bed.

The dust was settling faster now and he could see Thorin and Nori trading blows with a handful of dwarrow dressed in dark clothing and hoods. With a wordless cry, Bilbo leaped from the bed and into the fray, tackling two dwarrow at once and driving Sting and his dagger into each of them in turn, just as Nori had shown him. He pulled his weapons free and lurched back to his feet, turning to fight his way to Thorin, shouting the entire time and unable to hear much more than the peal of a single high note. He snarled and blindly hacked his way through dwarrow, trying to reach his husband.

The dwarrow pressed back against him, keeping him from Thorin. He parried sword blows and dodged out of the way of hammers and axes, darting in when he had a clear moment. He cursed when a sword nicked his side, sending white-hot stinging into his body. He fought and fought, trying to push forward, trying to find Thorin in the pandemonium. His feet slid against the floor in the blood of felled attackers and from the blood dripping down his side. He couldn’t gain ground and slowly found himself being pushed back.

There were too many. Even with Nori, Thorin, and Bilbo fighting at their best, they wouldn’t make it through this mess. Bilbo strained, trying to hear Thorin’s voice one last time before the wave of dwarrow trying to kill him succeeded.

The ringing didn’t cease but suddenly, there was a break in the press of bodies around him. Breathing heavily, Bilbo searched for Thorin, dreading what he might find, only to blink in confusion as Ori, coated in dust and grime and blood and with a book tucked into his belt, smashed a dwarrow with- wait. Was that the ceremonial Warhammer they kept mounted near the front door? Bilbo watched in amazement for a moment as Ori systematically plowed his way through the attackers.

Taking a deep breath, Bilbo lifted Sting again even as his arms screamed at the effort and dove back into the fray, following Ori as he tore through what were hopefully would-be assassins. 

Thorin appeared in the mass of bodies. Blood dripped from a cut somewhere in his hair down the side of his face but thankfully not in his eyes. When he caught sight of Bilbo, he slammed orcrist’s hilt into the head of the dwarf attacking him and stepped over the body to reach Bilbo’s side.

A dwarf flew between them and Bilbo looked to the side just in time to watch Ori grab another dwarf by the collar, pick them up, and throw them across the room where they smashed into the far wall. Nori leaned against the wall, using it to brace himself as blood dripped from his leg and the opposite arm. Bruising flourished down his arm, visible through his torn sleeve.

Guards flooded the room, surrounding Bilbo and Thorin and attacking the remaining assailants. As guards checked the prone forms around them, Bilbo moved toward Thorin. He shook his head when Thorin said something.

“I can’t hear you,” Bilbo all but shouted at Thorin. “Where’s that sound coming from?”

Thorin reached over to Bilbo and touched the side of his face, just below his ears, concern etched into the lines on his face.

“Yes, they hurt,” Bilbo said. “And I can’t hear much other than a flute or a – a – what is that tiny flute again? A pipaloo? Packora? Whatever it is, it won’t stop.”

Thorin turned and said something to a guard and Bilbo thought he read Oin’s name on Thorin’s lips before Thorin guided him over to sit on a filthy, dust and grit covered chair he had just turned right-side-up again. Bilbo knocked as much dust off the seat as he could before sitting down and allowing Thorin to look him over. The only injury Bilbo could see was the one in Thorin’s hair. When Thorin bent to look at Bilbo’s side, Bilbo ran his hands along Thorin’s scalp until he found the culprit, filled with dusty grit. Thorin flinched away from his touch and held up a rock, tapping it against his head. Hit with a rock during the explosion then. That made sense.

As he waited for, well, probably Oin to arrive, Bilbo took stock of their rooms as best he could from his seated position as Thorin moved off to talk to a guard and examine the dead and injured dwarrow in the room. Most of the furniture was smashed, usually laying in pieces over the bodies in the room. He could just imagine Thorin grabbing the lovely little chest that held most of Thorin’s usual court jewelry and smashing it over the back of someone. Dust, rock, bits of iron, and splinters of wood coated everything. A quick glance upward showed cracks in one of the mirrors that reflected light into the room during the day. Bilbo made a face. Those would need to be replaced too. He idly wondered if their sitting room had faired any bet-

Bilbo flailed slightly, bringing Sting up between himself and whoever had just touched his head by his ear.

Oin gave him a very unimpressed look.

“Sorry!” Bilbo said, setting Sting aside. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

Oin frowned and tilted Bilbo’s head to the side. He turned and said something to someone behind him and Bilbo could barely hear him say Thorin’s name as well as Ori’s over the whistling in his ears.

Nori, Ori, and Thorin all came over and Ori handed Oin a pencil and a couple sheets of blank paper he pulled from his bag. Oin scribbled something down and held it up for Bilbo to read.

“No, I can’t hear anything really. Well, that’s not entirely true. I can hear this high pitched sound and it won’t stop. I can kind of hear muffled shouting but nothing very distinct. I think I heard you call for Thorin and Ori just a moment ago.”

Oin nodded and turned Bilbo’s head to the side so he could look at his ear and then turned his head the other way to look at the other before writing on his paper again.

“Both ears,” Bilbo said. “I hear it in both ears.”

Oin nodded and wrote again.

“Miner’s ear? What’s that?” Bilbo asked and waited as Oin wrote some more. The old healer detailed symptoms miner’s sometimes experienced when they were too close to an explosion when they were blasting deeper into rock. Apparently, it looked like Bilbo had ruptured something in his ear, causing the bleeding and the yellow goo to seep out. The high pitched note would continue for a while as his ears healed as best they could. 

“I see,” Bilbo said slowly. “So, I’ll be all right then? Just might take a while.”

Oin shrugged, writing again. Not everyone recovered their hearing. Time would only tell. Was Bilbo hurt anywhere else?

Bilbo showed Oin the cut on his side and sat patiently as Oin bound the wound. Once finished, Bilbo leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting closed as the last of the adrenaline faded from his body, only to be replaced by a familiar bone-deep fatigue he remembered from other battles he’d been in. Only this time, Thorin wasn’t grievously injured, thus keeping Bilbo wound up tight as he waited for news. He relaxed as Thorin talked to Oin and the guards, having his own head wound stitched closed. An apprentice worked on Nori’s leg and arm until Oin finished with Thorin.

Bilbo drifted away for a time, only to come alert when Thorin placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Time to go?” Bilbo asked and Thorin nodded. “Good. I could use a bath around now.”

Thorin smiled and shook his head slightly, helping Bilbo to his feet and leading him out of the room and down the hallway.

“What was Ori doing there, I wonder?” Bilbo said as they climbed into bed after a warm bath and various pain-killing medicines Oin left with them. They were settled into one of the guest suits, this one usually reserved for when Dain Ironfoot visited. He yawned as he curled up against Thorin’s side, trying to ignore the strange ringing in his ears and the way no other sound seemed to make it through. He could feel the rumble of Thorin’s voice in his chest but still couldn’t hear him talk. “You’ll have to write it down for me tomorrow. I still can’t hear,” Bilbo said. 

Thorin nodded and wrapped his arm around Bilbo, pulling him almost painfully close. Bilbo didn’t protest, instead rubbed his forehead against Thorin’s chest and let sleep pull him under and away from the lingering pain in his body and especially in his ears.

~*~*~

Thorin slid out of bed the next morning, careful not to bother Bilbo before silently making his way back to their rooms. 

The sight was not encouraging. Not only had the attackers destroyed a good portion of the wall between their bedroom and sitting room, but they’d also apparently blown through the wall to the sitting room from the room (an unused suite) opposite their bedroom. Add the ruined doors to the greenhouse into the mix, and only the wall into the hallway remained unscathed. Once the attackers had made it into the sitting room, they’d unlocked the front door, letting more assailants enter. The guards that had been posted in the royal wing had been killed or wounded beyond the ability to continue fighting.

He started working his way through the debris, nudging stones aside and taking note of all of their mangled belongings amongst the detritus around him.

“I’m sorry I had to let it go this far.”

“I understand why,” Thorin said without looking at Nori. The spymaster seemed to materialize near the doors to the gardens. “I wish you had trusted me enough to tell me what you were doing though.”

Nori shrugged. “Couldn’t tell if anyone was listening.”

“Paranoia isn’t a good look on you,” Thorin said.

“Just because I’m paranoid, it doesn’t mean there isn’t someone out there trying to kill you.”

Thorin gave the remains of his armchair a kick, sending it crashing into further splinters. “I’m so pleased your paranoia is for my sake.”

Nori snorted. “You’ve got nothing to do with it,” he said and followed Thorin through the broken doorway to the bedroom. “Who do you think is the first to be executed after a monarchy falls to someone else in a hostile takeover?”

“The spymaster,” they chorused, sharing a rueful glance.

“Followed by the Captain of the Royal Guard,” Dwalin said from where he crouched next to the fireplace, looking up the flue. He straightened and threw a glare at Nori. “You couldn’t warn me this was coming?”

“And let you take all my fun?” Nori demanded with a flirtatious grin.

“Cut that out. You have a One,” Dwalin growled before turning his gaze to Thorin. “The one night I decide to take off and you almost get killed in your sleep.”

Nori cackled. “Oh, they weren’t sleeping!”

“Even better,” Dwalin said and heaved a resigned sigh. “I’m going to have to station an entire garrison inside your rooms to keep you safe, especially if you’re going to leave yourself open to attack like that.”

Thorin made an obscene gesture at Dwalin. “I’m not even going to bother addressing that comment.” He turned to look at his ruined bed. Structurally, it would be fine, except for the massive chunk of wall that had smashed the footboard. The blood splattered across the bedding guaranteed Thorin would be commissioning a new bed the moment their rooms were repaired. Dori would be peeved that his fine work had been ruined.

“Did any of them survive the night?” Thorin asked.

Nori grinned at him. “Yes, and some of them aren’t exactly dedicated to the cause.”

“What do you mean?” Thorin asked sharply, looking up from his examination of a book. It must have been knocked off Bilbo’s bedside table during the skirmish. Most of the pages littered the ground, torn and covered in grime.

“Mercenaries,” Dwalin said, grinning. “Newer recruits to their group.”

“Meaning?”

“Mercenaries will flip on their employer for the right amount of coin. Newer recruits aren’t going to be as devoted, as convinced to the cause. It makes them easier to turn, easier to get information out of.”

“Some of them that we caught last night aren’t zealots. We got them to talk.”

Thorin’s grin was wolfish. “Excellent. Who are we dealing with and how soon can we have them in custody?”

“None of that now,” Nori said reprovingly, slapping a hand over Dwalin’s mouth. “I need to confirm with Lira. Just because a few had the same story doesn’t mean they aren’t lying to us and licking my hand isn’t going to get me to move it. I deal with far more disgusting things on a regular basis. You’re just giving me ideas.”

Dwalin scowled over the top of Nori’s hand but nodded at Thorin.

“You’ve been away from Lira too long,” Thorin admonished as Nori pulled his hand away from Dwalin’s face. He couldn’t help the concerned tone that colored the rebuke. 

“Don’t give me that, Thorin,” Nori said. “I’ve been in complete control the entire time.”

Thorin didn’t remark on that. “When does the caravan arrive?” he asked.

“Conveniently enough, today,” Nori said. “Speaking of, we have to get a move on.” He grabbed Dwalin’s arm, just above his elbow and started dragging him to the door. “Enjoy the day being confined to the royal quarters, Your Majesty!” he called over his shoulder.

Thorin sighed. “Send Oin up to check on Bilbo, would you please?”

~*~*~

The first thing Bilbo noticed when he woke was pain, followed by the long, high whine He’d fallen asleep hearing. His ears hurt . He groaned and cracked his eyes open, searching for Thorin. He needed Oin, or at least Oin’s remedies, to make the pain go away .

Thorin wasn’t in bed with him. In fact, the room was empty of anyone. Carefully, Bilbo sat up and waited for the dizzy spell to pass before climbing out of bed and searching for some clean clothes.

After dressing, he headed for the door, only to find Thorin sitting in the room adjacent to the bedroom they’d taken over the night before.

“Good morning,” Bilbo said as he took a seat at the table next to Thorin and helped himself to the smallish breakfast laid out on it as well as the tea. He could smell the blend of herbs Oin had prescribed him for painkillers. He drank his tea first, grimacing at the poor taste and pouring him a second cup from the other teapot. This one had a much more reasonable citrus taste to it.

Thorin looked up, a smile stretching across his face. His lips moved and Bilbo could vaguely hear some of the rumble of Thorin’s voice beneath the constant whistle.

“Talk slower,” Bilbo said. “I might be able to understand you.”

“You’re getting your hearing back?” Thorin asked, talking slowly and carefully.

Barely understanding Thorin’s words, Bilbo shrugged. “Maybe? I can hear a bit of sound, but it’s still muffled, like my head’s under water or something. The whistling hasn’t stopped either.”

Thorin nodded. “Oin will be here soon,” he said. “Nori has confined us to the royal wing for the time being.”

Shaking his head, Bilbo set his teacup aside and started in on some toast, chewing gingerly as each motion sent pain radiating from his ears into his brain. “That hasn’t done us much good so far,” he said as he examined his teacup. It was the same white with black filigree set he’d found and taken a liking to when they’d retaken the mountain.

Thorin shrugged. “We can’t do much about that but wait right now. Nori and Dwalin have confessions, but Nori wants to confirm details with Lira.”

Bilbo looked up. “The caravan arrives soon?”

“Today,” Thorin said with a nod.

“Oh Love,” Bilbo said, reaching across the table to place his hand on Thorin’s. “I know you wanted to ride out to welcome the last of your people home.”

Thorin shrugged. “Fili is leading those sent to greet them. There are more important matters I must attend to at the moment. I will greet them soon enough.”

Bilbo smiled sadly, grateful that Thorin cared enough for him to want to stay behind but also heartbroken that he couldn’t bring the last of his people along the final day’s march of their long journeying. “Fili will do well. Is Lady Sigrid accompanying him?”

Thorin nodded. “They will cause quite a stir when their braids are noticed.”

Bilbo laughed and then groaned, his hands going to his ears. The pain . It wasn’t unbearable by any means, but the consistent ache with the sharp stabbing pains whenever he moved his jaw the wrong way was agony . 

“Oin will be here soon,” Thorin said, placing his hands over Bilbo’s ears. Bilbo pressed Thorin’s palms closer still, the heat radiating off them somehow helping ease the discomfort. 

Oin did arrive shortly after to examine Bilbo. The medicines he left them with was more powerful than anything he’d given Bilbo before and warned him it would make him tired but would relieve the pain. Oin warned Thorin to make sure Bilbo only took small amounts at certain intervals before leaving.

Bilbo took the first dose of the plant after going back into the bedroom, frowning at the bitter taste but settling back in the bed. “Why was Ori near our rooms last night?” Bilbo asked, waiting for the poppy to work.

“He was apparently delivering a book to Dis after working in the library late,” Thorin said, settled in the chair next to Bilbo. Balin had brought a mound of paperwork for him to go through while Oin had examined Bilbo’s side and rebandaged the wound there.

“I see,” Bilbo said and yawned. “We were lucky he was there.”

Thorin let the paper he was reading through rest on his lap as he looked towards the far wall without really seeing it. “We were indeed,” he said softly.

Knowing he would need to thank the scribe later, Bilbo thought of the treats he could bake as a gift as he drifted off to sleep, the pain in his ears decreasing as he did.

Chapter Text

Chapter 25

Beautiful, lithe, cunning Lira, Daughter of Nisdrath limped into the rooms Thorin and Bilbo temporarily occupied. From the look of things, she’d come straight to them after arriving in the mountain. Her clothing was travel-stained and worn, a prosthetic leg designed for riding on pony back instead of walking. Her normally immaculately brushed and braided black hair and beard looked a touch frizzy around the edges, and her normally dark skin was darker still, weathered from the sun or road dust, Thorin didn’t know. Whichever it was, Nori didn’t seem to mind in the least as he pulled her near a chair and settled her on his lap after he sat.

Nori’s shoulders no longer tried to reach his ears, the tension having drained away probably the moment Lira returned to his arms. The spymaster’s grey eyes shone clearer without any frantic, suppressed pain and strain behind them. Thorin still hated the sacrifice the two had made for his sake and planned to repay it in whatever way possible.

That would have to wait, however.

“What have you brought for me?” Thorin asked as he took his own seat. He glanced to the side when he heard the door open. Bilbo walked inside, rubbing a bit at his ear, a grimace on his face. The medications Oin had given him must be wearing off then.

Lira shoved Nori’s arms away when Bilbo walked in, standing and dropping into a kneeling position with more grace than Thorin would have thought possible with the clunky prosthetic limiting her motions. He shouldn’t have been surprised really. She was considered the best dancer in Ered Luin after all, prosthetic leg or no.

“Your Majesty,” she greeted Bilbo, raising her voice. Nori had told her of Bilbo’s hearing problems then. Good. Saved Thorin the trouble of explaining it himself.

Bilbo looked up from where he’d been focusing on something truly evil on the floor, going by his glare. His expression softened but held irritation in the way his lips thinned down to a small line. “Please don’t,” he said, stepping forward and motioning for Lira to stand. Thorin scowled, noting the pained lines still dug deep in Bilbo’s forehead. Oin had warned him noise would make Bilbo’s ears hurt worse. Why was Bilbo coming to join the conversation when he could go take more pain medication, shove his head under a pillow, and try to sleep away more of the pain?

“Really,” Nori added and pulled Lira back onto his lap, “don’t. He hates that.” Thorin resisted the urge to snort in disbelief. Nori didn’t care whether they liked their titles or not, often using them mockingly knowing he could get away with it.

Lira tugged a bit at Nori’s beard before wrapping her arm around his shoulders so she could more easily balance. “Some of us have manners,” she said, admonishment in her voice.

“Only when they suit you,” Nori replied.

Lira didn’t bother to answer, instead, turning to Thorin. “We know who is behind everything and they’re here, in Erebor. Came in with the caravan.”

“Do you know where they are?” Thorin asked, already itching to grab Orcrist and rid someone of their head.

Lira shook her head. “Lost him in the confusion. I’m good, but even I can’t follow a single dwarf in a crowd of thousands when they’re good at disappearing.”

“But you know who it is,” Bilbo said as he took a seat next to Thorin. He’d retrieved something from a clay dish next to the fire. From what Thorin could see, they were little cloth bags. Bilbo placed them over his ears, holding them in place and seemingly relaxing a bit as he did so. Thorin vaguely remembered Oin telling Bilbo that a warm, dry compress over his ears would help with the pain, as well as the medicines he prescribed.

“Of course I do,” Lira said. “He’s clever, but not that clever.”

Bilbo glared at Nori. “So all that stuff about Lobelia was just insane ramblings, was it?”

“Insane?” Nori spluttered, straightening and almost upsetting Lira. She shifted her weight quickly, turning the small tipped motion into a mostly natural-looking stretch. “Like I told your hubby this morning, I’ve been in complete control over my mind the entire time.”

Bilbo looked dubiously at him even as pain made him pale. “So you don’t think Lobelia Sackville-Baggins is behind all this.”

Nori guffawed and Lira shook her head in exasperation at her One. “Lobelia was just a red herring, a false trail I left for the fools that thought they could watch me without me knowing it.”

“So you fed the royal consort that pack of lies?” Lira asked. “Really Nori.”

“What?” he demanded. “Worked didn’t it? Jubral doesn’t have a clue we’re onto him.”

“Jubral?” Thorin demanded and jumped from his seat, ready to tear down the mountain to find the disgraced dwarf.

“Who did you expect?” Nori asked. “You banished him when he believed he was doing you and the kingdom a favor. Now he’s out for revenge and trying to kill you-”

“Me?” Thorin asked.

“Thorin?” Bilbo demanded at the same time. He pulled on Thorin’s sleeve until Thorin sat down again, grimacing in pain when he’d pulled the little packet away from his ear. Something rattled faintly inside. Beans perhaps? Or rice? “I think you’ve missed something. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one that’s almost gotten killed multiple times.” He put the little packet over his ear again.

“I was getting to that,” Nori groused.

Lira’s hand on Nori’s chest stilled the spymaster. “From the reports Nori’s sent me, each attack you’ve experienced has either been in His Royal Majesty’s presence or where he should have been.”

“Thorin,” Nori told her and buried his nose in Lira’s hair near her ear, eyes closing in bliss. “He hates the title in private.”

Lira glanced a Thorin and he nodded his assent. “Thorin has been the target all along.”

“But, the attack in the council room. I was all alone. And again in the throne room. And so many other times.” Bilbo said, sounding miffed.

“The attack came when Thorin forgot vital papers, correct? Doesn’t he normally retrieve things like that? And he’s usually the first into the throne room for public audience days. He’s fond of blackberries, thus the chosen flavor for the poisoned cream puffs. The server just mixed up the plates.”

“I confirmed that,” Nori put in, taking a moment to pull his face away from Lira’s neck, only to shift so he could change position, now half hiding beneath Lira’s thick beard.

“What about during the first winter? I know there were a few attempts, even if I didn’t know they were happening at the time.”

“All aimed at Thorin,” Nori said, his voice muffled. Lira gave him a small shove and he leaned back enough to be clearly heard. “The very first attack was in the kitchens shortly after we were snowed into the mountain after the coronation. Thorin had mentioned heading down there to check on stores with Bombur. I heard a whisper that someone wanted him dead, that there was a hefty price on his head. I headed that way, learned you were heading down there and took care of it before anyone got hurt besides the assassin.”

“Why did you let me believe they were after Bilbo?” Thorin asked, irritation growing.

Nori shrugged. “Didn’t know who was listening. I knew I had to make you aware of assassination attempts so you would be more cautious, but I didn’t want to tip off any potential spies among Dain’s men.”

“Brugaat,” Thorin growled. He went to lunge to his feet only to have Bilbo place his hand on Thorin’s arm. Thorin settled back into his chair, fury radiating through him.

“Give them a moment, Dear,” Bilbo said. “I’m sure they have a perfectly good rea-” He broke off, tilting his head to the side. He scowled a bit before smiling widely. “The whistling’s gone!”

“The what?” Lira asked.

“The whistling,” Bilbo said. “I hurt my ears last night in the explosion. I’ve been hearing this strange high-pitched note ever since. It finally faded away just now.” He turned to look more fully at Thorin. “Do you think this means all my hearing will return?”

Thorin, relief coursing through him, patted Bilbo’s knee. “We’ll send for Oin as soon as we finish here,” he promised.

Bilbo sighed happily and settled back into his chair, still holding the little bags of something over his ears. “I can hear a little easier now,” he admitted. “Still muffled like I’m underwater and my ears still hurt, especially when there’s noise, but your voice is a bit clearer.”

“That’s all wonderful and good,” Nori interjected, “but we need to get back to this. Brugaat isn’t behind anything. I checked. Jubral has framed him for everything. Now that I’m sure of who is behind everything and had it confirmed by Lira and the attackers last night that weren’t too tight-lipped, we can move forward.”

“What would you have us do?” Thorin asked, turning his full attention back to the matter at hand. His eyes flickered over to where Orcrist lay nearby, ready to be picked up and used again at a moment’s notice.

“Go back about your regular daily lives as if we had caught the true culprit behind everything already,” Lira said. “We’ve already taken in Brugaat. We know Jubral framed him for masterminding last night’s attack and a few others. We won’t have any difficulties flushing him out now.”

“You’re sure that’s wise?” Bilbo asked. “Won’t he attack again?”

Nori and Lira smiled widely and Thorin remembered that Nori wasn’t the only seasoned thief. Lira’s feral grin was just as dangerous and unhinged as Nori’s.

“Oh, we’re relying on it,” Nori said.

~*~*~

For the most part, Bilbo did not return to his usual, daily life. Mostly, because his ears hurt any time he heard anything. He spent most of his time in his rooms, quietly reading books Ori brought to him or going through the piles of paperwork involved in running a kingdom Erebor’s size. The pain slowly receded but his hearing remained muffled.

A little over two weeks after the attack that damaged his ears, Bilbo left the mountain, along with the rest of his family and a number of the Company. Nori and Lira, dressed commonly and with thick, bulky cloaks thrown over their clothes, disappeared into the crowds even before they reached Dale. Bilbo, riding on pony back next to Thorin tried to hide the pain he still felt, especially as the sounds of celebration reached them.

“Will you be alright?” Thorin asked. “You could stay in Erebor. No one would think less of you after your injury.”

Bilbo shook his head carefully. The pain wasn’t as bad as it had been the first few days, but it still lingered, especially when he moved his head to quickly or heard a louder noise. Oin had told him it would take another two weeks or so for his ears to fully heal but the pain should stop bothering him within another week or so. “They’re making The Announcement,” he said. “We need to be here to support them. I’ll be fine.”

He looked back at where Fili road behind Thorin, talking animatedly with Kili and Dis. In addition to clean clothing, he carried a box. A courting gift, Fili had explained when he’d noticed Bilbo eyeing it.

They arrived in Dale and took a moment at the Guard Post to change into their finer clothes for the ceremony. The rest of the company went to mingle amongst the crowds and enjoy the festivities while the royal family went to Bard’s home. After a little huffiness from Bard over the bit of beard burn on Sigrid, they all turned to leave. Before walking out the door, Bilbo pulled out a couple of small balls of cotton fluff from his pocket. He wadded them up tightly and stuck them in his ears before moving his ever-lengthening hair (and wasn’t it strange that he didn’t feel the overwhelming need to cut in order to not look like, well, a girl?) over his ears to hide the little bits of fluff that helped deaden the sound more and protected him from more pain.

He walked with Thorin, taking his place easily upon the stand with the others, showing Erebor’s ruling family’s undivided support of the new monarch and their ally. Gandalf performed the honors before Bard announced Fili and Lady Sigrid’s engagement.

And that was it. Bilbo took Thorin’s hand and followed him down the stairs. He let Thorin handle all conversation. With his hearing impaired and the cotton stuck in his ears, Bilbo couldn’t hear anything louder than a murmur. Instead, he watched the crowds. Content to be in the sunshine and not worrying about being killed at every turn.

He should have known better. Hadn’t he learned up on the Carrock to not have thoughts that consisted of optimism over their future prospects?

Lira suddenly appeared at his side. With a quick word to Thorin, she grabbed Bilbo’s arm and directed him away from the square. Thorin moved obediently, his eyes scanning the crowds around them.

“What’s happening?” Bilbo asked and pulled cotton out of one ear. He cringed at the sudden influx of sound as pain throbbed in his head. He glanced around, looking in places Nori had taught him too.

High on a rooftop, a shadow a bit too dark caught his attention. Archers dressed in black? Bilbo didn’t bother to wait to find out. He took a deep breath and slid to the side, between Tall Folk, and into the poor sightlines.

“Bilbo?” Thorin asked from nearby.

“Here,” he called.

“Keep your head down, please,” Lira instructed, her own head held high as she moved around behind Thorin. Bilbo watched as she shifted her cloak aside suddenly and pulled something from her back.

The small buckler shield on Lira’s arm caught the errant arrow heading straight for Thorin. Bilbo gasped, moving again, sliding amongst the crowds, knowing very few would be able to track his movements. Hobbits could move unseen when they wished, after all.

“Inside, now,” Lira ordered the moment Bilbo reappeared and shoved toward a building. She tucked the shield away again, but kept one arm behind her back, beneath the cloak. “Not in the building,” she said and nodded toward the alley. “There’s a cellar down there. Go inside. Nori will get you out of the city and back to Erebor.”

Bilbo nodded and ducked, dodged, and weaved away from her and Thorin. He hated leaving Thorin but they’d talked about this. They needed to stay apart when attacks came in large groups, make harder targets of themselves. They hoped no one would risk the lives of innocents to assassinate the king or his consort.

At the alley’s mouth, she handed the shield and her cloak to Thorin. His eyebrows rose when he took the cloth and Bilbo rejoined his side, just inside the alley and in the shadows cast by the afternoon sun.

“What?” Lira asked. “You think I’d wander around without at least one layer of armor that I could pass off to my king and his consort?”

Thorin pulled the cloak on over his shoulders and pulled Bilbo close to him, wrapping one side of the cloak around Bilbo’s shoulders. “What will you do?” Thorin asked.

“Go after him,” Lira said with a grin. “Don’t worry about me. Get moving.” She nodded at the alley again before turning to the side of the building. She grabbed the edge of a windowsill and pulled herself onto it with ease and grace. Swiftly, she scaled the building and pulled herself up onto the tiled roof.

Bilbo watched her as long as he could as Thorin led him down the alley. Lira jumped from the roof of the building on their left and landed on the building to their right, sliding a little when a tile gave way but regained her footing easily. She took off running across the rooftop as Thorin pulled the cellar open and pushed Bilbo inside first before following and closing the cellar door behind him.

“Can you see anything?” Bilbo asked. With the cellar door shut, the room was entirely dark. A shiver worked its way up his spine as unease settled into the pit of his stomach. Suddenly, a light flared right next to Bilbo. He leaped back, unsheathing Sting in the same motion.

“Majesties,” Nori greeted with a grin, setting the match to the candle wick inside the lantern he held. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll be taking you on a tour of Dale’s lovely sewer system until we reach the Guard Post where a contingent of handpicked dwarrow will be guiding you safely home to Erebor.”

“Lead on,” Thorin said, his expression grim.

Nori opened a trap door and motioned for them to go inside. Bilbo climbed down the ladder and looked up just in time to see Nori adjust something just outside the only partially open door before sliding down the ladder himself.

“This way,” Nori said and started walking.

The tunnels were mostly dry, attesting to amazing dwarfen engineering. They walked along a wide ledge next to the channel where Dale’s waste washed away, aided by water brought up from the River Running. Bilbo kept a hand on the yellow, sparkling stone wall so prevalent throughout Dale’s structures, following Nori through a maze of tunnels.

“Will she be all right?” Bilbo asked after a few moments. Nori glanced back at him. “Lira, I mean.”

Nori snorted. “Don’t let that leg fool you,” he said. “She’s better at tracking a mark than anyone else I know, aside from myself. She’ll be fine.”

“If you’re better, why aren’t you the one chasing down the attacker?” Thorin asked. Bilbo resisted the urge to throw an elbow into his stomach, knowing he’d only get a bruised elbow out of it. Really, he appreciated how fit his husband was but sometimes it just wasn’t fair.

“Too noticeable,” Nori said. “Everyone’s looking for the Company today, what with one of us just having our engagement to the eldest Princess of Dale announced and all. Ah, here we are.” Nori stopped next to another ladder. “Head straight up. Dwalin will be waiting for you both.”

“Thank you,” Thorin said and motioned for Bilbo to go up the ladder first.

“Oh, wait,” Nori said. He pulled off his own heavy cloak and threw it around Bilbo’s shoulders, fastening it beneath his chin.

“It’s a bit long,” Bilbo groused, looking down to see the end of the cloak trailing behind him.

“Good,” Nori said. “It’ll keep you safer. Make sure it covers you and the backside of your ram.”

“Ram?” Bilbo squeaked. Nori just grinned and waved, before blowing out the lantern and leaving them in darkness again.

“Come on, Bilbo,” Thorin said, and pulled him over to the ladder. After fumbling a moment, Bilbo found the rungs and started pulling himself up toward the trapdoor above him.

~*~*~

“Well done!” Nori crowed as he entered Thorin and Bilbo’s temporary rooms. He clasped Bilbo’s shoulder. “We caught the archer. He’s been babbling about the hobbit with fairy blood, begging we keep him safe from you.”

Bilbo took the little heated packets of rice away from his ears. “Fairy blood?” he asked. “Why in Yavanna’s name would they think I have fairy blood.”

Thorin stretched out next to him, fingering the arrow shaft that Lira had deflected that afternoon in Dale.

Brooding again.

Bilbo sighed and put the small red bag of rice back into the clay pot next to the hearth and pulled out a pair of orange ones, knowing they’d been in there heating up the longest. He tossed them up and down for a moment and until they were cool enough they wouldn’t burn his fingers before pressing them back over his ears. The pain decreased quickly into a faint ache with the heat.

“Nori said a book about hobbits went missing from the library. He said it mentioned the Took family having fairy blood,” Thorin said.

Bilbo groaned. “I already told you. That’s a load of rubbish. I’m no more fairy than you are.”

“We know that,” Nori stressed. “The rest of Erebor doesn’t. Our archer wasn’t the only one that was watching you. Half the mountain, even the skeptics are now convinced it’s true.”

Bilbo glared. “And why does that make you sound so gleeful?” he demanded.

“Fewer people will be willing to attack you.”

“They weren’t after me in the first place!” he reminded Nori and flinched when his own voice shot agony into his head.

“And less will be willing to attack Thorin,” Lira said. “No one wants to anger a fairy by attacking his husband.”

“And?” Bilbo demanded.

“And it’s almost time to set a trap,” Nori said. “Durin’s Day is coming. Good day for superstitions to run wild. Leave it to us. We’ll take care of things.”

“If you say so,” Bilbo said.

Lira took a seat next to him. “We do,” she assured Bilbo. “We’ll make sure no one harms you or His Majesty.”

“I can hear you,” Thorin groused.

Nori draped himself over Lira’s shoulders. She shrugged him off and leaned against his chest, hands coming up to grip his forearm when he reached around her shoulders and pulled her against him. “I’m aware,” Nori said. “Shouldn’t you be preparing your list of demands for Fili’s marriage contract? You only have a week after all.”

Thorin cursed under his breath. “Where’s Balin?” he demanded, already heading for the door. Bilbo tried not to feel upset. Thorin was focused. It wasn’t a big deal he forgot to come kiss Bilbo before he left.

“His office,” Lira and Nori chorused.

Thorin nodded, paused at the door, and came back to kiss Bilbo thoroughly.

“Be safe,” Bilbo ordered with mock sternness. He had a feeling Thorin didn’t buy it, going by the amused expression on his face.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said, kissing Bilbo again before leaving their rooms.

~*~*~

“I have something for you,” Thorin said three days after the negotiations for Fili’s marriage. He took Bilbo’s hands in his and pulled him up from his chair. Oin had just been and gone, declaring Bilbo’s ears mostly healed. Bilbo claimed he no longer felt pain and that his hearing had completely returned.

Bilbo set his book aside before letting Thorin pull him to his feet. “Oh?” he asked and followed as Thorin led him out of their temporary rooms and down the corridor.

“Yes,” Thorin said. He shoved the nerves he felt aside, trying not to fall into old habits of truncated responses when uncomfortable. He swallowed. “Work on our rooms was finished this morning.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Bilbo asked. “What about the garden? Is it safe for me to work in there again?”

“Nori even had the wall surrounding it improved to make it almost impenetrable from the mountain’s slopes,” Thorin confirmed. They reached the rooms and he pushed open the door.

The massive amounts of damage required extensive renovation to make their rooms habitable again. Thorin had gone a step further, ordering the destroyed walls smoothed into neat archways and lined with panels of rich, warm wood, reminiscent of the walls he barely remembered of Bilbo’s home in the Shire. The door to their bedroom was no longer a rectangle but a large, round door, painted a bright green.

Bilbo laughed with delight. “Thorin, it’s wonderful!” he said and rushed over to the door. He laughed again. “Is that the symbol Gandalf scratched into my newly painted door?” he demanded, pointing at the rune scratched into the wood.

“It is,” Thorin said.

Bilbo grinned and pushed the door open.

Their room itself hadn’t sustained much damage but the furniture needed to be replaced. Thorin had commissioned pieces in rich cherry wood, carved with a combination of geometric dwarfen designs and the rolling curves and plants he’d seen Bilbo doodling on the edges of documents when he thought Thorin wasn’t paying attention. The fabrics were rich reds and bright yellows, splashes of bright but tasteful colors across the room in the upholstery on the new armchairs, their bedspread, the cushioned lid of the chest at the foot of their bed, and so on.

Bilbo darted around the room gleefully before suddenly stopping, seemingly remembering himself. “Yes, this will do quite nicely,” he said, trying to reign in his enthusiasm.

“There’s more,” Thorin said with a grin. “Come here.”

Bilbo followed him out of their room and back into the sitting room. Thorin nodded to the other wall, where attackers had also blasted their way into their rooms.

Instead of having the wall repaired, Thorin took the opportunity to have their rooms expanded. He led Bilbo through the large, round door painted Durin blue.

Bilbo stopped and stared for a moment. He swallowed audibly and put a fist in front of his mouth, clearing his throat. His nose twitched adorably as it often did when he was uncomfortable or, in this case, dealing with strong emotions, or so Thorin assumed.

“Do you like it?” Thorin asked when the silence stretched too long.

“How could I not?” Bilbo said and Thorin decided not to comment on the choked sound of Bilbo’s voice.

Thorin stood a little straighter, clasping his hands behind his back. “I present to you my third courting gift, made with you in my mind and heart at all moments of its creation. May it bring you joy and remind you that you are treasured above all else to me.”

Bilbo walked forward and ran his hand across the marble countertops, along the new hearth, and the large iron stove, the centerpiece of the new, massive kitchen. It had been a beast to forge, but Bilbo’s obvious delight made every bit of singed hair and clothing, burnt skin, and irritated curses worth it. 

Colored lights played across Bilbo’s skin from the stained glass windows that looked out on the expanded gardens. Thorin and Kili had spent hours collaborating over the designs for them, Thorin placing the ironwork for his nephew to cut colored sheets of glass into the correct shapes. Together, they created scenes from their journey in the myriad of windows cut into the wall of the mountain.

Fili’s contribution to the rooms lay in the intricate designs worked into the sides of the new oven and stamped into the bricks around the hearth. He’d created the molds for them, painstakingly carving them out in the special clays that could take the heat of molten iron. He also created the molds that Thorin had cast the stamps out of that created the brick designs. How Fili had managed that, kept up with his duties, spent time with Sigrid, and worked on his own courting gifts, Thorin didn’t know. Fili did look a bit tired these days. Perhaps he’d give him a day or two to himself.

Thorin had cast, shaped, and worked every bit of metal in the kitchen and attached pantries, from the massive stove to the tiniest little screws that held the handles of the cupboard doors in place. He worked with carpenters, masons, stoneworkers, and his favorite engineer Bofur to make the rooms perfect for his husband.

“I could not ask for a better gift,” Bilbo said softly as he looked around at the new kitchen. “You’ve brought me a piece of home, given me the chance to do the things I love most in my garden and now in a kitchen.”

“These rooms are for you to do with as you wish,” Thorin said. “You’ll find a fully stocked pantry and through that door a study for you to fill as you please. Ori has instructions to have any book you desire copied or translated and placed there for your own use. A few have already been done for you.”

Bilbo turned and buried his face into Thorin’s chest, wrapping his arms around him. “What did I do to deserve you?” he asked.

“Something truly horrible for Mahal to curse you so,” Thorin said and Bilbo laughed wetly. He leaned back and pulled one of his ever-present handkerchiefs from his pocket, wiping his eyes and blowing his nose.

“Enough of this,” Bilbo said. “What would you like? I feel the need to break in my new kitchen before the Company hears of it and comes to raid my pantry and leave me with nothing to work with again.” He rolled up his sleeves and started laying a fire in the stove and another in the hearth.

“I quite enjoyed your blackberry crumble,” Thorin said.

“Blackberry crumble it is,” Bilbo said and went to the pantry to explore ingredients in there and in the cold box set into the floor.

Thorin smiled, following Bilbo and also mentally making a note to have Balin clear a little more time on his schedule. If Bilbo started baking as often as he feared he would, Thorin would need to train more in order to counteract the amount of baked goods his pretty little husband would make. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 26

A little over a week later, Fili and Sigrid strode into the throne room, bypassing all of Erebor’s citizens that had come seeking an audience with the king and his consort. Bilbo sat in his throne, pain no longer marring his features, his ears all but completely healed and his hearing almost completely back to normal, for which Thorin was grateful.

“Fili?” Thorin asked once the latest petitioner was satisfied. Dwalin held off the next one as Thorin spoke with his heir.

“There’s illness in Dale,” Fili said without preamble. “Plague of some sort. I’ve come to ask you to send aid.”

“Nori has already informed us of the illness in Dale,” Thorin said. Indeed, his spymaster had started reporting on it after the fourth case cropped up among the Dalesmen. “We feared it would spread,” Thorin said quietly so only Fili, Bilbo, and Dwalin would hear. He held his hand over his mouth as he spoke to keep lip-readers from catching any of what he said. “I’ve already asked Oin to draw up a roster of healers that can be spared to help with treating the afflicted. Go to him and he will give you the details you’ll need to send to Bard.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Fili said, bowing his head formally, true gratitude shown in his eyes.

“Tell Sigrid everything will be well,” Bilbo whispered. “She is welcome to spend time in my garden if she misses sunlight during her extended stay, even when I’m not there.”

“I will tell her. Thank you, Bilbo,” Fili said and returned to Sigrid.

Bilbo looked over at Thorin, concern in his eyes. “We will aid in any way we can,” Thorin told him quietly, “but we must be asked to help first. It is not our place to force our people into another kingdom, no matter what our intentions are.”

“And Princess Sigrid is high enough rank to ask for that aid,” Bilbo said. He looked towards the doors where Fili and Sigrid had left. “There must be more that we can do.”

“We will think of something,” Thorin promised and nodded at Dwalin to allow the next dwarf to approach the dais.

~*~*~

“Princess Sigrid has taken ill. Fili has opted to stay at her side for the foreseeable future.”

Bilbo looked up from his morning cup of tea. Balin sat at the other side of his new table, carefully picking a perfectly good lemon rosemary scone apart and reducing it to crumbs.

“Now what did that scone ever do to you?” Bilbo demanded as he nudged an empty teacup toward Balin. “Have some tea. We’ll manage his duties well enough without him.”

Balin’s eyebrows rose even as he poured tea for himself. “I don’t think you realize the amount of work expected of the Crown Prince,” he said.

“It can’t be all that bad,” Bilbo insisted. “We’ve managed without him when he’s been with Princess Sigrid during her visits after all.”

The deadpan look Balin gave Bilbo did not inspire confidence. “Princess Sigrid has only ever been here when his daily load was lightest. Fili’s duties for the next few weeks were supposed to be filled with shadowing Thorin for public audiences and council meetings, inspecting our military and their postings, his usual training, greeting and showing dignitaries from the Firebeards and Broadbeams that still reside in the Blue Mountains around Erebor as well as sit in on negotiations for trade, crafting at least some of the jewelry for his upcoming wedding, and any other duties that may require attention.”

Bilbo stared at Balin over the rim of his teacup, his muscles locked into place. Finally, he set his teacup aside. “Right. Let’s write that list out and we’ll split the duties amongst the two of us as well as Kili and Dis. Does that sound like it will work?”

Already pulling out a piece of parchment, Balin nodded. “Aye, that should work. I’ll assign visiting dignitaries to Dis, shall I? They’re familiar with her already.”

Bilbo shook his head. “I’m consort,” he said. “As such, visiting dignitaries should be my responsibility, as you once taught me. Let’s see if Dis will be willing to cover any unforeseen duties.”

“You already have a full schedule,” Balin reminded him.

Bilbo waved a hand in dismissal. “We’ll reorganize my duties around our foreign visitors. We need trade negotiations to go well with them, right? They’ll supply us with coal and salt as well as bring food supplies in from the Shire and we send back precious metals and gems?”

“Those are the key points, yes,” Balin said, rubbing a hand down his beard, “but you know dwarrow. We’re not very open to outsiders.”

“They’ll just have to get over it,” Bilbo said. “I am Consort, after all. They’ll have to eventually. Might as well make it now.”

“If that is what you think,” Balin said, his tone a bit skeptical. “What of his other duties?”

“We’ll deal with them as they come. Following Thorin is for Fili to learn more about how the kingdom is run, correct? If someone is needed to follow him, why not Kili or myself?”

“Kili is expected to be attending meetings with the guildhalls on Thorin’s behalf for most of those times. Dis would be a better choice except she will never rule in Thorin’s stead again, not with the line of succession secure and Erebor retaken,” Balin said. 

Bilbo nodded. “I’ll follow Thorin when I’m not meeting with the delegates.”

“Your other duties-”

“Will be handled,” Bilbo said. “As for his training and crafting jewelry for Sigrid, those will just have to wait until he’s able to leave Princess Sigrid’s side.”

“And the military reviews?” Balin asked.

Bilbo tapped a finger against the table. “Can Dwalin be spared?”

Balin frowned. “As part of the military, he can’t conduct the review impartially.”

“No,” Bilbo agreed, “but he can teach me what I need to do for the review.”

“Bilbo, I really must insist you not take on all Fili’s duties. You have too much to do yourself.” Balin set the parchment and pencil aside, his normally serene expression marred by the furrowing of his eyebrows.

“Dis and Kili are already busy,” Bilbo said, “and they’re all worried about Fili and Princess Sigrid. The more I can do to take away their burden, the better. The last thing I want to do is make them work harder.”

“So you’ll work yourself into an early grave?” Balin asked mildly.

“If that’s what it takes,” Bilbo retorted and picked up his tea again.

~*~*~

Thorin woke a few days after the news of Princess Sigrid’s illness reached him and Bilbo. He heaved a sigh, worry for Fili and his bride-to-be (hopefully) continuing to gnaw at him. He looked to the side and heaved another sigh. Bilbo was already gone this morning. Again. How many days in a row was it now that Bilbo left before Thorin even woke?

Too many, in Thorin’s opinion.

Grumbling, he crawled out of bed and readied for the day, heading to Dis, Fili, and Kili’s rooms for breakfast.

“Left before you dragged yourself out of bed again, did he?” Dis asked the moment Thorin walked through the door.

“Yes,” Thorin said, trying not to whine. “Ever since Fili chose to take care of Sigrid - and I don’t blame him for doing so - Bilbo has been up and gone before I wake and doesn’t come back to bed until well after the midnight watch call.”

Dis’ mouth thinned slightly. “Your husband has taken on too many duties. Balin says he voluntarily took on all of what we expected of Fili to do. Bilbo also refuses to fall behind on any of his own work. I’d like to help if I could but Balin said he won’t hear of it.”

Thorin dropped into a chair with a huff, reaching to fill his plate with a hearty breakfast. Negotiations with the Blue Mountain delegates started in about an hour. He would need the strength to deal with their stubbornness. “I’ll talk to him after the negotiations today,” Thorin promised, whether to himself or Dis, he wasn’t sure.

~*~*~

Thorin never had the chance. Bilbo raced into the meeting at the last second and left the moment the meeting was over. Thorin tried to catch Bilbo before he disappeared but couldn’t quite manage to get by the delegates vying for his attention. His mood, already soured by the Shire’s insistence that they would not work with Bilbo due to his sudden disreputable tastes in spouse, darkened further.

“Your Majesty?”

Thorin looked to the side to where Ori stood. “Yes, Master Ori?” Thorin asked, trying desperately to not snap at the scribe.

“His Royal Highness asked me to give this to you.” He held out a small bit of parchment.

Nodding at Ori in a gentle dismissal, Thorin took the page and opened it. Some of his ire melted away instantly as he read, “I love you. I’ll be by your side for public audiences this afternoon. Stop scowling so much.”

Thorin tucked the note into an inside pocket with a small, fond smile before taking on his normal stoic expression. He nodded briefly to a delegate before leaving the room, intent on finding some lunch before public audiences started.

~*~*~

Thorin knocked gently on the door to the Queen’s rooms four weeks after Sigrid arrived in the mountain. When he didn’t receive an answer, he carefully opened the door and peeked inside.

Fili sat next to the young woman, eyes fixed on her sleeping face as he held onto her hand. Thorin could hear soft whispers but was too far away to distinguish any words. Sigrid’s dog lifted his head and looked at Thorin briefly before settling back down on the rug in front of the hearth, going back to staring towards Sigrid.

Thorin debated approaching Fili. Even only able to see his profile, Thorin could make out the deep, dark circles under Fili’s eyes, showing little to no sleep. He was pale, his normally bright blond hair was dull, closer to ash than gold in color. Tension and fear rounded Fili’s shoulders as he leaned forward and touched Sigrid’s cheek briefly, a forced smile on his too pale lips.

“Tilda’s a baby, Mum! I can’t care for her!”

Thorin jumped. Sigrid fought his nephew weakly, kicking at her blankets and trying to push his hands away from her shoulders as she stared to her side. Her desperate screams came stronger as she ranted at her unseen mother. Her voice sounded closer to shifting gravel than the clear kind tones Thorin remembered. How long had she been screaming?

A hand gently touched Thorin’s shoulder and he turned to see Kili standing there, face grim. Behind him, Tauriel waited with something small clutched in one hand. Her expression, what little he could see behind the elven mask of stoicism, did not bode well for Fili. Thorin stepped aside and she walked in, carefully closing the door behind her.

“How bad is Princess Sigrid really?” Thorin asked.

Kili swallowed thickly, his expression grim. “Oin says she won’t make it if we can’t get her to eat or drink anything soon. Tauriel is giving Fee something to give her that may help but it doesn’t always work with humans.”

Thorin looked over his shoulder at the door. “And Fili?”

“Never leaves her side unless we force him,” Kili said. “Even then, he’s often back before he’s supposed to be.” Kili looked down at his feet for a moment before he met Thorin’s eyes. He lifted a hand and hastily scrubbed a tear track off his cheek. “He’s killing himself to be with her. I’m worried that if she dies, he’ll follow her.”

Silently, Thorin pulled Kili into a hug, letting his nephew cling. Thorin didn’t comment on the shuddered breaths, the too-tight grip, or the gentle swaying from side to side. He held onto Kili, burying his face in his nephew’s hair and hoped Kili would forgive him for getting it a little wet.

The door opened and closed and still Kili clung. Thorin scrubbed his cheeks quickly before looking at Tauriel. “Is there anything you can do?” he asked. He wasn’t sure if he meant for Sigrid, Fili, or Kili.

Tauriel shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “The medicine I gave to Fili for her will give her some lucidity but it will be short-lived. For some humans, it will bring the fever down as well but it can take weeks for it to take effect. Our first priority must be for her to drink and eat. Otherwise, it won’t have time to work.”

Thorin nodded. “Then we’ll send for aid. Can you return to the Woodland realm and ask your healers for something more? Anything to help her?”

Kili pulled away from Thorin enough to look at Tauriel, his eyes red but a smidgen of hope struggling to take root in his shivering form.

“Is there anything?” he asked and that little bit of hope hung by the barest bit of spider’s silk.

“I’ll leave immediately,” she said. “With any luck, Prince Legolas will be on patrol and I can send a message with him. If not, Kili will have to enter the forest and find a patrol on his own. I may not enter upon pain of death.”

“I’ll go,” Kili said and let go of Thorin. “If we leave now, we can be back within a matter of days.”

“Send word to the kitchens for supplies first,” Thorin ordered. “I’ll tell your mother where you’ve gone. Go and may Mahal guide you.” He briefly pressed his forehead to Kili’s and then looked up at Tauriel. “Both of you. We’ll watch for your return. I’ll send crows to look for Gandalf.”

“You may also try Lord Elrond of Rivendell,” Tauriel said. “He is said to be the greatest healer among my kind.”

Thorin nodded. “I’d heard rumor of his talents. I’ll send word to him. It’s too far for him to travel in such a short time but perhaps he knows of a remedy we can try that doesn’t require his presence. Now go, before it’s too late.”

Kili and Tauriel nodded, turning down the hall and breaking into a run towards the stables at the front of the mountain, hand in hand.

Nori peeled away from the shadows at the end of the hall. “Do you think it will do any good?” he asked, his expression grim.

“It has to,” Thorin said and looked back at the door. “For Fili’s sake.”

~*~*~

It was official. The entire kingdom of Erebor was working against Thorin. All he wanted was a nice, quiet word with his husband but for the last week or so, he’d barely even said three words to him that didn’t pertain to the business of the realm. Bilbo left daily before he woke. They couldn’t converse personally during the negotiations with Ered Luin. Bilbo always ate lunch literally on the run, if he ate lunch at all. On the days Public Audiences were held, they didn’t have the opportunity to converse more than the break between petitioners. If there wasn’t Public Audience, Bilbo was tied up in meetings or other duties that Fili normally attended to. 

The only time Thorin managed any private time was during the rare dinner. So far, they’d only managed to have dinner together once, and only because Thorin had ambushed Bilbo on the way to his office. He’d literally had to hook an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and tow him to their room for a private meal. Bilbo had barely spoken, choosing instead to eat quickly and disappear off to his office with a hurried, “Sorry! I have paperwork that needs to be done before bed,” before sprinting away. Thorin had been asleep before Bilbo came to bed, any of those nights. If it weren’t for the hastily discarded, rumpled sleep clothes that Bilbo insisted on wearing to bed, Thorin would wonder if his hobbit was sleeping at all. Something had to change.

A chance to at least get Bilbo to rest came after the end of the eighth day during Public Audiences.

“What do you mean, the Crown Prince is ‘indisposed’?”

If he was less experienced at hiding his emotions no matter how badly he wanted to, Thorin would be rubbing his forehead in irritation and outright anger by now. “I mean, Rassura, Daughter of Rasinar, Prince Fili is unavailable to meet with anyone for the foreseeable future.”

“Is he injured?” the dam asked and Thorin almost believed the apparent concern in her voice and in the way her red eyebrows tipped together.

“He is not. Now if you don’t mind-”

“Then it must be true. Princess Sigrid is ill and he’s remaining apart from the public eye until she dies.”

Thorin didn’t even flinch at the obvious attempts to pull information. So far, the only things said about Fili or Sigrid was that they wished to have some time away from the public eye before their, well, it was time to face it by now, their imminent wedding.

“The Prince and Princess have requested time away from the public to get to know each other better,” Balin recited from his place next to Thorin. “If you have no further business.” He trailed off and motioned with a hand for her to step aside. 

Rassura straightened her spine and a decidedly smug look fixed itself onto her features. “Well,” she said. “It’s good he’s spending time with her. From what I understand, the illness will kill her soon and it won’t be pretty. Prince Fili will be able to marry a proper dam fit to be queen someday.”

A lesser dwarf feeling as much anger would have choked on their own tongue at the implication. As it was, only Bilbo and Balin shifting their weight towards him simultaneously kept him from leaping from his throne and throttling the dam. Instead, he took a deep breath and said while focusing on not clenching his jaw, “If you have issues with how the Crown Prince spends his time with his intended, I suggest you take it up with him when he returns to his duties or perhaps with Princess Sigrid when she does.”

“If she survives that long,” Rassura scoffed. “Humans are so fragile after all. And fickle. From what I’ve heard, numerous suitors have come to call for her in Dale since she and the Crown Prince started courting. Who’s to say she isn’t cavorting with one of them when Fili isn’t around her.”

Thorin shifted, intent on storming down the steps, grabbing Rassura by the throat, and throwing her off the walkway in the throne room for her rumor-mongering and impudence. Such slander towards the Crown, even the Crown of Dale, could not be tolerated.

“As the one to have lost to Her Royal Highness, I’m honor-bound to protect her good name in her absence.”

Thorin’s head whipped to the side, his hair momentarily obscuring his vision before it returned to stillness at the sides of his face. Dwalin stepped forward from his place at Bilbo’s side, Grasper and Keeper in hand.

“Losing to a human girl,” Rassura laughed. “I’m surprised the king allows such a weak dwarf to guard him.”

Thorin could practically hear Dwalin’s teeth grind, considering how hard the muscles in Dwalin’s jaw were working.

“I did hear she cheated so maybe that explains it. After all, such a fragile, fickle creature could never best a dwarf in combat.”

Dwalin turned to Thorin and bowed. “With My King’s permission, I request leave to defend the honor of Sigrid, Princess of Dale, Daughter of Bard the Dragonslayer, called Wolfsbane in her absence.”

“Request granted,” Thorin said, struggling to keep the glee out of his voice and off his face. Loud enough for all in the throne room to hear, Thorin announced, “We shall open the Northern Arena for the Challenge against Princess Sigrid of Dale’s honor.”

“We will adjourn this session of Public Audience until the King’s Guard can retake his place,” Balin said, stepping forward with his arms outstretched as if to herd everyone out the great doors.

“What, you mean in ten minutes, considering it takes three to walk to the arena?”

Laughter worked its way up the line and Thorin looked for the origin of the statement only to see a very familiar hat and braided pigtails. What in Mahal’s name was Bofur doing in line? He didn’t need to wait to see Thorin. Shrugging, Thorin made a note to seek Bofur out later to find what he needed.

Balin, in the meantime, only smiled slightly and continued to shoo everyone from the throne room.

Bilbo moved to slip down another path towards the side door they often used to enter the throne room. Thorin caught his arm, just above the elbow. “This is a duty we must fulfill,” Thorin whispered to him. “We must show our support for Princess Sigrid, even if it is someone else fighting on her behalf.”

Bilbo glanced forlornly at the door before turning to slide his arm through Thorin’s. “So much for catching up on a little paperwork,” he muttered.

Thorin patted his hand consolingly as he moved toward the walkway. Dwarrow moved out of their way and Thorin could feel Bilbo’s fingers grip his arm all the tighter.

“No one is going to fall,” he whispered in Bilbo’s ear. “Dwarrow have better balance than that.”

“I don’t care,” Bilbo said. “Why do all the free peoples in Middle-earth insist on not having railings between walkways and drops that will lead to serious injury if not death? Even Goblin Town had railings for Yavanna’s sake!”

“Do hobbits not have railings either?” Thorin asked.

“We don’t have any drops that could kill us.” He paused for a moment. “And yes, we do have railings or did you miss the fence around Bag End as well as your way?” 

Thorin shook his head in bemusement and led Bilbo into the Northern Arena.

The room contained little more than a dirt-packed floor and bleachers around the edges. Granted, it was large enough to hold a good portion of Erebor’s current population if not all of it.

Thorin took his place on the edge of the ring where a section had been built with royalty in mind. He and Bilbo took the two somewhat more ornate chairs as dwarrow flooded into the room. Thorin glanced worriedly at the four empty chairs to his right where his nephews, and someday Sigrid and Tuariel would sit. He had yet to hear from Kili and Tauriel. Soon, Dis arrived and took a seat next to Bilbo. She breathed a bit heavier than normal.

“How do you fare, Sister?” Thorin asked her quietly.

Dis nodded, taking a deep breath and deliberately slowing her breathing. “I heard of the insult to Princess Sigrid’s honor. I wanted to see Dw- Captain Dwalin trounce the dam that would insult the Royal House of Dale.”

Thorin resisted the urge to let surprise show on his face. It wasn’t like Dis to forget Dwalin’s title in public, even for a moment. Had something happened? Unfortunately, he could not ask without risking someone overhearing or reading lips. He had no illusions that Nori wasn’t the only one that had that particular skill within the mountain. He’d have to ask later.

For now, he needed a word or two with Bilbo. He nodded toward Dwalin who was side-eyeing him, knowing Thorin needed a moment to talk to Bilbo. Dwalin turned his attention to Grasper and Keeper, checking them meticulously for any damage that could slow him or make them less effective.

Thorin leaned an elbow on an armrest, placing his hand under his nose and effectively hiding his mouth.

“We need to have a word,” he told Bilbo quietly.

“Do we?” Bilbo asked, lifting a sheaf of papers in front of his face, examining them for all intents and purposes.

“When’s the last time you slept?”

“Last night.” Bilbo actually was reading the papers, curse it. Did he ever stop?

“For how long?”

Bilbo’s mouth set in an irritated line for a moment. “We all must do our part to assist Fili,” he whispered even quieter than before.

“And we all will,” Thorin said earnestly. Bilbo glanced at him long enough for Thorin to tip his head towards Dis, Balin, and Ori in turn. “Even I can see you’re working yourself into an early grave.”

“Early by your standards maybe,” Bilbo said but his shoulders dropped in defeat. “I’ll try to pass on some of the work.”

Balin, who had stepped closer to inform Thorin that both combatants were prepared for battle, said, “Do or do not, Your Majesty. There is no try.”

Thorin, who had heard that on more than one occasion, stifled a smile and stood, turning to address Rassura and Dwalin in turn.

~*~*~

Bilbo leaned an elbow against the armrest of his chair, his eyelids drooping. He struggled to keep them awake even as Thorin stood to start the fight. Really, his time could be spent much better than watching Dwalin beat some poor misguided soul into the ground.

Thorin’s hand on his arm brought him out of the light doze. Bilbo glared blearily at him. “I’m fine,” he hissed at the concerned look Thorin shot him out of the corner of his eye.

“Are you really?” Thorin asked. “You’ve only been in that chair for three minutes and already you’re falling asleep. It’s a wonder you didn’t fall asleep during Audiences this morning.”

Bilbo’s nose twitched against his will as he sat up straight. “I beg your pardon?” he demanded, annoyed at himself. He actually had fallen asleep during Audiences that morning but only briefly. Balin had noticed and nudged him on his way to accept something from a dwarf seeking advice on a land dispute.

Barking pulled Bilbo’s attention away from Thorin and he cringed when Dwalin bodily lifted the hound racing to attack him over his head and out of the arena. The dog yelped but got back to its feet, circling the solid wood fence and searching for a way back to his target. Dwalin now circled with the dam, Grasper and Keeper ready to defend or attack.

“As I thought,” Thorin said and Bilbo bristled at his tone. “You need to go back to bed.”

“I’m fine ,” Bilbo insisted and flinched when Dwalin swung an ax (really, he didn’t know which was which) and slammed it into the dam’s shoulder, sending her staggering to the side and into the kick he aimed at her stomach. “Just a bit tired. Nothing to keep me from my duties.”

Thorin sighed a little and Bilbo once again turned a glare at him only to stop. Instead of the frustration he anticipated, Thorin looked weary.

“We already have one member of this family lying abed,” Thorin said softly. “I’d hate for you to have to do the same for similar reasons.”

“It’s an illness of Men,” Bilbo said, his own ire draining from him but not the petulance. “I won’t be able to catch it.”

“I thought colds were illnesses of Men,” Thorin said. “If I recall, you caught one as we reached Laketown.”

Bilbo shook his head. “Colds are universal. Everyone gets colds.”

“I’ve never met a dwarrow who had one,” Thorin said, “but that’s not the point. You need to relinquish some of the work.”

“And I already said I would,” Bilbo huffed and watched as Dwalin parried Rassura’s swing and drove his other ax into her belly. The armor there crumpled under the blow. “I’ll go to bed early tonight, all right? Will that satisfy you?”

“It will indeed,” Thorin said and leaped to his feet to cheer as Dwalin smashed an ax into the dam’s helmet. She fell, groaning and didn’t move.

“Do you yield?” Dwalin demanded.

She lifted a hand weakly and tapped the ground twice, moaning again.

“See,” Bofur said as the Company gathered around Dwalin on the arena floor to congratulate him on his victory. “Didn’t take more than three minutes.”

~*~*~

“She was doomed from the beginning,” Dwalin groused. “Daft dam tried to copy Princess Sigrid by bringing her mutt into the fight. That thing didn’t even compare to Magnus in size.”

“So you admit your fight with Princess Sigrid was a fair one?” Bilbo asked, affecting an overly innocent expression, trying to hold back a snicker at the dark glare Dwalin cast towards him.

“Girl cheated,” Dwalin grumbled. “Doesn’t mean I’ll let others slander the future princess consort of Erebor in public for it.”

“You could have gone a little easy on her, Brother,” Balin sighed. “Smoothing over that mess with Lord Rasinar is going to be a headache and a half.”

“If he can’t separate personal matters from business, he can remove himself from the negotiations,” Bilbo said, rubbing at his forehead. The headache he’d been fighting for two days had finally started to pound behind his eyes. He suspected his admitting to being overworked had something to do with the sudden onset of agony.

“You may remove yourself too, laddie,” Balin said, looking over at Bilbo. “You’re about dead on your feet.”

“I can still work,” Bilbo protested.

An arm dropped onto his shoulders. “Nonsense, Bilbo” Bofur said cheerfully. “Off to bed with you now. Come along.” He started pulling Bilbo away from the official meeting halls and towards one of the massive, open spaces in the mountain where numerous paths and staircases met in soaring heights of green stone lit by sunlight with enormous mirrors. From there, Bilbo knew he’d be dragged back to the Royal Wing and to his rooms.

“What? No! Thorin!” Bilbo tried to pull away from Bofur.

“Make sure he doesn’t disappear into his study,” Thorin said, the dirty traitor. “He is to sleep. Not work.”

“As you command, Your Majesty,” Bofur said with a tip of his hat towards the king. 

“Oh, honestly,” Bilbo huffed. “Can we at least stop by the kitchens first? Something smelled delicious when I ran by there earlier today.”

“That’d be Bombur’s raspberry dumplings,” Bofur said. “They were delicious. We’ll stop in, see if there’s any left.”

“Wonderful,” Bilbo sighed and stopped struggling.

~*~*~

Kili caught Thorin six days later as he headed to the meeting room where negotiations were proceeding at a crawl. Why they were even still having them, Thorin didn’t know at this point. They could do nothing until revisions the delegates from Ered Luin brought with them reached the Shire and returned with approval. Even with the fastest crow taking the message it would still take at least a week and that was assuming the weather was ideal and no predators tried to harm the crow. Yes, Erebor probably could do without trading with the Shire for plant-based goods that wouldn’t spoil in the journey across the Misty Mountains such as pipeweed, seeds, and certain textiles, but Thorin knew Bilbo would appreciate having the connection to the land, if not the people. Discussion with the Ered Luin dwarrow could not proceed until they were certain trade routes would be open through the Shire’s borders as well.

“What happened?” Thorin asked, stopping in the middle of a busy staircase. Dwarrow parted around them, glancing curiously at their king and the younger prince but kept their distance as Dwalin glared menacingly at them. “Did the elves have anything that would help?”

Kili shrugged. “They let us both into the palace. Tauriel spoke the healers. She’s headed to see Fee and Sigrid now. There’s no guarantee that whatever she has will work, she said. Something about a personal connection and the strength between them and how well Fee can carry a tune.” Kili looked a bit confused at the last bit.

Thorin nodded, placing a hand on Kili’s shoulder. “You did well. Go. Rest. See Fili. I’ll be up as soon as may be.”

Kili nodded and continued on his way up the stairs while Thorin turned to go down. Determination set him moving faster and Dwalin followed, matching him stride for stride.

“What’s in your head Thorin?” Dwalin asked.

“I’m canceling this meeting. I have better things to do than to talk circles around issues we can’t make decisions about until after Jeki returns with the Shire’s decisions.”

Dwalin snorted. “About time you told those pompous Ered Luin dwarrow where to stick it.”

“And this is why your brother is the politician and you are the guard,” Thorin reminded Dwalin. They continued the rest of the way in silence. Once they entered the room, Dwalin smoothly stepped in front of Thorin and threw the door open so Thorin could make a dramatic entrance.

“This meeting is canceled until Jeki returns,” Thorin said. “There is little point in talking over points that cannot be decided on until after we receive word from the Shire. Good day.” He turned on his heel and left, heading straight for the Queen’s rooms. He needed to see Fili.

By the time Thorin managed to work his way through the mountain, dodging what courtiers he could and quickly excusing himself from others, Kili and Tauriel had already left. Thorin nudged the door open carefully, afraid of the scene he might come across. He hadn’t dared return to Sigrid’s rooms since he’d sent Kili and Tauriel to Mirkwood for aid.

Fili sat next to Sigrid as he had the last time. He sang some low, crooning song in Sindarin, if Thorin wasn’t mistaken. As Fili’s voice drifted through the room, his fingers worked, braiding Sigrid’s hair. Thorin stepped into the room and shut the door behind him, watching silently.

Sigrid’s skin was paler than normal with an almost greyish tint. Her lips were cracked, bleeding, and scabbed over. Already thin, her bones now jutted painfully where before that had been a healthy covering of flesh. Even with the attention Fili paid attention to her hair, the shine to it was dull, lacking all of the shine that Thorin knew Fili liked to see.

Thorin watched the patterns Fili braided into her hair. He’d not paid much attention to them before but he was sure there wasn’t something different about it. As he watched, he recognized the simple twisting braid as one Bifur wore in his beard. One of the only braids the war-scarred dwarf could do without assistance when the ax had been buried in his skull. 

Survivor. 

Thorin waited for Fili to finish before stepping forward and placing his hand on Fili’s shoulder. He stayed next to his nephew as Fili sang until his throat ran dry. Thorin poured him a glass of water before bringing over a spare chair to sit next to him. As he watched, Sigrid shifted in her sleep and shuddered slightly for a moment before stilling again.

For a while, Fili sat silently, staring at Sigrid, the glass held loosely in his fingers.

Thorin took the glass. Fili didn’t seem to notice, his only moving enough to take one of Sigrid’s. Thorin saw marks over her knuckles, scabs where her hands had dried to the point of cracking. More such marks lined the tips of her fingers and the sides of her hands. Bottles and jars of ointments and medicines lined the table near Fili. Half-empty teacups and bowls of broth were scattered around the room as well. A full tray sat next to Fili, the food untouched.

“What if she doesn’t come back?”

Thorin turned his attention back to the two in front of him. Fili didn’t move, refusing to take his eyes away from Sigrid, searching for some change. She drew a shuddering breath, the air rattling through her dry throat and chest.

“She will,” Thorin said. Fili’s hand tightened on Sigrid’s briefly.

“I can’t lose her.”

Fili sounded so lost, so young. Thorin hadn’t heard that tone in decades. Hearing it now tore at Thorin’s heart. He took a deep breath and released it before standing. He placed his hand back on Fili’s shoulder.

Fili turned in his chair and wrapped his arms around Thorin’s midriff, hiding his face in Thorin’s furs. “Please Uncle. After all we’ve gone through to get here, surely Mandos won’t take her.”

Willing his voice to remain steady with the conviction now burning inside him, Thorin said, “Mahal has not forsaken our line. Retaking the mountain is proof of that. He will intercede for her if we ask.”

“I’ve been begging Him for help.” Fili pulled away, rubbing at his eyes. He too looked gaunt and tired. Even for a dwarf, Fili was pushing his limits.

“Eat. Bathe. Rest,” Thorin advised and nudged the tray next to Fili. “It won’t do Sigrid any good if she wakes to find you have neglected yourself. I will make prayers to Mahal.”

Fili nodded shakily and turned back to Sigrid. He reached blindly toward the tray and picked up a roll. He took a small bite before setting it aside again with a grimace. He chewed and swallowed, struggling with the morsel. When it was gone, Fili took another drink of water and started to sing again.

Thorin left the room after tapping the tray again, receiving a nod in return even as Fili kept the song going.

Dwalin met Thorin at the end of the hall. “How is she?” he asked, uncharacteristic worry coloring his tone.

“In need of help,” Thorin said. “Come. We need to go to my forge. I should have asked Mahal for his help in this a week ago at least.”

Dwalin nodded and followed him. Once they were both inside the king’s private forge, they stripped down to trousers and donned leather aprons, pulling back hair and beards to keep them away from tools and fire. Together, they set to work, both singing prayers to Mahal as they crafted.

By the next morning, Thorin had an array of jeweler’s tools on his workbench, runes for healing and safety etched into them as well as declaring the one called Wolfsbane as a member of the line of Durin through marriage. Finally he’d placed the date for Durin’s Day, marking the day when Sigrid would officially be part of the family. Alongside the jeweler’s tools sat two mithril armbands, each designed for his nephews’ intendeds, the seal of Durin surrounded by new geometric patterns, ones Fili and Kili had created for Sigrid and Tauriel respectively. It was about time Thorin gifted their wives-to-be with something to mark them as part of the royal family.

Dwalin, though he was a soldier to the core, could craft as well as any dwarf and better than many. He’d made new knives for Sigrid with prayers of safety, strength, and speed to Mahal etched into the blade as well as Durin’s crest. Two longer, slimmer blades, dirks sized for an elf sat next to them, Tauriel’s name etched in runes along with the same prayers.

As they finished their work, banking fires and cleaning up after themselves, someone pounded on the door.

Glancing at each other, Dwalin retrieved his axes from where he’d left them by the door before calling, “Come.”

Kili shoved the door open and Dwalin and Thorin relaxed. He didn’t pause to greet them. “She’s awake. The fever’s gone.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 27

Once everything settled down after Sigrid finally woke from her illness and Fili finally collapsed into his own bed in the King’s rooms (asleep before he finished letting his body go limp to hit the mattress), Thorin caught up to Bofur.

“Why were you in line during the Public Audience?” Thorin asked once the celebration in the royal dining room settled down. The entire Company (excluding a certain exhausted, overly-devoted, adorable prince) had gathered to bask in relief at Sigrid’s recovery. For all she had yet to marry Fili, she already felt like family with how much time she already spent with the Durin princes.

“Oh, that,” Bofur said, setting aside his tankard of ale with a slightly saddened look before turning to Thorin. “I heard a strange rumor in the mines today and I wanted to make sure you and Bilbo were aware of it. Seemed like something you ought to know right away.”

When Bofur didn’t continue, Thorin’s eyebrows rose expectantly. “Well?”

“We- Oh! Oh, right. Right, right. That. I heard Bilbo could walk through walls and disappear. We know about the disappearing thing but I didn’t know he could walk through solid stone.”

Thorin’s body sagged in relief, tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding bleeding from him. He took a drink of his own ale to cover the bone-deep sigh he wanted to heave. “Nothing to worry about then,” Thorin said almost to himself.

“Nothing to worry about?” Bofur asked incredulously. “Thorin, they’re saying Bilbo’s a faerie.”

“It’s gotten that deep already? I’ll have to congratulate Nori and Lira on their swift work.”

“Nor- I should have known,” Bofur said with a laugh. “Of course he’d have something to do with it. So we’re fine with half the mountain thinking he’s part faerie?”

“Yes,” Thorin said. “It’s just Nori and Lira doing their jobs. Feel free to spread the rumor. Don’t embellish it too much though.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bofur said, touching his hat in acknowledgment. “Now, let’s see here. How can we twist this some more? I’m assuming we need Bilbo to seem larger than life?”

“More like dangerous to attack,” Thorin said.

“Even better,” Bofur said with a grin. “I’ll get on that tonight at the pub.” He moved to get out of his chair but Thorin held him back.

“Don’t worry about it tonight. We’re not here to work or worry about dwarrow trying to kill either myself or my husband.”

“They’re after you then? It’s true?”

Thorin nodded once. “But, as I said, we’re not here to be working.”

“Right,” Bofur said. “No working.”

Thorin, however, could see Bofur’s wheels turning, spinning stories. He had a feeling parts of their journey were going to be distorted in retellings for a while. 

~*~*~

“Well done with the rumors,” Thorin said without looking up from the current draft of the treaty with Ered Luin and the Shire. With any luck, it would be the last. “The way Bofur tells it, half the mountain thinks Bilbo is a faerie and not a hobbit at all.”

“Three quarters by my estimate,” Nori said, hauling himself out of the floor, and carefully replacing the stone tile behind him. One of these days, Thorin was going to have to have Nori take him through all the secret tunnels he’d found. Thorin could have sworn there weren’t any that led into his personal office. “The rest think he’s at least got partial blood. When Jubral had the book stolen and started the rumors, he didn’t realize just how useful they would be to us. Everything still quiet here?”

“As an elf’s-” Thorin paused. If he were to truly accept Tauriel, he’d have to stop using the cliches that demeaned her people, especially the honor of their mothers. “Nevermind. Yes, things are quiet, as you predicted they would be.”

Nori nodded and took a seat on the edge of Thorin’s desk. “I haven’t heard anything else to say otherwise. Jubral’s planning another attack. I think I know when and where. Lori’s going to stay under until she knows for sure.”

“You’re not staying with her?” Thorin asked, setting the treaty aside, giving it up as a lost cause until Nori left through a secret wall found by pulling on a tapestry tassel or some other such thing.

Nori shrugged. “She’s a big dam. She can take care of herself.”

“And yet I haven’t heard a thing about either of you lurking around in the underworld of the city. I would have thought a member of the esteemed Company of Thorin Oakenshield wouldn’t be able to walk among the common dwarrow without drawing attention.”

“Just have to know how to go unnoticed,” Nori said with a grin. “How do you think I evaded Dwalin for so many years?”

“I haven’t the faintest notion,” Thorin said. “Care to enlighten me?”

“There things I won’t even tell you, Your Majesty,” Nori said with a snort. “Got to keep the mystery somehow.”

“It’s ridiculously simple, isn’t it?” Thorin asked.

Nori just grinned.

“What’s brought you back to the world of the law-abiding anyway?” Thorin asked after a few moments of staring contest. He picked the treaty back up as if the matter didn’t concern him all that much.

“I’ve got to make at least the appearance of trying to cover up my status as spymaster. Otherwise, the really dense will realize that’s my actual job.”

“Meaning?”

“Need to start working on Sigrid’s clothes for the wedding.”

“Ah,” Thorin said, glancing up and away from Nori for a moment. He’d forgotten. “We’re not too far away from the day now, are we?”

“Not long at all,” Nori said. “Heard she’d been sick. Now she’s up and about it’s time to act all honest and get some embroidery done.”

“And charge us a small fortune for your work.”

“As if you can’t afford it,” Nori retorted. “Besides, she’s the one that chose my work.”

“And you didn’t influence her at all.”

“Thorin,” Nori said, all injured innocence, one hand going to his chest, “I’m wounded you would think so low of me. I would never do such a thing.”

Thorin snorted and pointedly went back to looking at the treaty. “Of course not. Off with you. Go see your brothers. Ori’s been worried.”

Nori didn’t need telling twice. He moved to one corner, reached behind a tapestry and suddenly disappeared behind it. A light breeze shifted the material before it went still again, Nori’s boots no longer visible beneath the edge. Thorin really needed to have Nori take him through the secret tunnels that apparently riddled Erebor.

~*~*~

Bilbo accepted the parcel of letters from the runner with thanks before turning back into his office, ignoring the runner's wide-eyed look at seeing the rumored fae-hobbit in person. Thorin had told him of the rumors Nori and Lira had been augmenting and embellishing. Jubral, in his apparent idiocy, had already started the rumor mill for them, spreading around the supposed Took family fae heritage, making it out to something evil, unfit for the King’s Consort, that the king was under some spell and needed to be removed from the throne by any means necessary in order to free Erebor from Bilbo’s clutches.

Nori and Lira twisted Jubral’s rumors, playing up Bilbo’s ability to go unseen. Especially how he’d managed to wander through King Thranduil’s halls for around a month without anyone the wiser.

Not to mention the ones about how he’d outwitted the dragon.

But that was neither here nor there. Bilbo sorted through the post, finding letters from Beorn, Rivendell, Princess Sigrid, the usual caustic drivel from Lobelia, and-

“Drogo?” Bilbo wondered as he set the other letters aside. He stared at it with trepidation. His young cousin had yet to send any kind of correspondence since Bilbo sent word he’d lived through Erebor’s retaking.

He didn’t want to open it. Drogo was a favorite cousin. The last thing Bilbo wanted was to find another member of his family now hated him because he’d had the audacity to follow his heart and marry Thorin.

Bilbo set the letter aside, along with the one from Lobelia. He’d go to through the rest, work up his courage before opening Drogo’s. He’d see how he felt after that if he wanted to even bother opening Lobelia’s that day. 

He went through the other letters, starting with Beorn’s (he reported diminishing orcs and goblins around his home, an incoming shipment of honey, and something special for “Little Bunny”), then Elrond’s (his sons were wreaking havoc, his daughter still studied with her grandmother, and the human child he cared for had an unfortunate habit of driving Lindir insane), then Princess Sigrid’s (would he and Thorin and all those considered kin to Fili come to dinner?). He sent a quick reply to the last letter, accepting the invitation for him and Thorin. Knowing she would want to make a good impression, Bilbo added a note of how much Thorin liked blackberries, just in case. He sent the reply with a raven before replying to the other letters in great detail of all that was going on in the mountain, excluding the attempts on his and Thorin’s lives. 

Finally, Bilbo couldn’t put it off any longer. He stared at the two remaining letters on his desk. The overly ornate, looped writing Lobelia favored staring back at him in stark black ink on decidedly cheap paper. Why the harpy still bothered with writing to him was beyond his understanding. She only ever repeated herself and he was sure the amount she spent to post the letters was not worth the apparent need she had to spew her vitriol. Couldn’t she find a new target? Someone who still resided in the Shire perhaps?

Bilbo drummed his fingers on his armrest, still staring at the letter from Drogo. He was just a lad, a tween when Bilbo left for Erebor. He’d be reaching his majority at any time, possibly even that year. A difficult age, Bilbo remembered, full of trying to establish independence from family but to remain on polite terms, to navigate social situations that could harm or enhance one’s standing, to the pressures of finding a spouse as swiftly as possible. Bilbo did not envy Drogo in the least

The letter continued to stare back at him, addressed in lovely green ink on respectable stationery. 

“Oh, for Yavanna’s garden!” Bilbo groused and grabbed the letter. He slit it open with a letter opener (not Sting, obviously, no matter how often Thorin insisted his sword was nothing more) and opened the letter.

To Mister Bilbo Baggins, Consort Under the Mountain

Dear Cousin,

I hope this letter finds you well. I’ve been meaning to write to you for some time now but I wanted to make sure my thoughts were in order. I also did not want to post it from Hobbiton and had to wait until an excuse to visit other parts of the Shire arose. I feared my letter would have been “accidentally lost” before it could make it out of the Hobbiton post. I will probably post this letter from Buckland, away from certain relatives of ours who shall remain nameless. Nor will I mention their terrible fashion sense, particularly in garish colors and overly ornate hats.

I heard you reached your destination and succeeded in your goals. I am glad to hear it and that you are safe. There were rumors going around of your demise a few years ago. A dwarfdam (is that correct?) came to sort out all of the confusion. She was a fierce sight to behold when she took those trying to remove your belongings from your home to task. All polite smiles and veiled threats she was. She would have done your mum proud with the way she handled certain relations. I took it upon myself to make sure none of your silver disappeared that day. It took a bit of work, but I managed to retrieve it all.

Dear me, I’ve gone off on a tangent of my original intent to write this letter. I shall get to the point presently.

(Here Bilbo set the letter down, steeling himself for what must come after Drogo’s ominous declaration. He took the paper up again and continued.)

There is talk that you married a dwarf. And one of our own gender. I’m sure you’ve received a great deal of angry letters and declarations of intent to exclude you from the family. I’m sure you’ve received many letters expressing local opinions. I wanted to make my own opinion on the matter known.

(Here it comes, thought Bilbo.)

I am happy for you. You’ve always been a favorite cousin, even when I was a faunt, running amok and stealing pies from window sills and chasing fireflies in the night. As I grew older, I must admit that I watched you, to use you as an example of how I should live my life. In doing so, I realized that though you were entirely respectable (especially after your parents passed, may Yavanna grant them a plot in her garden), you always seemed rather sad and lonely. Knowing you have found someone you love and are willing to spend the rest of your life brings me peace. I wish you all the luck in the world with your husband. Know that you will always have at least one family member in the Shire that supports you and your husband.

With love and wishing you all happiness,

Drogo Baggins

Bilbo sniffled and set the letter carefully on his desk. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at the few tears dripping down his cheeks. 

Such a simple thing. A letter of support from a family member. All the rest seemed so much easier to face.

Someone wanted him to be happy.

Someone cared.

He hadn’t thought it possible.

Bilbo stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket and squared his shoulders. He took up the letter from Lobelia and threw it into the fire without opening it. He didn’t need acceptance from anyone else in the Shire. There was no reason to torture himself by reading Lobelia’s toxic words or anyone else’s. He would hold Drogo’s kindness close to help him through the days where he dearly missed the Shire and the respectable hobbit he used to be.

“Enough,” he told himself firmly and swiped one more tear from his cheek with a thumb. “There’s work to be done.” He left his office and headed to see Thorin, intent on telling him of the invitation to Sigrid’s home for dinner later that week.

~*~*~

Lira just about gave Thorin a heart attack when she dropped into his lap. Literally.

Thorin kicked his feet out instinctively, trying to dislodge the sudden weight on his legs as he tried to reach for the dagger he wore at his side.

The sound he made was a shout of indignation and most certainly not a yelp of fright.

He was sure of it.

“Afternoon, Your Majesties,” Lira said and Thorin stopped struggling to dislodge the dam’s body from where she sat sideways on his lap, legs thrown over one arm of his chair before the fire. She tilted her head respectfully at Bilbo who sat in his own chair, eyes wide and one hand over his apparently racing heart.

“Do neither of you bother to use a door?” Bilbo snapped, slightly breathless.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Lira asked with a grin a little too similar to Nori’s.

Relaxing back into his chair, Thorin fixed Lira with a glare of his own. “Decided to come up out of the underworld, did you?” he asked a bit tetchily.

She shrugged and reached for a piece of pastry stuffed with elderberries and fresh sweet cream. “Mmph. This is good. Need to start nicking your desserts more often.” She licked crumbs off her fingers. “Found out what I needed. Now it’s just a waiting game. From the sound and feel of things, timing couldn’t be better.”

“How did you get in here anyway?” Bilbo asked, looking up at the ceiling. Thorin glanced up too. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t any sign of a way for Lira to have entered the room from there.

“Walked through the door,” Lira said.

“And why did you feel it necessary to drop in halfway through our lunch?” Thorin demanded, giving her a pointed look and hoping she would leave her current seat quickly.

“Wasn’t learning anything I didn’t already know and we are running out of time.”

“Time?” Thorin asked, hand once again inching towards a weapon. “Time for what?”

“To see the Challenge of course!”

“Challenge?” Bilbo asked and reached to pour himself another cup of tea. Thorin eyed the last of the pastries. The way Lira plowed through them, she obviously hadn’t eaten in a while. Still, Thorin liked these. He stole one last one before Lira could eat it.

“Of course,” she said, glaring at Thorin before looking back at Bilbo. “The Princess was Challenged just after your meeting this afternoon.”

Thorin cursed and gave Lira a shove. She dropped to her feet and stepped out of his space easily as if he hadn’t just bodily moved her. Dancer’s grace indeed. “Where and when?” he asked, already reaching for his discarded crown.

“Eastern training grounds. Should start in about twenty minutes.”

Thorin pushed his hair into place before setting the crown on his head. “Just enough time to get there. Let’s go, Bilbo.”

Bilbo grabbed Sting and belted it on as they left their rooms.

“Don’t mind me,” Lira called after them. “I’ll just clean up your lunch and be right behind you.”

“Nonsense,” Bilbo scolded, stopping at the door. “Come with us. I’ll send a runner for some food for you. There’s no need for you to eat our table scraps.”

“Or my desserts,” Thorin grumbled under his breath. He dodged the elbow Bilbo swung half-heartedly at him. 

“If you insist,” Lira said and followed. “I’ll meet you at the arena. I need to find Nori first.” She ducked into an innocuous corner and was suddenly just gone.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Bilbo muttered, “I’d think she had my ring the way she just disappears randomly.”

“Secret passages,” Thorin told him. “The palace and city are apparently riddled with them. I’ve been meaning to have Nori show me around them some time. Or just pay attention to where he comes out of one and explore it myself.”

Bilbo nodded. “Sounds like something useful. I’ll have to ask him to show me as well.”

They rushed to the training grounds as fast as they could without seeming like they were rushing. When they entered the arena, Dis saw them and waved them over to where she had a few seats saved next to her. By the time they managed to work their way through the crowds to their seats, Fili and Sigrid stood to one side of the arena, Sigrid’s massive hound at her side. As Thorin watched, Fili reached up and pulled Sigrid down into a searing kiss. 

At his side, Bilbo swore. “Nori’s going to win the bet,” he growled.

“I thought that was obvious considering the two are to be married in a matter of a month or two.”

Bilbo just grumbled as they settled in to watch the fight.

“What do we know?” Thorin asked, looking at the arena. The dam Challenging Sigrid wore full armor and he didn’t recognize them immediately.

“It’s Ebni,” Dis said.

Thorin cursed. “She never gives up, does she?”

“Ebni?” Bilbo asked.

“She’s been chasing after Fili for decades,” Dis said. “In Ered Luin, it was easier for him to just tell her he wasn’t interested. Here, with Fili’s position as Thorin’s heir now more important, if she beats Sigrid, he won’t have a choice but to make an effort at Courting her.”

“That sounds absolutely horrible,” Bilbo said.

“It is,” Dis said. “Many royal Courtings have been fouled because of that.”

Bilbo shuddered. 

“Thus why I’m so perfectly fine with how and when we married,” Thorin said.

“No you’re not,” Dis said as she watched Dwalin step in to start the fight. “You wanted a large wedding with all the hoopla and ceremonies and everything.”

Thorin scowled but didn’t take his eyes off the fight as an obviously weary Sigrid threw herself at Ebni.

“You don’t need to deny it for my sake,” Bilbo said. “I know you’re a great big romantic at heart.”

“You may know it,” Thorin said, “but the rest of Erebor doesn’t, nor do they need to. Hush and watch my heir’s future wife beat the ore out of the upstart trying to take Fili from her.”

“Yes, Dear,” Bilbo said and Thorin resisted the urge to growl at the condescension in Bilbo’s voice.

Thorin’s estimation of Sigrid rose again as she used her speed and agility to outmaneuver the dam that had challenged her, finally threatening to hamstring her to end the match. It was good to see someone willing to go to such lengths to keep her place at Fili’s side. There was no room for squeamishness in the royal family. As healers pulled the Challenger from the ring, Sigrid once again publicly claimed Fili as her’s.

“Nice to know my future daughter-in-law can be a romantic at times too. Fili needs that. He can be too stoic at times,” Dis said quietly, leaning towards Thorin from her seat at his side.

“Indeed,” Thorin said. He did not heave a sigh of contentment and fondness, no matter what Dis may say about it. Bilbo glanced at him, one eyebrow raised in disbelief with a hint of glee. Thorin took great care in schooling his expression as Fili thoroughly kissed Sigrid in front of what looked like a few thousand dwarrow.

“I’m sorry, Bilbo,” Dis said without any remorse at all. “I’d say Princess Sigrid is his One.” Bilbo kept grumbling about Nori being a cheating cheater face.

When a dwarf Challenged Fili for Sigrid’s hands, Thorin couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face or the sudden pride and excitement that flooded through him.

“Fili’s looking a bit too gleeful for someone who may lose his rights to Court his One,” Bilbo remarked.

“He’s fine,” Thorin said.

“You’re right,” Dis said to Bilbo at the same time and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Don’t get overconfident Fili!”

“Yes, Amad!” Fili called back.

 Thorin leaned back in his seat, utterly confident in Fili’s abilities. “Now show him why it’s not wise to challenge a Durin,” he yelled.

“At your service, Uncle.”

“I’ve married into a crazy family,” Bilbo said despairingly and looked up at the ceiling. “Dear Yavanna, what have I done, joining such a rambunctious family that seems to seek out a good fight?”

“We don’t seek them out,” Thorin said. “We’re just often in a position where they come to us. Fili will be fine. He’s a great fighter.”

“Hush!” Dis said. “The match is starting.”

The Challenging dwarf never landed a single blow on Fili, adding to the pride swelling inside Thorin.

“And you’re all so overdramatic,” Bilbo added as Fili publicly demanded for someone else to try to take Sigrid from him. 

Thorin laughed as dwarrow chanted and cheered on his heir. “We are hardly dramatic.”

“You’re the most dramatic one of all,” Bilbo told him. “Your speech on top of the carrock? Your declaration that we would all burn together before we drove Smaug from the mountain? Your premature goodbyes after you killed Azog? You are a drama queen.”

Dis snorted, not even bothering to try to disguise her amusement.

Thorin glared at her. “What, pray tell, is so amusing?” he asked.

“Queen Thorin!” she gasped and fell into peals of laughter. 

Thorin groaned. Would that never go away?

~*~*~

“Are we all set with the rules then?” Nori asked as he handed small lanterns to Tauriel, Sigrid, and Bilbo. Thorin and the rest of the Company stood in the passage as they waited for the three to finish readying themselves for the competition.

“Yes, yes,” Bilbo said. “Can we just get on with it?”

“No need to get your knickers in a twist Your Majesty,” Bofur said cheerfully and straightened his hat. He tapped a wall next to him. “Mountain’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Why isn’t anyone else participating?” Sigrid asked and pulled on a pair of thin gloves before accepting the little light from Nori. “I thought Nori, Balin, Dwalin, and King Thorin were the only ones that knew the hidden passages very well.”

“We all have stone sense,” Fili said as he reached out and straightened her jacket for her, pulling it tighter around her figure and cinching the belt closed another notch. “Once we’re in a passage, we can find our way almost anywhere. Their openings are disguised as nothing more than small cracks in the stone to most dwarrow. Only someone with a really strong stone sense would be able to find them when they’re closed properly.”

“And since we’re already in the passage, we can already tell how to get back to the royal wing,” Gloin said. “Well, for the most part. Bombur’s not as strong with his stone sense as others.”

“Stronger than yours,” Bombur said back happily.

“That hasn’t been proven.”

“Can you feel the treasury from here?”

“No.”

“I can. Barely. But I can.”

Gloin glared at Bombur.

“In any case,” Nori interrupted with a pointed glare at the bickering duo, “first one of you to reach the reception room in the royal wing wins. You’ve been shown all the passages. You should be fine. If you’re not back by dinner, we’ll come to find you.”

“After dinner’s over, of course,” Bofur added with a grin. He looked at the dwarrow. “Everyone have their bets made?” he asked.

“Must you dwarrow bet on everything?” Bilbo asked.

“Afraid of not bringing in more coin for your husband?” Dwalin asked. “Twenty gold on Sigrid,” he said to Bofur who marked the amount down in a little book.

Bilbo glared at Dwalin and turned back to Nori. “May we start now?”

“Be my guest,” Nori said.

“I’ll be in my office,” Thorin said, catching Bilbo around the waist and pulling him in for a quick kiss. “Come find me when you win.”

“What should he do when he doesn’t win?” Kili asked without taking his eyes off Tauriel’s. 

Thorin didn’t bother to answer, just released Bilbo after a second quick kiss. Bilbo headed down the left tunnel, Tauriel the middle, and Sigrid down the right.

“See you all at the finish line,” Nori called before leading the Company out of the secret passages and back into the main portion of the mountain. They came out near the armory on the far side of the mountain.

While most of the Company went to the reception room where the race would end, Thorin went to his office. He really did have too much to do. He intended to work until Bilbo came to get him after he won the race through the secret passages. He knew Fili was doing the same, catching up on more of the paperwork he’d missed while Sigrid was ill.

An hour or so after he’d settled into reviewing the latest details concerning Erebor’s stability and the continued repairs, the tile in his floor moved aside. Instead of Nori’s familiar head appearing, Sigrid climbed from the passage until she sat on the floor with her shins and feet still inside the hole and looked around.

“Drat,” she muttered. “I knew I miss counted the halls.” She looked up at Thorin and paled slightly. “Your Majesty, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Thorin nodded at her. “No need to apologize, Your Highness,” he said. “I’m used to someone randomly climbing out of my floor. Mahal knows Nori does it often enough.”

Sigrid nodded and looked back toward the passage beneath her. She hesitated for a moment.

“Was there something you needed, Your Highness?” Thorin asked, setting aside his paperwork, internally rejoicing at the interruption. He really should delegate reviewing these reports to someone trustworthy with strong stone sense, like Bofur or Bifur. He’d have Nori do it, considering he had the strongest stone sense Thorin had ever heard of, but he was too busy being Spymaster and tracking Jubral’s group.

Sigrid seemed to steel herself and took a breath before looking back up at Thorin. “I don’t mean to interrupt your work, but do you have a moment? I’ve been trying to find a good opportunity to talk to someone but everyone seems so busy all the time and I leave in the morning so I don’t know as I’ll get another chance.”

“Please, interrupt,” Thorin said and motioned for a chair by the fireplace in his office. Something suspiciously sounding like Bilbo nudged at the back of his mind. “Would you like me to call for some tea?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.” She hoisted herself the rest of the way out of the passage, carefully replacing the tile behind her. She joined him by the fire.

“What is it you wanted to talk about, Your Highness?” Thorin asked once they were both settled.

Sigrid fiddled with the sleeve of her jacket, looking down at her fingers.

Nerves, Thorin realized. “As you are to be part of my family, I would hope you could feel as if you could talk to me about whatever is on your mind,” he said gently after a time.

Again, she drew in a slightly shuddering breath. She glanced over at him for a moment and then back at her hands, not lifting her head. “Fi- Prince Fili told me recently that my life will be extended if and when we marry.”

Thorin nodded, hiding the smile at her fumble over Fili’s name. Really, it was no surprise they used given names only with each other. He suspected Sigrid had most if not the entire Company excluding himself calling her by her given name only. “That is true. A blessing bestowed by Mahal so that we may enjoy a long life with our Ones, even when they belong to a different, shorter-lived race than our own.” He watched as she started tapping a single finger on her lap. Silence stretched for a moment. “Does this trouble you?” he finally asked.

“I’m not-” she broke off and tucked her fingers together as if to still their fiddling. “I’m not entirely sure. It’s rather hard to internalize. I can think through it logically, do the math of what my age may be, what that means concerning my human family, and such, but-” she huffed irritably. “The reality of it still baffles me. How did-” here she faltered again, her mouth closed in a firm line as she thought something over.

“Bilbo,” Thorin supplied. “His proper title would be Prince Bilbo but, considering his distaste for his title and your position in our family and as one of his friends, I would imagine he would prefer you dispense with titles.”

“So would I,” Sigrid confessed. “In any case, how did Bilbo take it when he was told he’d live longer than the average hobbit?”

Thorin leaned back in his chair, rubbing absently at his slowly lengthening beard. Now that the majority of his people had returned to the mountain, he’d started to let it grow again. There was no longer a reason to display shame over the loss of Erebor to Smaug. “He took it better than I expected,” Thorin said. “Do you know the circumstances around our marriage?”

“You thought you were going to die and asked him so he could rule Erebor in your place. That you didn’t trust anyone else as it seemed unlikely the princes would survive either.”

“That was my reason at the time,” Thorin agreed, “but had I not felt I was about to meet my Maker, I would have courted him after I recovered with the intention of marrying him.”

Sigrid’s eyes widened marginally and she blinked a few times.

“He is my One,” Thorin explained. “When I told Bilbo he would live nearly as long as I would, he merely shrugged and informed me that life at my side mattered more to him than the length of it, That if we were to die tomorrow, or the next day, or the next, he would be content to know that he had spent with the one person that mattered most to him.” Even as he spoke, Thorin felt his lips twitch toward a smile at the memory. 

Sigrid smiled at him. “I was led to believe your marriage was based on convenience, not love,” she said.

“As are most,” Thorin replied, “but I do love him and I thank Mahal at least daily for bringing the fussy little hobbit who values pocket handkerchiefs and tea over all the riches in Erebor into my life that night. He has made me a much better dwarf and continues to inspire me to be worthy of his regard.”

“Ones,” Sigrid said contemplatively. “I’ve been told about the concept before and a few have tried to explain it to me, but I’m afraid I still don’t quite understand some of it. I understand that your One is the other half of your soul, but how do you know who they are?”

“Most dwarrow have what we call Longing. It’s a sort of non-corporeal pull on our psyches, a sort of incompleteness that drives us toward our Ones. Often we will find ourselves shopping or returning to areas frequented by our Ones.”

“Was it that way for you?” Sigrid asked.

“I traveled a lot in the last fifty years,” Thorin said. “I always said it was to help support my family and my people, and it truly was, but I often found myself working my way toward the Shire. I passed through Bree frequently and often contemplated looking for work in the Shire itself but I was always informed that hobbits had no use for the type of smithing I typically did at the time. The most I would find myself working on would be farm tools and kitchen wares. Swordsmithing is more lucrative so I never did seek work there. If I had, I might have saved myself a lot of wondering and searching.”

“And Prince Fili?” she asked tentatively.

“Claims he does not have the Longing. It happens on occasion. Nori, for example, never felt it. But it does not mean he doesn’t have a One, no matter what many dwarrow believe, including Fili.”

“How-” she paused, swallowed back words she’d been intending to say and Thorin could guess what they would have been, “how did Nori know that Lira was his One if he didn’t have Longing?”

“Lira had it,” Thorin said simply. “She’d been dancing in public festivals, in taverns and inns far beneath her skills for years because those were the types of places Nori could frequent easily and did. Dwalin chased him right into her arms one day and her soul settled into place the moment they started dancing together.”

“Her soul settled,” Sigrid murmured. “Was there something similar for you?”

“Yes. From the moment Gandalf pointed out the irate hobbit, I felt at peace within myself for the first time in my adult life. The troubles of my people and the quest still hung over me, but any doubts I had about my own capabilities and my identity disappeared. I no longer felt a need to search for those answers across the world. They were all there, in that little hobbit hole, standing before me in a small, irritated creature dressed in a pair of brown breeches, yellow suspenders, and what I’m fairly certain was a striped nightshirt.”

A small, amused smile didn’t quite reach her eyes and she went back to staring at her hands.

“It is different for children of Men, is it not?” Thorin asked her after a time.

She nodded. “There’s never a guarantee,” she said. “I know a lot of girls my age that have thought they were in love with the right person one day only to realize the next that it will never work out between them. Or women that have a decent marriage but aren’t ever perfectly happy with their husband. Or marriages fall apart after a few years because of many reasons from money to hardship or plenty or whatever the day’s argument is about. We all just kind of guess I suppose and hope for the best.”

“And do you love my nephew?” Thorin asked. “Do you think your marriage with Fili will stand the test of centuries?”

She didn’t respond for a time and disquiet started to eat at Thorin’s insides. Was he wrong? Was Sigrid not Fili’s One as he and Nori suspected?

“My father,” she began before he could delve too deeply into his doubts. She swallowed visibly, fighting against some emotion and began again. “My father always said my mother was his best friend long before she was his wife and that friendship was the foundation of their love. I don’t know if it’s a desire to only see the good where she is now gone, but I seem to remember them acting like newlyweds. I remember them dancing and laughing in our cramped little kitchen in Laketown, my father singing her favorite song, the day before she fell ill.” Her fingers tapped a few times on her lap again. 

“Prince Fili is first and foremost my friend. We promised each other that, no matter how our courtship ends, that we will remain as friends first and always. I believe we will be starting our marriage in a good place and that, if we are careful and attentive, we will find ourselves sharing the same devotion as my father still shows my mother, even twelve years after her death.”

The turmoil within Thorin eased as she spoke. “That is the kind of love shared between Ones and will not end until the rebuilding of the world.”

Sigrid nodded and then froze. “End,” she said. “End! The race! I haven’t made it to the end yet!” She leaped to her feet. “Oh drat, I’m sure to come in last now!” She dropped a quick curtsey at Thorin. “Thank you for your time, Your Majesty,” she said. “If you’ll please excuse me?”

“You are welcome to interrupt the tediousness of paperwork any time,” he told her as she darted over to the removable tile in his floor, “and, in case you hadn’t noticed, my family calls me Thorin in private unless they’re doing it to mock me as Nori and Bofur insist on doing. You might as well start now.”

She looked up at him as she pried the tile up and smiled. “Thank you, Thorin,” she said and dropped into the passage. She had to crouch to avoid hitting her head inside it. “I’ll see you at the finish line.” She pulled the tile over her head and it dropped back into place.

Thorin found himself smiling fondly at the floor for a few moments before he shook himself out of this reverie. Bilbo hadn’t come into his office yet to announce his win. Slightly confused and admittedly a bit worried, Thorin left his office and went to the receiving room two halls over from his office. He arrived just as Sigrid stumbled from behind a tapestry.

“Second place is Sigrid,” Nori said. “Beaten by twenty minutes there lass,” he told her even as Fili strode forward and pulled her into a quick kiss.

Watching the exchange, any remaining doubts Thorin felt melted away. Regardless of whether or not Sigrid felt she and Fili were One, it was easily recognizable in the way Fili shifted to accommodate her in his space. Too bad she’d stumbled into his office half an hour ago. If she hadn’t, she would have won.

But if she was second then Bilbo was-

“Where’s Bilbo got to?” Bofur asked.

Last. Tauriel and Kili sat on one of the couches nearby, his younger nephew looking smug even as he pulled the elf’s legs across his lap and took her hands, carefully massaging her long fingers.

So much for Thorin’s unwavering faith in Bilbo’s navigational abilities.

“I doubt he’ll be much longer,” Dori said from where he sat on the couch working on what looked like the tunic Fili would wear at his wedding.

Bilbo didn’t show up for another two hours. After an hour, everyone started to shift and watch the tapestry closely. Another fifteen minutes had them starting to vocalize their worries. At an hour and a half, Nori started tapping on the stone wall, trying to see if Bilbo was near. With fifteen minutes to go, they started organizing a search for Thorin’s lost husband. Nori even sent word for Lira to come help.

Familiar grumbling sounded from the hallway just as Bofur pulled the tapestry aside so they could start searching the tunnels.

“Bilbo?” Thorin asked, stepping out of the room to meet him. “What happened? I was just about to start searching for you.”

“How you dwarrow think it’s possible to find your way in those dratted tunnels is beyond me!” he snapped. “There are no markers and everything looks the same. I lost my way. Twice.”

Thorin covered his laugh with a cough and by the look on Bilbo’s face, did not succeed very well at all.

“Luckily,” Bilbo growled, “I found my way to the kitchens.” He held up a basket slung over his arm. “Now, I am going to make myself a well-deserved snack and not worry about bebothered and confusticated dwarrow secret tunnels, thank you very much!” He marched passed Thorin and around a corner. A moment later, Thorin felt the stone vibrate beneath his feet, telling him Bilbo had just slammed the door to their rooms.

“Well, no more secret passages for Bilbo,” Nori said as he stepped up next to Thorin. “Now pay up, Your Majesty.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 28

Thorin ducked under the sword swinging towards his head and lunged into the opening, slamming his elbow hard into the unarmored chest in front of him, sending Fili sprawling into the dirt and sawdust floor of the training room. He moved to crowd forward and force Fili to scramble back to his feet but his nephew didn’t move. Thorin paused, looking down to make sure he hadn’t knocked Fili senseless on the dirt floor.

Fili stared at the green stone ceiling far above them, his face a bit pale.

The tirade of always keeping one’s head in a fight died on Thorin’s lips. He lowered Orcrist. “Fili? What’s the matter?”

Fili lifted his arms briefly and then let them flop at his sides theatrically. “I’m getting married tomorrow,” he said and Thorin couldn’t quite decide on the tone of voice Fili used. It sounded part terrified, part nervous, and entirely sheepish.

Thorin glanced up at Dwalin standing next to him, his eyebrows rising before he looked back at his nephew, his usual stoic expression returning. “I thought that’s what you wanted,” Thorin said and that same trepidation he’d felt when talking to Sigrid during the tunnel running competition returned.

“It is!” Fili said, lifting his head to look at Thorin. “I’m more nervous than Ori was on his first day as Balin’s apprentice.”

Thorin looked back up at Dwalin in alarm before turning and whistling. One of the young dwarrow that hung around the training fields looked up and trotted over eagerly.

“Your Majesty?” the dam asked. “Can I help?”

“Yes. Go find Lord Balin and have him come talk to me immediately Newirra.”

The young dam bowed again before taking off out of the training yard.

Fili groaned and struggled to his feet. He stepped back from Thorin a bit and shifted into a fighting stance, his swords held a bit too loosely. When Thorin didn’t raise Orcrist, Fili glanced at Dwalin who didn’t move to attack either. Looking perplexed, Fili relaxed and the three waited until Balin came walking into the room, looking clean and neat as always, despite the fact he normally didn’t wake up for another half an hour. 

“You sent for me, My King?” he asked with a bow.

Thorin nodded. “I’m sorry to disturb your rest but I need you to cancel all my appointments today and I have a feeling you’ll want to start work on that right away. Once you’re done with that, take a day for yourself as well.”

“Your Majesty?” Balin asked.

Thorin inclined his head toward Fili. “I have a nephew to distract from his upcoming nuptials.”

Balin smiled and bowed to Thorin, patted his brother’s arm and nodded toward Fili with a wink before leaving the training yard to do as Thorin asked.

“Go fetch your brother,” Thorin ordered. “We’ll get away from all the preparations for the day, outside the mountain.”

Fili stood a little straighter, a bit of excitement starting to give him energy and banishing his nerves. “Are we going riding?” he asked.

“I thought we might,” Thorin said. “Hurry. I’ll have the rams saddled, or would you prefer pony back today?”

“Rams,” Fili said, his grin widening. “It’s been a while. Sigrid’s too tall for them.”

“Off with you then,” Thorin said, nudging Fili towards the doors.

“He should be on watch on the ramparts,” Dwalin called as Fili dashed away. “You’re a great softie, you know that right?” he asked once Fili was gone.

“When it comes to the boys? Absolutely,” Thorin said and sheathed Orcrist.

“And your pretty little husband.”

Thorin punched Dwalin solidly in the arm without looking at him before heading toward the doors after Fili. “What did I tell you?”

“Can’t help it,” Dwalin said. “Almost everyone worth chasing is either married or has found their One.”

“Go ogle Nori and Lira then,” Thorin groused. “They don’t mind it. Leave my pretty little husband out of it.”

Dwalin laughed as they made their way to the stables where the war rams were kept. “I would, but I haven’t seen either of them since the Dowry Debacle.”

Thorin cringed a bit. He didn’t know how Fili managed the apparent battlefield that was cultural differences between Dwarrow and Human wedding customs. That one instance had been bad enough. Part of him had worried about dragon sickness returning or that Bard had started to feel a bit of the same greed The Master of Laketown had exhibited. When Sigrid had explained Bard wanted to pay him the gold, he’d grown even more confused. Thank Mahal for Dis and her idea to put the money into a fund for the less privileged girls in Dale. 

“I haven’t seen them either,” Thorin realized. “I wonder what they’re up to this time.”

Dwalin just shrugged as they entered the stables.

Thorin, Fili, Kili, and Dwalin spent the day roaming Erebor’s slopes and hunting in the plains surrounding the mountain and Dale. They swam in the River Running and napped along its banks, fishing for their lunch and swapping tales from their lives, remembering the best parts of Fili’s life, including the embarrassing bits. They kept their distance from both cities, avoiding everyone and all sight of wedding preparations. Finally, they headed back toward Erebor where Kili took over and herded Fili away from all the preparations and toward their rooms, ready to do all he could to keep his brother occupied for the rest of the evening.

Before Kili successfully dragged him away, Fili grabbed Thorin and pulled him into a tight hug, burying his face into Thorin’s shoulder. “Thank you, Uncle,” he murmured. “I really needed this.”

“You have no reason to be nervous about your wedding,” Thorin said as he gripped his nephew just as tight. “You may not see it yourself, but I believe Sigrid is your One.”

Fili’s arms tightened for a moment and Thorin turned his head just a little, brushing a kiss against his nephew’s head before letting him go and giving him a nudge to join Kili.

“They grow fast, don’t they?” Dwalin asked.

“Too fast,” Thorin agreed, somehow seeing both his grown nephews and the two little toddlers he remembered from long ago at the same time. “I can only imagine how Dis feels,” he admitted.

“I’d expect about the same as you,” Dwalin said. “You more father to those boys than any other living dwarf I know. You worked to raise them just as much as she did.”

“I hope I have done right by them,” Thorin admitted quietly and tore his eyes away from Fili and Kili.

“I can’t think of two finer young dwarrow,” Dwalin said, gripping Thorin’s shoulder. “You’ve done more than right by them.”

Thorin felt a bittersweet smile tug at his lips. “Enough of this,” he said. “Come. Let’s find how Bilbo’s doing.”

~*~*~

“Not there, you clothead!” Bilbo cried and stormed up to the dwarf clumsily placing a large bundle of flowers on a small table. “Put them in the bucket of water over there or they’ll wilt before we can even start to arrange them.”

“Having difficulties?”

Bilbo whirled around. “Thorin!” he said, his expression going from stressed beyond all belief to absolutely delighted in the space of half a moment. His eyes shifted quickly to the bustling room around him and his face returned to its stressed visage. “Whoever decided I should be in charge of setting up the decorations made a terrible choice,” he said despairingly. “We’ve so much to do and only today in which to do it.”

“You’re the best person for the job and you know it,” Thorin said as he surveyed their surroundings. “Dwarrow have no idea what to do with all these flowers and things.”

“Obviously,” Bilbo grumbled. “I know Dis meant well with assigning helpers, but I’d much rather do it myself or have people who don’t ask me fifty times if I’m sure we don’t need more gems in the designs.”

Thorin nodded. “I’m sure we can manage to find a solution,” he said. He straightened and called. “You are all dismissed. One of you send for any members of my Company that can be spared from their current duties. Don’t bother asking their highnesses. They’re busy.”

The dwarrow in the room bowed to their king and his consort before scurrying away.

Bilbo sighed and patted Thorin’s arm. “Thank you for that. This will be much easier without all those ham-handed brutes mangling the flowers.”

“Instead you’ll have to put up with me,” Thorin said as he took off his surcoat and draped it over the foot of the nearest statue of his ancestors. “Where would you like me to start? Dwalin. Come out of the shadows and help.”

“Can’t protect you if my hands are full of flowers,” Dwalin grumbled even as he stepped out of his current hiding spot.

“There are guards stationed at every entrance. We are all armed and I think Fili and Sigrid will forgive us if some of the flowers are ruined in an attack,” Bilbo said. “Now quit trying to get out of helping. You can start by moving that table over there for now and then we can work on the banners and ribbons. I’ll start arranging the flowers.”

“Your pretty little husband is bossy,” Dwalin groused even as he went to one end of a long table.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop ogling my pretty little husband?” Thorin demanded, finishing rolling up his sleeves.

“I’m standing right here,” Bilbo groused, moving a pile of bright orange alstroemeria into a bucket of water to wait until it was time to arrange them around the room. He’d already done all the work he could in Dale. He’d found many competent helpers there and they’d promised to stay true to his vision of the final product. “And I don’t appreciate being called little. I’m perfectly respectable in size. It is the rest of the world that is too tall.”
“Of course Dear,” Thorin said and grabbed a ladder and a bundled banner to start the process of hanging them off the statues of his ancestors and across the Hall of Kings.

Soon, the entire Company except for Fili, Kili, Nori, Oin, and Bombur arrived. Gloin’s wife Breila and his son Gimli came as well. Bilbo set everyone to work, surprisingly, Bifur approached him after it was apparent Bofur didn’t really need help with setting up more banners.

“I can help with the flowers,” Bifur said gruffly.

Bilbo looked up from his admittedly slightly frenzied sorting of flowers by color. “Really?” he asked, an eyebrow rising skeptically.

Instead of responding, Bifur plucked out a series of the flowers in front of Bilbo and started laying them out in a neat little bundle. He grabbed one of the Durin blue ribbons waiting at hand and expertly tied it in an intricate bow around the bouquet.

A relieved grin spread across Bilbo’s face as he met Bifur’s steady gaze. “You’re hired,” he said simply. “There are more flowers in the buckets over there. We need one for every hook around the room.” He pointed up to show Bifur the hooks that had been temporarily fastened around the hall where he’d planned to hang bundles upon bundles of flowers. “I’ll start on Sigrid’s bouquet.”

They worked for hours, shouting across the Hall of Kings at each other for more banners, flowers, ribbons, hooks, ladders, and ale or food. Bilbo and Bifur had just about finished preparing the numerous bouquets that would go up on the hooks as well as the flower chains that would go with the banners when Nori and Lira sprinted into the room, slamming the massive doors behind them.

“About time you reappeared,” Dwalin groused from where he stood atop a ladder, hanging another banner.

“What is it?” Thorin demanded, striding forward, immediately alert.

“They’re coming,” Nori said and turned.

“They?” Bofur asked as he stepped off his ladder.

“Jubral and his ilk,” Dwalin groused and tossed Orcrist to Thorin. “Hope you all brought weapons. It’s going to be a good fight.” He grinned wolfishly.

“Try not to destroy our hard work,” Bilbo sighed. 

“Breila, Gimli, off you go,” Gloin ordered, nodding toward one of the side doors.

“Afraid they’re stuck in here. We’re surrounded,” Nori said as he gave Thorin a push toward Bilbo. “In the middle, Thorin. Easier to keep the ruling monarch and his consort alive from there.”

“How many are we talking?” Bofur asked and faced another door, his mattock appearing from somewhere. 

“Enough that I wish we had the others here,” Nori said as he shifted onto the balls of his feet. Instead of his mace, he wielded a pair of long, thin knives. Beside him, Lira held a rapier at the ready, a pair of axes similar to Dwalin’s Grasper and Keeper were strapped to her back in easy reach.

“Good!” Gimli and Gloin chorused before grinning at each other before Gloin seemed to come to his senses and pushed his son behind him toward Bilbo and Thorin. The young dwarf stepped out of his father’s reach and put his mother between them, hefting the ax he’d been wearing on his back.

Bilbo glanced up at Thorin, Sting held tightly in one hand. “Thorin,” he murmured quietly as the company shifted to surround them.

“You’ll be fine, Bilbo,” Thorin said, his eyes scanning the room, searching for the first breach in the guards posted outside the Hall.

“I’m not worried about me,” Bilbo said. “Jubral wants you dead. I’ve just been getting in the way, remember?”

Thorin looked down at Bilbo and paused. He seemed to search Bilbo’s face for something before coming to a conclusion. He pulled Bilbo close to him, bent, and kissed him soundly. “I love you, no matter what may come.” He pressed his forehead to Bilbo’s, breathing in his scent.

Bilbo nodded, his expression turning grim. “I love you too,” he said. “Try not to get killed, please.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“You’re sure there’s no way for Thorin and Bilbo to get out?” Balin asked.

“Not enough time,” Nori said. “Jubral knows where some of-”

Two of the smaller side doors burst open and over two dozen dwarrow charged into the room, slamming straight into Dwalin and Gloin, cutting off Nori’s explanation in the sudden chaos.

Bilbo stayed within the Company circled around him. He turned, keeping Thorin’s back pressed to his. In front of him Gloin, Bofur, and Bifur fended off swords and axes with their own weapons. Nori and Lira wove in and out of the would-be usurping force, dispatching those around them, breaking up tight-knit pockets that pressed too hard on Thorin’s defenders with their shorter knives. Blood slicked the gold floor beneath their feet. Dwarrow boots started sliding in the mess, only to come to a stop as feet hit fallen forms on the floor.

A black-haired dwarf with a scar splitting his beard on one cheek squeezed between Gloin and Bofur. Bofur shouted, desperately trying to free himself from the tall dam swinging her ax into his mattock.

Grimly, Bilbo shifted slightly away from Thorin, ducking the Warhammer in the dwarf’s hands. He came up beneath the swing and drove Sting into the dwarf’s chest. He angled upward beneath his ribs. The dwarf dropped his hammer and stumbled away from Bilbo. He grabbed for Sting and Bilbo kicked him as hard as he could in the pelvis, pushing the dwarf off his sword before it could be taken from him.

With blood staining Sting’s blade and splashed across his hands, Bilbo stepped back until he pressed against Thorin’s back again. Bofur smashed the dam’s foot with his mattock’s haft before driving the top of the weapon up into her chin with all the force he could muster. She fell aside, unconscious, possibly dead, and with her jaw severely broken, blood pouring down her chin, and, Bilbo suspected, a few broken teeth.

Thorin shifted behind him, pulling away. Bilbo resisted the urge to turn and check on Thorin. He trusted his husband not to be killed on purpose but someone needed to protect his back. Instead, Bilbo kept his eyes trained on the area around him, waiting for someone else to break through the circle.

At least a dozen more dwarrow broke into the hall.

Thorin shifted back against Bilbo’s back again, tension lining his body. His hair brushed against the top of Bilbo’s head and he gave a rattling, caw that sounded remarkably like the crows. He repeated the noise a few times before pulling away from Bilbo again, shouting wordlessly.

A dam shoved around Gloin and Bilbo lunged into her immediately before she could raise her ax. He sank Sting into her leg and jerked his sword up, opening a long, deep gash in her unprotected thigh. Blood spurted out, splashing across his face. He reared back and dove in again, slamming the flat side of his sword into the side of her head. She went down, blood dripping from cuts along the side of her bruising face.

“Bilbo!”

He looked up just in time to roll out of the way of a sword. He used his momentum to bring him back to his feet. He dodged another swing and caught a third on Sting’s hilt. He moved to the side and twisted, disengaging before slicing across the dwarf’s hip. He drew back again and paused as a knife appeared in the dwarf’s throat. He recognized Nori’s weapon and pulled it free before it disappeared in the growing piles of bodies on the floor.

Bilbo glanced behind him and cursed. Thorin now stood back to back with Dwalin, Orcrist dripping in blood and the stoic calm Bilbo associated with deep sadness and frustration on Thorin’s face.

Dwarrow pressed in around him, cutting off his view. He turned back to the task at hand, trying to maneuver toward where he’d last seen Thorin.

It didn’t take long before Bilbo realized more of the attackers targeted him than they did Thorin. It made sense really. Though Jubral wanted Thorin dead, not every dwarf did, even those of the underworld as many of these appeared to be, going by their shabby clothing and often shorn heads or beards. 

Mercenaries, Nori had told them a few weeks ago. Dwarrow that had been banished by other kingdoms as well as a few from Erebor of old under King Thror’s rule. All of them hired to aid Jubral in removing the current ruling house. Those that lived within Erebor and still wore their beards and hair long and thus hadn’t been banished and tried to return to dwarrow society avoided Thorin and came after Bilbo. Killing the king’s consort was one thing. 

Regicide carried even harsher penalties for those that failed.

Something smashed to Bilbo’s left. He glanced over and cursed. “Not the flowers!” he shouted angrily. Of all the things for someone to destroy, it had to be one of the largest tables where bouquets waited to be placed. Geraniums, alstroemeria, comet orchids, and dogwood flowers spilled across the ground to be trampled underfoot. He cursed once more and dodged an ax driving down to split him in two. He tangled in a banner lying across the floor, blood soaking into the Durin blue and burgundy triangles. He swore, cut his way free and struggled up, kicking out with one foot and knocking someone off balance.

He came up next to Nori. The dwarf sported cuts across his arms but little else.

“Lovely day for a scrap,” Nori said as he fended off a sword with one of his knives.

“You dropped this,” Bilbo said and handed back the knife he’d pulled from a corpse.

“Much appreciated,” Nori drawled before grabbing Bilbo’s collar and pulling him to the ground.

“Things are getting a bit too lively for my taste,” Bilbo said. He stabbed someone in the shoulder and wrenched Sting out. More blood splashed across his tunic.

Nori grunted at something. “Might be time for you to make like the faerie you are,” he hinted as he threw a fist into a wounded dwarf’s bleeding side. They fell away, giving the two a moment to breathe as those around them tried to fight their way past Lira and Gloin on one side and Dwalin and Thorin on the other.

“How much attention can we draw?” Bilbo panted.

“Get over by Thorin. Lira or I will let someone adequate through. Just be ready.”

“If you say so,” Bilbo said. He darted away from Nori and over too where Thorin and Dwalin fought. They shifted to form a triangle.

Moments later, a large, shorn dwarf howled in triumph as they pushed by Lira. Rage poured off the dwarf, fueled by his own blood dripping from his face and down his arms. Bilbo gulped, glanced around and saw faces turn toward the triumphant bellow. He took a deep breath, shoved his grime-covered hand into his pocket, and slipped his funny little ring on his finger.

The dwarf in front of him skidded to a halt, rage quickly evaporating into terror. “Faerie!” he shouted and changed direction, scrambling for the nearest exit.

Other dwarrow took up the shout, moving away from Thorin and Bilbo and trying to get away from the main fight only to run into a wall of soldiers streaming into the Hall of Kings. The remaining attackers quickly dropped their weapons at the sight of the heavily armed and armored dwarrow loyal to Thorin and Bilbo.

“Well that worked better than I thought it would,” Nori remarked with a grin at Thorin.

Dwalin glared at the soldiers. “You’re response time is horrendous. We’re going to work on that starting first thing after the wedding tomorrow.”

Those not busy detaining their attackers groaned and started moving to check the two or three dozen bodies on the floor. 

~*~*~
If there was one thing the aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies had taught the dwarrow, it was how to clean up a battle. After the surviving attackers were carted to holding cells, the rest of the soldiers on duty returned to help remove the fallen and clean up the bloody remains in the Hall of Kings.

Bilbo stood forlornly in the middle of the room, a bundled up, soiled banner in his arms. He sighed and dropped it into a barrel full of other banners and crushed flowers.

“We survived,” Thorin said, taking his place at Bilbo’s side. “Were you hurt?”

Bilbo shook his head. Thorin moved to place an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and pull him close but paused when Bilbo tensed. Thorin aborted the motion, instead linking his hands behind his back. “Can anything be salvaged?” he asked, taking in the destruction around them. Banners trailed on the floor, only two or three remained hanging in the above them. They’d shoved the remains of every single flower into barrels to be removed. They’d all been crushed underfoot. “The flowers, obviously not, but the banners?”

Bilbo shook his head.

Thorin’s shoulders slumped. “I’m afraid I have no idea how to tell Fili and Sigrid their wedding has been ruined.”

Bilbo turned sharp eyes on Thorin. “Ruined?” he demanded and then again with indignation saturating his voice. “Ruined?! The wedding is hardly ruined ! Any hobbit worth their pipeweed knows better than to grow only enough flowers for decorating things once over. That’s just asking for trouble. No. We’ll have to be a bit more conservative, but I have plenty of flowers leftover in my garden. I’m more worried about the banners. I’m pretty sure only one set was made.” He turned his gaze up to the open ceiling-high, high above their heads. “It just feels too open.”

Thorin looked up as well, taking in the expanse. It did feel too open. They’d never have the feeling of a warm, inviting kingdom with all that open air beneath cold stone above them. He grimaced and grabbed a passing soldier’s arm. “Send for Master Dori in the Weaver’s Guild immediately.” The soldier bowed low before racing off to do as ordered. “Perhaps,” Thorin said, “he will have some ideas and materials available.”

Thorin called for those already there to gather around as well as Dori who arrived in a whirlwind of irritation, griping about unfinished wedding clothes until he saw what remained of the carnage. He quickly stopped his rant and asked how he could help. 

After Thorin informed Dori of what had happened and laying out what everyone needed to do (mostly do exactly what Bilbo told them to do), Bilbo added in the most somber voice he could muster, “Whatever you do, don’t tell Fili or Sigrid what has happened.”

Thorin nodded his assent. “Fili is already half out of his mind with worry over the wedding. He doesn’t need any added stress.”

“And no one’s seen Sigrid since she and her family arrived this morning,” Nori added. “I’d imagine they’ve holed up in their rooms, doing all they can to keep her distracted.”

“Yes, yes, we understand,” Dori huffed. “Now is not the time for talking. We have quite a bit to do.”

No one protested and turned to Bilbo for orders, except Dwalin, Thorin, and Lira who excused themselves to go question those attackers who had lived, intent on finding Jubral and his remaining group before the wedding. Nori stayed behind and Dori’s request, knowing his One could handle the work until he arrived.

It just so happened that Dori did have an idea. He raced back to the Weaver’s Guild Hall to get to work while Bilbo led the rest of the available Company as well as Breila and Gimli up to his garden where the rest of the flowers waited, just in case.

“But why grow extras?” Bofur asked as he carefully cut alstroemeria the way Bilbo told him to, leaving plenty of the stem so they could be trimmed to the proper length once down in the King’s Hall.

Bilbo’s head popped up over the top of a geranium plant, still biceps deep in the bright pink and white blossoms as he carefully cut the little bundles. “More than one wedding has had to be postponed due to weather in the Shire,” he said. “Hobbits learned early to have extra flowers in case of high winds and torrential downpours. An unfortunate hazard of frequent spring and summer weddings. Now, hurry, please. We’re already looking to be up late into the night if not until tomorrow morning. I for one would like a little sleep before the wedding.” He added his flowers to a barrel and bent to cut more.

Soon, every single blossom sat in barrels to be carted down to the Hall of Kings, leaving Bilbo’s poor garden looking rather green or outright bare in some places. Instead of feeling upset, Bilbo nodded his approval. “Now I can plant more vegetables and different flowers,” he said before leading everyone and their barrels down to the Hall of Kings.

Dori stood in the middle of the gold floor, shouting orders and directing dwarrow all over the room. Young apprentices scurried about carrying massive bolts of cloth in deep burgundy, Durin blue, brightest white, and a lovely dove grey.

Bilbo’s worry over the height of the ceiling evaporated. The Weaver’s Guild worked tirelessly, running back and forth, hanging enormous lengths of cloth across the area at hip height to the massive statues lining the room, weaving the colors in and around each other. Embroiderers sat off to the side, stitching more of the material with the geometric patterns dwarrow favored. Nori sat a little ways apart, bent over a length of deep burgundy fabric and quickly stitching golden thrushes into the fabric. Bilbo marveled at his speed and skill and decided not to bother him, even if he did sit atop the largest table that he’d planned to use for prepping and arranging flowers with Bifur.

Instead, Bilbo set Gloin and Gimli to moving a few tables into a group and lining the barrels up along one side with enough space for a dwarf to stand between them. Once that was done, he set the father and son to trimming the flower stems to the right length. They then passed them across the table to where Bilbo, Balin, and Bifur bundled them into bouquets and made any last-minute trimmings to them. Once they were done, Dori directed Ori, Bofur, and Breila on where to put the bouquets.

When Bilbo was just finishing up on creating the bouquet Sigrid would hold for the part of the wedding where they actual took vows or whatever it was dwarrow did when they actually followed tradition, Nori gave a triumphant shout and slid off his table. He carefully bundled the cloth he’d been working on up and carried it to Dori.

“Good work,” Dori said, eyeing the material critically. “We’ll place it over here, above where they’ll be married.”

Bilbo looked up where Dori indicated. There was an opening, right next to a Durin blue cloth, embroidered in the familiar interlocking diamond design Fili seemed to favor. Workers scrambled to hang the cloth, completing the illusion of a lower ceiling. Bilbo went back to working on the bouquet.

When he finally finished, he stepped back and surveyed the carnage. Discarded leaves and stems littered the tables, barrels, and floor around him but already dwarrow moved in to clear the mess away. He looked around the Hall to take in their hard work.

Dori’s flair for design and stuffy attention to detail exceeded all hopes and expectations. The random bolts of cloth being carried about had ended up unraveled and hung overhead as he’d noted before. The ends of the bolts trailed down, hiding the statuary in the room from view. Sparkles from gems catching the lantern and candlelight drew the eye around the room, always searching and finally bringing his gaze up to the two sheets of fabric he’d seen before. Bouquets of flowers hung with the material along the walls, adding splashes of living color to accompany the hard shine of the gemstones.

“This is even better than I had originally planned,” Bilbo said as Bofur came to stand next to him. “Why didn’t we just hire Dori to do the decorating in the first place?”

Bofur shrugged. “He was busy with the clothes for tomorrow. He still has a little bit to do on Sigrid’s gown but should finish up within an hour, or so he claims.”

Bilbo nodded and hid a yawn behind one hand. “That’s all well and good, but, if I’m not mistaken, it’s very late, or rather very early. You dwarrow may be able to stay up for multiple nights in a row, but I’d prefer to get at least a little sleep. I’m off to bed. Thank you for all your help.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bofur said. “Couldn’t very well let the Crown Prince be married in the middle of a battle zone, now could we? Already had one of those happen in the royal family this century, after all.”

Bilbo shook his head at the reminder and scurried from the room, afraid of the teasing Bofur was obviously moving towards. Bofur’s laughter chased him as he went.

Chapter Text

Chapter 29

“How many do you think managed to escape or weren’t there in the first place?” Thorin asked.

“Hard to be sure but according to Nori’s numbers, we’re missing a handful or so of them,” Dwalin said.

They stood outside the dungeon, having questioned the seven dwarrow that had survived the attack and weren’t in the infirmary being seen by a group of stone-faced healers. They’d just spent the last few hours questioning those awake and coherent enough to talk as well as those in the cells deemed safe by Lira and Nori as long as trustworthy guards were stationed within the cellblock. 

So far, everyone had the same story to tell. Jubral or one of those close to him had approached them with a proposition and promises of gold, restored honor, or revenge, depending on their need or desire for money or their opinion of the Royal family, Thorin in particular. Most of them just had to wait for a message to be sent to them of a time and place and they’d attack. Otherwise, they had no other part in the plot.

Those that Jubral had trusted more confessed to varying numbers of those loyal to their cause or they refused to talk at all.

The last one they questioned, a dam not at all dedicated to Jubral’s fanaticism, sat back in her cell and offered to tell Dwalin everything she knew, as long as she wasn’t charged for her crimes. She claimed to be privy to most of the details of the entire regicidal plot, including Jubral’s whereabouts.

“Didn’t care about the plot,” the dam said. “I’ve got nothing against you or your consort, Your Majesty. I just needed the money is all.”

What she needed the money for, she refused to say. Thorin had his suspicions. Not everyone that had returned to Erebor had come with the caravans from Ered Luin. Many came from settlements or towns where their families had settled after Smaug’s attack. Not everyone had arrived with the benefit of the food supplies that accompanied the caravans. Many that came on their own came hoping to make a better life, one told of in stories when memories of Erebor were shared.

“I want Nori to talk to that dam,” Thorin said.

“I do too,” Lira said, her eyes on the door to the dungeons. “A dam like her, if you help her take care of her basic needs, give her an honest job, she’ll be loyal for life. If she knows what she says she knows, I’d imagine she’d make a good spy.”

“Where is he anyway?” Dwalin grumbled. “He should have been here from the beginning.”

“Haven’t you heard?” Lira asked. “There’s a wedding tomorrow and all the decorations were just ruined by a band of inconsiderate regicidal maniacs. He’s whipping together something to help fix the mess. He’ll be here-”

“What’d I miss?”

“Right now,” Thorin finished for Lira and looked over Dwalin’s shoulder as Nori jogged up the hall. 

He stopped next to Lira, wrapping an arm around her waist and burying his nose in her dark hair, pulling her close to him so she stood on the toes of her foot briefly before setting her back down again. “Hello, My Sweet,” he murmured.

“Hello,” Lira said and nudged him away from her shoulder. “We’ve finished the basic questioning. There’s a dam offering to tell us everything in exchange for her freedom. I think we can bring her into work under us. Says she only did it for the money. I believe her.”

“Really?” Nori asked, leaning back, interest captured.

“Recruit later,” Dwalin groused. “Find a location for would-be regicidal maniacs now.”

“Can’t I find two gems with one hammer blow?” Nori asked.

“We need to,” Lira said. “If we let her loose after she gives us her information, she’ll disappear.”

“We’ll promise her freedom on the condition we find what she says we will,” Thorin interrupted. “You can recruit her after.”

“We should move her somewhere that seems a little less like a waiting place for execution too. Would you mind sending her to the guardhouse?” Lira asked, turning to Dwalin.

“I’ll see it done after she gives us information,” Dwalin conceded. “She stays there until after we bring in Jubral.”

“Sure. Right. Just let me at her,” Nori said as he headed toward the door.

Thorin fell in step with him but stopped when Nori shook his head at him. “Feel free to listen at the door, but having the king in there isn’t going to do us any favors.”

Grudgingly, Thorin stayed next to the door and waited as Dwalin let Nori into the dungeons, telling him which cell to look for. They’d moved her there to get her away from the other survivors of the attack, wanting her away from their influence in case they tried to scare her into not sharing her information.

“Hello there,” Nori said and cloth rustled and metal clattered softly. Thorin could just picture him leaning casually against the corner between the cell and stone wall. “Why are you in the king’s dungeons?”

“Considering which side of the bars you're standing on, I’ll bet you already know.” The dam sounded resigned.

“I know you helped in the latest assassination attempt, but I didn’t ask you what you did. I asked you why.”

“I’ve got my reasons,” she said sullenly.

“Ah,” Nori said as if he’d just found the perfect gemstone. “There it is. And how old are your reasons?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the dam snapped and even to Thorin, she sounded far too defensive.

“Listen, lass, if you’re going to lie to me, you need to get better at it,” Nori admonished with only a little gentleness and a great deal of humor. 

“If he’s not careful, he’s going to offend her and she’s not going to tell him anything,” Dwalin grumbled.

“She wants her freedom,” Thorin reminded him. “She’ll tell us everything for it.”

“Would you two shush? I want to hear this,” Lira snapped.

Dwalin cast a slightly apologetic glance at Lira and shrugged his shoulders.

They’d missed what the dam had said in response to Nori’s correction. There was a drawn-out pause and then a grudging, “Sixteen and thirty-two.”

“And how old are you?”

“Seventy-eight.”

“Too defensive lass. How old are you really?”

Another pause. “Sixty-three.”

Nori tsked. “Not even of age and already aiding regicide.”

“He didn’t tell me the job. Not a first anyway. I thought he was opening an illegal mine or recruiting thieves or something. I never thought he wanted us to kill anyone. I’m not a murderer. I swear.”

“And after you found out who you were going to kill?”

“I couldn’t get out. I already knew too much.”

“How do you figure?”

Another pause. “Someone tried to run to tell the guards. He was killed the moment he left.”

Thorin clenched his hands into fists. Another needless death. When would it stop? How many that had attacked today had been like this dam, unwilling but knowing they would die if they didn’t?

“And your reasons? How would they feel if their - what are you to them anyway? Too young to be the oldest's mother.”

“Sister.”

“Sister got killed trying to bring them food?”

Thorin strained to hear the reply but it was too quiet.

“I get it, lass. Not much you wouldn’t do for them.”

“What do you know?” Thorin heard a sudden rustle and clang after the heated, snarled retort. A kick to the cell bars maybe? “You’re one of the fabled Company, living in the lap of luxury, eating three square meals a day with all you could ever want. I don’t need pity. Not from the likes of you.”

“Ain’t pity, lass. I’ve been there, only with an older brother and a younger to feed. Took to thieving. Took my chance with the Company to keep an eye on them but also to get at least a meal a day.”

“Doesn’t matter anymore anyway,” she groused, her tone sullen again. “You’re not going to let me go anyway.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’m here to offer a deal. You tell us what we want and after we bring in the ring leader and all those loyal to him, we’ll let you go. You can go back to your reasons then.”

Her laugh was bitter and a bit panicked if Thorin wasn’t mistaken. “You actually expect me to believe you’re not just going to take what I know and leave me to rot?”

“Course I do,” Nori said and there was a sudden jingling. 

Dwalin looked down at his side and cursed. “Thief stole my keys.”

“Let’s go. We’ll take you to the guardhouse. You can tell us what you know there where you can wait for us to finish doing our jobs.” The cell door creaked. There was another pause. “Come on, lass. I haven’t got all night.”

A rustling of cloth and then footsteps. Moments later, Nori came out of the dungeon, the dam following behind him, tension and fear making her movements stiff as she hunched over, trying to make herself smaller. When she saw Dwalin and Thorin, her eyes widened and she jerked away, heading back toward the dungeon.

“None of that,” Nori chided and grabbed her arm. “You do as we ask and they’ll leave you be.”

“But I tried to kill him!” she shouted.

“Did a piss poor job of it,” Dwalin said. “Ori managed to disarm you. Ori, of all dwarrow.”

“Did he now?” Nori said, a grin creeping onto his face. “Remind me to take him for a drink or something once the wedding’s over.”

“Worry about that later,” Thorin said. He turned to look at the dam. “I’ll stand by Nori’s word. If you tell us what we need to know, we’ll drop all charges against you.”

She audibly swallowed and then nodded. Her eyes grew wide and she quickly dropped her gaze, dropping into a clumsy curtsey. “Yes, Your Majesty. I’ll do just that. I swear I didn’t want to-”

“That’s enough,” Thorin said gently. “There are many that may find themselves in difficult positions as you have. We must do more to help those like you so we don’t have a repeat of this kind of situation. There is wealth enough in Erebor. No one should go hungry.”

The dam nodded, still not lifting her eyes.

“If we’re finished with the niceties, let’s get a move on,” Dwalin grumbled and started moving toward the nearest guard station.

Lira practically danced up to Dwalin’s side. “What happened to making her give us the information before we moved her, you great softie?” 

Dwalin grunted, not bothering to look at Lira who cackled.

~*~*~

“Does her story check out?” Thorin asked as he, Lira, Nori, and Dwalin gathered outside the guardhouse. Nori and Lira had spent a good half an hour talking to the dam, now identified as Huzmada, with Dwalin and Thorin standing off to the side, listening to everything she said.

“It matches what I found out,” Lira said, glancing at Nori.

“It’s common enough in the lowest classes. Desperation can make someone accept the shadiest of jobs, no matter how little information is given. It’s the same story I heard a few times amongst Jubral’s group.”

Thorin resisted the urge to rub at his forehead, a headache starting to pound through his skull. “Did she give us anything new?”

“Jubral’s location,” Lira said. “I had my suspicions of where he was sneaking about, but I couldn’t make sure, not without possibly being made. Not a lot of cover back there.”

“We’ll have to be quick to take them,” Nori said. “If Jubral’s still got a speck of sense, he’ll be looking to move locations.”

Thorin nodded and looked at Dwalin.

“Already have troops standing by,” he said. “Just say the word and we’ll go after the honorless son of an orc.”

“We only have a few hours left before sunrise,” Thorin said. “I would like to sleep a little before Fili’s wedding tomorrow. Lira, stay with Huzmada. The rest of you , let’s get going.”

Dwalin broke away from them toward the yard where the troops waited. When they returned, Thorin nodded in approval. Instead of the heavy plate armor many dwarrow warriors preferred, they wore lighter leathers with metal plates sewn into them. The protection wasn’t as good, but they were quieter by far. They kept their weapons strapped tightly to backs or hips and held them in place to avoid unnecessary sound.

“Lead on,” Dwalin said, nodding at Thorin and Nori.

With Nori on one side and Dwalin on his other, Thorin started his way deep into the mountain to areas where they had yet to allow general civilians due to instability or other dangers, following the description Huzmada had given them. The deeper into the abandoned corridors and passages they went, the more uneasy Thorin felt.

“Do you feel that?” Nori asked after a few minutes, keeping his voice down so the soldiers behind them wouldn’t hear him.

“I do,” Thorin said, something in the pit of his stomach starting to churn. He swallowed against the taste of bile rising in his throat. “What is it?”

“I’m not sure,” Nori said and looked at his shaking hands, his voice strangled. “I’ve heard tales of parts of mountains that put stone sense off-kilter, make you feel ill, but I’ve never experienced it before.”

“Whatever it is, we need to move fast,” Dwalin said. “My stone sense is average, compared to the two of you, and I’m starting to feel it.” He glanced back at his troops. A few looked pale and one or two were starting to sweat under their helmets but no one seemed as badly affected as Nori. And they wouldn't be, Thorin thought. Nori had the best stone sense he'd ever come across.

They increased their pace. The feeling of discomfort and nausea grew and Thorin fought to keep from being sick. Beside him, he heard Nori swallow audibly more than once. Just before they reached the abandoned mine Huzmada had told them about, Nori darted to the side into a split in the rock wall. Thorin heard him gagging and breathing heavily. When Nori returned, he shook from head to toe, sweat matted his hair and beard, and a greenish tinge shone beneath his skin.

Dwalin took over their path from there, organizing his soldiers with hand signals, taking advantage of the dim light cast by inexpensive torches in the room around the next corner. Everyone moved quickly but silently into position. Finally, Dwalin looked to Thorin.

Tightening his grip on Orcrist, Thorin nodded and took a deep breath. He darted around the corner, feeling rather than seeing Dwalin take position on his right and Nori on his left. A roar of raging dwarrow followed him into the massive cavern in front of him.

Jubral and his cohorts stood around a large, half-rotted table with old grey paint peeling and chipping away from the surface. They scrambled for weapons as Thorin, Dwalin, and Nori fell on them, swords and axes drawn and ready for the grisly task ahead. Soldiers joined them a moment later.

Thorin knocked his first opponent back with a swift kick to the midsection. They fell, landing on the table. They crashed through the wood when it gave beneath them, sending up a cloud of debris and paint chips. Thorin stepped away from the mess, raising Orcrist to take the brunt of a weak swing from a chipped and pitted sword. He shifted and sent his elbow into his attacker’s nose. Down they went with a grunt of pain and a splattering of blood. They wisely scuttled away from the fray, trying to leave only to be captured by the guards Dwalin had left at the room’s entrance.

More of Jubral’s dwarrow rushed through another door, wielding hastily drawn weapons. They fell just as quick as those in the main room.

The fight lasted little more than a few minutes, leaving a few wounded and all other would-be usurpers captured, including a struggling, spitting, and cursing Jubral.

“Would someone shut him up?” Dwalin asked without looking up from where he checked one of his soldier’s wounded arms.

Nori lashed out, the hilt of one of his knives connecting solidly with Jubral’s jaw. The tirade broke off mid-sentence and Jubral sagged in the arms of the soldier holding him. The soldier dropped him on the floor with a look of relief. Thorin moved to thank Nori only to come up short as Nori bent over double and dry heaved, gagging and coughing as nothing came out of his stomach.

“The faster we move out of here, the better,” Dwalin said.

With the small burst of adrenaline draining from Thorin’s system, he started feeling sick again. He left the room as fast as he could without seeming like he was fleeing the horrible miasma.

~*~*~

Thorin leaned against the wall outside of the dungeons and glared at the doors separating him from Jubral and the rest of his group. According to the information Huzmada had given Lira while Thorin, Dwalin, and Nori had been chasing down the honorless orc spawn, they’d captured all those that actually cared about the cause. Apparently, all those that didn’t care about or wanted Bilbo and Thorin’s deaths had fled after the attack in the Hall of Kings. 

“Thorin? Are you all right?”

He straightened and turned. Bilbo dashed to him, wrapping his arms around him briefly before leaning back and looking him over from head to toe. “They told me you’d gone after Jubral. Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, Ghivashel,” Thorin said, gently taking Bilbo’s hands and kissing his knuckles carefully. “Dwalin and his men took care of most of the fighting. I barely managed to participate at all.”

Bilbo sighed in relief and darted forward to wrap his arms around Thorin again. “Thank Yavanna.”

“Have a little faith in us, Bilbo,” Nori quipped, walking by with an arm around Lira’s shoulders. His color had returned and he no longer shook uncontrollably. He still wouldn’t eat anything and only drank a couple of sips of water. 

Bilbo glared at Nori. “Remind me, how often did I have to swoop in and save the lot of you during the quest?”

Lira cackled and leaned against the wall Thorin had just vacated. “He’s got you there,” she said, poking Nori in the side.

“And how would you know?” Nori demanded, tone indignant. “You weren’t there.”

“We’re friends, that’s how,” Bilbo said, slowly releasing Thorin. “She asked me to tell her my side of things, so I did.”

Nori and Thorin groaned in unison. “We’ll never have any respect again, will we?” Nori despaired.

“You never had it in the first place,” Lira said happily. “Don’t worry though. Not even knowing you couldn’t escape Thranduil’s dungeons without a hobbits help can make Mahal’s will change. You’ll always be my One.”

“I’m so flattered,” Nori deadpanned but leaned into the kiss Lira placed on his cheek, turning to try to capture her lips.

“Enough of that,” Dwalin groused and smacked Nori lightly on the back of the head.

“You’re just jealous,” Nori said.

“Course I am. Chased you for years. One day you literally stumbled into her arms and suddenly I’m without a mouse to catch.”

“You could always chase us both,” Lira quipped, eyeing Dwalin up and down with a critical eye. “I don’t usually appreciate the soldier type. Spent too much time around them when I was younger, but for you Captain, I think I can make an exception.”

To Thorin’s shock, Dwalin’s face flushed as he grumbled something under his breath.

“Would you all kindly flirt later?” Bilbo asked, his lips thinned in discomfort. “Perhaps once we’ve dealt with the lunatic that’s been trying to kill my husband?”

Dwalin cleared his throat and led the way into the dungeons. He headed deep down the halls. As they went, Thorin resisted the urge to groan. The cacophony cut off by the dungeon door grew louder with every step, leading them to an incessantly screaming Jubral. He’d woken up as they’d left the abandoned tunnels and had started screaming curses concerning Thorin and Bilbo nonstop ever since.

Dwalin unlocked the door to Jubral’s cell. “Enough!” he snapped. “You are in the presence of your king! You will show him the respect he deserves!”

“Respect?” Jubral demanded. “That motherless swine doesn’t deserve the respect owed to the lowest of orcs! He and that thrice-cursed halfling!”

“Hobbit,” Nori and Lira chorused and glanced at each other. 

“I’m doing us all a favor in ridding us of them!”  Jubral ranted, ignoring Nori and Lira. “They’re a plague on Erebor. The line of Durin is cursed. Their greed lost us the mountain to Smaug and then so many died in the Battle of Azanulbizar, including most of them! Then, after they unleashed the dragon on Laketown, they almost let orcs take her from us again! Only unholy halfling faerie magic healed them so they could continue to destroy our people!”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. Perhaps Nori and Lira’s rumors of Bilbo’s supposed heritage had worked a little too well if Jubral was delusional enough to think Bilbo had healing magic. What else did he think Bilbo could do? A glance toward Nori and Lira left Thorin rather perplexed. Why in Mahal’s name was Lira stifling laughter? Regicidal maniacs weren’t exactly amusing in Thorin’s opinion.

“The curse must be lifted from our people. If we don’t, they’ll drive us to ruin again!”

Well, so much for revenge driven stupidity. Somewhere along the line, Jubral had apparently started to believe the dragon’s dung story he’d been feeding those he’d recruited to his cause. Just what Thorin needed. Fanatics.

“They must be destroyed! You don’t understand! I’m doing Mahal’s will!”

Lira, apparently no longer able to contain herself, darted forward. “Mahal’s will, huh?” she asked and tugged sharply on Jubral’s beard. She came away with large chunks of hair. 

“You were saying?” Thorin asked, tone level.

Dwalin and Nori started cackling at Jubral’s dumbfounded expression, his mouth working like a landed fish. 

“But- but- This can’t be! He’s cursed me!” He looked past Lira to glare at Bilbo. “He’s part faerie. He’s used his unnatural magic to curse me!”

“I’m no more faerie than you are,” Bilbo said with a sniff. “Honestly. That silly story needs to stop being told. So Tooks like a little adventure every once in a while. It doesn’t mean there is or ever has been any faerie blood running through their veins.”

“No!” Jubral screamed. “He’s lying. He’s a faerie! He has to be!”

“You really shouldn’t believe everything you read,” Nori admonished, lifting the long lost book Ori had once brought to Thorin’s attention.

“Especially if it’s written by a Took,” Bilbo added with a sigh. “That blasted book is more trouble than it’s worth. I swear.”

“Now where did you find that?” Thorin asked, reaching for the book. “Ori will be pleased you’ve found it.”

“Jubral had it in his pocket,” Dwalin said.

“Well, we can add overdue book fines to his list of crimes,” Thorin said to Dwalin. “I assume the rest can wait until tomorrow? We do have a wedding to get to in a few hours after all.”

They left the dungeons after Dwalin posted a set of guards he trusted implicitly on Jubral’s cell.

“How did you know his hair would fall out?” Bilbo asked as they walked back to the royal wing, taking secret passages.

“Death rock,” Nori said.

“What’s that?” Bilbo asked, glancing furtively at the walls around them.

“A poison,” Lira said. “Some mountains have it in areas. It’s not found very often so most think it’s an old dam’s tale or don’t know the symptoms. You don’t need to worry about it in the main parts of the mountain. From the looks of it, Jubral will be dead in a matter of weeks if not sooner as will those that were in the caves the longest. Some may recover, most probably won’t.”

“We’ll have the tunnels back there sealed off and the area added to the mining guild’s records so no one tries to dig that way again,” Thorin said. “Remind me after Fili’s wedding.”

“A little late for that,” Nori said with a shrug when Thorin looked back at him. “I had everything removed from those tunnels and then Bofur and a few others destroyed the entrances. He’ll make sure it’s recorded for you before the night’s over.”

Thorin smiled. “Well done. Now, off to bed. I don’t want to hear of any of you working until after Fili’s wedding tomorrow. Am I understood?”

“If my king commands,” Lira chirped. She linked her arm through Nori’s. “Come on, Love. This is us.” She pushed on a section of wall and it gave way, revealing the interior of her office. She and Nori stepped through. Before she moved the panel of wall back into place, she looked back at them. “You’re welcome to join us, Captain,” she said with a grin. “You up for a little dance before bed?”

Before Dwalin could answer, Thorin took Bilbo’s hand and started pulling him along. “I don’t want to know the answer to that!” he called over his shoulder.

Nori and Lira’s cackling and Dwalin’s vehement protestations followed Thorin and Bilbo as they rounded another corner, heading for the exit nearest their rooms.

Chapter Text

Epilogue

Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, King Under the Mountain, called Oakenshield did not have many opportunities to travel ever since he, twelve dwarrow, and one hobbit had reclaimed the ancient kingdom Erebor from the dragon, Smaug. His duties as king to a people restoring their home as the greatest kingdom in all of Arda and their reputation as the greatest of craftsmen kept him busier than he ever could have imagined.

So when the request that he and Bilbo, Son of Bungo and Belladona, Prince Consort Under the Mountain, called Silvertongue, travel to Bilbo’s homeland, Thorin had practically jumped at the opportunity, leaving his oldest nephew and heir in charge, along with his wife, Princess Sigrid to rule Erebor with Balin and Ori to advise them. Thorin had taken a small group, mostly members of his original Company with the addition to his youngest nephew’s wife Tauriel, formerly of the Woodland Realm, now of Erebor, Princess Consort Under the Mountain. Now, as they entered the Shire, Thorin tried to enjoy the feel of the warm, early summer sun on his skin, the sounds of animal life rustling, chirping, and calling around them, the feel of the slight breeze lifting strands of his hair and beard in a gentle sway around his head and neck-

“This is a horrible idea.”

Only to have his attempts at enjoying the rare moments of peace and tranquility dashed once again.

“Bilbo, Love my life, It’s been almost forty years since the last time you set foot in the Shire. Do you really think anyone here is going to hold a grudge against you for this long for marrying me?”

From on top of his own pony, Bilbo glared at Thorin. “You are joking, right?”

“Yeah, Uncle,” Kili quipped from behind them. “You’ve heard how Uncle Bilbo’s mother’s uncle refused to die before he turned one hundred and thirty years old only to spite his father’s mother’s brother who said there was no possible way a hobbit could ever live to be more than a hundred and ten years old when they were six years and four years old.”

Thorin cast a dark look over his shoulder at Kili. “Not helping Nephew,” he growled.

Kili just grinned back unrepentantly, the little brat.

“That’s not even touching on the generations-old feuds held over things as simple as a botched scone recipe,” Bilbo added, ignoring Thorin’s attempt to incinerate his nephew with the force of his glare alone.

“Stolen recipes and petty grievances,” Thorin said. “I would imagine such feelings would be overlooked considering it is your marriage they are begrudging.”

“I’ll be surprised if a Baggins ever says anything civil to a Took again,” Bilbo said with a sigh. “A Tooks unnatural desire for adventure has undoubtedly been blamed.”

“You can’t know that,” Thorin said, reaching across the gap between them to take Bilbo’s hand in his. “We’ve only heard from Drogo in the last two decades. Even the odious Lobelia Sackville-Baggins-”

Behind him, Kili hissed dramatically at the name.

“-finally gave up trying to get a response out of you.”

“Either that or she died,” Bofur said behind them. “After all, you haven’t read a single one of her letters for over thirty years. Just popped them in the fire.”

“I don’t need to read someone’s horrid views to know they exist,” Bilbo said. “I cannot control their views either, only my own actions.”

“Exactly,” Thorin said. “Even if the hobbits still bare you ill-will, they are no longer your concern. We are here for one purpose and then we can return to Erebor where no one will shun you for marrying me.”

“You mean like when someone managed to convince two-thirds of Erebor’s underworld to try to kill me because you upheld your peoples’ laws and banished him in my defense?”

“Set one dwarf on a deranged, maniacal attempt at regicide one time ,” Thorin grumbled, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. Bilbo’s mouth twitched in response and he leaned over to quickly peck Thorin on the cheek before facing forward again.

“We’re about to enter Hobbiton,” Bilbo warned as they neared a bend in the road. They’d passed a few hobbits in their travels towards Bag End already. Most of them had glanced at them, seen the dwarrow and hurried out of the way, few if any noticing that the former Bilbo Baggins rode at the front, dressed finer than any had ever seen before, in rich fabrics of bright summer grass green, warm chestnut browns, and a splash of early morning sunshine yellow. Those that did notice the hobbit riding alongside the majestic figure in greys, black, and deep blue did not recognize him at first. Not with his long honey curls braided away from his face and a small mithril crown woven into the strands to help keep them back as well as to denote his station, emeralds, and topaz set to sparkling along the white silver. More small gems glittered along one ear, accenting the golden cuff that went from lobe to pointed tip and in the beads interspersed in the braids. A sparkle drew the eye to his collar where mithril peaked out from beneath his shirt. The buttons on his waistcoat shone brightest gold with little gems cut and shaped like acorns inlaid in the metal. Emeralds shone along the length of his belt which Dori had finally convinced him to wear instead of his bracers.

It had taken time to convince Bilbo that a little ornamentation was alright. Since then, he’d embraced it, in his own modest way. Thorin quite liked the selection of ear cuffs Bilbo had commissioned from Fili if he did say so himself.

The noise of the market pulled Thorin’s attention away from his pretty little husband. As they drew near, hobbits took more and more notice of them and soon whispers of “Mad Baggins” started circling as someone finally recognized Bilbo. Thorin felt an all too familiar glower starting to take root on his face and more than one hobbit shied away from him upon meeting his glance. 

Good.

 Let them cower for treating his Bilbo poorly. 

Young hobbits started dashing around, some heading away from the market. Tweens, Thorin remembered Bilbo calling that awkward age. They would be spreading the word around the Shire of the visitors heading for Bag End.

They worked their way through the market and finally started up Bagshot Row. They’d made it part of the way up the winding lane when a hobbit dressed in a shade of green not fit to be seen, let alone worn hastened onto the road while trying her best not to look as if she were in any sort of hurry. The rest of her dress dripped with copious amounts of frills and lace in eye smarting pinks and yellows. Her hat, well, Thorin marveled that she could hold her head up under that monstrosity. Its size defied even some of the most ostentatious of headdresses some elderly dwarrow matrons wore. It must weigh a veritable ton.

The resigned sigh Bilbo heaved made Thorin’s irritation rise even more. Going by the horrible taste in clothing and the apparent distress rolling off Bilbo, this must be the odious Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.

“Bilbo Baggins!” she shrilled.

Yes. Definitely Lobelia.

“Lobelia,” Bilbo said cooly, nodding once. Thorin needed to give Balin a raise or a vacation or something. There was a time, not too long ago that Bilbo would have donned the polite, fake smile he reserved for irritating diplomats that needed to be convinced to cooperate, no matter how much they annoyed him. To see him now dismissing one of his own kind, and one who had caused him a great deal of grief at that, with little more than the barest of recognition lifted Thorin’s estimation of Balin’s already incredible abilities.

They moved to ride past the hobbit without any further interaction but she darted forward and grabbed Bilbo’s pony’s bridle, pulling him to a stop.

Instantly, she found herself staring down the blade of Dwalin’s ax.

“You will release His Majesty’s pony immediately,” Dwalin growled.

Lobelia, pale and shaking, did as ordered before rallying her courage. She straightened her spine and glared right back at Dwalin. “Now see here!” she snapped. “That is my cousin-”

“You will address His Majesty according to his station,” Dwalin interrupted.

“He’s family!” Lobelia protested.

“Am I now?” Bilbo asked mildly. “As I recall, the last letter of yours I bothered to read denounced me as any kin of yours and accused me of dragging the Baggins name into the gutter, a name I have more right to than you, Lobelia. But, as you wished and as I have just informed the Thain this morning, I denounced the name and so I do believe that means we are no longer related.” He didn’t even bother to look at her, just nudged his pony forward as Dwalin pushed Lobelia none too gently out of the way.

Behind him, Thorin could hear her spluttering and fought to keep his grin hidden within the depths of his beard.

“That was a thing of beauty,” Kili said happily, glancing over his shoulder at where Lobelia still stood on the side of the road, watching them.

“I don’t know as I would call losing one’s family a thing of beauty,” Bilbo said as he dismounted his pony outside Bag End’s front gate.

Thorin followed suit and reached out to take Bilbo’s hand. “You haven’t lost us,” he reminded Bilbo gently. “You never lost Drogo’s regard either, nor that of his wife.”

“May Yavanna have a plot for them in her garden,” Bilbo murmured and tugged a handkerchief out of his pocket. He wiped at the tear tracks on his face and blew his nose before squaring his shoulders. He looked up at Thorin with a strained smile. “You are right. I have most of my family right here and the rest are waiting for me back in Erebor and inside Bag End.”

“Couldn’t be more right,” Bofur said, patting Bilbo on the shoulder as he walked by. He opened the gate and bowed to Bilbo and Thorin. “Now, why don’t we go see the Little One and bring him home.”

Bilbo nodded. “I think I’d very much like that.” He led the way up the path to the round green door. Instead of walking directly inside, he knocked on the door. A few moments passed and finally, the door swung open to reveal a pale, dark-haired fauntling of nearly thirteen years of age with bright blue eyes.

“Hello Frodo,” Bilbo said, bending a little to look the boy in the eyes. “I’m Bilbo. Your Mum and Dad asked me to take care of you.”

“Uncle Bilbo?” Frodo asked quietly.

“That’s right,” Bilbo said. “Would you like to come home with me?”

Frodo looked past Bilbo before looking back quickly. “Yes, please,” he said quietly. 

Thorin glanced over his shoulder and glared his fiercest. Lobelia scurried away when he fingered Orcrist’s hilt and Dwalin reached for Grasper and Keeper. 

“Why don’t we all go inside and talk?” Bilbo asked. “I take it Bell Gamgee has been looking after you?”

Frodo nodded and led the way into the smial. As Thorin removed his boots with the other dwarrow, he heard Frodo ask from deeper in the house, “Did you really outwit a dragon, Uncle Bilbo?”

“That, dear boy, is only part of the story.”

“How does it end?”

Thorin entered the kitchen where Bilbo bustled about while Frodo sat at the table, a cup of hot tea already in his small hands.

Bilbo looked up, meeting Thorin’s eyes. “Happily,” he said, “with a family that will love you no matter what may come until the end of your days.”