Chapter 1: Blood, Snow, and Ruin
Chapter Text
Dyslexia: I have it, and spell check regrettably doesn’t like Tolkien’s naming habits.
KEYnote: In The Hobbit Fíli is the youngest and in The Appendices Kíli is the youngest. So, in the interest of offering something different, we are going from the quote from Thorin in the book that Fíli is the youngest. This is very AU and I do not respect the timeline, though my love for canon is unending, this story is for play not to add to such perfection.
Prologue
It is said the Took line once tumbled with a faerie.
This simply isn't true, what might be more truthful was once a hobbit lass loved an elf, long before the history of hobbits was documented, in fact, longer ago than the term hobbit was used.
The thing about those descended of elves was sometimes there was a quirk of magic, some spark of Valinor that shone through.
And sometimes it wasn't merely a spark but a sparkle. Sometimes, the descendants of elves were blessed by the Valinor, and lived longer than predicted they should. Often, they found a destiny larger than themselves.
For you see, the nature of hobbits was a gift to the growing world, a dream of a goddess for a race who were kinder, gentler, and remained child-like throughout their living days. They were forever a people with rare exceptions who ever valued food over gold, laughter over power.
They were a hidden people who if sheltered by the wider world would give without reward for themselves to any in need.
The problem, as those from the Shire might say, with the Took line was that they craved more than others' adventure.
However, the Tooks were blessed, often the light of Valinor burned within their hearts, and hardly a century could pass without one from their kin to be called from the soft rolling hills of the homeland to give more to Middle Earth.
Now, no one could prove, and certainly, he would never tell you nor anyone else, but Glorfindel, the Lord of Golden Flowers, had a particular fondness for – or a peculiar devotion to– the Took line.
Indeed, in context, it might not surprise you at all to learn that when Belladonna Took wandered far from the Shire, Glorfindel welcomed her, and her son who she brought in the years that followed. He sheltered them and treated them as his own.
Thus as we begin this tale of blood and stone, of heartbreak and hope, you remember the hobbit lad who grew up on the path to Imladris, elven songs on his lips, and adventure at his feet.
A lad who adopted a dwarven son just as the Lord of Golden Flowers adopted one young Bilbo Baggins.
Chapter 1 - Blood, Snow, and Ruin
Moria was lost, and while the wandering exiles of Erebor had been too many for the Ered Luin in the Blue Mountains, they were far less after their failure in Moria.
Thror was dead, Thráin was lost, and yet Thráin’s sons, daughter, and grandsons lived. As long as such royalty resided in the Blue Mountains, Ered Luin fell to the crowned prince, now king, Thorin Oakenshield.
But the additional population strained Ered Luin, and the previous Lord Sozan and his Azula were bitter about the shift of power.
Thorin and his brother Frerin, poured their beings into providing for the family, and despite their status were among the poorest among in the settlement for giving their wealth away.
They were loved by their people for this, still Sozan’s jealousy grew, and grew.
And grew.
oOo
Thorin both loved and hated winter. He hated it for the misery it brought and the tempers it raised. But he did enjoy being back home with his family.
“Stop scowling,” Frerin jested.
Thorin rolled his eyes at his younger brother.
Frerin looked just like Dís’s youngest son Fíli, but his personality matched Kíli’s who was always cheerful and full of far too much mischief.
“We are mining coal,” Thorin reminded him.
Mining for coal was much like working on sewage plumbing.
“But it’s easy, and we’re in the mountains instead of on the road or a dingy inn.”
Balin snorted, then coughed on the dust, “Your hair colour may currently be indistinguishable beneath the soot but we’ll never mistake you two.”
“I choose to take that as a compliment,” Frerin said.
“As do I,” Thorin teased.
It truly was good to be home.
Dwalin didn’t smile, but he was just as relieved to be off the road.
Every indication of nature and the elders leant to the predictions this winter would be a terrible one. The frost had come early at the start of October and the ground had remained cold.
The price of food stores had gone up and games had grown harder and harder to come by along the road.
However, Thorin had never had so many commissions for weapons as people sought to arm themselves for the long nights ahead.
“What’s that?” Balin asked, startling Thorin from his thoughts.
Dori placed a hand on the wall.
There weren’t many people in the mines at this time. It was early morning when most drarrow would rather be tucked in bed than up working. But Thorin and Frerin always chose their worst time slots for themselves.
Their cousins, Balin, Dwalin, and Glóin always joined them, as did their friends, Bifur, Bofur, and Dori who sometimes managed to bring his younger brother Nori, though Nori was least happy among them both for the type of work and the hour.
Balin placed a hand beside Dori’s, his eyes going wide, “Cave in.”
“This mine is stable,” Thorin growled, grabbing his brother’s arm.
“Hush!” Nori silenced them, “Listen.”
They hardly dared to breathe. They were deep in the mines, very deep. Ered Luin was if not the oldest, among the oldest dwarven settlements in Middle Earth. There were good reasons that coal was among the only things left to take from the stable passages.
It was very faint what they were hearing, but there was a distinct sound of an axe hitting beams.
“ No,” Nori growled.
The quick-fingered musician made to run forward but Dori caught him around the waist, hauling him back toward one of their reinforced beams.
Echoes were miss leading, whoever was sabotaging their mine was too far away, and the rock around them was already singing with its impending collapse.
Thorin pulled Frerin in close as Balin and Dwalin wrapped themselves around them. Bifur and Bofur shielded Glóin whose dame was only newly pregnant. Dori’s bulk flattened Nori to the cavern floor.
“When the caves begin to fall, yell, scream, call for help, but midway through fall silent,” Frerin ordered in a whisper, holding back onto Thorin.
They would be okay, but cave-ins were never meant to be caused on purpose.
It broke the song, the agreement between mine and miner to never take more than the mountain was willing to give.
“Why?” Bofur asked, for he too was young and in not being part of a noble house, he didn’t understand what was happening.
“So they think we’re dead,” Thorin said gravely.
When the way out began to collapse, Thorin did yell, though it was a sound of fury more than fear.
“ So dies the line of Durin!” their would-be-murderer shouted down the tunnel.
Instantly, the threat to their family was understood.
Thorin did scream at them, a sound that came from his soul.
Balin and Dwalin held him and Frerin down.
“Dís! Let us go! Dís!” Thorin roared as the stones continued to fall.
Kíli! Fíli!
But he couldn’t say their names because Dwalin had him in a choke hold as his friend forced him down.
Frerin was openly weeping as was Thorin crushed down on him, but it wasn’t from any physical pain.
No, his little brother held both hands over his mouth to keep in the sounds.
Dís and her husband Mori, Nori’s blind twin brother, were asleep, Kíli and Fíli asleep in their own room.
Thorin’s heart seized as they were forced to wait for the stones to settle. Every moment was an agony knowing that his family was in danger.
They were experienced enough, save for perhaps Bofur and Nori to know how to handle a cave-in.
Thorin kept telling himself that Dís could handle anyone fool enough to attack her sons, but fear had a death grip on his prayers to Mahal.
Finally , Dwalin and Balin gave the all-clear and they began the laborious task of remaking the tunnel. It was long and they all settled on making a crawl space.
It took time.
Too much time.
oOo
Bilbo watched with no small amount of horror as his cousin was brought into the world, bloody and screaming.
“Frodo Baggins,” Primela breathed, her smile exhausted but beatific with love for her newborn.
Bilbo handed his own mother clean rags and discarded the bloody ones.
Drogo curled himself around both his wife and child, holding onto them as if they were his greatest dreams come true.
“A perfectly healthy lad,” Belladonna said smiling brightly. She looked out the window, the snow had begun to fall, “And I believe Bilbo and I shall make it to our next house call in time for tea. We'll be home safe at week's end.”
None of them knew how fateful those words would be.
oOo
Thorin and Frerin, followed by Nori, were the first ones out of the mine.
That Nori was so worried for his twin was an ill omen that proved as dire as they feared.
Balin called for the guards to lock down every gate while Glóin ran to and for his brother’s aid.
By the time they reached the royal apartments, Mori was dead, stabbed clean through, Dís and Kíli were unconscious from blood loss.
Thorin would never forget the feel of blood trickling through his fingers as he put pressure on Kíli’s wounds as Frerin did the same for Dís.
He was only twenty-five.
Nori sat holding his twin’s hand, both Mori and Nori looked like marinette dolls whose strings had been cut, though Nori still breathed.
Óin arrived already covered in blood, though none was his own. The healer began barking orders as he treated Kíli first.
Whoever had tried to assassinate Glóin’s wife and little Ori who had been staying with, hadn’t survived her or Óin.
“Go,” Frerin ordered. “Thorin, go get Fíli, whoever took him did so for collateral in case we survived. Which means he’s alive.”
Thorin felt torn to pieces, but given directions, the pursuit of saving his nephew and ending the traitor who had taken him allowed him to move forward.
He took a war goat and rode hard into the falling snow.
Whoever had taken Fíli had had hours to get a head start, but Thorin would not rest until he found them.
oOo
The sun had long set as Belladonna, the Shire’s finest healer, and her son trudged back through the snow to Bag End.
The road seemed longer and more bitter than normal as the blizzard raged, it was not made better by the wailing that rose over the darkness.
Children cry, but most children don’t bite the hand of their parents and scream like their hearts have been broken.
Belladonna and Bilbo crept forward, ready to offer assistance to the pair. There was blood in the snow after all and the boy’s exposed face was the type of red that indicated fever more than emotion.
But then the older dwarf dropped the child roughly before backhanding the youngling with so much strength the child collapsed into the snow and didn't immediately stir.
Belladonna didn't hesitate, pushing her own barely of age son back as she ran at the dwarf bag swinging.
The dwarf turned, pulling a weapon, his sword slicing her throat, spilling crimson into the snow.
Fury filled Bilbo, eclipsing his horror as his mother went motionless.
The dwarfling tried to run and the older dwarf turned to give chase.
Bilbo ran to his mother and her bag, he pulled one of her surgical knives before following the dwarves. He wasn't noticed until the last moment, at which point it was far too late.
His mother killer’s eyes flashed with surprise as Bilbo jumped him, plunging the blade into his neck.
They fell together, the dwarf gargling on his last breath as the snow danced about them.
It was a killing blow and his leather armour provided no protection for his throat. Bilbo pushed himself away, wiping the bloodied knife on the man's clothes as he went to the child who was awake and staring at Bilbo with large blue eyes.
The snow had fallen with a vengeance, from Drogo’s home to Bagshot Row it had fallen to waist height. Bilbo had to swim through it to reach the quaking child.
The dwarfling was struggling to distance himself from cooling bodies when Bilbo held out a hand. The blonde fauntling reached back Bilbo’s hand after only brief hesitation.
Bilbo scooped him up in his arms, turning back to the road.
“I've got you, you're safe now.”
The child, who looked no different than a fauntling who had yet to reach his teens save for the long hair and socked feet, gave a cry and flung himself into Bilbo's arms sobbing.
Bilbo gathered the child closer to himself, “I’m here, you're going to be alright.”
The dwarfling buried his face in Bilbo's chest.
Bilbo grabbed his mother’s bag but was forced to leave her body behind.
He hated to leave his mother behind but if others were coming, he couldn't remain on the road.
Bilbo kept shushing the crying child. Rubbing his back, Bilbo shuddered at the feel of dried blood on that golden hair.
By the time they got back to Bag End, the cold felt soul-deep with no chance of thawing. The only thing that kept him going was the whimpering sobs of the dwarfling in his arms.
Kicking the door shut behind them, Bilbo shouted, “Father! Father!”
Bungo Baggins came running in, brown eyes going wide at the sight before him.
“Bilbo!? Who's that? Where's your mother?”
“She’s–” Bilbo didn’t know how to finish that sentence.
Dead in the snow.
But he couldn’t find it in himself to say it.
“No,” his father breathed, before pushing past him to go out into the snow.
“Wait!” Bilbo called but with a gust of cold air, the door was opened and then slammed shut.
The dwarfling’s sobs renewed in earnest.
“It’s okay,” Bilbo said, swallowing his own panic. “It’s okay.”
The fauntling needed medical care, but first, he needed to warm up.
The fire was going and the fauntling was so small, getting him into an oversized bucket for a bath would be easy enough.
“We’re going to get you warmed up, alright?” Bilbo asked, mostly talking to himself and hushing the child as he wrapped him in towels and left him bundled before the fire.
The winter had been bad enough that they had been sleeping in the kitchen, only heating the stove.
Father must have had the tea waiting for them because it was already poured.
It was ginger, good for an empty stomach and cooled just enough to drink.
First he pulled the pot of water back on the stove for more hot water. Then Bilbo half emptied the tea himself, before returning to the floor and helping the dwarfling drink some too. The poor fellow clung to the cup as he shook.
The hot tea would help their bodies regulate back to a normal temperature.
Bilbo moved quickly after that, finding a tub they used for dishes in outdoor picnics or parties and filling it up with lukewarm water.
Bilbo knew from his mother that he would have to warm the child up slowly.
Getting the dwarfling out of his clothes was difficult, but eventually the lad was in the water and Bilbo could finally see his injuries.
His skin was worryingly white from the gold and bruises moulted his skin where he had been grabbed around his arms and torso, but his most worrying injury was the large bloody bump on his head.
He cleared his throat, “I’m Bilbo, by the way. Bilbo Baggins. Can you tell me your name?”
The child didn't hear him so Bilbo chatted on, “You're at Bag End in the Shire. This is a hobbit hole, and it isn't nasty like I know the big folk say. It's home and home means comfort. We call our homes smials because of that.”
Fíli was finally looking at him now, his blue eyes tired but the fear had lessened.
Don't let the shock set in, it'll kill you, Bilbo, it'll kill anyone, quicker than cold or fire. Quicker than blood loss, shock will kill you, his mother’s voice reprimanded him .
“Can you tell me your name please?”
“Fíli,” the child said in a hushed tone.
Bilbo smiled, it's nice to meet you Fíli. When the storm's end, is there a family waiting for you? In Bree perhaps?”
Fíli turned away, curling in on himself, “Amad, Adad, and Kíli are dead. My other family is gone, said so. He said so. They didn't follow.” He looked up at Bilbo pleading in his eyes. “If they were alive they'd rescue me.”
Bilbo immediately tried to comfort him as the boy's face scrunched up with tears again.
“It'll be okay. You're not alone. You know I was once adopted by an elf. I’m his honorary son. It won't be so strange for a hobbit to adopt a dwarfling as kind and brave as yourself. I won't let anything bad happen to you again, I promise. The Shire's the safest place in Middle Earth.”
The last was a lie but the child need not know that.
Bilbo poured warm water into the tub and washed out Fíli's hair which caused the bleeding to start again.
Bilbo wrapped his head with the bandages from his mother's bag.
Through it all, Bilbo never stopped talking about the Shire and stories about his Tookish cousins.
By the time Bungo returned, Fíli and Bilbo were clean and bundled up in blankets by the kitchen stove. The bloodied towels rested in a hamper for later.
Fíli was asleep for now and Bilbo regretted having to wake him nearly every hour to ensure he didn't drop into a coma.
The head injury was bad and he had lost a lot of blood not to mention all the hours he spent in the cold.
Bilbo wouldn't be surprised if he had memory loss, especially being so young.
Bungo didn't leave the entryway and Bilbo didn't rise to greet him or call out to him.
He knew his father would not leave Belladonna in the snow and Bilbo had no desire to see her lifeless body again. Her death would haunt his nightmares for years to come.
Bilbo would forever be grateful to Fíli who he focused all his energy on taking care of in the days that followed.
The Fell Winter was long and dark, and Bungo Baggins seemed to fade a little more each day.
Of the three of them, Bilbo talked the most. Fíli grew quieter, getting increasingly upset with himself when his past memories began to slip away.
As for Bungo well…
Bilbo no longer felt like a child. No, his childhood ended that winter cut away by an assassin's blade and the need of others that were greater than his own.
oOo
The wind obscured the world in grey shadows.
When Thorin Oakenshield caught up to the dwarf who had assisted in destroying the family, he found only bloodied bones beneath the snow.
Wargs.
Still, Thorin searched, but the snow and the continued storm made it impossible to track. This monster had been felled by wargs, no bandit would leave the weapons behind, and Fíli was so small but to be a few mouthfuls for a warg, it was no surprise to be unable to find his bones. Even if Thorin could track the beasts to their hole, Fíli would be long dead from bites or the cold.
Thorin stopped searching when he found a bloodied braid of golden hair in Sozan’s pocket, the bead one of Thorin's he'd gifted him for his last birthday.
Thorin fell to his knees and bellowed his sorrow and rage to the sky which rained down snow upon him as if the gods sought to smother him.
He wished they would, he would give anything to not be forced to return to Ered Luin where the best he could hope for was that his sister and her eldest son lived so Thorin could break their hearts with the knowledge that their youngest prince was dead.
Eaten by wargs.
Indeed, telling Dís was the hardest thing he had ever done.
But telling Kíli who had already lost his father? There were no words to describe the grief when their dearest Kíli understood that his baby brother would never return home.
oOo
When spring came, Bilbo found his father asleep amongst the sprouts in the garden, never to wake again.
Hobbits, like elves, could fade when their true loves passed on or great tragedy befell them.
Bilbo Baggins became Master of Bag End, and a father himself to a young orphaned dwarf.
Sometimes, Bilbo thought of trying to contact Fíli's extended family but he couldn't risk alerting those who had conspired to kidnap Fíli and murder his family that he had survived.
So Bilbo raised Fíli Baggins as his own with all the love and warmth his heart had to give.
Fate of course had bigger plans for them, but never a day went by when Fíli Baggins doubted how much he was loved.
oOo
AN: I wrote this story for myself but I find that I keep adding to it. I wasn't even planning on posting it but this first chapter is functionally a one-shot prompt. If you are interested in this story at all, if you have requests, ideas, or suggestions, please, please share or contact me on discord at @appoapples#6199
Until then, it shall remain a one-shot. Thank you so much for reading!
Chapter 2: Regrets
Chapter Text
AN: So this story has about fourteen followers so far but I’m 50k into the draft of this story sooo… let me know what plot points or areas you want this story to venture into as your voice will most definitely be heard.
Chapter 2 - Regrets
Bungo Baggins welcomed the dwarfling into their home before he passed in the spring.
Bilbo found himself head of his own household with a child who wasn’t even a hobbit.
Yet the dwarfling became Bilbo’s entire world and he could not imagine a life without his son.
Fíli was shy at first, but soon he almost never left Bilbo's side. Asking for stories, songs, and games that Bilbo was all too happy to share with him.
Bilbo wanted to give his son everything, including the desire to reconnect him to his people in Ered Luin as Bilbo refused to conclude that the actions of Fíli’s kidnapper were representative of all the dwarves of the Blue Mountains. Unfortunately, there was nothing preventing the dwarrow from taking his child from him. Bilbo wouldn't give Fíli up to anyone who wasn't immediate family, who wouldn’t love him as much as Bilbo did.
Perhaps that was true of the elves as well, but they had no reason to separate him from Fíli, not even on principle.
The dwarves did.
A hobbit with a dwarfling, an outsider with one of their children?
Hobbits were no strangers to wariness of other races.
Having now lots of experiences with other races, Bilbo wasn’t even convinced they were wrong to be wary.
But Fíli had been kidnapped and abused by a dwarf. Bilbo could not in good conscience bring his son back to them and simply trust he would reach his family.
A family that hopefully hadn’t been the ones guilty of this plot in the first place.
Bilbo sighed, rocking the sleeping child against his chest, he couldn’t let him go, not until Fíli was old enough to protect himself.
To choose for himself.
Until then, Bilbo would protect Fíli and raise him as best he was able.
oOo
It was Fíli’s birthday, and being only five years apart, Kíli had not, in any way, been able to let go of the death of his brother.
Fíli’s death had been the most personally devastating event of Thorin's own life even if the dragon had done his people more harm.
Thorin hadn't thought that things could get worse than being forced to flee Moria.
He had been wrong.
Thorin had been called King Under the Mountain, which was a laughable joke.
The dwarves of Erebor, those of them who had survived the Dragon and Moria had splintered. As the years passed, many tracked backwards, toward the Iron Hills to be among their own kind again even if the Iron Hill and Erebor dwarves had wildly different cultures, they were still dwarves.
The same was true for those who ventured toward the sea and the respite of the Blue Mountains.
Others took to the road and never settled at all.
Ered Luin was not doing well with the influx in their population from Erebor. With a spattering of human settlements to the east and the Shire beyond, luxuries were not well enough to sustain Thorin’s people.
The elves in the shadow of the Misty Mountains were much the same, caring more for the waterfalls than finery. To the immediate east beyond that?
The Rohanian were struggling as well. In truth, the only place where their most skilled workers could find any large commissions was in Gondor.
Even then, Thorin’s people had nothing to craft from, no gold ores, and barely any iron resources. Which meant travel to Gondor was impractical and setting up any sort of perminate resident there would not be welcome. Dain had sent word that the current Steward of Gondor, while having a fine enough head for military matters, was also paranoid in the extreme. Relations between them and the Rohirrim were strained and any other race was treated with such hostile suspicion as to be not worth the journey.
They biggest profit came from the sea, sailors who needed repairs on ships, compasses, sails, and oddities that his people had never before needed to create. But such work was seasonal and best suited to those who worked with wood.
Frerin and Kíli turned out to be excellent at such things.
Thorin had to work in human settlements and make horseshoes, so many forsaken horseshoes, day in and day out.
And Thorin was one of the luckier ones in having transferable skills. Having been a thriving people for a thousand years, being homeless wanderers was…
There weren’t really words for what they were.
Dís who was more jeweller than smith ended up staying in the mountains to manage court.
She hated it, and she used her unrestrained power to ensure any dwarvish lord who sought too much personal gain or slowed down the court with petty complaints received the full dose of disdain only a dwarrowdame could in part.
Of course, now that the winter had begun, the court was now his responsibility.
Thorin sighed, staring up at his ceiling as his mind swirled with any way he could improve his people's condition.
At least he had managed to secure a few contracts for wedding bands and jewellery gifts for Dís, it wasn't much, but it was still a small profit she could make from her own craft.
Thorin didn't flinch when his door cracked open. He knew that small shadow and merely pulled back the covers in welcome.
Kíli crept into his room, burying himself into Thorin's side after what he knew to be yet another nightmare. Kíli typically went to his mother but Thorin wasn’t home often nowadays, so in the winter Kíli went to him.
Thorin was glad to be able to offer such shelter still, it made him feel not entirely useless.
Still, the tears that fell onto his chest just about broke his heart as he gathered the dwarfling closer.
“I miss him too,” Thorin whispered.
Kíli clung to him and mumbled something into his coat.
Thorin’s heart twisted painfully, “He was your brother, you loved him and he loved you. That's all that matters.”
“I couldn’t save him,” Kíli said.
Thorin held him closer, “It was not your fault, dearest Kíli. It was my duty to protect you all. It was I who failed you.”
Kíli shook his head, “Don’t leave? Uncle Thorin, please don’t leave again.”
Thorin hushed him, looking up at the ceiling feeling lost.
He knew his sister blamed herself, but the past could not be changed and they still had Kíli. Their dearest Kíli. It was all he had to hold onto.
There was a knock on his door.
Whoever it was, didn’t wait to be welcomed in, two familiar forms entered.
Thorin sighed, “I suppose it’s one of those nights.”
Kíli looked up, “Amad?”
Dís pulled back the covers, followed by Frerin, the three of them cuddled around their youngest prince.
Kíli, for his part, did his best to cling to all of them.
For once Mahal was with them as the nightmares passed them.
oOo
Death was an unwelcome guest in Hobbiton, one who took more than was ever meant to be given. For the first time since the borders had been settled without contestment, families were broken beyond repair. Where hobbits were extremely particular about their family trees, when the snow melted an uncommon amount of fauntlings found themselves without parents.
While it seemed quite the jest to the Big Folk that hobbits ate seven meals a day, it wasn't something they did out of gluttony. No, much like hummingbirds needing to eat nearly constantly to fuel themselves, so did hobbits. Their bodies burned through energy stores and difficult winters proved why fat hobbits were so valued.
The hobbits who ate well to gain weight despite working beneath the sun, saw the end of winter. Whereas most of their thinner hobbits and their sickly didn’t make it through.
There was also the sad truth that starving hobbits are not at their wisest. As many died to hunger as were killed by the predators that had roamed their lands, catching those who ventured outside their hobbit holes.
Such as it was, they had lost some fauntlings but mostly adults as the fauntlings were always prioritised and worried over. Of those who were orphaned, most found their extended families, but others?
Some were too young to know their family trees, knowing their parents only as mom and dad.
And yes, should these things be documented, of course. But reporting to the Thain had fallen out of style and families had been forced to burn some of their books in hopes of lighting sodden logs in their dwindling stoves.
Fíli Baggins was assumed by those in Buckland to be directly related to Bilbo as those in the Shire believed Fíli related to Drogo, some cousin or other.
For three years, any oddities of Fíli’s were ignored in favour of him being the heir to Bag End and thus a desirable hobbit to be in the good graces of.
If Fíli was stronger than most nor his feet not particularly hairy, it was ignored for the quality of his blue eyes and the golden shade of his hair that everyone insisted matched the Thain’s hair when he was young.
Bilbo didn’t know an extraordinarily a lot about dwarves, but he knew they valued their hair. So Bilbo never cut it short, trimming it to shoulder length and tying it back in a ponytail, sometimes with little braids, sometimes with one big one. He also grew out his own hair in solidarity which Fíli in turn took great pleasure in weaving flowers into his curly braids.
Bilbo was reluctant to travel, Fíli’s apparent fear of travelling didn’t inspire him to venture far, not even in the height of summer.
This was true of most hobbits in those days. And the winter that followed the Fell Winter was filled with anxiety despite its mildness. Bilbo still had nightmares of killing the dwarf who murdered his mother.
Fíli still had night terrors about his uncles, his father, his mother, and his older brother being murdered.
Most nights they hid from them together, Bilbo telling him stories of grand elves and silly hobbits.
Was Bilbo too young to be a parent, yes, but there were too many broken families with too many mouths to feed for any real fuss to be made.
Besides, Bilbo wouldn't be the first hobbit to become a father before his majority, nor was Fíli an infant for others to be overly concerned about.
For a time, they were both accepted by all save for the Sackville-Bagginses who were resentful of the new inheritor of Bag End.
Now that the third winter after the Fell had come and gone, Bilbo was beginning to look forward, hesitantly, to the future.
Fíli was a bright lad who soaked up histories, played a marvellous fiddle, and was a great artist. He was shy, but a few of the neighbour's lads called him friend and the lasses fawned over Fíli's strong form.
Still, when a familiar knock sounded on the door, Bilbo was of half a mind to throw the vase water at his overly tall guest.
Swinging open the door he glared up at the elf.
Glorfindel with hair a brighter shade of yellow-gold than Fíli’s wheat-gold looked abashed as he bowed.
“Where have you been?” Bilbo demanded.
“In the Greenwood, trouble arose and the touch of evil looks to find shelter beneath its canopies.”
“It's been three years ,” Bilbo all but whined, voice breaking on the last.
Glorfindel knelt and pulled Bilbo into a hug. “Forgive me, my child, words cannot express my sorrow that they were taken from you so soon.”
Bilbo hugged him back, feeling a great weight lifted off his shoulders that he wasn’t alone in this anymore. Sure, he had extended family, but he hadn’t dared to share with them the horrors he’d endured for fear of suspicion falling on Fíli.
Because it would not be taken well if the Shire learned that their finest healer, Belladonna Took-Baggins, had been murdered by a dwarf.
Finally, Bilbo pulled back, gesturing Glorfindel in for tea.
After tea had been poured and they had settled by the fire, the elf lord’s long legs stretched out before him, Bilbo asked, “Who told you?”
“News reached Rivendell only a few weeks ago when the Rangers informed us that the Shire’s healer and her love had been returned to the soil,” Glorfindel said. “Elrond wished to come himself but he has a new ward. I've come with an invitation to stay in our halls whenever and however long you like.”
Bilbo sipped his tea, “I too have a son who is too young to travel with.”
Glorfindel’s expression lit up, “You’ve married? I heard of no invitations to your wedding.”
“I’m not married, and I suppose he is my ward but I see him as my own. Some days, it feels like he’s the only reason to get out of bed in the morning.”
Expression fallen, the elf asked, “The Fell Winter seems to have taken many from the Shire.”
Bilbo sighed, “It has, but my mother died neither from the weather nor hunger.”
Glorfindel went very still, and the look in his eyes was enough to send a shiver through Bilbo. This elf was so full of life, love, and laughter, that it was a frightful thing indeed to see his wrath rise.
“Who?” Glorfindel demanded, tone flat as a frozen lake.
“A dwarf, I know not his name as I avenged my mother before he could say much.”
Glorfindel took his hand, “Oh, Bilbo.”
“I didn’t tell anyone. I know how hard things have been for dwarves in this age, but I admit, I’m afraid to send enquiries to Ered Luin to discover why…” He took a breath before finishing lamely, “Why.”
“I’ve never heard of a dwarf robbing a hobbit on the road,” Glorfindel said.
“It wasn’t–”
“Da?”
They both turned to see little Fíli lingering in the hall.
Bilbo didn’t have many guests and the way the dwarfling looked up at the fully grown elf with trepidation scared the hobbit.
Bilbo put down his teacup and held his arms wide.
Fíli didn’t wait for further encouragement before his feet pounded the wood to jump into Bilbo’s arms.
Soon enough Fíli would outgrow Bilbo, but for now and perhaps for a decade more, he would remain his little Fíli.
“Glorfindel, this is my son, Fíli Baggins, Fíli, this is my dearest friend Glorfindel, the Lord of Golden Flowers.”
Fíli clung to Bilbo but peeked up at the elf who smiled at him warmly.
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Fíli.” Glorfindel gave no indication of knowing what his son was.
“You’re an elf?” Fíli asked.
“I am,” Glorfindel said. “I was just inviting you and your da to come to my home in Rivendell.”
Bilbo glared at the meddling elf, holding Fíli a bit tighter as the fauntling shuddered with fear, “I don’t want to back. Please don’t take me away?”
Glorfindell frowned, “I wouldn’t take you anywhere you wouldn’t want to go, young Fíli. Least of all taking you from your father.”
Fíli just shook his head.
“Fíli was taken from the Blue Mountains,” Bilbo explained. “The dwarf who stole my mother took his family as well.”
And I have no way to confirm that without putting him and myself in danger, went unspoke but heard.
Glorfindel’s lips thinned, and he inclined his head in understanding.
“Master Fíli, please look at me,” Glorfindel said as he went to kneel before Bilbo’s seat.
Fíli looked up at him with palpable reservation.
Glorfindel placed a hand over his own heart, his hair spilling around his shoulders like spun gold in the firelight, “Bilbo is family to me, which means you are my kin as well.”
“But I’m a dwarf,” Fíli whispered.
“Rare are the friendships between dwarves and elves in this age,” Glorfindel said. “But once made, such bonds are blessed by the stars themselves. I pledge to you, Fíli, son of Bilbo, son of Belladonna, the same loyalty and affection that I would hold for my own children.”
Fíli stared at him for a long moment before bowing his head in acknowledgement.
Slowly, with clear intention, Glorfindel lowered his head so that elf, hobbit, and dwarfling rested their foreheads against each other. He whispered in Sindarin a word whose true meaning meant a promise of love.
Love unlooked for but cherished beyond reason.
Such was the nature of their language that even unknown, some portion of it would always be understood.
Fíli reached up to hug the elf and Bilbo felt his heart fill to bursting.
Family was about so much more than blood.
oOo
They woke early the next morning, the dwarfling not stirring even as the sun crested the hills.
Glorfindel was furious, beyond furious.
While he had long been fond of hobbits, Belladonna had been especially dear to him. She was the first mortal in age he had allowed himself to open his heart to, knowing that such a daughter would only bring him heartbreak.
And little Bilbo whose destiny shimmered like mithril beneath the sunlight, a son who had taken his heart without his knowing it.
But Belladonna had been stolen from them far too soon and Glorfindel despised that Bilbo had been forced to spill blood before he had even reached his majority.
“Glorfindel?”
He turned to look at his little hobbit, “I regret failing you, Bilbo. I regret it more than I can say.”
Bilbo shook his head and humbled him once again, “I know that time is different for you, that years can pass as days. I know that when I am old and those same years are rushing past you you will remember her forever as she was when I’ve forgotten the shade of eye colour and the sound of her voice when she sings. You are here, and I would rather you be here than for you to keep away, knowing you cannot be other than you are.”
Glorfindel let out a long breath, his heart shuddering as Bilbo echoed those of a love he had lost long ago. “I will visit more often, dwarflings age more slowly than hobbits, but I don’t wish to miss it.”
“The Shire doesn’t know,” Bilbo divulged as he prepared a travel bag for him with scones and jarred jams and honey. “I don’t know if it’s right, but rumours are dangerous things, and I can’t– I will not let the wrong people find him.”
Glorfindel fisted his hands, “Fíli has told you nothing of his past?”
“His family was slaughtered in front of him,” Bilbo said, words fierce with protective fury. “I know only that his brother was named Kíli.”
“Does he know why it happened?”
“No, but I think he was unconscious for most of the way to the Shire. His head wound was dreadful, I didn’t let him sleep for longer than two hours for a week.”
Glorfindel shook his head, “It is not uncommon for dwarves to come to blows with one another, but it is almost unheard of for them to target their own women and children. It is not done.”
“How afraid should I be?” Bilbo asked.
“The Rangers are more cautious than they were,” Glorfindel said. “And after I speak with Elrond, I believe we can add more elves to their numbers.”
“But?” Bilbo prompted.
“You cannot hide what he is from the Shire folk forever, and it will do him more harm then good.”
“I don’t want to give him back to his people. If I knew he would be safe, I’d take him to the Iron Hills and raise him there. But I don’t think I would be welcome and I couldn't leave him with strangers. Dwarves are more secretive than elves.”
“Especially, in this age,” Glorfindel agreed. “I will go to Ered Luin and request an audience with their King. He should know his own people, and if nothing else, I imagine he would like to know what happened to a dwarfling in his care.”
“Not to mention nearly declaring war on Hobbiton.”
That caught Glorfindel by surprise and he raised a brow, “I would not like to see your people go to war.”
“My mother was the Thain’s favourite daughter. If it came to light that the dwarves sent not so much as a formal apology, trade to the Blue Mountains and any of their allies would be severed.”
Glorfindel tilted his head, “How much do they rely on the Shire’s harvests?”
“The majority of us are farmers,” Bilbo explained. “And we only need one fourth of what we grow. The dwarves, as far as I know, grow next to nothing of their own. Even if they could go without as many greens, if the human settlements they trade with more immediately were also cut off from them…”
Glorfindel suppressed a malicious smile. He had never hated dwarves, cursed their stubbornness at times, but never hated them until now, when they had taken one of his daughters and orphaned two of his sons.
“But I won’t do that,” Bilbo said. “I will not make more innocents suffer for these tragedies.”
Glorfindel’s heart softened and he brushed a hand over Bilbo’s golden brown hair that had grown surprisingly long in the way of elves, “If only all the peoples of this world were so generous and wise.”
“There would be less wars,” Bilbo said.
Glorfindel laughed, dropping to his knees to pull the little hobbit into another hug, “I am so proud of you. I will stay longer when I return this way.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” Bilbo said, holding on tight. “You owe my son stories.”
Glorfindel heard the fear in that sentence that the dwarves might still have a rightful claim on Fíli and that Glorfindel would return to take him away.
He needn’t have worried.
Perhaps, if Glorfindel had sent a letter ahead of himself, he would have been greeted at the gates of Ered Luin with less hostility.
But he doubted it.
He didn’t dismount as the gates were shut for the night and the guards on the ramparts chose to shout down at him as if he was a beggar at their door.
“Get lost, elf!”
Glorfindel sighed and called back, “I am a Lord of Rivendell, I request an audience with your king.”
“Denied!” another guard shouted.
Glorfindel bit back a growl, his mount dancing below him as his body tensed. “I request an audience with King Thorin Oakenshield!”
“Why?” the first guard shouted.
“A dwarf from Ered Luin has murdered my daughter,” Glorfindel shouted, his temper rising for the indignity of this moment and the ignorance of these people.
“It was deserved!” the second declared even as his partner on the watch swore at him in Khuzdel.
But Glorfindel had had enough. He was not a hobbit to forgive an insult such as this. These guards might have no political power, they might be poor representatives for their people, but if the guards had no respect for their own lords to even pass a message then Oakenshield’s rule was doomed.
Oakenshield was either a weak king who inspired neither loyalty or respect or a cruel one that his dwarves in his command could be so flippant in the face of a foreign ambassador.
“If you will not grant my request for audience then you will pass along this message, that Ered Luin has renounced any goodwill Rivendell had held for them. You will come to regret this night.”
“Are you threatening war?” the first guard asked, his voice breaking.
“No,” Glorfindel said, a coldness entering his being. “But when you come for our aid, you will be received as beggars at the door.”
The second dwarf shot an arrow at him which Glorfindel knocked away with his blade.
Any chance of him following up with a letter, any chance that Glorfindel would allow Bilbo near these people or return his Fíli to them perished in that action.
This night would be regretted by all.
oOo
Thorin looked up, startled as his office door was banged open. Dwalin dragged two of his guardsmen behind him by their collars and threw them on the floor before Thorin’s desk.
Balin rose from his seat, “Brother?”
Dwalin shook his head, his face red with fury, he was so angry he couldn't immediately speak. He kicked one of the guards.
That guard whimpered, curling in on himself, “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry,” Dwalin seethed. “You nearly started a war, and the best you can do is sorry!”
Balin’s expression went dark, “What happened?”
Thorin felt the headache building.
The other guard said, “An elf came to the gate last night.”
Thorin already hated whatever was about to be said.
Especially, given Dwalin’s expression that indicated they might owe an elf an apology.
“Why?” Thorin asked, voice low.
“To request an audience with you,” the guard whimpered.
“And you chose not to relay this message,” Balin said, tone flat belying his own rising anger.
“Where was he from?” Thorin asked.
“Rivendell,” the moron responded. “He said he was a lord from Rivendell.”
Thorin sighed, he hated elves, like most dwarrow from Erebor, he hated elves, but that didn’t translate as a desire to make enemies out of the ones they had no conflict with.
Dwalin stomped on the second guards kidney causing the dwarf to squawk. Dwalin’s voice grew darker with every syllable, “Speak before being stripped of your position becomes the least of your worries.”
“He accused a dwarf of murdering his daughter.”
The silence in the room was resounding.
Thorin slammed a fist against his desk and swore, “Did they declare war?”
“No,” the first guard said. “He said that there would be no goodwill from Rivendell and that if we needed their help we would be treated like beggars at their door.”
Thorin despised that phrasing, but he also hadn’t lost a daughter to a cold-blooded murder.
“Take them away, they are to be imprisoned, working in the lowest mines until word is returned from Rivendell. Until then, they will toil before their final fates are decided,” Thorin instructed. “Dwalin, find out who and when an elf woman was murdered.”
“Did the lord give a name?” Balin asked as more guards came in to drag the other two away.
They had the minimal sense to go quietly.
“Glorfindel,” Dwalin said.
Balin went ashen, leaning against his own desk for support.
“I know that name,” Thorin muttered. “He’s one of the older ones, isn’t he?”
“The Lord of Golden Flowers,” Balin murmured. “He’s Twice Born. He was mortally wounded after slaying a Balrog. Where his first body was buried grew golden flowers, but he was reborn in Valinor before returned to Middle Earth. Some say his powers are equal to that of a wizard.”
Thorin dropped his head into his hands, “Mahal save us.”
Balin began muttering about letters and a council was called regarding the incident.
No one was able to find any information about an elf slain by a dwarf.
Messages were sent to the Iron Hills and Dain’s people could not find so much as a rumour of it.
With nothing to show for their efforts, they could only request that Lord Glorfindel provide any information to aid their investigation.
But all they received from the Lord of Golden Flowers was a warning that elves had been added to the Ranger’s patrol of the western roads and entrance to Hobbiton would be strictly monitored.
If any dwarf refused to state their identity and business with the hobbits they would be met with hostile force.
This sent Balin into a panic.
“What?” Thorin demanded. “They’re just halflings, we have no ill will toward them. I don’t think anyone does.”
Balin looked sick, “The Shire produces most of the food west of the Misty mountains. If the elves cut off trade between us or our allies surrounding the Blue Mountains, no amount of coin would get us through the winter.”
Thorin hated elves, he truly did.
oOo
AN: Thank you for the feedback, it already spurred an extra chapter! I have about 50k written though none of it edited, so anything you want added, what fits, I can include :D
Chapter 3: Halfling
Chapter Text
Thank you for any and all of the support given to this story! I’m doing so really difficult research about genocide for an exhibit coming up that I’ll have to be teaching to the public, and this really has been my escape.
Start of story: Fíli was 20(10) Kíli 25(12) Bilbo 29 (17)
As of this chapter: Fíli is 30(15) Kíli 35(17) Bilbo 39 (23)
Chapter 2 - Halfling
Fíli adored his cousin. Frodo was only ten years old and he hung on Fíli’s every word as he retold the stories his father and grandfather told him.
Fíli never had an abundance of friends, he was always nervous about his ears and his long hair was something the other boys picked on him for.
But Fíli, like Bilbo, was loved by the little ones for their stories. If they occasionally slipped in the odd elfen word, well that was simply impressive.
Still by the time little Frodo fell asleep in his arms and Primula scooped up the fauntling, Fíli was being urged outside to play in the sunshine.
Bilbo was too distracted to get him out of Primula’s mothering. His da hadn’looked up from helping Drogo make cake as Fíli reluctantly left the smial.
He saw a group of fauntlings running toward the stream and he was glad he at least had a direction of where to go.
It seemed there were traders from Bree in Buckland and Fíli found that he was not the tallest in the group, for once.
The four human boys were practically tripping over the older fauntlings as they raced along the grass.
“Fíli!”
“ Fíli! ”
Soon Fíli found himself beseeched on all sides by youngest fauntlings who joyously tackled him into the soft ground.
Laughing, Fíli ruffled hair and tickled them until he won his freedom from the mass.
The older children were conversing with each other and Fíli swore he could feel the trouble brewing.
He noted two hobbits, Willer Whitfoot and his brother Sender Whitfoot, were whispering with the human boys. They were Lobelia’s cousins.
Which meant nothing good.
“Come play with us, Fíli!”
“Yeah, come play, Baggins,” Willer said snidely.
Fíli glared at him, “What’s the game?”
“Tag,” Sander said, shoving Fíli. Not that he had a prayer of knocking a dwarf over.
Fíli went after Willer, catching up to him in no time.
But Willer merely clapped hands with one of the humans.
Fíli cursed as he ran, grunting when he wasn’t so much tagged as tackled by one of the human boys.
Fíli yelled out in pain as his braid was yanked on.
He might have been raised by a hobbit and trained to fight by an elf, but he was still a dwarf, and no one was allowed to touch his hair.
He rolled and punched the brat straight in the nose. The boy cried, clutching his face as blood pooled between his fingers.
Someone else grabbed Fíli by the hair and he roared as turned on his foes.
There was screaming and panicked yelling from all around them. Fíli didn’t let up though, these weren’t breakable hobbit fauntlings, these were men half grown who could easily have snapped a hobbit’s neck if they had used the same strength on them the way they had yanked on Fíli’s braid.
And then there were full size men grabbing him as hobbit parents gathered their fauntlings.
Fíli kicked the man who held him in the groin and grunted when he was thusly dropped.
He panicked a bit when a sword was drawn, but the brown-haired man fell with a bark of surprise as a hobbit ploughed into his legs, taking him out by the knees.
“Da!” Fíli shouted because, of course, it was Bilbo who then had the sense to kick the sword out of reach.
“You attack my son!?” Bilbo asked, landing a punch to the man’s eye.
“What is going on here!?” a voice called out.
Everything stopped as they looked up at Drogo Baggins, whose hands were on his hips, a look of no-nonsense in his expression.
The man shoved Bilbo off him, “His son attacked mine!”
Drogo crossed his arms and said dryly, “A fauntling attacked your son? My what a story we’ll have at the Green Dragon. I’m sure everyone will be impressed by your boys’ velour.”
Bilbo went to Fíli, dusting him off, gently pulling grass from his hair.
“I’m sorry,” Fíli muttered but his father only shushed him.
The man sneered, “He’s no hobbit, but a halfling in truth.”
“You know better than to use that term, Jackson,” Drogo chided.
Jackson gestured rudely at Fíli, “He’s a bastard, a half-breed. Half-man and half-hobbit, good enough for neither and dangerous enough to be judged by my kin.”
Fíli flinched.
Bilbo put an arm around him, “He’s my son, and if your boys were fool enough to pick a fight, then they got what they got. Us Bagginses don’t take insult quietly and us Tooks know how to throw a punch. Now you best be moving on back to your own folk to tend to your boys’ injured pride.”
“He broke my nose,” one of the boys said pitifully around his hand.
“Well, now you’ll know that height isn’t everything in a fight,” Bilbo said. “Growing up is all about life lessons.”
Fíli bit back a laugh, and it was easy, because he didn’t feel much like laughing after he had been treated so rudely.
They called him half-breed, half of both of them.
What would they say of him if they knew he was a dwarf?
Perhaps that he belonged with neither of them.
“Come, Fíli, it’s time for supper,” Bilbo said, leading him away.
The men retreated, apparently having enough pride to not want to further acknowledge their sons’ weaknesses.
“I’m sorry, Da,” Fíli said.
“Hush now. I’ll rebraid your hair after you wash up. We’ll head back home tomorrow,” Bilbo said.
“The rumours will beat us there,” Fíli grumbled.
Drogo snorted, “He’s not wrong, Bilbo.”
“Frodo will be pleased to be the first to hear them then,” Bilbo deflected primly.
Fíli smiled.
oOo
Bilbo wished he could have given that trader worse than a black eye.
Before they left Buckland, he sent a letter to Rivendell.
Which proved the wisest thing to do. Because no sooner did they get home to Bag End the following night did the vultures come circling in.
“You belong in Bree, no half-breed deserves to inherit Bag End,” Lobelia said.
Bilbo shut the door behind him, hoping Fíli would remain in bed.
“Now listen here, cousin , Fíli is a Baggins, not a Sackville-Baggins, a Baggins . He’s mine son, and he’ll inherit Bag End as his own.”
“He’s half a man,” Lobelia said. “He’ll never stay here, he’ll never wish to. You should go to Bree even if that honourless woman who birthed him wants neither of you.”
Bilbo could have slapped her, but he held himself in check, even if his tone was less than polite. “Listen here you greedy, wicked mouth, conniving witch. You will never live in Bag End, not you, nor your son, nor your grandchildren. If not Fíli, then Drogo and his Frodo will inherit my parents’ smial. I’ve written my will and you’re not in it.”
Lobelia sniffed, “You’ve lost all respect, Mad Baggins. You had a child outside of wedlock. Your bastard son is a bully and you’re a brawler. You invite travellers and big folk into your home all the time. I’ll have you deemed a Disturber of the Peace.”
“And you’ll find out just how mad I can be if you don’t keep disturbing my son and I!” he yelled, his temper snapping like the line on a fishing rod that caught a fish too big for it.
She sniffed again, before trotting off, nose held high.
Sighing, Bilbo re-entered his smial to find Fíli listening in at the door, eyes wet from suppressed tears.
“Da, I’m–”
“Don’t you dare apologise,” Bilbo said, locking the door before taking Fíli’s hands in his own. “I knew we couldn’t hide your nature forever. Glorfindel went to the Blue Mountains and the dwarves there told him nothing of your family. But if you want–”
“No!” Fíli cried, the tears spilling over. “Please don’t make me go back. I–”
Bilbo squeezed his hand, “I am my mother’s son. When I was your age, I used to go to Rivendell all the time. You are a dwarf, Fíli, there is a wider world out there. It’s not merely boys from Bree you could learn to defend yourself from. You’ve a calling to follow and a craft to master.”
“Da, I don’t want to put you in danger.”
“You’ll outlive me, son. You cannot avoid the dwarves forever, you cannot be ashamed of what you are. Unless you would renounce Kíli’s memory?”
It was a low blow but he could not allow his son to be ashamed of where he came from or who his kin were,
“No!” Fíli cried again. “No, never.”
Bilbo put a hand on Fíli’s cheek, “Then we will go Imladris and you will be proud of your beard when it grows in. One day, you will return to Ered Luin or visit the Iron Hills with your head held high, Son of Bilbo, Beloved Child of the Lord of Golden Flowers.”
Fíli pulled him into a hug, “I love you, Da.”
“I love you too, Fíli, more than anything or anyone in Middle Earth.”
oOo
Nori put a hand over Kíli’s where he was working, his fingers raw as he sanded the wood. “Come, you must rest.”
Nori had been rather insistent on never being called uncle, as had Ori as he was only a year older than Fíli had been. Dori was the only one who didn’t mind the title but he was too busy working himself into an early grave to spend much time with their brother’s son.
Kíli put down his knife, stretching out his fingers.
“You’ve gotten rather good,” Nori remarked.
“What do you think my brother would have chosen for his craft?” the prince asked.
“Something with metal, no doubt,” Nori said. “Lad had a habit of stealing Frerin’s daggers.”
Kíli sighed, “Does it ever get easier? Do you ever miss them less?”
“I have not found it so,” Nori admitted but clapped his nephew on the shoulder. “But we have others who love us, who we love in turn, and would be ever more grieved if they lost us too.”
Kíli nodded.
“Your cheeks are getting awfully fuzzy,” Nori teased, rubbing the boy’s cheek.
Kíli batted his hand away, “Don’t mock me when I will have a better beard than yours.”
“That will depend wholly on if you take after Dis more than Mori. May Mahal bless you where Mori was overlooked.”
Kíli stuck out his tongue but allowed himself to be guided out of the workshop and delivered back home.
Dori, who had been on guard duty, followed unabashedly behind them.
They knew it burned all the royals that they never had time to themselves, but they, their self appointed bodyguards, did their best not to stifle them.
Ori came running around the corner, Nori caught him by the shoulders and Dori immediately broke his cover and nearly bowled them over to get to Ori.
“What is wrong!?” Dori demanded, checking Ori over for injury.
Nori, Kíli, and Ori rolled their eyes as Ori rushed to answer, “Princess Dís accepted my apprenticeship to Balin! I get to work in the court!”
Dori deflated with a heavy sigh and muttered something about his brothers being the death of him.
Kíli laughed, “Only you would be excited about that.”
Ori stuck out his tongue, “Well excuse me, if not all of us have crafts that create income.”
“Ori, if your craft means I don’t have to take notes in those Mahal forsaken meetings, I promise, no matter what anyone, including myself, says, yours is the most useful craft,” Kíli said, hand over his heart.
Ori grinned, buoyant with excitement.
“Sounds like we ought to celebrate,” Kíli said.
Ori flushed, “No, that’s fine, I–”
“Amad was planning to have a picnic under the stars, it’s supposed to be nice out,” Kíli said. “Come on, cousin, nothing too special, but it doesn’t cost us anything to have dinner together.”
Ori’s smile returned in full force and even Nori had to smile in turn to see the happiness returning to his family.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, ravens, or feedback?
Chapter 4: Side Quest
Chapter Text
AN: Major time skip in this chapter as many characters will be referring back to these in conversations and I don’t want it to become repetitive. Ideally, the focus of this story will be on the dwarves, not the elves.
P.S. This chapter was not in the draft, but the muses won.
Chapter 4 - Side Quest
Excitement and anxiety filled Fíli as he prepared his bags one last time.
Bilbo had gone to the Gamgees to employ them to look after the Smial while they were gone.
“I’m not sure about this,” Fíli said as Glorfindel steadied the pony.
The elf smiled at him, running a soothing hand over the energetic mare. “Be calm child, she knows what she is doing and she wants to fall less than you do.”
Fíli glared at him, “You’re going to walk the whole way, aren’t you.”
Glorfindel smiled, “I believe your father will enjoy it less than you. But there are always dangers on the road and I would not like to risk either of you in taking longer than we need to travel.”
Sure enough, when Biblo joined them he sighed at his pony, “Is this really necessary?”
Glorfindel’s laugh sounded like the awakening of morning songbirds with the cadence and personality of a babbling brook.
That elves loved songs and poetry was no mystery to Fíli when they themselves seemed to be born from songs inspired by nature.
Fíli couldn’t remember if he appreciated such things when he was younger. Sometimes, he remembered songs, songs that sank into his bones and fortified his heart.
But he couldn’t remember the meaning behind the words used aside from the rare songs that lingered in his memories in the common speech.
He was pretty certain his family had been from Erebor for the name brought him hope and longing.
And his fear of dragons was too deep set.
Glorfindel touched his cheek, pulling him from his distant memories. “Are you ready, nin réd?”
Fíli smiled at being called his son. Glorfindel didn’t acknowledge grandchildren. To the elf lord, Fíli, his father, Bilbo, and Bilbo’s mother, Belladonna were all and would forever be children.
His children.
That what it meant to be Glorfindel’s child was to be showered by love and affection, Fíli couldn’t argue with the honour.
“Yeah,” Fíli said, looking toward Bilbo who was eyeing up his chestnut pony as if it were a carnivorous mountain lion. “I’m ready to see the world.”
Bilbo caught Fíli’s gaze, smiling widely.
Bilbo had travelled to Rivendell many times and Fíli couldn’t help but feel that he was going to discover who his adoptive family truly was beyond the shelter of the Shire.
oOo
Fíli didn't know what to expect from elves but he learned rather quickly that they weren't all like Glorfindel or Lord Elrond.
Nor Lady Galadriel who was a power unto herself.
No, most elves were silly. They greeted Fíli with songs rhyming his and Bilbo's names with the oddest of things.
Bilbo Baggins ate all his scones.
Fíli Baggins, was he born from stone?
Will he stay for spring flowers?
Will they dance when the rains do shower?
Bilbo, Bilbo, how we've missed your laughter.
Fíli, Fíli, shall we hear you singing?
After, after so much laughter,
Shall we please hear you singing?
It was an odd greeting, and even for hobbits who liked songs and dancing, there was a cleverness to the elven songs, clever and not entirely meant to please.
Fíli had the sense that if he had been a bit older, the lyrics might have been a tad meaner.
But the plotting look on his father's face told him that this too was a game, a game of wit and words.
Fíli began to understand why Bilbo always spoke so fondly of the elves. For as much as the hobbit loved his comforts, his was a mind too curious and too adoring of challenges to ever be too content in the Shire.
Still, Fíli found the elves strange as if they belonged to a song outside of his hearing range, as if their feet moved to a drum beat he could not feel.
In many ways, it was easier than living with just hobbits. He got to wear shoes again when he wanted and though he still was ever aware of the sound of his steps, it wasn't anywhere near as difficult as living with hobbits that could downright vanish when they wished to.
And when he grew tired of the elves waxing poetic, coming up with silly songs, or engrossed in epic tales of old, he always had Bilbo to relax around or his best friend, Estel.
Estel was like no other human he had ever met. He was kind and quiet but just as competitive as Fíli with a sense of exploration that didn't always get them both grabbed by the ear when they made it back home.
When Estel travelled to Lothorian Fíli, Bilbo, and Glorfindel followed.
When Estel went to Rohan, Fíli and Bilbo accompanied the young Ranger.
Estel and Fíli were at most times inseparable. They rode horses together, they learned history and languages together, and they trained daily with swords.
Until that was, an Elven Master Smith, Master Dalphia, took Fíli under his wing, and he found himself in the forge for as long as was allowed.
Bilbo, Estel, Glorfindel, and Dalphia had to unite to pull him away for breaks.
Fíli could not deny it was as if an addiction had taken hold of him, but it was so much more than that, it felt like he could breathe more deeply and hear more clearly. The metal and the stone sang to him, resinating in his bones. Nothing ever made more sense, never was he more himself than when he was in the forge.
And Dalphia, who was practically family as she was one of the ladies of Glorfindel's house, taught him everything she knew sans the elvish runic magic she knew. She claimed the dwarvish magic he possessed inside himself was more than enough to imbue the metal with his intentions and blessings.
Weapons were his favourite and while he preferred more geometric lines as it felt that was better suited to some metals, he knew his designs were somewhere between dwarvish and elvish. The books in Elrond's library provide plenty of examples for inspiration.
But Fíli was the son of a hobbit, and he was never too proud to forge horseshoes. In fact, he got quite skilled in blacksmithing for them. Elves and Roherrim loved their horses, Estel especially.
So Fíli learned and the horses learned to trust him and his shoeings.
His Master gave him a blade when he advanced beyond that of a beginner. It was not large and flashy. It was a blade that fit within his boot, stained brown-like leather with a matt finish. The handle of it even seemed to be made of wood. It seemed to be nothing special, but it wasn’t the look of it that was notable but its functionality. It was strong enough to be driven into a cliff face without chipping, could withstand intense heat, and was sharp enough to cut through leather like butter. The symbols were invisible unless under a burning flame.
It was an unassuming weapon and tool as well as entirely brilliant. Something small enough to be overlooked, something that his enemies would regret underestimating.
Much like a hobbit, Master Dalphia told him. A blade forged for a Baggins.
Fíli smiled, for as much as he was proud to be one of Glorfindel’s sons, Bilbo was the father of his heart.
oOo
Frerin inspected Kíli’s masterwork.
It was traditional to either keep or give away your first masterwork depending on if their Master had crafted for them their primary weapon or not.
In this case, Frerin had taught Kíli his craft in woodwork, but he had not built him a bow.
Frerin, like Dís, preferred axes. He was no archer to understand the needs and desirable comfortability of a functioning bow. In recent years, Frerin’s speciality lay in the architecture of ships and decorative woodwork. Thrain would have been furious in his middle child’s profession; if he had been around to care.
Kíli’s bow was a thing of beauty. Made from the timber of a red oak and an orange osage, it was velvety soft to the touch and the stained leather was woven into a beautiful and durable grip.
The carvings were inspired by the traditional designs of Ered Luin that depicted the ocean and the ravens of Erebor.
He ran a finger over the bowstring, treated to perfection.
Frerin handed the bow back to his nephew, “Let’s see it.”
Kíli grinned, taking the bow and reaching his quiver.
The targets were hung from the trees, the sea breeze setting them all spinning.
Elves were better archers for their superiority of eyesight. However, no dwarven archer had ever been accused of a lack of skill or dedication.
Kíli didn’t miss a single target and his bow was as lovely and enviable as it had been before the strenuous work put through it.
While not a master of his craft (and all who practised remained apprentices to their art), their prince was officially a craftsman.
oOo
Twenty years had passed since Glorfindel had first brought Fíli to Imladris.
He went to Lothlórien as Elrond always worried about his daughter when she crossed the Misty Mountains.
“We must make peace with the dwarrow,” Lady Galadriel said.
Glorfindel tensed, “My lady–”
“It is on your account that is to be done,” Lord Celeborn said. “Fíli Baggins was adopted into your lineage. He is a dwarf and while we understand your reluctance to reestablish ties to Ered Luin is understandable, however, it is the dwarves who journey from the Iron Hills.”
Glorfindel sighed, “You would like us to escort them over the Misty Mountains.”
It wasn’t a question.
“They avoided the Green Way where the Darkness grows,” Galadriel said. “Bilbo has spoken to me of his fears that they have no one to trust Fíli’s safety with. Much goodwill could be bought with a simple night of food and rest.”
“Lord of the Golden Flowers,” Celeborn coaxed with deceptive humbleness. “Time moves differently for them. Fíli is a strong and capable warrior, he has learned the art of the smith from our own like a fish to water, and soon he will be of his majority. Neither yours nor Bilbo’s guardianship could keep him from rejoining his people if he so wished.”
Glorfindel bowed his head, “I understand.”
Though he hated it. The crimes that had been done to Bella, Bilbo, and Fíli were not things he could, or would ever, forgive.
But his little Fíli was growing up and it was his right to discover who his family had been before they were taken from them.
oOo
Dain Ironfoot, Lord of the Iron Hills, did not love to travel.
In fact, he rather hated that his cousins lived so far away when they had been neighbours before the Sacking of Erebor.
That they couldn’t even take the quicker path through Mirkwood…
No, they had to go the long bloody way round.
Moria was lost to them as well, so they couldn’t even take the quick path through the mountains, they had to go south through Rohan.
He and eight of his soldiers who had relatives in Ered Luin were making decent progress through the Brown Lands on their rams.
They hadn’t run into any trouble they hadn’t been able to handle until they were passing by the woods of Lothlórien.
Dain had his axe in hand when the tree lovers dropped from the branches.
Fifteen elves.
All of them with varying shades of blonde hair, one in particular shone like freshly polished yellow gold.
Dain held up his hand to stay his own soldiers, “State your business!”
One of the elves stepped forward, bowing deeply, “Lord Dain of the Iron Hills, the Lady of the Lothlórien welcomes you and your kin to rest and feast and to cross the mountain pass above Moria.”
Dain barked a laugh, “Oh yeah? What a load of coal dust.”
The elf touched his hand to his heart, “I am Haldir, upon my word and that of the Lady’s, we only wish to improve relations between our peoples.”
“Quite the change,” Dain said, not bothering to hide his disdain. “We’ve heard of Glorfindel’s threats against my cousin’s people.”
The one named Haldir winced, looking over his shoulder to the bright haired elf who sighed at being singled out.
“I am Lord Glorfindel,” the elf said, stepping forward, the others parting in respect.
Dain paused.
Oh Mahal, did he want to snap, but he knew Thorin had been furious about this debacle and had been trying for years to find someone with whom they could make amends.
Thorin was going to owe him big after this.
“It is my understanding that one of ours harmed one of yours?” Dain asked, restraining his hostility towards these pointy-eared buggers.
“A dwarf murdered my daughter during the Fell Winter,” the elven lord said.
Dain winced, his anger melting away as he dismounted his ram, “My sincere condolences.”
“I learned of her murderer three years afterwards, when I went to Ered Luin, I was mocked by the guards and was shot at when I requested an audience with their king.”
Dain bowed his head and his soldiers dismounted behind him. “Then the fault lies with us, however, you should know, my cousin, Prince Thorin Oakenshield, imprisoned those guards.”
The elf lord bowed his head, “Then come rest, and you can take with you to your crowned prince tidings of peace.”
Dain suppressed a sigh, though he was amused by this turn of events. Not only would his cousin Dís be surprised but he was certain someone would lose some coin over Lord Dain being the one to resolve a diplomatic issue with the elves.
oOo
The feast was grand for Lady Arwen, Lord Celeborn, and Lady Galadriel, as well as Elledan and Elrohir were planning to accompany the dwarves over the Misty Mountains.
Gandalf and Glorfindel's presence on the royal trip to Rivendell assuaged many worries.
Still, Haldir insisted on accompanying them which Glorfindel was gladdened by for each harsh word or over loud guffaws from the dwarves tightened a fist around his heart.
Fíli was coming of age and if he chose to follow the dwarves, Glorfindel knew he would not be welcomed in their halls, nor likely would Bilbo be.
His sweet Bilbo who was no elf but who still sparkled with the light of Valinor. When he had brought Belladonna and Bilbo to Imaledris no one had doubted their relation to him.
If some of that magic had rubbed off on Fíli, well surely that just proved that love was the greatest magic.
Yet Glorfindel knew that his little Fíli was too curious by half.
“Oi, Golden Flowers, I thought this arrangement was to make peace? You look as if I ought to worry about sleeping tonight,” Dain called.
Glorfindel let out a long breath to steady his sanity as he looked at the creature that would be the cause of splitting his family, “The memory of elves is without reprieve, it leads me to wonder what the dwarves remember of the Fell Winter.”
Dain snorted, coaxing his mount forward. The goats were the only mounts capable of handling the mountain pass. The youngest dwarf had given his ram to Galadriel but Arwen had refused. She walked beside her grandmother in trousers with her hair pulled back and her brothers trailing behind her.
Galadriel had her eyes closed, a slight smile on her lips as she listened to everyone and everything.
“The Fell Winter was hard on many, my cousin's family especially,” Dain said. “After the Battle of Azanulbizar and the disappearance of King Thrain, many of the nobility of Ered Luin grew discontent. There was a minor revolt by Lord Sozan and his sons. First, they caused a cave-in during the wee hours where –had they succeeded– would have taken from us Prince Thorin and Prince Frerin, several of his cousins and brothers-in-law. They failed, of course, all of them far more skilled in rock song. But it took them a while to dig themselves. By then Princess Dís, her consort Mori, and her two sons Princes Kíli and Fíli were attacked. Yes, the Fell Winter was difficult for many.”
Glorfindel wasn't sure that he could breathe.
Prince Fíli?
Of those present, only Gandalf and the dwarves did not know the might of such revelation.
“Did Princess Dís survive?” Arwen asked.
“Aye,” Dain said, in a single word crushing Glorfindel's hopes that he had any right to keep Fíli among the elves. “But I reckon sometimes she wishes that she hadn't. Her husband Mori died from his injuries, and though her eldest son Kíli recovered, her youngest was taken for ransom on, what I assume Sozan believed the off chance the royals lived to avenge themselves. Fíli was just a wee thing then. But that winter was treacherous and Sozan’s attempt at escape was to be his and the prince's doom. Thorin found nothing but weapons and bloodied clothing in the snow.”
Glorfindel looked away, shame filling him.
Bilbo had asked him to get a message to Ered Luin, to Thorin's Halls.
Glorfindel had lost a daughter but the dwarven princess had lost a husband and a son.
And Kíli…
Two brothers had lost each other when unknown to both, the other lived.
Fíli would be going home to his uncle's halls before the final harvest.
“Our condolences,” Lady Galadriel spoke. “Much grief can steal from us. The loss of a child is unparalleled.”
Dain grunted in response.
Celeborn sighed as they reached a plateau on the mountain, they were more than halfway up. “We should rest here for there will be no rest till we pass the peak.”
“What is this place?” Arwen asked. She brushed some snow away with her foot to reveal black marble, polished by hands now long returned to stone.
“The Morning Gate of Moria,” Celeborn said.
“Is there a door?” The youngest dwarf asked, rushing to the cliff wall, hands searching.
Glorfindel smiled despite himself, the Light bless the young.
Dain landed on the ground with a thud, “Aye lad, but it's going to be arranged so it’s directly facing the centre of the platform. This was a greeting place for the summer solstice.”
The lad and two other dwarves rushed over to the stone wall, eager hands brushing away the snow and rock dust that gathered along the gate.
Soon a sparkling arch revealed itself, the wings of an eagle were outlined in glowing silver engraved across the door.
The Sindarin letters made Dain grumble about the elves sticking their noses into everything and everywhere.
“What does it say!?” The lad asked excitedly.
“Here we greet the sun and the children of Munwë,” Gandalf translated with a smile, stretching out his legs as he sat.
Galadriel hummed, “Perilous it is to enter yet perilous it is to stay. To kill or be slain is to invite a darker shadow.”
Dain sighed, “Does she always talk in riddles?”
“How would you open this?” One of the dwarves asked.
“Magic,” Elledan said without further explanation, drawing a snigger out of Elrohir.
Arwen slapped her brother's arm before she explained, “It's activated by a secret word.”
“Do you know what it is!?” the dwarfling asked, growing ever more elated at the ancient dwarvish gate.
“Wherever you fare, till your eyries receive you at the journey's end!” Gandalf called in the common speech. “May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks. Which is of course the proper parting among the Eagles of Manwë.”
“Aye but what out of that is the password?” Dain asked the wizard who only smiled at him from around the stem of his pipe.
Suddenly, the rams took flight and none of them were quick enough to grab their reins.
Or maybe they were, but they were all too busy, elf, dwarf, and wizard alike, in drawing their weapons.
Ideally, when being attacked by orcs, trapped on a mountain sound was not an ideal location.
“They’re coming from both sides!” Haldir called.
The panic on her grandchildren’s faces seemed enough to make up Galadriel’s mind. Instead of fighting the orcs that closed upon them, she cried out in Sindarin, “Sails!”
The stone doors opened on silent hinges, the dwarves didn’t need urging, and it was Glorfindel and Haldir who shut the doors behind them as the orcs banged on the impenetrable stone.
“Did they hear the shouted password?” Dain asked into the suddenly silent darkness.
Gandalf lit his staff, “It would be best for us to not stay here to discover if they did.”
“Who remembers the way?” Arwen asked.
“I believe I do…” Gandalf said, sounding not at all sure.
“I’ll not let you get lost, wizard, but you have the light, so you’ll have to lead,” Dain said, sounding less annoyed than he had when he had first been greeted on the edge of their elvish realm.
oOo
Days passed in the dark without distinction to count save for the dwarves' uncanny internal clocks that told them if the sun had risen or set.
Glorfindel felt the tension rise with every step he took.
It wasn’t until he saw the growing light in the distance that he halted, fear numbing his limbs as he stared at the silent glow of firelight.
Be brave, Galadriel whispered in his mind as one of the dwarves kicked a piece of scrap metal down the steps.
The sound was thunderous as it broke the relative calm they had been travelling in.
In answer to the disruptive sound of metal scraped against stone, an unholy roar shook caverns.
Glorfindel wanted nothing more than to run, but the whip of fire that lanced the chasm before them was aimed right at Dain.
It was Arwen who threw herself forward, the tip of the whip wrapping around her wrist.
“ No!” several of them called, but Glorfindel moved first, taking hold of the whip with both hands as he called his power to himself.
The light in him grew, calling to Arwen’s. She, the Evenstar, held her ground, her light bursting into visibility as they tested their strength against the Balrog.
His hands burned when he first grabbed the whip, but it cooled as their power disrupted the flames.
Starlight was cold.
Mithrandir yelled his own spells, white light bursting from his staff, joined soon after by Galadriel and Celeborn.
Elledan and Elrohir held onto Glorfindel and Arwen as they miraculously rested the whip out from the evil’s grasp.
For a time, firelight and starlight balanced against each other on a knife’s edge. The Balrog bellowed its rage in an earth-shattering sound as the elves and the wizard held onto their shield, a wall of light that the monster could not cross.
But a shield could not fell a beast. Glorfindel’s heart broke that he would leave behind his sons to give his life again to defeat this familiar fire.
oOo
Dain had rarely felt so… humbled.
So useless.
Watching the fire demon barring down against the shield of near-blinding light, he knew that destruction would always prove easier and more dangerous than upholding a defence.
All walls broke.
All shields faltered.
However, Dain also firmly held to the belief that no cause was lost, no fight decided until the living pulled themselves from the rubble.
Dain gripped his favourite axe with both hands, his precious axe that was edged with mithril. He took several steps back from the edge of the platform to build up a greater force as he spun. Releasing his single offence, his axe soared from his hand with every bit of power that he possessed, it shimmered through the elves' shield of light.
That’s when the strangeness began.
That white light of elven grace (as Dain was realising that elven lords and ladies didn’t come by their titles without merit of spirit) seemed to warp around the axe.
The mithril of Dain’s axe captured that light, the elves gasping as if their breath had been gutted from them as shot toward the belrog like a shooting star.
The impact of his axe with its borrowed starlight struck like a thunderclap, shaking the very foundations of Moria.
And like lightning in the dead of night, the burst of all-encompassing light left darkness in its wake, pierced through by the shattering of the axe its light sputtering out in a shower of sparks as the Balrog screeched. Its flames dimmed like iron submerged in water as it fell backwards into the abyss it had been clawing its way out of.
Dain’s vindictive satisfaction in delivering the final blow to the Balrog of Moria, Durin’s Bane , could never be overstated enough.
oOo
It was perhaps the way of the world, in one of those rarity of moments when good things overcome old mistakes.
As the Balrog fell, its fires burning as hot as magma, collapsing the mithril mine woken from, ash dust as rich as any volcanic soil settled. No dwarf nor orc would ever dig up this soil, none would dare.
And if they did dare, they would find nothing but Balrog glass that would chip, choking and blinding anyone fool enough to continue.
Yet neither the light cast by the elves nor the heat of Balrog was night entirely lost.
Where mithril was invaluable, a material without equal, it was common quartz that captured the Light of the Evenstar.
As the Passage of Dain fell into darkness, a light seemed to pulse from crystals in the ceiling, rippling outward as sparks catch in a dry bed of pine needles.
Those sparks of light grew and faded with the pulse of a heartbeat.
“Arwen!” Glorfindel called the maiden back to the waking world. She opened her eyes with a gasp, and waning light burned bright, taking on a light of their own as the quartz, rose and smoky, clear and opaque bloomed like a river of stars.
Only in these halls would the quartz sing for the starlight, their value belonged to this place, not beyond it.
Every dwarf and every elf watched as the caverns grew with glimmering starlight.
“Mahal,” Dain breathed.
Glorfindel collapsed beside Arwen.
“Galadriel!” Celeborn cried as he caught his wife in his arms, even as he himself collapsed to his knees.
Haldir caught Gandalf as they fell together. Elledan and Elrohir laid down beside their sister.
“What’s happening?” Dain demanded.
“It’s a gift,” Glorfindel said, his head swimming with exhaustion. “Light calls to light, and this is the birth of light. It was born of our power and your will, the others are feeling a sympathetic reaction. Once it settles those stones will burn forever with a light of their own.”
“What?” the young dwarf asked.
“Alright dearies, it’s not safe to stay here. Grab an elf and the wizard,” Dain ordered his soldiers who had no trouble carrying their elven comrades.
Dain carried Arwen, gently pulling her over his shoulder, not protesting when she buried her face into his hair, clinging to him.
Glorfindel didn’t enjoy being handled by a dwarf like a sack of potatoes, but considering the last time he had faced a Balrog the result had been death, he rather felt as if they had come out on top this time, burned hands or no.
He wasn’t sure if it was light or bellows of the Balrog that kept the enemy away but they were all grateful to make it to the western gate without encountering any more trouble.
oOo
Dain and his company carried the elves away from the mountains until the sunset and they made camp in as safe a place as they could find.
Gandalf was the first to recover, pulling himself against a tree trunk to smoke.
Galadriel rested her head on the wizard’s lap, Celeborn draped himself over her side while Arwen curled into her arms. Elrond’s twin sons laid over their legs while Haldir and Glorfindel rested slumped against the wizard’s other side.
Dain couldn’t help but stare at the sleeping elves. He couldn’t remember ever seeing an elfling, but he imagined if he had they would have looked like this sleeping puppy pile of lords and ladies.
Gandalf smiled at him, “I believe you can safely tell Thorin that the friendship between the dwarrow and the Rivendell and Lothorien has been renewed.”
Dain snorted, “I think we owe them more than we did before.”
The wizard rested a hand on Galadriel’s hair, “I believe friendships are not born from debts but forgiveness and the shared goodwill for another. You will find that neither Lady Galadriel nor Lord Elrond are of the same mind as King Thandruil.”
“I didn’t see them jumping to help the dwarves of Erebor,” Dain said because he really couldn’t help himself.
Hadn’t he already filled is diplomatic quota for the century?
“King Thror, nor Thrain, were particularly welcoming after Thandruil’s failure to uphold his alliance,” the wizard stated mildly.
“So you are on our side?” Dain asked.
“I’m on the side of Middle Earth. We are strengthened together.”
Dain sighed, “But aye, I’ll share with Thorin the good news. I still don’t think it will sit right that Lord Glorfindel helped us.”
“Tell Thorin Oakenshield that if he sends his people to assist the Rangers and elves in helping guard the Shire, Glorfindel will forgive them.”
Dain rolled his eyes, “What is it with the Shire that has everyone so rallied up? The halflings don’t have enemies.”
“The hobbits have almost no protection of their own and they grow more than half the food for everyone west of the Misty Mountains,” Gandalf said. “Why wouldn’t the enemies of men, elves, and drarrow target them?”
Dain’s lips thinned but he nodded, “Aye, I’ll tell Thorin to help the halflings for our new elvish friends.”
“I would also advise you both to not attempt to reclaim Moria, without the Balrog…”
“The orcs and goblins will spawn like the mutated insects they are,” Dain finished for him.
“I fear it,” Gandalf admitted softly. “I think you would have more luck against Smaug.”
Dain barked, “Not likely, wizard. Not bloody likely.”
It wouldn't be for another few decades, until Erebor regained her strength, and the enemy was driven from the Green Wood would a party returned to Moria.
And where the Evenstar Quartz shimmered, beneath them, plants grew. Particularly in the rich soil where the Balrog fell, where grew a field of golden flowers.
It became a favourite meeting place of elves and drarrow where they gathered in friendship for the many ages to come, beneath a dwarvish mountain of stone and an elvish sky of stars.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, chinchillas, or feedback, pretty please?
Chapter 5: Dwalin Wins a Bet
Chapter Text
AN: Thank you to everyone reviewing, it means so much to me.
KEYnote: In groups of just dwarves, they are speaking in Khuzdul, elves with elves are speaking Sindarin (plus Estel, Bilbo, and Fíli with them). Except, Fíli no longer speaks Khuzdul, so he no longer understands the other dwarves unless they a speaking the common speech.
Chapter 5 - Dwalin Wins a Bet
Bilbo stared at the mural, grief constricting his heart.
Elrond stood beside him as he processed the story he had just been told.
Staring at the crown of Sauron, Bilbo asked, “This legacy will fall to Estel?”
The pair had grown up together, and where Estel had matured faster, there was a higher than average chance that they would see nearly the same number of years.
Which had been a great relief to Bilbo who had feared his lack of like-ageing friends.
“Yes, the One Ring remains lost,” Elrond said. “It may pass him by, but I doubt it.”
“You fear it,” Bilbo corrected, looking up at his old friend. “Do you ever regret not pushing the fool in with the Ring?”
Elrond let out a huffed laugh, “I did, before Estel came to me. Perhaps selfishly, I do not regret it.”
Bilbo nodded, understanding all too well. He would love his son beyond reason.
Of course, he would always wish better for his son, wish that he had never endured the tragedies he had, even if that did not include him. But for his own heart, his adoptive son had made his life worth living.
oOo
The party broke up as soon as the elves could walk under their own strength again. Their goats, marvellous creatures that they were, had found them down the other side of the mountain.
Dain gifted two of them to the two ladies. As much as Arwen seemed ready to deny the extra aid, the burns around her wrist seemed to weigh on her. Her brothers graciously accepted on her behalf.
Onward they went to Thorin’s Halls with quite the tale to tell.
Despite being early, they were welcomed warmly.
oOo
Glorfindel was agitated. He did not want to take Fíli back to the dwarves.
The dwarves who had drawn a dragon to themselves and twice woken balrog.
Of course, he knew that part of this was the insecurity and rawness within himself.
Where all the others, Arwen chief among them, who had lent their light to felling the balrog were recovering, Glorfindel found himself to be… not faded, but not recovered.
He felt as he had in his first life, before he was second born. No longer did he believe that anyone would mistake him for one equal to Mithrandir. He was as he had been first-born, an ordinary elf. Only he was exhausted and found his mood quite suffered for it.
Elves were taught that memories would sustain them. When you could walk through a memory, when you could taste the air of that time, when you could hold and be held by those you loved, when the emotions you felt then were as real to you now, they were taught to believe that memories would endure for eternity.
Look to the stars, they are like us, even in death, their light remains.
But what they were not taught, what they tried never to linger on, never to ponder too long, that the memories of pain and grief last just as long, remained just as real.
Glorfindel held onto the memory of Bilbo and Fíli greeting him upon their return.
Fíli had been in the middle of finishing a birthday gift for Estel and had not seen Glorfindel’s veiled exhaustion.
But Bilbo had.
Bilbo gave him space only reluctantly. And when Glorfindel found himself turning in early for the night, he found his son by his side reading books aloud to him, distracting him from his worries and his knowledge that the magic he had lost was not to come back.
On one hand, it was a relief to be freed of such a burden, on the other hand, there was no comfort in losing power when the world was growing darker.
“Adar?” Bilbo asked as he set aside the book. “Adar, what is wrong?”
Often Bilbo disguised him from Bungo Baggins as the Sindarin Adar and the common for his birth parent my father.
Glorfindel sighed, patting the bed beside him and his elfling-sized son climbed up beside. While Bilbo was indeed a full-grown hobbit, he would always be one of his. One of his fauntlings, Bella’s light.
It still amazed in how over two thousand years, the way the light of Valar appeared in his direct descendants.
Bilbo and Bella were just like his first daughter, as ‘half-elf and half-hobbit’ hadn’t truly proved possible, at least with a hobbit mother. All his descendants had been hobbits, some taller than others, but by all appearances, full blooded hobbits.
The exception had been the light and love of the larger world.
The very thing that gave the Took lineage such an infamous name within the Shire.
“Adar?” Bilbo asked again.
Glorfindel hugged him, “I feel my age.”
Bilbo rested his head on his shoulder, “Elves may be immortal, but they are not ever-lasting.”
Even stars die, Elrond had told him once out of the blue.
Bilbo’s statement hit him with even more ferocity. He tipped his back to keep the tears from spilling.
Bilbo would never see a third century and yet he could look at an elf who was twiceborn and see the fragility of life.
Bilbo mock scowled up at him, “I know what you’re thinking, Adar. But twice-born means you died and could parish again. I know most elves don’t like to linger on the death in the future, but you have experienced death.”
Glorfindel rested his cheek on Bilbo’s curly head, wondering and knowing that it had been that death and rebirth that had him living Yavanna’s children.
Hobbits knew life and death, knew how to nature life in the months meant for growing and resting in the months where all green things die or sleep.
Glorfindel laid a kiss on the crown of Bilbo’s head, “Change is coming, my son. I am not prepared, and for that I am sorry.”
“You are not alone,” Bilbo assured him, settling against his side.
But I might be soon, Glorfindel thought forlorn.
He could not continue his silence, he owed both his sons better than that.
Yet for one more night, he held onto his selfishness.
oOo
“Cousin!” Dain greeted with a traditional head butt.
Thorin smiled, he was last to be greeted so they were all able to sit.
Dain’s soldiers had dispersed to their own families.
The table was more cramped than normal but Thorin had lost too many to be bothered by the lack of elbow room.
Dain had dug into his food, Frerin and Dís were, as usual, the light of the conversation.
However, once Dain had satisfied his initial hunger, he smirked at Thorin.
He knew that smirk.
That was the expression they shared as dwarflings when they were about to be chased out of the mountain by their incensed mothers.
“What?” Thorin asked.
“You owe me, cousin.”
“For what?” Frerin asked.
“For solving your diplomatic disaster with elves of Rivendell,” Dain said smugly.
“Pay up,” Dwalin said, holding his hand out to his brother.
Balin scoffed, “That wasn’t a real bet. It was a rhetorical statement.”
“Not so rhetorical now, is it?” Dwalin challenged who seemed cheered that his contrary nature had stumbled over the most absurd bet ever met.
“You’re not even going to ask how?” Dain asked.
“Dain,” Dís said. “For you to not kill elves is a diplomatic achievement.”
“Yes, but I solved your issue,” Dain said. “I met Lord Glorfindel myself, which I don’t think you have.”
Thorin leaned back in his seat, “Well tell us the story. I’m assuming you’re crossed over the Misty Mountains at some point, seeing as you’re two months early.”
Dain smiled at, a flash of teeth. “Aye, but we didn’t get halfway up.”
“Start at the beginning,” Frerin whined.
Little Gimili was bouncing in his seat.
“The elves confronted us when were were passing the Golden Wood. Glorfindel was in the greeting party and I thought it would be best not to refuse if there was a chance of repairing our relations.” Dain shook his head, “I met the Witch Queen, her consort, and her grandchildren. She is a magnificent creature.” Here he winked at Gimili. “Her family all shone with starlight, and I mean that literally.”
“There hasn’t been dwarrow in those woods since Durin III,” Dís said.
“Aye, they were kind, if strange in the way of their kind. They fed us well. The Lady and her grandchildren had intended on making the journey to Rivendell soon, so they offered to escort us over the pass.”
Thorin looked away, he knew the pass he spoke of and the people he had lost at the foot of it.
“What was Glorfindel like?” Kíli asked.
Dain shook his head, “He was the wrong elf to insult. Apparently, he’s head of one of the twelve highborn houses. He might not be a king, but the others treated him as Lady Galadriel’s equal. Killing his daughter was akin to killing an elven princess.”
“What happened on the pass?” Oin asked, growing impatient.
“We were attacked by orcs at the Morning Gate,” Dain said. “On both sides.”
Dwalin crossed his arms, unimpressed, everyone else waited on bated breath.
“Tharkûn, Gandalf the Grey was also with us,” Dain added off-handedly. “He and the Lady Galadriel knew the password and we escaped into Moria.”
Kíli gaped, “What about the balrog? Durin’s Bane?”
Balin shook his head, “No one has seen that thing since it killed Durin IV.”
Thorin said nothing, it was more accurate to say that no dwarf had seen the inside of Moria and lived to speak of it since Durin’s Bane had chased them out.
“Oh, it’s still there, or it was,” Dain said with a grin. “And I'll say that the tales of elvish magic and the rage of wizards don't do them justice. Though one of their guards informed our party consisted of royalty–who were only royalty in the first place–due almost solely to their process in their witchy ways and that of their forefathers.”
Dís stared, “What did they do?”
Dain scoffed in mock outrage, “They? I'll have you know I landed the final blow. Lost my best axe, not that I'm complaining with the result mind.”
“The last blow to what?” Kíli asked.
Dain’s smile was every bit the cat who found the cream, “Why Durin's Bane, nephew. Course, now Lord Glorfindel has slain two of balrog and I'd imagine that Tharkûn will think himself invited more than he does already.”
They all stared at him.
“ You killed a balrog; with an axe?” Kíli asked.
“Well,” Dain said with false modesty. “The elves have protective magic, you see. Healing, protection, light, those sorts of things are their domain. I was told they can assist nature in taking its course sooner than it would without intervention. All this is to say, they were at a stalemate. Even Tarkun’s magic is of a similar ilk. So I threw my axe, my intent and the mithril combined with their magic, it was enough to fell the beast.”
“What became of its corpse?” Thorin asked.
“Hard to describe really, it being magic too,” Dain explained. “The mithril mine is no more, that much is certain. The mine collapsed and melted down, and if that wasn’t enough of a tale to tell, the light of the elves remained.”
“Remained how?” Dís asked.
“The quartz in the caverns, all sorts, absorbed it. I don’t know if the quartz has any special properties on their own as the magic seemed contained to its place.”
Thorin shook his head, “Quite the tale.”
Dain waved a hand, “One day our armies will be back up to snuff, today is not that day.”
Thorin looked away, “Moria was never my home. Thank you, for making amends with the elves who broke no treaties with us. But I fear we now owe than an even greater debt.”
Dain waved his hand, “Glorfindel asked that you talk to the Rangers and assist in whatever manner in protecting the Shire. Make an alliance with the Rangers and the Shire, amends made.”
Thorin exhaled, “That we can do, trade from the Shire is necessary.”
Dis raised her mug, “Well, let’s celebrate the news that isn’t completely ill.”
And so they did.
oOo
Bilbo had had just about enough of Glorfindel’s self-pitying mood swings.
“What is wrong, Adar?”
Motions uncharacteristically jerky, Glorfindel looked away to star over the edge of the pavilion as if admiring the view.
The view was as beautiful as ever, but Bilbo knew that the elf could hardly focus on it, knowing he was trapped in his own thoughts.
“I learned something from the dwarves we travelled with,” Glorfindel finally said.
“Well?” Bilbo prompted, putting his hands on his hips. “Go on.”
Glorfindel grimaced, “It will change everything.”
“What will change everything?” Bilbo asked.
The next ten minutes proved to be as frustrating as replanting a strong-rooted shrub.
oOo
Fíli was pleasantly exhausted, feeling quite accomplished.
He had finished forging his gift to Estel who had loved the sword. They had spared for hours.
Having finished bathing, Fíli was ready for a long night’s rest. He was delayed when he heard raised voices.
Two familiar voices.
Fíli hesitated behind a pillar, peaking around the corner, slowing down his breathing.
Sneaking up on either hobbits or elves was usually an impossible task, but the pair were exceptionally distracted and Fíli wasn’t inexperienced.
Fíli couldn’t remember if he had even seen his fathers this enraged with each other.
He missed what Glorfindel said.
But Bilbo went unnaturally still and his next words would change Fíli’s life forever.
“Now wait a moment, you know who Fíli’s kin are?”
Glorfindel huffed, “It matters not.”
Fíli burst out from the shadows, almost against his will, “It matters!”
Glorfindel took a step forward, “Fíli, wait, my–”
“Tell me who they are!” he demanded.
“No,” the elf said, his expression smoothing over into a frosty mask of the nobility. “No, they do not deserve you.”
“That’s not your choice to make,” Fíli seethed. “Have you always known?”
Glorfindal remained quiet, which was answer enough.
Fíli felt his heart break, “You’ve been lying to me, this whole time?”
Glorfindal shook his head, his golden hair spilling over his shoulder, “No, your name is Fíli and it remains unsafe for you to travel to the Blue Mountains.”
Fíli glared at him, “You stretched the truth too thin.”
Glorfindel’s stoic expression broke, “Fíli, do not go back to the dwarves.”
“Why?” Fíli asked harshly. “Because I have no family to return to or because you hate dwarves?”
“Because we love you,” the elf said, looking suddenly older than he ever had before. “Because your family lost you, they do not deserve you.”
Fíli’s heart sank, “So I do have a family… My brother, I knew that I had a brother, is he alive?”
Glorfindel, once more did not answer.
Anger won out over the heartache.
“You had no right!” Fíli bellowed, shattering the peace of this realm, of this place he considered more home than Bag End.
He had considered.
“Fíli,” his father, no, Bilbo said. “Please, calm down, no one did this to hurt you–”
“You knew too!?” Fíli all but screamed.
“No, my son, no, of course not, I just–”
“You just what, hate the dwarves too?”
“ Never ,” his father said. “But I'm sure Glorfindel had his–”
“You're taking his side in this!?”
“No, I'm on your side. But the elves are as much your family as the dwarves, as much as I–”
“No,” Fíli snapped fighting back tears. “You're not my family, you're not my father. You're a coward. Neither of you has ever loved me if you could do this to me if you could keep me from my true kin and justify it.”
Bilbo was freer with his tears, his sorrow twisting the knife into Fíli’s chest as the hobbit reached out to him.
Fíli turned away from the hobbit who had raised him, “I'm going with the Rangers to the Blue Mountains, and I never want to see either of you again.”
He was halfway down the hall when he heard his father sob.
Bilbo hadn’t cried like that when his own parents died.
Fíli hardened his heart against them.
He had a brother waiting for him to return to, his true home awaited.
oOo
Bilbo could not remain among the elves.
He could not forgive Glorfindel nor himself for the blind faith he had placed with the elves.
Bilbo still wished he could remain at his son's side.
How foolish.
How pitiful.
A hobbit.
A mere halfling believing he had any right to be father and guardian of a dwarf.
The trip home was a lonely one.
He walked on foot without escort, half hoping something would find him and eat him along the way.
So of course, nothing did.
Nothing.
What a word.
What a way of being.
Galadriel had warned him of this, of placing his identity on another.
Fíli was gone, and knowing his stubborn son, knowing how deep this betrayal would cut him, Bilbo knew he would never see him again.
It was in Fíli's nature to be accepting of others, but he trusted so very few that those who betrayed him were never forgotten and never forgiven.
So Bilbo Baggins was nothing now. Not a son nor a father.
When he returned to Bag End, he found it emptied of all furnishing save for his writing desk, the portraits of his parents on the wall, and his bookshelves.
Why those things? he wondered. Why did they look untouched?
And if he had been presumed dead why wasn't anyone living here? It was a beautiful smial after all even if unattended and undusted.
Then it hit him, it finally sunk in what he had come ‘home’ to.
Bilbo was a rarity among hobbits, no siblings, very few first cousins, and no friends to speak of but his gardner who saw himself as more employee than equal no matter how Bilbo impressed upon that they were, in fact, equals.
No, Bilbo Baggins had been raised to be a respectable hobbit, but he had always been a bit different.
Too mannered to get on well with his Tookish relatives and too Tookish to get along with ‘gentle’ hobbits with enough money to gossip and not enough reason to commit to any sort of work or passion.
He had grown up sooner than most, his mother his best friend and fiercest champion.
Until the Fell Winter, when she had died and a little dwarfling had become his entire world.
The friends he made among elves and the other big folk had been for Fíli's benefit more than his own. Yes, he had dearly loved many of the elves and felt respected by them but they were always something a bit a part.
Men were untrustworthy and even the ones he liked he trusted less their alliences too.
Perhaps he could name Tom Bombil a friend and Beorn but both preferred to be friends for tea not sustained house guests.
No, Fíli had become Biblos purpose. Fíli's happiness and well being his only mission.
One that he had failed quite extrudarly.
Maybe the Shire had been right about him after.
Mad Old Baggins.
Cursed Baggins.
He shut the door behind him and found a place by the cold harth to lie down.
He would come to realise that in the years that had passed the stories of him and his ‘bastard son’s had curdled.
Few remembered Fíli, after all, even fauntlings aren't so enamored with adults to trust that a dwarfling was wicked as all that.
But that Bilbo Baggins had something to do with his mother's murder? That he had been consorting with Big Folk to perhaps get the title of Thain of the Shire?
Well that, was quite the story indeed. The one that stuck, Mad Old Baggins, the hobbit of Bag End who had been too long on an adventure that left him familyless in the end.
oOo
Fíli didn’t look back, though he wanted to, as he followed the ranger to the slopes of the Blue Mountains.
He was nervous, not simply because this would be the first time he met with other dwarves since the nightmares of the Fell Winter, but because he was going to be meeting with the King of Ered Luin, Thorin Oakenshield.
Estel’s human family had been Rangers in the east, and it was them, after thirty-odd years, who had gotten Fíli an audience with a dwarf.
The problem had been getting a dwarf to listen to them when they had no name. Rightfully or wrongly, Bilbo and the elves had all been cautious about giving away too much information lest it fall into the wrong hands.
However, King Oakenshield was known for his honour and dedication to his people.
Besides, he already had Glorfindel’s confirmation that he did indeed still have a living family.
Fíli left his hood where it was when one of the King’s guards, Dwalin son of Fundin, greeted them at the massive entrance to the Halls of Thorin.
Dwalin said nothing to him as he led him through torch-lit halls.
They did not seem to match the descriptions dwarven halls in the elvish books about them. The geomatic carvings were beautiful but lacked ornamentation.
Fíli avoided the flashes of memories he had, a female who he knew to be his mother bleeding out on the floor and the screams of a boy named Kíli he knew to be his brother.
And a father whose light he had watched fade from his eyes as Fíli laid in a pool of their blood.
Dwarves scared him. These halls scared him. He hated the dark and he hated the cold. There was nothing but ill memories here and the family he had been so certain had been killed. But it was too late to turn back now, not when he had come so far.
The night was growing old enough that there weren’t many dwarves out and about and none of them gave Fíli a second glance though some nodded to Dwalin in respect.
“Through here,” the guard said after they had gone deep, too deep, into the fortress.
Fíli swallowed and was shocked by the sense of familiarity and safety that filled him as he crossed the threshold.
The dwarf who did not look up at their entrance was known to him.
Sorrow clipped at the heels of hope as pulled back his hood.
Dwalin let out a punched exhale of breath.
Fíli glanced at him, the guard’s eyes were wide with recognition.
“State your business,” the dwarven King said without looking up.
Fíli swallowed before explaining, “Thirty years ago, I was taken from my family by another dwarf.”
The King’s head snapped up, his hard expression melting away to dumbfounded shock.
“My adoptive father killed him but–”
The King stood, rounding the table.
“I only know that I had a brother, Kíli,” he said in a rush, taking a step back as King Thorin Oakinshield gently caught his wrist.
“Fíli?” Thorin breathed. “Oh, Fíli.”
Fíli had a moment to feel the rightness of that name before he found himself in a crushing hug.
He froze, unsure of how to respond before he felt the King trembling.
Having been raised by a hobbit, Fíli’s instinct was to give comfort. It was oddly natural to bring his arms up to hug the dwarven king back.
Why a dwarven king was hugging him was anyone's guess.
Why it felt like returning finally home, he feared to know.
oOo
Thorin was certain he hadn’t heard what the dwarfling said correctly, until he looked up and saw a young reflection of Frerin.
Thirty years.
He had the child in his arms before he could rightly worry that he might be overwhelming the child could cross his mind. His nephew was half grown but alive, alive.
Fíli was home.
Finally home.
He pulled back to cup the dwarfling’s face in his hands. He had the same ice blue eyes as Mori had had. His cheeks were soft, his beard had not even begun to grow in yet.
“Fíli,” Thorin breathed, unbelieving. He had lost hope so long ago.
Once more catching the child’s hand, he beckoned, “This way.” He pulled him toward the side door to his office that led to a passage that connected to his family’s apartment.
He caught Dwalin’s gaze, the emotions in his eyes confirming to Thorin that this was real.
Truly real.
He did not let go of Fíli’s hand as he entered the main room that boasted a seating area, space for a dining room table, and a full kitchen.
Most apartments in the Blue Mountains didn’t have kitchens, it was a luxury that Thorin didn’t feel he deserved but refused to give up for his sister’s sake.
Ered Luin had been among the oldest settlements but time and wars had taken their toll.
“ Dís!” he yelled when he didn’t see her. “Dís!”
“What do you want!?” his sister called back, her heavy steps stumping up the stairs from the lower floor where the bedrooms were.
“Dís,” he breathed as she came into view, glaring at him with great hostility.
He hadn’t raised his voice toward her since they’d lost Fíli.
Stepping aside, Thorin watched the devastation cross his sister’s face before her mind caught up with who she was seeing.
“Fíli?” she whispered.
“Mom?” Fíli asked in the common speech, destroying any doubts in Thorin’s heart.
Dís made a sound caught somewhere between a bellow and sob as she launched herself at her long lost son.
Fíli didn’t hesitate to hug her back.
Thorin looked a lot like his sister, to the point where they had often been mistaken for twins, though Dís’s beauty far superseded his own.
Kíli looked like them both while Fíli looked like their Frenin with his golden hair.
“I thought you were dead,” Fíli said, voice heartbreaking in his apparent uncertainty.
Dís pulled back to cup Fíli’s face just as Thorin had, their resemblance was more noticeable, both because of Fíli’s more delicate features and because Dís was clean-shaven for the same reason Thorin kept his own short.
For many dwarven women, whether they grew a beard or not depended on personal preference. Since the fall of Moria and the subsequent fall of Erebor, many of their women chose to be clean-shaven. Beards for their men were a representation of status and honour, for their women it was more about beauty than status.
In harder times, their women shaved so it didn’t get in the way of their duties or counter-wise, they grew them to better hide their gender when dealing with men and elves.
For the line of Durin, Thorin and Dís shaved for the ruin their people had been led to by their fathers.
Tears fell freely from Dís’s eyes, “I fought for you, Fíli. Know that I fought for you. But they attacked in the middle of the night–”
“I remember you bleeding out,” Fíli whispered. “I remember Kíli screaming. I did have a brother, right?”
Thorin’s heart twisted. He didn’t know who had rescued his nephew but it was clear why there may have been reluctance to return him to the Blue Mountains.
What was there to return to if he thought his whole family was dead? Fíli had been so young, did he understand the depths of betrayal he had been swept into?
“Kíli is alive,” Dís said. “Your brother was injured but he lives. He has missed you more than anything in this world.”
Fíli’s face scrunched with the clear effort not to cry, “I missed you both too.”
Dís laughed, wet but relieved as she wrapped her arms around him once more, “Thorin is my brother, your uncle. You don’t remember him?”
Fíli shook his head, meeting Thorin’s gaze, cheeks pink as he leaned into his mother. “I only remember flashes of being taken. I don’t think you were there.”
“I wasn’t,” Thorin agreed, familiar shame clawing at his throat. “I tried to follow. But there by the time I caught up the wolves had destroyed the traitor’s corpse. I looked for you, but there was no sign beneath the snowfall that you could have survived.”
“Wargs,” Fíli corrected.
Dís tensed, “Wargs killed him?”
“No, the wargs didn’t kill him, my father did–er adoptive father. His mother was killed by my kidnapper when she tried to help me. My adoptive father was the one who killed him. Um, father didn’t survive, did he?”
Dís shook her head wordlessly.
“He was killed that night,” Thorin explained.
“Who do I owe thanks to for saving you?” Dís asked.
Fíli expression dimmed some. “Bill Findel, he– we didn’t know who we could trust and he didn’t want to travel more than needed when I was small.”
“You were raised by men?” Thorin asked.
Fíli arched a brow, his expression one that belonged to an older dwarf. “You sound surprised.”
“I’m surprised he was willing to raise a dwarfling,” Thorin explained. “Most men are not so kind hearted.”
Fíli nodded, “He’s a scholar. He would have brought me back to the Blue Mountains after the winter had passed if he hadn’t been worried about dwarven politics. We–well there aren’t many dwarves seen near Rohan in the last few decades.”
“You were raised in Rohan?” Thorin asked, he hadn’t travelled that fair since that fateful night had distorted their lives.
Fíli nodded, expression tight.
Whatever would have been said was interrupted by the main door opening, Kíli kicking off his boots as he came in, Balin behind him.
Their brown-haired prince had his cloak and weapons off when Balin exclaimed, “Prince Fíli!?”
Kíli nearly tripped over his own feet as he spun to face them and his jaw slackened as he stared at his little brother.
Fíli, for his part, blinked at his older brother.
Kíli crossed the room, looking between his mother and brother before asking in a tone too quiet, “Fíli?”
“Hi,” Fíli responded. “Kíli?”
Kíli caught both in a fierce hug, and Dís folded herself around them.
Thorin joined them, his broken heart beating as if it could knit itself back together.
Some wounds would never heal, but where life remained, hope for a brighter tomorrow bloomed.
oOo
AN: Dram, folks, drams. Thoughts, llamas, or feedback, pretty please?
Chapter 6: Waking Up
Chapter Text
AN: I went to go edit this chapter, ended up writing five more chapters and drowning in my inability to edit it all in a timely fashion. Bilbo will be in the next chapter, this one defined itself by taking place in a single twenty-four-hour period.
Chapter 6 - Waking Up
Dís found it difficult to go to sleep that night; to let Fíli and Kíli out of her view.
She went to her room, dressed for the night, and left her bed untouched.
She didn’t bother knocking on her big brother’s door. Thorin pulled the covers back for her as she went to him as she had as a dwarfling.
When the dragon came, she had been only ten years old and Thorin had carried her away from the flames. Taking her and Frerin to safety as their amad was lost to them.
When their adad had been lost to madness, when Mori died and Fíli lost, Thorin had held her together.
She buried herself in his embrace.
Thorin kissed her brow, whispering soft apologies and reassurances.
Neither of them looked up when the door opened again and Frerin joined them. Held between both her brothers, the tears finally came.
Tears for the years of grief. For the sorrow and despair, she hadn’t let herself feel for Kíli’s sake. Dís cried for the renewed fear she felt for her sons and the horrors they had experienced.
But most of all, she cried for joy and renewed hope for a future long abandoned in ashes.
Her children were safe.
Her children were home.
And they would not see Mori before her in the halls of their ancestors.
Her sons would live long happy lives and outlive her as children ought to.
Frerin brushed her hair back from her face. “We’ll keep them both safe this time round,” he swore to her.
“I will not survive their loss again,” she said into Thorin’s shoulder.
Thorin held her tighter, “Kíli has much to learn from you about leading our people and running Ered Luin. He knows his craft well enough for now.”
That brought a smile to Dís’s lips. Come spring, she wouldn’t have to be parted from both her brothers and sons.
It wasn’t their fault they had to leave her behind, no, it was the fault of men who would judge a female so differently. At least among her own kind, her standing as a drarrowdame was equal and more cherished by her kin. Women could never hope to make as much in business or trade as their male counterparts in the world of men.
The only reasons drarrowdames did not inherit the throne were because childbirth could be quite perilous and because whether or not they became warriors was entirely voluntary.
It was not voluntary for her brothers and sons. But as a warrior herself who had borne two children, Dís was widely respected and was less likely to be challenged than Thorin on any given issue.
Still, for Thorin to return her sons, his heirs, to her to raise as their next king and prince would be a departure from tradition.
Mothers trained daughters, fathers trained sons. The only difference for her sons was due to their royalty coming from her and not their father, Thorin had always been a defining figure in her boys’ lives even before Mori’s passing.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Thorin rubbed her arm, “Trained by you, I expect them to become the fiercest princes our people have ever seen.”
She snorted, “You trained me.”
“Nonsense,” Thorin scoffed. “Never doubt that you are a creature of your own creation. It is not Durin’s blood that makes you great, but your generous spirit that saw the need in our people and the strength to forge yourself to your needs.”
Exhaustion pulled at her, her fear abating that this could be just a dream. When the end of winter came, Kíli would typically return to the Gulf of Lune with Frerin to work for the shipyards and trade vessels as Thorin travelled further south in search of jobs that might pay well for smithing.
They rarely paid dwarves well, but the gruelling work the three did was what allowed them to pour the majority of their funds toward sustaining Ered Luin.
Their people were not prosperous, but neither were they beggars and vagabonds.
“I know what you both give, do not think it is not valued. I do not resent you for leaving other duties to me.”
Thorin hummed, “They will be lessened with Kíli helping you. And that extra time you can spend with Fíli. He has much more to learn, and heir or no, he is still a prince.”
Frerin huffed, “Way less stressful though. I don’t know how the two of you can handle being so terribly morose all the time.”
Dís tucked herself in against Thorin as he reached around her yank on Frerin’s braids.
Their brother yelped and struck back tickling fingers.
Tears turned to laughter and after a while, Dís found herself falling into a contented sleep, feeling safer than she had in decades.
oOo
“Where are you going?” Elrond asked.
“East.”
“Why?”
“I hear they have a spider infestation, and I find peace no longer sits well with me,” Glorfindel answered without meeting Elrond’s gaze.
“They will return to you.”
“I can wait,” Glorfindel lied, Elrond could feel the lord’s dread of his loved ones’ mortality. “But I cannot remain still until then. Not when they age and I cannot.”
Elrond squeezed his shoulder but let him go.
oOo
Galadriel smiled down at him.
Gandalf up at her, basking in her light as much as the warm sunshine.
“You’ve slept through all the drama, Mithrandir.”
“Oh?” he asked with a slight frown.
Galadriel hushed him, “Mind it not, my friend. Not every trouble is yours to worry over.”
“You mentioned it,” he countered.
She hummed, “I did. I would treat it as a favour for you not pry. You may find yourself to be needed more as a friend than a knowledgeable wizard.”
He pouted at her, “How long have I slept?”
She smiled widely, easily outshining the dawn.
oOo
Fíli woke his heart in his throat.
When he was little and still living in the Shire, he remembered how the other faunts had described him, how Bilbo’s extended family would describe him.
Slow to trust.
Stubborn like his mad father.
Needs to learn forgiveness.
He needs to learn to not take every remark to heart.
Setting aside the violence in his history, it was in Fíli’s nature to be less free than hobbits with his trust. He had learned from the elvish books, that dwarves were carved from stone, set in their ways, craving permance and loyalty, even as their hearts were born of Mahal’s forges.
Quick to anger, forever love, and emotions that would burn long after the flames are hidden from sight.
Fíli had too few friends, and almost everyone in his circles had been deep thinkers, Fíli thus had had much cause to be self-aware and self-critical.
He knew that his judgement on Bilbo and Glorfindel was perhaps not proportional to their actions, that perhaps if he had just heard them out, their arguments and reasons would have persuaded him.
But he was hurt that they would lie to him. He was hurt that despite having an eclectic family that loved him, despite being well-fed and cared for, he had always been different.
So different as to not completely belong. He had held so much guilt for being the reason that Bilbo had been chased from the Shire, from his home in Bag End, that he could not forgive Bilbo for choosing it.
For having a choice.
Bilbo hadn’t adopted Fíli for Fíli’s benefit but for his own desire to have a family.
He knew that was doubly true for Glorfindel.
He wanted nothing to do with them, and he didn’t want to explain it to his true family, not after having seen their grief. Not when he saw the indicators in his family wasn’t or hadn’t always had the opportunity to eat properly.
Fíli hated more that his return to them would somehow make him a greater burden.
As he had seemed to have woken earlier than the rest of the dwarves, he crept through the halls, scaling the steps to the first floor and finding the pantry with ease.
Last night, emotions had been running high and supper had long since passed.
Fíli checked the pantry, looking for signs of food rationing.
There wasn’t much in the pantry, not compared to a hobbit’s nor the great kitchens of Rivendell that served the whole community, but there were enough perishables to assuage his fear that he might make too much.
Besides they were supposedly royals and surely they had cause to celebrate today of all days.
Still, Fíli dug through the barrel of potatoes, taking the ones that looked the most aged, and the onions that were starting to go soft.
Bilbo had taught him to cook hobbit-sized meals but he had also taught him how to cook for the fell winter.
Fíli knew how to make a little go a long way.
He began by peeling the potatoes, not surprised when he found the kitchen knives as suited to weaponry as culinary pursuits. Though he was proficient at cooking, it wasn’t a particular passion for him like it was for Bilbo, so Fíli enjoyed puzzling through balance and techniques that would have been used to forge the steel kitchen knives.
He let the stove as he began slicing up a ham that had been placed in an ice box. In the Shire, only the Thain had an icebox, food going to waste rarely being a concern for hobbits and the elves didn't eat enough meat to justify it.
Fíli worried that using this much food without permission would be overstepping, but counting Kíli, his mother, his two Durin uncles, Balin, Dwalin, and the three Ri uncles he had yet to meet, he thought it would be okay.
He started the stove and began to roll the dough for biscuits. He put the peeled potatoes in water with a lid before prepping the onions and garlic for the scrambled eggs.
He knew if his moving around hadn’t woken the dwarves, the second the bacon hit the pan it would. So Fíli prepared the water for the coffee, grinding the beans in a mortar pestle.
Though the kitchen was clearly well-loved, or at least it had been once, the coffee strainer looked like it was the most often used object present. The beans were of poor quality, but coffee was one of those morning smells that filled the heart as his fath– Bilbo would say.
He put the biscuits in the oven and he pulled the potatoes out to mash them.
He was liberal with the butter and salt, and they came out perfectly fluffy.
The biscuits came out smelling wonderful as well. He set them aside as he sauteed the onions and garlic with oil and pepper flakes. Then he set them in a bowl aside and used the same pan with more oil.
From here he had to work quickly as the aroma of sizzling bacon overcame the apartment.
Luckily the cast iron pan was large and he was able to swiftly get the bacon strips done and set aside on a plate. As that cooled he threw the onions back into the pan with some milk. Once the milk began bubbling, he poured in the cracked eggs he had prepared and he scrambled them in.
Once he was done with the eggs, also light and fluffy, he cut the warm bacon up into bits and sprinkled it over the eggs.
While eating the bacon plain might have been more satisfying, with the eggs the meat would stretch further and be more filling.
With an appalling lack of greens, Fíli had a pleasing spread for his dwarvish family and he was able to set the table before anyone made it out of their rooms.
oOo
Dís woke warm and happy.
She didn't quite know why she was happy, maybe because of her dreams had been of seeing her beautiful boys all grown up.
What had woken her was not the sounds of footsteps above her room but the smells.
Mori was cooking.
She sighed happily, settling back into her husband's arms.
It took her a second for her brain to process the discordance between the two thoughts; if Mori was cooking, how was he still in bed with her?
Which is when she realised she was sandwiched between two warm forms.
And when she remembered that Mori was long gone.
The only dwarves that would be in her chambers these days were her brothers or her sons.
Sons.
The memories of last night hit her like a boulder.
The smell of coffee joined the scents from breakfast.
Who would be up early enough to make breakfast and coffee.
Horror followed the thought: Kíli.
“Mahal save us,” she cursed, her brothers jerking awake as she pushed at them to let her up. She didn't bother to change out of her nightgown as she freed herself from the bed.
“What is it?” Frerin moaned.
“Kíli is in the kitchen,” she answered.
Thorin joined her in cursing, hot on her heels as they clambered up the steps, where they almost barreled poor Kíli who stood stock still staring at the scene before them.
Dís felt her jaw open with a pop.
Fíli smiled at them uncertainty, “I didn't know how much food I should have made but you said others would be here and I wanted to–”
Dís squeezed Kíli's shoulder as she stepped around him to go to her youngest son. She cupped Fíli's face between her hands, “You did not have to do all this, but never that anything in this home is not meant for you, my son.” She fumbled over her next words, not because her Westron was worse than others, but because she wasn't used to speaking to her kin about matters of the heart with it. “Your father, Mori, he used to cook for us all too.” She rested her forehead against his. “Thank you, Fíli.”
His smile was brilliant if a bit bashful.
Balin and Dwalin entered the room, fully dressed. Their chamber was the first bedroom by the steps and they would have heard if someone entered from above. They wouldn’t have rushed to get up for one of their charges getting up early which seldom happened anyway. The smell of food hadn’t panicked them like it had the rest of them.
Balin laughed, “I’ll go get the Ri’s then, shall I?”
Thorin nodded, “We’ll make an announcement tomorrow.”
Balin bowed before exiting the apartment, the many locks tumbling over and Dwalin locked up behind him.
“Announcement?” Fíli asked.
“We’re princes,” Kíli answered. “All of Ered Luin and the Iron Hills held a vigil after… after.”
Dís ran her fingers lightly over Fíli’s hair, as golden as her mother’s hair and Frerin’s. “You just missed Dain, our cousin who is Lord of the Iron Hills.”
Fíli flushed slightly but leaned into her touch. Having learned last night that Fíli no longer remembered his language, she had feared what more he had forgotten, but it seemed he hadn’t forgotten enough of her to lose his trust of her.
He hadn’t forgotten so much of her to unlearn the safety of her touch.
Truly, she had so much to be grateful for, that she vowed to do her best to set aside her grief of years lost.
oOo
Nori didn’t feel much these days. When Mori had died, it was as if his heart had died with him.
He didn’t become an alcoholic, quite simply, because they couldn’t afford it.
Instead, he did jobs Dori thought were beneath both his station and honour.
He collected debts from minor nobles. Collecting taxes from those who could afford both the tax and the skill to avoid it.
Thorin clearly hated to ask him to do this type of work, but Nori could hardly hear rock songs anymore. He didn’t have the presence of mind to go back to the mines. And the dwarves of Ered Luin held the market for crafting instruments. Nori was but one child from Ereborian refugees.
So Nori welcomed the work.
When he was called a thief for collecting taxes from those wealthy enough to pay their dues combined with the nimble-fingered magic tricks he did for the dwarflings, Nori didn’t waste his breath to correct them.
He felt nothing after all, he couldn’t muster the energy to pay them mind, much less be mad at them.
The same could not be said for Dori. Dori was always angry, always agitated. He acted like a dwarf who had lost a child in Mori, not a brother.
Everything and anything could get him grumbling.
He was so emotional.
Nori envied him that.
When Dori heard the rumours that one of his brothers had become a thief, he had just about lost his mind.
Nori for his part had laughed himself sick at Dori’s reaction and refused to correct the misconception. It had been thirty years, and so willing to believe the worst in Nori, Dori had yet to realise he worked for Thorin and Lady Dís.
Nori worried for Ori, but Ori wanted nothing to do with their arguing. He pretended it didn’t exist. Whether he was a criminal or not, didn’t seem to bother Ori one way or another. Though the rift between his two older brothers bothered him enough that he would stop talking to Nori for days at a time in retribution.
Nori couldn’t fault him for it.
Mornings were the only truly peaceful moments Nori shared with Ori. Dori slept in late and Nori hardly slept at all while Ori was an early riser.
Thus when there was a knock at the door, Nori groaned and waved Ori to stay seated with his morning tea as he answered the door.
“What do you want?” Nori demanded when he met the gaze of their intruder.
Balin smiled at him, eyes sparkling, “You’ve been invited to a royal breakfast.”
“No,” Nori answered.
Balin, the bastard, smiled wider, “That wasn’t a question, laddie.”
Ori had already risen to wake Dori.
The pair of them re-imerged from their room in some of their better clothes.
“Is that what you’re going to wear?” Dori asked Nori.
“Yep,” Nori responded.
Your twin brother was a prince.
My brother is dead.
The old argument passed between them silent, the words no longer necessary to complete the chastisement.
Balin cleared his throat before saying in Westeron, “Remember to talk in the Common Speech.”
The three of them stared at him as if he had just spoken in elvish.
“Why?” Nori asked in the Common Speech.
Balin’s blue eyes twinkled mischievously, “Come, the food’s cooling and I want my coffee.”
Nori exchanged a look with Dori and Ori ended up to be the first to follow.
Being the first through the door, Ori gasped.
Dori pushed Nori aside to see whatever had dared to upset their precious dwarfling, only to freeze along side him.
Nori sighed before shoving Dori aside, because his brother deserved it, and looking for the disturbance.
At first, Nori didn’t see them. He thought he was seeing double for a moment, Frerin twice, once beside Dís and again on the other side of Thorin.
But then he realised the Frerin beside Dís had no beard, and when their gaze met, Nori forgot to breathe.
Unlike the other royals whose eyes were sapphire blue, Fíli had had his father’s aquamarine eyes.
Mori’s eyes.
The same eyes Nori was looking into now.
“Prince Fíli?” he asked, voice breaking.
Nephew.
The dwarfling looked as timid as Ori, however his voice was clear when he said, “Hello, uncles?”
He spoke in the Common Speech and Balin’s earlier warning now made sense.
Men had saved their young prince.
Prince Fíli was alive.
Mori’s second son was alive.
And while it didn’t make Mori’s murder any easier to deal with, it did perhaps make his loss less tragic. Because Nori knew that his twin would rest easier in the halls of their ancestors knowing he had given his life for his wife and children.
Mori had died protecting his family, and with his last breath, he had not failed them.
“Come eat,” Princess Dís beckoned. “Fíli has cooked for us.”
Nori looked at the table for the first time, the spread of food looked… more than appetising. It was a feast, one Nori would never have been able to afford and hadn’t wanted since his brother’s death.
Food had lost its flavour when he remembered too well Mori’s cooking.
But here was Mori’s lost son returned to them.
Some purpose returned to Nori then, strengthened by the food that bloomed with incredible flavour and fed a heart he had long been starving.
Nori had no One. Not all dwarrow lived in the same time as their One. Many described the compulsion to find their soul half in a dissatisfaction in their craft while those who had no One’s described finding utter peace in their craft. The latter lived with a devotion to their craft with the knowledge that when they passed on they would bring no regrets with them.
Balin who had lost his One described the same. That while he missed his partner, he was content to live his life in devotion to his king so that when he passed on, he could do so without looking back.
Nori had never dared to ask Dís how she felt about losing Mori. But Nori had felt so empty, his craft did not sing to him, not until now.
Now? Now, he felt as if he had something to live for. To ensure both Mori’s sons would survive this life together. Mori might not have been Nori’s One, as platonic and familiar soul halves did happen, but he had been Nori's direction in life.
When he returned home that night, Nori's desire to craft hit him like an avalanche. He took what savings he had and bought wood, horse hair, and steel string.
After every night of “thieving” Nori would lock himself in his room with tools he hadn't touched in thirty years.
Crafting for his nephews gifts worthy of princes, worthy of the dwarflings who had given him back a reason for living.
oOo
AN: Please let me know what you want to see from world building and character development? The first half of this story will take place before the quest to Erebor.
Chapter 7: Foresight
Chapter Text
Timeline, what timeline? : Fili is 50(22) Kili 55(23) Bilbo 59 (35) Frodo 20 (11)
Keynote: King Thrain is still alive, Dís and Thorin are just doing all the hard work. Because Dís is ruling court most seasons and Thrain is missing, Thorin is honorary king, but outsiders are still likely to refer to him as a prince.
This has become the hardest fanfiction to edit. I cut eight thousand words out to shove into the next chapter because it didn’t match the sequence of events. Me editing has been me adding to future chapters. I apologise for everything I missed.
Chapter 7 - Foresight
Bilbo could not return to Imladris, despite the letters he exchanged with the elves.
He didn’t blame Glorfindel as Fíli did, but he couldn’t stand the heartache from the reminders of what was lost either.
Returning to the Shire, alone, was a miserable business.
The Gammgies treated his home with love even if the warm smial was filled with ghosts.
A year passed and no word came. Anxiety nipped at his heels and Bilbo found himself searching for work.
Work presented itself in cultivating his own garden, not with beautiful flowers or food, but with herbs and rooted plants used in medicines.
Some of those herbs did have flowers he grew were also for medicine, but most of them were poisonous.
One example being the Belladonna flower, which could be quite deadly indeed.
Just another reason why he was called Mad Baggins and the fauntlings of the Shire were told to give a him large birth.
Not that that stopped his smallest Took cousins, truly, saying such a thing was practically an invitation.
His mother would have been proud of his garden.
He kept the Gammgies on to tend to the grounds along the path and the grounds above the smial, but they certainly had more time to tend their own home than most employed gardeners. It worked because Bilbo paid them the same.
The sitting room was converted into a place for him to dry out and distil his plants for medicines.
Bilbo did not sleep well, often burning through candles to the wee hours before dawn working on his books. He documented everything. The condition of his herbs and the different methods of breaking them down. Sometimes he crushed a whole plant together, sometimes he took just the leaves, just the stems, and just the roots all in separate containers.
His most pleasurable activities were his watercolours which he diligently painted and inked into his books.
He kept up a correspondence with Lord Elrond, who sent relevant texts and asked for Bilbo’s research. It was an honour when Elrond began requesting some of his herbs.
But the inexorable silence continued to grow like a parasite in Bag End. Bilbo travelled to Brandy Hall to visit his cousin, Drogo Baggins and his family.
But perhaps the inhabitants from the far west of the Shire to Bree were right about Bilbo being cursed.
His cousins were strong swimmers, they were riverfolk, but no one expected the mountain water from the flash floods that had raged far north of their lands.
Bilbo had the misfortune to see their fishing boat tip as the waters rose, yet he would never regret being there.
He was grateful that the elves had insisted he learn to swim with confidence.
Bilbo dove under the freezing cold waters and reached for Frodo who his mother Primula was trying to shove toward the surface.
Bilbo and Frodo coughed and were pushed further downstream before they could reach the shore.
Bilbo had to run back up to where he had been before diving in again.
Drogo and Primula were tied up in a net and by the time Bilbo dragged their bodies to shore, they were gone.
Frodo wept openly, but when his parents never returned to comfort him, he grew frightfully quiet.
Bilbo returned to Bag End with twenty-year-old Frodo.
Their smial remained quiet but it was a home once more.
Not a day went by that Bilbo didn’t wish to hear from Fíli, however, the Rangers who stopped by every now and then assured him that Fíli was well and of fine health. That, at least, made Bilbo happy even if Fíli had taken a large part of his heart with him.
oOo
Kíli had naively believed when his brother miraculously returned that everything would be made right with the world. And while everyone was certainly happier, things remained oddly, unbalanced.
Fíli was quiet and hated talking about himself which made getting to know him difficult.
But he was quick to smile and quicker to lend a hand wherever he could. He seemed to soak up everything anyone tried to teach him. Amad was teaching him their language again that he could pronounce perfectly though the runes seemed to give him difficulty. Almost as if he had learned runes before, but the wrong sort.
Ultimately, home could now be described as happily awkward.
Fíli was just so polite , way more polite than any dwarf ought to be, which set the tone for the rest of them. He could tell that Amad and his uncles were having particular trouble because they had been raised in the highest society dwarvish culture had to offer.
Erebor was to dwarves what the Golden Wood was to the elves.
They didn’t know how to be playful or fully themselves when faced with quiet politeness. Apparently, Amad’s amad was the one who always broke the tension when either Thror or Thrain were being too serious.
Kíli, who had not been in a palace, didn’t know what to do either, when he and his brother were younger, their sole mission in life was to cause as much trouble as possible to make their parents laugh instead of being disappointed in them.
But Kíli’s childhood had died thirty years ago and he didn’t know how to be that type of brother anymore and Fíli…
Fíli was so careful not to test boundaries.
Kíli really wished he would push boundaries, wished he would make all the cultural offences, and say what was on his mind, no matter how hurtful.
The niceties were killing him.
The thing that smoothed tensions was Fíli’s cooking. Both because no dwarf was at their best when hungry and because it reminded everyone of Adad. Fíli had a gift for making a little food go a long way. Particularly useful in the winter for a family of seven who perpetually gave away what they had to provide for the settlement.
Still, it felt like there was an invisible wall between them and Fíli that none of them knew how to cross.
oOo
Fíli couldn't remember anyone but Kíli and his mother's arms.
And of course what he believed to be their death.
But he definitely didn't remember how to interact with other young dwarves. Sure, Estel was his best friend but Estel had been raised by elves too. So… Well, Fíli felt like they were expecting him to be the dwarfling they had lost, while he knew his early years at the Shire when he had been nothing but an abnormally strong fauntling was far far behind him.
Luckily, Ori wasn't a bouncing youth Fíli had to entertain –unlike their Cousin Gimili. Unfortunately, Ori was less outgoing than either prince and thus the three of them sat in awkward silence as the ‘adults’ went to talk in the kitchen.
Kíli cleared his throat. “So, Amad says you're training to be a scribe.”
Ori straightened, “Um yeah, not that there's a ton of use for it but I can translate for those who aren't that fond common. I also do portraits and other types of painting and drawing arts but that's not really a demand so I, uh, help my brother out too.”
“That's cool,” Fíli offered. “My adoptive father liked to write and paint. He loved languages.”
“Do you?” Ori asked.
“Not really,” Fíli answered. “I never had much patience for it. At least when working with metal, even if it's just horseshoes, I can hear the ore sing. My dah made me learn sheet music when I told him that. His explanation for why I had to read while playing was to ‘ease me out of my allergy to paper.’”
Kíli eyebrows shot up, “You can read sheet music?”
“Yes?”
Kíli shook his head, “Dwarves only write down lyrics, if music is written at all.”
Fíli grinned, “I'm better at hearing music than reading it still. It's wasted energy trying to read and play at the same time. To his credit, it did help me learn.”
“What do you play?” Ori asked.
“The fiddle.”
Kíli grinned, “Me too. I was wondering if you kept up with it or not. You kept trying to steal mine when it was practically bigger than you were when we were very little.”
Fíli grinned, “I remember you trying to teach me and being upset when I pulled the bow across the strings and it sounded like crying.”
Kíli's expression lit up, “I hadn't realised you remembered that much.”
“Not that much,” Fíli agreed. “Just you.”
There was another awkward silence.
“I play the flute,” Ori offered.
Kíli nodded and the silence continued.
“Does your human father play an instrument?” Ori blurted.
Fíli looked away, but he did answer. “He sings though he's more of a poet songwriter than musically inclined.”
“You must miss him,” Ori remarked.
“No, I don't,” Fíli lied.
Which killed the conversation.
Fíli hadn't been this horrendous with people before. But he had never had to keep a secret so long either.
Okay, maybe when he had been a dwarfling among fauntlings. But it hadn't really mattered to the hobbits then what he was, only who he was. Before the humans in Bree brought up their differences, Fíli had been fully accepted as Bilbo’s fauntling.
He hadn't realised until years after having over hearing a conversation between his dah and Bilbo's favourite cousin, Drogo Baggins, that being a dwarf wasn’t as big a problem as being Bilbo’s adopted heir.
Bilbo, you should stay. Please stay, no matter what Lobelia would have to say you are highly respected, Drogo had said.
I will not put Fíli through it again. And the elves are teaching him his craft. He may belong, as some would say with his people, and I'll agree, he shouldn't have been caught up in such a tragedy, but dwarves are themselves through their craft. The elves help him with his passions better than anyone in the Shire could.
Guilt had stilled Fíli’s breath in his throat at the admission that his father really did leave home because of him.
Then let the elves come here and train them. Surely, in their infinite lives could spare some months out of the year to teach him, Drogo's young wife, Primula had said.
I don't want to be in the Shire. I have family among the elves. And besides, having now stayed with kings and queens, I must say, none are more cutthroat and political than hobbits. Which I find most improper for hobbits.
Drogo had let out a long sigh of exasperation.
Oh, Bilbo, Prim la said.
What? Bilbo demanded.
Don't you see? Drogo had questioned. It is political. Like it or not Bilbo Baggins, but you are one of the wealthiest and most influential hobbits in the Kindly West. Here, in Buckland, and as far as Bree admires you.
You're overselling it.
No, Bilbo. You are in line to be Thain.
Bilbo laughed, I'm tenth in line and counting. My mother–
Was the Thain’s favourite daughter, Primula cut in. And the Thain picks his successor.
I want no part of it. I'm just Mad Baggins and they want me gone so they can take my smial, don't doubt it.
Drogo sighed, Everyone wants your smial, but that's beside the point. The point is the scandal is that you had a child of wedlock and did not marry her afterwards. It is not a problem that he is half-human because there's no such thing. Maybe their feet won’t always be as hairy as they ought to be and maybe they get a bit taller than others, but all hobbit children are fauntlings with pointy ears and tough soles. The problem is that even if you never marry, Fíli is still yours and will inherit. Why, even if you merely adopted him he would inherit.
Is there a point? Bilbo had repeated.
The point is it's all rubbish what they all say. That gaggle of ill-sayers are just trying to keep you out so a Baggins of Hobbiton won't gain even more land to hand over to the Took side, Drogo went on.
And I want nothing to do with their efforts, Fíli’s father had cut in.
Bilbo, listen, most hobbits do not care, they only want to be liked by their friends and family. But when it comes to the Thrain, the Thrain is the one to keep out outsiders.
So? Bilbo asked.
So, your adopted child is connected to the outside world. They were jealous of you before, but now that your heir was raised outside the Shire, some worry. But that’s not enough. In time you will be accepted just as you always were. Bilbo, you can move back home, there might be a few, like Lobelia who fear change. But we know your son and the rest of the Shire would get to know him as well. Neither of you would ever bring harm to the Shire.
Bilbo’s voice had lowered then, You listen to me, dearest cousins. I do not care what silly or small minded reasons the Shirefolk have to fear myself or my son. But I will not raise him where he is not welcome.
Primula snorted, And the elves accept you both, do they?
Yes, they do, Bilbo stated.
The stories told by men and elves always paint the elves as benevolent creatures, lords and ladies. But mind the reason that hobbit stories tell true their deceptive nature and trickster ways, Drogo warned.
Bilbo had snorted, My fairy father would never cause harm to me or my son.
Yes, your fairy father will never harm you, Primula said. Not physically. But our stories remembered Glorfindel not as a lord but as a fairy from a fairytale. As in all fairytales, being happily married doesn’t mean living happily ever after. All magic has limits.
Why are you both so paranoid? Bilbo had asked.
Fíli couldn’t remember the rest of their conversation but they had been right, hadn’t they?
Glorfindel was a fairy who captured the faith of mortals whose fates he thought he could control on a whim.
Fíli startled when Kíli placed a hand on his shoulder, “Are you alright?”
He nodded too rapidly but his voice was even as he said, “Yes, I’m fine.”
Fíli wasn’t.
Here he sat, surrounded by his blood family and yet, he still felt out of place. Like a puzzle piece that hadn’t finished being cut to size and would not fit into the rest of the picture.
But what could he do?
These people whom he knew he loved yet couldn’t forget the nightmares each night since returning of their deaths.
The elves who had betrayed him.
The hobbits whose stagnant ways were unfilling to him.
The men who he would outlive and would never fully accept him.
No, Fíli had nowhere to go, and if he could never fit in, then he would have to settle to discover a way to help take care of his family and do his best to make them happy.
It’s the only direction he had, though, given the hushed voices in the kitchen and his brother’s worried gaze, Fíli appeared to be just another worry for them all.
oOo
Nori huffed as he watched the dwarflings.
Well, they weren't that young, but they were still a decade short of their majority.
The trio sat in awkward silence and Nori looked to Dori with exacerbation.
His older brother glared at him.
Nori glared right back, straightening to go interrupt the youngsters.
“Don't,” Dori snapped. “Ori needs friends.”
“Well, he isn't going to make it with those two having had the misfortune to take after their kingly uncle.”
Thorin who had been listening to Balin looked over, brow raised.
Nori met his gaze head on, they might be distant cousins, he even might respect the crownless king, but he wasn't afraid of the older dwarf. “You're nephews have no conversation in them it would seem, like you.”
Thorin sighed, “They do fine if someone else drives the conversation.”
Nori looked back to Dori, “Well, it won't be Ori who manages that.”
Without permission, Nori ducked out of the way of Dori into the other room.
Ori and Kíli looked relieved while Fíli looked neutral, and neutral meant he was suspicious. That first dinner welcoming the prince home, the boy had listened without saying much.
Thorin's nephew indeed, though to be fair to the tween, he had been raised among Men and Nori could too easily imagine the trials the prince had faced as he grew.
Not least of which because twenty years equated to an adult man while the sum total of thirty years measured only a dwarfling’s being old enough to learn a craft, but not to ride to war.
They were both a decade too young for that.
Nori sat on the arm of his Ori’s seat placing an arm over his little brother's shoulder, “Hello, you three, how's the royal family been treating you, littlest cousin?”
Fíli looked at him with Mori's eyes and Nori sorrowed that this youngling had seen enough of the world to have those eyes.
Mori had seen too much when the dragon came.
“It’s good to be home,” Fíli said.
Nori held back a sigh, soldiering forward. “How about learning all the family lines? Have you been able to understand how Oin and Gloin are related to you?”
Fíli frowned at him, “It's not that complicated aside.”
“Oh, and your human relatives track their line so well?” Nori asked.
“My best friend is Isildor’s heir. His family keeps track of their generations to a ridiculous degree.”
Nori blinked. Of all the things he could have predicted a dwarf returning from what amounted to exile saying, it wasn’t that. “Alright, so royalty doesn't phase you. And unlike your brother, you don’t fear disappointing the great Ereborian kings.”
Ori elbowed him, but that only encouraged him to slide into the seat with him, so that they were squished together.
He wasn’t trying to cause the prince stress, just get him to show a bit of emotion.
Which Nori had succeeded at, just not in the way he expected.
For Fíli grimaced slightly and looked away.
“What?” Nori asked.
Kíli sighed, “He thinks grandfather and great-grandfather are scary.”
“Creepy,” Fíli corrected. “And excuse me for thinking family curses who bring down dragons from the north or awaken balrogs are unnerving.”
They all, excluding Fíli, flicked a glance at Thorin who had taken on so much due to the failures of King Thror and King Thrian.
They all grew up with those stories and had enough interaction with Thorin, Frerin, and Lady Dís to view it as a tragedy. Nori had never thought of the king's madness to be something to fear. Well, a mad king was never a warm and fuzzy feeling, but outside of war, it was strange to reflect that the king’s madness might have been what tragedy upon them all.
Thorin remained unmoved by the comments so Nori continued.
“So despite the impracticality of it,” Nori began. “You’re brother became a jeweller like his mother while helping her run the colony, have you thought of a profession, Princeling.”
“Steal smith,” Fíli answered. “But I’m good at being a blacksmith. Roharrim treat their horses like fau– like their children.”
Nori noted the stumble but was unsure of what word that could be. “I’m glad you can take pride in it,” he said. “Shoeing horses, while nothing wrong with making coin honestly, is not seen as something for the noble line.”
In fact, it was something that Thorin himself had complained about more than once.
“Is that because of the horses, or because the way men speak to us as if creating horseshoes is all we’re good for?” Fíli asked.
Nori remembered Fíli when he was a dwarfling, remembered the bright little child who had followed his older brother around like a golden shadow.
Neither could ever be found without the other and rarely ever without a smile or mischief on the mind.
They had been the hope of their people.
But now they were both as serious as their stoic uncle and it hurt to have their youngest prince so wary around them.
“The latter, typically,” Nori answered. “But horses aren’t a favourite mode of transport, dwarven feet belong on the ground.”
“Horses walk on that same ground, they aren’t eagles,” Fíli noted.
Nori smiled, “Fair enough.”
There was a knock on the door offering a reprieve from the stilted conversation.
Dori answered the door, Princess Dis, Oin, Gloin, and Gloin’s dwarfling Gimili.
“Glad you’re here, we can finally eat,” Dori said, stepping back.
Nori watched with amusement as Fíli rose with Ori to help set the table.
Nori looked to Dís who was tracking her youngest son.
“He has wonderful manners,” Nori said to her, not knowing if that was a good thing or not.
Dís met his gaze with a frown and said in low Khuzdul, “ If I find out his adoptive father used him as a servant, I’ll skin him .”
Kíli shook his head, “Amad, I don’t think that’s true.”
“ What has he told you? ” Dís demanded.
Kíli glared at the table rather than his mother, “ It’s— it’s what he hasn’t said. It’s the way he reacts when he learns how much our people have struggled. He has never known hunger, Amad, and he’s quiet so he doesn’t offend us. ”
Thorin placed a hand on Kíli’s shoulder. His uncle deliberately spoke in common, “Change is difficult, he will be fine. He wants to be here with us, with you, all will be well.”
Kíli let out a puff of air before rising from his seat.
Nori had to agree with Thorin’s assessment as dinner progressed in a typical dwarvish fashion.
Fíli relaxed enough to smile, sat between his mother and brother as the others led the conversation. He didn’t say anything really, but he clearly wasn’t trying to disappear as Ori sometimes did.
Fíli wasn’t the carefree dwarfling he had been. He was nothing like the over-eager Gimili who spoke anytime he could to the stories and conversations going around him. He wasn’t some abused orphan they pulled off the streets.
Looking at him, in fact, Nori noticed that Fíli’s cheeks were fuller than his brother’s, skin tanner than his relatives for the sun he doubtless got plenty of so far south of the Misty Mountains.
Kíli was right. He looked so… healthy. And it was shameful to realise, and maybe appreciate Dori’s concern for them all. A skipped meal here and there had never done them harm, or so Nori believed. But if Ori was supposed to look so strong, a layer of babyfat over muscles garnered from sword practice and smithing not the labour of a quarry worker…
Well, neither Ori nor Kíli fit that depiction of health.
Maybe the Fíli had been somewhat of an outcast among men, however, whoever his human family had been had taken good care of him. It was in the gentleness he gave to his mother and brother, the respect he showed Thorin, and the smile on his face now as helped Dori and Ori prepare their food.
Fíli was reserved, not anti-social nor as fragile as those around him seemed to think.
Still, Nori had to wonder at the reason why his human father hadn’t brought Fíli home himself.
Man or no, Nori knew Dís would have welcomed whoever had saved her son with open arms.
oOo
Estel loved Bilbo and Fíli.
Their separation from each other and Glorfindel was criminal.
“What are you planning?” Arwen asked leaning against the bannister beside him.
He felt heat rise to his cheeks, “I don’t know what you mean?”
“You’ve had that expression since we told you that Dain could make amends by protecting the hobbits.”
Estel stilled his hands, swallowing the compulsion to fiddle with his sleeves.
Arwen hadn’t been around much when he was a child, but he hadn’t been quite this flustered around her when he had been a teen. He hadn’t known what the fluttering in his chest had indicated and now he found himself embarrassed by it. They essentially shared a father.
And Elrond would hate him if Arwen ever returned Estel’s affection.
Clearing his throat he said, “They are going to send a representative for the first year to run a stall in the spring fair. Some men come in that time and it would be good to have someone possed as a craftsman who could step in if anything goes awry.”
“So you will bring one of Fíli’s relatives to Bilbo?”
Estel bit his lip, knowing how wrong it would be to impose on the hobbit’s hospitality.
“I think it a splendid idea,” Elrond said, making Estel jump.
He was still recovering from the scare when he processed what his adoptive father had said. “Wait, you agree?”
“If one thing is to be said about those three golden children, it is their stubbornness. If Bilbo had more connections to the dwarves he might have been more comfortable with visiting the Blue Mountains.”
Arwen snorted “You’re both meddlers.”
“You disapprove?” Elrond asked.
Arwen shook her head, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. “No, for I also think it is a wonderful idea. Bilbo broods too much and I cannot imagine any dwarf who would not like him as a host.”
Estel smiled at their approval. He knew enough about the dwarves to know that Thorin Oakenshield himself would volunteer.
Naturally, come spring, Estel fully intended to introduce the dwarven prince without his titles to Bilbo.
It would be interesting to see when Prince Thorin would reveal his identity or speak of Fíli first.
Neither was likely to be pleased with Estel for the deception, but really, the only reason fathers and sons had not made up already was because of the pride and guilt.
Maybe, if Bilbo befriended a dwarven prince, he would go to the Ered Luin and make amends.
In hindsight, Estel shouldn’t have underestimated the stubbornness of dwarves and hobbits.
Lord Elrond’s smirk should have clued him in to the fruitlessness of Estel’s efforts. His adoptive father was, after all, gifted with foresight.
oOo
AN: Did you think I was going to make you wait till the Quest to Erebor for some Bagginshield disaster fluttering? Reviews on this chapter (thank you to the single ff-dot-net reviewer from the last chapter) are extremely appreciated and now is the time to ask for what you would like to see between Bilbo and Thorin, Fíli and the other dwarves ;D
Chapter 8: Smiths
Chapter Text
AN: This story is continually the hardest to edit for two reasons, the stuff I have written (50k) is all slightly off and needs to be reworked. And every time I go to edit I end up writing two more chapters which is making posting difficult.
Thank you so much to the few reviewers, your feedback is so incredibly inspiring!
Chapter 8 - Smiths
It was Kíli’s birthday which he hadn’t enjoyed celebrating since his brother's disappearance and his father's death.
Mostly, he was gifted wood and things to inlay in his creations. His mother gifted him meticulously stone-carved arrowheads, light and sharp enough to slice through cloth without resistance.
Nori’s gift was unexpected.
Kíli had destroyed his and Fíli's childhood fiddles the night after the funeral.
It was an action he regretted instantly and hid the evidence of while his mother was out leading court. She asked about them only once and when he refused to answer, she never asked again.
Kíli was grateful that the fiddle Nori gifted him came with one for Fíli who looked overwhelmed to be given a gift too. He ran his hand over the flower imprints, his expression revealing that the flowers meant more to him than anyone else in the room.
Except for Nori who seemed taken aback that Fíli paid so much attention to the flowers.
“Do you still play?” Kíli asked his brother.
Fíli nodded then placed the Rosewood fiddle to his chin and played a few notes of what Kíli was pretty sure was a pub song.
“You’ll have to play for us after supper,” Dís said.
Kíli nodded, watching his brother as he gently put the instrument back into its box.
Nori was waving off Gloin’s praises of his craftsmanship.
With Gloin, Gloin’s wife, little Gimili, and Oin in addition to the Ri brothers to the Durin apartments, they filled up the living room. Little Gimili would likely have to sit on his father’s lap to fit them all.
Kíli began to rise only for Fíli to catch his wrist with a gentle hand, “I got you something too.”
He shook his head, “You didn’t have to–”
Fíli shoved a long cloth wrapped package at him, “This is mine to give.”
Sitting back down Kíli set to unwrapping it.
Fíli hadn’t brought much with him from Rohan. While the cloth bundle had obviously been swords, Fíli had never taken them out. Originally, it had been a sign of trust and respect, a cloth-wrapped sword could not be easily drawn.
Still, it had been driving them all a bit crazy that they had yet to examine Fíli’s weapon of choice.
Kíli gasped at the handle and sheath revealed. The sword pummel was wrapped in deep blue shearling. The steal was designed with diamond Durin knots. But the guard was simple.
Elegant.
The sheath was also blue shearling studded with steal diamonds. The tip of the sheath was of a heavier iron alloy, the pattern smooth, almost as if you could use it for digging.
The sheath had a lock switch that anchored it to the sword, as good a weapon on its own without being drawn. The sort you’d use on a rowdy crowd of humans if you were trapped while they nearly trampled you in the market. It would hurt but wouldn’t kill unless you truly bludgeoned someone with it.
But the true beauty of the sword wasn’t felt until the blade was unsheathed.
Kíli knew it was a steal, knew that as beautiful as a silver sword could look, unless it was mithril, silver was too soft for a broadsword.
But the metal gleamed in the lamplight. The design was deceptively simple, but its weight and engineering were clear to anyone with a bit of knowledge about the craft that this was a masterwork.
“I know it’s not particularly dwarvish, but I was limited by the sketches included in a few library books,” Fíli said, fidgeting.
All eyes snapped to him.
No one could say anything.
They had all assumed, especially as he had never spoken about it, that Fíli had been cut off from pursuing a craft. Children of men tended to follow their father's profession and Fíli adoptive father had been a scholar.
“What?” Fíli asked, cheeks flushing.
“You made this?” Kíli asked, equal parts awed and shocked.
Fíli nodded, “Yes, it’s my masterwork when I completed the first half of my apprenticeship. My master encouragingly said the second half wouldn’t be completed in a single mortal lifetime.”
“You shouldn’t give me this,” Kíli stated.
“It’s mine to give. I’ll make others in my life. But you are my brother and I want to give you something that has meaning to me. I know you thought I was dead, but I thought you were gone too.”
“But you haven’t even reached your majority yet!” Frerin exclaimed.
“Neither have I and I completed the first level of my apprenticeship,” Kíli pointed out, suddenly smug about his little brother's accomplishment.
“Yes, but I trained you,” Frerin said.
Not some human , went unsaid.
Amad slapped the back of Uncle Frerin’s thick skull at the first slip in Fíli’s expression
“May I see?” Thorin asked.
Sheathing the sword, Kíli passed it over.
Thorin held it with reverence. Because swords were his primary weapon as well, he was able to draw them in the confined space. The sword was beautiful and as strong as it looked, it was also a fairly light weight.
Kíli looked at Amad who had a strange mix of emotions on her face, joy, pride, and love and beneath all that a thread of fear.
He glanced at Fíli who was looking at Amad too with a confused frown.
Kíli caught his hand, “Thank you, brother.”
Fíli turned to him with a smile, “We're never going to be parted like that again. I swear it.”
Kíli pulled him into a hug, realising to things as he saw Thorin examining the blade with continued awe. One, that Fíli’s gift was a symbol of his skill and something to keep Kíli. Two, despite being his heir, Kíli did not travel with Thorin because his skills better matched Frerin’s, however, Fíli as a smith would have to be trained by Thorin in their line's craft.
Amad’s fear made sense now as Uncle Thorin always walked a more challenging road.
Come spring, there would be more reasons for Kíli and Fíli to follow Thorin East than to the Gulf of Lune with Frerin.
Amad doubtless hated that fact.
oOo
Fíli never reached out to him, the Rangers told him that his family was overjoyed to have him home.
So Bilbo held on to that, his son would be better off without a silly old hobbit weighing him down, better off without away from highborn politics the elves had welcomed them into, and happier with his birther.
Bilbo would never begrudge his son from happiness.
oOo
Fíli was helping his mother sort papers from human traders, commission work that wouldn’t be ready before the end of winter, when his brother rose from his seat.
Glancing at the clock on the mantel, he saw it was the same time he left every day. Dwalin was already at the door.
Unable to help himself today, he asked, “Where are you going?”
Kíli looked backa and flashed him a grin, “To train, we figured we wouldn’t through you to the wolves–”
“Can I come?” Fíli cut him off, glancing to Amad to make certain she wasn’t upset.
Quite the contrary, his mother looked pleased.
“The training arena is public,” Kíli said.
Fíli raised a brow, “Afraid your little brother is going to beat you?”
Amad let out a bark of a laugh.
Kíli glared, but there was light in his eyes. “Do you even have a primary weapon?”
“Swords.”
His mother clapped him on the shoulder, “We’ll all go then. I grab my axe.”
Fíli felt giddy.
He didn’t know how he would compare to his relatives, but he knew he was good with blades.
He was, after all, a dwarvish smith.
oOo
Dwalin exchanged a look with his brother as the two young princes exchanged good natured barbs as they went through their warm up, Fíli following Kíli’s lead.
I told you we should have done this sooner, went unsaid but Balin inclined his head.
Kíli looked positively ecstatic to have his brother back in the training rink with him while Fíli finally looked like the dwarfling he was meant to be at his age.
Dís, Thorin, and Frerin watched them avidly as stretched.
Oddly for a dwarfling so prone to shyness, Fíli didn't seem bothered by all the eyes that watched him. Which was good, considering they were gathering quite a crowd.
If it had been Ori in the sand, then he probably would have been hiding in a corner.
“I bet he's talented,” Balin said softly.
“Of course he is, Lady Dís taught him.”
Balin shook his head, “The Rangers might be few in number, but they are considered by many to be among Men's best.”
Dwalin scoffed, “You think they are our equals?”
“I know Men have made an art of destruction. Besides which, Fíli is a dwarf who has likely always fought opponents bigger than himself,” Balin argued.
“We’ll see,” Dwalin said.
Despite axes being his preference, Dwalin was second in swords only to Thorin.
And Thorin wanted to observe so it was Dwalin who had the honour to fight against the youngest prince first.
Most youths charged ahead.
Fíli was not most dwarflings.
Flashing Balin an amused smirk, Dwalin charged.
He was not expecting the dwarlings speed nor his grace.
Grace was not something they trained for, it was more a result of perfection but it was rarely a goal, rarely a product of the strength almost all dwarves shared.
Dwalin’s blade barely caught Fíli’s blade as he deflected. The angles at which he held his sword were a tad wrong, Balin being right about his experience against taller opponents. But his technique worked well against someone stronger than him –as Dwalin was.
What impressed him the most, however, was the boy’s footwork. Every step was light, purposeful, and planted. It was a difficult mix, and Fíli made it look like dancing.
Dwalin pressed further but found himself at a disadvantage, because Fíli’s speed took away his ability to bear down with his full strength.
Backing up for the first time, Fíli seamlessly shifted into the offensive.
The flat of the blade smacking Dwalin’s hand caused him to drop his weapon.
Dwalin stared in open mouthed shock, he hadn’t had anyone manage to slap his knuckles in decades.
oOo
Thorin could only stare.
He knew that Dwalin wasn’t hurt and that the only reason he had dropped his blade was surprise not because he had been officially disarmed.
Fíli, who had returned to them quiet, hesitant, and down right timid, smirked, “I’m not unpracticed or untried.”
Dwalin shook his head, picking up his blunted sword, “It’s not the same thing as a real fight.”
Fíli scoffed, “I’ve travelled the Misties a time or two. I've killed goblins and orcs before.”
oOo
Dís felt ice through his veins and he reached out for his sister's hand. Her grip was crushing.
“He's fine,” Thorin whispered.
She nodded her head.
“I'm guessing you weren't playing keep away from them, were you?” Dwalin asked.
“Sort of, my friends were always so tall that I often drew attention to myself as the others lobbed off heads. My dah was always clear on being a child and that I was never to be in front or holding an attack from behind.”
Dwalin huffed, “Good. Still, you should be trained on being at the front.”
Dís made a soft sound of relief and whispered in Khuzdul, “I need to find his human father and induct him into the family.”
He smiled. They owed this mysterious man quite a lot even if he hadn’t brought Fíli home sooner.
Dwalin waved Kíli in to take his place. He watched them closely to make sure they didn’t hurt each other. But the two were gentle with each other even as they got increasingly more competitive.
“It looks like they're dancing,” Thorin remarked.
“I can't believe the Roherrim taught him to fight like that,” Balin answered.
“Isn't he friends with those Rangers?” Frerin asked. “Elves fight in a similar way to what Fíli is doing now and the Rangers are as close to elves as any non-elvish group could be.”
“I don't like the necessity of his fighting any more than I like it for Kíli, but at least he's skilled and as far as I can tell, unharmed.”
Frerin threw an arm around her shoulders, “It will be easier to keep them safe.”
She smiled briefly before looking to Thorin. “You meant when you said they would stay with me when you both leave in the spring. No matter how much Kíli pleads with you both.”
Kíli had been begging to go with Thorin and not Frerin for years but as a carpenter, Kíli was more of an asset to Frerin.
Frerin who travelled away from orc bands hiding along the roads.
Thorin pressed his forehead to hers, “I swear it. They are your sons before they are my heirs.”
She let out a long breath. As much authority as she could wield against her brothers, Thorin was the oldest and he was their king. His word, at the end of the day, was law, and more than that he had earned her fealty.
She might be running the political side of things for the majority of the year but it was Thorin who led by example. Thorin who humbled himself, enduring scorn and humiliation both to better provide for their people and show them that he would never ask of them what he would not do himself.
Keeping her sons with her in Ered Luin might not have been the best thing for their people, but she was grateful for the sanity that Thorin was gifting her with.
oOo
Gandalf was devastated that in the thirty-odd years he had been away, Belladonna Took, Bungo Baggins, Drogo Baggins, and Primula Brandybuck had all been lost.
Little Frodo Baggins had fallen asleep in his arms as Bilbo prepared after supper tea for himself.
“You are much changed, my friend.”
Bilbo snorted softly as he refilled Gandolf’s glass of wine. “I wasn't an adult the last time we met.”
Gandalf hummed in answer, knowing that the changes in Bilbo were far more dramatic than the mere passage of childhood. There was a grief to Bilbo that came from too many burdens and too many sorrows. One could only hope that Frodo would bring some joy into his life.
“Did you ask the elves for help after the Fell Winter?”
“The elves have been around more often, they are assisting the Rangers. But I fear it won't be enough in the times to come, there's rumours in Bree…”
“What rumours?” Gandalf asked.
Bilbo shook his head, “I'm sure you will learn more than I could, but there's trouble encroaching on the Roherrim border.”
“How do you mean?”
“Trade is being affected, or so the Rangers say.”
Gandalf sighed, “I suppose I'll be gone for quite some time again.
Bilbo sat down beside him. You'll be well missed.” He paused, “Or at least, your fireworks will be.
Gandalf chuckled, glad to see that Bilbo had not lost his spark.
“What kept you away this time?” the Shireling asked him.
“Gondor, Mirkwood, and the Iron Hills. This isolationism of this age will be the doom of us all.”
“I don't doubt it,” Bilbo agreed with a heavy sigh.
“I see you've brought your herb garden inside,” Gandalf remarked, gesturing to the pots sitting on the windowsills that had been spared the winter.
“Hmm? Oh yes, I think, despite my responsibilities to Frodo, I'd like a bit of a challenge. Something to research and work toward. Lord Elrond has already sent me some reading material.
Herbs have a certain sort of magic, Gandalf mused.”
And though Gandalf had meant to stay longer in the Shire, he found himself setting off the next morning, first to Bree and then Rohan.
He was not pleased by the darkness he encountered growing in the hearts of men far earlier than any had predicted.
oOo
Dís watched her sons, her heart full to bursting at seeing them together again.
Fíli had been so very young when he was taken from them, and yes, he had been calmer, or more grounded, than his older brother. But they had both been boisterous and mischievous dwarflings. It was strange to have both her boys so quiet. But outside the training rink, it seemed they had a hard time talking to each other.
But if they were going to be quiet, so be it.
Dís knelt in one of her cabinets to pull out an old puzzle game.
It was the dwarvish version of chess that was designed specifically to annoy elves in times when the two races had active trade relations.
“If you two are so determined to spend time without speech, you might as well take the opportunity to learn something diplomatic.”
Fíli quirked a brow at her, “Because that's what dwarrow are known for?”
She tutted at him. “Neither of you are common blacksmiths, and while Thorin detests the lot of them, it is best to understand the twisty-turner logic that elves use while looking down on the rest of us.”
Fíli glared at the board and looked so much like Thorin in that moment she had to swallow a laugh.
Kíli wasn't so successful.
“What?” Fíli snapped.
“You and Uncle are really going to get on well,” Kíli answered diplomatically.
Fíli cocked his head to the side, his blonde braids shifting over his ears. “Is Thorin going somewhere?”
Dís cleared her throat. “Towards the end spring he leaves. He stays home in the winter when tensions are high and everyone's cooped in.”
“When everyone's hungry,” Kíli added softly.
Fíli immediately looked shamed. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean–”
Dís shushed him and leaned against the back of his chair so she could give him a half hug and a kiss on the head. This winter has been less dark because of you.”
“But I'm just another mouth to feed and you make it sound like he would have left earlier if not for me.”
She tsked tugging lightly at one of his braids, “You are a gift. And you will not despair for your own needs when Thorin and I would do just about anything to keep you boys safe and happy. Thorin has not rested since the fall of Erebor. A season's delay is nothing compared to rest he ought to have taken a century ago.”
Fíli muttered another apology.
She pulled over a chair to sit beside him and gave him another kiss on the cheek as Kíli set up the game board.
She thought she would have to help her youngest through the gameplay, but once he understood the rules, her youngest son proved just as ruthless and savvy as her eldest.
Even when they were but dwarflings, Dís knew her sons, much like Frenin, were troublemakers who could no more sit still than have the patience to sit through anything.
But whereas Kíli had taken to his duties as Thorin had to his, Fíli still seemed to despise reading and writing. However, he did sit through his lessons on their language without complaint.
But a game? A game was different. He turned out to be competitive and cunning as he thwarted all of Kíli plans as the sound of stone pieces clicked together.
The idea of the game was to get the pieces to settle at the bottom of the board. Whichever colour dominated, in this case, white quartz, Kíli, or pink quartz, Fíli, dominated the settled board won.
The two began to curse at each other and Dís rose to make dinner with a smile on her face as her boys grew progressively louder.
Dwalin and Balin were drawn from their rooms by the sound though both smiled at what they saw the cause.
Previously, only Balin had lived with them, his title and legacy enough to keep anyone who looked at her son wrong the sense to run away.
But she had two sons again and as good as Balin was, he was getting older and he couldn't be in two places at once.
Dwalin, thankfully, didn't seem to mind being Royal Protector again.
Both seemed as pleased as she was by this visible change.
There was absolutely nothing aggressive behind the glares and barbs they threw at one another, in fact, Kíli was taking it as an opportunity to teach his brother about dwarvish swears.
No, even arguing and trying to best one another, neither seemed able to set aside how important the other was to them.
But the animation, the boastiness was something none of them had seen from Kíli since Fíli was taken and not something they'd seen from Fíli since his return.
Dwalin let out a soundless scoff when he saw the source of the commotion and Balin laughed outright.
“I told you it wasn't a boring game.”
Dwalin gave his brother a dry look, “Just because they made it competitive doesn't change the nature of that elvish monstrosity.”
“It was designed to infuriate elves,” Balin said, smiling at the old disagreement.
“It's infuriating alright,” Dwalin muttered, not all giving away in the sulky set to his shoulders that he had never won a game against Balin.
An assumption Balin's smug expression confirmed.
Dís did not pretend to hide her own smile.
“Ha!” Kíli crowed.
“Not fair you know where all the sections are.”
“Nope,” Kíli grinned. “It's never the same and even when it is that doesn't help you because you won't know till the end if that is true or not. You're thinking too much like an elf.”
The glare that Fíli sent him was one of Thorin's which just made Kíli laugh again.
“I won't lose a second time,” Fíli muttered as he looked at the board unsure of how to reset the box.
The played two more rounds, by which point, Fíli couldn’t be described as angry, but committed.
Before they could reset the board for the third time, Dís scooped the game off the table. After dinner go wash up.
Kíli pulled his still put-out brother out of his chair. The two jostled each other as they went to the washroom.
Dís couldn't have wiped the smile of her face if she had wanted to.
Balin placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled, “They'll come back to you, Dís. They're brothers, and no amount of years or distance could change that.”
She blinked back tears as she turned back to setting the table. Dís just wanted her family to be happy, no matter how small that slice of happiness was, she wanted it to remain whole and no more shattered than it already was.
oOo
Fíli was excited to leave the mountain, not least of which was because he had again this morning made Balin and Amad jump out of their skin because he was walking too lightly. It had been sort of funny at first, but now it was just another thing that made him different from his family.
So it was with some relief they departed the mountains, even if just for a day.
It was one thing to be reunited with his family. It was quite another to be a prince of a race he had been separated from.
Kíli bumped his shoulder, “You look too excited for someone carrying nearly twice your weight in horseshoes.”
Fíli stuck his tongue out at him, “I like horses.”
Thorin, who had been marching ahead in the purposeful way of his, slowed to join them, “I would never be able to tell you spent years among the Roherrim.”
“At least you won’t have to work with a human blacksmith this time,” Fíli said.
“He’s right, Uncle,” Kíli said. “Not splitting the costs with Scarson this year is a huge victory.”
Thorin gifted them with a small smile, “Of which I am grateful.”
“Now you can bargain with the peasants with me,” Kíli said.
Thorin instantly scowled.
Kíli laughed before explaining to Fíli, “I’m jesting. I bargain, Thorin menaces from the background so nothing escalates.”
“Dwarven blacksmiths are rare enough that we should overcharge them,” Fíli said, knowing that they would have to undercharge because most men would sooner plough with a stick than openly admit the superiority of another race’s craft.
Thorin and Kíli’s eyebrows shot up.
“What?” Fíli asked, suddenly self-conscious.
“You sound bitter for someone raised by humans,” Kíli said.
Fíli rolled his eyes, even as his heart twisted at the secrets he continued to keep from them. Looking down the road, he was able to see that the village was still a ways ahead.
“I’ve met truly goodhearted men and women, but in general, I preferred the horses.”
That got a wide grin from Thorin and another laugh from his brother, which may have been his favourite sound on the planet.
Kíli often looked too stressed, too serious, and Fíli knew that it was his own absence in his brother’s life that was the cause.
“I prefer ponies myself,” Kíli said.
Fíli wrinkled his nose at that, “The horses who are a few hands short, sure, but actual ponies can be some of the most onerous creatures on the planet.”
“Well, we’ll leave the equines to you, Thorin can fix people’s boring axes, and I’ll sell the trinkets,” Kíli said. “Thus are the adventures of Market Day.”
“Why didn’t we set out early with everyone else?” Fíli asking. He hadn’t wanted to question why they had woken so early and helped everyone else out of the mountain but then gone back to their apartments for a hardy breakfast.
“The villagers know who Thorin is,” Kíli explained. “Even if they don’t show any respect, or worse, they sneer at us for royalty acting as merchants, our stall is always busy. While it’s important for the royal family to hold some measure of wealth, especially as we don’t take involuntary taxes, it doesn’t help us to take business away from our people. By the time we get there, a number of commissions will already be arranged and as the mornings are the busiest, many smaller purchases will already have been made.”
“But if it’s Market Day, why wouldn’t they plan for Thorin to be there later?” Fíli asked.
“I’m not normally in the Blue Mountains this time of year,” Thorin said. “Typically, I travel to one of the bigger settlements as soon as the frost stops.”
“Oh,” Fíli said, wishing his cheeks didn’t show his feelings so easily.
Kíli leaned into him, “We’re all happy Thorin is home. This is the longest we’ve been together for years. Amad is happy to take a break from being the regent for a time.”
“She deserves the break,” Thorin said.
For a time there was only the sound of their footsteps on the rocky ground.
Fíli broke the quiet by asking, “What do you mean by not taking involuntary taxes?”
“Income isn’t consistent enough,” Kíli explained. “The purpose of taxes is to ensure we are able to put safeguards in place for families who can’t provide for themselves or fall under misfortune. It also goes into advance payments for travel. As well as paying for those who are a part of the guard or training seasons for our military.”
“At this point,” Thorin said. “It is less taxes than donations. After leaving Erebor we had nothing but our crafts and our will to go on.”
There was a dark-far-away look in his eyes that killed Fíli. He felt spoiled for having grown up with hobbits and elves who lived without concern if they would have the resources they needed for their next meal.
“Our wealth isn’t growing, is it?” Fíli asked, wanting to understand the weight his family carried.
Thorin sighed, “No, it isn’t.”
“Why is it important that the royal family hold wealth?” Fíli asked, hoping it wouldn't sound like a stupid question.
But his brother treated it seriously. “A lot of reasons. Foremost, because when all else fails, we are responsible for everyone else’s wellbeing. Wealth is a safety net for that. The other reasons might sound less pretty, but it matters to our people politically. Wealth is a sign of strength. A successful king is a wealthy king.”
Fíli disliked that but he understood it in a way he doubted his father would have. Or maybe Bilbo would have understood just fine; fat hobbits, after all, were prosperous hobbits.
“This is less true of our cousins in the Iron Hills and our brethren who have lived in Ered Luin for hundreds of years. It matters a lot for those who descended from Erebor and Moria. It’s in our nature to respect that which we craft from the earth as our maker intended.”
“I haven’t seen anyone show you any disrespect,” Fíli said.
Kíli made a harsh sound, “That’s because we earned our place here. We might be far from our true homes, but we aren’t as scattered as humans. If we share anything in common with the elves it is that you respect your king. It’s an earned position, but it is a matter of honour of race to respect the order that keeps us from turning on one another.”
As had happened to them once before.
“Does my return hurt your positions?” Fíli asked, because he needed to know.
“ No!” Thorin and Kíli said together.
“No,” Thorin said, glaring at Fíli as if daring him to challenge him. “When our people see you, they see hope, a second chance to regain, one day, all that we have lost.”
“We just have to overcome the wee scaly problem or infestation of goblins,” Kíli said.
Dwarves had dark humour. It sometimes, like now, caught Fíli off guard.
Thorin caught his gaze, “There are those who would use our history against us. It is important to desensitise yourself to it.”
Fíli’s jaw ticked, he couldn’t imagine the elves doing that to one another. He supposed it was one of the reasons elves kept their stories to themselves lest it be used against them.
Seeing his expression, Thorin added, “It does not hurt to be reminded, Fíli, for I never forget those who we have lost. Anyone who would use that to hurt us, does not understand the depths of our loss. I would not wish upon them our fate so that they might understand.”
“But Dale burned too,” Fíli muttered.
“I’d be shocked if any of the survivors or their relatives lived this far west. Besides, human memory is short,” Kíli said. “They’ll go to war over very little because they don’t remember their own histories as they should.”
Fíli let out a breath, “I resent them, but I cannot say I envy them. To live without knowing the worth of the bonds that make you.”
Hobbits were overly fond of their family trees and elves would talk forever of memory, humans, as a species, were more self-centred in their cultures.
Dwalin and Balin joined them then, walking up from the village they neared.
“Why so glum?” Balin asked.
“You should be proud of us,” Kíli said. “We were talking about politics.”
“Well, as much as I know Thorin would rather be sucking on lemons,” Dwalin said. “There’s work to do. There’s a few sailors who ventured inland, a delegation from the south, and a group of Rangers from the north.”
“Why?” Thorin asked suspiciously.
“It’s a halfway point between all parties,” Balin explained. “Something is happening in the south that is spilling toward Gondor. Rumour has it that access to the mouth of the Angren river is no longer passable. Ships have remained under the gaze of Gondor or are trying to set up trade agreements in the north.”
Fíli didn’t like the sound of that, “What are the Roharrim doing?”
Balin shrugged, “The only thing I’ve heard is that they are shrinking their patrolines.”
Fíli sighed, that was unfortunate and short sighted.
Why did everyone in Middle Earth, no matter their race, believe isolationism would save them?
It was the equivalent of pulling a quilt over your head in a thunderstorm and pretending the rain wasn’t falling and widening the hole in your roof.
Dwalin grunted, “Never mind that, there’s more work to be done than there are hands to finish it. The traders from the seas bring coin with them, this year is turning out to be quite prosperous.”
Balin made an appreciative sound, “And we didn’t even have to venture all the way down our own foothills. My old bones are grateful.”
“Aren’t you younger than Thorin?” Fíli asked, knowing he was being a bit rude.
But Balin’s beard was snow white while Thorin had only a few silver strands.
Balin waved away the remark, “Aye, but you're sons of Durin, your line has a few centuries on the rest of us.”
“What?” Fíli asked, nearly tripping over his own feet.
“That’s a conversation for another day,” Thorin said. “Dwalin’s right, there’s work to be done.”
They trooped down together to a forge area that Dwalin and Balin had secured for them. The dwarves who had been working since before the crack of dawn, bowed to them with their packed away goods and heavy purses. They followed the road back up the mountainside. The trio looked as aged as Balin and would likely sleep soundly after a meal till the next day.
If the dwarves of the Blue Mountains were doing better, dwarrow of their age would likely have been retired, only doing the craft for the love of it, not the necessity for coin.
They certainly wouldn’t have tracked down to a village as small as this.
Fíli had never been much of a reader or writer, but he vowed to himself that he would do whatever it took to help his family and people rise up from this.
Maybe the current generations wouldn’t see it, but perhaps their children might.
oOo
Thorin watched his nephews closely, most of the dwarves did.
He did not like that both dwarflings were so serious about the world.
They were both incredibly talented but they shouldn't have had to work for coin at this point in their lives.
Though he supposed that Kíli would be more diplomatic than Thorin had ever been raised to be despite the lack of palaces and crowds.
Fíli was even more wary of humans than any dwarf Thorin knew and that was saying something. It made him worry about what the dwarfling had endured in his life.
But his adoptive father, whom Fíli refused to talk about, had obviously loved him well.
Had he known abuse in his home, he wouldn't be so adaptive to being back home.
And he was adaptive.
Fíli took on the weight of royalty with frightful ease.
Thorin pulled himself out of his musing as his Fíli joined him at the anvil. Thorin handed him his own hammer so his sister's son could make adjustments to the shoe before returning it and to the horse.
Thorin was used to lines at his stall but the line of men and some girls with their horses and ponies was remarkable, bending around a corner street in fact.
Fíli didn't have to say hardly anything as he treated the horses, shaving down overgrown bits and getting the shoes on as swiftly as he had ever seen.
The horses seemed to love him, and were completely at peace to let themselves be directed around. Many rested their noses on his back, snuffling his blonde hair which is not personally where Thorin would have wanted horse teeth but that they all stood there without restraint or aggestation. It was a sight.
It should have looked ridiculous, especially with the tallest horses, a dwarf with equestrians. But Fíli's height seemed to be a distinct advantage, he didn't have to stoop low or overly hunch his back to do his job.
The Roharrim truly were gifted in the way of horses.
oOo
It was nearing dusk when trouble found them.
Kíli had ventured off to the food stalls with Dwalin to get something for the others, when a ruckus started up from the east district of the village.
Two buildings were set to blazing, causing a panic as the fire could too easily spread.
“Fíli!” Kíli turning back to fight the tide of people to get back to his brother.
oOo
Thorin admitted he froze, climbing flames were not among his favourite things on this earth.
Men with pitiful excuses for weapons charged into the market, some wielding pitchforks and tortures, others rusted swords that likely couldn’t chip a post.
He heard curses from the dwarves, who, with far too much practice, were cleaning up their goods with haste. They’d have to abandon their tarps that had been treated against rain, but that was not so great a loss.
Least of all because the materials that made them water-resistant fed the flames like pine-needles or birchbark.
“ Kíli!” Fíli roared, startling Thorin from his observations.
Using the stall as a leg up, Fíli mounted the dune mare he had just finished shoeing with absurd grace.
Balin and Thorin watched in open mouth astonishment as their youngest prince, who hadn’t even reached his majority, took off bareback on a horse twice his height. Fíli was able to get in front of the attackers, blade drawn.
Thorin would have imagined the torch wielders would have scared the horse. But the horse was as graceful as Fíli had been, side stepping the men he felled, their touches extished against the muddy ground.
The Rangers, who had been waiting at the end of Fíli’s line, had joined and the rabble rouses were felled in a matter of minutes. The Rangers split off to find any stragglers and help take buckets to and fro.
Thorin and Dwalin jogged to his nephews and Balin.
Fíli was back on solid ground, the mare behind him like a dog waiting for treats, checking his brother over.
Kíli shook his head, “Calm down, Fíli, I wasn't in any danger, I was trying to get back to you.”
“Aye laddie, we’re alright,” Dwalin assured with a gentle smile.
“I didn’t come home just watch you die again!” Fíli snapped at his older brother.
That brought them all up short. Kíli pulled the younger dwarf into a hug, “I’m sorry, Fíli.”
Fíli hugged him back, jaw tight with what appeared to be an effort not to cry.
They were too young for this.
Thorin exchanged a worried look with Dwalin and Balin, before stepping forward to rest a hand on Fíli’s shoulder. “You’re excellent warrior, my sister’s son. Your father would have been so proud of you.”
“Aye, the Rohirrem taught you well,” Balin said. “I never thought I would see a dwarf capable of riding such a large mare.”
Said mare snuffled first Fíli’s then Kíli’s hair.
Fíli pulled back shaking his head, “I’ve seen toddlers ride draft horses. As long as they can hold your weight, anyone can ride.”
“You vaulted and rode bareback while using a weapon,” Balin said. “Not everyone can do that and almost no one among our kind.”
“It’s very elvish of you,” Kíli teased, though the rib was more directed at Thorin who couldn’t stop his scowl.
Fíli tensed at the perceived insult.
But one of the Rangers came and swung a familiar arm over Fíli’s shoulders ignoring the sudden tenseness that filled the other dwarves around him. “What has you so prickly, my friend?”
“Nothing,” the youngest prince said but leaned into the touch.
“I see your skills have not diminished,” the young Ranger greeted, pulling back his hood, to reveal his bright blue eyes.
Fíli sighed, “It’s not been a year yet, Estel.”
Estel smiled, “Guess it will take longer for them to teach you how to take a compliment. You’re too humble by half to be a prince.”
Fíli scoffed, “You’re one to talk.”
Estel looked to Thorin, “My sincere condolences to your–”
Fíli kicked the Ranger in the shin.
Thorin winced at the expression the boy wore as he hopped on one foot, lips pressed to keep from crying out.
Still glaring but with a light of mischief in his eyes, he opened his mouth to speek, only before he could a syllable out, Fíli introduced them.
“Kíli, Thorin, this is my idiot friend Estel, son of Elrond. Estel, this is my brother Prince Kíli and my uncle, King Thorin Oakenshield.”
Dwalin and Balin had sunk back into the crowd and easily could have taken Estel from behind if, as Fíli had been wise enough not to do, draw attention to them.
Estel bowed to them, elegant as an elf as he greeted, “It's a pleasure to meet you both.” He glared at Fíli, “Ward, not son.”
“Sure,” Fíli agreed with the tone of someone who disagreed wholeheartedly.
Thorin was pretty certain that Elrond was one of the great elf lords, but Estel, for all his baring when not hopping on one foot, was human. If an elf lord had stooped to raising one of the mortal races, Thorin wasn't going to pick at the act of decency.
“Why was the village attacked?” Fíli asked. “They had to know there would be dwarves here today.”
Estel gave Thorin an apologetic look, “There has been rumours about the might of Ered Luin being dimensioned.”
Thorin sighed.
Balin, who seemed to deem Estel not a threat, stepped forward to answer. “They have now learned differently.”
Estel bowed, “I meant no offence, Master Dwarf, I meant only to share rumours that–” he gestured to the corpses of men who had attacked the market. “--That has spurred the foolish into action.”
Thorin spoke, “None of our people travel alone these days, we know the risks. The better question is why didn't the Rangers of the North protect this village from wandering marauders?”
“We are diminished,” Estel answered honestly. “Our numbers are barely enough to shelter the Kindly West, much less the numerous settlements from Hobbiton to the sea.”
Thorin narrowed his gaze, “What business do Rangers have with halflings?”
He already knew of course, but because he owed Glorfindel a blood debt, he wanted as much information as he could get before he set out east.
“Some places are meant to be protected so that those who cherish peace can live uninterrupted. It is our honour to protect them,” Estel answered, a light in his gaze telling Thorin he knew why the question had been asked and that perhaps the Rangers’ presence here was no mistake.
“Not a profitable one though, I'd wager,” Balin said, following Thorin's example in feigning ignorance.
“Then you would lose that wager, Master Dwarf. Or do you believe it is human hands that grew such fruits and vegetables from the stone crushed soil you stand on now?”
Thorin shrugged, “That's a long road to take for produce.”
“Aye,” Estel agreed. “But it's the first to sell out in the morning.”
One of the other Rangers called out to him. And Estel grimaced, “I must go. It was a pleasure to meet you all. Fíli is cherished by many and I am thankful he has found a home to return to.”
Thorin inclined his head but it was Kíli who answered, “Thank you for bringing him back to us.”
Estel bowed and turned to leave but paused to look back at Fíli, “You should write to your father.”
“Keep your nose out of it, Estel. You have your own problems to be getting on with.”
Estel sighed but with a final bow, he left taking the mare with him.
“Let's get home,” Balin said.
They went back to their stall to grab their tarp and what little remained of their stock and did not speak until they were far enough from the village not to be overheard.
Kíli asked first, “Your father?”
Fíli didn't look at him, his jaw set. “My father is a good person but it was not his choice to send me back to the Blue Mountains.”
Thorin's heart twisted and he swallowed back his rage, “He kept you from us.”
“I'm not sure about his reasons and I don't care to learn them,” Fíli said bruskly. Then he admitted, more softly, “Estel thinks it wasn't done maliciously.”
“If they had sent a Ranger with your name we would have gone to Mordor to retrieve you if needs be,” Thorin said.
Fíli sighed, “It was a dwarf who took me, my father was afraid to send my name if I had been targeted for some reason. But that doesn't excuse him not trying. Nor does it excuse my so called friends who knew that Kíli was a dwarven prince.”
“You had my name?” Kíli asked.
Fíli nodded, “I may have forgotten our language, but I never forgot you were my brother. Nothing would have kept us apart if I thought you had survived.”
Thorin nodded, his emotions tangled, anger and sorrow for the years lost, but still, the gratitude remained to whoever had rescued his nephew when they could not.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, chupacabras, feedback on the story? Pretty please?
Chapter 9: The Meeting
Chapter Text
AN: Last chapter was nearly 8k so forgive me for the short chapter. But as you will see, there are about ten years before the start of the quest, now is the time to tell me what you want to see between Bilbo and Thorin, please?
Chapter 9 - The Meeting
Thorin hated to go, but he had little choice if he wanted to ensure amends were made with the Shire.
He hugged his siblings, he squeezed Kíli tight, and tried not to crush Fíli as he held him close. Saying goodbye had never been so hard.
Frerin would be leaving in the following week.
Giving a final wave, Thorin found he had no words for the impending separation he felt.
The pony the Rangers gave him was fleet footed, and Thorin found himself grateful for the distraction of keeping his mount steady as the set out east.
There wasn’t much talking between himself and the single Ranger that remained to escort him to the Shire.
In fact, it wasn’t until the following morning did he feel like speaking.
“How long have you known Fíli?” Thorin asked.
Estel directed his mount so they rode side by side, Thorin didn’t appreciate the hight difference.
“Twenty years or so.”
“You must have been young,” Thorin remarked.
“I’ll be around longer than most,” Estel said.
Thorin sighed, “So what is it you’re hoping I can do for your halflings?”
“Hobbits, halfling is considered to be an offensive term. They are half of nothing.”
“What can one dwarf do for the hobbits’ Shire?” Thorin asked again.
“Given the season, and the mild winter, not much is expected of you. But their spring fair is upcoming, where many merchants come to the Shire to sell their wares. We need help watching the men and to ensure nothing happens where money is involved.”
“And I’m welcome to sell my wares?” Thorin queried.
“Of course, it would be strange if you didn’t. There’s also a small forge that has gone unused for some years that I have been ensured you’ve been welcomed to use.”
Thorin nodded, “And the Rangers could not do this because?”
“Three of our women have newborns, we are short handed and elves don’t like to stand still so long. Your presence will be seen as an oddity.”
“I’ll be targeted, you mean.”
“Yes, but unlike the hobbits, you can defend yourself.”
“Why wouldn’t any thieves go for the easy targets?”
“You’ll find most hobbits are prone to trade goods over paying with coin, and those who collect coin tend to spend it. The Shire may be a wealthy place but it’s not the kind of wealth that is easily stollen. Their fauntlings are more likely to be culprits of pickpocking and it’s not considered to be an overt issue. A man robbing them would have to choose their target carefully if they wanted more than pocket change.”
Thorin sighed, “But I will expect to be paid in coin.”
“For dwarven wares,” Estel answered. “You would be correct to assume it. A custom pan or new farming tools, that would be well worth any of their savings.”
Thorin grunted in response, wondering if he shouldn’t have tried hocking his goods there years ago. Of course, he may not have gotten as warm a welcome without the endorsement of the Rangers.
oOo
Bilbo scooped Pippin up and then Merry in his other arm as Frodo and Sam giggled madly on the carpet.
Cursing to himself, Bilbo said, “Why did I agree to watch the lot of you?”
“Uncle Bilbo, Pippin’s mother was in labour with twins,” Frodo reminded.
Bilbo sighed looking at the ash spilling out from the fire. “Alright, time for a bath.”
The four fauntlings cheered.
Bilbo sighed again, knowing after he was finished cleaning up the living room, he would be cleaning the washroom.
Still, seeing Frodo’s beaming face as Merry and Pippin chittered about bubbles, and Sam vibrated with excitement, Bilbo couldn’t bring himself to be upset.
He didn’t let go of the two in his arms as he went to the washroom.
Bag End’s washroom was considered to be the finest in the Shire. In other words, the tub was considered to be pool-sized and easily fit the four fauntlings.
Watching the little ones splash around in the filling tub and growing mountain of bubbles, Bilbo’s heart gave a little twinge. He couldn’t help thinking of all the children and grandchildren his father had been hoping for when he built Bag End.
Frodo laughed suddenly, bright and loud, as Pippin snorted in a bubble and hacked as if he had laughed while drinking milk.
Bag End would be too quiet when the other fauntlings returned to their families at the end of the week. Perhaps, he could ask Sam’s parents if the young gardner could stay a few extra nights.
Bilbo wished more than anything that he could give Frodo more family.
oOo
Thorin followed the Ranger through the Shire and he couldn’t shake the sense he was walking toward something inevitable.
His every step clicked with the extra supplies he brought, each and every foot falling feeling like a step he could not take back.
“Is this Mr. Baggins truly going to put me up for the season?” Thorin asked.
“I don’t see why not,” Estel answered lightly.
Thorin came to an abrupt stop. “He doesn’t know we are coming.”
Estel gave him a smile, “Hobbits don’t need much encouragement to welcome guests.”
“Oh?” Thorin challenged. “So I could knock on any door here and expect to be invited to dinner.”
Their was a twinkle in the Ranger’s eyes that reminded him uncomfortably of Frerin when he was playing some prank, as if this whole conversation were amusing Estel greatly. “Bilbo is like an uncle to me, and I have invited you. If there is a problem, we can arrange something else.”
Thorin nodded once, but his apprehension was rising.
The house on the hill was rather lovely. While Hobbit holes weren’t deep enough to truly speak to his stone sense, the Shire really wasn’t the place for digging deep. The Shire was soft soil and rich clay. If there was anything worth mining here, it wouldn’t be worth the effort to get to. No stone quarry, and as the leader of his people, not even mithril, would be reason enough for destroying the fields of food.
He agreed with the elves, this place and its caretakers were worth protecting.
oOo
Bilbo was preparing supper for Frodo and Sam as the fauntlings played ‘the floor is lava’ in the living room on the furniture and cushions.
The knock came at the perfect time as he moved the soup to the simmer plate.
The boys didn’t even notice as Bilbo went to answer the knock as the yelled to one another to not die in the lava.
“Uncle Bilbo,” Estel greeted when he opened his front door.
Bilbo immediately went for a hug, the tall boy –who wasn’t as young as he used to be– knelt to engulf Bilbo in an embrace. When they broke apart, Bilbo stilled as he saw a dwarf behind Estel.
He was a beautiful.
Long dark hair and sapphire blue eyes. Bilbo, who had dined with fairie queens and had killed a gobling or two felt his pulse jump to his throat. Though he could not say why, this dwarf sent him immediately on edge while setting some baser part of him at ease.
This dwarf had the mark of fate about him, and Bilbo just knew from the crown the tips of his ears down to his hairy toes, that Middle-Earth would change based off of this person’s choices and actions.
oOo
Estel knocked on the door that was soon answered.
A hobbit with golden-brown hair stood in a spill of warm light. His expression was wary until he spotted Estel.
His smile was transformative and Thorin felt his heart trip over itself.
“Estel! Come in, come in! Frodo will be so happy to see you,” the hobbit said after pulling away from the hug with the Ranger who had knelt to hug him back.
The hobbit looked up and froze when he saw Thorin.
Thorin held his breath, tensing as he readied himself to be dismissed as he always was by outsiders.
“Bilbo, this is Thorin, a dwarf from the Blue Mountains to help keep an eye on the spring market. He’s a smith and will be selling his goods and perhaps fix up the old forge,” Estel explained. “Thorin, Mister Bilbo Baggins, Master of Bag End.”
Thorin found himself oddly grateful the Ranger hadn’t introduced him by title.
Bilbo smiled, “Of course, of course, a pleasure to meet you, Master Thorin. If you don’t mind my nephew’s excitement you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”
“Are all your kind so accommodating to strangers?” Thorin asked as he followed the Ranger into the home.
Rare was it that he walked into a non-dwarven home, feeling tall and welcome.
The lanky Ranger had to stoop as he manvaued through the halls.
Which immediately cheered him.
Bilbo chuckled, “Ah, that quite depends. I trust the Rangers more than most and I’m a Took on my mother’s side.”
Thorin had no idea what a Took was or their importance that would be relevant to inviting him into his home, but it didn’t matter when the smell of pie hit his nose.
A little hobbit was opening an oven.
Bilbo immediately rushed over to take urge the child away.
The little boy turned great big blue eyes up at Thorin and he felt himself completely at this little person’s mercy.
Surely, no race had any right to look so adorable outside of toddlers.
Estel grinned, “Frodo, this is Thorin, he’ll be staying with you and your uncle for the season. Thorin, may I introduce Master Frodo Baggins. As well as his friend, Samwise Gamgee.”
Frodo blinked then took two steps sideways, as if not sure if whether he should hug Thorin or run away from him. The second child, blonde as shy as he was small, held onto Frodo’s shoulders as if he were trying to become one with his shadow.
Estel didn’t give either child a chance to get away as he snatched them up into an embrace. The childen’s laughter was musical as they hugged the Ranger round the neck. Though Samwise had bright pink cheeks once he was set down, seeming quite ambushed by the attention.
Bilbo, having taken care of the pie, bustled toward them. “You three set the table for five, and no, Strider, you’re not getting out of a meal. Thorin, I’ll show you to the guest room and where you can get cleaned after your journey.”
“Wouldn’t dream of escaping, Uncle Bilbo,” Estel said in the tone of a child talking to a beloved auntie.
Bilbo didn’t acknowledge the comment save for a slight smile.
Thorin cleared his throat as he followed Bilbo through the well designed halls, “Thank you for your hospitality. I can repay—“
Bilbo waved a hand, “I’ll not hear of it.” He turned to give Thorin a scathing look. “I’m sure there are things about dwarvish culture I will get completely wrong and I expect you to correct me as I am about to correct you when concerning hobbits. It’s a grave insult to offer payment for hospitality freely offered, especially for someone of my standing. My wealth is seen as a bit unseemly and it would be dishonorable of me to ever accept payment of a guest. Least of all from someone who is offering the Shire protection.”
Thorin inclined his head, “I meant no offense.”
Bilbo gave him a nod, “There’s the privy, the washroom across from it, and the guest room here. Beside your room is mine and the next door down is Frodo’s. At the end of the hall is my store room.”
“Isn’t that a bit far for a pantry?” Thorin asked without thinking.
Bilbo grinned, “I have two pantries and both are located right off from the kitchen. The back room used to be my mother’s library but I use it to dry my herbs and my inventory.”
“Inventory for what?” Thorin asked, curious now.
“Healing ointments, salves, and crushed herbs for cooking. Simple stuff. Neither chemistry nor healing are my areas of study, but I have several clients West of the Misties who insist if I follow their recipes to scale, they would be perfectly safe to use.”
Thorin blinked. In his world, healers were more useful and respectable than any other person. He had seen too much suffering and war to think otherwise. “My cousin is a healer.”
Bilbo flashed him a smile, “Then perhaps we can trade. You're a Smith, no? I’ve been meaning to get new gardening tools. But none of that now. You can drop your belongings in your room and join us when you’re ready. Let me know if the bed isn’t to your liking. I think you’re short enough to fit into a normal sized bed, but this is one of the guest rooms we keep for the big folk.”
Bilbo left, Thorin’s mind spinning over the term your room being used so freely. He also smiled to himself that a ‘normal sized bed’ meant smaller than the average dwarven bed and an abnormally sized bed was for men and elves.
He should have realised that he would be able to escape short jokes by visiting the lands of the halflings.
He hesitated after putting his bags down. He hadn’t been expecting this level of welcome and given the children…
Thorin sighed.
He took off his leathers, mail, and plate. And after visiting the lavatory and washing his face and hands, he changed into a soft cotton tunic and his lighter travelling pants. He debated with himself, but when he remembered Estel kicking his boots off at the door after setting the lad down, Thorin decided to take his own boots and socks off. He lingered in the guest room as he let his feet air out a bit.
No reason to stink out supper when he was trying to be mindful of hobbit customs.
The hobbit hole had a strange song to it.
He was certain his people would grumble about not going deep enough and about the poor protection from wargs the home offered much less against goblins, orcs, or human marauders, but the song of this home held a gentle beauty.
Thorin had become accustomed that when he left Ered Luin, he would never get a truly peaceful night’s rest being so exposed and above ground. But he was beneath the earth here, despite the visibility of the night.
The hobbit hole sung with the clay that had shaped it. Shaped with gentle hands that had burrowed into the earth setting the space with wooden beams before packing it down with layers of mixed clay. The second part must have been done in the winter when the air was dry and the fireplace could be burned to a stifling degree without much humidity.
Those same gentle hands, step by step, coaxing and sculpting the home while obeying the needs of the earth that wanted to continue neutering life above while sheltering a home below. It was a soft song for a kind and beloved home.
Sighing, he pulled himself from his reverie, knowing he would have the night to fall asleep to that song.
He was gratified when he emerged into the dining room and Mister Baggins froze to stare at Thorin.
The hobbit caught himself, looking away and bustling to and fro the kitchen, the tips of his pointed ears tinting red.
Thorin sat beside Estel across from little Frodo.
Bilbo sat beside Frodo, placing a final plate on the table.
“Do hobbits always eat this much?” Thorin asked, stunned when he realised how much food was in front of him.
“If we can,” Bilbo said. “Big meals are especially important for our fauntlings.”
His nephew smiled up at him with a bit of green on his cheek as his uncle ruffled his dark curls.
Bilbo looked up, catching Thorin’s gaze with honeyed hazel eyes, and that’s when he knew.
That’s when Thorin knew that this little halfling was his home.
His One.
It was a glorious thing, to find his other half. Glorious… and gutting.
For if Thorin had been a Prince of Erebor, not amounted to a prince in exile, then he could have offered Master Bilbo Baggins anything his heart desired, met his every need.
But as Thorin was now, looking at the bounty of food before him, he felt his heart plummet.
He could not offer him this as he had not this much to offer his own family.
Thorin had never felt more like a beggar at the door.
Still, when Thorin looked upon his One, he let the knowledge that he would have a season to him. He would have the opportunity to get to know Bilbo and share in his life for a time, and Thorin would be grateful for it.
He could not, would not , ask for more.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, dorcus gazelles, or feedback, pretty please?
Chapter 10: Stolen Hearts
Chapter Text
Reminder: Fíli is a traumatised teenager acting out for the first time.
Chapter 10 - Stolen Hearts
Dear Dah,
I miss you and I forgive you. I’m not even sure there is anything to forgive you for, but perhaps a lot for me to apologise for.
I have not forgiven Glorfindel. He lied to me. He lied to you.
My family, Amad and my brother Kíli are alive. At first, the nightmares were worse, but I wake up to the singing of the stones and they are never far.
My uncles, Thorin, Frerin, Dori, Nori (my birth father’s twin brother), and Ori are all alive. Though, Ori is close to my age, and none of the Ri brothers are fond of being called ‘uncle’. So Kíli and I just refer to them as cousins.
Our other cousins who live with us are Balin and Dwalin.
Everyone was beyond hurt at my disappearance.
Also, my uncle’s full title is Prince Thorin of Erebor, son of Thrain, son of Thror. My mother is Princess D ís, whi ch means Kíli is next in line of Durin.
And I’m a dwarven prince.
I don’t know how to tell my family that I was partially raised by the elves.
Thorin hates elves and he’s a smith. I think it would break his heart if he knew my weapons master was an elf.
There’s a lot I don’t know. I wish you were here. I wish I knew how to send this to you.
Dwalin warned me there are people watching us, that our correspondents might be compromised and to never put something in writing I can’t afford for others to know.
So I wrote this in Sindarin in the hope they won’t–
Though, I suppose if someone finds this, they’ll know I’m involved with elves anyway.
Maybe if Estel comes around again, I will give it to him.
I love you, Dah. And I’m sorry for the way I left.
Fíli, Son of Dís, Daughter of Thrain
Unsent letter hidden in the liner of his old boot.
oOo
Thorin jerked awake and found himself fighting the most comfortable bed he had slept in since leaving Erebor.
Heartbeat still raising, he still waiting for his mind to catch up to where he was and what had woken him.
“MERIADOC BRANDYBUCK!” a female voice shouted, along with the sound of a clash of pots.
“I have a guest!” exclaimed a quieter voice.
Thorin let out a breath, right, he’s in the Shire.
In the smial of his One.
Sighing, Thorin took his time getting dressed. He hadn’t slept that deeply in… longer than he could remember. He had never slept somewhere new that comfortably. But then again, he rarely went to bed on the road that well-fed or without any of his leathers.
He was dressed by the time a knock came to his door.
Opening it, Thorin was greeted with a reminder of how small hobbit pebbles truly were, along with the incredible smell of breakfast.
“Breakfast’s ready!” the faunt, as Gandalf called them, chirped.
“Thank you, little one,” Thorin said.
The faunt narrowed his eyes up at him, which was criminally adorable, “You’re not as weird looking as most big folk.”
Thorin fought a smile, “I’m a dwarf, you hobbits are the only ones who have never called me short.”
The faunt opened his arms wide, “You’re huge.” Then he frowned and poked Thorin’s stomach, completely unafraid. “But you should be bigger here.”
Thorin fought a laugh and decided that if the hobbits were going to be so familiar with him, he might as well leave his dwarvish customs at the door.
He wasn’t a prince here after all, he was just a strong pair of arms to help out a settlement of these gentle folk. So Thorin scooped the faunt up in his arms, “Come, let’s get breakfast, before you little folk leave me nothing to eat.”
The faunt made a raspberry, “It’s Uncle Bilbo’s smial, he always has enough food.”
“Hey! I want up too!” another faunt complained as another warning came from a female hobbit, “Meriadoc!”
Thorin only smiled as he scooped up the other faunt in his arm.
The two children hugged Thorin as if he were a beloved uncle.
Suspicion, clearly, was a trait taught to them as they aged, not inherit to their kind.
Bilbo turned with a huge smile, and Thorin’s heart almost stopped in his chest.
All the gold in Erebor was but a trifle to his One’s smile.
“That’s Merry, and the other is Periguin Took, Pippin. These are Meriadoc’s parents and my cousins, Saradoc and Esmeralda Brandybuck,” Bilbo introduced. “Everyone, this is my guest from Ered Luin, Master Thorin.”
There were loud choruses of welcomes, especially from the pebbles. Which was followed by more questions than Thorin could rightly process, much less answer,
Esmeralda clapped, “Everyone shut up and eat!”
The food was suburb and Thorin that even when he had lived in Erebor, he had never eaten so well.
oOo
The old forge was down the back end of Bag End, a ways down the road toward the woods.
“It's considered to be a pretty noisy profession. They thought the noise and the fire would keep predators away,” Saradoc informed Thorin as the faunts literally tumbled down the hill.
He remembered a very young Kíli getting ahold of his adad’s cup of coffee.
The effect had been similar.
“Are they always like this?” Thorin asked.
“Aye,” Bilbo said. “If hobbits have fast metabolisms, faunts are quite a bit like hummingbirds. Keeping them fed is an unending mission for the whole of the Shire.”
“Do other families feed everyone else's pebbles?” Thorin asked, heart aching.
His people couldn't do that now if they wanted to. Or maybe they could but it would mean many families going hungry because older dwarrow would never accept charity if a pebble too much from a family who couldn't afford it.
But even in Erebor… No dwarven youngling had ever been truly malnourished. Schools and apprenticeships with guilds ensured that never happened and certainly never infants and their mothers.
But to say no dwarfling in Erebor had ever gone to bed hungry or sinched their belts, would be untruthful.
They weren't as bad as men, but for the first time, in comparison to these supposedly simple creatures whole all of Arda scorned, he felt small and insufficient.
In these times, Bilbo said, yes. I know you won't believe me, but my smial used to be quiet. I was more likely to have my groceries pillaged on my way home than hold meals at my house.
“You mean they steal?” Thorin asked. “Why not just ask if you would give it to them willingly? Why encourage misbehaviour?”
“It's not misbehaviour,” Bilbo explained. “It's honing life skills. Sure, hobbits are born being light footed and stealthy when they want to be. But those things take practice.”
Thorin raised a brow, “You want them to be thieves?”
“We aren't innate fighters, and even if we were, every race nearly triples our size, including dwarves. One to one, we are likely to lose. More than one on one, we are certain to fail. But because we are smaller and quicker in a tight spot than the other races, we aren't helpless,” Bilbo explained. “We might not be able to outrace anyone but I assure you, no one is getting out or through a crowd quicker than a hobbit.
“Just like men train to ride horses, dwarrow train to work long hours, and elves practice climbing trees, so too do hobbits learn to go about their business unseen when they wish to.
“Theft is, at its core, a foraging skill. But in the most practical sense, it is our only advantage against the bigger races. Goblins are good at skulking too, but hobbits are still better. Enough so that when it came to war between goblins and hobbits, the hobbits won by hiding in the trees and striking down their foes as they passed through. Though honestly, no matter what you'll hear from a certain Grey Wizard, I think the trees themselves saved us in the end.”
Thorin shook his head at all the new information but he found himself asking, “You know Tharkan? I mean Gandalf.”
Frodo dropped back to answer, “Master Gandalf has the best fireworks.”
Thorin smiled, “Ah, so the wizard doesn't bring trouble to the Shire like he does everywhere else?”
All the hobbits laughed at that.
Esmeralda patted him on the shoulder, “He's a wizard.”
That wasn't truly an answer, yet it made perfect sense to Thorin.
They reached the forge and the herd of faunts dismantled the rundown mess in less time than seemed possible.
And from that day forward, Thorin refused to accept anything anyone ever said about hobbits being lazy creatures. Not to say there weren’t lazy hobbits among them, but there were lazy dwarves which wasn’t a defining characteristic of his own people.
Nor was it one of the hobbit folk’s characteristics.
Despite the meal that they had eaten last night, they ate just as hardily in the morning.
Throughout the day, Thorin learned, at least for the little ones, why they ate so much.
The short walk to the old forge was covered at a sedate pace by the adults, Thorin, Bilbo, Sara, and Esmeralda, while they set the herd of faunts to sprint forward and back in some tag game.
Though he was certain some of them were pretending to be ponies.
With wings.
“Don't unpack any of your tools,” Bilbo said. “Let the fauntlings get the junk out of the way. We can start helping them after elevenses.”
“Then what will we be doing for the next few hours?” Thorin asked.
“Taking the sharp pointy things out of their hands,” Esmeralda said.
“And ensuring they don’t start a fire,” Bilbo added cheerily.
Thorin waited for the punch line, but apparently, they were perfectly serious.
He would have loved to say, there was no way hobbit fauntlings could be worse than dwarflings. After all, no dwarf with half an ounce of common sense would ever let a dwarfling loose in a forge.
However, after the seventh piece of flint and the twelfth knife Thorin pulled from tiny hands, he could say with absolute certainty that hobbitlings were insane and could likely topple any governing body within a day.
They were exhausting, and yet, the forge whose door had literally rusted shut and seemed to shelter many a winter guest, was cleared of dust and darkness as if it had never been.
The Shire’s abandoned forge wasn’t anything impressive, but it was quite a shot better than anything he had seen or had to make do with among men.
Hobbits were energetic and hyperfocused workers, and yet, they prioritised comfort and family to a humbling degree.
The adult hobbits took the various impliments of some concern from their hands and cleaning them up before passing them to Thorin for inspection on being a useful tool or scrap.
By the time elevenses came around, the forge was ready to be set up.
The hearth needed some tending, but Thorin was overall rather pleased with the space. The forge wasn't deep underground and there were two fronts of windows, but the building, or smial, was made from masonry, not wood.
It was by far the nicest space he'd been given to work outside of dwarven make.
Not that the competition was all that stiff, considering most human forgers were outside under an overhang or in a shed.
Gondor's forges were nothing to sniff at, but they didn't invite dwarves to work in their forges.
The food Bilbo had prepared was excellent, the grassy hill spotted with wildflowers was lovely, and Thorin couldn't help thinking he was on vacation.
Especially with his One sitting beside while children played freely and fearlessly around them.
Yes, Thorin Oakenshield was finding the Shire much to his liking.
oOo
Dear Fíli,
I love you. I'm sorry for our miscommunication and I'm more sorry that I didn't try harder to find your birth family.
The Rangers tell me you are well and that your family is overjoyed to have you back, as they should be.
I admit, I've been waiting for a letter from you before I intend to send this, and the others, for I do not know if they are welcome.
Perhaps I'm just being a silly ol’ hobbit and you're waiting for me to send a letter first, but I– I am the one in the wrong, aren't I?
I find that though I desire greatly your forgiveness, I don't need it so much as I need you to reach out to me. Even if it only to yell at me.
But I know tensions between the races are difficult.
A dwarf has come from the Blue Mountains to guard the marketplaces through the harvests. Trouble rises from the east. I fear darkness is growing in Moria and shadows grow in the hearts of men.
If you travel again, be cautious.
I am sorry I hurt you. I miss you. I love you.
Love your adoptive father, BB.
Unsent letter hidden in Bilbo's desk, along with several others.
oOo
The first day of the big market, Thorin set up beside the men who had come east of Bree.
They looked gaunt, many of them.
Thorin understood their hunger all too well, but that did not mean he had sympathy for the way they looked at the hobbits.
The men sold leather and wooden goods, such as saddles and the pull rings for beasts of burden.
The men from Bree sold ale, and what Thorin was beginning to suspect from a few of the reactions he saw, ill-acquired goods by the sour expressions on the hobbits' faces.
Some still traded with those stalls, but most avoided them, going to the leatherwork stalls out of necessity, or to the Breelanders for barrels of ale.
It helped that the Bree men had hobbits working for them.
As Thorin was warned, the hobbits traded much more than they used coin, to the point where many walked away from stalls that demanded coin.
Bilbo was set up beside Thorin with his spices and medicines and he fielded those who came to look at Thorin's stock.
Bilbo, apparently, was seen as both an oddity in the Shire, as well as someone very well respected.
Thorin assumed this was because no matter how strange for a hobbit he was, he was still a healer of sorts and a hobbit of some means.
Still, it was interesting to watch who sneered at Bilbo and whispered insults under their breath and those who greeted Bilbo with hugs and warm handshakes.
One of the more intimate greetings was kissing each other on the cheeks.
But however, they were greeted when Bilbo told them Thorin would trade only for coin because he was Bilbo's house guest, the hostility the hobbits showed the men instantly disappeared.
By midday, Thorin was eating yet another meal with Bilbo at their stalls when he asked, “Why does me being your house guest absolve me from the manners of trade?”
Bilbo hummed, finished his bite of pie and answered, “I'm Baggins. As long as you stay with me, you should have no need I cannot provide. To trade something of necessity with you is an insult to me, it would be seen as a declaration that I am not providing for you well enough. Some might still try to trade with you later on in the week, for if you did accept trade for food or clothes it would be shameful for me.”
Thorin swallowed, “I am glad I asked then.”
Bilbo waved it away, “Nonsense, it is a shame I can't just give you coin for that would be seen as quite queer, I think, among all free races. But if someone comes to trade you off some luxury good, and it is something you want, feel free to trade without insulting me. Some items are beyond expectations of hospitality and therefore not offensive to trade for.”
“The trade for fresh medicines may be worth much more than coin to me, for both the supply and cost of them isn't easily afforded even if available.”
Bilbo's smile was heart-rending, “My mother was a healer, I'm happy to follow, at least in some small part, her legacy.”
“As wonderful as healers are,” Thorin ventured to say. “Your goods will reach more people than a single healer could hope to outside of a battlefield.”
Bilbo's blush was well worth the flattery.
oOo
Thorin watched his hobbit cook as he puffed on a pipe.
It was not tobacco which Bilbo preferred if everyone smoked outside for the benefit of the younglings, but raspberry leaf, something called lemon balm, and rose petals. It was… odd, but it soothed his chest and it made him, not sleepy, but calmer.
Bilbo bustled around the kitchen, and Thorin couldn’t help but think how exotic he looked.
Certainly, there were dwarves who found elves attractive, while there was nothing dwarvish about them, their beauty was their own, and as any art, intended for admiration.
Humans too, could at times prove to be almost elven in their beauty or handsome in the way of dwarrow.
Some humans even managed impressive beards.
But a hobbit was none of of those things, they were petite, with giant hairy feet, and no beards to speak of.
But they were gentle in their manners, soft in their steps, and were connected to the earth as dwarrow were connected to stone. They were not alien, they were not wind and rivers given mortal form like the elves, but rather hone from clay and the green earth.
Yavanna must have been a hobbit, Mahal must have loved her as Thorin was quickly falling in love with his hobbit.
oOo
Bilbo was relieved that Thorin hadn’t realised how odd it was to have serval families under one roof.
In fact, the dwarf didn’t seem to see any of the anxiety that was growing in the Shire.
It was just lucky that as disreputable as Bilbo was that Thorin –having been escorted by a Ranger and staying in Bag End– had endeared the other hobbits to him.
Or, at the very least, any and all Tookish faunts.
Bilbo was a tad overwhelmed playing host to so many. He hadn’t been very popular growing up, Drogo being his closet relative.
But through adopting Frodo, Bilbo had become much closer with Frodo’s friends and their families.
Which were, naturally, Bilbo’s family too.
Still, it was hard to forget that out of all of his relatives, only Drogo had asked him back to the Shire when he left with his son to the east.
But it was nice, it was very nice, to be welcomed back into his family’s circles, even if it was because they needed him.
It wasn’t a bad thing to be needed. And he found that he could hold no resentment toward his Bucklander relatives for the inevitable distance that had once sat between the sides of the Brandywine.
He was relieved, however, when Saradoc pulled him aside to explain all the visits. To explain why, out of all their frequent visits, this last time they had shown up with a great deal of luggage.
Not enough to be rude, but as if there were things they were afraid to leave behind.
“Sara?”
Saradoc looked up to meet his gaze.
They were sitting in the kitchen, everyone else was asleep.
“Bilbo, the men in Bree… somethings wrong– I, well, that is to say, it’s, we no longer believe it’s safe–”
“Then you will move to Bag End,” Bilbo said definitively.
He didn’t travel anymore these days, but he had heard rumours.
He had seen the elves join the Rangers on patrol of their borders.
Also, Estel had brought him a dwarf.
He didn’t need a sixth sense to know and believe in the growing darkness expanding from Moria.
“Bilbo, I can’t ask–” Sara said, prosperity forcing him to back peddle.
“You don’t have to. Besides, this smial is too big for just Frodo and I.”
Yavanna knew that Frodo was happier with his relatives about.
Sara let out a long sigh, “I– I still feel like I ought to apologize. We should have asked the Thain first, but… things are not dire. They just aren’t right anymore.”
oOo
Thorin woke, having dozed off on the sofa after supper and woke to little hands tugging at his hair.
He did not open his eyes immediately, fighting his instinct to lash out at the unexpected intimate touch.
He did not have open his eyes to know it was the faunts, and if it hadn't been unexpected, his battle-tested impulses wouldn't have been a problem because his nephews had played with his hair like this many times.
But just because they were children, didn't mean it was fully welcomed.
“What are you doing!?” he heard Frodo whisper shout. “Uncle is going to kill–”
“Frodo?” came Bilbo’s voice.
“I didn’t know!”
Thorin opened his eyes, in time to see the faunts scattered.
He met Bilbo’s gaze, he seemed mildly horrified.
Thorin reached up to his hair and for the first time was glad he kept his beard short. He was less bothered by the flowers in his hair than the tangles.
Some of his braids had been undone and redone in a completely different fashion.
Thorin couldn’t quite stop the grimace.
“I’m so sorry,” Bilbo whispered.
Thorin shook his head, some of the blooms falling out.
Frodo was hanging on to Bilbo’s night robe, hiding behind him.
“It will be alright,” Thorin sighed, attempting to run his fingers through the ends.
He was impressed that he had slept through the younglings getting this far.
“Get to bed, Frodo,” Bilbo instructed.
Bilbo, hesitantly, stepped forward and offered, “I can brush your hair out if you would accept the help. I am truly sorry, I thought they had all fallen asleep.”
Thorin felt his cheeks heat.
Bilbo was his One, and such an offer from your One was as good as a proposal.
But the hobbit didn’t know that, and selfishly, Thorin wanted whatever intimacy Bilbo would allow him.
“I would appreciate it,” Thorin said.
Bilbo nodded, looking a tad nervous as he disappeared back to his rooms and returned with brush in hand.
Thorin swallowed, but sunk down to the ground so Bilbo could sit above him on the sofa after he poured two cups of tea.
Bilbo’s hands were gentle as he ran them over his hair plucking flowers out of his braids as he went.
Thorin had to suppress a shudder when Bilbo’s fingertips brushed his cheek.
This was a bad idea.
But he couldn’t back out now without explaining why this was a tremendously stupid thing for him to accept.
Gathering his hair, Bilbo gently began undoing the tangled braids, flowers falling into Thorin’s lap as they were tugged free.
It had been a long time since someone had messed with his hair.
When they had still been in Erebor, Frerin and Dís had a bit, but neither had done it on purpose.
Thrain was a good dwarf but a harsh father. As the only son of King Thror, Thrain II had grown up with strict expectations that he passed on to Thorin. Likewise, Thrain had chosen a wife that he thought his father would approve of.
Lady Frís had been elegance in all that she did and all that she touched. Regrettably for all, Frís had been described as elvish with her golden hair and smaller features in front of Thror.
Thror, and thus Thrain, had gone cold against her, despite bearing three children.
Many had joked about how ugly the Durin line had become, by which they meant pollution by elvish blood.
Frís was not Thrain’s One and she had devoted herself to her work with clocks, avoiding as much time away from the royals as possible, just as Thrain through himself into his duties in a bid to win his father's approval.
King Thror had been a better grandfather than father to Thorin and Queen Tara a better mother than their own to Dís.
Frerin was able to get away with the most mischief between the three of them, but Thorin, Frerin, and Dís had been viewed as model royalty.
Which is likely why they had all let Kíli and Fíli get away with almost everything when they were pebbles.
Not only had they messed with Thorin's hair, they had once dumped a bucket of coal dust on him as he was coming out of the bath.
The pair had laughed themselves sick, as had Frerin and Dís which had abated any anger Thorin had felt at the time.
How he wished Kíli and Fíli could have their innocence returned to them.
“What are you thinking about?” Bilbo asked softly, untangling the last of his braids.
“My nephews,” Thorin answer, realising he was resting his head back against his host's knees. “The last, and truly first time, my hair was messed with this badly they were still such wee things.”
“I am sorry,” Bilbo said as he pulled a brush through his ends, slowly working his way up so that there were no snarls that caught. “I do not know what makes your braids, beards, and hair so important to dwarrow but I do know that they are important.”
Thorin hummed, not wanting to explain that what his One was doing was akin to an unwed couple getting between sheets together.
Even if nothing came of it, the intimacy was reserved for those already considered family.
Bilbo, luckily, did not push as he continued to work, humming softly beneath his breath.
Thorin sighed, feeling the tension drain from with each pull, his nerves lighting up like fireworks as he reached his scalp.
He could fall asleep like this, and before he could, Bilbo cleared his throat.
Thorin sat up his hair spilling in a soft wave over his shoulders.
Thorin reached up to feel how silky the typically course strands were. He smelled it and bit back a groan.
Vanilla and lavander.
Mahal save him, the hobbit had oiled his hair.
That.
That.
Was reserved solely for married couples and parents to their children, never vice versa.
Bilbo coughed, “My apologies, it's the same I use for my own hair, curls tangle more easily.”
Thorin could only nod.
Bilbo's cheeks were flushed as he took a step back. “I'll let you finish getting ready for bed.”
“Thank you,” Thorin managed.
“Good night, Thorin,” Bilbo said, disappearing toward his kitchen.
Thorin let out a long breath, running his hand over his hair.
Dís was going to kill him for not bringing Bilbo home with him.
oOo
Bilbo held his heart as he pressed his back to the wall.
He knew how important hair was to dwarves, he might as well had danced naked in front of him.
But Bilbo longed to be closer with Thorin.
He didn't know for certain if Thorin was his heartsong yet, for he had not heard him sing, but he knew.
He just knew.
Not that it was well-fated.
Bilbo couldn’t leave his family, and dwarrow never willing left theirs.
So all he had, all they had, were these stolen moments.
Perhaps a Baggins wouldn’t steal anything, but a Took would.
Glorfindel’s son would.
oOo
AN: Apologies for the messiness of this chapter, I found it very difficult wrangle and ended up breaking it up. Which means more requests will be granted in the next chapter.
My good news is I finished writing five chapters later on in the story :D
Feedback (or rosebushes, fairie foxes, you know?) truly help with this fandom as it sees less traffic than others. Thank you so much to everyone who has commented or reviewed!
Chapter 11: Diplomacy of Faunts
Chapter Text
Tolkien: I quote a poem but I cut some of it and put in a refrain to make it more songlike. I recommend looking it up on youtube because artists have put some of his poems to song, it is beautiful.
NOTE: These ages are not exact, but just generally to understand the passage of time, Bilbo is fae so his age doesn’t match.
Fili is 52(23) Kili 57(24) Bilbo 61 (36) Frodo 31 (16)
Market day Bilbo catching pick pockets
Chapter 11 - Diplomacy of Faunts
Sara knew that Bilbo wouldn’t change his mind, that didn’t mean he didn’t press the issue in the morning. And their fears of returning to Buckland seemed sillier in the light of day.
Esmeralda had shewed Bilbo out of his own kitchen so Sara could ask again.
Sometimes, like now, it was hard to remember that he and Bilbo were not so far apart in age. For all that Bilbo looked younger than he ought, he had always been wiser than his years. That he had been the father of Sara's best friend growing up, would always mean a part of Sara looked up to Bilbo.
That Bilbo had made himself the darling of every healer in the region in addition to his estate and properties he managed, just made him seem, larger than life, even when sharing a smial with him.
“Will Merry's Took be sharing a room with Frodo and Merry?” Bilbo asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Bilbo! You have to think about this, this is not a choice you just– It’s not something you just do. Guests go bad in a week or two.”
“As I told you yesterday, this isn’t about guests, this is about family. And I don’t imagine you’ll be the only ones asking. Besides, my father built this smial for a family, and family will always be welcome, aside from Lobelia, who was quite dedicated to burning down the bridges between us a long time ago.”
Saradoc grabbed Bilbo in a hug, “Thank you! Thank you, Bilbo! You truly are the greatest!”
Bilbo hugged him back then waved him off, “Yes, yes. Now, you’re going to help me clean up the spare rooms. I think I’ll just invite Paladin, we all know his Tookish pride will keep him from asking until things become dire. You’re lucky I donated most of my clothes, I have more empty rooms now.”
“We can bring all our things, we won’t have to buy anything new,” Saradoc said. “We can’t– the hobbits of Bree already moved and we are waiting for the trouble to come to us in Buckland.”
Bilbo nodded, “It would be easier for the elves to help us if we are living tighter together even if it means moving further away from them. Esmeralda might have to assist me as landlord, however, I barely have patience for the tenants I have. I don’t look forward to more.”
“The Thain hasn’t put out any orders regarding Buckland yet, but all the willing families decided to ask their willing relatives politely before it becomes a necessity. Aside from Paladin.”
Bilbo nodded, “Aye, that will make it easier for the stubborn ones. The orders would only apply to them rather than saying it was just for everyone elses’ sake. Frodo is going to be pleased.”
“Sam will be more pleased, especially as Pippin won’t be moving into his smial.”
They both laughed.
Bilbo paused as he came to one of the rooms. Fili’s room and the guest room Thorin was using.
“I’ll move my supplies in here,” Bilbo said gesturing to the room he hadn’t been in since Fili left except to dust it out. “But this one… I’d like to keep it for guests.”
Saradoc grinned, elbowing his cousin, “Hoping to get your dwarf to stay?”
“He’s not my dwarf,” Bilbo said in a low voice, glad Thorin was at his forge.
“But you want him to be.”
“Thorin isn’t going to stay in the Shire, he has a family in the Blue Mountains. And while he might like faunts just fine, I doubt his family would be willing to leave their mountains.”
Saradoc’s smile fell, “Is he really your Heartsong though?”
Bilbo flushed, “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Sara, who had once been Fíli’s partner in crime, chided, “Uncle Bilbo, we all saw your reaction when he joined his voice to the drinking songs the other night.”
Bilbo blushed, “Does it matter if nothing comes of it?”
Saradoc put a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, “Yes, it matters.”
Bilbo gave him a said smile, and Sara just wished Fíli was here so they could tease the silly ol’ hobbit out of his melancholy.
Esmeralda popped her head around the corner, “Have you seen the way he looks at you? He looked flushed at breakfast, did you two kiss yet?”
Bilbo growled at her, stomping back into his kitchen and reclaiming the stove.
Esmeralda chortled.
oOo
Sonna was not a wealthy dwarrowdam from a good family.
In truth, her family were among the worst sort.
It was rare a mother left her child, but Sonna’s had, and if her adad was to be believed, she had left because Sonna was too expensive to cloth and feed.
Sonna privately suspected it was because her father spent money faster than he made. Only, why she had been left behind was a mystery to Sonna and as her father never told her who her mother had been, she had no way to locate her.
Her father Roddu, was a swift fingered, loud-talking gambler with addiction problems and habitual habit of cheating men out of coin.
Basically, every worst stereotype men or elves had about dwarrow, was her father.
Sonna was nothing at all like him, but regrettably, she was young with no reputation of her own to fall back on.
No one was willing to take on an apprentice who wasn't willing to give her family name. It would definitely be worse if she gave her family name, because that was a great way to get a door slammed in her face.
Too young to live on her own, Sonna was getting desperate.
Packing up her things, and stealing the small bit of coin from her father from the night before, she was ready to find a mine to hideaway in, no matter how dangerous.
It would be better than walking on eggshells around her father.
So of course, this was the day her father came home early.
He saw the pack, his meaty hands fisting.
Sonna bolted.
Her father grabbed her sleeve, but she was currently wearing extra layers because they wouldn't fit in her bag.
So she slipped out of it.
It was his warmest coat but she likely wouldn't have been able to sell it because of how worn it was anyway.
Ered Luin was an old colony.
Old and tapped dry. The homes in the mountain were half collapsed and the worst and most densely populated area was at the entrance of the coal mines. Homes that had been dug from soft stone without fireplaces, were lamps always had be guarded with metal and glass.
It was a crime to neglect a flame here.
And it was cold.
Dwarves ran hot, warmer than men or elves, but Sonna felt as if she had been born cold.
Then go back to Erebor, you ungrateful wretch, dragon fire will warm you right up.
Her father's words were almost as vicious as his fists.
Sonna pushed through tight tunnels, allies forming around homes with locked doors.
It was early morning.
Too early for many to be out of bed.
Dwarrowdams were supposed to be valued.
Sonna didn't feel valued as she ran through the dark with no lamp, afraid to call out for help lest it get her caught.
She considered giving herself a black eye and maybe she could go to the authorities and they might believe her.
She couldn’t, she wouldn’t, strip down to her small clothes to show strange dwarrow her scars.
It was so dark as she got further and further away from her father, in the veins of rough tunnels that webbed between the slums and the New Commons of Ered Luin that she could see past her hand.
Still, she ran.
Her stone sense was not that a miner’s, she could no more tell the difference between unpolished topaz and quartz than she could name the fish in the sea, but the stone did still speak to her.
She knew what was soft, meant to hold growing things, what was strong and sturdy meant to shelter, and what was brittle and waiting for transformation.
She let that sense, that music guide her, closing her eyes and trusting in Mahal’s gifts to her.
Regrettably, Mahal didn’t tell her when there was a person before her and she ran head long into him.
They fell with a grunt. He broke her fall.
It had to be a hey because no dwarrowdam save her was stupid enough to be out alone in the dark.
The lamp the other dwarf had been holding had fallen with a loud clang as it went out.
Sonna covered the dwarf’s mouth with a hand as he took breath to ask.
He went immediately still beneath her.
Her heart was pounding as her father bellowed into the tunnels, “Don't you come back! Ye’ hear, ye’ ungrateful, spoiled wretched child! You don't come back or I'll teach you a lesson you'll never be able to forget!”
Sonna remained still, even as she thought bitterly about how she'd rather starve to death than go back to him.
The dwarf beneath her did not move as he waited for her to get off him.
Sonna pulled her hand back from his mouth. “I'm sorry,” she whispered, rolling off him.
The other dwarf moved slow as he sat up, “Are you okay?”
Sonna shivered, hugging herself, “I am now.”
At least, she was better.
A match was struck and the lamp relit, revealing a dwarf with pointy auburn hair. He gave her an unimpressed look, “I'm taking you to a healer.”
She sneered, “For once, I don't need a healer.”
He looked her over, “You need a coat. A proper coat.”
She shook her head, “I'm not taking yours.”
“I didn't offer.”
Her shoulders rounded and her anger left her in a rush, taking her courage and direction with it.
“Lucky for you, my brother is a tailor.”
“I don't have money–”
He interrupted her, “How old are you?”
“Forty-seven,” she muttered
“I just saw you be disowned unless you have an apprenticeship, you just became a ward of the royal family until your kin come to collect you.”
“I don't have any kin but that bastard and I would rather die than go back to him.”
“I won't force you to, but that means you'll be placed with the kin of Durin. It's a rather large extended family to choose your place among.”
Sonna gaped at him.
She was an expert in her people's laws, she had never heard that because, well, dwarrow almost never willingly gave up their family and orphans were unquestionably adopted by kin, only Sonna did have any.
Her mother's line was a mystery and her father had no siblings or cousins.
“Why should I trust you?” She demanded. “Because I am Nori son of Nari, brother-in-law to Prince Thorin Oakenshield.”
“Oh,” she said lamely. Because really, what were the chances?
He could be lying of course, but invoking kinship directly to the Prince Regent was a crime punishable by death.
“Can we stand up now?” Nori asked.
“What? Um yes?”
Nori sighed, but stood gracefully, offering her a hand up. “Come on, my brother is a tailor.”
Sonna took his hand and muttered under her breath, “Stupid rich people.”
Nori snorted, “You are going to be disappointed.”
“I sincerely doubt it.”
Nori stepped aside for her, and though a part of her didn’t want him behind.
But a bigger part of her wanted someone between her and her father.
Sonna knew where the rich people lived and didn’t need Nori’s directions to get there.
“Not that way,” Nori said after half an hour of walking.
“Why?”
“Because we live that way.”
“Toward the surface?”
“Toward the surface,” he agreed.
“Why?”
“You’ll see.”
And she did.
The door that Nori opened was stone and deceptively simple.
But the minute she walked in, she felt warm.
It was a simple suite, nothing like her father and his friends complained about. The rooms were not gilded in gold nor filled with enough finery to impress the elves.
But the stone walls were clean, hung with colorful tapestries and there were multiple lamps.
No coal ore here.
But the reason she you realised they were close to the surface was the stove. They had their own kitchen.
An older dwarf stood to bow, his hair was silver, as did the younger one after looking up from his book. The dwarf who could be much older than her had auburn hair like Nori.
“Dori, son of Nari at your surface, and my little brother, Ori, son of Nari, Apprentice of Balin, advisor to the King.”
Sonna swallowed.
She had lived her life being failed by her society, in not being able to trust anything she was meant to.
Yet here she was, rubbing shoulders with royalty.
Nori laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and she startled.
“Sonna– I’m Sonna, why do you use your mother’s name.”
The three brothers exchanged looks, but it was Dori who answered, “Because our mother was the one who stayed.”
“Mine didn’t,” she said idiotly.
“Sonna is in her forties and has no kin who can take her in.”
Dori set his embroidery aside, “Ori go clear out your room.”
“You don't–”
“We do,” Dori said shortly. “I'll prepare a bath for you and some new clothes.”
“I–”
“Lass, your beard hasn't even begun to grow in yet,” Dori said, voice softening. “It is our honour to shelter you.”
Sonna was a bit overwhelmed.
“I'll be back in a few hours,” Nori said. “Are you alright?”
Sonna nodded.
Nori inclined his head and turned back out the door, shutting it behind him.
Sonna felt like she had entered an alternate reality.
But when she got into a warm bath and was able to wash her hair out, fully clean of dirt and dust and even the oil she scavanged to keep it from damage between washes was…
She could die happy.
Sonna's favourite feature about herself was her hair. It was black. Raven's black, they called it, but –in truth– it was deepest blue with a near irredainst sheen when clean.
When she changed into new clothes her body soothed from aches never listened to, feeling safer than she had ever been, and knowing in her bones that her father could never touch her again, he fell asleep before she could pull back the covers.
She felt so warm.
oOo
Dori came to check on the lass. As gently as he could, he tucked her in. She did not stir.
He pulled her long hair above the covers so she wouldn't get damp in the night. He left a small lamp on so she wouldn't wake unable to see.
Dori set a note to his guild, informing them he would be taking a day for family matter so he could stay home to tend to the child if she needed anything.
How any parent could throw a child behind was abhorrent to him.
oOo
Dwalin answered the door and Nori smiled up at him, a viscious streak to it.
“Hey guard, fine day for an execution, isn't it?
Dwalin raised a brow but once Nori explained himself, Dwalin was ready for blood.
Dís did not take much convincing to sign the arrest warrant.
Dwarrows typically did not need to be reminded to treat their pebbles well, they were after all, the greatest treasures Arda had to offer.
But line of Durin had, historically, never had any reservations about reminding the stupid and malice of their pebbles worth and legal protections.
Dwalin, son of Fundin, was no exception.
oOo
Thorin was a bit confused about how things were changing.
He knew that something was wrong when Merry stayed and his parents returned home, only to return with a cart and pony and another family of hobbits.
Pippin’s family, his parents, Paladin and Eglantine Took as well as his – three – older sisters, Pearl, Pimpernel, and Pervinca.
Paladin looked Thorin up and down after introductions, “So this is the one?”
Thorin’s heart dropped.
Did hobbits have One’s?
The female hobbit gave him a shrewd look, but curtsied while the older hobbit narrowed his eyes and then looked back at Bilbo, expectant.
“Don’t give me that face,” Bilbo warned. “I know what I’m doing.”
Sara’s expression was sly as he said, “I suppose dwarves do live longer than hobbits. By the way, Thorin, how old are you?”
Bilbo swatted his cousin over the head, “ SARA! Out, go get Sam. Ignore his manners, Thorin.”
Esmeralda snorted, “As if he ever had any.”
Saradoc kissed his wife on the cheek and left the smial without another word.
Merry giggled, “Are you going to stay, Mister Thorin?”
Realising that he hadn’t said anything yet, Thorin cleared his throat, “Just the season, I’m afraid.”
Esmeralda’s smile slipped, “Do you have a large family at home?”
“Aye,” Thorin said, watching Bilbo who looked away. “We were blessed by Mahal, I have two siblings and my sisters have two sons. Several of my cousins also live with us.”
“Yet you travel,” Paladin asked, though it seemed more a statement.
“Cousin,” Bilbo warned. “Don’t be rude.”
“You’re the one who invited us,” Paladin said. “Just because Hobbiton doesn’t look fondly upon us Tooks–”
Bilbo placed down a plate rather hard, “This is Belladonna Took’s smial, and I am Master of Bag End, Thorin is my guest. More than that he is doing a service to the Shire. You. Will. Not. Be. Rude.”
Thorin was so lost as to what was going on at this point.
“ PIPPIN! ” one of the girls yelled, breaking the tension as the meal progressed.
Thorin set aside his own question about hobbits having Ones.
Even if it was true, it would change nothing, with more than Frodo and himself to take care of, Bilbo would not be able to leave home.
Thorin could barely provide for his own family, much less a hobbit family with a half dozen pebbles who could out eat a small army.
As the days before, life passed easily in the Shire. Any threat that worried the hobbits seemed to be abated by Thorin’s presence in their markets.
He had missed so many years with Kíli and Fíli that he was glad to spend the season with hobbitlings chasing after him wherever he went.
He never minded the faunts climbing all over him, not even when they tugged on his hair and braids. He took to carrying a wooden pole, intended for holding pails of water, that the faunts would laugh uproarlessly hanging from as Thorin carried the pole and his pack to and fro Bag End.
It was an easy burden, one Thorin was happy to bear.
By the end of the summer, he was the faunts’ favourite person and he was dubbed ‘the Shire’s Dwarf’.
And here Balin said he wasn’t good at diplomacy.
oOo
Bilbo jumped out of his skin when he heard a scream. He barely paused to set down his tea, before sprinting to the faunt’s room.
The boys and the girls were separated into two rooms, but the boys’ room had an extra bed for Sam who often stayed over, his own smial fit to burst with his many siblings and their cousins having moved in from Bree.
Bilbo saw his nephew thrashing in his bed and waved the others to settle as he sat at Frodo’s bedside.
“Come, my little one, time to wake,” Bilbo coaxed.
Frodo sat up with a choked gasp.
He looked around, the room lit by the open door to the hallway.
His face crumpled when he realised where he was and that everyone staring at him.
“Shhh,” Bilbo hushed, brushing away the stray tears, and began saying a blessing Glorfindel and his mother used to say to him in Sindarin.
Frodo clung to him.
Bilbo waved the others back to their beds as he led Frodo out.
Thorin had been hovering by the door, his pipe still in his hand, he shut the door behind Bilbo.
“Thank you,” Bilbo said.
“I got him,” Thorin said, draping Frodo in a throw blanket as he sat down with him on the sofa.
Bilbo left to go make hot coco.
“I lost my parents too,” Thorin said softly as he returned to the pair.
Frodo sniffed, curling into the dwarf’s side, “How?”
“My father wandered to far and never returned to us. And I lost my mother to dragon fire.”
Bilbo shuddered at the confirmation of where Thorin was from. Though he now had an estimate to how old he was if the dwarf remembered the dragon.
“I’m sorry,” Frodo mumbled.
“It was a very long time ago,” Thorin said. “And I don’t think she would have preferred to leave the mountain.”
Bilbo settled himself on Frodo’s otherside and welcomed Thorin pulling them both closer to him.”
Frodo, the cheeky thing, asked in a truly pitiable voice, “Do dwarrow have many songs?”
Thorin chuckled, “Yes, we have many, many songs.”
Frodo hugged the dwarf in a silent plea, and Thorin began to hum.
Bilbo felt as if his heart had been cracked open, a stone cleaved in two.
Thorin began to sing, and Bilbo knew for certain now that this dwarf was his heart song.
“The world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone
When Durin woke and walked alone.
He named the nameless hills and dells;
He drank from yet untasted wells;
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,
And saw a crown of stars appear,
As gems upon a silver thread,
Above the shadow of his head.
“The world was fair, the mountains tall,
In Elder Days before the fall
Of mighty kings in Nargothrond
And Gondolin, who now beyond
The Western Seas have passed away:
The world was fair in Durin's Day.
“A king he was on carven throne
In many-pillared halls of stone
With golden roof and silver floor,
And runes of power upon the door.
The light of sun and star and moon
In shining lamps of crystal hewn
Undimmed by cloud or shade of night
There shone for ever fair and bright.
“Unwearied then were Durin's folk;
Beneath the mountains music woke:
The harpers harped, the minstrels sang,
And at the gates the trumpets rang.
“The world was fair in Durin's Day.
Yes, the world was fair in Durin's Day.”
Bilbo wished very much in that moment to kiss the dwarf, but settled for soaking in his warmth as Frodo fell asleep between them.
oOo
AN: So I have written the gathering of the company, Rivendell, goblins, the Ring, Mirkwood, and Smaug. These early chapters are kicking my butt though because the characters keep going off script. Are you enjoying them, is there anything more you want to see, pigmy goats, or requests, please?
Chapter 12: Asters
Chapter Text
Purple Asters: Flowers have many meanings, these mean romantic admiration of beauty and grace. Alternatively, they are a symbol of royalty and mystery.
P.S. I’m SO sorry, it was an accident. But I very little impulse control for this story. I hope you enjoy it anyway XD
Chapter 12 - Asters
Kíli almost cried when his mother put another stack of papers on his desk.
Fíli was in the forges with Dwalin.
Dwalin was no expert smith but he knew enough and Fíli was skilled enough to work without supervision.
Fíli wasn’t unskilled with documentation, but his Khuzdul wasn’t good enough to keep up. They all found he was better during council meetings, where everyone spoke and Fíli was enough of an outsider that his voice was important for the different views he had.
Which was nice but the paperwork…
Amad tugged on one of his braids, “Not as much fun as travelling with your uncles?”
Kíli fought off a pout, “How is this even useful? How does this help anyone?”
Dís sat down beside him, “In a normal system, most of this wouldn’t be done by us. But Ered Luin is struggling, there simply aren’t enough funds to staff scholars and lawmakers. If you notice, our council is extremely old.”
Kíli scoffed, “Extremely? That’s generous, they’re ancient. Half of them are deaf and the other half are blind.”
His mother smiled, “They no longer have tradable skills, my love.”
“Oh,” Kíli said. “Wait– is that why they’re upset Ori is Balin’s apprentice?”
She nodded, “It wouldn’t have been a problem, we’re royals, Ori is by all rights, Thorin’s brother-in-law. But the Ri family comes from humble roots.”
“Was grandfather okay with your marriage to Adad?” Kíli asked.
Amad took his hand, “Your grandfather was very sick, I don’t know if he ever remembered my existence. Had we remained in Erebor? My mother would have approved it and that’s all that would have mattered as I am her daughter before I am Thrain’s.”
“Uncle Thorin still loves him.”
“Thorin hopes he’s still alive.”
“I don’t think he is,” Kíli whispered. “He ran away from Moria.”
Amad lowered her forehead to his, “Thorin is king and you are our crowned prince.”
Kíli sighed, “Which means we do the paperwork.”
She smiled, “Which means we write the laws and ensure our resources are taking care of the most amount of people. We are what stands between our people failing and others exploiting us.”
Kíli closed his eyes, “I want better for our people.”
His mother pulled him into a hug, “We all do.”
oOo
Sonna woke late, and warm.
If that wasn’t enough to remind her where she was, then the clean smell of the sheets and the lit lamp did well enough.
The line of Durin had stepped in to help her.
A large part of her regretted not running away sooner.
She had never had ‘new’ clothes before, and they were so very warm.
Emerging from the bedroom, clean hair neatly braided, and wearing a dress, she felt like a completely new dwarf.
One who would not and could not bow her head in shame for her birth.
Still, she was grateful to the Ri’s.
Nori was absent but Dori and Ori greeted her kindly and served his breakfast.
It was a day of rest, that ended with meeting with the Queen Regent who asked for her account of her family relations.
Sonna did not regret that her father was executed in the following week.
And when she was allowed an apprenticeship with the king’s cousin’s Healer Oin, Sonna regretted nothing.
She regretted nothing until she met the youngest Durin prince.
oOo
Fíli was one of many smiths in the Blue Mountains and he was proud that in the inspection of his work, his uncle excluded, he had passed inspection.
To work in the guilds, not mine coal and the iron ore, your work had to pass a threshold of anonymous jury.
Fíli’s work had come in first place much to the astonishment of the old lords who assumed he would know nothing of dwarfism craft.
Thankfully, no one had called his work elvish, though a few of them had muttered that his work was too delicate.
Fíli was equally pleased that the guild had chosen him to do forge crude tools in great quantity.
He wanted to prove to the other dwarrow that he was neither too proud to work, nor too privileged to work long hours.
Dwalin cleared his throat, “You are done for the night, my prince.”
Fíli finished the last pitchfork with a scowl, “Please don’t call me that.”
”We need to stop by the healer’s ward, one of my soldiers twisted his ankle on a loose stone. I would like to check on him.”
Dwalin was in charge of the Blue Mountain’s army, and he was good at his job.
Fíli nodded, now that he had stopped working, exhaustion soaked into his bones.
He followed behind Dwalin wordlessly, more than ready for sleep.
He hadn’t realism they had made it to the healer’s halls when he saw her.
Her hair was rich ebony, her hands elegant as she wrapped someone’s leg in clean bandages.
She never looked up, but Fíli could not pull his gaze from her until Dwalin led him back home.
No questioned it when Fíli went straight to bed, and Dwalin didn’t question it when on his check of the walls the next morning, Fíli stooped to pick up wild flowers.
Dwalin did him a questioning look when Fíli asked to make a detour to the healer’s halls.
Fíli forgot that dwarrowdams were not comparable to wild hobbit lasses who always accepted flowers and expected a larger quantity flowers and ribbons if they wanted your company.
Dwarrowdams seemed to have higher standards.
oOo
Sonna swore her heart stopped when she looked up from the book Healer Oin had given her.
All dwarrow knew how to read their own language, that didn’t make her very good at it for lack of practice.
But when she saw the golden haired prince, she lost any bit of frustration with her studies.
She barely heard the introductions as Healer Oin introduced her and Lord Dwalin introduced Prince Fíli.
She knew two things then, that he was her One and that she would never be suited to him.
Being a ward of the Durin line was one thing, but becoming a Durin was quite another.
When he held out flowers to her, they were a starburst of purple around a bright center of orange gold.
“Asters,” Prince Fíli said, as if that were an explanation.
She didn’t reach for them.
She didn’t dare.
He cleared his throat, “My dah—my adoptive father– taught me to always welcome new family. They also have healing properties.”
He was lying.
Probably not about the healing properties, but defiantly their meaning.
They meant more than that to him. She had heard of men from poor families wooing girls with flowers.
But they were dwarrow, and Sonna could turn him down without insulting the royal-line who wouldn’t consider anything less than the finest jewels or weapons as a courting gift.
She forced herself to laugh, “Oh, for a moment there I thought it was a courting gift. I would have been disappointed to get weeds from a dwarf whose beard hasn't even grown in yet.”
She saw his expression drop, the pain in his ice blue eyes. His gaze fell and she watched, helpless, as he physically recoiled from her.
He was a prince, she was a nobody, it could never be between them.
oOo
Blessedly, neither Dwalin nor Oin brought up his humiliation.
Fíli felt like a fool of the highest order.
He felt rotten.
But he didn't dare show that feeling to his family. This was something they could fix.
Sure, for the first time in his life he had a crush on a lass.
But she had made it quite clear that she would have welcomed his advances as much as Dah wanted Lobelia over for tea.
Fíli knew he shouldn't feel hurt, it was just a crush after all.
Still, he found it impossibly hard to settle that night.
Eventually, he got up and lit a lamp so he could write a letter.
Dear Dah,
I miss you.
I don't want to return to the elves or Rohan. I love it here with my Amad, uncles, and brother. Having my brother back is like having myself back. But I do miss you.
I know I owe you more but it’s late and I’m afraid I’ll lose my nerve if think to hard about this.
I did something stupid. I gave a lass flowers, which is apparently undwarfish enough to be insulting. She made it clear my advances were unwanted. I feel stupidly upset, after all, I know nothing about her.
But I also realised that I've been foolish about not reaching out to you. I'm– I am still mad, but mostly at Glorfindel. I don't want my family to learn the truth about all that happened because they hate the elves.
Dah, the elves let the dwarrow starve. They gave them nothing, no aid, no shelter, no spare fabrics, or medicines that we both know they have.
They betrayed the dwarrow of Erebor and abandoned the men of Dale, they let Smaug keep the mountain.
Glorfindel is not alone in his deception.
But I know that you've always done the best you could by me.
I love you.
Your Son,
Fíli
He wrote a less intimate letter to Estel and wrapping the two together. The next morning, he instructed the raven to go to the rangers, knowing that Estel would get it to where it needed to be.
oOo
Thorin dreaded the Ranger’s arrival, knowing the last days of autumn were passing and all too soon, he would returning home.
He missed his family, but he felt as if his heart was being split in two.
No matter where he was, he would be incomplete.
Estel made himself comfortable, welcoming the swarm of faunts who babbled animatedly to him in swelling rise of voices and laughter.
Thorin, however, did not miss the message the Ranger slipped Bilbo, nor the wide eyed expression of hope that crossed his One’s face.
Making his excuses, Bilbo retreated to his room, letting Esmeralda take over his kitchen.
It was unlike his hobbit to retire early, especially when they had guests.
But no one else batted an eye.
When he missed supper and then dinner, Thorin was beyond concerned.
However, Saradoc merely waved his concerns aside, taking a tray to Bilbo’s room.
Estel smiled at him, “Don’t worry, it’s good news.”
“From who?” Thorin asked.
Or demanded.
For a moment, Thorin swore the Ranger’s eyes twinkled like that of the wizard.
“Someone very dear to him.”
Thorin felt his heart plummet.
Suddenly, leaving was no longer such a hardship.
oOo
Bilbo's current room was among the smaller rooms, though he kept one of the rooms with a window.
Paladin and his wife had the biggest.
It only seemed fair to Bilbo as he still hadn't let anyone move into Fíli’s room despite needing the space.
Bilbo had compromised by putting his library in the room.
Back in his own room, he sat curled up on the bed rereading the letter over and over again.
It was in Sindarin and Bilbo was doing his best not to smear the ink with his tears.
There was a knock on his door that he did not answer.
Saradoc took it as an invitation anyway.
Bilbo hugged his knees.
Sara got up on the bed, putting an arm around his shoulders.
Bilbo didn’t realise he was crying until Sara offered him a handkerchief.
He exchanged it, giving Sara the letter.
Sara huffed, “You know I can’t read this, right?”
Bilbo laughed, “He says… He says he’s happy but that his family doesn’t like elves.”
“He wrote in elvish,” Sara said dryly.
“He was upset.”
“Why?”
“He gave a lass flowers. She didn’t like them.”
Sara snorted, “Of course, she’s a human. Although, I don’t think your dwarf would mind if you gave him flowers.”
“The faunts beat me to it, I think.”
“But it’s never the flowers, it’s who they’re from.”
Bilbo sighed, “When did you grow up?”
“When I had a faunt of my own. Speaking of which, you know you’re not too old to plant a garden of your own.”
“I think we have plenty faunts in this household.”
“As well as your Heartsong,”
“He’s going home, and I will not uproot Frodo, not again.”
Sara sighed, “Why is your life so complicated?”
Bilbo smiled, kissing Sara temple, “I’m just happy that Bag End is no longer quiet.”
Sara laughed, “Pippin Took lives here now, you’ll never know quiet again.”
As if on cue, a knock came at the door, and three heads peaked into the room.
“Uncle Bilbo?” Frodo asked, two faunts under his arms.
Merry went ahead of Frodo, “Mama said to find you.”
“Pippin woke up from a nightmare of dumping a stolen wheelbarrow of mushrooms over a cliff,” Frodo explained.
“The travesty,” Bilbo said, pulling back the covers. “Come, let's let your poor mothers sleep.”
The three faunts needed no more encouragement to snuggle down into the bed between Sara and Bilbo.
Bilbo was able to carefully fold Fíli’s letter into his book on the bedside table.
He curled around Frodo who wasn’t so little anymore. But between families, hobbits remained rather cuddly.
oOo
Dwalin gave him a strange look when instead of a raven, a magpie landed on Fíli’s shoulder, with a message tied to its leg and cawing for treats.
Magpies were just as smart as smart as crows, and maybe they weren’t as clever as ravens, the could speak.
And the spoke the Green Speech best out of the three.
Fíli was expecting Bilbo’s letter.
It broke his heart when he learned of Uncle Drogo and Aunt Primila’s passing as they were the only ones Bilbo had truly been close to back home.
He was worried by the news of the darkness growing in the Misty Mountains, horrified that so many hobbit families had left their smials to move away from Bree.
But that wasn't wholly unexpected as rumours of the growing darkness were prevalent everywhere.
No, what surprised him was the letter from Saradoc Brandybuck.
At one point they had been best friends.
Dear Fíli,
You have been well missed, my friend. Your father was devastated by your leaving, but your letter has helped chase some of the grief from his eyes.
Why won’t you come home, at least to visit? Uncle Bilbo never explained why you left. I know why you both left the Shire all those years ago, but things are different now.
For one, I have a son now. His name is Merry and his best friend is Pippin Took. They are the bane of the Shire and I love him more than anything. My wife, Esmeralda would be offended, but she feels the same.
Where have you go Fíli? Are you happy? Come home, at least to visit.
You’re Old Friend,
Saradoc Brandybuck
Fíli didn’t realise until then how much he missed Sara.
But he remembered the heated conversation he had overheard, it had been the last time they visited the Shire together.
“Yes, but he’s a Took, and that stands against him,” Uncle Drogo argued.
“This is an outrage! He's a Took? The only reason he is in line for Thain is because he is a Took,” that was Paladin’s voice.
Sara clapped a hand over Fíli’s mouth to keep him from speaking, pulling him behind the raspberry bush near the open window.
“But your son…” Uncle Drogo began, he tone implying he did not agree with the gossip. “You’ve been labelled a disturber of the peace. Bag End is cursed and no one would trust their life to Bilbo Baggins.”
“Because I have a son!?” Dah sputtered.
“Because you are unwed and because you left. You went east of Bree,” Aunt Primila stated.
“As my mother did!” Dah had shouted.
“But she came back!” Uncle Drogo interjected. “Bag End stands empty–”
“I never wanted it anyway.”
“Lie, that is a lie,” Uncle Drogo said.
“Then you take it,” Dah had responded.
“It’s too big for us,” Aunt Primila said. “And I’m not moving from Buckland, not now, not ever.”
“My son and I are returning east,” Dah stated.
“Why?” Paladin Took asked. “You’ve never been one to admit defeat.”
“It’s not for me, if the choice is between my son and Bag End, I’ll choose him every time.”
Sara had hugged Fíli tightly, knowing that this would be goodbye.
Fíli shook himself from the memories and wrote two letters returning letters that night. One to Bilbo and one to his old friend who had grown up.
A friend who had started a family of his own, while Fíli was still trying to figure out who he was.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, requests, sea lions, or feedback, pretty please?
Chapter 13: The Value of Plants
Chapter Text
Chapter 13 - The Value of Plants
Frerin returned home early with his purse heavier than it had ever been before.
Partly because he could function with far less food than he was comfortable making Kíli deal with as well as the shifts of power in the lands of men.
Goods were more expensive, and labour, which meant, for once, things had gone in Frerin’s favour being one of very few dwarrow willing to work in the shipyards.
Frerin came home to an ax at his throat. Huffing, Frerin pushed Dwalin’s blade away, “I know I don’t qualify for a guard, but I would appreciate you not beheading me.”
Dwalin glowered, “I would appreciate you knocking.”
“Uncle Frerin!” Kíli called, pushing passed Dwalin to give him a hug.
Frerin had rarely been parted from his nephew, and until he had the dwarfling wrapped in his arms, he didn’t realise how much he had missed him.
Not that Kíli was a child anymore, but there seemed to be a lighter air in the room.
Kissing the top of his head, Frerin looked up and snagged his youngest sister-son into the hug as well.
Fíli still didn’t seem sure of his welcome, but he had at least relaxed enough to soak in the physical touch.
Dís tackled the three of them, and it took a true act of balance to not fall as Frerin found himself holding up the other three.
He lost it a moment later and they all fell with several grunts.
Kíli and Fíli began giggling madly.
Frerin couldn’t breathe yet he couldn’t help but smile.
Dís had proved herself an excellent mother in bringing both her sons out of their shells.
For the first time since the attack, Frerin truly felt as if he were home.
It took some time before they were all sitting around the table for dinner.
“Any word from Thorin?” Frerin asked.
Dís rolled his eyes, “Of course not. The dwarf has never met a raven.”
“The Rangers say he’s been adopted by a clan of hobbits,” Balin said. “Not a whisper of trouble. Which I’m relieved to hear, he deserved a break.”
Frerin could have made a joke, but he wasn’t wrong. Sailors were a rough sort of people, but they weren’t as bad or unworldly as men in villages. Thorin had certainly faced the worst of humiliations and labours from men since the dragon out of the three of them.
It was part of the reason Dís never complained about taking on the political work.
Thorin had shouldered so much as Thrain descended into madness before the attempt to reclaim Moria.
“Speaking of which,” Frerin said, rising from his seat. “I brought back presents.”
From his luggage, he pulled three packs.
The largest he gave to Kíli, a bundle of smooth and beautiful variety of driftwood. The longer pieces he had sold at a surprisingly high price on his way back from the gulf. To Dís, he gave a bag of sea glass and a roll of twine.
And to Fíli he gave a pack of pearlicent shell shards and semi-precious stones he had found on shore.
Frerin grinned at the chorus of thank yous.
Let’s see what Thorin brought back with him.
oOo
Thorin arrived home three weeks after Frerin when the first snow flurries blanketed from the clouds. He was pleased at the smiles he received on coming home, more so at the ease, Fíli and Kíli had with each other. They seemed back in sync.
Dís was a bit wide eyed at the food he brought back with him.
“How much did this cost you?” Dís asked.
“A door fix and a new light post,” he answered.
“What?”
He smiled, “They paid me with coin for my goods, they traded me for skills for things I bought from them.”
Dís blinked, “I think I like these hobbits.”
“I know I do,” Thorin said. “If they had been our neighbours, we wouldn’t have starved when the dragon came.”
Dís raised a brow at the remark but said, “You look good. Like you’ve had meals and bathed on occasion.”
“They welcomed me into their home,” Thorin said.
Dís lowered her voice as Thorin cut vegetables and she started the stew, “How much did you make?”
He told her the sum.
She gaped at him, “That’s seven times what Frerin made.”
“I didn’t pay for boarding at all,” he said.
She shook her head, braids swinging, “Save the rest of the stories for the boys.”
Thorin smiled, inclining his head.
He felt well of body and mind. No matter what this winter brought, he knew he had done the best he could for his family and people.
oOo
Fíli nearly spat his drink, “Did you say Bilbo Baggins?”
Thorin nodded with a smile, “Do you know him?”
Fíli bit his lip but affirmed, “He’s close will Estel. He is probably the only hobbit in the Shire who has travelled beyond Bree.”
“He did seem rather worldly compared to the others, though not the most adventurous,” Thorin said, going on about his story speaking of Fíli’s cousins and old friends.
When his Dah said a dwarf had come from Ered Luin, he had failed to mention that Thorin had moved in with them.
Also, it seemed that neither Dah nor his Uncle Thorin realised his connection to them.
Fíli grew more concerned as Thorin continued to tell his tales of the Shire.
Hobbits did not move.
Yet what Thorin was describing was all the hobbits east of the Brandywine moving west.
Things must be bad to prompt such a change. No wonder they had asked for a dwarf to be in the markets.
Fíli didn’t say much for the rest of dinner and excused himself as soon as was polite.
And of course his brother noticed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Fíli insisted.
“Do you not like hobbits?”
Fíli snorted, “Of course not, they’re hobbits. It’s hard to fit in there but I have no doubts that Uncle was treated as an honoured guests.”
“But you’re upset,” Kíli insisted.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It does.”
“Kíli!”
“Fíli,” his brother said with a smirk.
Fíli fell back on his bed with a huff, “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“Is this something about the letters you’ve been writing?” Kíli asked. “Dwalin said you gave a message to a magpie. Men don’t use magpies.”
Fíli sighed, keeping secrets from his brother was impossible.
If the stuff his brother couldn’t possibly guess at, he knew to question.
He wasn’t ready to tell his amad, but he wanted, no needed, to tell his brother. But Amad couldn’t know.
He looked up to his older brother, then to the door.
“Can you keep a secret?”
“Yes,” Kíli said without hesitation.
“Even from Amad, and Uncle Frerin and Thorin?”
Worry clear in his eyes, Kíli nodded.
“You promise?”
“Yes, I promise. Now why are you so upset by hobbits.”
“Bilbo Baggins is my father.”
Kíli scoffed, “Our father is not a hobbit.”
“Not our father, mine , the one who saved me from the dwarf who kidnapped me.”
“Oh…”
“I didn’t completely lie though. I’ve been and I have trained in Rohan, I just wasn’t raised there.”
Kíli was quiet for a long time before flopping down beside him. “What was it like being raised by hobbits?”
“It was fine, until it wasn’t. It’s complicated.”
“I’ll listen.”
And Fíli knew he would.
“Bilbo was the best father a faunt could wish for.”
“You miss him, them, don’t you?”
“No,” Fíli lied.
“You don’t have to do that,” Kíli said. “You don’t have to hide, not from me.
Fíli closed his eyes, “I miss what could have been. Ten years of living in the Shire and I had been more or less accepted. But then we travelled to see Bilbo's cousins in the east and being so close to Bree, well, there were human children playing with the hobbit faunts.”
Kílis face softened with understanding. “Amad never let me near humans when I was younger.”
“Yeah well, hobbits don't have such bad relations with them. Least not with children. They are far more wary of big folk’s adults. But the human kids saw that I was different and they faked an injury when the hobbits' backs were turned and blamed it on me. It spread like wildfire that I had attacked a child and would have maimed a hobbitling if the human child hadn't stopped me.”
Kíli winced. “I'm sorry. If it matters, that's not uncommon between humans and dwarrow. It’s why Uncle hates working with them and the necessity of our people working for them. It was different when we traded with them in Erebor, when they came to us for talents and goods, not us to them for coin.”
“At the time, I was terrified. I thought they would send me back to the Blue Mountains.”
Kíli flinched.
“In my defence, I thought you and Amad were dead.”
“I’m sorry you feared your own people so, I’m sorry you had reason to.”
“You should tell Amad.”
Fíli shook his head, “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
He sighed, “Because Bilbo is the son of an elf lord.”
“What?” Kíli asked, sitting up to look down at him.
“Bilbo is the son of an elf lord,” he repeated.
“How is that possible?”
Fíli couldn’t help the sardonic smile, “Do you really need me to explain planting season? You know you’re the older one righ–”
“ I mean, I didn’t think an elf would lower themselves.”
Fíli frowned, “Hobbits aren’t less than. Besides, my dah is only part elf not really half. But he has the spark, so he was claimed as a true son, like Lord Elrond is called a half-elf when both his parents were elves.”
“Why can’t you tell Amad?”
Fíli met his gaze, “What will they think when they learn my swordmaster was an elf?”
Kíli paled and laid back down beside him.
He didn’t answer for a long time and that was answer enough for Fíli.
oOo
Kíli had grown up hearing the stories of elves. How the woodland elves had betrayed them.
It wasn't so much that Uncle Thorin hated them as a race, he thought them super sillilious but if he learned that an elf had raised him?
“Did they– did the elves purposely keep you away from us?”
“Bilbo didn't,” his little brother said. “But the elves did.”
Kíli fisted his hands. “I do not think it will matter.”
“But you don't know ?” Fíli countered.
Kíli bit his lip. They were already in bad standing with elves.
“If it got out, if it became common knowledge… Can you speak it?”
“Speak what?” Fíli asked.
“Elvish?”
“I can speak and write Sindarin and I'm not terrible in the eastern dialects.”
Kíli swore silently, “You have to get better at Khuzdul.”
“Why? Why is that most important to you in all this?”
“Because it shouldn't matter that the elves helped raise you, they also protected you. But you're a prince and it might matter. Elvish politics hasn't really been a part of my training overly much because of where the Blue Mountains are.”
“I hear a but coming.”
Kíli sighed “ But, it will matter, I know it will matter that you can speak their language and not ours. That will matter to our people.”
“And I have a hard enough time fitting in as it is.”
Kíli frowned. There was too much bite in that phrase. “Did something happen?”
“No,” he said too quickly before his shoulders rounded. “Absolutely nothing.”
Kíli decided that was something he needed to handle if he could just figure out what that ‘nothing’ was.
oOo
Thorin decided to wait to give Oin the haul Bilbo had given him.
Oin was in a lull which was good because he had brought Kíli, Nori, and Ori with him. Balin was playing babysitter to them while Dwalin was with Dís, Frerin, and Fíli.
Oin glared at them, but he didn’t bark to send them off because of that lull. Instead, he greeted them with a grunt after he did a visual check that none of them were injured.
“I have a gift for you,” Thorin said, pulling the basket bag that Bilbo had given him over his shoulder and placing it gently on Oin’s desk.
Bilbo had insisted that a soft bag wasn’t enough to carry the glass bottles and jars in.
Oin leaned back in his chair behind his desk, a silent, Go ahead, impress me.
Smirking, Thorin pulled out the first bag, “Mr. Baggins said this one was for general use.”
Oin leaned forward at the clink of glass.
“This one is for bairns,” Thorin said and then pulled out the largest bag, “And this one is for the dams.”
Oin was silent as he methodically checked over the clearly labelled jars.
Thorin passed him the catalogue book Bilbo had given him with the ingredients, warnings, and treatment uses for each of his products.
“Oin?” Thorin asked as he saw the healer's hand begin to shake.
“You– how much did you– Thorin, I can’t repay you for any of this. I can’t believe you were able to afford it all,” Oin said, as he picked out a jar of some thick balm and popped the lid off it to give it a whiff. “You got this from elves? They typically label their jars in their own language, not common.”
“I traded for them,” Thorin said. “The hobbit I was staying with made them himself. He grew most of the ingredients in his own garden.”
Oin carefully recapped the jar and leafed through the catalogue.
“Oin?” Balin asked, rounding the table to place a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?”
Oin shook his head, quickly putting down the book to wipe at his eyes.
Thorin was shocked when he realised the healer was crying. Thorin shared a worried look with Balin.
Oin kept shaking his head, “You don’t understand what this means for us. Thorin, what could you possibly have traded for this?’
“I made him a new set of gardening tools and forged him a new pan.”
Oin huffed a laugh then repeated, “You have no idea– Thorin, you have no idea what this means for us. Do you know how many of our dams will survive the winter with these? How many of our pebbles?”
Thorin felt his heart pick up speed, “What?”
Oin held up a jar, “This can slow bleeding. These are nutrients we can give our bearers, these are nutrients to give to infants, nutrients that are essential for the health of the mother and child. Nutrients that mitigate a lack of fresh food. Things we can mix with cow or goat milk if our dams aren’t able to produce enough milk themselves for the little ones.
“This,” he held up a large bottle. “ This , can prevent a patient from going into shock after an injury or during a surgery.”
He held up another bottle, “This is a disinfectant I can put into a puncture wound or use during surgery. Thorin, this will save lives .”
Picking back up the catalogue, he went on, “If we could set up a long-term trade with this Master Baggins, I could– I would trade much.”
Balin squeezed his shoulder, Oin patted his hand and actually smiled.
Kíli was staring at all the things on the table, “I didn’t know plants could do all that.”
Oin laughed, “Aye, it’s the problem with the races being segregated and why elves and men get so far ahead in the world. Dwarves value and have mastered mining, mechanical invention, and weapon making, but we ourselves are not truly made of stone. We are as flesh and blood as them, and growing things need other growing things to sustain themselves.”
Thorin felt his jaw tick, “In my father’s absence, Dís and I lead, and we value life over wealth. I will see what we can do to maintain a consistent trade with Mister Baggins.”
Balin ran a hand over the cover of the book written by Bilbo, “I have an idea to start.”
“Really?” Kíli asked.
Balin nodded, “Books take quite some time to write. My apprentice,” and here he smiled at Ori, “can certainly make a few copies of this book.”
Ori nodded, “I can do that.”
“How is that helpful for Mr. Baggins?” Kíli asked.
“It means he can give more to other healers without having to worry that they won’t understand how they are meant to be used,” Oin explained. “This book is incredibly valuable even without the medicine. It’s not exactly an instruction manual, but if you know how to create these, with the ingredients list, it’s priceless. In a way, without the measurements included it discourages someone from experimenting themselves. It’s not as simple as mixing leaves.”
“I can do it,” Ori said.
Oin looked up at Thorin, “Thank you, my prince. This gift… it lessens my fear of the winter.”
Thorin inclined his head, vowing to himself that he would prioritise keeping his healer stores stocked.
It was not a difficult promise, not when it meant he would see his One again.
In the end, it was no difficulty at all as Bilbo's generosity knew few bounds and his extended family who moved in with, rather made the potions and healing herbs a family business.
Hobbits, as the Blue Mountains soon learned, were quite industrious as dwarves, though their generosity far exceeded any other of the free peoples of Arda.
oOo
Kíli knew his brother. As he knew there was a reason he didn’t come to the healer’s ward with him.
He was also observant enough to notice the dwarrowdam who was Oin’s apprentice flee the moment K íli walked into the room.
Subtleness had its place.
Kíli took the direct root though, stepping in front of the dam while the others were busy unpacking the jars for Oin.
She startled.
“Hi, I’m Prince K íli,” he said brightly.
She visablied swallowed.
She was beautiful. Young, but not so much younger than Fíli.
“Hello,” she said giving an awkward curtsy. “I’m Sonna, Apprentice to Healer Oin.”
No familiar title.
Interesting.
“I heard you met my brother,” he said.
She flinched.
Kíli smiled in victory, he had a good guess as to what had happened.
oOo
Sonna was having heart palpitations when she was cornered in the hall outside the healer’s wing. She tried to make excuses only to be struck with a rather rude question.
“Is my brother your One?”
Mahal’s furry balls!
She flushed, attempting to tame her tongue, “How– How dare you?”
“He already asked to court you, didn't he? But you turned him down, why? Did he offend you? You know he was separated from our culture for decades. You shouldn't judge him for things he doesn't know.”
“He didn't offend me,” she snapped.
Kíli grinned, “So he is your One.”
She turned away from him, “My prince, you should not be asking me this.”
“He's my little brother, I can have Captain Dwalin or my uncles ask if you prefer. I promise to leave my mother out of it though. You’re welcome.”
Sonna turned back to level him with her fiercest glare at him, “Do not threaten me.”
Far from being scared away, Kíli stepped closer. “What did he do? Did he hurt you?”
“No! How– how could you even ask that!? He's the kindest dwarf I've ever met!”
The dark haired Prince smiled, “So you like.”
Heart pounding, she forgot both their stations and shoved him, “What do you want?”
The crowned prince was thankfully not offended, “I want to know what he did that you won't talk to him despite making eyes at him whenever his back is turned.”
She tugged on her hair, “If I tell you will you leave?”
“Maybe.”
“He gave me flowers.”
Kíli’s look softened. “Admittedly, not very princely, but my brother values flowers, he would value you. It wasn’t meant as an insult.”
The first gift was always something of value if you believed them to be your One.
It was akin to saying, I would risk my heart and I would bet my future that our lives would be better together.
The second gift was more intimate and sentimental, once you got to know one another.
“He told me they were medical ingredients when I turned him down.”
The older prince seemed amused by this, “Well, at least he didn't ask for them back.”
“They were not courting gifts.”
“My brother grew up as a common blacksmith in a quaint village shoeing horses, Amad hasn't taught him how to court. It was a sign of his affection for you.”
“Well, he should move on. Because I'm not good enough for him.”
“But he's good enough for you?”
“No! He's too good for me! I'm a nobody.”
“You're a healer, a dwarrowdam, and most likely his One. I'd say that makes you someone rather important.”
“I'm a daughter of a dishonoured criminal.”
Prince Kíli cocked his head, “Do you know why dwarrowdams don't take their father's name and why, my mother being a princess, means my brother and I use her name and not our father's?”
“Tradition.”
“Yes, tradition. Because a dwarrowdam sets the rules, she names the children, she determines how their children will be raised.”
“My mother left me.”
“And that was her choice,” Kíli said.
“Yet apparently it's not my choice to turn down your brother.”
“Of course it is. But not everyone finds their One's. It's not as common as anyone wishes it were. I'll respect your wishes, Sonna, apprentice of Healer Oin, but if your wish is to be with my brother and it's his title holding you back, then I'm telling you, as his kin, that you would be welcomed with open arms into our family.”
“I doubt your mother would feel the same,” Sonna scoffed.
Kíli arched a brow, “My father was a blind cook who King Thrain hated. Enough so that my Ri uncles were never formally acknowledged in court. But Prince Thorin supported his sister and there is no one who would doubt how much my mother loved my father.”
“I am not brave enough nor good enough for Prince Fíli and I will not humiliate either of us by encouraging his affections.”
“Is he or is he not your One?”
“I don't know,” she lied.
Kíli paused, looking into her eyes, waiting for her to say more.
She didn't.
“Maybe you're right,” Kíli said finally. “My brother deserves someone who isn't too cowardly to fight for him. Not even to try.”
Sonna fisted her hands, “You don't understand. If it didn't work, then my life would be ruined.”
Kíli snorted. “You're the one with the power, Sonna. I do apologize for overstepping. Good day.”
Sonna watched the prince leave, her heart sinking.
She reached into her pocket where she had preserved one of the purple blooms in glass. Glass was not expensive though the craftsman had laughed at her request.
To dwarrow, flowers meant nothing, but to Sonna the asters had meant everything.
She told herself it would be okay, that it would be fine, that she would be fine.
Still, she held onto that bloom like a balm to her heart. Maybe in another life, her soul would be complete.
In another life, she would be deserving. Then, they might find each other again.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, are you okay with more tangents, sloths, or feedback pretty please?
Chapter 14: Seduce a King
Chapter Text
KEYnote: I’ve decided that gender for hobbits is arbitrary to reproduction. To my AO3 reviewers, would you be interested in Bilbo and Thorin having faunts? And do you have a preferred method?
P.S. This also just reshaped beyond the Hobbit and into the Lord of the Rings, please enjoy!
Chapter 14 - To Seduce a King
D ís fell onto his bed, “You know, for someone who earned himself a fortune, you seem awfully depressed.”
Thorin sighed, pulling his arm away from his face to look at her, “You cannot tell Frerin.”
Her eyes lit up with excitement, “Tell him what?”
“Promise, Dís.”
“I promise,” she said instantly, curling into his side as if she were an excitable pebble again waiting for a bedtime story or song.
He let his hand fall to brush her hair back from her face, “I found my One.”
She gasped, sitting up to lean over him, “When can I meet them?”
“You won’t be meeting him.”
She pouted at him, “Seems unlikely. Surely you can arrange to visit the Iron Hills when–”
“He’s a hobbit.”
She blinked, “A hobbit?”
“Bilbo Baggins.”
She smiled, “No wonder you spoke so highly of him.”
“He’s incredible.”
“So are you.”
“He can’t move to Ered Luin, Dís. We couldn’t afford to feed him and his pebbles.”
Her smile fell, “But, he’s your One.”
“It’s enough to know him.”
“Liar.”
He sighed, “It has to be. Besides, hobbits don’t have Ones. And his family is large , Dís. Their pebbles could eat us out of the mountain.”
Dís flopped back down beside him, “Nothing comes easy, does it?”
He sighed, turning to pull her into a hug. It was rare he asked for comfort, but his sister would understand.
“You’ll see him in the spring,” she coaxed, she held him close.
“I made enough, we don’t need the money.”
“We always will, and there will come a year when you can’t be spared. This is not that year. Enjoy what time you have with your One.”
He squeezed her tight, “I love you, Namadith.”
oOo
Estur daughter of Bifur knew that her father worried for her.
How could he not? She worried.
She had apprenticed in the Iron Hills to be a plumber.
Did they have plumbing in Ered Luin? Yes, but the aqueducts were stone and could not be tampered with because of how ancient they were.
The settlement in the Iron Hills, while tightly packed with even fewer resources outside their territory due to lack of trade, had modern everything.
If you wanted to learn how to be good in hydro-engineering, the Iron Hills with its indoor and sewage system that filtered itself through layers of sediment that naturalised contamination was the place to be.
But there was no work for her Adad in the Iron Hills.
And if you wanted to work in the Iron Hills mines, then you had to be a part of the guilds. Her father had speech impediments and a few cognitive lapses that meant he would never be chosen.
Her cousins, though she called them her uncles, couldn't come either, Bofur because he needed to remain with Bifur and Bombur had pebbles to be minding.
Estur’s amad hadn't survived giving birth to her, which her adad told over and over again was not her fault and that either of them would give their lives for hers.
However, it always felt like there was an empty seat at the table. So when an opportunity arose, Estur had set her heart on following her dreams.
Until, that was, the call for the march to Moria went.
She had begged her not to go, still, he went, saying that it was his king's command.
And she would not be left behind. Despite her young age, she had joined as a part of the aid after the battle, thinking she could help the wounded.
But they lacked the resources to for the wounded, and the dead grew beyond the count of grief.
All for a King whose madness had called down a dragon from the north. It had not grieved Estur at all when she learned that King Thror had been beheaded. Only disgust that King Thrain had run away, leaving their heir with the moniker Oakenshield and the sorrows of their people.
Estur had been furious with her adad; We are Blue Mountain dwarrow, we owed them nothing.
Her father had smiled even as an ax was removed from his head, War ne bou– king, er follow, dis bout te dwarrow besid ye.
In truth, the healers said it would be unlikely he would survive his injuries and blood loss when they took the axe from his skull. She had held his hand through wee hours of the morning.
When he survived his wounds that night and the nights to follow, she couldn’t handle the resentment.
Not all of Adad had returned back to her.
So when the encampment moved, she went east as her father and uncles returned home to the west.
She had been little more than a child then. Now that she was seventy-seven, and having passed her apprenticeship, she felt the call of home.
The trip was odious, travelling south through the winter was a missed bag at best. Though she kne it was better than risking travel through the elven realm, No one wanted to go through Mirkwood. Instead, she and a small party of dwarrow travelled south toward the Gap of Rohan.
“Is it just me, or have the men gotten meaner?” she asked as they were leaving the lands above Gondor.
“It’s not just you lass,” her guide said.
They were travelling with carts to carry many raw goods, mostly metals and furs to support Ered Luin.
Which meant they were slower, their ponies and mules, steadfast but dragging out the miles.
Which made the veritable army of horsemen who sprang out of the horizon on their long-legged steeds terrifying.
The spears that were pointed at them did not lower when they explained who they were and their purpose.
She kept the words the horsemen whispered to them close to her heart, holding onto her hope in the dungeons of Roharrim.
“We are sorry,” the men told them. “But we must do as our king commands.”
Estur found herself in the peculiar circumstances of praying that her own king would come to save them. That the line of Thror, Dragon Bringing, would help them, was cold comfort in the men’s rank dungeons.
oOo
Fíli was not a miner, but the mountain, these mountains still sang to him.
He didn’t bother cleaning up his work station at the forge as he put a hand on the wall.
Dwalin had stood at Fíli’s abrupt movement.
He looked up to meet the older dwarf’s gaze, “Is this what a cave in feels like?”
Dwalin’s eyes widened, but he didn’t hesitate to call the alarm.
oOo
Thorin wrapped an arm around his sister-son, pressing their foreheads together, “You saved them, namadinùdoy.”
It was nothing short of miraculous that Fíli had sensed the cave in so soon. Or perhaps it wasn’t.
In his absence, Fíli was not accustomed to the growing pains of the mountains, and where the warning signs in the song of the mountain most had tuned out, Fíli remained sensitive.
Mahal had truly blessed his youngest sister-son with his stone-sense.
Ered Luin was old, and while their metal weapons, tools, and trinkets were infamous for surviving the centuries, mountains were not dead thing.
They grew, they breathed, they lived, and as with all things, they changed, especially when you carved into them.
It wasn’t the mines that failed them, the mines that they had painstakingly reinforced even if it cut dramatically into the ability to export in trade.
No, it was the old district that centuries upon centuries of Blue Mountain Dwarrow had called home that had collapsed.
Thanks to Fíli, they had had enough time to evacuate everyone, even enough time for those dwarrow to grab some of their heirlooms.
Yet today was another unhappy event in a long line of tragedies that had struck their people in this age.
Sacrifices were made in the coming days, Oin, Gloin, and Gloin’s beautiful family moved into their apartment.
Fíli, Kíli, and Gimli took the smallest room, Oin moved in with Balin and Dwalin, while Dís, Frerin, and Thorin now shared a room so Gloin and his wife could have a room to themselves.
The Ur’s moved in with the Ri’s.
Their households were hardly the most packed, however.
Thorin saw the pinch his people were feeling. He couldn’t help but feel like the world was growing smaller for dwarrow.
One thing was for certain, they couldn’t continue like this, not forever.
oOo
Bilbo Baggins was rather flustered as the first yellow crocuses and snowdrops bloomed from the thawing earth.
Thorin was coming back this year.
Saradoc had taken great pleasure in laughing at him, like the little devil he was.
Paladin, Eglantine, and Esmeralda were far more sympathetic. Frodo was the oldest among the tweens. In fact, he no longer a tween who would be turning thirty-three this autumn, dutifully helped Bilbo as he refreshed the guest room and cleaned up the forge.
Frodo was a good lad, quiet but filled with kindness and a wisdom beyond his years.
Like Bilbo, however, he was caught between his Baggins nature in wanting to stay home and take care of those around him, and his Tookish side that called to the wide beyond.
Bilbo had half a mind to take Frodo on an adventure to visit Elrond, but the road was more dangerous even with an envoy.
Besides, Glorfindel wouldn’t be there.
And Bilbo had no intention of travelling with a faunt to Mirkwood.
“Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo began as they were reshelving ointments.
Bilbo hummed in answer.
“Are you going to have more children?”
Bilbo nearly dropped the jar in his hands, “Frodo!”
“Dwarrow don’t have many faunts, do they?”
Bilbo carefully put the jar on the shelf, “Frodo, Thorin isn’t staying with us, not forever.”
“Would you adopt?” Frodo asked.
Bilbo turned to fully face him, “Are there not enough faunts in the smial to keep you entertained?”
Frodo shrugged, “I’m just– worried about you. You’re a good uncle, but you look sad any time someone says ‘dah’. The family would support you, even if your Heartsong isn’t involved.”
Bilbo closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to purge the image of what Thorin would look like cradling their faunt in his arms.
He had failed Fíli.
And he couldn’t split either of their families by creating another little life caught between two worlds.
“I wouldn’t want to be a father without a romantic partner,” Bilbo said.
Not again, went unsaid.
Frodo fidgeted, looking down at his feet, “I’m sorry.”
Bilbo tsked, walking around boxes to pull the lad into a hug. “Don’t ever doubt your place in my heart. I’ve loved you since your birth. I am so proud to be your uncle. And I am honoured, despite our grief, to see you through your tweens.”
Frodo hugged back tightly, “I love you, Uncle Bilbo.”
He hugged the lad even tighter, “And I you, my dearest Frodo.”
Their moment was interrupted by a knock on the door.
Frodo pulled back first and Bilbo straighted his own waistcoat before walking up the hall.
It was midafternoon, the other faunts were out playing, tea time having already passed in what daylight remained.
But it was still early for a visitor he was hoping for.
Yet Thorin was among his only visitors who would bother knocking.
When Bilbo opened the door, he found no dwarf but two big folk.
Four of his favourite big folk.
Bilbo smiled, “Lady Arwen, Estel, and you wee devils.”
Elladan and Elrohir sniggered as Arwen dropped to a knee to pull him into a hug.
Bilbo stepped back to let them in and made introductions to Frodo who had followed him.
“Now, what brings you lot here?” Bilbo asked, smiling.
He did not like the answer.
oOo
“You want me to seduce a king?”
“We think you would be rather good at it,” Estel said cheekily.
“Why would the King of Rohan listen to me, a mere hobbit, and not you, the future King of Gondor?” Bilbo asked.
“First,” Estel said. “I may never be king. Secondly, I cannot tell anyone outside you and elves who I am. And third, you are not just a hobbit, your Bilbo Baggins.”
Bilbo gave him an unimpressed look. “You have three perfectly capable elves with you, Estel. You don’t need anything from me.”
“He won’t see us, not the Rangers, not the elves, but the hobbit who once the Roherrim saw in their markets who refused to meet with the king when invited?”
“Why is this important?” Bilbo asked.
“Because a darkness clouds King Thengel’s mind, he no longer listens to his advisors, nor his wife, nor his children. Now he has stopped and imprisoned a small caravan of dwarrow from the Iron Hills.”
Bilbo massaged his temples, he looked up when he felt a tug on his sleeve.
Frodo looked at him with wary hope, “May I come with you, please?”
Bilbo sighed and he looked back at Estel who knew he had won.
But as far as adventures went, he trusted these four to keep his nephew safe.
“Well, we couldn’t be Mad Baggins if we stayed home all of the time. Go pack your things and write Sam a note, we’ll send it back when we’ve passed Bree.”
Arwen raised her brows, “That’s a bit fast, isn’t it?”
“I’d ask you to stay for supper, but then we’d half a dozen faunts tagging along,” Bilbo explained.
oOo
Being the lightest among the big folk, Arwen took Bilbo on her beautiful and very tall white horse.
Frodo rode with Estel and his chestnut mare.
Their journey, for the most part, was unremarkable.
Paladin sent a very annoyed letter with the return magpie which he ended with a ‘thank you’.
Had Bilbo delayed at all, the other faunts would not have let them journey without issue.
Neither the Tooks nor the Brandybucks could have let such chaos go unheeded. Nor would have Frodo’s Sam. The two were inseparable.
But Bilbo would not be bringing any tweens through the gap of Rohan.
Bilbo hadn’t been east in years. He got to see for himself the growing darkness.
They didn’t actually go into Bree, but the farmers they passed toiled over near barren soil. Rohan was south of the Shire, their winters weren’t as long.
Spring should have been yielding to summer, but the closer to the Misty Mountains they drew, the more the sickness became apparent to him.
Along the way, Estel, Arwen, and the twins regalled Frodo with tales that not even Bilbo knew. They spoke solely in Sindarin and during the weeks of travel, Frodo grew close to fluent.
The six of them stayed close at night and Frodo quickly learned to dislike lembas bread for they did not stop to hunt or forage save for the rest of the horses.
Luckily for them, the grass was not so corrupted by the shadow cast upon the lands as to be poisoned or unedible to them.
They were all relieved when they reached Rohan and the palace guard welcomed them gladly when they spotted Bilbo.
Bilbo had never met King Thengel, though he had seen a few of his children running about the market place a time or two. Had they stayed in Rohan longer, they might have been close friends of Fíli’s who they always had time to spare a kind word. Though that had been nearly a decade ago.
Bilbo kept a firm hold on Frodo’s hand as they were led through the halls.
Estel and the elves kept their hoods up following behind like some kind of honour guard.
King Thengel sat hunched on his throne and when Bilbo tilted his head, he thought he saw a veil of cobwebs draped over his personage.
He thought he smelt rot in the halls of these men and fought to hide his distaste at the way his princes and princesses cowered behind his throne.
The king’s smile was oddly twisted as he greeted, “The halfling and his son have returned to Rohan to visit my halls at long last.”
Bilbo bowed, guiding Frodo with him. When he spoke, he did not contest the king’s assumption, “I am Bilbo Baggins, and this is my son, Frodo Baggins. We have travelled far for the honour of meeting you, King Thengel of Roherrim.”
At his every word, the King’s face seemed to clear. Only to darken when he asked, “And those with you?”
“My guard,” Bilbo said. “The Rangers are friends of the Shire. It is not safe for hobbits to travel the land alone.”
“Not as such wee things,” the King agreed, standing. “Come you will join us for dinner.”
“Thank you, your highness,” Frodo spoke up.
King Thengel smiled, a spark coming back into his eyes.
Whatever was wrong with him, whatever dark magic plagued him, was curable.
Yet, any offered help had likely been turned away.
Until now.
Sometimes, Bilbo felt like Big Folk were curious about hobbits the way hobbits were curious about elves.
Bilbo thought elves were more interesting, though it was somewhat flattering men this far east thought hobbits worthy of being fascinating.
Estel and the elves went to the walls with the guards while Bilbo and Frodo were seated like royalty beside the actual royalty.
“Halflings don’t ride horses, do they?” the King asked, sounding almost sad.
Bilbo smiled, “Most do not, this is true. We prefer our feet firmly on the ground. But I was cajoled into learning when I visited your fair lands and saw your faunts, I mean littlest children, riding full sized horses. I taught Frodo how to ride ponies, though we have little cause to.”
“You arrived by horse?” Thengel asked.
Bilbo nodded, “The Rangers were kind enough to lend us theirs.”
He was well aware that if the King had been in his right mind, if the guards had been more concerned for their king, not of him, then the others wouldn’t have been allowed to keep their hoods up and walked armed into the halls.
Of course, it was possible that the guards already knew them and maybe had even invited them.
“Do you enjoy riding?” Thengel asked.
Bilbo nodded, “Surprisingly, yes. It makes me feel very small, which is nothing new, but rather honoured that an animal so big would dane to listen to me.”
Thengel’s smile was real, “Our horses like the little folk. You’re light and tend not to have such a harsh touch. You’re an easy burden, and if accepted, they take care of you as they would one of their own. They are family.”
Bilbo smiled in return, “They are a good family to have.”
“Yes,” Thengel said, trailing off. “Yes, they are, aren’t they…”
He seemed to notice his human children for the first time and they sat up straighter, hope clear on their faces.
But even as the king gazed on his princes and princesses, that shadow glossed his eyes once more.
“When was the last time you rode?” Frodo asked.
“What?” Thengel asked, head swivelling back to face him.
“When was the last time you went for a ride with one of your horses?” Frodo asked again, managing to be both brave and shy at the same time.
While Bilbo looked like an adult, Frodo was still young enough and fair enough even among hobbits, to be mistaken as a man’s child with point ears.
Even a king whose mind had been corrupted by black magic was charmed.
“I– I don’t know,” Thengel admitted, looking ashamed. “I don’t remember when last I’ve been to the stables.”
“May I meet your horses?” Frodo asked. “I’m sure they must be magnificent.”
Thengel laughed, “Oh, they are, my dear lad. They are the most magnificent. Those in Gondor brag, but no beast could ever be so lovely as the horses of the Roherrim.”
“My Un–, my uncle and my dah,” Frodo motioned toward Bilbo, making his heart ache, “have always told me so.”
“Indeed, and I see now that halflings are among the wiser folk of Arda. Perhaps your lack of great deeds is merely a product of your common sense,” the King said delightedly, standing with strength and grace he had not shown before.
“I’ve always thought that to be true,” Bilbo said. “And you, King Thengel are the wisest of kings to admit it.”
The King laughed gayfully and his court joined him.
“Come,” Thengel said. “I’ll introduce you to my steads. Supper can wait for us. Frodo, I believe your father said you could ride a pony, would you like to try a real horse?”
Frodo looked to Bilbo, overwhelmed by the attention of not just the King but every big person in the room.
Bilbo laid a hand on his shoulder, “You will get no better offer, my boy, than being taught to ride by the King of Rohan.”
Frodo leaned into the touch as they stood.
The King clapped, “Excellent! My old mare is retired now, she a bright thing, too gentle for war but so intelligent. She danced for me at every celebration and festival and impressed those in Gondor in her time. She will be good for you.”
Frodo gave Bilbo a look that said clearly, He’s about to put me on an animal five times as tall as me, isn’t he?
Bilbo squeezed his shoulder in reassurement. He noted that Estel and Arwen followed behind them, but Elrohir and Elladan stayed back to speak with the guards.
Frodo was awed and very brave as the King walked them through his stables, until one of the guards brought out a beautiful grey and silver mare.
She was sleek, and even the evidence of her age did not mare her beauty.
Her withers were also at the man’s height, towering over the majority of horses in the stables.
Bilbo tried not to laugh at Frodo’s panicked stiffness when the king lifted him, placing him bareback on the calm mare whose name they were told was Octavia.
The King gave instructions, rubbing the mare’s neck and shoulder. Octavia nuzzled the King in turn, appearing to have missed the man. She paid no attention to Frodo save for the occasional ear flick in his direction.
Bilbo tugged on the King’s robe to get his attention, the man looked down at him with another smile, no hint of lingering darkness or sickness in his eyes.
“Yes?”
“My lad’s a bit young yet, if you wouldn’t mind, I could assist,” Bilbo explained.
Frodo looked just about ready to cry.
A guard scooped Bilbo up, placing him behind Frodo. He immediately hugged him, laying a kiss on his curls, “S’all right, s’all right. She’s not going to let us fall.” He leaned forward, guiding one of Frodo’s hands to Octavia’s mane and neck. “She’s not going to let us fall. I can already tell, she’s nicer than the ponies I had you on.”
Thengel laughed, again, “He tells the truth. Come, come, lad, your father knows what he’s doing.”
Thengel led them out into the twilight where Bilbo learned as much as Frodo did about horses.
Whatever had been plaguing the King, he was free of it for now.
oOo
The next morning, was far more chaotic than their arrival had been.
The twins had stolen into the King’s bed chambers with the guards’ aid while Thengel was with the horses.
There they found some orb thing, that turned out to be cursed and the thing warping the king’s sanity.
King Thengel was enraged when he realised all that had happened to him and his lands since he had been magically manipulated.
That rage only grew when no one could remember where the orb came from nor could they track the origins of the person manipulating them.
Bilbo shivered when Estel said it could be a fallen wizard, a fallen elf, or the Dark Lord Sauran whose return had been foretold.
No one liked any of those options.
However, the main crisis of Roherrim was averted. Estel and the elves would return to Rivendell.
While Bilbo and Frodo travelled with the carven of dwarrrow from the Iron Hills who had been wrongly imprisoned.
Bilbo was pretty certain it was due to Frodo’s large beseeching blue eyes, that the dwarrow got away better off than they had arrived. They were given fresh steads, full meals at the king’s table as they waited, and enough food to easily make the journey to Ered Luin with.
“You have to stay at Bag End,” Frodo was telling a dwarrowdam named Estur.
She smiled at him, “Not this time. I think we are late enough as it is. Hopefully, with these Roherrim ponies we can make back some distance. We can’t afford to stop though.”
Frodo’s shoulders sagged and the dwarrowdam immediately rested a hand on his shoulder, “Next time we pass this way, we will stop, I promise, pebble. You are dwarf-friend now, and that is a much more difficult and grandeur title than elf-friend.”
Because it was Frodo, he asked, “The elves taught me Sindarin, will you teach me Khuzdul?”
All the dwarrow present laughed heartily.
But none of them answered.
Bilbo took it as a kindness that they didn’t tell them ‘no’, outright.
oOo
Estur was already beginning to regret having to say goodbye to the halflings–hobbits–the further into the Shire they got.
“Frodo will be turning thirty-three this autumn, which is the age of majority for hobbits,” Bilbo was explaining as they rode on.
Frodo wrinkled his nose, “I’ve no idea what to give everyone though.”
“You give presents on your birthday?” Estur asked.
Bilbo sighed, “Yes, and because we share the date, expectations will be high. I never re-gift anything. And given my position, I’ll be expected to truly impress. I should have started earlier.”
Estur bit her lip, “What sort of gifts?”
“Depends really. Soups, seedlings, bottled ale, or jams, but those are for the adults. It’s what we give to the faunts that is meant to impress. I’m a bit behind party planning. I thought I would have more time to commission something,” Bilbo explained.
Estur coughed, “My adad– my father and uncle are toymakers.”
Frodo looked at him with rising excitement.
Bilbo smiled, “Is that their craft?”
She nodded, “It is. Though it’s not a profitable business in Ered Luin. They labour as miners.”
“Well, if they can spare the time, I would certainly pay,” Bilbo said. “Though they probably find it easiest to work in the Shire. I would of course provide for their stay and travel in addition to the commission.”
Estur blinked, opened her mouth then snapped it shut. She was incredibly unfamiliar with the feeling of being treated fairly by other races.
But after freeing them from the Mad Man King, she owed these hobbits a debt. She had to trust, or at least give them the benefit of the doubt. “Dwarrow work fast, how many toys would you need?”
“Two hundred,” Bilbo said. “A hundred faunts are likely to show up and they need a present from both Frodo and I.”
She gaped at them.
The other dwarrow in their group gaped at them.
“Are you alright?” Bilbo asked.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, I’m sure they would love to…”
“But?” Bilbo asked with a kind smile.
She smiled back, “But I have been far from home for some decades now. I’ll miss them.”
Her friend, Shane, sat forward on his pony, “Why don’t you stay here then? We owe Master Baggins much, and while your adad can’t pay that debt forward, your staying would ensure their acceptance of the commission.”
Frodo grinned, “So you can stay for dinner!?”
Bilbo smiled, “Truly, I must insist you all stay for a night.”
Shane who had been wary of the hobbit was much mor comfortable with a business arrangement in the making and accepted on the groups behalf.
As it turned out, it was to everyone’s unexpected benefits.
For when they arrived at Bag End, they were greeted by eager pebbles and a feast.
oOo
Bilbo was disappointed when he found the letter that Thorin had sent informing them that he was unable to join them this year because of a problem in Ered Luin. Yet his horror at what had happened made him grateful that he could send along a care package.
After resting for a night, and being harassed by faunts, the Iron Hill caravan continued to Ered Luin. Bilbo sent food with all of them, with three baskets for Thorin’s family and another order of healing merchandise as this years harvest were doing extremely well.
Whatever longing he felt for his Heartsong he felt, he was distracted by family and preparing for Frodo’s coming-of-age party.
Along with them, he sent a commission letter to Lord Balin, Son of Fundin when Estur informed him it was proper for such a large business dealing.
Having no reason to doubt her, Bilbo did as she requested.
oOo
It wasn't often Bofur was invited to the royal wing of Thorin's Halls.
Sure, Prince Fíli was starting to warm up to him and he knew Prince Thorin considered him a friend, but it was still a surprise.
As was the feast they, Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur and his littles were greeted with.
Along with Ri’s and their ward Sonna.
There was hardly enough room around the table.
Bofur remembered the added bulk that Prince Thorin had gained when he had first returned from the Shire, not fat, but an evolution from wirier muscles to that of the proper size of a workaholic smith. He was tall by dwarven standards and Bofur was somewhat saddened that he seemed to have lost the weight that allowed him to be his healthy.
“Fíli was quite right about the generosity of hobbits, as he was about the approaching collapse of the old district. So to Fíli and Bilbo Baggins shall we raise our pints tonight.” Thorin toasted.
Fíli shrunk away from the attention but the rest eagerly dug into the food that had a lot more vegetables than the standard dwarven fair.
They had all been cooked in butter and the mushrooms were filling enough to almost make up for not being meat, so there was not a single complaint to be heard. They had all lived on rationed food for too long to complain.
Gimli and Sonna were gems and sat with Bombur’s three pebbles in the living room to eat so the rest of them could squeeze in around the dining room table. There was no elbow room but by Mahal did it felt incredible to be full.
Conversation was light, and for a time they set aside all their grievances.
Only Bifur refrained from smiling.
That night they had received a letter from the caravan that Estur had found employment and would be delayed returning home for a few more months.
Bofur’s niece was independent to a fault and they all hated the thought that she was working for men on her own.
At least when she was in the Iron Hills, she had been with their own kind. In fact, they were a bit infuriated with the caravan who had allowed her to remain behind on the road alone.
Since Bifur’s injury, he had trouble talking. He stuttered and had trouble forming words, so much so that he mainly spoke with Iglishmêk now. The rant he had given after reading his daughter's letter had caused Bombur to take his pebbles out to the market.
“I adore hobbits,” Dís said, pleased. “I ought to write to him and thank him for taking such good care of you.”
“Yes, well, this isn't quite the end of Master Baggins’s generosity,” Balin said, eyes twinkling as he pulled a paper from his breast pocket and held it out to Bofur.
“For me?” he asked, surprised.
Thorin nodded, “And your cousin.”
Bofur exchanged a look with Bifur before he stood and nearly tipped his ale which Nori reached over Ori to steady.
Bofur opened the parchment and fell back into his seat as his legs went to jelly. “You can't be serious,” he breathed.
Bifur snatched it from his hand, only to gape, speechless at the numerals written with such bold elegant lettering.
“Completely serious,” Balin said. “Dwarvish trade is rare and men rip them off. So buying from us is something they normally wouldn't know where to begin with. It's not like in Dale where we had a formal shop to sell our wares to the outside world. Our trade partnership with Master Baggins is proving immensely beneficial.”
Bofur could only shake his head as he reread the letter from start to finish, looking for the catch.
“What did he ask from you?” Dwalin asked.
“A single commission,” Bofur said, feeling a bit unreal as he finished with awe. “For two hundred children's toys.”
The room fell silent and Bifur leaned into him both offering and asking for support.
“What on earth could they need that many toys for?” Gloín rumbled.
They made Thorin explain birthdays twice over before they understood.
Bofur still couldn't believe it.
“So if everyone gives gifts then several times a year, everyone would receive one?” Bofur asked, growing fonder of the halflings by the moment.
Bombur had taken the contract and summarised, “He invites Master Toymakers, Masters Bifur and Bofur, as well as his kin are welcome to stay at Bag End until the duration of the toys are completed. Food and amenities included. Wood will be sourced from the Shire.”
The last was the biggest logistical concern Bofur had had for such a large commission.
“I can assure, it is true. I would take Bilbo Baggins’s word as surely as I would trust my own,” Thorin offered.
Which pretty much settled the issue as Thorin was soon enough to be their next king, his staking his word on another was no small thing.
Bofur shook his head, “I've never made this much off my craft before.”
He was pretty certain he'd be in shock about it for months.
“So you'll go then?” Thorin asked.
“You know we will,” Bifur signed. “ It will be good to practice our craft for a time.”
And not work in the coal mines, went unsaid.
Even for dwarves, coal mining was rough on the lungs for too long.
Bofur took his cousin's hand and squeezed.
“Mind the suspicion of the Shire in general though,” Thorin warned.
Dwalin huffed, “Good enough to work for but never good enough to trust.”
“They aren't as bad as men, but they have no defence against us if we did mean them harm,” Thorin said without levity.” Speaking of which, keep that contract handy. I was escorted by one of the Rangers, they may stop to question you.”
Their unreconciled debt to Lord Glorfindel was still affecting them.
“We'll set out tomorrow,” Bofur said. “I'd like to get started so the quality surpasses the quantity.”
oOo
AN: I would say I’m getting closer to finishing this story, but as you can see it just keeps growing. All feedback is life support to my overtime summer!
Thank you to everyone who continues to comment!
Chapter 15: The Birthday Party
Chapter Text
AN: I’m short on time, please ignore any errors you see!
Chapter 15 - The Birthday Party
Bifur was nervous, not that anyone could tell, including his younger cousin, but he was.
Very nervous, in fact.
Most folk weren't understanding of his injury, sometimes, not even within his own people.
He'd grown used to it.
So it shouldn’t have mattered, whatever the halflings thought of him. It wouldn't have mattered if they'd be staying in an inn. The stakes seemed to change when he would be living with his employers.
The Shire was a beautiful place, the land itself seemed gentle and giving. If there were mines to be found here, they would not be worth disrupting the green things that grew here.
It was certainly the warmest welcome he had ever received. Halfling pebbles, which were impossibly small, like babies who had been born able to run. Once spotted they had been spotted, the pebbles chased after them in giggling gaggles from bush to hill to hill.
They weren’t subtle, but occasionally they would go quiet before sprouting out of nowhere.
Bofur tried to smile and wave at a group of children who at his attention screamed and ran off.
Bifur put a hand on the lad’s slumped shoulders. No one's whose true craft was toymaking wanted to be feared by little ones.
Especially by halflings who seemed like such delicate pebbles but when they found themselves being stalked again by the gigglers, Bifur had to wonder if they had just been pretending to be afraid.
Thorin had vouched for the comforts of Bag End, and by the smell of food that was wafting from the door that opened, they found little reason to doubt it.
Bifur did not think taking off his shoes and socks was a great idea but the little hobbit insisted before taking them back to their rooms.
Bifur could not remember the last time he had travelled with his kin and been offered a proper room to themselves they weren’t paying for.
Bofur laughed, “Okay, hobbits are as fantastic as he said.”
Bifur was nodding when a knock came at the door.
Bofur answered it, “Yes?-- ESTUR!? ”
Bifur shoved him aside, to a single moment to take his daughter in, her beard had grown, her hair long chestnut like her mother’s, and her eyes were bright with health and joy. In the next, he was crushing her in a hug.
They had been too long apart.
Pressing their foreheads together he stuttered out in Khuzdul, “Daughter.”
“Adad,” she repeated. “I’ve missed you.”
Bifur shut his eyes against the tears. What he regretted more than his injury was the rift that had been torn between them.
“How are you here?” Bofur asked.
“Didn’t the caravan tell you?” she asked, leading them to the bed so they could continue talking.
Bifur did not surrender her hand once she offered it.
“No,” Bofur said. “Though, Prince Thorin was the one to give us the commission.”
“I asked Mister Baggins to address it to Lord Balin.”
“They live together and that still doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
“Uncle,” she teased. “I don’t know if you realized but the Iron Hills are a long ways away. I didn’t want to travel back to Ered Luin only to turn back around. Besides, would you both have come if I wanted to stay in Thorin's Halls?”
“No,” Bifur said without hesitation.
“Mister Baggins offered me a place to stay and I don't mind helping out around his shop. His nephew, Frodo, is training to become a healer but it takes a few hobbits to lift the boxes that are easy enough for me.”
Oin had told them about Bilbo's healing medicines and it was a business worthy of great respect. Bifur certainly didn't mind his daughter helping with that. It was a far sight different than what he had feared in her working for men on her own.
Bifur was pleased that they would spend the rest of the season together.
“Oh, I also gathered some semi-finished wood for you. Bilbo's father was a carpenter, he built this smial for Bilbo's mother. There were some leftover pieces I'm sure you can use for toys. I scavenged and cleaned a few pieces I found on my walks with their pebbles but the rest you'll likely have to buy.”
Bifur thanked her and waved away her concern about extra materials.
Bofur bounced on the other side of her, “But what's the story you mentioned earlier, lass?”
She grinned, “The Roherrim captured our caravan and all of us were thrown in a dungeon for a few weeks.”
Bifur shut his eyes at the rage that swept through him at that statement.
Estur continues unconcerned, “Until Masters Bilbo and Frodo Baggins came to our aid and helped break a dark curse on the King of Rohan.”
Bifur and Bofur just stared dumbfounded at her.
They didn't fully believe her until they heard it from a bashful Frodo and from Bilbo who waved away their comments.
“Yes, yes, the King of Ponies got enthralled by an orb. But how do you take your tea?” Bilbo asked in answer to Bofur’s adoration.
oOo
“I don't want to leave Ered Luin,” Fíli said, regretting instantly the remorse that showed on Uncle Thorin's face.
Kíli backed him instantly, “Neither do I.”
Amad put her hands on her hips. “You both could do with a bit of leisure.”
Fíli shook his head, “I've been to the Shire, but I'm still behind–”
Amad sighed, “Fíli, you have your entire life to learn–”
“I've spent more time with hobbits than dwarrow. I don't want to travel back on that road again. Not anytime soon.”
She flinched and Fíli hated his own cowardness.
But Amad spoke with any reproach to her tone, “Then I will go with Thorin and Frerin and Balin will handle things for the month.”
Frerin spluttered, “You can't be serious?”
Thorin shrugged, “Things have been improving and this is a diplomatic trip, of sorts.”
Dís nodded, “Our alliance with the hobbits has never been more important.”
Fíli looked to Kíli who was smiling, “Maybe you can actually enjoy yourself, Amad.”
“Hush you,” she said, pulling them both into a hug.
Fíli let out a long breath, knowing that his mother and adoptive father would get along famously.
Which could either be good for Middle Earth, or possibly catastrophic.
oOo
Thorin didn't remember ever laughing so much as he and his sister travelled alone, their royal beads set aside.
He gave up on asking her to stop teasing him and asked for stories of her sons who were not the wee’terrors of their pebble days but were still tricksy in their own ways.
Mainly, to any scheming lord who thought to pull one over, or otherwise frustrate, Dís.
She had begun to notice her detractors come to rather interesting fates when Thorin was out of court. While he stayed close to Ered Luin, he'd been working with a population trying to excavate the northwest slope which was a few days hike away from their own apartment.
Thorin desperately wanted to know how they had managed to dye one of the elder’s beards bright pinkish-purple.
“Beats.”
“Excuse me?”
“The root,” she explained. “He boiled vegetables and made dye from it.”
Thorin snorted, “Dori must have been proud.”
“Oh, he was.”
oOo
“He's coming!”
Bilbo looked up as Frodo came running in waving a letter.
Bilbo snagged it, “Have you been reading my mail?”
“You had me organising mail from the birthday party!”
“I had you counting.”
“Uncle Bilbo.”
Bilbo smiled reading the letter himself. Not only would Thorin be coming but he was bringing his sister to, Lady Dís.
Dís.
The blood drained from his face and he fumbled back into his chair, hands trembling.
He knew Thorin had two nephews and two siblings.
He knew also that Fíli had one brother and two uncles.
Bilbo also knew that Fíli’s mother's name was Dís.
“Uncle Bilbo is everything alright?”
Bilbo shook his head, as if things couldn't be more complicated.
Fíli said his family didn't like the elves and Thorin, Bilbo's Heartsong, didn't like elves.
Frodo had run off and soon it was Saradoc in front of him, Bilbo. “Bilbo, what's wrong?”
He met his friend’s worried gaze before looking to Frodo who flashed him a half smile and excused himself, shutting the door to his workroom, Fíli’s old room.
Sara asked again, “Bilbo?”
“Fíli’s mother is coming to visit.”
Sara’s eyes went wide. “You mean the woman, you–”
“Sara, Fíli is a full blooded dwarf whom I adopted during the Fell Winter.”
Sara's eyes went impossibly larger. “No. No, he didn't look– I mean, how are manish-hobbits supposed to look?”
Bilbo glared, “You know as well as I that the children of hobbits and humans are always hobbits.”
Sara frowned, “Then why… Why did you let your reputation be tarnished? We all thought you had a child without investing in a family.”
Men were not particularly welcomed in the Shire. It happened sometimes, most often their female folk, but if you had a child with someone it was proper to marry them or at the very least move to see them. Fíli had been old enough that Hobbiton had muttered with rumours about how his giving away his seeds so carelessly would lead to his being able to have more like his mother.
Thinking of Belladonna had him blinking back tears.
Saradoc took his hand and squeezed, “Uncle Bilbo?”
Bilbo smiled softly, squeezing his hand, remembering when Sara was a tween sitting at his knee with Fíli begging for more stories of the east.
“Fíli was taken from his family, violently so. My mother and I found him as well as his kidnapper, lost in the snow.”
Sara's remained quiet.
Bilbo took a steadying breath. “He'd never told anyone in the Shire this, not even Drogo and Primula had known."
Cowardly of him, to not share Belladonna's final act of selfless bravery in this life, but in truth, he was only telling Sara this now because they all knew enough dwarves now that even if it got back to the Thain, the dwarves of Ered Luin would not be blamed as a whole for Belladonna’s death.
“The dwarfing had been fighting his captor, crying out to anyone for help. The kidnapper was another dwarf and he slapped Fíli so hard I didn't know if he would get up.
“My mother attacked him. He cut her down and when he turned back to chase after Fíli, I attacked him from behind. The dwarf died, my mother was dead, and I took Fíli home with me. Fíli was hurt, traumatized having seen his family murdered in front of him.”
Sara gaped at him, “Belladonna was murdered. By a dwarf.”
Bilbo nodded.
“And you let them stay in your smial?”
“Saradoc Brandybuck, my son is a dwarf, as well as my Heartsong, and I would ask you not to forget it.”
Sara looked bashful, “I'm sorry I just… She was our healer.”
“I know,” Bilbo sighed.
“How could you adopt someone else’s faunt so young?”
“He needed me,” Bilbo said. “And I'm lucky Bungo survived the winter, to give me time to make peace with good. But I needed Fíli too.”
“This is the first time I'm hearing you say his name since you returned from the elves.”
“Yes, well, relationships between the elves and dwarves have not been great. Apparently, some of Fíli’s family did survive. Including his brother, mother, and uncles.”
“I'm sorry, then who did he lose?”
“His birth father, and I'm told his mother and brother were terribly injured.”
“What are you going to tell Thorin?”
“Nothing, it's Fíli's story to tell and Thorin isn't staying.”
“But his mother?” Sara protested.
“What am I supposed to tell her? Hey, I adopted your son and raised him with elves for thirty years keeping him from you because I thought you were dead and didn't bother to check?”
“Yes,” Sara said. “She is her mother. And if I know Fíli, he hasn't told her anything.”
He wasn't wrong.
oOo
Dís was greatly amused by Thorin's relationship with his hobbit. The two were adorable with each other, but there was an awkwardness about him, around her specifically.
She was not at surprised when Bilbo pulled her aside to speak with her while Thorin was entertaining the faunts.
She had rarely seen her eldest brother smile so much. Even Kíli and Fíli had brought him more stress than it seemed joy at times, though she knew he would never say so.
Bilbo busied himself with tea but even when he sat, he still seemed greatly unsettled.
She raised a brow at him as she leaned back with the suburb tea cradled in her hand.
The hobbit cleared his throat, “I’d start with peasantries but if I’ve learned anything about dwarrow, it is that it is not your preference.”
She was royalty, but Bilbo didn’t know that and she was more than content to allow his ignorance. “No,” she agreed not unkindly.
Bilbo’s eyes went to the window that had a little potted plant trying to escape to the floor, “You are Fíli’s mother.”
She nodded, “Yes, he mentioned he knew you.”
Bilbo head whipped around to meet her gaze, “He did?”
Her gaze narrowed, “Indeed, he said you were the most well travelled hobbit in the Shire.”
Bilbo’s shoulders slumped, his expression falling, “I see. I thought he might have told you knowing you were coming here.”
She put her cup down, “Mister Baggins, how do you know my son?”
He looked at her with a sad smile, “I’m so, so sorry Lady Dís. We thought you were dead. Had I believed even for a moment that you or your elder son had survived, I would have taken him to Ered Luin as soon roads had cleared.”
Dís was struck speechless, but then her mind caught up with her, “Your Bill Findel? From Rohan?”
Bilbo huffed, “Clever tale. He has written to me that he hasn’t told you the truth but he didn’t tell me what that was.”
“The magpies,” she said.
He nodded, “Yes, raven’s are not as a good at the Green Speech.”
“But you raised him? You were the one who sheltered and for him all those long years?”
“Yes, he–”
She sat forward and pulled him into a hug, “Thank you, brother of my heart. Thank you for loving my son as your own.”
Bilbo was frozen in shock for a moment before he hesitantly hugged him back. “It was the greatest honour of my life.”
She held him tighter, mindful to not break him. He was such a tiny thing.
Eventually, she released him, sitting back and reaching for her tea again.
“I am grateful for your forgiveness,” he said, still flustered.
Dís waved away the comment, “There's nothing to forgive. I know you're telling the truth that you believed his family was dead. He believed it.”
Also you're my brother's One and I refuse to believe you capable of that level of cruelty, she thought.
She still had questions, however.
“I would like to be regaled with childhood tales but let's begin with why Fíli told me he was raised in Rohan, assuming you know.”
Bilbo bit his lip.
She smiled with teeth, “I will find out one way or another.”
Bilbo sighed, “I am elf-kin. The Shire believed Fíli was my biological son, half human, you see. And as his friends out aged him, Saradoc was his best friend, and now has a faunt if his own. I feared the stigma he would face for being an outsider. Especially if anyone learned what became of my mother. So I took him to Rivendell and we spent the next two decades, traveling between Rivendell, Lotholorian, and Rohan, occasionally back to Buckland.”
Dís blinked, “He hasn't told us because he heard how much we distrust elves.”
She thought back to all the carless comments they had made, none of them meaning it quite as harshly as they had expressed it.
Mahal damn them.
“Yes,” the hobbit agreed. “But it's more than that, my elf-kin betrayed his trust and he's afraid you will be angry he mastered his craft under the guadaince of an elf.”
Dís sucked in a sharp breath.
That was politically problematic. Fíli still wasn't fluent in Khuzdul and to have mastered smithing under an elf?
No, their people were unlikely to take that well.
On the other hand…
“The elves had shared their secrets with a dwarf?”
“Fíli is not just elf-friend, Lady Dís, he is elf-kin. There is no custum or secret that an elf would.tell their own children that they would not teach him. I know that children are important to dwarrow but elven children are even rarer. He and I quite young in their estimation. So no, there were no secrets with held on purpose.”
Dís could admit her shock at that. But something earlier in the conversation snagged her attention, “What happened to your mother?”
Bilbo winced looking away. “My mother, you have to understand, was a very important person. She was the Thain’s favourite daughter and the Shire’s finest healer. She trained under Lord Elrond himself. The night we found Fíli we were returning home from my nephew’s birth. We encountered a dwarf holding a dwarfling against his will. When the dwarf slapped the faunt, my mother pulled a knife and attacked him. The dwarf killed her and when his back was turned, I killed the dwarf. Fíli told me his family died and I– well, my father didn’t survive my mother’s passing. He needed me and Fíli became my world.”
“Your mother was killed by a dwarf and you still took in a dwarfling?”
“My mother died protecting a child, how could I possibly blame him for the crimes done against him?”
“You’ve told no one?”
“I’ve told Sara, his old best friend when they were still little, and only recently.”
“What did you mean your father didn’t survive?”
“Hobbits are like elves, it is very rare for us to survive our Heartsongs passing.”
Her heart beat picked up, were Heartsongs like Ones? Was Thorin Bilbo’s Heartsong?
“So a dwarf killed both your parents?” she asked.
He frowned at her, “My son is a dwarf.”
She pulled off an ear cuff off and held it out to him.
He hesitated but he let her place it on his ear. “You are dwarf friend, if you were not already, you are our kin. And I do not care if Fíli acknowledges that not or not, I do.”
“Will you tell your brothers?”
“No, for you are correct, it is Fíli’s choice who knows.”
Bilbo smiled, “But you are his mother.”
She bowed her head, “I am and I am now in your debt for saving my son and avenging my husband.”
Bilbo shook his head, “No. No I cannot accept any debt from you, if you must then say their is nothing but familiar bonds between us.”
Dís smiled, “I like you very much, Bilbo Baggins.”
He smiled in turn, “As I do you.”
“Now,” she said sitting back, “Tell me my son’s antics when he was gone from my sight.”
She teased him for being the only hobbit with long hair, and he teased her right back about elvish males also wearing their hair long.
They talked until the sun went down. Both of them laughing between tears as threy traded stories between one another of Fíli and Kíli.
oOo
“What did you do?” Thorin asked as he pulled his little sister aside when he saw the silver cuff on Bilbo’s pointed ear.
“Just claimed him as Durin folk.”
Thorin felt himself pale, “You told him–”
She patted his chest, “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him that exactly. I told him it meant he was more than dwarf-friend, that he is kin to our family.”
Thorin’s brows shot up, not because he didn’t think Bilbo deserved that but without the hobbit’s accepting a courtship between them, Thorin wasn’t even able to grant him that.
Had Thorin had sons of his own, yes, but of the three of them, Dís was the only one of them legally able to grant that honour as it meant, quite literally, that she would trust Bilbo to give his life for her sons.
“What inspired that?” he asked.
She gave him a look, “Have you not seen the way Bofur looks at him? Besides, Estur, Bifur’s daughter stayed here as Master Baggins’s guest. I’ll not allow him to be claimed by another.”
Thorin thought maybe he should argue on principle, but he was too possessive for that. And if he couldn’t have his One as a romantic partner than having him as kin was the next best thing.
He bowed his head to her, gently touching her forehead to his and thanked he in Khuzdul.
She grinned at him and said the formal words Thorin had long ago given up on hearing , “Your heart has chosen well, brother-mine.”
oOo
Bofur was a bit amazed to see the cuff the halfling wore on his ear. He, of course, had been thinking of asking Bifur if he might want to do the same, Bilbo becoming fast friends with all of them. However, they weren’t Durins.
More than that, both prince and princess had told them to hide their lineage from hobbits. Why they were keeping it secret, Bofur could not say, though he was beginning to believe the Prince was smitten on the hobbit.
Bofur did not have long to ponder this for the party, which was indeed a large affair, began in earnest.
As it turned out, the hobbits boasting about being the finest at throwing and enjoying parties, Bofur was starting to believe.
Men tended to get violent the later the night got.
There was nothing to remark upon for elves.
And as much as dwarrow loved their children, they didn’t have nearly enough of them for events to be mostly for their benefit.
Hobbits though?
Hobbits loved their food and their fauntlings loved food even more. It also took an obscene amount of alcohol to get any of them drunk, and a drunk hobbit was a happy hobbit.
Bofur wanted very badly to try his hand a drinking competition, but he couldn’t.
Not with an entire field of fauntlings playing with his and Bifur’s toys, screaming and laughing with wonder and joy.
Bofur wished he had brought his brother and his brother’s family with them so they could be a part of this.
Once the faunts learned who had made their toys, they found themselves bombarded on all sides by tiny pebbles thanking them and asking them about their toys, how they made them, and what they named them.
It was among days of Bofur’s life.
oOo
Thorin was amazed by how much his hobbit could eat and drink.
He had stopped trying to keep up and had decided to just ensure his hobbit didn’t collapse.
Bilbo was no where close to wavering though his speech was a tad odd.
“Where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him.”
“We don’t know,” Estel said. “He should have been back by now.”
Bilbo eyed him, “Where is the Lady Arwen? For you much desire to speak with her.”
Frodo choked on his ale as Estel blushed.
One of the other Rangers slapped him on the back as he guffawed.
“He owes us fireworks, my lad,” Bilbo told Frodo who smiled.
One of Bilbo’s older relatives came up behind the two birthday hobbits.
“Dwarf,” the elderly hobbit addressed, causing Dís to glower at him. “Get their attention.”
“Grandfather,” Bilbo chastised.
Estur stood up on the table, barefoot and all, and shouted to the gathering, “Oi! Hobbits, listen up!”
The musicians changed their tone to almost describe the event of everyone turning to look at the head table, falling quiet after a flourish.
What Thorin wouldn’t give for his people to be this joyful and spirited. Not that dwarrow were known for their gayity. But Thorin remembered the pride of Erebor and the safety they had once felt.
The pride they were now wore like a shield against their hardships and sorrows.
Bilbo’s grandfather patted Estur’s shoulder, as she climbed down, skirts flourishing, “That’s a good lass, thank you.”
The elderly hobbit put a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and the other on Frodo’s shoulder as he stood between the two’s chair. His voice carried well over the area.
“My fair and dearest hobbits, I have an announcement.”
Mugs and cheers went up into the air.
“It is tradition,” the Old Took said. “For the Thainship to pass from father to son in the unlikely and undesirable occurrence that one of must travel to Gondor for aid.”
Thorin exchanged a look with his sister. Dwarrowdams didn’t inherit because the King was expected to ride off to war and they couldn’t endanger their bearers that way. But the subtext here was that men would disrespect their womenfolk as they disrespected their own.
“Recently, we’ve come into dark times, and whether willingly or unwillingly, there are more of us here west of the Brandywine than there ever has been. The Thainship passed to one of my sons and then was passed back to me during the chaos of our ongoing migration.”
There was no laughter then.
“All of us here miss my daughter, Belladonna Baggins, she was our healer, and a rare soul. Her son and as well as our dear Frodo, have followed in her spirit. They have travelled further than most have dared. And while the Paladin Took II is favoured and might still be Thain one day. I believe the leader we all need today is Bilbo Baggins, Thain of the Shire.”
The roar of approval was near deafening, Dís nearly snorted her ale at Thorin’s expense.
Funny, how their ranks were now so similar and how that nearly ensured they would remain apart.
oOo
After many congratulations, Bilbo was able to pull the Old Took aside. He tried not to snarl as he stated, “I’m not Thain.”
The Old Bastard smiled at him, “You are now.”
“What's the real reason?” Bilbo asked. “Paladin is plenty able. He and his little sister, Esmeralda are living together, they could handle the Shire. They are far more respectable than I am.”
“You’re plenty respectable,” the old hobbit said jovially. Then paused before adding, “For a Took, at least.”
“ Gandfather,” Bilbo chastised, because he was, of course, a Baggins, even if he was elf-kin.
The Old Took sighed, “I don't want you to leave again.”
Bilbo opened his mouth to respond but his elder held held up his hand. “I know. I know that you will , my lad. And I don’t even begrudge it. It is clear where your heart is singing . But I never wanted it doubted again. You are among the best of us.”
Bilbo looked away, “Because I'm elf-kin.”
“No, because you a Belladonna's son who cares for all, and because you are Bungo's son who never forgot his duty to his family. I can only hope one day you will learn to be selfish.”
Bilbo looked back to him, brows kissing his hairline, “You think making me Thain is going to make me selfish?”
His grandfather smiled. “No, I think it might teach you to finally value yourself as others value you. They may call you odd but they know who to go to when the danger comes.
“Who to trust. It's a heavy burden, my boy, but one you have a whole family and smial to carry with you.”
Bilbo didn’t know what to say to that, but when the Old Took pulled him in for a hug, Bilbo hugged him back.
For all the races on Middle Earth, it was good to be a hobbit.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, kittens, or feedback, pretty please?
Chapter 16: Wives & Husbands
Chapter Text
AN: Okay, so after this chapter we are finally back on track. I apologise for some of the glossing I’m doing in this chapter, I just need to stop getting stuck.
Chapter 16 - Wives and Husbands
“Kíli?” Fíli asked as he stared up at the darkened ceiling.
“Umm?” Kíli answered, clearly close to sleep.
“What if Smaug isn’t the only dragon?”
Kili felt a cold shiver go up and he turned over to face him. “I don’t think we could survive another dragon.”
“But you’re an archer,” Fili said.
“It’s not that simple. You would need a windlance.”
“How do we make one?”
Kili sighed, “Men made them.”
Fili arched a brow, “You really think we couldn’t engineer a giant crossbow?”
“In what free time?”
“Dwalin would help us,” Fili insisted.
“You’re serious about this?” Kili asked, sitting up.
“Iron and wood aren’t that expensive. Your craft is wood, your weapon archery. Mine is engineering and crafting pointy things, we could do it.”
Kili touched his brother’s cheek, “Then let’s make a windlance.”
It became their project, especially in the winter when there was less to do.
They began with sketches and then miniature models. Then started trying to make them lighter and movable with as few materials as possible.
Whatever distance had remained between them dissolved away under the sharing of their craft.
Awkward quietness became a shared focus.
Uncertainty became problem solving.
Timidness became laughter.
Disagreement became a boisterous debate.
And if any ever doubted Fili’s work based on its delicateness and origin, those doubts were washed away with pure ingenuity that came not from centuries of practice but the ingenuity of invention that has defined dwarrow from the first days of their carving.
oOo
There was a reason the elves were late to the party, and that reason was delivered to them on the swift wings of magpies in the early morning hours.
A party of orcs was coming led by the Pale Orc.
Thorin had stared at the message and he had looked up at his sister with horror.
“But I killed him.”
Dís had taken the message from his hand and said definitively, “We don't stop this time till we burn the bodies.”
Two things saved the hobbits from the orcs able to get through the elves and Rangers.
One, the hobbits had all turned out their second pantries into bunkers. It was the practice to keep the smelliest cheeses and herbs on the shelves that made up the now secret door to the ‘second pantry’.
Thorin, unbeknownst to him, had been making iron doors for the purpose of keeping the interior of the second pantries safe even if they were discovered.
Which proved unlikely as Bilbo had made every family in the Shire herbal-bombs. You merely had to uncork the bottle and smash it on the floor. The smell wasn't so much as foul but overwhelming. Anything trying to sniff them out would be rendered nose blind for a day and night.
The second thing that saved the hobbits was their fast metabolism. No race on Middle Earth could have gotten as passed out drunk, as so many hobbits did, the night of a battle and be alright. The other races simply would not have been able to prepare themselves in a mere two hours before a siege so well after so much consumption.
Certainly, elves might claim it but the comparison is faulty at best because the amount of spirits it takes to down an elf is simply absurd and once reaching that point takes longer to recover than a hobbit.
Thorin and Dís greeted the orcs with prejudice.
Rangers from the opposite side of the border joined them and a fair many hobbits with pitchforks, scythes, and various other farming implements that Thorin had never imagined would be so effective.
The battle had its losses but for a raid on a settlement like the Shire, it was an assured victory.
Not a single faunt was killed or injured.
Still, the morning was not a pretty one as hobbits, Rangers, elves, and dwarves fought together to destroy evil.
Dís beheaded the Pale Orc and Thorin the spawn of the Pale Orc.
Leaderless, the ranks of the orcs fell apart and as they scattered, they were picked.
Not a single orc or warg survived to give tell of that day but it would be many decades before the Enemy decided to reach out its dark hand to these fair hills.
Thorin couldn't help but feel a bit victorious as they returned to Bag End.
That feeling was instantly killed when Esmeralda ran at them, “The boys are gone!”
Thorin didn't ever think he'd seen a hobbit ride a horse before.
But Bilbo Baggins turned back outside, mounted his pony bareback and road out to find their missing faunts.
oOo
Pippin and Merry had in the early hours of morning been searching for trouble, being far too wound up for sleep.
They had placed lumps of pillows and blankets in their beds and had missed all the chaos.
But they had heard it.
And while Merry was young Pippin was very young. When panic grabbed hold of him he sprinted toward the wrong side of Brandywine, his heart still in Buckland.
Merry had tried to stop him but trouble found them first.
oOo
Frodo had seen his two cousins sneak out.
He woke Sam up and they followed the two youngest over the darkened fields.
Frodo noticed the magpies but didn't think much of it until he heard horns.
There was danger tonight and Merry and Pippin were running the wrong way.
By the time they caught up to each other, there were the howls of wargs sniffing about.
Frodo made the choice for all of them to continue on to the Old Forest where they could hide in the treetops.
oOo
Bilbo was happy to hear that the boys were alive.
Tom Bombadil laughed off his concerns about the faunts. “Don't worry, Bilbo my young friend, they are in good hands.”
“Whose hands?” Dís demanded.
“Why the Entwives, of course,” Goldberry said with a smile.
“Entwives?” echoed Bilbo, Thorin, Dís, Estel, Elladan and Elrohir.
“Yes, it has been a long time since they've awoken but your kits were so very shaken, and they had a rather unfortunate run-in with Old Man Willow, well, it stirred them to action. They were safe by the time we found them. That older one, Frodo, was it?”
Goldberry nodded.
“Well, the lad promised to lead them to Fangorn Forest where they said the Ent husbands were.”
“I told you the trees were moving, Estel exclaimed to the two elves who huffed at their little brother.”
At least we'll be able to catch up to them, Dís offered. “How far could the Ents have gotten?”
Goldberry laughed.
Tom Bombadil smiled widely, “Don't be so sure of that, Ents may be known to be slow, but the Entwives are a fair bit quicker than their husbands. They'd have to be to catch up to their saplings, not that there have been many of those for a long time.”
“Let's go,” Bilbo said. “And I don't care if he's an adult now that boy will be grounded until he's fifty.”
The elves had lambes enough to go around, resting only long enough for the ponies and horses to regain themselves.
It was not encouraging when they saw smoke on the horizon.
oOo
Frodo was certain Uncle Bilbo was going to kill him but the tale the Entwives had told about their lost husbands had been so moving, how could he not offer to take them.
He knew his uncle's maps well enough to direct them and the Entwives seemed to know the landmarks well enough.
“Who knew trees could move so fast!?” Merry kept exclaiming.
Pippin kept hanging from branches to the delight of the Entwives who seemed to consider them quite cute.
Sam just hung on for dear life despite the Entwives promising not to drop him.
Frodo leaned into Sam to give him some added support.
It only took them a few days to reach Fangorn Forest where the most beautiful reunion occurred. Any tree that had the ability to wake, rose, the forest coming alive.
Frodo was very fond of the Ents and Entwives, especially Treebeard and his wife Appleblossom. But never had Frodo been so afraid of a thing until he saw smoke in the distance and a rising anger in the trees as they realised it was their home and friends being cut down and burned.
oOo
As there was a reason for elves being late to Frodo’s coming-of-age party, so too was there a reason for Gandalf’s suspicious absence.
Gandalf had the unparalleled honour of watching as the Ents brought down Saruman’s budding spawning-caverns.
Taking down the damn seemed to end any attempts at fighting on the orcs’ part.
Squinting, Gandalf murmured, “Are those– are those hobbits?”
oOo
Saruman was having much the same thought, though with far more consternation.
Climbing his tower he approached Gandalf, “What did you do!?”
Gandalf smiled, “It’s not what I did, old friend, it’s the enemies you made.”
Saruman bared his teeth, “Mark my words, Gandalf the Grey, our precious Shire will suffer for this.”
Gandalf saw the shadow cross over the sun.
As Saruman of the Many Colours raised his staff, Gandalf fell backwards off the tower.
Shocked, Saruman ran to the edge to see his old friend’s tired and remorseful smile.
It was the last thing Saruman ever saw.
Both wizards, grey and white, were caught by the Eagles of Manwe, one cushioned on a feathered back, delivered to safety, and the other impaled on claws, dropped into the steaming pits below.
oOo
Bilbo grabbed Frodo by the ear, causing the boy to yelp in great discomfort, “Frodo Baggins!”
“I’m sorry! We’re sorry Uncle Bilbo!” the four faunts cried.
Releasing his nephew, Bilbo ordered, with pointed fingers, “Get on the Eagles.”
The Entwives, Entshusbands, dwarrow, elves, eagles, ranger, and wizard, all chuckled as the faunts shakily got onto the Eagles.
For Merry, Pippin, and Sam, they knew worse was waiting for them at home at their impromptu adventure from their parents.
Bilbo turned to Gandalf with a pitying look, “That one was never my favourite wizard.”
Gandalf laughed outright, leaning on Estel as he was half-starved and dehydrated.
Dís looked at the wreckage of Saruman’s creations, “Evil grows stronger.”
Gandalf nodded, “The Shire is alright?”
“Yes,” Thorin agreed.
“We need to get back,” Bilbo said. “Or Esmeralda is going to shave the hair off my feet.”
Elrohir laughed, “You’re in luck the Manwe Eagles we’ll have you home in no time.”
Thorondor, Lord of the Eagles, bowed his head to Bilbo’s level, “Fear not, Child of the Kindly West, your hatchlings have brought forth a light in the darkness. We owe you a debt.”
Bilbo bowed, “We thank you.”
Dís exchanged a look with Thorin that seemed to say, We’re taking him back home with us.
Thorin sighed, wishing with all his heart that that was so.
oOo
Back in the Shire, the Eagles of Manwe may have caused a bigger stir if it hadn’t been for the terror they had all endured.
Thorin and Dís would be leaving the following night after supper, planning to travel the dark through the Shire so it would be day by the time they passed the boundaries on their way back to Ered Luin.
Dís kept picking on him for the admiration he couldn’t help but direct toward his hobbit. His hobbit who had thrown rocks with deadly precision against their enemies and used a dagger to slash the heels of anyone who got too close to them.
But it was Esmeralda who took him aside to speak in private about his infatuation with their Thain.
“You love him,” she stated as soon as the door to her room shut.
Thorin couldn’t, wouldn’t , deny it, so he nodded, “I do.”
“There are things you should know,” she said, gesturing him toward a chair. “If you were a hobbit you would already know these things.”
He waited.
She sighed again, “The Shire failed Bilbo. We… Well, either we were needlessly cruel to him or we abandoned him when he needed us most. Drogo was rather good to him but… Some fools blame Bilbo for his death which makes his raising Frodo more contentious than it ought to have been.”
His hands fisted, “By fail him, what do you mean exactly?”
Esmeralda smoothed her skirts, “After the Fell Winter, we all were afraid to travel. So even Drogo stayed away. But Bilbo had lost both his parents and…”
She sighed again, “Ultimately, he felt chased out of the Shire. I only saw him a few times in those years. I think he went to live with the elves. Belladonna, his mother, was rather close with those folk. But Bilbo never talks about those years… I, we have been trying to make it up to him.”
Thorin didn't like any of that one bit. “He was alone?”
“Not since he adopted Frodo, none of us have let him be alone since then. But the hobbits in Hobbiton are a bit half-baked, if you take my meaning, some say Bilbo's cursed. Personally, I think that's a cruel thing to do to someone who's had a hard go of things. Just because the worst happened to them doesn't mean he’s the cause of it as one understands it, Master Dwarf.”
Thorin inclined his head. He did understand, especially as his line had been considered cursed and had been partly to the evils that befell their people. That anyone could think…
Blaming Bilbo for losing first his parents? Then driven out of his home, only to return and be blamed for his cousin and his wife's demise, was an unspeakable cruelty.
“Thank you for telling me. Bilbo would be welcome among my people, you all would be,” he said.
And if any didn’t then he was King and there were certain benefits to that.
“Bilbo isn’t likely to leave Frodo, if recent events proved anything, he’s not fully grown yet. But I think he would give up being Thain for you. It’s not something he wants, and my eldest brother is perfectly capable of helping or taking over when needed.”
“But his grandfather chose him.”
“Grandfather chose him because we need the others to take healing seriously and we need the other races to take us seriously. Whatever resentment lingers from Bilbos wandering years has been washed away by that raid.”
“I wish there was more I could offer you all,” Thorin said.
Esmeralda smiled sadly, “A new homeland, where we could grow our flowers and faunts?”
Thorin winced, knowing that of the rocky foothills of Ered Luin that were not already settled was not fit place for Yavannah’s children.
She reached forward to pat his hand, “Love is a gift, a song once sung can never be unsung. Enjoy what you have, and savour the memories.”
Thorin inclined his head, “Thank you.”
“You’re Took-kin, Dwarf Thorin, our door will always be open to you.”
Thorin was once more overwhelmed with the generosity of hobbits.
oOo
Goodbyes were always difficult.
Dís nearly squeezed the life out of his One, whispered something to him that he could not hear as he passed her a letter.
His own goodbye was awkward, his heart breaking as he turned away.
“Thorin,” Bilbo called softly, catching his hand.
He was all too eager to turn back, any excuse would do.
Dís chuckled but continued on down the path.
“I–” Bilbo fumbled, looking up at his home. “Frodo is growing up.”
Thorin nodded, “Aye, he's a good lad. You did right by him.”
“Yes, well,” Bilbo stumbled. He was rarely so flustered, he opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it shut, a look of deepest shame and regret colouring his features.
Thorin cupped his chin gently with his palm, and his One closed his eyes as he leaned into the touch. “What is it that troubles you so?”
Tears seemed to well up in his eyes but determination released him from his silence, “I haven't been completely honest with you.”
Thorin let his hand drop, he'd known for a while that there was something his love was holding back from him. “Oh?”
“My place–” Bilbo began but again stopped to gather his thoughts.
Thorin felt his heart sore only to plummet into the fire depths of a volcano as his hobbit continued.
“My place isn't with you,” he said, his face flushing an endearing pink. “I've no right to ask for it or accept it if you were– if you were even interested.”
“You have every right,” Thorin said feircely.
Bilbo shook his head, “I don't though. I could not go to Ered Luin with you. Your family deserves better than me.”
Thorin frowned at the phrasing, it was he who didn't deserve such a One as Bilbo, his family would adore him. “Dís would be overjoyed if you but wanted to visit us.”
Bilbo looked so sad then, and he met Thorin's gaze, “I cannot. My family history is too complicated.”
“Complicated how?” Thorin demanded. It hurt something deep inside him that Bilbo thought himself unwanted. What Esmeralda had shared with him spurred the coals of rage inside him.
Had he not opened his door to him and any dwarf who arrived with his blessing, Thorin might have accepted ‘complicated’ as an answer. Yet there seemed to be something he was missing.
Bilbo sighed and looked away, “There was a time, I would not care what my– my adoptive father would have thought. But even if I had his blessing, my grandfather...”
Thorin felt irritation, even if he himself didn't believe he was good enough, that it would be incredibly difficult to provide for his One in the way the Shire did, he remained a prince among his people. Therefore, he was very much a representative of dwarrow and there were implications in Bilbo's statement that the secrets he was keeping were no minor things. This smelled of politics which he should be able to overcome.
“Your father doesn't like my people,” he said, unable to keep the heat from his tone.
Bilbo took in a long breath before exhaling, “My adoptive father is an elf, a race you've made clear, on a number of occasions, you disapprove of.”
Thorin glowered, “They are silly creatures who are fickle and in their longevity are able to ignore the suffering of us mere mortals far too easily. However, that does not mean I can't reconcile with an individual. Elrond’s sons were fine, including Estel.”
Bilbo nodded, “Thorin I–” he seemed to bite his tongue, arguing with himself. He changed course. “I have no way to contribute to your family if I lived in Ered Luin. I would be a burden.”
“You would not be a burden,” Thorin interrupted, hotly.
“Thorin, I eat seven meals a day. Maybe all that is not necessary per se but I could not bear to be another burden on your shoulders. Besides, neither of our families would support our union.”
“You're wrong.”
Bilbo hesitated before saying, “I’m also Thain, my people need me, at least, for now. And likely for a fair few years to come.”
Thorin nodded, understanding all too well.
Bilbo stepped forward, resting a hand on Thorin's chest.
He froze, his heart thundered under his One’s touch.
“Thorin, I–” Bilbo pulled back far enough to retrieve a hidden chain from around his neck.
The pendant captured the last of the days’ evening light in a gleam that Thorin had not seen in such quantity since the scaled worm invaded his home.
Mithril.
Bilbo caught his hand and placed the flower shaped pendant in his hand. The petals were carved out of uniquely golden-orange topaz while the clearest and palest blue sapphires he had ever seen were woven into its heart.
“I know you are not fond of elves, but this was my mother's, her father’s, his grandmother's, and so forth. It is the most precious material thing I've ever owned. I want you to keep it.”
Thorin jerked his gaze upward, his mouth falling open slightly. This was a courting gift fit for a king, though as far as he knew, Bilbo did not know who Thorin truly was.
It was an elvish token of partnership.
Elves, like dwarves, loved only once. Thorin now had an insight into the attachment Bilbo's ancestor held for his hobbit love, to the descendants who passed on this token and why he would name them his daughters and sons.
As Thorin loved Bilbo, this token was proof that once an elf had loved a hobbit lass.
Perhaps, Bilbo was no half-elf, but as the line of Numenar proved, elven blood could show itself for a long time afterwards. Bilbo had told him quite a few times that the Took family was known to be different, rumoured to have a faerie ancestor. Which many blamed for their adventurous spirits and longing to look outside the Shire when few other hobbits would ever consider it.
“This belongs to Frodo,” Thorin said.
“No, it belonged to me, and now it belongs to you, and one day, your nephews or their children. It is a token of the heart, Thorin, not blood.”
His hand curled around it, not fearing it would break in grasp, knowing the mithril would long outlive him in strength and beauty. “You will not accept my heart, yet you give me yours?” he asked, no longer hopeful but confused all the same.
“I love you, Thorin. You are the only one I have ever loved like this; there was no one before you and there will be no one after you. All the stars in the sky might burn out and the earth may stop spinning, but I will always love you.
“I want you to have this. I want you to know that you are loved, that you will forever have my heart, and a place in my home. The fates did not align for us, but I love you no less because of it. I thank Yavanna every day that you found me, that we got to share some time together. My door will always be open to you and your kin.”
Tears spilled down Thorin's cheeks.
He pulled his hobbit into an embrace and bent part way to offer a kiss.
Bilbo stood on tip-toes to claim it, his lips were soft despite the pain of this goodbye. He was a warmth in Thorin’s arms that lit up his whole world.
It broke him to know that this was a state of being he could not keep.
Yet it remade him to know that even though his suit had been rejected, he and his love had not been.
He might never share a life with his One, but this would not be the last time they met.
Nor their last goodbye.
oOo
Bilbo cried himself to sleep that night. He loved Thorin, and truthfully he believed there were things he could do to help support Thorin's family even in the Blue Mountains but that wasn't the problem.
It was an honour to be Thain.
He wished with all his heart that he had not been entrusted with such an honour.
oOo
By the time the reached home, Thorin felt as if he could sleep away the winter. There was a minor celebration at the news that the Pale Orc and his ilk had been fully defeated. But Thorin had excused himself as soon as possible to sit with his thoughts.
Dís kicked him, “Why are you so… Depressed? I thought things were going well with your One.”
He had refused to discuss it on the journey back, she seemed to have finally lost patience with his silence.
“He won't have me, Dís.”
She snorted, “But he loves you.”
Thorin sank further into his seat, “I know.”
“You do?” She asked, surprised. “Then why–”
“He gave me this.”
He uncurled his fist and his sister gasped sitting beside him to look. She ran a finger over the metal without taking it from his hand.
“I don't understand, this is a kingly courting gift. How does a hobbit come by mithril? Elves crafted this without doubt, it must have cost a fortune that I thought not even hobbits possessed.”
“His mother was the elf's daughter, or one of his descendants he took as a daughter.”
Dís pursed her lips, “Then why is it the problem? If an elf can love a hobbit, then a dwarf loves a hobbit.”
“He cannot move to Ered Luin because he believes he will be a burden and–”
“Nonsense, he knows enough about plants to be a healer. He could hardly think–”
“He will not leave the Shire because he is Thain. You know this. He's their equivalent to the hobbits’ crowned prince despite how many times it was explained to us that the hobbits don't have kings.”
His sister sat down next to him on the bed and wrapped an arm around him, “I believe that love will find a way. Mahal and Yavannah did not craft you together so you would forever grow apart.”
He leaned against her, “At least he loves me still.” He blinked back tears, “Once, when we were but children untouched by dragon fire, I would have thought little of such a courting gift, especially it being of elvish make. Once, when we were starving, I would have thought if I could just get this much wealth back in my hands our troubles would be lessened.
“But now? I could never trade this away, for it is priceless to me. Yet I would gift it Smaug himself if I thought it would buy me more time with my One.”
Dís hugged him , held him close in his woe that did not compare to the love she had lost.
He was glad when in the following two years he met with Gandalf the Grey.
Surely, poking a dragon in its lair was easier than facing the abyss that carved out a bit more of his heart each day.
He was grateful, up until Gandalf gave him the address of their burglar.
Mahal save them all from the meddling of wizards.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, euryhaline plesiosaurs, or feedback, pretty please?
Chapter 17: Smials
Chapter Text
AN: I am shamelessly going to ask you to please comment on this 8.3k chapter as it managed to be the most difficult chapter for me to finish writing with how many times I’ve reshaped the plot of this fic. Over 70k and I’m not on the road yet!
Chapter 17 - Smials
The Battle of the Hills was a story that brought the dwarrow of Ered Luin together, and yet, the official death of the Pale Orc renewed discussions of ascension.
Without Thorin being willing to completely denounce his father as dead he could not be named king.
In fact, Dís was officially named Queen Regent and her word outweighed Thorin. It was meant to be a reproach, only, Thorin was more than happy to cede control to Dís when it came to the colonies.
In fact, it made his bid for Erebor more convenient.
What was not convenient was Kíli and Fíli’s insistence on going with them.
“It’s not safe!” Dwalin yelled at them.
“Ered Luin wasn’t safe either,” Fíli snapped causing everyone to flinch. But that didn’t stop him. “The Shire wasn’t safe. Life isn’t safe. Ered Luin isn’t big enough, we don’t have enough close neighbours to support us, and having a dragon on one side of the Iron Hills and the Enemy growing in the south isn’t good for anybody.”
Thorin sighed, exchanging looks with his siblings.
Kíli was better suited to be heir, inheriting much of Dís’s common sense logistics of governing a settlement.
But Fíli had a head for the wider movements of Middle Earth.
“Go,” Dís said, sounding defeated.
“Amad–” Kíli began.
“You have to go, may Mahal preserve you, but he’s right. You are both too young for this, yet if there was a war you’d be expected to fight.” She took a deep breath before continuing, “You’re also wiser than your years and fine enough warriors in your own rights. Besides, Durins always found their way to trouble, one way or the other.”
In other words, the chances of them following were high, and locking them up was no solution at all. Forcing a dwarf to do anything always, always , led to trouble, especially the royals.
Both boys hugged their mother, and she clung to them swallowing her tears until she had privacy for her fear and grief.
oOo
The planning for the reclaiming of Erebor took several months, and in that time, Estur decided to return back to the Iron Hills. She was too young to join the Thorin’s Company and she found herself missing life in the East.
Her new friend, Sonna, chose to come with her, finally, leaving her past life fully behind her.
Sonna would see the world and found herself.
oOo
Thorin didn’t know what his One would do as Gandalf had yet to confirm or deny whether Bilbo had agreed to become their burglar.
“I still can’t believe Dain said no,” Frerin bemoaned for what felt like the hundredth time.
“His adventure in Moria must have been enough for him,” Dwalin offered, his tone thick enough with condensation it would take a cave troll to break it.
Balin sighed, “Likely, that is because Moria is now overrun by orcs if the rumours are to be believed. Which means our ore is in the hands of the enemy. I don't agree with his choice but I do understand. For if the dragon is alive, the Iron Hills are not so far away.”
“Which is why he should want the worm gone,” Frerin snapped.
Thorin might have been as angry, but Bilbo's courting gift hung heavy against his heart as his feet took him up a familiar path.
“It is because of the threat in the south he does not come,” Thorin explained. “However, to have the worm at his back is no safe gamble.”
Thorin did not believe the dragon was dead, he wouldn't be half so lucky.
Gandalf seemed put out by Thorin's steps which had grown slower and heavier with each foot fall, for the wizard soon decided to be the first up the route to Bag End.
“He won't leave his nephew, Thorin,” Balin offered. “There is no need to fear his coming with us.”
“Uncle Thorin, can we catch up with you,” Fíli asked.
Thorin turned to nephew with a narrowed gaze, “Why?”
Fíli had been acting strange since he discovered they would be going to the Shire.
And Kíli, the brat, knew what was up and refused to say anything.
“Estel and I passed through the Shire, I just wanted to show Kíli some of the hills and the Party Tree. We won't have time tomorrow.”
Thorin sighed and waved them off, the Shire was the least of the dangers they could encounter and it had its own beauty that he was glad for his nephews to explore freely.
Fíli took Kíli’s hand and ran off like the dwarflings they ought to have still been, flying wild and reckless along the rolling green hills beneath the afternoon sun.
Thorin's gut twisted. They were both so mature for their ages but every now and then they would show their youth.
Dís was right that they were too young for this venture.
But locking them up in the dungeons wasn't really a solution.
And Fíli had travelled enough and likely had enough friends between Ered Luin and Rohan that they could make at least half the journey by themselves.
The rest of the company kept walking toward Bag End and Thorin was torn between wanting to pummel the wizard and the desire to see Bilbo again before he departed on this quest.
But Balin was right.
Bilbo wouldn't come with them. He hadn't been willing to leave Frodo two years ago; he wouldn't be willing to go dragon burgling now.
“What is wrong with you?” Frerin demanded suddenly.
Thorin had long since lost track of the conversation as he glared down at the wildflowers as if each one had mortally offended him.
Better anger than heartbreak.
“We're going to meet his secret love,” Nori chirped.
Frerin snorted then gaped as Thorin merely grimaced at the statement.
How could he deny it? He would have made Bilbo King Consort if he hadn't been a mere crownless king himself.
Mahal save him, half of his drive to reclaim Erebor was so he could be worthy of his One.
“Thorin,” Frerin demanded. “You told Nori and not me?”
Nori huffed, “He didn't have to tell me, unlike you, I'm observant. Dís made the same longing expressions and sighs around Mori for weeks before she realised he was blind. And in case you haven't noticed, you're the odd duck, princeling, your siblings would just as soon be mistaken as twins. They have the same face with the same sappy expressions.”
Frerin shook his head, “Wait, how did she miss that he was blind?”
“Because she only ever saw him in the kitchens when he was working with Bombar. You know how those two were. And that was Mori’s kitchen, he didn't need his cane there. But all the subtle looks she gave him and gesture were completely lost on him. They were adorable.”
Thorin looked up to the stars, if Nori thought Mori had been adorable, he would be wrapped around Bilbo's finger before he could count the dishes on the table.
Frerin waved his hand, “But Thorin, why didn't you tell us?”
“He told Balin and I,” Dwalin said.
Frerin glared daggers at him.
“And I told Dís,” Thorin admitted.
“Why didn't you tell me though?” Frerin whined.
“Because you're annoying,” Nori answered, stealing the words off Thorin's lips.
Frerin glowered, despite his full beard, looking younger than Fíli.
“I know you almost always have my best interest at heart,” Thorin explained. “But I know you. And I couldn't afford you trying to get involved.”
Frerin still looked infuriated until he truly thought about it and his shoulders slumped. “I can't say you're fully wrong.”
Dís was bold and bullheaded, but Frerin could sometimes go past that. By past that, he meant extreme lengths to see his family happy headless of the political repercussions.
Thorin’s attention was diverted by the fact he had finally reached the doorstep. He took in a bracing breath, then knocked.
Bilbo's welcoming smile was everything he could have wished it to be, “Thorin! I didn't realise you would be visiting us this year. Come in, come in.”
“Gandalf didn't tell you?” he asked as he stepped in, taking his boots and socks off as well as his cloak.
Bilbo frowned and turned to glare over his shoulder. “No, he did not. But I can imagine what he has to tell me and I'm not going on any adventures with Frodo.”
Thorin didn't want to tell him about the rune on his freshly painted door. “Right, would my company be able to stay the night?”
“Of course!” Bilbo exclaimed. “How many?”
“Fourteen,” Thorin answered a tad sheepishly.
“Ah,” Bilbo said. “Well you're in luck, we’ve been cooking since teatime. I'll just send Frodo out for Ham Gammgies’s pie crusts.”
“How can I help?” Thorin asked.
Bilbo smiled at him again, “Not in the kitchen, my dear. But you can move the table, we aren't all going to fit around the table. I think I have enough rooms for fourteen if a few don't mind sharing beds. The faunts already share a room, so they can stay with me in mine.”
“They won't mind,” Thorin assured as everyone entered, following his example by taking off their shoes.
Thorin introduced, “This is my younger brother Frerin, my cousins Balin, Dwalin, Oin, Gloin, and my sister's brothers, Dori, Nori, and Ori.”
Bilbo bowed to them, “At your service.” Then he smiled at the Ur’s. “Welcome back, Bifur, Bofur, and is this your brother Bombur?”
Bofur slapped his brother on the shoulder, “Right in one, Bilbo!”
Bilbo smiled as he looked Bombur over before saying with a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes, “A pity you're married.”
“Why?” Bombur asked warily.
Bilbo smiled, “Because you’re quite fetching for a dwarf. You'd have quite the gaggle of twitters following you about.”
Bombur, whose cheeks were already burning, went red up to his ears.
Thorin probably should have felt jealous, but his One’s favour remained a warm weight over his heart.
The rest of the company seemed a bit unsure of whether their host was mocking Bombur or not.
By dwarven standards, Bombur, as one whose craft was baking, would be quite fetching indeed, but in exile, where fighting skills were not only prized but necessary if you had a family, Bombur wasn't all that desirable.
Not that Thorin had any stones to throw, if he, Frerin, Kíli, and Fíli were dwarrowdams, they would have been considered as beautiful as Dís, but as they all favoured Thrain's wife a little too well, their ‘elvish’ qualities made them all rather undesirable no matter what their fighting prowess was.
Bofur resolved any concerns by slapping his brother on the back and teasing him in Khuzdul about Tera fighting off hobbit competition.
“Fourteen dwarrow, incoming!” Bilbo called as he turned to handle the merry chaos his kitchen always was with a wizard, four other adult hobbits, and seven faunts.
Thorin heard Esmeralda curse but whether that was about their cooking plans or something one of the faunts had done, Thorin would never know.
oOo
Ferin jolted back as so many children hollered Thorin's name.
Frerin exchanged a look with Nori who had his back to the wall, apparently overwhelmed by all the excitement.
Sure, dwarrow were a generally excitable lot, but this was so many pebbles.
oOo
Dwalin looked to be in a state of shock as a group of tiny, tiny people jumped his charge.
oOo
Thorin, for his part, was not at all phased as scooped them all up in a hug. They all talked too fast to understand, but Thorin carried them further into the home so others could enter.
As soon as Bifur and Bofur were spotted, the company luckily all inside, Thorin was immediately forgotten in the potential for new toys.
Which the two cousins immediately pulled from their packs. Thorin didn't seem upset as he greeted his hobbit.
Thorin directed the company to the guest room he knew was Gandalf’s and directed them all to take off their shoes, socks, and weapons there.
When they emerged, it was to an argument that Esmeralda swiftly ended with surety of the cat herder Thorin had come to know her as.
“Dwarves eat two to three meals a day, and thanks to the wizard, we had no time to prepare a full supper and dinner. So we will all share in a single supper and you fauntlings can have dessert for dinner.”
A cheer dispersed between the faunts, though Frodo and Sam remained at Bilbo's side, eager to help.
Spotting them in his living room, Bilbo smiled, “Ah, my dear dwarrow, for those of you who haven't met my family.”
Gandalf looked startled as if he hadn't realised this wasn't the first time Bag End had sheltered dwarrow.
Bilbo travelled, it was not so odd that he had met some of them. But recent years have changed the normality of things. Especially, after the Battle of the Hills.
“I am Bilbo Baggins and these are my nephews, Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee.”
Sam, who was not a true blood relative, went red from embarrassment, but before he could explain away his family being Bilbo's gardener, Bilbo went on.
“These are my cousins, Paladin and Eglantine Took, and their faunts, Pearl, Pimpernel, Pervinca, and Peregrin, or Pippin, Took.”
The lasses curtsied, while Pippin just sort of vibrated in excitement as he hung onto Merry’s arm.
Thorin hid a smile at his company's obvious awe at so many pebbles and the lasses that outnumbered the lads.
“And then our true Bucklanders, Esmeralda, who is Paladin's younger sister, and Saradoc Brandybuck and their son, Meriadoc.”
“Merry's fine,” Merry chirped happily.
Thorin inclined his head to them, “This is my brother Frerin. My cousins, Balin and Dwalin. And my more distant relatives, Oin, Gloin, Dori, Nori, and Ori. Then I believe you all know Bifur and his cousins Bofur and–”
Bofur wrapped an arm around Bombur’ shoulder, “And my brother, Bombur.”
Bilbo clapped and the four adults sprung toward the kitchen while the faunts went to Bifur and Bofur.
And while Bombur may have been ‘a looker’ they were much more interested in the toymakers.
“Excellent! Thorin, could you help with the table please?”
Thorin nodded and Frerin muttered in Khuzdul, “You let him order you around? You have it bad, don't you?”
Thorin didn't dignify that with a response as he went to move the table.
Which he ended up needing Dori's help with, not because the table was that heavy but because the faunts had all piled onto it, including a hesitant Sam who Frodo dragged along with him. All of them giggling madly.
Frodo was notably older than the other lads, but Thorin was happy to see that Frodo still embraced his mischievous side.
Soon the table was laid and a bounty was placed in front of them.
Bilbo froze when Frerin said, “Fíli is going to love this food.”
He wasn't the only one to go still, the other adult hobbits looked sharply at Frerin, except for Saradoc who choked on his peas.
The other dwarves looked at them strangely, a protective glint entering their eyes. They were all more touchy about the princes, to the point where he was certain neither Dwalin nor Balin would enjoy their meals if Fíli was somehow unwelcome.
Thorin was a bit more trusting of the Shire.
The faunts went on eating, though they watched more quietly.
Thorin pressed his knee to Bilbo's in support and question.
Bilbo kept his gaze on his plate.
Finally, Saradoc asked, “Did you? Did you just say Fíli was coming here, tonight?”
The other adult hobbits had gone deathly still, all the blood draining from their faces when they seemed to place the name.
Frerin tilted his head, “Yes, why? He has mentioned that you met in the past when he passed through this way before.”
“ Passed through?” Esmeralda repeated, disdain in her tone. “Fíli Baggins, ‘ passed through the Shire?’”
Bilbo winced when Thorin looked at him questioningly.
Paladin glared at Frerin, “Are you talking about Fíli Baggins?”
“He's not a Baggins, he's a dwarf,” Dwalin growled.
Esmeralda's eyes went wide, her mouth opening in a small ‘O’ of surprise.
“Fíli Baggins is a dwarf?” Eglantine asked.
“He was adopted!?” Paladin exclaimed, turning on the master of Bag End. “ Bilbo! ”
Bilbo looked down at his plate, “When everyone assumed he was mine, it was easier. I wasn't technically of age yet.”
“You adopted my nephew?” Frerin asked.
“You’re Bill Findel?” Nori asked, causing Thorin's world to tip off balance.
“I– Yes. I–” Bilbo began, not immediately denying it.
Thorin felt his heart ache and he had no idea how to feel as the conversation continued.
oOo
“But it is Fíli, brother of Kíli?” Esmeralda interrupted, causing Bilbo to flinch.
Fíli had been Saradoc's best friend when they were all faunts.
“Yes,” Balin said. “Fíli’s brother is Kíli, sons of Dís and Mori.”
Esmeralda looked as if she was about to cry while Paladin, who was some years older than Bilbo, looked furious.
But something occurred to Bilbo, had Frerin meant Fíli is here in the Shire?
Here with Gandalf?
Thorin took his hand, squeezing it gently, “You raised Fíli?”
“Yes, I raised him after finding him in a blizzard during the Fell Winter that took over a fourth of the Shire’s population. As far as he knew, his family was assassinated and there was no one to return him to.
Thorin swallowed, you saved my sister's son?
Bilbo nodded fully ready for him to be angry, but instead, Thorin looked somewhere between relieved and grateful.
“In all the years we knew you, why did you never say anything?” Bofur asked.
Bilbo felt his heart clench but he looked to Thorin, “Because I wronged you, I wronged him, when I did not try harder to find his remaining kin. I– I trusted the wrong messenger.”
“You protected him,” Thorin said, expression still unreadable.
“I did, but I still failed him. It was Fíli’s story to tell, and I know he has not forgiven me or he would have told you about me,” Bilbo said.
There was a beat of silence.
Saradoc though shook his head before saying meaningfully, “He wasn't ashamed of you. Besides, you know him, he was probably too proud to admit he was wrong, or he was ashamed of lying in the first place, so he avoided the topic.”
“And you know him so well?” Frerin challenged.
Sara straightened in his seat, “Of course I do, he was my best friend when we were faunts!”
“I've never heard of him,” Merry said, unhelpfully.
Esmeralda ruffled her son's curls, “We didn't talk about him because Uncle Bilbo didn't return from the east with him.”
There was more to it than that, of course, but it wasn't for faunt ears what Bilbo's Tookish relatives would say about Bilbo's current neighbours.
“So you did take him to Rohan?” Nori asked.
Bilbo was not going to be the one to explain the elves to them, at least, not in front of the faunts.
“Well, I certainly wasn't the one to teach him smithing. His skill and knowledge is beyond any hobbit you'll ever meet.”
“It's beyond men too,” Frerin remarked, proving he wasn't as moronic as Thorin sometimes made him out to be.
Gandalf got ahold of the conversation then, “Now, now. I'm sure all can be explained in more detail later.” He gave a meaningful look toward the little ones. “But let's first discuss the quest that we wish to hire Mr. Baggins services for.”
How Gandalf thought that was a better topic for faunts, Bilbo would never know, though he supposed, it would make for a good tale.
“Hire me for what?” Bilbo asked.
Gandalf's gaze twinkled, “Why my dear Bilbo, to become a burglar, of course.”
The faunts cheered, having no idea who Fíli was but prospective criminality they understood just fine.
Esmeralda called it, “Enough! All of you need to finish eating and then we can discuss dragons, the little ones are down for bed.”
A huge uproar from the end of the table went up.
Paladin sighed, “You finally get out of being Thain.”
Bilbo grinned, “I’m really breaking my hear, Thain Paladin II.”
Paladin rolled his eyes.
Thorin blinked, realising that, truly, a Thain was different than a king if he could exchange the title that easily. “As simple as that?” Thorin asked. “You’re coming with us?”
“Of course, he’s going with you,” Merry called leaning over the table.
Thorin raised an amused brow, “Oh?”
“Because he loves you,” Pippin said with ease of someone stating that the sky was blue.
First course was finished before Sam managed to get Gandalf to expand on their planned journey.
“Where we are going is to the Lonely Mountain to reclaim Erebor,” Gandalf said grandly.
“The twelve of them, plus a wizard, and a hobbit?” Bilbo clarified. His Heartsong was going to get them both killed if it was just them against a dragon, the fury of wizards notwithstanding.
“Fourteen dwarrow, actually,” Gandalf corrected with twinkling eyes.
Bilbo arched a brow at the inane wizard, “You want me to steal from a dragon?”
The faunts lost all sense of composure, talking wildly even as they continued to eat. If the dwarves didn't get to it there wouldn't be much left for them.
“Bilbo is not going on this mission,” Paladin said.
Esmeralda snorted, “He's Belladonna Took’s son, of course, he's going.”
“I'm going too!” Frodo called.
“No!” Bilbo and every adult the room said.
The faunts giggled, though Sam was clinging to Frodo, silently begging for him not to go.
“I'm of age,” Frodo muttered, slumping in his seat.
“Before I answer, Mr. Still Grounded Until He's Fifty,” Bilbo drawled. “Who else is coming? You said fourteen dwarrow, but I count only twelve.”
Thorin looked suddenly guilty.
Because they all knew the truth, if Fíli was coming tonight then the thirteenth and fourteenth were the sons of Dís.
Bilbo glared at him as he hesitated to answer.
Bofur broke the wait by asking, “What, no questions about the furnace with wings?”
Bilbo found he didn't really care about the dragon, and asked, “Who are the two remaining dwarves in your company, Thorin?”
oOo
Thorin looked away as he finally answered, "My nephews, Kíli and F– ow!”
They all startled when the hobbit rose, tipping his stool with a clatter and smacked their king upside the back of the head.
“You idiot! You absolute moron! How could you even think to let them come? You don't even take them to the Shire!”
The company was gobsmacked, aside from Balin and Dwalin who exchanged a coin like they knew this was coming.
Despite being the equivalent of bodyguards, they were grinning at each other, doubtless impressed by their first meeting with Thorin’s One.
“I didn't let them, they refused to–”
“They aren't even considered adults yet, are they? By the fires of Mt. Doom, they're the equivalent of tweens. You can't bring tweens to fight a dragon . Thorin have you completely lost your mind?”
“They are my nephews and heirs–”
“How is that not more of a reason to protect them? What did Dís have to say about this? Did they leave Ered Luin with her blessing?”
“They didn't leave us a choice. It was either take them with us or lock them up in the dungeons or have them follow alone behind us. It is their birthright to come. Dís did give them her blessings. And while we are indebted to you for protecting Fíli, you are not his sire to be making choices on his behalf.”
oOo
Frerin wondered at the ease in which Thorin was accepting that, but Bilbo was already family even if they chose not to formally court. Dís herself had marked him so.
Which come to think of it meant Bilbo had probably confided the truth to her.
No wonder she had been so smug when she got home.
Besides that, the King's One was royalty no matter their station.
“The boys are going with us,” Balin said.
Bilbo looked incensed.
Frerin added, “And even if it was given reluctantly, Dís’s blessing was given.”
Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose, “Thorin–”
There was a knock on the door just then.
Bilbo was the first out of his seat.
oOo
“You okay?” Kíli asked as Fíli raised his hand to knock.
“No,” Fíli said. “He’s going to yell at me for knocking.”
They had been exchanging letters for a while now but this still felt soooo…
It felt like an eternity had passed and yet, standing here, he felt as if the clock had turned back time and he was a mere dwarfling again returning home late.
As much as his dwarvish family had filled the holes inside of him, without his father being present, his life felt unfinished somehow.
The round door opened, smelling like home.
“Dah,” Fíli greeted his father who had grown older and yet retained a spark that was entirely elvish.
Bilbo ran at him, grabbing him in a tight hug.
Fíli hugged him back just as fiercely though careful of his own strength. Dah had always been such a pillar of strength and wisdom in his life that it was always startling to realise how small he was.
Eventually, they parted, and Fíli reached down to wipe away the tears off his father’s cheek.
Bilbo laughed at himself, “I’ve missed you so much, Fíli.”
“I’m sorry,” Fíli said earnestly both asking for forgiveness and confirming his own of their messy past.
Dah nodded, cupping Fíli’s cheeks, “Your beard’s growing in.”
Fíli smiled at the evident pride. He gaze cut to Kíli’s beard who hadn’t grown as thick yet.
Kíli stuck out his tongue just as turned his attention to him.
Sucking in a breath, Kíli rushed a hasty bow, “It’s an honour to meet you, Master Baggin–”
“None of that, Bilbo is fine,” Dah tsked, pulling Kíli into an embrace. “It’s good to finally meet you. You remain Fíli’s favourite topic of conversation.”
Kíli blushed.
“Come, come,” Dah urged, drawing himself straight and ushering them in. “Or you’ll have nothing warm to eat.”
oOo
Kíli was not blind to how comfortable Fíli was entering this warm home and kicking off his boots.
Hobbits were interesting. Here he thought dwarrow had big families but the Baggins family (or were they Tooks?) was huge with so many pebbles.
A few of the hobbits, greeted Fíli with open-armed hugs while others eyed him with profound interest.
Kíli sat between Fíli and a lass who piled their plates with food.
So maybe it was hard not to love these people if their generosity over the years hadn’t already earned his favour.
The dwarrow had fallen silent, both from eating and the way hobbits began talking faster and faster among themselves and with Fíli until they switched to another language.
It was less poetic than elvish, yet more… Mystical? If that was the right word.
“What language is that?” Kíli asked.
“The Green Speech,” the hobbit on the other side of Esmeralda, Sara, answered. “Fíli’s your brother so you can learn it if you like. It's not as complicated as elvish.”
Bilbo waved his hand, “It's harder to hear though, bit like music really. Some say it was made so we could talk to flowers, others said it was so we could speak and no one would hear unless they knew what they were hearing.”
“So it's a secret language,” Balin said.
“Not really,” Sara said. “But Gandalf, Glorfindel, and Estel are the only two non-hobbits I know who know it. Most don't bother with it, men, I swear can't hear it at all. They lose patience with it. Even a basic greeting is beyond them. Estel doesn't count.”
Gandalf hummed, “It is a language of dreams and passing moments. It is not one that can be written nor easily repeated.”
Kíli tried his best to pick out the words but he was pretty certain he was going to run into the same difficulty learning the Green Speech as it had been for Fíli to relearn the written Khuzdul.
The food though, was absolutely incredible and it made sense where his brother had learned to cook.
But Fíli didn’t really bake much, the desserts at Bag End fresh from the oven were worth more than gold.
Kíli looked at his uncle and saw that he pretty much only had eyes for his One who was fussing over Fíli. Then Kíli exchanged a look with his Uncle Frerin, the thought passing between them, Is this what was missing in our family?
oOo
Frodo scratched his utensils together to distract from the tension of the moment.
“Frodo Baggins, do not, blunt the knives,” Bilbo chided.
Which led the dwarrow to give the night’s entertainment with song and tricks while cleaning up for everyone, to much laughter and applause.
It was quite late by the time they were able to discuss their journey.
They still had to wait to get down to details for confirmation the faunts were asleep, excluding Frodo and Sam who had been granted permission to stay up late.
“Why did you take Fíli to the Roharrim?” Gandalf asked Bilbo.
“I'm not a blacksmith nor do I know how to use any weapons. I wanted Fíli exposed to crafts few hobbits have interest in.”
“You know dwarrow can be more than metal and stone workers,” Dori remarked.
“He knows,” Fíli said. “But I enjoyed it, and I got really competitive about it.”
“Too competitive,” Bilbo sighed. “We could hardly get you away from the forges.”
“It paid off,” Thorin said. “Especially, for one so young.”
The pride on his face, the hobbit’s, and Kíli’s, had Fíli ducking his head.
Esmeralda came out from the back hall with the affirmation the little ones had lost the fight to exhaustion.
If he was being honest, Thorin was having a difficult time focusing on anything other than how wonderful his One was.
The silver cuff with the sigil of Durin was well deserved indeed, it was no wonder Dís had approved of him so quickly.
“So you’re taking the northern pass after Rivendell?” Bilbo asked.
That snapped Thorin out of his stupor. “No, we are not going to the elves.”
“You said you were going over the Misty Mountains,” Bilbo stated.
“But not through elven territory,” Thorin argued.
“Gandalf is taking you through Rivendell,” Bilbo said, turning to the wizard in question. “Aren't you Gandalf?”
“Well,” Gandalf muttered into his cup.
“We need to go that way anyway. Elrond said he’s willing to take Frodo on as an apprentice and Sam wants to learn elvish. This is convenient for everyone. The elves patrol their lands, it leads us away from the man settlements, and they will feed and resupply during our stay there,” Bilbo explained.
Frerin shook his head, “We can’t trust the elves. I know you fought together in the Battle of the Hills, but they will try to stop us from reclaiming the mountain.”
“And who are you to speak for the trustworthiness of another people?” Paladin asked hotly.
oOo
Bilbo drank water, feeling the day weighing heavily on him and wasn’t done yet. They had to get through these discussions and then he was going to have to pack.
Thorin’s brother’s response chased away his musings of sleep.
“I Frerin, son of Thrain, son of Thror–”
Bilbo choked, coughing loudly to clear his pipes of the water he had drunk.
Frerin raised a golden brow at him.
Bilbo felt his cheeks heat but he looked between Thorin and Frerin, “I'm sorry, but you don't mean– not King Thrain , not King Thror, of Durin’s direct line, do you?”
“Yes, he does,” Kíli said with a sing-song tone.
“You're Thorin Oakenshield , King Under the Mountain,” Bilbo asked his Heartsong, completely mortified.
“Yes,” Thorin affirmed.
Bilbo looked at him then looked at Fíli and swore in the Green Speech, causing Fíli to burst out laughing and answer in the same. Bilbo knew the others only could hear twittering and sighing and not the foul language being tossed about.
No, to the dwarrow, it would be as if they spoke in bird song and the sound of the wind through leaves or even a brook babbling over rocks.
Thorin smiled, "I didn't think it would matter to you, Thain of the Shire.”
Bilbo glared, “My position is temporary and how my times do I have to tell you and Dís, I'm not a king.”
Paladin nodded, “And he is required to go with you and Fíli, so he’s no longer Thain.”
“What do you mean ‘he has to?’” Thorin demanded.
Bilbo waved the concern away, “You're royalty, Thorin, and you never thought to share that with me? No wonder Dís and that little traitor looked so smug. I'm going to twist Estel’s ear for not introducing you properly.”
“We are not going to the elves,” Frerin stated.
Bilbo glared at the blonde then looked at Thorin and smiled, “So you’ll trust Frodo and Sam’s safety to the elves rather than taking them yourself?”
They might not being moving forward on their courting, or perhaps they were, Bilbo knew that Thorin looked on Frodo as one of his own kin.
The expression on Thorin’s face affirmed as much.
“Fine,” he bit out. “We will stop in Rivendell–”
Protests went up among his company.
Thorin raised his voice, “We will not be telling the elves are reason beyond escorting the pebbles.”
“We’re not pebbles,” Frodo pouted.
Balin cleared his throat, “There’s also the matter of the contract, which I now have to change because we didn’t realise our burglar would be someone who was Durin kin. As well as your payment.”
Bilbo glowered at the elder dwarf, “No, you are not paying me for following my sons on a suicide mission.”
“I'm not your son,” Kíli quipped.
“Congratulations on your adoption,” Bilbo told him. “Now sit down and eat.”
Balin looked a bit upset but it wasn't because of Bilbo’s impudence.
“You have to take some form of payment, laddie,” Balin said. “It wouldn't be right.”
“And what am I going to do with gold and jewels?” Bilbo asked. “I already have more money than I can spend due to my ancestors, and to the dismay of Hobbiton, my business.”
“Are you a halfling lord?” Nori asked.
“Hobbit,” Fíli and Thorin corrected.
“Respectable family,” Bilbo answered.
“The invention of golf is a Gandalf tale to tell,” Paladin said dryly.
“You don't have to spend it, you can save it for your heirs, for Frodo's children,” Balin offered.
Frodo mouthed, ew , though was polite enough to not say it.
Which got a chuckle from those who saw.
Bilbo shook his head, “It would not help us. If anything, it would make us a target to outsiders.”
“Outsiders are already a problem,” Paladin noted.
“More of, then,” Bilbo conceded before his gaze moved to Fíli.
oOo
Bilbo smiled suddenly which had Bifur hiding a smirk, well used to the Baggins’ brand of mischief.
Fíli was already shaking his head, but before he could verbalize a protest, his dah said, “Give my fourteenth share to Dís.”
“What?” Thorin asked.
Bifur shared a grin with his cousins. Bofur and Bifur were both amused by the awe and consternation the hobbits were causing the company.
“Your sister,” Bilbo answered, amused.
“I know who she is, but why?”
“I could not begin to apologize for the years of her son's life she lost nor thank her for such a beautiful son. Doubt that would help anything really, and though gold is worthless in comparison, I am told dwarves like shiny things and it's a good a place to start as any.”
The company was gaping at him.
Bifur noticed that the look Thorin was giving their burglar was a bit more than admiration.
“Dah,” Fíli croaked.
your fourteenth share will go to Dís, which ultimately means it will go to Kíli and Fíli.
“Dah,” Fíli chastised again.
Bilbo shook his head, “You can choose not to go poke a dragon and I'll be content to stay.”
“I have to go.”
“And I have to follow.”
“You don't owe me anything,” Fíli snapped.
“That's not how family works,” Frodo said.
oOo
Sara intrupted, “Thorin, what are the foothills of Erebor like?”
Thorin arched a brow, he was rather fond of Saradoc, he was cheerful and sweet, and Thorin very much doubted he would ask for anything selfish.
He knew hobbits, at least the hobbits of this smial, too well.
Frerin, Balin, and Dwalin looked far more irritated. Dori too, for that matter.
“And what would that be, Mister Brandybuck?” Balin said a tad coldly.
“I want land outside of the mountain and help building smials in the foot hills. We could build them ourselves, but I would imagine the grounds a fair bit harder there than in the Shire.”
Thorin could only stare.
Smials.
Plural. Thorin knew that Sara knew that he was in love with Bilbo and that living circumstances were keeping them apart, but to move their whole families from the Shire?
Esmeralda hugged her husband around the waist, not as if to hold him back, but as if he had just answered a prayer.
“I don't understand,” Balin stated. “Why would you want such a thing?”
“Well, no one's using it, right?” Saradoc asked. “And I want the land closer to the elves than the ruins of Dale. I know the woodland elves didn't help you none but no elf has ever harmed a hobbit.”
There was an implication there that turned Thorin's stomach. But before he could fully think the thought through, Frerin spoke.
“The land around the mountain is dead nothing grows there to this day but weeds and prickly shrubs.”
Esmeralda scoffed, “Well of course not, Smaug is evil and killed for gold, nothing will grow right in a land unloved. But that doesn't mean the soil isn't rich. A forest surrounded your mountain, did it not?”
“Yes, but you're missing the part where it burned down, lass,” Dori said. “We call it the Desolation of Smaug for a reason.”
Esmeralda shook her head, “If a thousand year forest burned down then the soil is the wealthiest sort of ash any could ask for. Some trees even require a burning before the seeds will sprout. Let us hobbits worry about the growing things, and my husband and cousin will help you get your shiny rocks back.”
“I'm still missing the part as to why you want it?” Frerin asked.
“Because it's good land and no one's going to use it. If you get your mountain back you're not going to live on the outside of it.”
Thorin nodded, “If you want it, you can have it. Though I warn you, there is evil in the north, spiders to the west in Mirkwood, and men to the south. I know you're history with elves is favourable but the lands to the south east, between Erebor and the Iron Hills may serve you best. If nothing else, the renewed trade between the dwarven kingdoms would ensure a steady flow of protection between you, the humans, and investations.”
Saradoc smiled, “You've proven to the Shire already that dwarves are good for their word. That sounds best to me.”
Fíli spoke then, “But why do you want to leave the Shire?”
Gandalf added, “And why is it you think to speak for all of the Shire, Master Brandybuck.”
“Because I was already forced out of my smial,” Saradoc snapped. “And not because of goblins or orcs or dragons, but because of men . You Big Folk think it's all business as usual when the men start gettin’ queer. But starving men are scarier than wargs. I know to kill a warg, but I can't kill a man just because he steals from a lass. We aren't as stupid as you think us ‘halflings’ to be, wizard. It's no excuse for a hungry man to steal from a hungry mother. It's evil to let a child starve, to take from one. To leave an infant in the snow because they can't feed it.
“And men do that to themselves. We've seen it. What do you think they'd do to us if they can't take care of their own? I would rather face a thousand dragons by myself than let my faunts go to war or be sold into slavery. Because our histories tell usthat when it comes to men, it's best to move on. We can't defend ourselves against them like we can against goblins. Men aren't all evil and we'd fail against an enemy like them.”
There was a silence.
“I would give that land to the hobbits and build their smials myself if the dragon is defeated regardless of whether you join us, Saradoc,” Thorin said.
Gloin shook his head, “I thought the plan was to rob the dragon, not kill it.”
“Then that's a dumb plan,” Esmeralda said.
“Didn't one of your stories say Smaug had a fallen scale on its breast?” Sam asked. “Can't you make some more black arrows like in the stories?”
They all turned to look at the tween, who immediately ducked behind Frodo who smiled, “You could set up traps on Ravenhill, and just launch a ton of arrows at once.”
“How do you know where Raven Hill is?” Frerin asked.
“Uncle Bilbo's maps,” Frodo answered cheerfully.
“Could you get your cousin to build those?” Bilbo asked. “I know an army couldn't march on Smaug but surely a small troop could set up some of those ground bows. I'll go into the mountain to check in on the dragon, who's hopefully already dead, and if he's not, I'll anger him and he'll be so irritated Smaug will be pushed to hunger.”
Fíli laughed despite himself, “Perfectly logical.”
“Angering large fire drakes is not logical at all,” Gandalf refuted.
“No,” Fíli corrected. “I meant we lead him into a trap.”
“Dain already said he wouldn't help,” Frerin said.
“He said he wouldn't give us an army,” Kíli said. “But why couldn't we commission some weapons. There's enough of us to carry at least four of them if they meet us on the shore of Laketown. Besides Fíli and I already have detailed design plans we can send ahead of us.”
“Maybe he'll change his mind about helping if he learns you've allied with the hobbits,” Frodo offered.
“Why would that make him change his mind?” Fíli asked.
“Because it's strange,” Saradoc answered, flashing Fíli a smile. “Even elves think we're strange and they can visit us whenever they like. I bet most of the dwarrow in the Iron Hills have never even heard about hobbit parties.”
“They'll wish they hadn't once they're challenged to a drinking competition,” Frodo mused, eyes twinkling.
Bofur said, “No good dwarf says no to a drinking competition.”
Esmeralda smiled sweetly at the toymaker, “You can tell him we're unbeatable.”
Bofur just grinned and tipped his hat to the lass.
“I think everyone ought to get some sleep,” Bilbo said. “We'll have a few months to debate how best to defeat a dragon on the way. Saradoc and I need to pack. Master Oin, if you'd join me, you can take your pick of my stores.”
Oin rose eagerly to finally see Bilbo's medical supply storage for himself but Balin rose to his feet with a staying hand.
“Now wait a moment, we haven't fully agreed to terms–”
Pippin's mother snatched the contract out of Balin’s hand.
“I'll rewrite it for you and tomorrow you can read it over and then they'll sign.”
Balin glared at her, “Erebor is–”
“Currently under the possession of a dragon,” Esmeralda said, only the speed of her words giving any indication of how nervous she was for her Sara. “Yes, we got that part. But in this room you have adult representatives from the most influential and respectable families in the Shire. And if our futures rely on the future of this quest and this contract, then we will be writing it. Because if the dwarves fail us then we will have nothing and our children will be stranded.”
Gloin said, “You didn't help us when Erebor fell.”
“You didn't ask,” she said primly. “It's not our fault no one takes us seriously enough to ask for help and we stay out of foreign politics because it's safer that way. But here you are, fourteen dwarves and a wizard who we've opened our doors to without hesitation, asking for our help and you're taking two fathers away from their families. If that isn't considered neighborly then every good thing I've heard about you is a falsehood.”
“They're not going to cheat us,” Thorin interrupted Balin's rebuttal. “Even if they wanted to, it's not as if they have a military to take the land by force. And Saradoc is right, we wouldn't use that land for anything.”
“They are asking for our militaries to protect them,” Balin pointed out.
“They have earned that over the last decade of taking myself and my kin in their homes and traditions without reservation. If I am to be king of the wealthiest dwarrow kingdoms once more than I would like to be generous to our friends. Our friends who were kind to us when we have nothing but danger to offer them.
“Bilbo's gold will go to Dís and Saradoc will have a deed to the foothills of Erebor. It is to our benefit anyway, as having growing fields closer to us is always beneficial and means we won't have to trade with the elves as much. The men of Laketown are fishermen, the farmers of Dale, those who survived, moved onto the lands surrounding Gondor. This is beneficial to everyone.”
“But the hobbits shouldn't have to leave the Shire,” it was Ori who spoke up.
Bilbo smiled, “No, we shouldn't have to. But it's not worth spilling blood over if we have another choice. Our ancestors were nomadic in an effort to avoid conflicts. Darker times are coming and I would rather be surrounded by friends, even if it means we must make for ourselves new homes in far away lands.”
They all stared at the hobbit.
Among the company, side from Bofur, Bomber and Bifur whose families were from Ered Luin, they had all been forced from their homelands and they could never been half so gracious about the ordeal.
oOo
Thorin caught his hand as he passed, pulling him aside back into the study.
Bilbo bowed his head and stepped away as soon as the door was shut.
Afternoons helping the hobbit stock shelves and package orders for his increasing business in supplying medical supplies sat between them.
All the nights and seasons that had passed between them suffocated by the secrets they had kept from one another.
“Thorin, I’m sorry—”
“Thank you,” Thorin interrupted.
Bilbo’s head jerked up, “What?”
Thorin closed the space between them slowly, gently taking back his One’s hands between his, “Thank you, Âzyungûn. Thank you for saving my sister’s son. Thank you for adopting him, for feeding him, and for loving him as your own.”
Bilbo blinked back tears, “You– you aren’t angry?”
Thorin cupped his dear face between his hands, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb. “Perhaps I would have been, for the time lost, but not now that I know you. Now that I know who the dwarf my nephew has become, wise, brave, and beyond anything else, kind.”
“He told me his family was dead when we found him,” Bilbo said. “I was afraid–”
Thorin lowered his forehead to his, “Living with you, he had family, he knew he was loved, he learned his craft, and he has never known hunger as his older brother has. Dís believes herself indebted to you.”
Bilbo shook his head, “No, Thorin, I– Did Fíli not tell you?”
Thorin pulled back, “Tell me what?”
Bilbo’s whiskey hued eyes searched his face, before stepping back. “It’s late, and tomorrow will be a long day.”
He felt his heart sink down to his toes, “Frodo is of age. Fíli loves you. You’re leaving with us ere break of day. What stands betwe–”
Bilbo held up a trembling hand as he shook his head, “Do not ask me. Do not ask me if, or until, we survive the dragon.”
Thorin flinched, “I would not ask you to face a dragon. In fact, my wish is that you wouldn’t.”
Bilbo gave him a sad smile, “You did not have to ask. You have taken my heart and my son with you, how could I not follow?”
“If I still have your heart and we are to be together till the end then why must we stay apart?”
The remorse in Bilbo's eyes was gutting, “Because you have the pieces and I don't know how you will see me after you put them together.”
“You told my sister,” Thorin said, reaching out gently to touch the glinting silver ear cuff.
Bilbo shuttered, leaning toward him like a flower toward the light.
“That's why she gave you this. You are Kin of Durin.”
“But you are not your sister, and she agreed that you might view it differently than her. It is remains Fíli’s story to tell,” Bilbo said as he pulled back.
Thorin watched him leave, his heart in shambles about the risks of this quest and the distance that remained between him and his One.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, Utah Raptors, or feedback, pretty please?
Chapter 18: Mending
Chapter Text
AN: I promise that next chapter tensions are resolved, please don’t hate me!
P.S. Don’t think about the baby-making too hard it’s more humour the biology.
Chapter 18 - Mending
Balin had many thoughts, and none of them made sense.
It wasn't difficult to deduce how very much father and son loved one another, kin or no, but there remained a tension between them that could not be settled.
What was more, they all knew Bilbo on some level. Thorin certainly spoke of his One often enough, orbiting around his soul half while never claiming him for fear of being unworthy.
That was a foolish notion all on its own.
Though it was clear outside forces were keeping them apart. There was the fact that Thorin didn't want to pressure him into leaving his adoptive cousin behind or taking him away to their people to live in Ered Luin.
Thorin certainly couldn't move permanently to the Shire.
But now?
Now, if they survived this journey, their peoples would literally be uniting and living beneath the same mountain.
So what was holding them back?
Balin was annoyed, but Dwalin was amused and began the betting pool.
His worries were soon set aside, however, for Bilbo’s nephews were entirely too inquisitive. Balin was only too happy to regale them with tales. It was a novel experience to be able to share freely with outsiders who were inexablably kin. Balin had the honour of being the first to share these stories with them without having to regulate his speech.
The nights seemed to fly by as Bilbo turned out to be quite the talented story teller himself.
Let Thorin take care of his own brooding and pining, Balin was glad of the additions to their company.
But one could only take so many nights of Thorin drifting further away from the company each night.
Finally, Balin had enough of watching his king sitting awkwardly on the edge of their camp.
When the hobbits went off to forage with Oin and Bombur, Balin was determined to confront the issue head on.
It should have been easier for him, that his One who he had been courting for seasons had raised one of his nephews.
But clearly, the opposite had happened.
Because it had become plain as day to all present that their youngest prince had been and was keeping secrets.
That for some reason he was afraid to share his past with them.
Which was ridiculous, knowing that a hobbit had raised a dwarfling was infinitely less heart rending than to think of all the harm that could have befallen him living among men.
But Fíli fear wasn't the only problem because apparently, Bilbo had been keeping secrets as well.
“You could talk to them,” Balin ventured in their own tongue.
Thorin merely exhaled a long puff of smoke. “I don't think it's a simple answer, Balin.”
“No one can blame our lad for being afraid to go home nor Bilbo for abiding those fears.”
“I don't blame him.”
‘Then why not clear the air and prove their fears groundless?’
Thorin sighed and pulled the dagger from his belt and held it out to Balin who frowned as he accepted it.
“Fíli is a credit to the line of Durin in his craft,” Balin said, admiring the blade in the moonlight.
It was an elegant thing, wickedly sharp, and reminded him of ancient dwarvish styles that had been shaped from copper.
“The making of that blade was made by no apprentice of man or halfling,” Thorin said.
Balin froze, looking up to see Thorin's stony expression. “The elves would not shelter us.”
“The woodland elves would not,” horin agreed.
Balin looked back down at the blade in his hand, perfectly balanced, as beautiful as it was deadly. “The elves do not share their knowledge with our kind.”
“They haven't, no. But perhaps there are exceptions for hobbits who come asking for shelter, hobbits who have quirl with no race save the occasional starving animals who take before being fed.”
“So what if the elves did shelter Fíli? He chose us. He chose Kíli and his mother over Bilbo and even the mention of elves.”
Thorin looked at him Balin, “How can I trust them?”
“Don't ask that.”
“How, Balin? How can I trust them when they don't trust me?”
“Do not mistake lack of trust for fear of disappointing you, Uncle.”
Balin and Thorin turned as Kíli approuched, sitting boldly between them.
Fíli had taught his brother how to walk more softly no matter what the hobbit professed about Oliphaunts.
“He's told you,” Thorin growled.
“More than he's told you or Amad,” Kíli said. “Don’t worry, he doesn't think I'll disown him.”
“Tell me–”
“No,” Kíli said. “I promised to keep his confidence and I intend to keep that promise.”
Thorin persed his lips but didn't push, merely passed his pipe to his nephew.
Kíli took a puff then handed it back fighting not to cough.
Thorin smiled and Balin was glad to see it.
He hadn't believed he'd ever see anyone of the royal line smile again until Fíli returned home to them.
“Bilbo is your One?” Kíli asked his uncle softly.
Thorin sighed but inclined his head in the affirmative.
“Why haven't you told him?” Kíli asked. “He is obviously fond of you, to say nothing of how many times he's taken you in over the years.”
Thorin's shoulders hunched, “It doesn’t concern you.”
Kíli was unmoved by his brooding uncle, “Yes, it does. He’s our family. I mean, he's not event that attached to the Shire seeing as he's bringing his own nephew to the elves.”
Thorin glanced over the camp but they were far from fire, the closest ones to hear were Óin and Dwalin.
“And why do you think that might be, Kíli?”
Kíli frowned at him. “Because he doesn’t have parents or siblings?”
“Because the Shire isn't a place for outsiders. Bilbo Baggins is considered a Disturber of the Peace which is a near criminal offense for their kind harking back to the ages when hobbits lived in hiding and to draw attention to themselves could get them killed.”
Balin blinked, “What?”
“They were nomadic harvesters and gathers, until they made treaties with the King of Gondor and were given a truly barren scap of land,” Thorin explained. “The hobbits made it what it is, before that it was like the Brown Lands.”
“How do you know that?” Balin asked.
“Bilbo told me,” Thorin said dryly.
Balin winced. It was one thing to have been needling his friend for years to bring his One home, it was another to contend in person the differences between their races.
“Why is Bilbo a Disturber of the Peace? I mean before he became Thain. He's seems kind and domestic enough to me,” Balin remarked.
“If I had to hazard a guess,” Thorin said in the same dry tone. “Taking in a dwarfling, travelling outside the Shire, and taking any strange dwarf of the road for tea. Not to mention they blame him for the death of his parents and Frodo's.”
“They what?” Kíli hissed.
“They thought he was cursed,” Thorin said. “I thought he was joking the first time he told me but to take Frodo from the Shire? Bilbo's life wouldn't have been ruined if I had been able to protect my family. If I had been a better king.”
Balin’s gut twisted, “It was not your fault we were betrayed. You've always done your best by us, it is not your fault that these dark times have befallen us.”
Thorin said nothing.
Kíli pressed his shoulder into his uncle's, “He's right. It's not your fault, and if Bilbo is your One than you were meant to be and Fíli was meant to be found by him. I don't think Amad would be appoused to adopting Bilbo's hobbitling in turn to spare him from the elves.”
Thorin wrapped an arm around his heir and pressed the sides of their foreheads together. “If I could convince you and your brother to stay with the elves and far from the dangers of Erebor, I would.”
“Good thing you know better than, don't you?”
Thorin squeezed him a little tighter. “If we survive this, I will speak with Bilbo about adopting you a cousin.”
“Another little brother,” Kíli corrected smugly. “Because I think the hobbit already adopted me as a honoury son.”
“I didn't think you would be so keen on someone replacing your father.”
He shrugged. “I don't really remember him all that well. You've always been more of a father to me than my dimming memories. Besides if both you and Fíli love him, the hobbit is already family, isn't he?”
Balin smiled at Kíli, giving the lad a wink.
Thorin was in many ways wedded to his sorrows and burdens. Bilbo Baggins was someone who reminded Thorin to live not just for his people, but for himself.
oOo
“We are staying here,” Thorin said, exhausted.
The wizard glowered at him, before storming off.
“And where are you going?”
“To talk to someone with some sense!” Gandalf called back, muttering about blasted dwarves.
“And whose that?” Saradoc asked.
“Myself, Mister Brandybuck.”
Bilbo quickly undid one of his many food sacks and shoved it into Frodo’s arms, “Follow him.”
“What?” Frodo asked, wide-eyed.
“You heard me, I don’t care if you both have to run the whole way, stay Gandalf,” Bilbo urged.
Neither Frodo nor Sam questioned him, running after the wizard.
Thorin raised a brow at his One.
Bilbo shrugged, “They haven’t gotten into trouble yet on this journey, I would like to blame Gandalf if something does happen.”
As it turned out later that night, they should have sent Fíli and Kíli along with the faunts.
oOo
Bilbo came into the light of the fire with two hissing dwarves walking bent beside him as the hobbit each princeling by an ear.
“If these two are your only heirs, Thorin, then I pity the kingdoms of Ered Luin and Erebor,” the hobbit announced before tugging both dwarf princes down. “Now sit down and eat, lest you get lost in the woods and come upon a den of starving wolves.”
Fíli and Kíli bowed their heads, as contrite as Thorin had ever seen them.
No one spoke, too shocked at this entrance to say a word.
This was the second time they had seen the hobbit lose his temper, and as well-behaved as his sister’s sons were, it was quite obvious that Master Baggins had indeed raised a dwarfling.
It was in the tone and demeanour that many dwarrow mothers learned early on that not only did raising a dwarfling take a great deal of will power but the ability to draw clear, distinctive lines between what was and wasn't acceptable behaviour.
Not that dwarves had so many standards as hobbits who were far more particular about social niceties, but being a prince, Kíli had been raised to be very aware of the expectations their people had for him.
Had Kíli followed all those expectations, no, but nor had Dis failed to impress upon her son when he had fallen short of them.
Thorin could see now why Fíli had returned to them with as much, if not more self-awareness.
But they were both still young dwarves far from home who had clearly found themselves in trouble, though Thorin couldn’t imagine what.
Kíli, who despite seeming to like the hobbit did not fear his wrath quite as much Fíli–possibly because he hadn’t been present when said hobbit had chewed Thorin out for bringing them on this quest– ventured to say, “It worked out and no one got hurt–”
The look the hobbit gave him was so withering and seemed all the more threatening for the shadows cast by the fire answered back with, “I cannot wait to speak with your mother, Prince Kíli Durin’s Son.”
Kíli immediately shrank in on himself. To be fair, neither Thorin nor Frerin were unaffected by the invoking of his sister’s wrath as well.
Balin snorted, “Aye, Fíli, no wonder you fit in so well. Your hobbit’s nothing like your late father, but I do believe he will get on swimmingly with our dearest princess.”
Kíli groaned into his soup but Fíli offered his hobbit a chargrinned smile.
“They do get along,” Thorin said. “I'd be more worried about the magpies giving her weekly updates.”
“You weren't planning on doing that before?” Bilbo asked.
“It's supposed to be a secret mission,” Thorin gruffed.
“You’re just lucky your brother didn’t give your location away before I had him up a tree. I swear, you lot are keeping with the Big Folk for Oliphaunt mimicry.”
“I am not that loud,” Kíli protested.
“Loud enough, no wonder Gandalf thinks you need a burglar,” Bilbo huffed.
“What exactly happened?” Dwalin asked.
“Trolls,” Bilbo growled. “Trolls who your fools of nephews tried to sneak up on.”
“They took two of the ponies,” Fíli protested.
Dwalin was visibly furious, “You went after trolls!?”
“Technically, they went after us,” Kíli said unhelpfully. “But we tripped them over a cliff.”
“And almost fell over with them,” Bilbo grossed.
“The cliff was your idea,” Fíli said.
“Only after you’d been spotted,” Bilbo snapped. “Trolls, I tell you. Do you have even the faintest idea how dangerous they are?”
“Yes,” Kíli said. “I can safely say that now we do.”
“I doubt it or the first thing you would have done was go back for help,” Bilbo said. “As orcs are elves stolen and twisted into something evil, so trolls are to ents. And while they maybe their stunteted cousins with no wisdom to speak of, that does not make them incapable of stringing you up by your ankles as one might pluck chicken from its coop.”
“What’s an ent?” Kíli asked.
Bilbo groaned and covered his face with both hands in despair, muttering several choice somethings under his breath. The only thing Thorin could make out was ‘... save me from the idiocy of dwarflings.’
Smiling to himself as he saw for the millionth time how his One could fit into his family. Though it was clear that Bilbo was most familiar Fíli, it was just as clear that he was coming to love Kíli as a son as well.
For Kíli’s part, he seemed to lean toward Bilbo as a flower follows the rising light. While Thorin doted on his nephews as best he was able, he knew neither he nor Frerin were ever as… open as Bilbo was.
The same was true of Dís who knew what it was too lose it all was fierce and protective of her sons in a way that Thorin imagined might feel stifling.
Dís must have agreed with that assessment as she had caved to the princes conviction to join this company far sooner than she would have if she hadn’t kept the boys in Ered Luin for the last decade.
Bilbo was no less protective, but he was younger and less world-weary. He didn't look at the world like Dís who saw the suffering of their people or like Thorin took that weight onto himself. No, the hobbit looked at the world and never failed to spot the wildflowers tucked between roots nor fail to note the blue of the sky.
Bilbo treated neither dwarfling like they were princes but as the children they ought to have been.
It broke Thorin's heart that Kíli seemed to crave that type of affection, for even when taken by the ear and being scolded, he remained seated by the hobbit's side.
If Thorin and Bilbo had been strangers, he would not have tolerated anyone talking to Kíli as if he were as much Bilbo's as Fíli had been. But this wasn't casual nor a passing friendship.
Bilbo was his One, his hobbit who had raised his sister's son, who was willing to face down a dragon for them, and was everything Thorin believed he didn't deserve.
Bilbo was a gentle creature at heart, loyal, and so humblingly kind. How the other hobbits could think him queer was beyond Thorin who saw in his One all the hobbits boasted to be. Every quality of generosity and love for living that had shaped the green hills of the Shire was embodied by Bilbo Baggins.
Gloín and Bomber, the only two among them who was married, stared at Thorin with dumbfounded realization.
Though work in the Shire had been worth the journeying, there had been other reasons he returned to Bag End season after season.
He had been courting Bilbo for years without ever informing the hobbit whom he would never have asked to depart his sheltered and prosperous life for the cold and struggling existence of the Blue Mountains that had long ago been stripped of its treasures.
The revelation that Bilbo had been the being to rescue his youngest nephew and quite willing to abandon his life in the Shire were facts that Thorin hadn't fully been able to wrap his head around.
Returning to Erebor was now more than bringing his people home but perhaps the beginning of making his own home.
Thorin thought of Bilbo growing his stubborn herbs around the watchtowers and Frodo running between the pillars and balconies that had defined Thorin's own childhood was like a physical ache upon his chest as he longed for a life he had never dared to hope for.
That courting Bilbo Baggins now in front of his nephews, cousins, and nosy friends and their younger siblings was going to be far more awkward.
Whether Bilbo accepted his courtship after their journey's end or not would not dispell the truth that they were already family in more ways that Thorin had understood.
He would value these days, this journey with his One.
oOo
Bilbo felt the tension between Sara and Fíli and found it unacceptable. He thought they would be able to mend it themselves but that had yet to happen. Where once they all knew how to behave together.
Bilbo had well and truly given over to his Took side and knew just the thing to get the ball rolling, glad that Sara had remained with Bombur rather than Troll taunting the night before.
When they all began eating their breakfast, he waited for the perfect moment to strike.
Which just so happened to be when Fíli was drinking from his water skin.
“My dear Sara, do you know how the other races have children?” Bilbo asked innocently.
Fíli immediately choked on his water and it took him a minute before he could splutter between coughs, “ Dah!”
Sara was frowning between them, “Of course I do.”
“He has a son of his own, why wouldn’t he know?” Gloin asked.
Fíli groaned, “Dah, why?”
Bilbo grinned, “Because theoretically hobbits could do it both ways and it just wouldn’t do to take our dear Saradoc out into the wilds without him learning a few things.”
Fíli glowered, “It isn’t funny.”
It was and Bilbo knew that the age gap between Sara and Fíli was bothering them both. Fíli was more worldly but younger in relative maturity, but hobbits rarely grew up and Bilbo was ready to prove, father or no, Sara was still more Fíli’s age than Bilbo's.
Frerin leaned into him, “What do you mean, both ways?”
“Hobbits are similar to elves, we don't have faunts unless we want to, and no one ever chooses your way unless it's between men and hobbits. It's very unpopular.”
Sara gaped at him, “You're joking, surely!? Bilbo… You can't mean– that's a myth! They aren't animals!”
Fíli covered his face, “Dah, I hate you.”
Bilbo sniggered.
Kíli frowned, “Wait, how do you think children are made?”
Sara glared at Bilbo, then answered, “I was taught that humans bake their babes, which always seemed weird to me because they aren't a race known for their cooking, elves have life trees that bear the babes like fruit, and dwarves carve them from their mountains.”
There was a long silence, before the entire company broke down in laughter save for Fíli who kept his head bowed in mortification.
“Baked?” Nori gasped. “Men bake their beirns?”
Sara crossed his arms, “That's what the men always say, they have a ‘bun in the oven’ and they must have to try really hard given how fat their women grow in the months leading up to their babes.”
Some of the dwarves were crying in their mirth bent over in halarity.
“Carved out of the mountain,” Oin chuckled.
“You call your faunts pebbles!” Sara exclaimed, red faced.
“That's what we tell them when they're too young to understand sex, laddie,” Balin said wryly.
Sara looked appalled, “ All the other races make babes like horses and sheep? While doing–” he waffled his hands though avoided any lude gesture.
Bilbo put a hand on his shoulder, “Mahal carved the first dwarrow from stone, the rest came through more difficult paths. It's also how most races determine gender by who can possibly bear and those who cannot.”
Sara wrinkled his nose, “That's so– ugh, messy.”
Bilbo lost some of his mirth, “Do not forget that we can bear too, Sara. I know you and Esmeralda have been trying for more–”
“I wouldn't do that to her!” Sara exclaimed, shooting up to his feet. “That's– No. No! How dare you even–”
“Sara, we aren't in Hobbiton anymore, we don't always get a choice in these things.”
“We won't let anything of the sort harm you,” Frerin interjected.
Sara deflated sitting back down beside Bilbo.
Hobbits were an extremely fertile race. All hobbits could bear faunts the instinctual way, but the intent for children had to be there. But most hobbits wanted children so…
Bilbo knew hobbits in Bree who had been left no other option than to go that route because most men were incapable of giving themselves to the earth.
“You can have children?” Thorin asked Bilbo.
He smiled at his Heartsong and wondered if they survived this journey if they might get the chance to try to add to their families.
Where yesterday their worlds had been seperate now they were working to join their people's fates together for the entirety of the next age.
“I can. Either way. Though obviously our prayers to Yavannah are preferable. dwarrow believe in her, right?”
Balin nodded, “Of course, she is Mahal’s. Though we don't often ask her for guidance.”
“In this case, praying to both is acceptable, the belief is most important.”
Thorin turned his head to the side, “What do you mean, belief?”
“Our people survive because we love the earth. Through a ceremony, a couple chooses a seed that has meaning to them and they pick a place that is suited to them in their gardens or on the edge of a forest. Our children are never born without love, our commitment to the earth and our heart's desire gives the spark of life. the soil craddles them and when they are ready they crawl from their gardens.”
Bilbo did not explain the singing that was involved.
Ori gaped, “Wait, you can actually grow your children, like vegetables?”
Sara nodded, “Yes, it is the preferred and civilized way of doing things.”
“How do you know if it's worked?” Oin asked.
“If the plant grows and matches its seed or if nothing grows, conditions were not right for a child. If it is successful a flower will bloom above the soil. Enfant Flowers, they differ in color and shape but they never resemble any other you could name this far north.”
“What happens if someone pick it?” Dori asked.
Bilbo shuddered. “Poison. It's rare. It goes against every instinct but it's called a Bloom. The flower turns into powder and it is deadly if breathed or touches flesh. Only men, orcs, and goblins have ever done that though in known history even wargs trust their instincts well enough not to risk it. The men call them ‘shroom-flowers’ because they think of them as deadly spores.”
“Keeps them away, thankfully,” Sara said. “Now days, men are so fearful they don't dare go near them.”
“Not that we let them,” Bilbo affirmed.
Enfant flowers could be any color any shade though they were typically white.
He had been told that his and his mother's flowers had been golden.
Gloín shook his head, “No wonder you have so many if it's that easy. My wife is going to be so jealous when she hears this.”
“Your poor wife,” Sara affirmed. “And you Big Folk must have it twice as hard.”
Fíli said in the Green Speech, “ We aren't Big Folk. Elves and men treat us like hobbits with fangs.”
Sara gave him a half smile, “ You would all be adorable with fangs they way your lot growl so much.”
It was Bilbo's turn to choke on his drink as he pictured his Heartsong with fangs.
Sara and Fíli laughed at him.
Bilbo rolled his eyes, suppressing a smile that his plotting had born fruit so quickly.
They had been best friends, there was no reason they couldn't be such again.
oOo
Gandalf returned to them on the road without the faunts.
“Where are they?” Bilbo demanded.
“I met Elrohir and Elladan on the road, they took your nephews ahead,” Gandalf answered with a smile.
Bilbo let out a sigh of relief.
The wizard held up wrapped packages, “I saw you ran into a bit of trouble last night and I have the reward for it.”
The reward came in the form of elvish blades, Orcrist for Thorin, and a letter opener for Bilbo.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, acorn-woodpeckers, or feedback, pretty please?
Chapter 19: Heartsong
Chapter Text
AN: The song is performed by Maureeen McGovern and David Campbell.
P.S. Two updates within ten hours, in case you feel you’ve missed something. We’ll get back to plot next chapter ;D
Chapter 19 - Heartsong
Bilbo kept giving Fíli looks and Kíli wouldn't meet Thorin’s gaze.
Frodo and Sam were busy exploring the elven realm with someone named Lindir and therefore was not present to greet them.
Thorin's irritation with the wizard was already reaching new heights as he continued to speak over their heads in elvish. He was about ready to snap.
“Do they offer us insult?” Gloin demanded.
“They're offering you food,” Fíli snapped at him, losing his tightly wound composure.
And then what he said sunk in.
Thorin came to an abrupt halt, “You can understand them?”
Bilbo stepped forward, “He's my son, of course he speaks Sindarin.”
Thorin searched his One's face, reading the resolute disappointment there.
And Thorin put together all that he had been trying desperately not to see.
His gaze fell on Fíli who had forgotten his Khuzdul but could speak elvish.
Who possessed a grace that was unlike hobbits. Whose gifts with smithing far surpassed any human capability.
In fact, Fíli knew techniques in smithing that Thorin did not know.
Things that were credited to the elves who hoarded jealously to lord over the dwarves even if they had first been discovered by the dwarves of old and lost to time.
Time that did not affect the elves as it did the rest of Arda.
Fíli had been raised by a hobbit.
A hobbit who would have been no more safe among the Roherrim than a lone dwarf. Perhaps the Rangers visited Rohan, but they did not dwell there.
Bilbo would not have been so foolish to raise a dwarfling on his own in Rohan long enough for Fíli to complete a smith's apprenticeship, much less that of a weapon’s master.
But Bilbo wasn't just any hobbit.
Fury was too tame a word for what he felt just then. Fury at himself for not seeing this as his sister surely had, and fury at himself that he wasn’t a person his nephews felt safe enough to confide in.
And beneath that rage was deepest betrayal. Bilbo had not known that Fíli was Thorin's nephew in the beginning, but he had learned it a few years ago when Thorin had opened his heart to him. Instead of trusting him, Bilbo had pulled away.
And Fíli…
Thorin didn't know his heart could break like this.
Did his sister's son fear him so greatly that he thought he would be exiled from their family for how strangers had raised him? Did he truly not understand how loved he was?
And who was to blame for that uncertainty? Thorin for his inability to protect him, or for whatever had caused the rift between Fíli and Bilbo?
Regardless, Thorin knew he was too overwrought to be civil. He physically felt as if his blood was boiling. He turned from them, and whatever the look on his face was, both Dwalin and Balin stepped aside.
Frerin was looking between him and Fíli trying to put it together.
Thorin said nothing for the rest of the evening, and the whole company save for the wizard remained subdued. And the elves had the good sense to leave him be.
oOo
Bilbo could tell Fíli was on the verge of tears when instead of settling in the hall the company was camping out in, Thorin left to prowl Imladris.
Dwalin seemed to think the king was more than capable of looking after himself for he did not attempt to follow.
Bilbo shook his head, “Enough, Fíli. I know you are angry with Glorfindel and myself but you should not be ashamed of who you are. The past cannot be changed. I waited for your letter, I respected your request to break contact. As I respected your request to keep your secrets, but now it is time to tell them. I’ll speak with Thorin.”
oOo
Fíli looked to Kíli who only shook his head.
Frerin crossed his arms, “Explain, nephew. We all know you've driven your mother and adoptive father half mad with your secrets. We aren't going to turn against you, if that's what has you so afraid.”
Fíli glared at him, “Oh, so you won't be mad then, that I learned my craft from elves? Or that it was an elf’s pride, Bilbo's father, who kept me from returning home? Glorfindel told me that no one wanted me in the Blue Mountains. That no one would claim me.”
“He told me the same,” Bilbo revealed.
Fíli looked at his father, “You never told me that.”
“You didn't give me the opportunity. That does not mean I am blameless, my son. For I never thought to doubt Glorfindel and I should have included it the letters I wrote you in the time that passed between us.
“But your secrets were your own. By the time I learned Thorin was your uncle, I realised that you hadn't told him about me. That you were ashamed of me and the elves. I– I admit I was hurt. But I do not fault you.”
“I do,” Frerin said, far more harshly than Fíli had ever heard his uncle speak to him or Kíli before. “Do you really think we would love you less? Do you really think your mother or Thorin would think less of you?”
Fíli’s felt is own temper rise, “Why shouldn't I think it? Do you hear yourselves with the way you speak of the elves? Glorfindel died killing a Balrog and a fire drake is a much larger issue to the woodland realm than to a city of stone. If legends are to be believed, Smaug destroyed every living thing that grew on and around the mountain. What would have happened to the Greenwood if they had housed you? Not to mention that not all elves are the same.”
“Do not,” Frerin warned. “Speak of what you do not know.”
Fíli glared at him, “Be honest, if I told you the elves had purposely kept me from returning home, would you have declared war on Imladris?”
There was a profound silence.
Balin cleared his throat, “I would not have advised it.”
“But would Amad and Thorin have done it? I was hurt and angry when I returned to Ered Luin. I know I couldn't have explained my history with Glorfindel without emotion. What would have happened if I had been truthful from the beginning?”
Uncle Frerin didn't agree or disagree.
Yet it was Nori who stepped in, “Does it matter? The past is the past. Fíli has only recently come of age, we will not hold the tragedies and horrors that happened against him nor how those events shaped his reactions. We are here now. Thorin will get over himself soon enough.”
Balin shook his head, “Aye, and whether we like it or not, we still owe Glorfindel a debt for helping to fell, not one, but two Balrogs, for the killing of his daughter, and for keeping Fíli, even separated from us, safe. There will be no wars.”
“How exactly did your mother die, Bilbo?” Bofur asked, looking as if he had connected the dots.
Fíli flinched and Bilbo pulled him down in to a hug. It was the most familiar they had seen between the two so far.
“My mother was a healer, the best the Shire had, perhaps ever had as she was trained by Lord Elrond. I was traveling with her between house calls when we came upon a dwarf tormenting a dwarfling. Fíli fought his captor and when the dwarf slapped him, my mother charged him. He slit her throat, and when he turned back to chase after Fíli, I repaid the favour and stabbed the monster in the neck. I took Fíli home with me and raised him myself.”
They all stared at him, save for Fíli he pressed into his father's embrace like he was a lifeline.
Gloin spoke, “You lost your mother, protecting our prince?”
“No,” Fíli said. “He lost his mother and father because hobbits fade when their true loves pass on.”
“Their Heartsongs,” Bilbo corrected softly.
They all stared at Bilbo, stricken.
Frerin’s voice was gruff, “Thorin is your Heartsong, that's why you were able to cede your title to your cousin without question. Why your family assumed you would go.”
Bilbo nodded, “Staying home wouldn't have kept me safe. You're going to face a dragon, my life was forefit. It's one reason my people avoid war.”
“You should have told him this,” Dwalin said, furious.
“And what difference would that have made? His responsibilities are larger than either of us. Besides, I am able bodied, and my sons were going on the same journey, there would have been no honour to my staying behind.”
Fíli fisted his hands, “It's not fair that they both died, it's not fair that Thorin could survive your–”
Bilbo hushed him, “I am grateful that my Heartsong would not be physically harmed from my passing. It is a relief. You and Frodo are grown and I have had a good life. I would not want to survive Thorin's passing into Mahal's Halls, that too is a blessing.”
Fíli hugged him fiercely regretting the fears that he had allowed to keep them seperated for so long.
Bilbo rubbed his back, “Oh, and if your mother seemed a bit smug, it's because I told her everything the first time we met.”
Fíli pulled back and squeaked, “ What!?”
Bilbo patted his cheek, “Thorin is your uncle but Dís is your mother . Which I think makes us even for your failing to mention in any of your letters that you were of Durin’s line.”
Fíli could only blink.
“Speaking of which, if you find Estel, I need to give his ear a good twist for his manners of introduction,” his dah went on.
Fíli met Kíli’s gaze but his brother just smiled.
Sara laughed, "I always knew you were crazy, Uncle Bilbo, but watching you intimidate Big Folk is an honour to see in person."
Fíli stuck his tongue out at him.
oOo
Thorin had overheard from a balcony below all that was said.
Hobbits did indeed have Ones.
But like the elves, they died with the passing of their soul halves.
Heartsong.
He couldn’t even protect Bilbo with his life because that would simply damn them both.Thorin didn't know what to think anymore his thoughts had dissolved into I miasma of emotions.
He was not surprised that it was Bilbo who found him in the secluded garden he standanded himself in.
He was surprised that it was Bilbo who lost his temper first. “It’s not a danger to you and your people to have an ally among the elves. It does not hurt your people to have a prince fluent in Sindarin and knowledgeable about elven history.”
“And what about our history?” Thorin demanded.
“I discouraged his teachers from teaching him about modern dwarvish history because I knew they would be basis. He knew the facts, not the details.”
Thorin grimiced, thinking of Balin’s comments about how the little Fíli had known had surprisingly added, not waylaid, his education.
While Kíli was better at reading, economics, and strategizing, Fíli was the better diplomat.
Because Fíli had been raised by a hobbit, a hobbit who had been raised by an elf.
Thorin couldn’t meet Bilbo’s gaze, not when his heart felt as if it was bleeding.
Bilbo stepped around him, and looking down meant Thorin looked directly into those eyes.
Those eyes whose tears were the only things that stayed Thorin’s own self-directed anger.
“Say something,” Bilbo demanded.
Thorin took a deep breath, then released it before he said, “Your mother was killed in defense of my nephew. You lost both your parents. Your grandfather, whose daughter had been murdered in defense of my kin, was wrongly attacked by my guards when he came to confirm Fíli’s heritage.”
Bilbo blinked, “What?”
“When Glorfindel came to Ered Luin, he was greeted with mockery and an arrow aimed at his heart. Those two guards are serving a life sentence for nearly starting a war.”
Bilbo paled and for a time, all he did was stare at Thorin. He opened his mouth, then shut it.
Finally, he managed to say, “Thorin… Thorin, Glorfindel is a lord equal to Lord Elrond or Lord Celeborn. And he died fighting a balrog who the dwarves woke.”
“I know.”
“I– he lied to me, he lied to Fíli, but– Thorin, Glorfindel is thousands of years old, twice born, and has the magical talent of a wizard. He could have brought part of the mountain down on you.”
It was Thorin’s turn to take a breath, “I did not know that.”
Bilbo ran a hand over his face, “What a mess. Hard to believe it could have been worse, but it could have been. It could have easily been so much worse.”
“If it helps, I don’t think your Glorfindel knew who Fíli was until Dain travelled with him.”
Bilbo sighed, “That would explain why he was so upset when he returned from Moria. Aside from surviving a second balrog, that is.”
Thorin laid a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, drawing the hobbit’s attention back to him. “You lost your mother and your father for my sister’s son. You killed Sozan, avenging Mori’s death and Fíli’s kidnapping. Then you adopted a dwarfling who you believed to be an orphan. You protected him from unknown threats all his life and enabled him to pursue his craft. You kept him fed and warm through the winters. Bilbo, were you even of age yourself?”
“Losing your parents ages you. If I had only known you were alive, I would have returned Fíli to you earlier if I could have. But I do not regret the years I had with him. They were among the best in my life.”
Thorin cupped his face between his hands, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Bilbo shut his eyes tight as he leaned into Thorin’s touch. His hobbit whispered, “Because I couldn’t lose you too if you blamed me. Because I couldn’t betray Fíli, I couldn’t fail him again. His secrets are his own. I lost the right to be a part of his life, no matter how much I love him.”
Thorin gently pressed his forehead to his, “But Fíli is a part of your life once more. You are forgiven, though in truth there is nothing to forgive. Our family owes you so very much, our people owe you.”
Bilbo placed shaking hands over his, “Your forgiveness is all I want.”
Thorin took a step closer, “Is that truly all you want. Dís didn’t tell you what that ear cuff means, did she?”
Bilbo bit his lip, shaking his head which pressed his cheeks against Thorin’s hands.
Thorin stroked a finger along the side of Bilbo’s ear, over the warm piece of silver.
His One’s legs went weak and Thorin caught his weight, cradling his hobbit against his chest, “You are kin of Durin. Dís acknowledged you Fíli’s father. You are not in the line of succession, but you are ours.”
Bilbo clung to him, tears finally spilling over, “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
Thorin brushed away his tears, “We know, my love. I’m sorry you feared my reaction. I do understand how so many things could have led to war. But I want you to know that I am not my father or grandfather, my pride is not larger than my regard for my people’s well-being. Nor my mistrust of the elves so deep that I would hold bad blood against those elves who opened their homes and hearts to my nephew.”
Thorin pressed their foreheads together, deliberately letting the pendent fall from his tunic, so the mithril and gems crafted by said elves glowed between them.
Bilbo sucked in a breath as he reached up to place his hands at the nape of Thorin’s neck, causing him to shudder from the intimacy.
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
Thorin wrapped his arms around his hobbit, “Then tell me I have more than your heart, tell me you will share your life with me.”
“Yes,” Bilbo breathed. “I love you, a life with you is what I want.”
Thorin brought their lips together, sweet and salty. His heart thundered in his chest.
What were misunderstandings in the face of love?
It had never mattered to Thorin that Bilbo was the son of an elf and that he was the person who raised his beloved sister-son only made him love him all the more.
When they parted, Thorin asked, “Why do your people call it Heartsongs? In our culture, we believe Mahal crafted some of to only be whole when we find the other half of our souls in another.”
Bilbo laughed. “We find our life partners when we hear each other sing. Not everyone finds theirs and we don’t even necessarily believe there was only that one person. But our mothers tell us that the song that changes our hearts irrevocably, is love. It’s the choice our hearts make and once accepted can never be undone.”
Thorin thought back to the first song he’d sung for Bilbo. He had sung of Erebor and his hobbit had been moved to tears.
“Would you sing for me?” Thorin asked.
Bilbo laughed, “I’m afraid I don’t know many love songs, and most of those are a bit tragic.”
Thorin smiled, “So long as it makes you smile.”
Bilbo laid a hand over Thorin’s heart over the pendant, “I– well, there’s this song my mother sang to me when I got into a rather nasty row with Drogo, Frodo’s father. Though I can’t remember now what the fight was about, that was a terribly long time ago.”
“Do you remember the song?”
Bilbo nodded, steadying himself before sang so sweetly that Thorin knew that if he had not already loved him, he would have fallen for him then.
“ You've seen the damage words can do
When full of thoughtless pride
Now heed the wiser voice in you
That calls to be your guide
-
“The flowers reaching for the sun
Are all uniquely blessed
But though each is special
Not a one is better than the rest
-
“Bloom, bloom, may you know
The wisdom only time breeds
There's room, bloom and you'll grow
To follow where your heart leads”
It was Bilbo’s turn to wipe tears from Thorin’s face. When his fingers lingered against his beard, the furthest thing from his mind were the trials behind them and before them.
For a time, it was just a dwarf and his Heartsong.
oOo
AN: Y’all can thank DomesticGoddess (I highly recommend her works) for leaving me on too many damned cliffhangers, and Maura_Slay for my lack of sleep to deliver this rapid update ;D
Please do comment with your thoughts, Egyptian kitty-cats, or your reactions? Pretty please?
Chapter 20: Tooks
Chapter Text
KEYnote: Tons of direct quotes and altered quotes that disrupt my style of writing, but I just adore Tolkien’s word play so I left it in for funzies ;D
Chapter 20 - Tooks
It was Lord Elrond who gave Thorin the joining of families speech, and he began with, “Glorfindel’s House was once very large.”
“His offspring were certainly prosperous,” Thorin mused as he accepted the drink the elf poured for him.
“Not as prosperous as you might think.”
Thorin, having long given up on finding a partner now that he was entering his last century, had never anticipated needing to have this talk.
Especially not with elven royalty.
He was certain his grandmother would have found this hilarious, his grandfather less so.
On the positive side, Balin didn’t need to be present for these talks because there were no treaties being signed.
And Balin had told him in no uncertain terms that being outrageously undiplomatic might lose him more than an ally but Bilbo and the boys as well.
So he played nice.
“What do you mean, he is the sire of the Took clan is he not?”
“Glorfindel was born in the First Age,” Elrond said, instead answering the question with a simple yes or no. “His House was quite large, elves flocked to his leadership, his wisdom, and fighting prowess were, and continues to be, well respected.”
Thorin allowed himself to be patient, he did not interrupt even as the elf gave him room to.
“But that was several wars ago and those who were not lost to us, the majority have sailed to Valinor.”
“But the hobbits,” Thorin couldn’t quite keep himself from saying.
Elrond’s blue eyes sparkled, “Her name was Rosalinda. In those days, hobbits were not a singular people. In truth, I doubt they were a singular race. No one quite knows their origins, not even among us who saw the first sunrise. It’s possible they were the offspring of men and dwarves, though in truth, it seemed more likely they were related to both elves and dwarves if not a quiet creation of Yavannah.
“They were wanderers in those days. When I first met Glorfindel's wife, I had worried. As a healer, I had approached her to caution her when she had made it very clear that she wanted children. I feared the size difference between them would make them incompatible. And that was before the concerns of fertility among my people. I did not want her to set her hopes too high.”
Thorin tried to hide his own hope for the idea of having pebbles with Bilbo. He was old, he should not wish for children of his own.
But if they aged like hobbits then he could see any of his children with Bilbo grow up and begin families of their own before passing on into Mahal’s Halls.
The light in the elf’s eyes seemed to dance, “Have they told you of the alternatives Yavannah blessed them for having younglings?”
Thorin nodded, still hardly believing it.
“Planting children,” Elrond mused, his smile growing. “I admit, I was skeptical. They planted the seed here, a cherry tree seed in this very garden.”
Thorin looked toward the garden where a cherry blossom tree seemed to be in full bloom despite the season.
“I stayed with Glorfindel for months to keep watch. Rosalinda thought us quite foolish but she never chased us away from our vigil. Of all the miraculous things I’ve seen throughout the ages, a hobbit fauntling birthed from the soil may be among the most divine things I’ve ever had the honour to witness.”
Elrond sighed, “Wish I for every female in Middle Earth that all babes could be welcomed to this life by soil and sky rather than pain and blood.”
Thorin ran his thumb over the silver goblet in his hand, trying very hard not to wish for it more greatly than he already did. What would it be like to see, to greet a child holding his One’s hand and not be worried for his safety.
Thorin had been present for both of his sister-son’s birth and each had nearly been the death of her.
Mori had been beyond frantic.
“The first children looked so very much like Glorfindel that it did not occur to us that such a unity would differ from half-human and half-elvish children. They were beloved, their grandchildren and great grandchildren were beloved. Still, they aged, Rosalinda passed on, as did their family, but Glorfindel did not. I do not believe he ever said as much, but when war called him away, I believe it was a relief to him.”
Thorin looked away, having lost Fíli, and almost Kíli, once, he could not imagine outliving them, out living their children.
The idea was abhorrent to him.
“Hobbits, as you know are quite prosperous, but it wasn’t for another five generations did one of his line show their elven heritage beyond the superficial appearances. That child had difficulty conceiving. They aged slower, lived to see two centuries which was unheard of for their people, especially in those days. They had one child, and that child lacked the light of the elves and was greatly prosperous.
“And so the ages have passed and so the pattern continued. Unlike with humans and elves, the elven heritage did not dim, it merely skipped over generations. As far as I can discern, Bilbo is as much an elf as I am, and through his connection to Fíli, and now you, his ageing is much delayed to others I have known. Which unlike Bilbo’s mother and Frodo who also have the spark, they are ageing normally for their kind, matching their Heartsongs.”
Bilbo’s father and Samwise.
“Is there a point to this conversation?” Thorin asked.
Elrond raised a brow, “You are unconcerned with wedding an elf?”
Thorin snorted, “Light of the Valar or no, Bilbo is a hobbit. He is my One and I would be honoured beyond any wealth in Middle Earth for him to accept me as his partner.”
“Even if your children are half elvish?”
Thorin rolled his eyes, “They will be my children if Mahal and Yavannah are so generous. And before you remind me of my people’s reactions, Kíli remains my heir, and it is his children, or Fíli’s, who will be next in line to the throne.”
Elrond nodded, “My heart is gladdened that you have no reservations, King Oakenshield.”
Thorin eyed him, “Yet you have more to say.”
“I do, if Glorfindel was here, this would be a far less pleasant conversation for you.”
Thorin gestured for him to continue.
“Hobbits are free loving and they have… They are mortal and they adapt. As elves were made from light, dwarves from stone, and humans from blood and bones, we all reflect our makers’ intentions. Hobbits were shaped from clay and green growing things. They need sunshine and safety to thrive.
“When they grow roots, when they love, it is forever and they are more loyal than any. Not to their words or laws, or even how you imagine loyalty ought to be, but they are loyal all the same. Greed is not their weakness, gold does not compel them, and the promise of glory is often more a deterrent than lore. But they are driven by their hearts which, if needs must, will lead them through many foolish deeds and perilous ventures.”
“I would have spared him had I known,” Thorin admitted.
Elrond smiled at him sadly, “It is their way, to follow the seasons of birth, life, death, and renewal. There is a season of love for them and a season for dying. And what I know of mortals seems doubly true of hobbits, that their lives would lose meaning if they were to burn less brightly. If they were meant to find their partner in this life, then they would never willingly choose another fate, no matter where that led them.”
“Fíli told me that I was not allowed to die for him.”
“Fíli is a wise dwarf, young, oh so very young, but he is wise. If your people listen to him, he will help bring upon a new era for the dwarrow.”
Thorin was careful not to let his emotions show, not least of which because he didn’t know how to feel. So many years lost, and yet it was as if Fíli had been sent away for a diplomatic education, not the terror and grief that had ravaged their family and stolen Kíli’s childhood away from him.
“I was surprised,” Thorin ventured when the elf lord said no more yet did not dismiss him. “Fíli knows many things that dwarven smiths thought lost to time.”
Elrond inclined his head, “Our library is quite large, you are welcome to read at your leisure.”
Thorin sighed, “He was given an elven apprenticeship.”
“Yes, but it was and always has been, a dwarven craft. My brethren may claim masteries, and certainly, the sword you wield is an estimate of the skill elves are capable of. But it is not our element. It is not why the Valar intended for us. When Bilbo and Glorfindel brought a dwarfling to Imladris, he was beloved. We have seen dwarven children, more than our own, but he was brought to us and placed under our protection.
“Your nephew is much adored here and in the Golden Wood. It has been many centuries since one of us was young and inspired enough by gems and metals to pick up the craft for beauty and passion's sake. Fíli has an elven master, but there is no smith here or in Lothlorien who has not shared some bit of their knowledge. Nothing was kept from him, and if something was, it was from lack of time, not a reticence to share.”
It had been so long since Thorin had crafted anything for the art of the craft that it lessened the resentment in his heart.
He needed to stop comparing the lives they could have had and accept that there was bad and good in both.
Certainly, nothing good had come for Dís, but it was not unthinkable that in an effort to keep them together that they may have held back either Kíli or Fíli’s pursuit of their crafts.
Though in no way preferable to be separated from his brother, Kíli had been able to apprentice under Frerin, having his uncle's sole focus outside of their work day.
At this point, it was clear to Thorin that both Bilbo and the elves had done their best by Fíli, giving him the best life and future that could have been given to him, outside of a dwarvish settlement.
Knowing that Fíli had never gone hungry and that with one less mouth to feed that Kíli had never known starvation either?
It was… the best outcome of such a tragedy.
“I notice, and I admit, I'm glad to not hear any tales that you took my nephew to Mirkwood.”
Elrond’s face did a slight pinch of dislike, which perversely made Thorin like the elf better.
“No, that road is dangerous, and their king keeps their people rather secluded,” Elrond said no more on the topic. “I do fear you going that way.”
“You will not stop us?” Thorin asked.
“No, Smaug must be defeated. Would that I could command an army to follow you, King Oakenshield, but I fear the enemy's shadows have extended far beyond their nests. My people are engaged in protecting the Shire.”
“I would not take you from that duty,” Thorin admitted.
“Do not underestimate the darkness in the south. The dragon may become the least of your trials.”
Thorin grimaced.
“I urge you to make allies along the road,” Elrond cautioned.
Thorin did not want to be told to make nice with Mirkwood so he asked instead, “Will your people help the hobbits move to Erebor if we succeed?”
“Of course, my hopes ride with King Thorin, and when concerning hobbits, I've often found difficulties more frequently overcome, if never in the way you expect them to.”
Thorin smiled slightly at that as he thought of Bilbo.
oOo
Frerin sat beside Kíli where he was smoking from a pipe relaxing on a balcony.
“So, what do you think of your brother’s fate?”
“That our people won’t like it but I’m entirely grateful for it. For Bilbo and the elves,” Kíli responded without hesitation.
Frerin nodded, “That’s how I feel as well. He’ll make an excellent ambassador and counsellor for you one day. Better than I made for Thorin.”
“That’s not true, Uncle Thorin has always depended on you.”
Frerin smiled, “He trusted me with you after losing one nephew, I know that my brother and sister value me. But I would not be half so useful to Thorin speaking with elves, Dís might not even be that useful to him. Even treaties with men, I believe I would be ill suited for. I’m more familiar with pirates than dignitaries.”
“I can’t ever imagine ruling a Kingdom like Ereborn.”
Frerin wrapped an arm around his sister-son’s shoulder, “With any luck, you will have many decades to learn. Besides, I’d imagine it will take some time to return it to its glory.”
“Mahal guide our path,” Kíli muttered.
“And Yavannah,” Frerin said, waggling his eyebrows.
They both laughed, their kin finding their One was always a reason to rejoice. A hobbit as king’s consort was simply an extra delight.
oOo
Thorin walked into the elven forge, and no one stopped him.
No one was present in the forge save for Fíli who was polishing his weapons in the far corner, by an open window that looked onto a garden with a large fountain.
“I spoke with Lord Elrond,” Thorin said in greeting. Sitting on the bench beside him and reaching for a wet stone as he pulled out the blade Fíli himself had made and gifted Thorin.
“How did that go?” Fíli asked without looking up.
“We spoke mostly of Bilbo and the dangers ahead. We also spoke of your apprenticeship and how much the elves doted on you.”
Colour rose to his cheeks, “The last child the elves had was Prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm. They doted on Bilbo and Estel too.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” Thorin agreed. “Still a pupil’s skill does not belong to the master, it is the student’s own. Their dedication, their efforts, and their knowledge is their own.” Thorin turned the sword to catch the light. “This sword has no name yet, though it is the finest I’ve ever held.”
Fíli shook his head, “I don’t need false flattery, Uncle.”
“It is anything but false,” Thorin said as he took Orcrist from his belt. “This sword has no fault. But the one you gave me is more suited to a dwarf. The balance is better for someone of my height and build. It is meant to be used as a proper broadsword ought to be wielded rather than the more nimble wielding that such a blade as Orcrist requires.”
“I didn’t want my masterwork to be a reflection of my elfish masters, I wanted it to be a reflection of me. A dwarf descended from a proud history and who was accepted by elves,” Fíli explained.
“It shows.” Thorin traced the diamond pattern on the hilt. “These are not the designs of my grandfather’s time, these are the patterns of our great-great grandfather, those that might have been during the days of Durin.”
“I know,” Fíli said softly.
Thorin smiled, clasping his sister-son’s shoulder, “This was not your first forge. You were in Dís’s lap reaching for her tools from the moment you could sit up while Kíli was out climbing trees. Frankly, I don’t think your brother will have many difficulties getting along with your elvish friends.”
Fíli smiled, “Someone’s going to take him aside and either teach him something or challenge him. Or both.”
Thorin smiled back, “And I’m sure he’ll enjoy it. Archery isn’t as highly respected among our people as it should be. It’s seen as more necessity, than a skill chosen out of passion.” He held out the sheathed Orcrist blade, “This is more suited to your style of fighting. You can not untrain your grace or agility, nor should you try. It is to your benefit against many a foe that they will neither expect your style of movement nor your strength as a dwarf of Durin’s line.”
Fíli seemed at a loss for words as he accepted Orcrist.
“My gratitude for your life is unending and unshakable, anything else is but another blessing of Mahal’s. What is, is what was meant to be.”
Fíli hugged him, and Thorin gladly returned the hug.
oOo
When they left Rivendell, it was to merry elvish songs, well blessings, and fully supplied. They planned to turn the pony’s back once they reached the climb of the mountain road. Gandalf lingered behind for some purpose of his own.
Thorin, for his part, was happy to be moving again. And the day seemed to speed by, well rested as they were, the miles did not seem so very long.
There were no more secrets now, and as a result, no more hiding or suppressing their feelings. Bilbo sat tucked under Thorin’s arm, leaning into his chest as their company sat around the fire.
Thorin was happy.
Simply happy.
Happier than he thought he could be on this journey.
Bilbo was with him. Truly with him. If they succeeded, then Thorin would have everything he could ever want. Stability for his people, for his family, and for his One.
Thorin wouldn't be a beggar either, he would be able to provide for his One much as any hobbit could dream of.
His family nor his people would want for food or shelter.
And as much as he planned on showering his love in jewels, he knew that if Bilbo wore any metal or a stone it would be for Thorin's benefit, not his own.
They were all sitting by the fire halfway up the mountain. They would cross at first light. But for now, they held onto the bit of seasonal wealth that remained.
Thorin pressed his loaf of bread into Bilbo's hand.
Bilbo flushed but did not argue.
Thorin had noticed his hobbit fasting since the beginning of their trip. But this bread was too light to be rationed. And if it rained tomorrow as the clouds indicated it might, then the bread wouldn't survive.
So Thorin would ensure Bilbo started getting larger portions. Dwarves were hardier, so were hobbits, but hobbits had faster metabolisms and if they wanted to take advantage of his keen mind and sharp eyes he needed to be as well fed as was feasible.
However, the passing of the bread was less than subtle and Thorin all but preened as Bilbo flushed yet leaned into Thorin's side in silent gratitude.
Balin and Dwalin looked amused.
Frerin looked torn between curiosity and making a joke but thankfully refrained from either. The others watched Bilbo, knowing he was Thorin's One and being faced with the reality that Bilbo would be their King Consort was quite another.
Saradoc knew exactly what to say, “Elves and dwarvish royalty make things too complicated.”
Bilbo just rolled his eyes, “It’s settled now.”
Thorin did not suppress his smile.
“What about your wife, Saradoc?” Gloin asked. “I left mine with my son, but I couldn’t have left knowing my death would cause hers.”
Several sharp intakes of breath were taken around the fire as they all made the connection to what Saradoc was risking.
Sara smiled sadly, “Bilbo doesn’t have any siblings. His closest kin outside of Fíli is Frodo. Esmeralda has her older brother, Paladin, and Merry has all of her siblings and his cousins. He would be fine without us.”
“No wonder the halflings don’t go to war,” murmured Balin.
“We were not built for it,” Bilbo agreed.
Saradoc clapped his hands, chasing away the tension. “But enough of this, I want stories of the princes when they were faunts. Fíli is an honorary Took, I can’t imagine the pair of them were well behaved as wee-things.”
Frerin grinned, “Not in the slightest.”
Nori snorted, “My twin, Mori, wasn’t royalty, he ended up being with them most often to watch them. Only, he was blind. The pebbles were good to him, but they used to booby-trap the rest of the apartment for the rest of us.”
Thorin noticed Ori perked up, likely it was a rare occurrence for Nori to talk about their brother since he passed.
Dwalin made a pained sound, “He was your twin. Mori knew exactly what his pebbles were up to, the brats.”
oOo
Fíli couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips as his family’s retellings of his youth sparked memories he had long thought lost.
Saradoc added his own bit of the mischief that he and Fíli had gotten into.
Ages being what they were, Saradoc was a parent while Fíli was just now coming of age. Saradoc shared little in common with the faunt he remembered from thirty years ago.
Bilbo’s warning about him needing his kin, because he would outlive his peers among men and hobbits, was sobering.
But with it came the realisation that Thorin wasn’t some young dwarf. He might not show his age like Balin or Oin, but technically, he was older than both of them. If they survived to the end of their natural life spans, Uncle Thorin and his dah would pass on around the same time.
Fíli sighed, he owed his dah another apology.
oOo
The next morning brought them into the rockface of the Misty Mountains.
The rain was incredible as it fell from the skies as if the gods were sobbing.
They had to let the ponies find their way back to elves. There was hardly any talking as they clung to the rock walls.
Bilbo looked back to see the pained fear etched into Saradoc’s face as the icy rain bit at their faces and the daunting drop lay just beyond their toes.
Bilbo reached out his hand toward the younger hobbit, just in time too as the ground gave way.
Clinging together, Saradoc slipped off the edge of the cliff, dragging Bilbo along with him.
Frerin threw himself atop Bilbo to catch him and grab a firmer grip onto Saradoc’s other hand.
Bilbo grunted, but helped the dwarf prince pull Sara up onto the ledge.
It wasn’t the first slip.
What followed was a harrowing adventure of dancing on the toes of giants.
oOo
By the time they found a cave, Thorin was furious.
“You shouldn’t have come!” Thorin roared as Bilbo was squeezing the water out of Saradoc’s coat.
Bilbo scoffed, “Save it, Thorin. We should have waited for the wizard.”
Balin grinned and Thorin shot him a quelling look.
Bilbo made himself comfortable, huddling between Kíli and Fíli as if he was the glue trying to finally fuse the two together as he shivered.
“You almost got my brother killed,” Thorin growled.
“Oh, no,” Bilbo said in mock concern. “I owe a prince of Erebor a life debt, how ever will I repay him on this perilous quest to taunt a dragon?”
Stifled chuckles filled the cavern.
Thorin grit his teeth, “ You could have died.”
Bilbo’s curly head poked up between his sister-sons. “What part of the definition for the word perilous are you struggling with, oh king?”
Frerin snorted.
“You make me so furious!” Thorin exclaimed, though no one seemed worried.
“It’s not the only thing I make you,” Bilbo said, squeezing out his own jacket.
“ Dah!” Fíli exclaimed.
This time, the cavern was filled with out right laughter.
Thorin shook his head, struggling not to smile, “Get some sleep, infuriating hobbit.”
Bilbo saluted him before disappearing back between the two brothers. Thorin took off his fur cloak that had managed to repel most of the rain to drape over the trio before moving toward the cave entrance to take watch.
He checked on their other hobbit, and found that Sara similarly curled up between Bifur and Bofur.
Thorin was glad that their two hobbits were already friends with half of the company.
Though, he wasn’t quite sure the company had realised how cuddly hobbits were.
Sure, no one who had visited Bag End had gone unclimbed on by the faunts, but, generally, the adults stuck to themselves.
Fíli and Thorin probably were the only two who knew the full extent of it.
oOo
No sooner was Bilbo closing his eyes, heat radiating from either side of him as his head fell onto Kíli’s shoulder, then it seemed the floor was falling out beneath them.
Literally.
He must have slept some because it took longer than it should have for him to get his bearings.
Then there were goblins, so many goblins.
Bilbo managed to worm himself between limbs to get back to Fíli’s side.
oOo
The goblins were singing horrible, horrible songs that ended with a barked command of, “Rip them apart. Start with the youngest one.”
The goblin king gestured to Ori who was not the youngest, though he certainly looked it.
Thorin was about to speak when Bilbo elbowed him so his One could stand in front of their group.
“I am Bilbo Baggins-Took, Hobbit and descendant of Thrain Took. I've hired these dwarves to find the monument carved on the east foot of the Misty Mountains that denotes the place golf was invented and they say the first putted head of a goblin still rots.”
Thorin gaped at his One as every goblin in Goblintown fell silent.
The goblin king stared down at Bilbo.
Then chaos erupted.
The goblin king roared and the others broke out in exclamations of;
“ TOOK!!”
“The Took!”
“The Thain!”
“Never go west! Never go west!”
Thorin made to step forward only for Fíli to grab his arm, “He's buying us time.”
“Time for what?” Thorin hissed.
The goblin king stood, towering over Bilbo. “Who are you to the Thain?”
“I am the last Thain, the last Took,” Bilbo lied. “When I return to the elves, you will surely be smited from Moria.”
Thorin looked to Fíli who whispered in Khuzdul, “There's not enough elves to exterminate them all from inside the caves, but they could kill as many as dare to leave the mountains.”
Goblins were not orcs. Dangerous if you were surrounded by them, less dangerous if you could pick them off from above and surround them.
The goblin king sneered as he grabbed Bilbo by the neck, lifting him up, and up, “You shall be the last because we will feed you to the deepest depths of these caverns and you will be drowned.”
If Thorin had doubts about the goblins knowing hobbits, they were quelled as he saw Bilbo go pale.
Not because a goblin had him by the neck but at the threat of being drowned.
Bilbo was one of the few hobbits who could truly swim. But if the goblins attached a weight to him…
Bilbo twisted in the goblin’s hold as he was thrown into the awaiting dirty and clawed hands that quivered even as they handled the hobbit roughly.
“Dah!” Fíli yelled.
“Take the other halfling,” the goblin king commanded. “They can drown together.”
Sara flailed like a caught bird on a string, though it did him no good.
The company all began struggling to follow their hobbits.
Bilbo managed to yell in elvish to Fíli who was being held back as they all were.
“What did he say?” Thorin demanded.
“Don't look back,” Fíli snarled.
The goblin king smiled. “The last Tooks will die tonight.”
Fíli swore at him.
Also in elvish.
“Dwarves who are friends of elves,” the goblin spat.
A bright light cracked through the cavern, blinding them all before Gandalf was ushering them to safety.
In the chaos they could only hope that Bilbo and Sara found their own escape.
oOo
The thing about hobbits, even when you feared them, one still tended to underestimate them.
The goblins didn’t take Bilbo’s sword nor Sara’s pack and they goblins weren’t prepared for when Bilbo spotted a hole for him to duck down into it, Sara right behind him.
Just because they could both swim, did not mean they could swim holding up a boulder the goblins doubtless were planning to tie them to.
He didn't know how long he ran, maybe for a minute, maybe for twenty but he almost didn’t stop when he came to a ledge. Too bad Sara couldn’t stop his own momentum, launching them both off the ledge into the shadowy cavern below.
They were so very lucky when they hit the water and not a rock bottom.
Having grown up on the Brandywine, Sara was able to stay afloat with Bilbo.
It still wasn’t pleasant, neither being this wet nor the memories of his cousins.
He didn’t have long to reflect on those memories however as they were sucked into a current and pulled through a hole beneath the water.
Bilbo could not describe what followed next aside from the fact that it was dark, and wet and he hardly had a moment to breathe as he tumbled into rocks, slipping ever downward, emerging from one puddle only to be thrown into a stream. It was an effort to hold onto Sara and not be separated.
The water was painfully cold and when it finally stopped. His head was spinning and not a part of him was without ache.
Sara groaned and choked on water as Bilbo helped pull him out of the water onto a rocky shore.
There was some natural light here because he could dimly make out the borders of the underground lake.
Still, it wasn’t enough light and Bilbo fell back on his butt as he tried to catch his breath. He startled a bit when his hand met something warm, a bit of metal, a ring that he thoughtlessly put into his pocket before pushing himself back to his feet, shivering and shaking but the need to get back to the others compelled him to keep moving.
He would not fail Fíli again, not now.
Not when the journey wasn't even halfway done.
oOo
Saradoc Brandybuck would not classify himself as alright and he was grateful that Bilbo did not ask.
“What’s wrong with your arm?” Bilbo asked instead.
Sara couldn’t say, mostly because he wasn’t sure he could feel any of his limbs. He was so cold, but he couldn’t move one of his arms.
Bilbo, being a healer, or healer adjacent, figured out what was wrong and he grimaced. “You dislocated your shoulder. This is going to hurt.”
Saradoc didn’t have long to prepare himself as Bilbo took hold of him. He screamed into his jacket as Bilbo popped his shoulder back into place. He tried not to hiss at his elder as Bilbo made him a sling after taking his pack. Sara had been the only one aside from Oin who had worn his as they slept.
Bilbo wasn’t really his elder, less than two two decades separated them. But Bilbo was a father when Saradoc had been but a faunt himself. That Fíli had been Saradoc’s best friend before the pair had been ‘chased out of the Shire’ played a big part in how he viewed the once Thain of the Shire.
Bilbo wasn’t old, but he was wise and the most well travelled hobbit in the Shire. He was also a healer, if not quite as good as his mother had been.
All that, very much made Bilbo his elder.
Bilbo held up a finger to his lips as they travelled further into a cavern that was lit by some strange light source. Sara couldn’t tell if it was distant light from the outside filtered down from the caves or some luminous worms like from the stories.
Then he heard it.
“Bless us and splash us, my precioussss! I guess it's a choice feast; at least a tasty morsel they'd make us, gollum!" And when he said gollum he made a horrible swallowing noise in his throat.
It was a hideous creature. It didn’t look like a goblin, nor human, nor dwarf.
In fact, its big feet and small stature made it seem almost hobbitish, which made it all the worse.
Sara blinked and the strange thing disappeared.
Then a hiss came from beside them and suddenly two pale eyes looked up at them. "Who are you?" he said, thrusting his dagger in front of him. "What are they, my preciouss?" whispered Gollum.
"What's he got in his handses?" said Gollum, looking at the sword Bilbo had drawn, which he did not quite seem to like.
"A sword,” Bilbo answered calmly. “A blade which came out of Gondolin.”
"Sssss," said Gollum, and became quite polite. "Praps ye sits here and chats with it a bitsy, my preciousss. It like riddles, praps it does, does it?"
Saradoc swallowed a scoff, “Of course he does, he’s a Baggins.”
The creature, Gollum, seeing as he had not introduced himself as anything else, hissed, “Good, good.”
“What has lots of eyes, but can’t see?” Saradoc asked, because he didn’t want to put Bilbo on the spot.
Bilbo was half glaring at Saradoc who smiled sheepishly at him
Gollum sucked at his lips then bared his gums with ragged teeth, “Potatoes, my precious, they don’t grow here but we knowss.”
Saradoc exchanged a look with Bilbo, who only shook his head in a silent answer.
Great, not even Bilbo Baggins knew what this thing was.
Gollum asked his first riddle; "What has roots as nobody sees,
Is taller than trees,
Up, up it goes,
And yet never grows?"
"Easy!" said Bilbo. "Mountain, I suppose."
"Does it guess easy? They must have a competition with us, my preciouss! If precious asks, and it doesn't answer, we eats it, my preciousss. If they asks us, and we doesn't answer, then we does what it wants, eh? We shows it the way out, yes!"
Saradoc felt all the blood drain from his face, but Bilbo was a braver hobbit than him and agreed readily. "All right. What has many teeth, but can’t bite?"
It was rather an old one, too, and Gollum knew the answer.
"A comb, my preciousss; but we needs it not." Gollum said, brushing over his mostly bald head, then he asked his second: “What is so fragile that saying its name breaks it?”
“Silence!” Saradoc cried, and then he flushed when Bilbo raised a brow at him. “My ma used to ask me that one often.”
Bilbo smiled a bit, though his grip never loosened on his sword.
“Forward I am heavy, but backward I am not. What am I?” Sara asked the creature.
Saradoc wasn’t certain if this being knew how to spell or not, but the answer was in the question.
After some while it seemed he didn’t know how to spell and the riddle proved a nasty poser for Gollum. He hissed to himself, and still he did not answer; he whispered and spluttered.
Bilbo seemed to be growing impatient as he prompted, “Well, what is it? The answer's not a kettle boiling over, as you seem to think from the noise you are making."
"Give us a chance; let it give us a chance, my preciouss-ss-ss."
"Well," said Bilbo, after giving him a long chance, "What about your guess?"
“No, no…” Gollum snarled, then grew excited. “NOT!” It laughed. “Not! Is the answer. The men used to ask for tons of fish but we never gave it. No, precious, we never did.” Then Gollum asked what might have been a difficult riddle;
"It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,
Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt.
It lies behind stars and under hills,
And empty holes it fills.
It comes first and follows after,
Ends life, kills laughter. "
Unfortunately for Gollum, Bilbo and Sara had heard that sort of thing before; and the answer was all around them anyway.
"Dark!" they answered together.
Bilbo, proving himself to be the parent he was, asked the next riddle, “What is full of holes but still holds water?”
Gollum hissed, grumbling as he had done before, but clearly this creature had lived above ground at some point and through this game was reminded of its old life. “A sponge, my precious.”
Sara really wished it would stop talking in the third person and referring to ‘precious’ as if there was someone else in the cave with them.
Gollum’s next question was laughably easy for any hobbit who had grown up along the Brandywine.
" A live without breath,
As cold as death;
Never thirsty, ever drinking,
All in mail never clinking. "
“Fish,” Saradoc answered he did share his surname, at least partly, with a river.
Gollum was dreadfully disappointed; but Bilbo asked another riddle as quick as ever he could; “I cannot talk, but I always reply when spoken to. What am I?”
Gollum did not need long to answer that one at all as he made a clicking sound, before crooning, “Echo.”
And the word did indeed echo creepily around them. Gollum followed up with another riddle, making Sara wonder where this game ended.
"This thing all things devours:
Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;
Gnaws iron, bites steel;
Grinds hard stones to meal;
Slays king, ruins town,
And beats high mountain down. "
“Time,” Saradoc said, smiling at Bilbo. “Frodo asked me that one. I swear, the lad likes reading more than you do, Bilbo.”
Gollum was disappointed once more; and now he was getting angry, and also tired of the game. It seemed to have made him very hungry indeed. He sat down in the dark beside them.
It made them dreadfully uncomfortable and scattered Sara’s wits.
"It's got to ask uss a quesstion, my preciouss, yes, yess, yesss. Jusst one more quesstion to guess, yes, yess," said Gollum.
Sara was scared to ask another. He had no desire to be eaten and there were laws to the riddle game, ancient ones his mother had warned him about.
But Bilbo seemed unable to think of any riddle either with that nasty wet cold thing sitting next to him. It began pawing and poking at Bilbo, until he swung his sword.
"Ask us! ask us!" said Gollum, baring its teeth.
Bilbo pinched himself; he gripped on his sword ever tighter.
Saradoc was preparing, they had agreed to the riddle deal by force, surely they could break it without ill consequence.
And what could be worse than being eaten alive anyway.
Bilbo again met Sara’s gaze, reaching the same conclusion as he asked their last riddle, “I have lakes with no water, mountains with no stone and cities with no buildings. What am I?”
Gollum hissed and spluttered and rocked himself backwards and forwards, and slapped his feet on the floor, and wriggled and squirmed; but still he did not dare to waste his last guess.
"Come on," Bilbo egged on. "I am waiting."
Saradoc pressed his shoulder to Bilbo’s, knowing the hobbit’s cheerfulness was all for show. Neither of them knew if the game was going to end, whether Gollum guessed right or not it would try to attack them. It was obviously capable of killing goblins by hand, even if Bilbo managed to kill it they might get badly hurt.
Sara felt especially useless with one of his arms in a sling.
The good thing about this riddle was that it was a paper object that a creature Gollum likely had no use of.
"Time's up!" Bilbo said.
"History or landlords!" shrieked Gollum, which was not quite fair-working in two guesses at once.
"Both wrong," cried Bilbo, sounding very much relieved. He jumped at once to his feet, putting their backs to the nearest wall, and held out his sword, keeping Saradoc behind him.
Saradoc was also relieved, they both knew, of course, that the riddle-game was sacred and of immense antiquity, and it appeared that even wicked creatures were afraid to cheat when they played at it.
And yet, neither of them trusted this slimy creature.
But at any rate Gollum did not at once attack them. He could see the sword in Bilbo's hand. He sat still, shivering and whispering.
Saradoc waited for Bilbo to decide what to do.
Sara would forever think of dingy old maps more fondly from that point forward as the map riddle had perhaps saved their hides.
"Well?" Bilbo asked. "What about your promise? I want to go. You must show me the way."
"Did we say so, precious? Show the nassty little Harfoots, the way out, yes, yes. But how’d they get here, precious? How did the Harfoots get lost? Gollum, gollum!"
Harfoots, the word sent a shiver down Saradoc’s spine.
Hobbits were descended from three ‘halfling races’ but Saradoc did not like that this creature was calling them by one of their ancestor’s names.
He didn’t like it at all.
"Never you mind," said Bilbo. "A promise is a promise."
"Cross it is, impatient, precious," hissed Gollum. "But it must wait, yes it must. We can't go up the tunnels so hasty. We must go and get some things first, yes, things to help us."
"Well, hurry up!" said Bilbo, wanting rid of him.
Saradoc thought he was just making an excuse and did not mean to come back. What was Gollum talking about? What useful thing could he keep out on the dark lake?
"My birthday-present!" Gollum whispered to himself, as he had often done in the endless dark days. "That's what we wants now, yes; we wants it!"
Saradoc pulled Bilbo back as their sensitive hearing picked up what Gollum had planned for them. “Quite safe, yes," he whispered to himself. "It won't see us, will it, my precious? No. It won't see us, and its nassty little sword will be useless, yes quite."
Bilbo refused to turn his back on Gollum, so Saradoc kept a hold on Bilbo’s arm as he led them back through the tunnels.
Suddenly he heard a screech. It sent a shiver down his back. Gollum was cursing and wailing away in the gloom, not very far off by the sound of it. He was on his island, scrabbling here and there, searching and seeking in vain. "Where is it? Where iss it? Losst it is, my precious, lost, lost! Curse us and crush us, my precious is lost!"
Sara had decided that riddle bargains were not worth sticking ones hopes on and pulled Bilbo down a passageway.
The splashing sounds echoed after them as Gollum crossed the lake again was reason enough to keep going.
The hissing came closer behind them. Saradoc turned and saw Gollum's eyes like small green lamps coming up the slope of a hill. Terrified, Sara tripped, landing hard on his rear and jolting his arm.
Bilbo also fell but with an irate monster on him.
The clatter of Bilbo’s sword chilled the blood in Sara’s veins as he scrambled with the creature as if it was a rabid animal.
“Gives it back! Stole it you did! Stole’s it the Harfoots did. Bagginss!”
Already on his arse, Saradoc reached for the fallen sword and jabbed it upward.
The elven blade went in with sickening ease that would haunt Saradoc Brandybuck for the rest of his days.
Gollum squealed.
Not many hobbits raised pigs, turkey bacon was much more popular than pork.
Why?
Because pigs were smart and dangerous. Wild boars were worse than wolves. Wolves would only harm you if they were truly starving, but boars were just violent. And a loosed pig turned into a boar, growing hair and tusks. Needless to say that after Fell Winter, the Shire stopped raising them, one would have to go to Bree to get pork.
Gollum’s death wails brought back memories of the sounds boars made in the cold of winter.
"My birthday-present!” the creature wailed, finding its words as it choked on breath. “Curse it, curse’em, my precious… gollum…”
It gave one final cough before its fleshy and skeleton form finally went still.
“Sara,” Bilbo coaxed. “Saradoc, Saradoc!”
He looked at the older hobbit, realising that he didn’t know how long Bilbo had been calling his name. Nor when they both had sat up.
“You saved me, Saradoc. It’s okay.”
“Is it?” Sara asked as Bilbo crouched before him. “I’ve never killed anyone before, and he’s– he was–”
Bilbo took his hands in his, “Sara, orcs were once elves, trolls were once ents. It matters what hopes we hold onto. You did not kill out of malice or apathy. Today we survived because of you.”
“How are we going to get out of here?” Sara asked, looking away from the corpse curled around a sword that had not glowed in Gollum’s presence.
Bilbo squeezed his hand and smiled, “My Heartsong is out there. I might not be able to hear the stone song like he can. But I do know which direction he’s gone. And if that fails, we can just go in the opposite direction of yours.”
Saradoc let out a harsh breath as he closed his eyes and focused on his own Heartsong. He did his best to ignore the sounds of Bilbo retrieving his sword.
It wasn’t so much a sound as a sense, a feeling of a heartbeat against your own that you could feel more strongly if you thought of them, if you faced the direction of where they were.
Two hearts pulled together, two hearts meant to sing together.
Whatever Ezsmeralda was doing, she was a far sight calmer than he was in this moment, for his Heartsong was a quiet constant rhythm.
Saradoc exhaled before asking, “What does Thorin’s heartbeat feel like?”
“Deep, slow. Dwarves have slower heartbeats than us. Even when we’re running for our lives, apparently. It doesn’t seem to speed up much, just pound with more gusto.”
Saradoc snorted, “No wonder they don’t eat properly.”
Bilbo hummed as he returned and offered Saradoc a hand up, “Ready to go rub it in the dwarves' faces that hobbits truly are the goblins' worst nightmares?”
Saradoc clasped hands with him, allowing himself to be pulled up to his feet with his good arm, ignoring the aches.
Bilbo, thankfully, did seem to know where he was going.
“How are we going to get our people over the mountain?” Sara asked.
“Rohan,” Bilbo answered. “If we have to have an army of elves and dwarves, so be it. We are not going through or over the Misties.”
Saradoc groaned, “I do not look forward to taking this path home.”
“I think you and I could befriend the eagles. Gandalf’s always talking about them. Doubtless, Thorin or Frerin would insult them somehow. But you and I are tiny burdens to bear. I bet if we asked really nicely, they might help us.”
Saradoc hated heights, but anything was better than these mountains.
It took a lot of trial and error for them to find their way out. Constantly hiding from the goblins and doubling back from a dead end.
But having a Heartsong compass, if you will, led them to the gate.
Only, there were sooo many goblins between them and the door.
Bilbo grabbed Saradoc and pressed them tight against the door and did something he had been using to entertain faunts for years.
He threw his voice.
It sounded as if it was coming from much further down the passageway of one of the other tunnels.
“ TOOKS! ” the goblins cried. “Tooks! We’ve caught in the southern dead end! Arms! Come on, you swine!”
Saradoc hated that the same things that made Bilbo a great storyteller and singer, made him incredibly creepy when he wanted to be.
But, Bilbo’s plan worked, and the goblin guards rushed right by them.
Bilbo and Sara bolted through the open doors.
Shouts followed behind them as their feet slapped on the stone floors as they moved with speed and not stealth. Regrettably for the goblins, they were already escaping into daylight by the time they realised they had been tricked.
oOo
Frerin was rather done with the wizard. Gandalf was saying that they could not possibly go on with their journey leaving Mister Baggins and Mister Brandybuck in the hands of the goblins, without trying to find out if they were alive or dead and trying to save them.
"After all Bilbo is my friend," said the wizard. "And not a bad little chap. I feel responsible for them. I wish to goodness you had not lost them."
“We didn’t ‘lose’ them,” Frerin growled, holding onto Thorin’s arm who was more than willing to turn back for his hobbit. “He called himself a Took and the goblins went wild. They dragged them away from us before you showed up.”
Balin gave a cry of greeting.
And Frerin saw two forms sprinting down from the mountain.
Thorin shrugged out of Frerin’s hold and caught his hobbit up in his arms.
Saradoc, who had been following close behind, gave a grunt as Fíli saved him from ploughing into the lovebirds.
“We’ve got to go,” Saradoc panted.
“Are you okay?” Fíli demanded.
“We’re fine, but we won’t be if we stay here,” Saradoc explained.
Frerin did not doubt him.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, ravens, or reactions, pretty please.
Chapter 21: Acorn & Irises
Chapter Text
AN: Excuse the shortness of this chapter, I just couldn’t bring myself to rehash the books or the movies.
Chapter 21 - Acorns & Irises
Glorfindel could not say his light had returned, though others told him it had. He could not count on his own light, for he could not sense it.
He had heard nothing from either Bilbo or Fíli, which was to be expected. And it’s not as if he had made communication easy by going to the Woodland Realm.
That’s what he told himself, at least.
But here he had a purpose.
The killing had not been a passion of many elves, yet Glorfindel had nothing else to rise for each day.
So each day, he went out into the forest and killed spider after spider. And every day the sickness of the forest had seemed to seep into his bones.
Still, all things ends, and after years of killing, the spiders fled, returning back to their mother.
Still, the sickness remained, and Glorfindel tracked it to its source.
“Prince Legolas, you must turn back,” he told the young prince who had happily followed him around these years as if it was an adventure.
His father had only allowed it because he knew that Glorfindel would never allow harm to come to him.
Which is why the prince had to turn back.
“I’m not leaving,” Legolas insisted.
Glorfindel sighed, trying hard not to think of how that stubbornness reminded him so much of Bilbo.
“Your father–”
“Quite agrees that you should turn back,” King Thandruil himself said as he emerged from the treeline.
“I’m not going back, Ada.”
Thranduil rolled his eyes.
Glorfindel’s response faltered as Lady Galadriel and her consort stepped out of the treeline.
“If we perish, it is your duty to return home,” Thranduil told his son.
Galadriel laughed, the sound of music dancing on the wind, which made the contrast to this place of darkness all the starker.
Dol Guldur.
Celeborn scrunched his nose at the ruins of the old castle, “This place… it reeks of death.”
“It is a familiar darkness,” Galadriel agreed.
“This is not a nice place to meet,” another figure said as he joined them.
Glorfindel eyed the brown wizard and noted with some fondness the field curled into the collar of his coat.
Legolas was the only one among them that honestly wanted to be there.
He was still so young, the youngest among them.
The youngest of a dying race.
Galadriel touched his cheek, startling Glorfindel nearly out of his skin.
She did not say anything, but her gaze told him that she had seen his heart and understood.
He sighed, dropping his head to press their foreheads together.
She stroked his hair, and he closed his eyes.
You must stay present, your sons will return to you, and though much lies in darkness, the futures of our people have not yet ended.
Glorfindel pulled back, sucking in a breath as if emerging from deep waters.
“Where are they?” he demanded.
She smiled that infuriating smile of her, “Trust to hope, Lord Glorfindel, nothing has been forsaken to us.”
Glorfindel exchanged an exasperated look with Thranduil while Legolas hung on her every word and Celeborn smiled serenely.
“Let us go,” Celeborn said. “This forest has gone too long starved of light.”
Glorfindel turned, pulling his sword as he crossed into the fortress first, followed by the king, the lady, the prince, and Celeborn.
It did not take long for them to be attacked by shades.
Legolas had too much fun.
Celeborn extended himself to remain at the prince’s back to protect him.
Thranduil was more lethal than Glorfindel had ever seen due to his son’s presence.
Galadriel worked in tandem with Glorfindel to destroy the necromancer who attempted to flee and failed to survive.
There was no glory in their victory, only an ache of darkness, like a cured sickness whose memory stays in the lungs.
Cradling his wife to himself, Celeborn seemed truly upset, “How many times must we kill Sarun before he stays dead?”
Galadriel rested her head against his chest, “Evil cannot be extinguished, though it can be defeated for an age.”
Glorfindel sighed, “I am not ready for another war.”
Legolas deflated, ignoring his father who was fussing over him, looking for any scratch or bruise, “But we won.”
Galadriel smiled at the young prince, “Yes, today is a victory against the powers that would harm the free peoples of this world.”
Thrandruil hugged his son from behind, “The One Ring remains, lost but not forgotten. Until it is destroyed, Sarun will continue to wage war against all that is fair in this world.”
Legolas hugged his father’s arm in turn, “When?”
“Perhaps next month,” Glorfindel answered. “Or two hundred years from now.”
Legolas sighed, the sigh that comes from youth that had yet to be jaded to the passage of time.
It caused a sharp ache in Glorfindel’s heart as he thought of Fíli and Bilbo.
Bilbo was in his sixties, his life half over.
Galadriel said they would return to him.
Impatience, it seemed, was not reserved for elflings.
oOo
Fíli was excited when he realised where they were.
“Dah,” Fíli said as they hiked. “Are we–”
“I already sent a magpie,” Bilbo said with a smile.
“Where did you even find a magpie?” Dwalin asked.
Fíli pointed to the trees, “The ravens follow us too. I’m convinced magpies and ravens follow hobbits and dwarrow around to be listened to.”
Bilbo smiled, “I wouldn’t doubt it. That or they associate dwarrow with shining things and hobbits with food. Both seem to be appreciated.”
“How do you know where we’re going?” Balin asked.
“We have barely any supplies and we have goblins after us and there’s no human settlements along the road from here to Mirkwood. Where were you going?” Bilbo asked.
“I was following the wizard,” Balin said.
They all looked toward Gandalf, “I have a friend, or a friend of a friend, who lives not so very far from here.”
“Do you mean the Brown Wizard being friends with Beorn?” Fíli asked.
Gandalf gave him an askance look, “Yes, though he’s not overly fond of dwarves.”
“Just don’t kill any of his animals who he treats as his children,” Bilbo said. “Though, it would be best if we reached his home before the sun sets.”
“You’ve met him,” Gandalf stated.
“We’re old friends,” Bilbo said. “Although, last time we came down this side of the Misty Mountains we were further south and Beorn brought us north to visit his home.”
“Why were you travelling this way?” Thorin asked.
“We went with Lady Arwen, the twins, and Estel to Lothlorien,” Fíli answered. “Lady Galadriel is their grandmother.”
“I’m morbidly curious of what would happen if the Mirkwood King was locked in a room with the two of you,” Frerin said.
“No,” Thorin said. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Aren’t they your immediate neighbours?” Bilbo asked. “Won’t you have to trade with them?”
“Honestly, having a hobbit as our King’s Consort is the best thing to happen to our potential diplomatic relations,” Balin said, sounding almost wistful.
Bilbo slowed, “When you say that, you don’t actually mean… I mean it’s not a title with any power, is it?”
All the dwarves laughed.
Frerin thumped Bilbo on the back, “Let’s put it this way, you’re going to become my sister’s, who is Queen Regent in my brother’s sted, favourite person.”
“Thorin?” Bilbo asked.
“If we survive this,” Thorin said. “It will be more than a title, but no responsibility will be given to you without your knowledge or consent.”
“But you could make your sister-in-law love you forever with every queenly task you take on,” Frerin teased.
“You'll become my favourite person with every foreign diplomatic task you take on,” Balin added hopefully.
“My sister already loves him,” Thorin said. “She claimed him for the Durin line the day they met.”
“Tell me your secrets to my sister’s stone heart,” Frerin asked.
“I cooked for her?” Bilbo offered.
“Cooking doesn’t work as well on elves,” Fíli noted. “Maybe you should sing for the woodland elves, Dah.”
“No,” Thorin said with a bit of a pout.
“We’ll have to win over the bear first,” Bilbo said with a smile to his Heartsong.
“Beorn does like your singing,” Fíli noted.
“My dear sister-son, what do bears and our soon-to-be host have in common?” Frerin asked.
“That is the question, isn’t it, Uncle?” Fíli asked with a mischievous grin.
oOo
They didn’t make it to Beorn’s before sunset which resulted in a sprint to the barn while being chased by their clawed host.
oOo
Nori truly loved his family, that being said, it took a herculean effort to herd them away from Thorin and Bilbo.
Sara finally convinced the others to go swimming in a nearby lake while Bilbo and Thorin went in the opposite direction.
Nori sighed, “Why are they all idiots?”
Sara shrugged, “It happens with leaders, people gravitate toward them. Especially, in times of trouble. Besides, how often have you seen your king smile?”
“Hardly at all until Fíli returned to us,” Nori said.
Sara smiled, “Happiness is contagious.”
Despite himself, Nori smiled back.
oOo
It wasn’t the first time they had lain together since their journey had begun, but it was the first time they had enough privacy to do so without restraint or hurry.
Well, as much privacy as an oak tree in an open field of flowers could offer.
Still, Bilbo was a hobbit and skinship was important, especially, with their Heartsong.
He felt as if he could lay his head on Thorin’s hairy chest, listening to his heart, for the rest of his life.
Thorin stroked his hair, occasionally tracing over the tips of his ears as his other hand ran over Bilbo’s bare back.
“In my culture,” Thorin rumbled. “We shouldn’t have done this until after we were wed.”
Bilbo petted his chest, “In my culture, Heartsongs are as good as. Marriage is just another reason for the community to throw a party.”
“Hobbits,” Thorin huffed fondly.
Bilbo hummed again, curling against his dwarf, “You are so warm.”
Thorin laughed, hugging him close and turning them so Bilbo’s back was against the soil and covered by the warmth and weight of his Heartsong.
“Dwarrow were forged in fires.”
Bilbo smiled leaning up to catch a kiss on Thorin’s lips, his beard tickling his chin.
“You’re so soft,” Thorin breathed as they parted for breath.
Thorin’s hair had created a veil around them, adding to the intimacy between them.
“I love you,” Bilbo whispered.
Thorin replied first in Khuzdul before saying, “And I you.”
Bilbo wasn’t certain he had ever been so happy.
He was beginning to be ready to join with his dwarf again, only to yelp as he shifted against the ground.
Thorin, who had been kissing Bilbo’s throat, froze, “ Ghivasheluh ?”
Bilbo reached beneath himself, his fingers wrapping around a familiar shape.
He let out a small laugh as he revealed the acorn in his hand to Thorin.
Thorin kissed his fingers, “I suppose that’s to be expected. We are surrounded by an oak tree after all.”
“I certainly am,” Bilbo teased.
Thorin began to sit up, “I can grab my cloak–”
Bilbo clung to him, pulling Thorin back down to him, “I’m fine. Us hobbits may not be as hardy as dwarves but we’re tougher than we look.”
Thorin laughed, “So I’m learning.”
They didn’t return until dinner after visiting the river.
They both had flower crowns, Bilbo was rather endeared by the one Thorin had woven for him. The base was made from oak twigs and laced with tiny forget-me-nots, which meant true love.
While Bilbo had found purple irises that seemed more regal than ever crowning Thorin’s silver-striped raven hair.
Fíli, who knew the language of flowers as well as he knew the common speech, raised his brows but smiled.
Irises represented royalty and love, but more than that, they represented faith and hope —no matter the odds against them.
Bilbo was in no way comfortable with the idea of having a title and rank among dwarrow, but he would never relinquish his claim to his Heartsong.
Forget-me-nots were beyond sweet and romantic, a declaration of love.
Irises also meant love, as well as a declaration of war against any power on Middle Earth that threatened to separate them.
Sara laughed when he saw the irises, “And they say hobbits are peace-loving.”
Thorin arched a brow.
Bilbo dug into dinner, “I like peace.”
“Sure,” Sara agreed. “That’s why you agreed to slay a dragon.”
Bilbo threw a roll at his head and the boisterousness of the rest of the table soon carried the conversation elsewhere.
If Bilbo had an acorn in his pocket he now hoped to plant it in the soils of Erebor, well that was nothing anyone needed to know until after they solved the pesky dragon problem.
oOo
Despite all that was happening, joy had been regained by Thorin’s company, the night before they departed for Mirkwood, they saw the peaks along the Misty Mountains in the far south.
“What is this?” Bilbo asked, he and Sara were the first to see it.
Gandalf stood, “The Beacons of Gondor have been lit.”
Thorin pulled the pipe from his mouth, fully tensed but unable to think of anything he could do.
“Is there a siege?” Balin asked allowed.
Gandalf was already preparing one of Beorn’s horses, “I don’t know. But I must discover why. Evil grows in the South and if Gondor falls, the dragon may become the lesser of your trials.”
Thorin loathed the credence this new sign gave to his cousin Dain’s refusal to support this journey to reclaim Erebor.
“You can’t leave us,” Gloin said.
“I must,” Gandalf said, leading the horse to the exit. “I will return when I can. Do not enter the mountain with me.”
Thorin said nothing, his hope for the success of this journey, lessening.
His fears only grew as they passed under the trees of Mirkwood.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, beautiful black and white Gypsy horses and ponies, or requests for upcoming chapters? Pretty please?
Chapter 22: The Benefits of Niceties
Chapter Text
If This is Victory : I wrote a hobbit time travel fic, Dwalin time travels and Bilbo is raised by a king in exile ;D
Chapter 22 - The Benefits of Niceties
The forest felt strange.
Like someone waking from a long sleep, which was odd because it was autumn, not spring.
Still, the forest was recovering from something dark. They didn’t dare to leave, they didn’t dare leave the path.
There was no privacy sleeping on the path, no reprieve from the reflective eyes that peered at them through tree branches through the day and night.
Yet Bilbo had zero hesitations about climbing into Thorin’s sleeping bundle each night, bearing himself against the warmth and security that was his Heartsong.
Thorin welcomed the closeness, practically rolling over him to protect his hobbit from the perceived and real dangers of the forest.
It was well worth the teasing from the others.
Bilbo would come to treasure the memories of those nights later on his journey when the path grew lonely and his heart grew ever colder.
oOo
They were halfway through the forest before the elves appeared to take them captive.
Fíli’s Khuzdul had gotten better in leaps and bounds, mostly due to Bilbo who was also learning their language now.
So it was in Khuzdul that Fíli asked, “Uncle, please, please, play along, don't fight and don't curse them. Be angry but let the hobbit insult him.”
Thorin and the rest gave him an expression as if he was insane.
“Please, Uncle. Just pretend like they are insane for not treating you like royalty.”
“Which is why I would curse them,” Thorin muttered, also in Khuzdul.
“Don't, please. Let Bilbo and I play politics. Just be disdainful. Be better than them.”
Thorin blinked slowly and exchanged a look with Kíli then Balin.
“Do as he says,” Thorin commanded.
“Dirty looks,” Fíli emphasized. “But don't fling insults. Don't offer violence of any kind.”
Bilbo pressed into Thorin's side and said, “The tallest one is Greenleaf.”
Fíli's smile was vicious.
“What are you planning?” Thorin asked, still in Khuzdul.
“I'm going to get you what they should have given you over a century ago.” Before he called in the Common Speech, Bilbo said, “Prince Legolas?”
The young elf stumbled glancing at the hobbit with widened eyes.
The elves tensed.
Bilbo smiled as if victorious.
Thorin realised why after a moment of thought. He had never met or seen Thandriul's son. He had been kept hidden and safe long before the dragon came.
But what the hobbit said next explained a lot about the way the other elves closed ranks around their prince.
“I've heard many a tale about the youngest elfling in Middle Earth,” Bilbo said.
Thorin blinked.
The elves had stopped having children?
Thorin looked at Balin, and suddenly it made sense why an elf would steal a dwarfling. Why their children would be coveted. Yes, Fíli had mentioned that Legolas was the youngest elf but Thorin hadn't put it together that maybe he was the youngest because they couldn't have more.
Oh Mahal, were elves dying out as a race?
Thorin had once thought nothing would be better for the world.
But he had lived too long among men.
Elves were haughty and supercilious, or nonsensical and mischievous, they were selfish and kept to their own kind no matter the tragedies around them.
But they also didn't go out of their way to cause tragedy to others.
They didn't let their children starve, they didn't leave their people out in the cold to freeze, nor did they treat their women like mules or scold them for the blood they shed and the pain they bore so their descendants could be born into the world.
Nor did elves assault other races for being alone on the road.
The woodland elves’ king aside, the race of men had done them far greater harm than withholding aid.
And for a race to fade from Middle Earth? An entire race?
There was something tragic about that.
One of the other elves hissed, “What does a dwarfling know of elves?”
Bilbo, dearest Bilbo, straightened to full height which was least among them, including Saradoc, and yet he managed to look down his nose at all the grand elven warriors as he said, “I am a hobbit. And your ignorance of it might be forgiven if you can remember it.”
The elf sniffed, “A halfling.”
Prince Legolas looked more interested, to the apparent dismay of his companions.
Curses, but was Thorin feeling far too sympathetic toward these wretched creatures as he looked at his own princes?
Fíli looked cold, gaze sharp as searched the elves’ faces while Kíli looked between his brother and their hobbit trying to catch up to the game.
Kíli wasn't bad at politics. He wasn't a half-bad peacekeeper when he tried.
But they had raised him to be a dwarven leader, they hadn't raised him to be a diplomat. No, in fact, Thorin had gone out of his way to shelter him from humans. Kíli went to market days, he saw their behaviour when they travelled, but neither Thorin nor Frerin ever let Kíli be the first point of contact except when within Thorin's arm's reach. when any real trouble arose they were there to handle or scare off as needs be.
“A halfling, from west of Imledres?” Legolas asked with open curiosity of the young.
Thorin has never seen their burglar look so offended.
“A halfling? Half of you? Half of a man? I think not. I am a hobbit , and I would thank you to remember it. We are our own people with our own customs and histories, thank you very much. Why my Great-great-grandfather was beheading goblins before you were even born.”
The elfling’s eyes widened even further, “I did not know there were warriors among your kind.”
“Well there aren't now,” Bilbo lectured.
“No, we're far more important than that now. Dear me, I never thought to meet such ignorant elves but I guess there must be some truth to the notion that has turned from the light of Valinor the woodland elves are merely long-lived humans with pointy ears.”
Several of their guards near hissed at the hobbit but the elf prince's eyes merely sparkled with amusement which seemed to frustrate Fíli a bit.
“Then tell me, Master Hobbit,” the elf prince began not unkindly. “What profession among your kind is so much greater than the slaying of evil?”
Bilbo sniffed, “Gardening and farming, of course.”
That broke the tension as the elves seemed to think Bilbo was joking.
Thorin knew that he wasn't. Bilbo was very aware and grateful toward those who protected his lands against shadows, but Thorin understood that in his heart of hearts, his One was less impressed and more sorrowed for its necessity.
The elfling smiled, “A fearsome army to be sure.”
“Laugh all you like,” Fíli said, voice grander than he normally spoke in but twice as serious. “But a starving army is a dead one.”
Thorin had been raised in Erebor, in a great kingdom of a great lineage, but he knew that if history remembered him, that his sister-sons would be even greater kings.”
Thorin had known that it was his responsibility to see his people fed and cared for growing up, Kíli had grown up knowing the cost of a king failing to do so.
The elves did stop chuckling, but the elf who spoke next still seemed mocked: “And what do you grow, Master Hobbit? Violets and mushrooms?”
As mushrooms could be grown on animal manure, Thorin fought not to growl at the clear slight toward his One. The elves knew nothing of starvation.
But Bilbo's words were far more cutting than any curse Thorin could conjure.
“I prefer belladonna, which while poisonous can also be made into many different types of medications for pain or moon cycles. My garden may not be the prettiest in the Shire, but my weeds, as many might call them, and herbs are considered to be quite useful. I suppose you wouldn't care for such trivial matters as healing, being the ageless and deathless folk that you are.”
“Our blood is as red as yours,” the elf prince snapped, likely having lost people to the invaders in their wood and taken it personally even if he hadn't known them well.
That was the mark of true royalty, not your birth but your love for your people.
“Then perhaps you ought to show a bit more shame than a fauntling running about nude in the rain for having put a gardener in chains and not offering my companions water. Or are your powers of observation so lacking that you've mistaken them for orcs?”
The elf prince frowned, “You're trespassing in our lands.”
“We have every right to be here,” Bilbo argued. “The young one with elven blades is my own, and this is his birth family. We have every right to pass through what was once the Greenwood.”
The prince scoffed, “No, you do not.”
“I request your aid, Prince Legolas, Son of King Thranduil of Mirkwood. Do you deny me and my son?”
The prince frowned at him, looking to the red-haired woman who was staring intently at Fíli.
Thorin looked to Kíli who seemed as if he had finally put the pieces together. Thorin looked back to Balin who seemed as lost as Thorin himself still felt.
Cautiously, the prince said, “That is for my father to decide.”
“Even water?” Bilbo asked. “You deny us water.”
The redhead said, “Fear not, we will not allow you to perish.”
“But we are thirsty,” Fíli said, speaking up. “Would you deny my father, who is a hobbit from the Shire, considered a healer by many, and offers no threat to you, a drink of water? Would you keep him chained?”
The prince shook his head, “We are not far from the keep now. Your comfort can wait.”
Bilbo smiled, “This insult will not be forgotten, Prince Greenleaf. I pray your father has better sense but I think you will be made to learn from his mistakes as well as your own ignorance.”
The redhead elf looked murderous, “Do not speak to him like that.”
Bilbo smirked, “My son's uncle was right, speaking with elves never ends in delight.”
Some of the other elves let out a huffed laugh or snigger.
Thorin scowled at the small smirk that curled Fíli's lips.
Frerin, who had been walking behind Thorin, muttered in Khuzdul, “I think hobbits are trickier than elves. ”
oOo
Kíli was pretty sure he knew what was going on.
Bilbo had been pretty heavy handed about it, his brother more so.
The elves had insulted them and so far none of the company had insulted anyone's mother.
Which meant they were the offended party.
And the way Bilbo had said we have every right to be here . Made Kíli think that maybe they did.
Elf friend was how he and Bilbo were constantly being greeted.
But not here.
Thranduil greeted them with the same haughty disdain that Thorin reminded when he visited the Greenwood as third in line to the throne of Erebor.
But this time, Thorin didn’t speak, he let Thranduil dig his own grave as he watched his hobbit grow more incensed by the minute.
Bilbo stepped forward, “I must say, the Greenwood is not what I expected of the elves. I understand now why, despite the size of your realm, you are considered to be the least of your brighter kin.”
Thranduil looked murderous as he turned on Thorin’s spouse and it was all Thorin could do not to laugh.
Bilbo was tied up, dirty from weeks of sleeping on the forest floor, and yet he looked more regal and composed than the elf king who puffed down at him.
“And who are you?”
Bilbo turned up his chin, “I am the King Consort Under the Mountain, and your son and your guards arrested us off the road with no cause. No water or refreshments were given. It is appalling treatment of what should be an ally.”
Thranduil sneered, “Thror’s heir married a halfling? How quaint.”
Bilbo stepped forward, “ Hobbit. And I’ll have you know I’m someone of importance to my own people as well.”
Thranduil looked amused now, as if he thought Bilbo was cute. “Yet the history of halflings remains unremarkable and hardly remembered.”
Bilbo looked earnestly insulted this time, “Is that so?” His voice grew shaper. “It astounds me how easy the Big Folk think it is to remember. When the elves retreat to their stars and the men burn down the world, how easy you think it is to rebuild your farms, to learn how the green things evolve while you remain isolated. As if all that ever was will always be. Hobbits may be a humble folk and the Valar may have never fought over us, but we are Yavanna’s children, and without her creations, none of the rest of you would have survived.”
Saradoc stepped to Bilbo’s side, “Big Folk are always bragging about their big deeds, but you don’t place importance on what ought to be important.”
The elf king raised a brow, “Yavanna’s gifts are not in question, your importance, however, has yet to be proven.”
Thorin was quite ready to break the elf’s nose and he couldn’t hold back the curse, “ Fundhamâd-ublag.”
Bilbo gave him an exasperated look and replied back in Khuzdul, “ Yes, because eating cram is so much better than lembas bread.”
“And here I thought–” Thranduil stilled mid-thought, his eyes caught on something, and Thorin tensed so hard it hurt as the elf king moved with unearthly speed as he reached for Thorin’s throat.
At first, Thorin thought the bastard was going to grab him by his braids or the scruff of his beard, which, no matter what Bilbo and Fíli had planned, would be an inexcusable offence.
But what he did felt somehow worse as the elf dipped his finger into Thorin’s collar to pull the mithril chain that held the token Bilbo had given him.
Of the company, only a few had seen it, as was made clear by the many intakes of breath.
The piece was truly beautiful, shimmering like snow beneath moonlight.
Thranduil looked as if he wished to strangle him with it.
The level of fury almost took Thorin aback. In truth, seeing any strong emotion on the elf king’s face was a surprise.
“Who did you steal this from?” the king seethed in such a low tone that Thorin almost didn’t understand him.
The pendent hung between them, and Thorin understood that how he answered might determine his life.
He realised that such a token must be equivalent to if the elf king had pulled a severed dwarven marriage braid with its bead still clasped in it from his pocket.
Thorin’s words were deliberate when he answered, “It was gifted to me by my heart. It was his by right to give.”
“What elf would ever love you ?” Thranduil asked with scorn and disgust thick enough to walk on.
He tilted his wrist and Thorin watched the Woodland King pale as registered that the topaz petals made the flower pattern look golden.
Thranduil looked to Bilbo before he met Thorin's gaze as it dawned on him who exactly was in his court.
The pendant was dropped against Thorin's chest and Bilbo stepped between. “I love him. Nothing in Arda can change that he was my destined star. You are not my king or my lord, you have no right to question the purity of my heart. There is no judgment you could make that has power over me.”
Was that what the elves called their Ones? Thorin wondered.
Balin seemed to regret his request to give diplomatic matters to Bilbo because he stepped forward to say, “Laddie, we are in his kingd–” but he was cut off by an exclamation.
“Bilbo!”
The whole court turned to see the elf who strode into the room, his hair was spun gold against the deep green of his cloak.
The elf king took a step away in deference to the elf lord.
“Lord Glorfindel,” Thandriul greeted, inclining his head. “You know these prisoners?”
Glorfindel barely spared the elf king a glance as his gaze jumped first to Bilbo, then to Fíli and Kíli.
Fíli took a step forward and said something in perfect Sindarin, the only word Thorin understood was grandfather.
Bilbo stepped even with Thorin but between Thorin and Glorfindel, “Ada.”
The resulting silence was thunderous and Thranduil looked as if he had just been kneed between the legs.
Thorin smiled.
Bilbo and his kin were of Glorfindel’s house, and as his intended, Thorin was Glorfindel’s son-in-law, all of whom Thandriul had just dragged in before his court as criminals.
With not so much as a sip of water to soothe their thirst.
Bilbo stepped closer to the golden elf and Glorfindel dropped to a knee to embrace his son.
The eyes that looked up to meet Thorin’s were filled will an ocean of sorrows, sorrows that turned to a banked rage when his gaze lifted toward Thranduil.
The Woodland King seemed cowed in a way Thorin had never dreamed of seeing him.
Thranduil might be a king, but Glorfindel was a power unto himself.
oOo
AN: So I have the dragon and Mordor chapters written, what I don’t have is this little in between with Bard or the fluff afterwards. I still have some drams planned, but particularly between Thorin and Bilbo, are there any after Erebor subplots you would like me to explore?
Requests, suggestions, bread-dragons, or wishlists for events in this story, are most welcome, please?
Chapter 23: Respite
Chapter Text
Chapter 23 - Respite
Thranduil glared at Bilbo and spoke solely in Sindarin, “You could have said.”
“Didn't I?” Bilbo answered in kind.
“Why are my children and their kin being held captive?” Glorfindel asked.
There was a rush by the guards, untiring the ropes and returning the dwarves' weapons.
“I did not know.”
“Yet it is well known that I was wed to a halfling and that my descents reside in the Shire,” Glorfindel said. The term halfling was one used in Sindarin which was less offensive only because in elvish lore, hobbits were the product of elvish and dwarven parents.
Bilbo wasn't offended to be called half-elf and half-dwarf, though one was more likely than the other in his case.
“They are halflings, how was I to know the difference when they travel with dwarves and not elves,” Thranduil asked.
“Tell me he does not have the light of the Valar in him? Tell me a hobbit of fifty and approaching his seventieth year are noticeably different in youth?” Glorfindel pressed.
“It was a trick,” Thranduil said defensively.
Glorfindel made a disgusted sound and turned his back on Thranduil so he could look at Bilbo more closely.
“You are too skinny,” Glorfindel stated. “Come, I will bring you to the healing halls. Unless you would like to further dishonour my family, King Thranduil?”
The King inclined his head, his expression pinched, “My apologies, I have wronged your sons and your house. I owe you a debt.”
“Adar, I don’t need a healer,” Bilbo complained.
Glorfindel searched him with his eyes, seeing the warn clothing and how it hung too loose on his frame and frowned. “Fine, we can have tea in my rooms as the others refresh and the kitchens prepare supper for your company.”
Bilbo nodded, the company followed Bilbo and Glorfindel, leaving King Thrandruil to stand awkwardly behind them in a state worry. No one liked to be the one who had made an infraction against the Lord of Golden Flowers and those he held dear.
By the time they got to the guest rooms, all of them were running low on energy.
Bilbo could have fallen asleep on his feet but the temptation of food and water was too great.
The dwarves broke into two groups, Gloin and Oin going with the Ur’s and the Ri’s while the rest of the Durins stayed with Bilbo, Sara, and Glorfindel.
Thorin and Balin were clearly the most agitated with Glorfindel’s opinion of them, while Fíli and Bilbo sat on either side of the elf trying to calm him down.
Glorfindel was a well tempered elf, tragedy had worn away much of his fretting, and death had made the threshold for injuring his pride higher than most elves.
The Lord of the Golden Flowers was known for riding into battle with laughter on his lips, trusting that life would happen as it was meant.
However, when it came to his immediate family, when it came to his honour, if his temper was roused, it was near impossible to quell it.
The only surprise with how recent history had played out, was Glorfindel not shooting dead the dwarves who had attacked him.
Balin must have known that.
Balin also must have told Thorin that.
Meanwhile, Glorfindel was on edge, fearing to lose any more time with his returned kin.
Bilbo was just happy Glorfindel’s rooms had a private terrace that had table swelling with snacks to go along with the tea.
“I can’t believe that worked so well,” Frerin said as he took one of the chairs that elven severents were rushing in.
Glorfindel smirked slightly, “Bilbo understands our culture too well and woodland elves have never been known for their diplomacy.”
Balin cleared his throat, “I believe we have our own diplomacy issues to resolve.”
“You are forgiven,” Glorfindel said immediately. “It is I who begs your forgiveness.”
Thorin answered, “Upon my word and that of my sister’s, we forgive the miscommunication when you and your son saved our Fíli. Please accept our condolences for the loss of one of your daughters and your son in law.”
Glorfindel inclined his head in a bow, and he smiled slightly when he looked back up. “I did not expect my next son in law to be a king.”
Thorin flushed a bit, releasing the necklace he wore, which remained in view.
An heirloom that was once worn by this elf’s One.
Bilbo kissed Thorin’s cheek, “This could have gone far worse.”
“What are you doing this far east?” Glorfindel asked.
Bilbo was halfway through a blueberry muffin and couldn’t answer Fíli’s brief look of panic.
Glorfindel looked between them curiously before understanding dawned and his expression shut down.
Bilbo swallowed his bite of muffin roughly before he answered, “Adar, Gandalf–”
Glorfindel glared at him, “Mithrandir is behind this?”
“Saruman the White betrayed Middle Earth, we can’t leave a dragon in Erebor when Mordor gathers its forces,” Bilbo shot back. No one had put it into those exact terms but Bilbo understood the stakes.
Glorfindel took in a slow breath before exhaling, “How are you going to kill it?”
“Gandalf said he’s never smelled hobbits before, so Bilbo is going to steal from Smaug, enrage him, and when Dah escapes from the mountain we are going to shoot it down with windlances,” Fíli explained.
“Fíli and I designed models that will be lighter and easier to reproduce,” Kíli added.
Glorfindel’s lips thinned before he sighed, “It’s not for me to stop you. You can have the lances forged here. It is the least Thranduil owes you.”
Thorin inclined his head in thanks.
Bilbo kept eating until his Adar stated, “I’m coming with you to the mountain.”
“No,” Frerin said.
“You have no way to stop me,” Glorfindel countered.
“You can’t go into the mountain for the same reason Thorin can’t; Smaug knows the smell of elf as well as dwarf,” Bilbo said.
“I’ll be with him,” Sara said, his legs swinging on the elf sized chair.
“And why is that, Saradoc Brandybuck?” Glorfindel asked, pinning the other hobbit with a fierce glare.
“We won’t fail Bilbo,” Sara said, avoiding the bigger reason behind his actions. “We won’t leave him on his own again.”
Glorfindel nodded, his golden hair catching the light.
Conversation moved on more naturally after that, on their journey so far.
Fíli and Kíli talked happily about Beorn.
Bilbo focused on eating, his attention wavering from the conversation.
Glorfindel pressed a hand to Bilbo’s forehead.
His hand felt cool and Bilbo leaned into the touch.
“You all need to bathe and rest,” Glorfindel said.
“You aren’t meeting the dragon with me,” Bilbo said, not realising until he spoke that he had closed his eyes.
Glorfindel hummed, before directing the party to their separate rooms.
Bilbo lost some time because the next thing he knew he was being carried by Thorin. Bilbo curled into his chest and allowed himself to be taken care of.
When he took off his vest, he seemed to have shrugged off some of his exhaustion.
Thorin rubbed his back, “Are you alright?”
Bilbo yawned, “Yes, I– I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“You haven’t been sleeping well,” Thorin said as he finished taking off his clothes.
Bilbo watched him lazily, “Really, I feel like that’s all I’ve done these past weeks, walk and sleep.”
“You kept waking up more tired than when you went to sleep, and you’ve lost more weight,” Thorin said worriedly, helping Bilbo out of his trousers.
Bilbo sighed, leaning into Thorin’s warmth as the dwarf brought them into the steaming pool that served as a natural bath.
The warmth felt so go as his bones warmed. Thorin rubbed soup into his skin and then his hair.
“Are you alright?” Thorin asked.
Bilbo spurred himself into action, reaching for the comb Thorin had left on the side of the pool. “I’m fine, I promise.”
And he did feel better. Better than he had felt sense before they began their climb up the Misty Mountains.
The pool was too deep for Bilbo to stand in, so he had to wrap his legs around Thorin’s midsection as his dwarf held him in order to undo Thorin’s braids.
“We are bringing as much lembas bread as we can carry. I hate watching you starve.”
“I’ll be alright,” Bilbo argued, placing a kiss on his dwarf’s nose before returning his attention to calming hair lotion through Thorin’s hair. “I do enjoy elvish hosiptatlity when we can get it.”
Thorin sighed, “You will love our baths in Erebor even more, the water stays flowing and filtered.”
“I have never questioned your people’s superiority in engineering, love,” Bilbo replied with a smile.
Thorin massaged Bilbo’s hips, “I love you, Bilbo.”
Bilbo paused, leaning back so he could meet Thorin’s gaze, “I love you too.”
“I don’t want you to face the dragon.”
“I know,” Bilbo said.
He could offer nothing else but his understanding, he wouldn’t dismiss or downplay Thorin’s fears.
After all, Thorin had seen his home destroyed by Smaug, his people and subjects burned alive and eaten by the beast.
“I believe in us,” Bilbo said, reaching around Thorin to comb his hair forward over his shoulder. “I believe Yavanna and Mahal want us to survive this. The time of dwarves and hobbits is not over.”
Because they weren’t doing this for themselves.
Thorin hugged him close and whispered a string of Khuzdul that Bilbo couldn’t quite follow but allowed the adoration in his voice to wash over him like a song. With their chests pressed together, Bilbo could feel the reverberations of those words in his own chest.
Bilbo clung to him as he belt up a question he had wanted to ask for years.
A question he had buried deep inside himself since meeting Thorin and hadn’t awoken until he had lain with Thorin in Beorn’s gardens.
Thorin pulled back, “Bilbo?”
Bilbo leaned back, resting his hands over Thorin’s heart beneath the water. “Thorin, I– Do you…” He took a breath, “Do you want…”
Thorin touched Bilbo’s chin to tilt his face up, “Do I want what, Amrâlimê?”
Bilbo let out a harsh breath, “Do you want to have children with me?”
Thorin stilled, he didn’t even breathe as the song of his heart raced on under Bilbo’s hands.
Thorin shook his head, “I couldn’t– I couldn’t risk you like that.”
Bilbo smiled, “The hobbit way, my dear. I wouldn’t want to have to pass one of your pebbles either.”
Thorin blinked, “We could…”
“We could grow a faunt with the blessing of Yavanna, if you wish it.”
“Do you?” Thorin asked.
“I asked first.”
“I would be happy with just you and our nephews, but I would also be happy to grow a family with you,” Thorin said.
“I want a bigger family,” Bilbo admitted. “I want more children and I want to know the kind of father I know you would be.”
Thorin’s smile was nothing less than heart breaking.
Bilbo could only smile back as he was pulled into Thorin’s kiss and embrace.
Bilbo was too tired to act on the sparks ignited in his centre, but he was more than happy to be held in the steaming water as his dwarf sang to him about the hopes of their peoples and the beauty of life in Erebor.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, fossas, or feedback, pretty please?
Chapter 24: Promises
Chapter Text
Chapter 24 - Promises
Glorfindel had been separated for the time Bilbo had found his Thorin.
He was so happy for his heart's son, and the thought of their houses joining was amusing him to no end.
The Durin family married into an elven line.
Having known a few of the Durins, though he hadn't been friends with any as Elrond had been, Glorfindel knew they would have been suitably scandalised, though less so as Bilbo was a hobbit and not a full-blooded elf.
Glorfindel smiled as Kíli and Fíli chatted animatedly with Legolas, three princes with wildly different life experiences.
Thorin sat beside Glorfindel as Bilbo was regaling some of the older elves with poems from Lothlorien.
“Bilbo can't hear us from here if you wish to voice your displeasure,” the King Under the Mountain said.
Glorfindel hummed, “Did you know my wife passed on to Yavanna’s fields when our daughter passed?”
Thorin looked at him with sorrow, “My condolences.”
“My daughter died with her Heartsong of old age. They say among hobbits that there are seasons for living and seasons for grief and renewal. It is their way, to move on rather than cling to sorrow till the end of their days. Hobbits are not defined by their memories or histories, but by their families, the joy, and the beauty of their lives no matter how briefly those seasons last.”
Thorin sighed, “For all the similarities they share with the other free races, they are an element to themselves.”
“They are,” Glorfindel mused. “But even the sunset of your years, King Thorin Oakenshield, you will live longer than an adult hobbit.”
Thorin flinched away from that thought, Bilbo was closer to seventy, which meant his years numbered at most fifty.
Glorfindel continued, “However, you will not outlive your nephews or any fauntlings you might have. You are my son's Heartsong, and his heart will beat on for you. I find it quite impossible to feel displeasure for the extra time you have gifted us.”
Thorin stared at him, “You mean… Lord Elrond spoke true, I won't outlive him? Not even…”
“His heart is yours,” Glorfindel said simply. “And Fíli will protect your heir for the end of his days.”
Thorin huffed, “I'll be assigning them both guards lest they protect each other at the loss of the other.”
Glorfindel grinned, “Odd that one being partly raised by elves, yet the other would be so drawn to archery.”
Thorin shook his head, “You will not hear me complain about my heir preferring a ranged weapon.”
“At the very least, Fíli was prepared for being a royal advisor.”
“That is true,” Thorin agreed. “For someone with no natural gift for languages, Fíli likely knows more than any dwarf in centuries.”
Even Balin wasn't fluent in Sindarin, though Ori seemed more than interested to learn.
The music changed its tune and it was far more lively than dinner songs or anything they had heard in Rivendell.
“You should enjoy your night,” Glorfindel said as a few of the company were coaxed into dancing.
Thorin stood, knowing well that for all their dreams and hopes, dragon fire cared for nothing but its own evil intentions. But before he left, he said, “I am honoured by your family joining mine. Long has there been unions between men and elves, glad am I to be a part of a different type of union.”
Glorfindel smiled, and Thorin saw then it was not merely the colour of his hair or the hue of the flowers that had grown over his resting place that had given him the description of golden.
“Glad am I to have lived so long to meet you, King Thorin Oakenshield, to know the dwarf who bright to my line such joy of heart.”
Thorin bowed and did not linger as he found his One dancing with Dwalin.
He did not hesitate to push Dwalin aside, causing both cousin and hobbit to laugh.
But Bilbo fell into Thorin's arms without complaint, resting against his chest as they spun to the music.
“What's wrong?” Bilbo asked, gazing up at him, his curls held back by the braids Thorin placed there each morning.
“I love you,” was all he could say.
Love in the face of fear for dragon fire.
Love for joy that if they survived this, they would grow old together.
It was a hope, a promise between them.
Bilbo smiled up at him, a smile as golden as the Lord of Golden Flowers.
oOo
Glorfindel was working hard not to lock his sons and their kin up in the dungeon to keep them safe from their foolish ambitions.
But he had over stepped enough, and a part of him knew that this was the will of the Valar.
Glorfindel did not acknowledge Thranduil when he approached.
“What can I do to mend things between us?” the king asked.
Glorfindel did not look at him as he said, “Ready your armies. Killing the dragon will be a matter of stealth but the evil that will follow afterwards will not be. An army of orcs gathers in the north and Mordor’s forces march west to flank Dain's forces fighting south of the Iron Hills. That western force will pivot north as soon as wings carry the news of the dragon's death.”
“How fortunate a western assault brings them closer to our borders,” Thranduil mused.
Glorfindel took in a long breath before meeting Thranduil’s gaze. “I respect you. I consider you a friend. I know your fear of the drakes runs deep and you live in a forest easily burned.”
They had both seen the ground charred beyond recognition, all thought of green and trunk burned to ash and coal beneath fire and the carnage of war.
“You were wrong not to give them aid, even if your fear for not fighting evil could be overlooked,” Glorfindel said.
Thranduil sighed, “King Thror had broken the treaty–”
“And you broke with common descentency,” Glorfindel snapped. “You turned your back on the light and the cost of that was the darkening of not only your heart but your forest. Do you think this is just about the dwarrow regaining their lost gold? This is the fate of all Middle Earth, a symptom of a greater darkening. Your son and mine are the last of the new light of the elves. And you have made yourself and our people ever closer to that fading light, to the surrender of our ways to the fickle whims of men and the growing darkness.”
Thranduil stared at him, “It was foretold that the elves would depart across the sea.”
“Not this day,” Glorfindel said harshly, feeling the cooling of his own light spark back to wrathful heat. “And not the next, death and war are not the end. We have each other, the light of Valar has not forsaken us, only will to embrace it.”
Thranduil sighed, gaze drifting toward his people, “Galadriel said that about you and the Lady Arwen, that the light in you both burned brighter than those before because of your love not as it once was but because of how it is and might one day become.”
Glorfindel had no response for that for Elrond had told him the same, that his magic was born from the love of the moment. Few humans ever learned that love for it was not the best way to survive, elves looked too far in the past, dwarrow lacked perspective, and hobbits, well they often did not wonder at the world as much as they enjoyed their day-to-day lives.
Glorfindel was immortal and twice born, his heart still belonged to a hobbit lass who had seen in everyone and everything the light and blessings of the world. His love for her had taught him gratitude.
“I've long thought to abdicate,” Thranduil went on.
Glorfindel blinked at the change of subject, “Pardon?”
“I've long thought to abdicate, though I know my son is not ready and I knew of no other that had either the strength to rule my people nor their love to follow them.”
“You wish to sail?”
“No, I wish to travel freely with my son, knowing that my people are taken care of.”
“Have you asked–”
“I am asking you,” Thranduil cut in. “You who lead the defeat of the enemy in our lands and you who healed this forest so it may be the Greenwood again. My people adore you and the trees speak to you in voices I long feared silent.”
Glorfindel was at a loss for words.
“All that you have said is correct, and you are right, I acted without compassion. And that lack of compassion has led my people from wildness to cruelty. To apathy. Your line continues to love and grow, that is what I wish for my people, and like King Thror, I've grown too old for change.”
“I– I could not–”
“Could not become King to the kingdom closest to Erebor? Closest to where your sons live and your hobbits will soon reside? In these past years, my people have looked to you more than they have to me.”
“I don't know what to say.”
“Say nothing,” Thranduil answered. “Listen to the forest, then you will know what is to be done.”
And with that, Thranduil glided away to enjoy the festivities while Glorfindel was left flatfooted.
He was certain the rest of his house would be equal parts appalled by his remaining with the woodland elves as they would be amused.
Not many of his house survived but he wondered how many of them could start their lives anew if they travelled east instead of west.
The woodland elves seldom mingled with the others, living in isolation as they did.
Perhaps it was time to change that.
oOo
Frerin worked beside his family in crafting a hundred windlances and three hundred black arrows.
The forges of Mirkwood had likely never known such intensity.
All but Oin and their hobbits joined them. Those who had no skill for wood or blacksmithing kept the fires fed. Those elves who knew what they were doing ended up being a part of the assembly of the windlances.
The designs that Kíli and Fíli had made under Frerin and Dwalin's guidance needed very little adjusting, and that was mainly from the quality of the wood they had at hand.
The elves were judicious for their choices in lumber but it seemed the threat of it all being burned by a dragon made them more willing to prune branches.
Branches that in younger forests would be considered trees, not saplings.
Frerin worked shoulder to shoulder with Kíli as they shaped the wood to even arches, while Thorin and Fíli worked steel into black arrows.
When the dragon laid siege to their mountain, they had not been ready, this would not be the same.
With weapons forged by the heirs of Erebor, Smaug would fall.
oOo
Dís was holding several faunts in her arms as she negotiated with the Thain of the Shire.
Hobbits were both the most stubborn creatures she had ever dealt with and, strangely, the most practical.
Finally, Esmeralda pushed the argument to its end, “What if the dwarrow just moved to the Shire for the winter? It would be a tight fit but it's a better use of resources. We have enough from the last harvest to get us all through the winter and when we do run out there is more game here than in your mountains. Neither of us has the people to risk on the roads in winter and how much for would be greatly limited. Besides, we have the better cooks for rations.”
Gloin's wife had a thing to say about that but Dís cut her off, “I agree. We need food and shelter while your people need protection and workers who can handle the cold for a time. Besides, it would give us time to get to know each other before we travel east in the spring.”
Esmeralda nodded, “Then it's settled.”
Dís smiled, pleased with the people and family her brother had united them with. “So it is.”
She had a feeling, though Thorin may have been the first dwarf to find his One in a halflings heart, but he would not be the last.
Once the winter thawed they would travel east to Erebor together.
oOo
Gandalf was appalled by the forces at Gondor's gates.
The numbers that marched from the south were not unending. But they were ruthless.
This would be a hungry winter as farms were decimated and village after village fled to the protective walls of Gondor.
The beacons that had been lit were for the first wave that help from Lothlorien was able to fight back.
But it was a dark time for the race of men.
oOo
Sonna thought her arrival at the Iron Hills would be a slow adjustment and acceptance. What she hadn't anticipated was the Iron Hills' dire need for medics.
So much so that Sonna was immediately thrown into the war camps and given her own tent.
Estur, her friend who had served with the healers at the end of the Battle of Khuzdum, became Sonna’s assistant.
The forces that tried to travel north seemed to beat endlessly against the the line of dwarrow. Despite their malice and evil, these orcs were oddly untried and unskilled. It seemed as if they spawned from Mordor and instantly were given crude weapons to march north.
Few were trained and fewer still had armour. They were easier, the soldiers told her, to kill than goblins.
But the enimies’ numbers were disheartening.
It was said that a tower was being built, that Sauron was awake and active once more.
But by Mahal, it would not be the dwarrow who retreated from this rising evil.
And after months of fighting, Mordor's fledgling armour fled west, away from the Iron Hills.
When the ravens came from Erebor, Dain's forces were weary, however, Sonna and Estur had every intention of answering their kin’s plea for aid.
oOo
Bilbo dreamed of ash.
He dreamed of the party tree burning, of his people enslaved.
And a great eye.
Burning and burning.
Bilbo felt fire in his lungs and a promise of gold in the distance.
A simple band of gold that anchored him, that stayed cold while the rest of the world burned.
That band of gold promised to save him, save his people, his dwarves, the elves in the forest… if only he would—
Bilbo woke with a gasp.
“ Bilbo,” Thorin said, relieved.
He had a moment to realise the horrors he had seen had just been a dream.
A nightmare.
It must have been the stress, but Bilbo didn't hesitate to throw himself into his dwarf’s arms, bursting into uncontrollable sobs that ripped out from him.
Thorin wrapped him in his warm arms, holding him tightly to his hairy chest as he sang something in dwarf that began to settle the primal fear that had stolen into Bilbo.
“What's wrong?” Thorin asked, kissing the crown of Bilbo's head.
“I don't know,” Bilbo said.
“Is it the dragon?” Thorin asked. “I told you, we can find another way to draw the wyrm out.”
Bilbo shuddered when he remembered the flames. “No. It isn't the dragon.” He swallowed hard, “But Thorin?”
“Yes, my One?”
“I am afraid of what comes after.”
Thorin leaned down to press their foreheads together, “Whatever comes, we will face it together?”
“You promise?” Bilbo asked, perhaps the most childish question he had asked since the death of his mother.
Thorin kissed him, soft and sweet before meeting his gaze. “I promise.”
Bilbo wasn't able to sleep for the rest of the night. A pity, seeing as it was the most comfortable bed he would have in many, many months to come, yet he wouldn’t have traded those quiet hours he spent with his Heartsong for anything. Not when it was last memories he could cling in times of peril with neither regret nor doubt poisoning their trust in one another.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, border collie prayers, or reactions, pretty please?
Chapter 25: Dragon Fire
Chapter Text
AN: Sending love to all my west coast folks who are dealing with real life dragon fire! Hope you, your families, friends, and family pets are safe and breathing alright <3
Tolkien: I twist a bunch more quotes from the book in here.
P.S. I wrote this and edited this on my phone. Hope you enjoy the content of this story.
Chapter 25 - Dragon Fire
Given the great dislike most men had for dwarrow, it was Glorfindel, Legolas, Bilbo, and Saradoc who went to Laketown as the windlances were prepared on chariots designed for stealth and speed. Chariots that were remnants of old wars the elves had kept deep in their old armories, with a bit of dwarvish mending they were functional enough to be put on boats and carry out their plan.
Bilbo was happy to have his father with him as the townsfolk emerged to gawk at them.
“Who are you?” a man with a trim brown beard and princely baring asked, stepping forward from the crowd.
He was not finely dressed, but he reminded Bilbo of Thorin and his instinct was to respect him.
He seemed the sort that Estel might get on with.
Bilbo cleared his throat, “We are representatives of the elvish House of the Golden Flowers and Prince Legolas of the Greenwood, at your service.”
“You are no elf,” the man remarked. “And though your hair is braided, you're no dwarf either.”
Bilbo smiled his best charming Sunday tea smile, “No, indeed, I am Bilbo Baggins, Consort to the dwarvish King of Erebor, Thorin Oakenshield son of King Thrain, son of King Thror. I, and my cousin, Saradoc Brandybuck, are hobbits of the Shire, or as you may have heard in tales, halflings from the Kindly West.”
Bilbo was well aware he was buttering them up, but it was imperative they saw him as having some authority.
As he was likely to die by dragon fire, along with their town if their arrows failed, at least his sacrifice might earn his husband some sympathy.
The crowd broke into many excited exclamations, chief among them were of the return of the King of Silver Fountains, which was a rather pretty title, Bilbo very much liked.
“You plan to wake the dragon,” the man said.
“We plan to kill the dragon,” Legolas replied.
The elves had warned that the Master of Laketown was sloven creature who cared for no one but himself, they were here to talk to the people, not their tyrant.
“And what plan is that?” the man asked, crossing his arms as three children peeked around his shoulders, the youngest girl grabbing his coat to hold onto.
Bilbo softened at the way the man allowed his children to be so close to him even while negotiating something so potentially political.
“And what is your name?”
“Bard,” he said shortly, placing a hand on his daughter's head.
Bilbo smiled and bowed, “Our plan begins with evacuating your town. Even if we succeed in killing Smaug, an army from Mordor marches this way and water will not delay them long.”
“And take us where?” Bard asked. “We have nowhere to go.”
“To the Greenwood,” Prince Legolas said. “My father has promised all who make the journey now that they will be granted shelter and food through the winter. The woodland and the dwarves of Erebor have promised to help you rebuild Dale if you but trust this offer.”
“What do you gain from this?” an old woman shouted. “What do we have to offer the elves?”
Glorfindel spoke, “It is not what you have to offer, it is what we owe to your ancestors and grandparents, who perished in Dale when forced to face a reminiant of evil alone.
Gondor is under siege as we speak and Mordor's forces gather more strength each day. In the face of such ancient enemies, it is imperative the free peoples of Middle Earth support one another.”
Bard stared at the elf lord then at Bilbo, “You swear this, Consort of Erebor?”
“I swear it upon Yavanna's blessings that what we offer is true.”
“Then we all need to go,” Bard said.
“We won't be starving through the winter with the elves!” the old lady declared, a bit giddily.
Happy murmers echoed followed halted by a winded greasy man shoving through the crowd, “You are not the Master, Bard! No one is going anywhere until we’ve spoken to the Master!”
“He's the last descendant of the Lord of Dale,” Legolas cut in. “A city which is to be rebuilt, no one here need follow the Master of Laketown if they are not the people of Esgaroth but the Men of Dale.”
A cheer went up.
The greasy man was consumed with such a rage as to be spitting as he spoke, “The proud men of rubble and dragon ash, you mean.”
One of the women who the greedy fellow had shoved, got her revenge by shoving the man, if you could call the spineless worm that, into the gap between docks. He came up spluttering from the freezing water with expletives that incurred much laughter from the townsfolk.
Bilbo saw then for himself just how much the Master was loathed here and, contrary wise, how respected Bard was.
By nightfall, nearly everyone was safely ashore and being ushered into King Thranduil's Kingdom.
The people brought only things most precious to them. Herbsellers, clothes makers, and blanket merchants gave away their stock, distributing it freely amongst those climbing into boats. When you had little there seemed plenty to go around. There were pitiful amounts of food to share so only the unspoiled supplies were taken by individuals.
In doing this the evacuation was rather quick and elves on the bank were quick to help the old, sick, and young.
The opposite was true of those who remained loyal to the Master, which was almost no one. The Masters barge particularly sunk with the weight of gold painstakingly unloaded from his private treasury.
When, or rather, if, they made it to shore without sinking with the gold, the way to the Woodland Kingdom would be obscured to them.
Bard brought with him the last Black Arrow of Girion and his son who assured them all that there was a chipped scale in the dragon’s armour. Bard and his son would be given their own windlance on Ravenhill.
oOo
Bilbo and Saradoc took Gandalf's warnings to heart, except for the one about waiting for him to enter the mountain.
If smell was the thing that was going to tip the dragon off then they made sure to bathe with pure vinegar, not something the elves used much. They used it to clean themselves with, as well as their clothes and the fleet footed horse they rode. Rinsing off in a near freezing stream, they wouldn't smell like much of anything at all that could be familiar to the dragon.
Men and dwarves weren't excelty sweat adverse and the elves smelled of earthen perfumes and finer scents.
Freshly bathed hobbits who may smell a bit like vinegar, the favoured cleaning product of the Shire, and vaguely of wet horse would hopefully peak the dragon’s interest enough not to be toasted on sight.
It was a painful thing to not give Thorin a farewell kiss or a final hug goodbye to Fíli and the rest of the company, but they were determined to outwit this baraberic lizard.
As the others made their way to Ravenhill, Saradoc and Bilbo went alone to the Lonely Mountain.
Saradoc groaned when he found the stairs, “Why did they make it so difficult? They made this all as if they were giants. They aren't that much taller than us!”
Bilbo patted his shoulder before clasping his hands to offer his friend a boost up.
Saradoc put his foot in Bilbo’s hand and climbed up the “step”.
Then Sara pulled Bilbo up.
And so they went.
Bilbo was the one to make the jumps when they got to the point of the geometric patterned steps. He grunted when close to the top, he nearly slipped.
Sara yelped but Bilbo managed to pull himself up, the setting sun the only motivation he needed.
That, and his aversion to death.
Sara put extra effort into clearing the jump, knocking Bilbo down as he overshot the gap.
Bilbo groaned, “I miss Thorin.”
“Me too,” Sara panted, offering Bilbo a hand up. “For beings who live underground, it seems the dwarrow have no fear of heights.”
“Dwarrow are insane,” Bilbo agreed as they hurried along the statue that hopefully led to the secret door.
“Speaking of your insane king, did you talk about having faunts with him? Everyone in the Shire knows how much you wanted more, including Frodo.”
Bilbo, tired, hungry, and anxious of their trials ahead, couldn’t help but smile broadly, “We did.”
“And?” Saradoc said as they made it off the statue to a set of truly hellish steps along the cliff.
Bilbo paused, “He said we could plant as many as I wanted.”
Sara pulled him into a hug and spoke the Green Speach blessing of hopeful parents.
Roughly, it translated to; May Yavanna bless your future, may Mahal shelter you, may the sun shine, may the rains be sweet, may your love grow deep, and your hopes grow toward the stars. May all these blessings bloom for love.
Bilbo hugged him back and was forced to wipe away tears. He had believed himself too old to find love and start a family beyond adopting more children.
Not that he was opposed to the latter notion, however, he had always wanted a large family and the idea of raising faunts or dwarflings from blossom to bark brought such joy to his heart.
The terrible stairs led them to a wall, a blank wall.
They spent two hours frantically looking for a keyhole, and as the sunlight began to wane, panic gave way to despair.
Bilbo repeated the map’s rhyme in its entirety aloud, “Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks, and the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole.”
He and Sara came to the same realisation at the same moment; “It’s a riddle!”
“The last light,” Bilbo said, watching the sun dip below the horizon.
“The last light!” Saradoc exclaimed.
Bilbo got it a moment later and again they spoke in unison.
“The moon!”
They laughed, and there were a few more tears on Bilbo’s part, having feared so greatly failing his Heartsong.
Bilbo laid back on the ground, “Oh my, I don’t know how I could have faced Thorin again when I was the one to convince him not to come.”
Sara laid down beside him as they took the time to rest as they waited for the moon to shine, “He would have forgiven you, but you don’t have to worry about that now. You can save your worry for the dragon.”
Bilbo huffed a laugh, “You still have that elvish rope?”
Sara lifted it up into the air, “Yep! We’re insane.”
Bilbo made a raspberry like Frodo had been prone to do when he was little, “I can’t imagine angering a dragon will be all that difficult.”
Sara sighed, “This is why your one ended up being a dwarf.”
“Oh please, Esmeralda isn’t less capable of insanity.”
“Esmeralda has more sense then us and the Company put together.”
Bilbo paused, “I don’t think that’s an impressive compliment.”
Sara waved a hand, “Don’t bother me with semantics, Baggins.”
Bilbo laughed, “It only took the prospect of dragon fire to weather away the respectful addresses, I see.”
Sara grabbed Bilbo’s hand, and Bilbo turned his head to meet the other hobbit’s gaze, “Before we die, I want you to know how much I respect you, Uncle Bilbo, and how glad I am that I can call you kin.”
Bilbo squeezed his hand back, “Said the bravest hobbit I’ve ever met.”
Sara snorted, “I’m not that brave.”
“Aren’t you? I’m part elf and have travelled and killed before this journey, while the furtherest you’ve ever travelled was Bree. No, Saradoc Brandybuck, you are brave and Merry will know his father was the one to earn our people a new home.”
Sara smiled, “I hope we live. I miss him so much.”
Bilbo’s heart clenched as he thought of his Frodo.
Fíli had grown and Bilbo was so proud of the dwarf he had become. Frodo was still so young and Bilbo could only pray the elves let him know how much he was loved.
His heart was at peace knowing that at least his youngest son was safe with the elves and that his oldest would be protected by his dwarvish kin.
oOo
Frodo wasn't sure if Uncle Bilbo knew where he was if he would be forgiven.
Or rather, if he would forgive Lord Elrond.
For they hadn't stayed in Rivendell.
Needing every healer that could be spared, Bilbo had gone with a troop of elves including Lord Elrond to Gondor where they treated the sick and injured.
Uncle Bilbo would be appalled by the rationed meals he and Sam were enduring, but how could Frodo regret his choices?
If Gondor fell, there would be no safe passage to Erebor come spring for either the dwarrow of Ered Luin or the hobbits of the Shire.
Frodo may not be in line for Thrain, but he was a healer and Estel was a family friend.
How could he not answer when aid was asked for?
Somehow, he wasn't sure Uncle Bilbo would see it that way.
oOo
Bilbo and Sara gagged when they entered the passage to Erebor.
Dragons did not smell well, a bit like ripe eggs and a chimney that was in need of cleaning.
They got over the smell relatively soon, and after one last farewell to one another, they parted ways. Bilbo took the stairs down and Sara took the stairs.
Knowing the vague layout of the place thanks to Thorin, though his love had failed to impress upon them how large each of these spaces would be, crept into position.
The dragon, an enormous bat winged monstrosity of red and gold scales laid curled on the most expensive bed of gold and gem in all Middle Earth.
Hobbits were quiet creatures, and where Bilbo made some sound over the loose coins, Sara made none as he scaled to a higher vantage point.
Bilbo saw what had to be the Arkenstone laid too close to the dragon’s hind leg.
It was a trap.
It had to be a trap, one Bilbo needed to, against his every instinct, spring.
He moved slowly, the tinkle of coins at each step no more than shower of coins caused by the dragons every breathe or dreamful shift in his sleep.
When Bilbo reached the stone, he was quick to scoop up and hide it away in his pocket.
The dragon inhaled sharply but did not open its eyes.
Bilbo slowly retreated backwards, only to slip and stumble back, falling with a mound of shifting gold, head over heels.
Practically swimming through gold, Bilbo was able to get behind a pillar just as the dragon's eyes snapped open.
As keen as the dragon's sight was, even Smaug seemed to need a moment for his eyes to focus.
When the dragon spoke, its words rumbled like thunder through the grand halls of Erebor.
"Well, thief! I smell you and I feel your air. I hear your breath. Come along, thief in the shadows!"
Bilbo was not quite so unlearned in dragon-lore as all that, and if Smaug hoped to get him to come nearer so easily he would be disappointed.
"No thank you, O Smaug the Tremendous!" he replied, throwing his voice as he had with goblins in the Misty Mountains. "I did not come for presents. I only wished to have a look at you and see if you were truly as great as tales say. I did not believe them."
"Did you now?" said the dragon somewhat flattered, even though he likely did not believe a word of it.
"Truly songs and tales fall utterly short of the reality, O Smaug the Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities," Bilbo flattered shamelessly.
He needed to live long enough to insult it.
"You have nice manners for a thief and a liar," said the dragon. "You seem familiar with my name, but I don't seem to remember smelling you before. Who are you and where do you come from, may I ask?"
"You may indeed! I come from under the hill, and under the hills and over the hills my paths led. I am he that grows rosemary in the spring and belladonna when the children are away."
"A gardener," said Smaug, sounding amused. "But that is hardly your usual name.”
"I am a son of two fathers before my mother knew me, an uncle of many though no brother or sisters have I, and a father myself of two though before I was wed."
Smaug’s tail swished, “A big family, how quaint.”
Feeling the dragon's impatience, Bilbo pushed himself to talk more poetically, “I am he too small to ride horses, yet have ridden with kings, he who has flown with eagles, and spoken with trees. I am potion maker, riddler, and a singer of the Golden Flowers.”
"Lovely titles!" sneered the dragon.
“I came from the end of a bag, but no bag can hold me. A meal maker and bear friend.”
Smaug laughed, "Don't let your imagination run away with you!"
This of course is the way to talk to dragons, if you don't want to reveal your proper name (which is wise), and don't want to infuriate them by a flat refusal (which is also very wise).
No dragon can resist the fascination of riddling talk and of wasting time trying to understand it.
There was a lot here which Smaug did not understand at all but he thought he understood enough, and he chuckled in his wicked inside.
"Are you friends of men then? For you smell of water," the dragon's tone implied he was smiling to himself. "Lake-men, some nasty scheme of those miserable tub-trading Lake-men, or I'm a lizard. I haven't been down that way for an age and an age; but I will soon alter that!"
Bilbo took a breath before writing his own end, he would never get to see Frodo again. And he would be leaving Fíli and Thorin behind.
Tonight, their family would burn and not grow.
“Then you must be a lizard by your own words,” Bilbo said boldly, allowing his voice to move away from where he thought Sara would likely be. “For I have no friends from Esgoroth.”
He might have helped save them but knowing someone for a few hours didn't necessarily mean friendship.
The dragon hissed, the room heating up from his foul breath alone. “Then dwarf friend I name you, for you must have been paid to come here. What did they offer you? A share of the treasure? If you have travelled from so far away as you have implied then know it was lies they promised. Some share of the treasure could never be carried home to you. It could not be stolen from me and they would not share it if they could.”
“Wrong again!” Bilbo sing-songed. “I was paid nothing. I am here of my own free will unbought and never to be paid.”
Sara was the one who had traded something for the contract. Any wealth Bilbo might have earned was going to Dís and thus staying with the line of Durin.
"Very well, then a friend of elves,” the dragon ventured. “The Mirkwood King finally grew a spine, or died, and now his foolish son dares to see if I still breathe.”
“Nope,” Bilbo said cheerily, though it was on a technicality.
Bilbo was an elf-friend, but his being son of an elf lord of a great elven house superseded such a title.
He was rightfully elf-kin.
Smaug snarled but he seemed interested as he swung his head from side to side trying to locate where the hobbit's voice was coming from.
With two hobbits sneaking about, his smell trail was partially obstructed, though it would likely only be a matter of time until Bilbo was found out.
“Then what are you?” Smaug asked bluntly. “For I've never smelled your kind before.”
“I am the forgotten folk who wandered these lands before any took notice. My kind no Valar has fought over or fought against.”
“Too small for my kind to take note of,” rumbled Smaug. “I admit, long have a lived that the chance to encounter something new is quite the novelty. Come into the light so that I may see whether you are man, dwarf, or elf, or something altogether as other as your smell.”
“Though I came to look upon you,” Bilbo ventured, projecting his voice no longer as he was certain now that Smaug had correctly guessed his location. “But I am truly small and have no defense against your fire.”
“You have earned my interest, that you may look without retribution. A thief will burn, but I will allow an admirer.”
The Arkenstone hung heavy in Bilbo's pocket as he tucked his braid back with ribbon to hide Thorin's bead.
Bilbo stepped around the pillar, the coins like bells or rain against a tin feed trough.
Smaug stared at him, then lowered his head so Bilbo stood even with the great lizard's pupil.
He had never felt so small.
So insignificant.
And whatever magic dragons had, Bilbo felt spellbound.
If Smaug had asked Bilbo in that moment to walk down the dragon's throat, he might have.
But then the dragon sniggered, “A child? One of the wee folk? The fairies? No, the halflings, too shy to fight, too small to be worth hunting. I've heard of your kind, the children who age but remain ever children though you breed and propagate. I thought you a myth.” He laughed again, leaning in to sniff. “Clean thing you are, despite your hairy feet.”
“That's actually a compliment to my people.”
The dragon rumbled, sitting back to spread his wings, “And what compliments would you pay me, halfling? As you can see with your own eyes, though they are puny, that my armour is like tenfold shields, my teeth are swords, my claws spears, the shock of my tail a thunderbolt, my wings a hurricane, and my breath death!"
"I have always understood," said Bilbo in a frightened squeak, "that dragons were softer underneath, especially in the region of the—er— chest; but doubtless one so fortified has thought of that."
The dragon stopped short in his boasting. "Your information is antiquated," he snapped. "I am armoured above and below with iron scales and hard gems. No blade can pierce me."
"I might have guessed it," said Bilbo. "Truly there can nowhere be found the equal of Lord Smaug the Impenetrable. What magnificence to possess a waistcoat of fine diamonds!"
"Yes, it is rare and wonderful, indeed," said Smaug absurdly pleased.
The dragon rolled over. "Look!" he said. "What do you say to that?"
"Dazzlingly marvellous! Perfect!
Flawless! Staggering!" exclaimed Bilbo aloud, but what he thought inside was: Old fool! Why, there is a large patch in the hollow of his left breast as bare as a snail out of its shell.
Surely of the three hundred black arrows newly forged, one would find its mark.
“And here the wizard told me you were but a lesser drake, smallest of your malivalant kin,” Bilbo baited, trusting that Sara had had some time to get in position.
The dragon's gayety dried in a huff of pretrid smoke, “What did you say? What wizard?”
“The rainbow one,” Bilbo bluffed. He was sure Saruman was arrogant enough to speak ill of a drake he had no intentions of facing, he just hadn't heard it himself. “But worry not, he was slain by the Eagles of Manwë for his numerous insults to innumerable parties.”
Smaug hesitated, unsure if he was meant to be insulted or not, but of course he decided to be insulted, he was, after all, a dragon.
Smaug lowered his head and breathed in deeply, “What is you carry, Thief in the Shadows? For I know already you've stolen the King's Bane, that which drove Thror the Mad King… mad. However, you carry something with you that was not yet mine. For I know every piece of treasure, down to the last gemstone, the last copper coin, and the thing you carry… It is made of gold, but far more… precious.”
Bilbo's nightmares of gold and the Shire burning flashed through his mind and he was suddenly more afraid than he had ever been, not of the great beasts whose nostrils were larger than front door of Bag End, nor of the glowing heat rising from the dragon's gullet and throat.
No, Bilbo was afraid of the ring he kept in his pocket that the dragon would name the same as that creature wasting away in the dark.
A ring more precious than gold.
“I heard Smaug was nothing more than a witless wyrm!” A voice cried out from an above balcony, saving Bilbo from an immanent fiery death he was only half paying attention to.
Poor Smaug turned toward the voice by which point Saradoc had already pitched what appeared to be a golden pitchfork, which Bilbo only knew through stories was likely called a triton.
He had never seen anyone actually use a triton before. But he had seen many a pitchfork competition that Saradoc had become a champion of.
Being a gold sick dragon, Smaug watched the glint of gold that sparkled in the fire light the dragon himself emitted.
Smaug did not have enough time to realise it was a weapon until it plunged deeply into his left eye.
Smaug may have been a giant, but even a needle in one’s eye could be debilitating.
Smaug screamed, the roar shaking the foundation of the very bedrock of the Lonely Mountain.
Piles of gold began to avalanche and much as the could on the slopes of the Misties at the end of the winter.
Bilbo took a shield from the pile and tebogganed his way down the riches of Erebor as Smaug breathed fire upward at an unseen target.
Bilbo could only pray that Sara was running.
The movement of treasure all around the dragon's horde covered the sound of Bilbo's movements as he sped across the great chamber.
oOo
Sara had no idea where he was going in his panic but he knew he didn't want to end up trapped, so he sprinted like the men’s starved hounds were nipping at his heels.
Hobbits were not as fast as elves nor as hardy as dwarrow, but when panicked, they were nearly as fleet footed as the brown wizard’s rabbits.
Which was good as the dragon’s stride was immense and the dragon’s fire was, well, no rabbit was likely to outrun it.
But the pain from a stabbed eye was nothing to sniff at, and Smaug must have been forced to stop to pull the golden pitchfork out, for he stopped and sound of a metal rod was heard after another heart stopping roar of pain.
It had been stupidly fancy and ornate pitchfork held by a statue in one of the upper halls still within the dragon's sight. Bilbo's distraction had worked perfectly.
It had been odd to find a familiar farmer’s tool portrayed as a warrior's weapon rather than a tool designed for hay and pony dung, but highly convenient for Sara's purposes.
He didn't think his aim would be that true despite all the ribbons he had won in his life.
Smaug roared his rage again.
Saradoc found himself in a carven of unimaginable magnitude. He ducked behind some round pillar that was neither a pillar nor fountain, covering his mouth to try and hide the gasping sounds his breaths made.
Hobbits, like bunnies, were rather good at this.
“Where are you roddent?” the drake coaxed with a magic laced growl. “Did you think you could slay me? Do you think something as lowly, and insignificant, as you could kill me? I do not know your smell, but I will burn down the west to avenge myself. I will find your holes and burn you out, so no one will ever question my might again.”
Sara said nothing even as tears leaked down his face as he imagined Merry and Esmeralda face to face with this scaly beast.
Smaug was the antithesis of everything a hobbit was meant to be.
Still, Sara yelled in fright as jets of flame bathed the carven. Clapping both hand over his mouth to hold back the sobs, he tried to focus on the steady thrum of Esmeralda's heartbeat against his own.
Forever together, until the end which even so far apart, they would enter Yavanna's great gardens together.
He wasn’t hit directly, but he felt as if he had fallen into an oven.
There was a new whooshing sound that followed the dragon's flames, one that repeated down the room. And the entire carvonous hall felt hotter, as if the mere idea of cold were being expelled from reach.
Sara looked up, and for a moment didn’t understand what he was looking at.
He had seen forges before, but that didn’t prepare him for the size of these. The pits seemed to light from within, one after another, connected somehow through dwarven innovation.
The dragon hissed, before asking in a thundering voice, “Where are you, little rabbit? Where are you quivering?”
Sara closed his eyes and prayed to Yavanna and her husband to watch over his son and family.
Yet death passed him by in that moment, thanks to Uncle Bilbo yelling taunts from the opposite direction.
Smaug spun, hissing with viscous intent.
Sara slumped in on himself trying to regather his courage to help Bilbo.
He wasn’t ready when he stood on shaky legs, but he didn’t let that stop him.
After all, it was no small miracle that they weren’t both dead already. They couldn't stop now.
oOo
Bilbo had never used the Green Speech to swear so often in his life, but he couldn’t say he was surprised at the occasion.
Bungo Baggins still may have washed his mouth out with soap, but Belladonna Took likely would have sworn right along with him.
Bilbo didn’t really know what he was doing.
He did have a plan, only, it was a really dumb plan.
Somehow, Sara had managed to hold onto the rope that Samwise had given them.
It had been a very long rope that Estel had gifted Sam, made by the elves after the tween insisted that they couldn't go on an adventure without any good rope. Bilbo had tied it between two pillars leading back out to the treasure room.
Bilbo ducked under it and then hid between the last two pillars on one side, waiting for his stupid plan to either work, or at least that he would be overlooked as the drake passed.
The raven that had been lingering had left to tell the elves that the weakness of the dragon’s scale if Bilbo and Sara managed to coax the dragon out of the mountain, that with any luck would lead Smaug over Raven Hill.
He could hear and feel Smaug charging forward, seething between panted breaths, “THIEVES!”
Then the dragon, who could fly but not in such a narrow(ish) space, tripped over Bilbo’s trap, the sound of the dragon falling caused another avalanche of gold in the room beyond.
Bilbo didn’t hesitate as he sprang from his hiding spot in the shadows just as Smaug’s head fell forward.
He was on the dragon’s good side, so when Bilbo charged, his elven blade held high, Smaug, the Desolation, saw him coming.
The Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, Master of Bag End, Son of Belladonna, Bungo, and Lord Glorfindel of the Golden Flowers, would be the last thing Smaug, the Greatest of Calamities would ever see.
Bilbo jumped, and used his own body weight to drag the blade through that great amber eye.
Smaug’s bellow was so loud, Bilbo feared he would lose the ability to hear altogether.
He did not release his sword when the dragon shook his head and thus Bilbo found himself covered head to hairy toe in liquid dragon-eye jelly as he was thrown into the piles of gold below.
Smaug breathed fire, and only gravity saved Bilbo from being incinerated midair.
Still, he did not escape the flames entirely
The agony of burning overwhelmed his every thought and sense.
If he had any room left in his lungs for voice, he would have screamed when he hit the heated coins that sizzled against his exposed skin.
Unconsciousness was the greatest gift he could have wished for as clawed foot created a wave of gold that buried him whole.
oOo
Saradoc screamed along with the dragon as Bilbo was thrown and then toasted.
Sara had seen the trap, thought it was among the stupidest plans they had come up with, awed that it had worked, and horrified by the results of Bilbo bodily attacking the dragon.
He thought his uncle was dead.Bilbo’s whined sound of pain cutting short when his body struck against coins.
Saradoc froze as it seemed the dragon had finished the job of murdering the hobbit by stepping on him.
Smaug took a running start as he broke through the front gate of Erebor to take flight into the star-filled night.
Sara was too concerned with digging his uncle out of the gold to watch the arrows that pierced the dragon.
Flying low, Smaug hadn't stood a chance of surviving his exit from the mountain, not with his great eyes closed, rendered blind by two foolishly determined hobbits.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, paraguay jaguars, or feedback, pretty please?
Chapter 26: Blessing of All Blessings
Chapter Text
AN: Do not comment on my puppy who I just put down but I want to thank everyone who has been interacting with this story, I love you all, you’re a huge boost to my mental health.
Please do comment on this chapter that I’m using to cope. I think next chapter will have dwarven political drama so if there is anything you want to see there, I’m open to suggestions or requests.
WARNING: Discussion and descriptions of being burned alive. I move on pretty quickly though.
Chapter 26 - Blessings of All Blessings
He could hear the dragon’s passage out of Erebor, crashing down the front gaits as it flew out to get his vengeance.
Sara scrambled down the steps calling out for Bilbo, but there was no answer.
Half afraid the dragon would turn back around, Sara stopped calling out as he searched the gold for Bilbo.
Frantic, the minutes of searching dragged on like hours, his breath growing shorter and shorter until he felt very much like a hyperventilating bunny.
He was starting to both hate the comparison and understand it too well.
But then Sara saw a piece of Bilbo’s coat, and he cried out as he made to dig him out.
Saradoc had never hated gold so much in his life than when he saw the stuff falling on the burns on Bilbo’s left side.
It was bad, not bone deep, but deep enough that Sara didn’t know if it could be healed or if the harm alone would kill him.
Who was he kidding, Bilbo resembled a strip of chicken someone forgot to turn over the fire at the end of a party night.
He wasn't a healer but even he knew the chances of infection were high, especially with his clothes melted into the flesh.
He held a hand over Bilbo’s pulse on the right side of his neck, feeling for a heartbeat despite seeing Bilbo's pain-rattled breaths.
It was intolerable.
“Help,” Sara chirped. Not caring about the dragon any longer, he raised his voice and cried, “ Help! PLEASE! Please help!”
But no one was close, that's how they had planned it.
Saradoc clung to Bilbo's hand and began to sob uselessly.
He had just successfully injured a dragon and lured it to its death, he, Saradoc Brandybuck, a simple nobody-hobbit of the Shire.
But as he clung to his uncle's hand, he could do nothing but cry.
He would see his wife and son again, he would get to hold them close and tell them how much he loved them and how greatly he had missed them.
But Bilbo might not. It wasn't fair.
If Sara was the one who had been injured then Uncle Bilbo could have helped him.
Incapable of remaining still and feeling sorry any longer, he stood, trying to think of some way to get help to them sooner.
Thinking of how helpful it would be if Gandalf was still with them, Sara remembered what Aunt Primula had taught him about what she had learned from the wizard.
Surely the dwarves would have the needed materials.
Careful not to shift the gold around Bilbo as he made his way back to the forge.
Despite not being able to read the labels, he found a workstation that had many refined powders and flammables. The iron shavings were particularly easy to find as there seemed to be a whole bin of it tucked away.
Even finding a proper pipe and makeshift shell wasn't too difficult once he dug under the work table. He used his undershirt as a wick. As ripped the cotton he prayed it wouldn't explode in his hand.
Running back to the entry hall, he was sure to pick a place far from Bilbo. Saradoc jammed the pipe into a mound of gold, using the treasure as stone gravel to keep the pipe in place. He pointed it toward the hole the dragon had made to exit the Lonely Mountain.
He lit the cotton he left sticking out the bottom of the pipe with flint. It took a few tries before it caught, Sara ran, sliding down the hills of treasure.
The sound of the explosion was raucous in the echoing hall and he was afraid he failed as he closed his eyes against the sound. But when he looked up, he saw the desired sparkling lights in the sky.
Belladonna Took Baggins may have been the Old Took’s favourite daughter, however, Primula and Esmeralda were two of his favourite grandchildren. They had passed down the lore of how to make the wizards whiz poppers.
Sara didn’t do half bad, he thought as he watched the fall of gold and silver sparks.
He could only pray help would come as he worried at Bilbo’s side.
oOo
The waking of the dragon could be felt through the stone beneath their feet.
Ravenhill was in repair and the company had carried two windlances up to the watchtowers. The man, Bard, went with them as the elves scattered themselves in the shadows of the desolation. Kíli was operating the other windlance as the company waited anxiously for the wyrm to leave its horde.
Thorin squeezed down on the stone rail, so close to home, yet so far from his One who had clearly succeeded in waking the drake.
“He sounds angry,” Frerin noted, having more reason than most to hate and fear Smaug.
After an agonizing amount of time, that could just as easily been days as minutes, a great force broke through the stone front gates.
The dwarrow held onto the wall as they felt the mountain heave, repelled and further injured by the parasite that had infected it.
Thorin could only marvel at how big the wyrm was, bigger than his memories of him had been.
Smaug seemed oddly graceless as his batlike wings beat down pushing him upwards into the sky. Yet his ascent left a trail of sparkles as gems and gold fell from the dragon's scales caught like rain by moonlight.
The drake soared low toward Laketown and he swung his head angrily from side to side like a horse trying to shake off a horsefly.
Despite his direction, the wyrm was unsuspecting of the danger that awaited him as he neared Raven Hill.
Bard’s arrow released first.
Glittering leathery wings flapped twice more before gliding over Raven Hill, only to let out a belch of fire as he was pierced by the shadow of an arrow.
Bard’s aim with the windlance proved true, directly through the heart.
A hundred other arrows released, capitalising on the show of weakness. Some of those arrows pinged off the dragon’s armoured scales, while others snagged on the membrane of the dragon’s wings. The elves were swift of aim and keen of eye, and their combined targets of so many black arrows tore through those bleak wings,
Already in descent, Smaug spiralled head-first toward the shore of the lake.
The impact could be felt from Raven Hill.
A fog bloomed where the drake’s body touched the lake, illuminated by silver light as the mist rolled over the ink-black water.
Nothing but the wind was heard as they all waited in silence for the dragon to rise.
He did not.
Smaug was dead.
Thorin was the first to move, taking the steps down two at a time.
He did not hesitate to mount his pony. “Something’s wrong,” he called to the company who had followed after him, before kicking his pony onward.
Glorfindel was the furthest away, closest to Lake Town as a sort of last resort. If the arrows failed, elvish magic might prevail.
They were halfway to the mountain when the singular firework went off. The sound broke the eerie quiet from the dragon’s fall with the uncaring might of a wall stuffed with dynamite.
How odd it was to see the sparks of gold and silver on the eve of their victory.
But Thorin knew from the heaviness of his own heart that the light show was a plea for help, not celebration.
He rode his pony as fast as it was able, flinging himself off its back to climb the rubble that now made up the front gates of Erebor.
He didn’t care that he was at long last home, he didn’t care about the mountains of treasure when he finally stepped foot inside. All the riches of Arda were as worthless to him as rotting autumn leaves presently as it got his way to finding his One.
“Bilbo!” Thorin yelled.
A voice immediately answered but it was not his love’s voice.
“ Help! Over here! Please hurry!”
Thorin was tripping over the cursed gold as he practically swam to get to his One’s side.
Saradoc was in tears when Thorin reached them.
The sight of his One…
Thorin remembered the last day he spent in Erebor, trying to drag his grandfather to safety. Every delay had been fraught with another horror to stoke his nightmares for the decades to come.
In a normal fire, one that took men’s villages or chimney fires in ill-tended forges could be quite frightening, but more often than not it was the smoke that killed, poisoning the lungs and making a clear escape seem impossible.
Dragon fire was different.
The heat of it was unmeasurable, the propellent of flames near inescapable, and the force at which it expelled from the dragon’s gullet was enough to topple castles. Stone did not burn, but that didn’t make it infallible to rapid heat.
When the dragon came, dwarrow were cooked alive or crushed by the explosive impacts that Smaug's fire had caused.
Almost no one who was caught within the blast radius of Smaug’s fire survived. For those who were caught on the edge of it and survived it, they almost always wished that they had not.
If the flames had touched skin, infection was guaranteed, and it was a slow terrible way to die.
In the days that followed after being chased from their homes, the dwarrow of Erebor had had no medicine strong enough to help their kin with the pain.
Many had taken their own lives rather than wait for their bodies to succumb to the inevitable. It was for no one to judge, not when living may only have offered a few days or weeks of misery and torment while burdening their families.
That had been the hardest part, not the terror of the attack, but the sorrows afterwards, their rapid decline when the Lonely Mountain had passed from sight.
Thorin made a sound, a wretched sound that hurt coming out as he fell to his knees beside his love.
The burns covered much of Bilbo’s back and left side, catching across his chest, upper arm, and licking up his neck. The burns were not black, nor bone-deep, but there was dark magic in dragon fire. The puckered skin was discoloured and textured as skin ought not to be.
It wasn’t a disfigurement, but it was so much skin… his clothing melted to him in places… it would… they would have to…
Thorin couldn’t breathe, he knew how burns were treated.
Any hope of survival would require further injury.
Fíli shouted, “ Dah!”
Thorin jerked, hunching over, but not touching Bilbo as he tried to shield him from view.
When he looked back, he saw with relief that Frerin caught their youngest nephew in his arms, holding him back.
Fíli fought against him.
“No!” Frerin said. “You don't need to see him like this.”
“You don't understand! Let me go!”
“I do, namadinùdoy’ . I watched my mother burn when she gave her life for mine. You can't help him.”
Kíli helped Frerin hold Fíli back as Oin looked Bilbo over.
“Pick him up,” the healer snapped at his king.
Thorin shook his head, “I’ll hurt him.”
“Yes, you will,” Oin said without sympathy. “Life, like birth, is painful and ugly. Now, pick him up, I remember the way.”
Thorin shoved his emotions down but couldn’t quite stop his tears when he picked his One up.
Bilbo screamed without waking before the response seemed to exhaust whatever strength he had left and he fell back into a fitful unconsciousness once more.
Doing his best not to hurt his One, Thorin followed after Oin as quickly and smoothly as possible. Bilbo felt lighter and smaller than he had ever done before. It was hard to know that his hobbit had never been so fragile as he was now.
Never so close to death as he was held in Thorin’s arms.
oOo
Oin was single-minded as he treated their burglar, the wounds were bad.
Very bad.
Bringing the hobbit down to one of the medical rooms, this being Erebor, there were clinics all over the mountain for every sector, he instructed the lad be put into one of the river cots.
The river cots were some of the finest inventions Oin had ever seen. The river was filtered through a stone grate, providing clean flowing water to help flush out injuries. Even with a dragon dominating the mountain, the cots remained clean and functional.
The purpose of these was to treat wounds with large amounts of dust particles and burns. As dangerous as blood loss could be, dirt and dust in open wounds could be even more dangerous if they caused infections.
The tools in the infirmary merely needed to be rinsed. The obsidian blades were the sharpest material that could be cut. The scarred bits of skin easily cut away the skin from the hobbit’s flesh.
Bilbo woke up in the middle, and while Oin had some of Bilbo’s medicines left, it wasn’t enough to keep him out, and there was something about burns that were too sharp and persistent a pain to fade away from.
So Saradoc and Thorin held him down as Oin worked and as Bilbo, out of his mind with pain, tried to fight them.
At least the flowing water was probably good for him, so cold as to cause numbing even as he struggled.
Oin worked on, knowing any moment could be the King Consort’s last.
oOo
Thorin soon realised Bilbo thought he was being drowned. Thorin propped a hand under his head which calmed him some but he kept twisting away from Oin. Dwalin and Bofur joined to keep him down while Thorin held his head.
Frerin, Balin, and Kíli had to work together to restrain Fíli from entering the sick room. The others did their best to clean a sick room out where Bilbo might rest after Oin finished with him.
oOo
Dwarves were good with burns, up to a point, but not so much with dragon burns. In fact, having begun his training as a healer’s apprentice at the fall of Erebor, Oin wouldn’t have said there was any chance that Bilbo would survive this.
Like Mordor was he going to tell his king that however.
So Oin worked, and prayed, and did not sleep.
Come dawn, a small party of elves were welcomed into the halls.
Oin would never forget the sound Lord Glorfindel made when he took up his son in his arms with heartbreaking gentleness. The elf began glowing gold as he spoke in an endless stream of elvish. The elf healers had taken over his healing as if Oin were an elfling, and he supposed to them, he was.
The pained expression faded on Bilbo’s face, almost going slack, almost making Oin believe the hobbit had passed on.
But the hobbit kept breathing, and against every odd, remained breathing.
Only then did Oin have time to appreciate that Erebor had been reclaimed, only then did Thorin begin to take charge of what needed to be done, and only then were they able to hear the story Saradoc had to tell about their attempted burglary.
Neither hobbit was a good burglar, but despite being the two unlikeliest of creatures, they made for cunning warriors with courage unparalleled.
Each hobbit had blinded one of the dragon’s eyes, leaving it sightless to the dangers that Bard the Bowman presented on Ravenhill.
No songs were sung in their glory that night as Thorin instructed them to rebuild the gate.
They had no way of knowing that when Bilbo, against every president, woke with every sign of mending, that this time would only be the precipice of their true trials to come.
Perhaps if Oin had registered the weight of Bilbo's clothes when he threw them into a trash bin, things would have been different.
But they would never know, not for many years to come, the coat of what lay forgotten in the medical room, the one King Thorin Oakenshield never returned to.
oOo
Glorfindel kept Bilbo in a healing sleep for weeks as the fevers came and returned, hardly resting or eating himself as he sat in bed with his son curled up at his side.
Dragon fire burns were prone to infection and evil taint.
It took Glorfindel all he had to coax the hobbit’s skin to keep healing. But heal he did, and Glorfindel’s light returned to him ever stronger for the knowledge, for hope fulfilled, that his son would live, that though goodbyes may come, those goodbyes were many years from now.
Thorin sat vigil every night. In those nights, they never spoke to one another, no grievance, no word of comfort, and no fear shared. But sometimes, the king would sing with Glorfindel in his own language, creating a strangely beautiful mix of deep dwarven tones and higher elvish notes.
It was during one of those nights that Bilbo woke, reaching for Thorin's hand and nestling down further into the blankets against Glorfindel, shifting from fever dreams to the deep sleep of those who are finally allowed a respite after a great labour.
Not a word was exchanged that night, yet hobbit, dwarf, and elf were forged as kin by shared hope and prayers to generous gods.
oOo
Fíli worked tirelessly with the others to clean up the entry area and prepare for Dain's army.
Winter was fast approaching and while the elves promised their aid against the forewarned army from Mordor that had fled from Dain's warriors south of the Iron Hills.
The gold was heavy and pretty as it might be, Fíli was well and truly sick of it.
Yet with the elves who lingered as stakeouts and the company, they were able to move the treasures into the treasury. The treasury had been massive enough that the dragon had not shattered the ornate giant doors to empty it.
They separated the artefacts from Dale to be returned to Bard and his family while also setting aside a trust for Dale as a sort of bank for them.
The reality was that poverty would be greatly increased if they flooded the markets with gold and those who were without defense would be targeted by greedy wanderers.
By the time the treasure was moved, they had an estimate as to how much needed rebuilding in the mountain.
The damage was extensive and there were many chambers filled with corpses of dwarrow who had been burned, aspired, or died of starvation. There were likely many more buried beneath rubble and in the mines.
Fíli, Kíli, Ori, Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur, those of them who had not been so actively touched by the horrors of Smaug, found themselves the ones to carry the bodies they found as the others prepared them a proper resting place.
Thorin had them buried beside the royal family, he had said; if I cannot distinguish between queen and minor, let them all be remembered as kings, let Mahal welcome them home with the greatest of love for the sorrows my forefathers’ greed brought down upon them.
Luckily, with the great forges lit by the dragon, the forges stayed lit with little tending, warming the mountain from within which was surely a blessing to Dain's army who arrived with warriors warn from past battles and a rapid march to the mountain.
oOo
Thorin greeted Dain in the rooms the company had claimed for themselves.
It was the royal healers’ wing that had been designed for warrior kings, in times when splendor and security were less appreciated than access to food and the healers. These rooms were centralized so that injured generals could heal in comfort while not needing to travel far to meetings.
In Thorin's childhood, these rooms were only used for the births of nobility. Though the occupants were long gone, the rooms themselves had escaped much damage, lacking any ornamentation of filigree to attract the dragon’s jealousies.
They also suited Thorin just fine to provide for his extended kin and friends who made up the company as well as the families they would bring to Erebor.
The rooms he had been raised in, far removed from even the location of the other nobility, had been completely gutted by Smaug. Thorin did not foresee himself ever returning to them.
Bilbo being so close to the healers could only be a good thing.
Thorin spent his days caught between sitting at Bilbo's bedside and directing the fortification of Erebor and her riches.
It was a relief that by the time Dain showed, the halls had been cleared well enough that restorations could begin as well as camps made inside the mountain.
Dain sat heavily across from Thorin in the dining room just outside Bilbo's chambers.
“Congratulations, Cousin, who knew it would take two halflings to slay a dragon,” Dain said jovially after Balin had caught him up on the retaking of the mountain.
“Hobbits, not halflings, and I suggest you spread that knowledge around. They are, after all, our new neighbours.”
“I can't believe you gave away part of the mountain,” Dain groused.
“Yes, the outside of it, the eastern slopes which are now stripped of their forests–I'm told–will make for a hardy harvest,” Thorin said.
“And the hobbit is your One?” Dain asked.
“Yes.”
“And he rescued Fíli?”
“Yes.”
“And your One is the son of an elf lord, distantly, but enough so that it would not be wrong to call him a half-elf?”
“Yes.”
“Strange,” Dain mused.
“Not really,” Saradoc cut in. “Considering the common belief is our people were born between elves and dwarrow. But even if that is not true, we are children of Yavanna, the Valar who wed Mahal.”
Dain hummed, “I think you will find, dwarrow are not so fond of theory as the elves.”
“No,” Sara agreed with a sanguine smile. “Just traditions set by your maker, except those not commonly a part of your contemporary traditions, such as paying respects to the creations of the Smith's wife, or honouring the line of Durin without a stupid rock out of billions of rocks that isn't half as old as Ered Luin, or, and this one is my favourite, harshly judging a people who've offered you food and shelter because of their stature. For a race whose name has become synonymous with height, you'd think one might be more wise to not judge another by the same.”
Dain laughed, long and deep. “Alright, Thorin, if your One is anything like this here Master Brandybuck then I say Mahal has chosen the next King Consort well.”
“My Uncle's tongue is far sharper than mine, and my own wife would have your ear for your condescension,” Sara said, unamused.
Balin cleared his throat, “No need to start a war between our races, not with another approaching our gates.”
“What of your struggles against Mordor?” Frerin asked.
Dwalin leaned in, more attentive now, Dain's own captain also entering the conversation when before he had been inattentive.
Of the eight of them, this was their true purpose for meeting as the rest of their people settled into the mountain, Dain's army resting as best they were able with limited supplies.
Kíli and Fíli had been excluded from this meeting because none of the company who knew Dain thought the boys would appreciate their cousin’s humour while Bilbo’s condition remained in question.
“As best we can tell, Lord Sauron is back. The ravens speak of a tower in the south being rebuilt. Their numbers are somewhat staggering but there is a lack to them that orcs I've toiled against in the past did not have. Their weapons are cruder than typical, slabs of unsharpened metal, they were little to no armour, and they are untried and unorganized in their malice. I have fought goblins more fierce than these orcs.”
“Is that why your army is so hale?” Balin asked.
“Indeed,” Dain said. “As much as I hate to say it, the elves’ arrows will find their task an easy one to thin the herd from the safety of their trees.”
“Still, it is a battle and there will be losses,” Balin cautioned.
Thorin sighed, not eager for another battle but happy to be planning it behind the fortifications of Erebor.
“At least,” Dwalin said. “We have many of the healing wings on their way in restorations. I know Oin is happy to have his assistant working with him again.”
“The Lady Sonna?” Dain asked. “Yes, she has a fair hand that lass. It is a shame so many were forced from Ered Luin.”
Dwalin shook his head, “Of those who would miss those sea worn stones, she is not among them.”
Thorin grimaced, reminded of the treachery his people were capable of even against their own daughters. He would have to post more guards around their rooms to keep Bilbo safe.
oOo
It wasn't that Gimli didn't like the hobbits, because he did.
He really did, especially their cooking, but with so many families of hobbits and dwarrows packed into every smial, there was very little privacy.
And little to no freedom from the faunts.
Despite being so small they were faster than they ought to have been.
Gimli ran into his mother, half hiding behind her skirts as the little pack of faunts led by Merry and Pippin hunted him. Pippin’s sisters tended to be even more creative when they caught Gimli who had never felt more like a dwarfling than he did facing an enemy he couldn't fight off.
His mother clucked at him, holding him close as Lady Dís scooped up at least half the faunts in her arms as if they weren't demons disguised as bunnies with overly large feet and button noses.
Gimli’s mother cooed at him and he glared, “Amad! They won't leave me alone!”
Lady Dís laughed, kissing Merry and Pippin on the cheeks as the girl faunts scattered from the dwarrowdam’s attention, “They don't mean any harm, do you, boys?”
Both terrors shook their heads as they hugged the Queen Regent who doted on them. But Gimli clutched his mother's skirts when Merry and Pippin shot a smile toward the young dwarf.
Demons.
They were demons.
It was going to be a long winter, one Gimli had severe doubts that the dwarrow of Ered Luin would be able to endure.
oOo
Bilbo woke often, but could never bring himself to stay awake for long.
The memory of burning and of drowning warned him away from the waking world.
He remembered the pain too well and he never wanted to hurt like that again.
It scared him beyond endurance.
Besides which, sleep offered a respite of comfort and his Adad’s songs in his ears painted portraits of green forests and sunny days followed by sweet rains in his dreams. In his dreams his belly was full, Fíli was young, and his mother and father were there to help him raise the young dwarfling.
These were not but fairytales, and eventually, it was the deep sorrow of his Heartsong’s voice that coaxed him back, that drove away his fear if only he could take his love's hand in his own.
The first thing Bilbo saw when he woke was a fall of golden hair, more metallic and softer than Fíli’s.
“Adad,” Bilbo croaked as his elven father bent to his brow, petting back Bilbo's curls.
“ My little one,” Glorfindel greeted in a praise of answered prayers.
Bilbo blinked back the sudden tears as they spoke in the Green Speech, “ Adad, I fought a dragon.”
Glorfindel smiled even as silver tears fell from his eyes, “ I know, my bravest boy, I know.”
Bilbo lost the battle to his own helpless tears, “ It hurt, Adad.”
“ I know, my little one, I know,” Adad answered, he was crying too.
Glorfindel traced a gentle hand down Bilbo's cheek, to his neck and shoulder.
Bilbo flinched at the sensation against his fragile skin. It felt raw and thin, as if he were exposed. The touch didn’t cause him pain but it was far from comfortable.
He felt too much, his breathing coming quicker at the desire to run, to be held, to drink to eat, to…
Eventually, he found his voice again to ask, “Thorin?”
Someone squeezed his hand.
Bilbo’s heart lept to his throat as he clung to the hand engulfing his.
He turned his head too fast and the world spun, it was Thorin’s presence that kept him sane.
His dwarf was sitting beside the bed and the sound Bilbo made when he reached out to his Heartsong was one he would have been embarrassed about at any other time.
Glorfindel kissed Bilbo’s brow as he helped transfer him into Thorin’s arms as his dwarf got into the bed.
With one last Sindarin blessing, Glorfindel left them for a bit of privacy.
Ignoring his sensitive skin, Bilbo buried himself against his dwarf’s warm chest.
Thorin was murmuring his own prayers but in Khuzdul. Far too exhausted to follow, he still understood that they were praises for Mahal and Yavanna’s mercies.
Bilbo reached up with his uninjured arm to trace Thorin’s beard with his fingers.
His love kissed his palm, “ Amrâlimê.”
“I’m alive,” Bilbo remarked, a bit awed by the realisation.
Thorin smiled, though his eyes held grief, “Yes. Yes, you are.”
Bilbo smiled back despite feeling as though a breeze could snuff him out, “We survived.”
Thorin pressed their brows together in a gentle gesture of intimacy, “Yes, Muhudel, blessing of all blessings, Lukhudel, light of all lights. Gimlelul, my brightest star, we all survived, because of you.”
Bilbo began to cry, “I was so scared. Thorin, I was so afraid.”
His dwarf rocked him tenderly and began singing as Bilbo let himself break, trusting Thorin would keep him safe.
Surviving did not unwrite the fear, healing did not erase the pain, and feeling weak was a trial all its own.
But love, at least, was a freedom and a comfort.
Thorin’s love was a shelter that Bilbo willfully surrendered to. If tonight, a fussy little hobbit from the Shire had no strength left to offer, Thorin would love him just the same.
oOo
AN: Comments, elephant seals, or reactions to this story, pretty please?
Chapter 27: Rebraiding
Chapter Text
AN: I have three chapters of slice of life royal family shenanigans left, maybe four, this fic will get longer if you have any requests for characters moments you would like to see.
Chapter 27 - Rebraiding
Despite the battle brewing in the South, Dain’s army found itself idle in Erebor.
Or, idle in the sense that they were out of active combat, for idle dwarrow seldom were.
The caravans from Ered Luin and the Shire could not hope to make the journey until spring, and even then, they would be taking the road through the Gap of Rohan, which would take months longer than their own journey.
Thus, it was left to those of the Iron Hills to clear the wreckage of Erebor.
Many saw this as their due, not just to the dwarven king who all had underestimated and refused to answer the call of, but because of past dues.
The Iron Hills had not been a large enough settlement to absorb any but the extreme elderly, mothers with babes, and orphaned bairns, all others had been turned away once the infirmary camps treating dragon burn victims had exhausted their resources.
No one could say that the Iron Hills had not done what they could, yet there remained regret for the greatest dwarven nation that had been forced into exile, like their kin had been forced from Khazad-dûm. It was a humilition ill-born.
Thus it was that the Iron Hill dwarves, a portion of whom had been born in these halls, took to rebuilding Erebor with gusto.
If their armies were being fed by their elvish neighbours who had abandoned them in the past, their appreciation went to the King’s Consort, though perhaps such appreciation was more than it ought to have been grudging.
Yet work continued despite Thorin being at wits end with the Elders Council. Dwarrrow that had never served his father but his grandfather.
Thorin was about to do something that Balin might never forgive him for but things had gotten ridiculous, these dwarves had not been on the road, chased from their homes by a dragon but settling in the Iron Hills not journeyed to the sparse encampments of Dunland.
They were Ereborian, yet they didn’t respect Thorin; they didn’t know him. Their respect was to the throne, not to him, not to his heirs born in Ered Luin.
He was done with it.
Round the great table sat the Council of Elders and the Trade Guildmasters; some had apprentices or heirs with them. There were empty seats among the Iron Hill Guildmasters, in fact, there was only Dain’s Master of Arms who would one day take after her mother as Iron Guildmaster in Erebor. All the others were honourary as true guild leaders tended not to travel with armies.
Thorin had refused to officially name any among Dain’s people to the guilds as he had his own Councils that would be here by next year.
Now that they weren’t moving, he was able to exchange communication with Dis. She had affirmed that the majority of Ered Luin had chosen to migrate to the Lonely Mountain whether or not their ancestors hailed from the east.
All this was to say that the insult Thorin was about to sentence to his grandfather’s Elder Council would be acutely felt.
Thorin had invited the company to this meeting, all but Bilbo was present, Saradoc sat to his left in the Consort’s seat, Balin to his right, Kíli and Fíli to Balin’s right. In the throne room, Kíli and Fíli would stand to his right and Balin below the dias. In meetings, however, Kíli and Fíli were as much Balin’s apprentices as they were Thorin’s. If Frerin was here he would sit above Balin.
Frerin would succeed Thorin only in the case of an early demise; Kíli was too young yet to be thrust into the role despite being the rightful heir.
Dwalin stood behind them while the rest of the company sat at the far table as functional guests, holding no titles of their own.
Thorin let things get out of hand, purposely brought up the elves when the debate seemed to naturally lull. He stopped Balin from speaking with a visible-enough gesture that protocol rendered him mute. Balin was naturally suspicious as they entered the third hour with not a single thing decided. For most of the company, this was their first time witnessing the ‘royal court’ and thus were not snoozing but trying their best to decipher the chaos and pettiness around the table.
Saradoc was sinking into his seat and looked ready to cover his ears. He looked rather like a wilted flower, in all honesty. While hobbits could be rambunctious, loud laughter, prone to drunken conversation, and cheering on pub songs an entire night away, there was a market difference from that jovial boisterousness and the angry Khuzdul be thrown about here.
Kíli was wide-eyed, while Fíli looked almost disgusted by the behaviour he was witnessing from what should have been his esteemed leaders.
The expression he wore was one of Bilbo’s.
Thorin doubted Bilbo would have let this go on so long.
Saradoc’s own Hobbitish sensibilities finally got the best of him; he leaned toward Thorin to ask, “Is there something being solved here?”
It was easy enough not to smile and he had every intention of answering when one of the Elders took the bait.
“What is the halfling conspiring about?”
Saradoc huffed and muttered under his breath, “At least he insulted me in Common.”
The closest elder, Hesir, heard, “You have no right to learn our language.”
Saradoc straightened in his seat. “I do not remember asking. And I must say, true or not, it is quite rude to make accusations. Us hobbits have our own language and you will never meet one of our kin demand another speak it or not speak it.”
Hesir scoffed, “What simple language could halflings have? Derived, no doubt, by some simplified form of elfish.”
“ Common is a simplified form of elfish,” Fíli cut in. “The Green Speech evolved from the blessings of Yahvanna. Most who were not raised with it have difficulty hearing it, much less the ability to learn it.”
Hesir sneered at Fíli, “Right, you were raised in one of the halflings’ hovals.”
Saradoc gaped, unable to respond to the level of rudeness being exhibited.
Thorin stood, a line being crossed that he could finally take action on, “ Enough! How dare you level insult against my consort and his kin? Those who, even now, shelter our people in homes far warmer than the collapsing sections of Ered Luin and with every comfort imaginable. The hobbits of the Shire have shown our people more kindness and hospitality than has ever been offered to us by any outsider in remembrance. Hobbit, not halfling, is the correct term, which you have been told, leaving me to believe either your intention was to alienate our allies or your age has outpaced your duties to this council.”
Silence.
Complete and utter silence.
Thorin savoured it.
“We are your Elders,” another elder spoke, Usan.
In their culture, elders were revered and calling them ‘too old’ to pass wisdom was to say they were useless.
Dwarrow hated being useless.
Thorin didn’t look to Balin as he answered, “No, you were the youngest of my grandfather’s Elder Council, or you would have been Elders of my father’s court. It is time for you to retire. My Council of Elders, reside with Dís and upon their return, I plan to reinstate the majority of them that are willing and able to take on the scale of trials ahead of us.”
Hesir scowled. “But they are not here. Who would you replace us with? This being the year will surely be the the most difficult Erebor weather?”
Thorin nodded and answered what was probably intended as a rhetorical question. “Gloin Durinson will be in charge of the Treasury until Princess Dís returns to the Lonely Mountain. Oin Durison remains a talented healer; however, direction and management is necessary for those suffering from long term ailments and the other healers. His age recommends him to becoming our Elder of Healing. Dori’s understanding of cloth will prove necessary as winter approaches, and while on the younger side, I trust few as I would trust him as the Elder of Welfare.”
Dori was gripping the table as he gawked at Thorin, Nori and Ori leaning into him as if holding him up, or possibly for their own support.
“Bofur’s stone sense is unparalleled. I need him to have the authority to direct our miners in clearing out and fortifying the damage caused by the drake. Thus, I am electing him as the Secretary of Mountain Integrity.”
Bofur looked flabbergasted. Typically, that role was held by an elder who was a master architect. The position demanded that any construction plans and miner guilds must consult with him before moving a stone in Erebor.
In years past, this was about beauty and history while the safety responsibility fell on the miner and architect guildmaster who was responsible for overseeing the application of design plans. But safety now super succeeded historical integrity, a position many would likely resent being given to a young dwarf born in Ered Luin.
“Finally, due to my consort’s relation to Lord Glorfindel of the Golden Flowers, our relationship with the elves has never been better, thus, for the time being food is a matter of diplomacy that myself and Balin can handle.
“Yet, where food stores were something Princess Dís and Prince Kíli have managed in the past, I would like to create a new seat among the Elders and elect Bombur as temporary Food Treasury Secretary.”
Angry mumblings surrounded the hall, but shock kept their voices from rising.
“When the hobbits join us, it will be a position they will elect among themselves,” Thorin continued.
That set them off again.
The company remained silent, still in shock.
One voice called out above the others, “What justification–”
“Every dwarf of the company who answered my call to face the dragon owns one-fifteenth of the wealth of Erebor. Any wealth given out is either loaned by them or gifted by their grace. If the magnitude of Erebor’s wealth does not entitle them to some sort of trust, then may it be by their courage and the honour of their deeds to the Crown,” Thorin said.
Hesir, seemed because he was intent on digging his own grave, “You have given two potions of our wealth to non-dwarrow, it is shameful.”
Saradoc looked ready to kick his feet on the table. “We don’t want your forsaken gold. We’re hobbits; what use do we have for gems and metal aside from pots and garden tools? It should please you to know that both I and your King’s Consort turned down the ‘prize’ offered to us.”
“Then why is it one-fifthteenth?” Hesir sneered, as if he were one. “Sixteen set out, which means one of your kind must have claimed that prize or it would be one-fourteenth.”
“One-fifteenth for sixteen members of the company, not including the wizard,” Kíli interrupted. “Saradoc asked for land we have never used for his people while Bilbo bequeathed his share from the beginning to my mother, Princess Dís of Erebor.”
Hesir looked startled at this but his words were just as venomous. He was, or had been, the Elder of Integrity, who had just been replaced after all. “He gave it to your sister and not the son he claims to have adopted?”
“I am adopted,” Fíli said. “Without Bilbo and his mother, I would be dead several times over due to the traitors among our race. He gave his share of the treasure to my mother because he regrets the years lost to my family. Because he would have followed me on this journey for nothing. He would have followed his Heartsong for nothing .”
“His what?” Usan asked.
“His One,” Thorin explained. “As he is my One. As far as gifting his wealth to my sister, I could ask for no better courting gift, and when Dís returns to the Halls of Mahal, all her wealth becomes Kíli and Fíli’s. Meaning, that five-fifteenths of the treasure belongs directly to the throne and will pass to the next King of Erebor. Another four fifteenths belong to my cousins of the Durin line, seven fifthtenths if you include the Ri brothers. This is the reward for their loyalty to the line of Durin and the future of our people.”
“We are still vital to this kingdom’s success,” Hesir argued.
“No, you are not,” Thorin said. “You are Dain’s people; you have experienced none of the tribulations of our years of exile. You did not fight in the Battle of Khazadum, you were never forced on the long road west. In your own words, reclaiming Erebor was a death wish. So you will retire and those I have given titles to will deal with our reality rather than pretending we have the resources to recreate the past without allies.”
“The Arkenstone remains missing,” Usan said.
“As far as I am concerned, the Arkenstone lost its symbolic nature of the right to rule when a dragon set fire to this mountain and roosted on it. You are all dismissed.”
He raised his voice at the end, over the rising tide of protests. He stood without meeting Balin’s gaze as he got a head start before anyone could question him.
oOo
Frerin hadn’t spent much time with his brother-in-law alone but he rather liked the fellow.
Bilbo laughed as Frerin described the ship that had taken him and Kíli into the sea to ‘test run’ their craftsmanship.
“Did they truly believe dwarrow would be less talented with wood?” Bilbo asked.
Frerin scoffed, “Most men aren’t that impressed with our metalwork either, but most men don’t know what they are looking at, much less have the skill to craft themselves. So, no, he didn’t believe we had fixed the rutter by changing the design of it. However, when we were taken on by pirates, it was only the ship’s ability to change direction abruptly that saved us. Good thing too, Dís would have had my head if I allowed Kíli to encounter pirates.”
Bilbo sniggered, “Did Fíli tell you the time Arwen carried him on her back because he couldn’t keep up?”
Frerin’s eyes widened along with his grin, “No, do tell.”
“We were on our way to the Golden Wood when we came upon a wild group of wargs. Fíli was full size then, but elves scooped us up faster than he could draw his sword. Lord Elrond’s wife was harmed dearly in such an encounter. So our group was always large enough to handle it, but it was the elves’ policy for the youngest of us to run even if we could fight. Fíli had just finished his masterwork, he was mortified.”
Frerin laughed. “I couldn’t have done that to Kíli if I wanted to, but I promise his mother would have loved to.”
Bilbo smirked, “I’d be more sympathetic to his plight if he hasn’t on occasion done it to me.”
“You are a wee thing,” Frerin teased.
Bilbo grinned back, “Centuries of short jokes directed at your people and you’re all going to be the tall ones.”
“And all those jokes will die when they remember it was the two supposed ‘halflings’ who killed a dragon.”
“Bard killed it.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Frerin said sacrastically. “The two hobbits who riddled a dragon face to face, tricked it, blinded it with a triton and with a letter opener.”
“A fancy pitchfork,” Bilbo corrected. “Just because you cover it in gold doesn’t destroy its primary function.”
Frerin chuckled and reached a hand out to his brother-in-law’s burned side, gently touching his curls and leaning forward to press their foreheads together. When he spoke, it was in Khuzdul. “ I am proud to call you kin, little brother. ”
Bilbo let out a breath before placing a hand to Frerin's side.
It was an intimate gesture but really, Bilbo was merely touching where Frerin’s dragon burns were. He had shared his story of losing his mother, of her dying to protect him.
Frerin had been told it was survivor’s guilt when he regretted surviving her. Surviving dragon fire when so many hadn’t.
But years later, when the horror of the scale of Smaug’s desolation had aged within him, confronting the fresh horror of watching his older brother’s One scream as the healers tried to piece him back together, Frerin could feel only gratitude that he was alive to see his family grow.
Frerin pulled back, “So have you and Thorin decided when you’re going to try to have pebbles?”
Bilbo allowed the moment to pass without further comment. “I was hoping next year, but I don’t know if Thorin will feel that Erebor is ready.”
“Thorin has wanted pebbles of his own since Fíli was born.”
“Not Kíli?”
Frerin snorted. “Thorin and Dís's husband were convinced Dís was going to die. It wasn’t till the second one that they were assured she was strong enough.”
“You weren’t afraid?” Bilbo asked.
“Dís and I watched our mother burn, Dís is far stronger than Thorin gives her credit for. Though, he is our older brother, I suppose he is duty bound to worry for us.”
Bilbo huffed, “I always wished I had siblings. We’re having at least three faunts.”
“Because you don’t need to bear them, Thorin will want as many as you will allow him. Why didn’t your parents have more?”
“They did try, but it’s not really up to us, it’s Yahvanna’s blessing you need to have faunts. For either way of producing pebbles.”
“So it’s possible you might not have–”
“No, I feel it. The spark. My mother said she only felt it once.”
Frerin shook his head, “For the most overlooked of the free races, it is amazing how close to the Valar you are.”
“Is it not the same for you, with your crafts?”
Frerin shrugged, “The stone is alive for us, our crafts are living art for us. But plants? Yahvannah’s blessings are not rivers of silver waiting to be mined. It’s a partnership for you, isn’t it?”
Bilbo smiled, “My mother used to say that injuries were growing things trying to find each other, they only needed time to get there. When I’m growing my garden… It’s like returning to a family, it needs tending, it needs love, to become everything it could be, but without me, it’s a family that will keep growing. Yahvanna will keep them or send another of her keepers.”
Frerin shook his head. “I can see how Thorin fell in love with you. I see how Mahal loved his wife.”
“What are you two talking about?” Thorin asked as he entered through the open bedroom door.
Frerin leaned back in his chair to smirk at his brother, “Pebbles and how many Yahvanna might grant you. All I’m saying is that you better wait for Dís and be sure someone else has her responsibilities so she can mind them whenever she likes.”
“I feel I owe her at least that much,” Bilbo said.
And that was why Frerin loved the hobbit. He knew the grief Dís had suffered at losing her One and son. He knew even though he had no sibling of his own what it had cost Kíli to lose Fíli even after he returned them to each other.
Thorin was undoing his boots and kicked them off before continuing to undress.
Frerin raised a brow, not because he was bothered, nudity wasn't a problem for dwarrow, but usually Thorin conducted himself with more grandeur even when he was pounding old horse shoes in a lean-to ankle deep in mud.
Bilbo, however, seemed appreciative of the display as his husband joined him under the covers, wrapping himself around the hobbit’s waist. Bilbo’s hands immediately went to stroking Thorin’s hair.
“Isn’t it early for you to be turning in, love? Not that I mind the company,” Bilbo asked.
The hobbit was on strict bed rest. While he was healed, his skin was still overly sensitive and between the strain of healing burns so rapidly and the trauma done to his person, the healers had insisted on bed rest. As well as eating because apparently even the extra portions they had been sure to give the hobbits along the journey, both Saradoc and Bilbo had been starving themselves.
“I'm done for the day, Balin will be too furious sorting out the implications of my recent edicts for it to be productive for us to get any other work done. Besides, I fear I've been neglecting you.”
Bilbo's laugh was a musical thing, bringing light to the sparsely furnished room. “Hardly, my dear one. But I am glad to have you with me all the same.”
“What did you do exactly?” Frerin asked.
Thorin had made such a fuss this morning when he asked Frerin for a ‘huge favour’ as if they were dwarflings and Thorin was bribing Frerin with sword lessons if he distracted the guards so Thorin could sneak down to the forgers for extra time with his craft.
Sitting with his brother-in-law hadn't seemed like such a favour but now Frerin saw that there was something else Thorin had planned.
People who did not know him well often mistook Thorin's bold action and brooding demeanor to mean he would be a brute on the throne, a playable and predictable leader. Some of their own people assumed Dís to be the clever one.
Those people forgot how devoted Thorin has always been to his duty.
Dís was only half the ruler she was because she had learned at Thorin's side. She was the better diplomat, learning diplomacy when they had nothing to bargain with except for their labour.
But Thorin had trained under Thror and while Thain was born to madness, Thror’s ailments kept him obsessed with his position as king. Younger than Fíli was now, Thorin had learned to be king, learned to be efficient when Thror demanded the impossible. Then Thorin had to relearn how to be king as their father and grandfather looked to the past as Thorin fought for their tomorrows.
Whatever Thorin had done or was doing was sure to be ruthlessly effective and almost certainly raised the hackles of the Elder Council.
“I took steps without informing Balin beforehand and likely made myself some enemies.”
Bilbo stiffened and Thorin stilled in response.
“Bilbo?” Thorin asked.
The hobbit’s hand tightened in Thorin’s hair. “Can you afford to have enemies? Can we afford it?”
Thorin reached up to stroke Bilbo’s cheek, “What’s wrong?”
“We are thinking of having children together.”
“Yes, and the dragon is dead,” Thorin said.
“But it was other dwarrow who tried to end the line of Durin,” Bilbo said softly.
Thorin sat up. “We killed them. Those offenders are all dead.”
The hobbit shook his head, “But I don’t even understand why it happened. Everything I know, everything I’ve learned about your people, is that your history is important, that Durin blood matters and dwarflings more so. It never should have happened, I don’t understand.”
Thorin sighed, lowering his head to touch their brows together. “Our losses in Khazad-dûm were immeasurable and we gained very little for our losses. The dwarrow who fell beneath honour and attacked us had lost everyone they cared for between the dragon and that battle. My grandfather led us to ruin, and neither I nor my father stopped him. But this is a new chapter in our lives. The traitors were dealt with.”
Bilbo hugged him, “I just have such a terrible feeling that not all is well.”
“Little brother,” Frerin interrupted. “You were toasted by a dragon. All the magical healing in Middle Earth could not erase all the harm done. It’s not just your body that needs to heal.”
Thorin kissed Bilbo’s cheek, “He’s right, Lukhudel . Neither Oin nor your father has cleared you.”
Bilbo frowned, “But you’ll keep guards on Fíli and Kíli, right?”
“Don’t insult me,” Dwalin said as he entered the room.
“What did he say?” Kíli asked, breaking from the conversation he had been having with Fíli as they followed the older dwarf in.
“He’s being over-protective,” Fíli guessed with equal parts exasperation and fondness.
“Can we return to the topic of political disaster you just caused?” Balin all but demanded.
“Frerin, I need you to talk to the Royal Advisor,” Thorin said. “Tell him that I told you nothing. And if he is unable to persuade you to his side, then my decisions stand.”
Balin looked outraged, “He’ll take your side.”
“Not necessarily,” Thorin said, wrapping his hobbit in his arms. “My brother has always been contrary by nature.”
Frerin grinned as Balin rolled his eyes.
Bilbo smiled at them, “So what did my husband do that was so ill-advised?”
“He dismissed the majority of the Elders Council,” Balin snapped.
Bilbo raised a brow, “I know Thorin is High King of the Dwarrow, but I didn’t realise he could dismiss Dain’s Council.”
“No, they are Ereborian.”
Bilbo raised a brow, “As in newly elected or–”
“They served King Thror,” Balin said in a tone that dared them to challenge him.
“And they haven’t died of old age yet?” Bilbo asked.
Frerin, Thorin, and the young princes laughed.
Dwalin grinned at his older brother, “He’s not wrong.”
“Who did you replace them with?” Bilbo asked.
“I elected Oin and Dori to the Elder Council in their place. I also titled Bofur and gave Bombur temporary position of food secretary until the Shirelings immigrate and elect their own Master of Food,” Thorin explained.
“Excellent,” Frerin said. “We can trust the company.”
“We do not have enough friends here for that,” Balin argued.
“This isn’t about building a court, Balin,” Thorin said. “It’s about rebuilding from the Desolation. We do not have time to cater to the feelings of those whose remaining days number in mere decades. Dís will bring her court and their smooth ascent to power is more important than giving power to dwarrow who may fight to keep it. I do not trust Dain’s people with the fate of the hobbits. I will not abide their pride when they never believed in the quest to regain our homeland to begin with.”
Frerin opened his hands, “I agree with my older brother. If nothing else, the company will be efficient.”
Said remaining company entered the room and it was Bofur who spoke first, “Thorin, have you completely lost your senses?”
Oin hurrumphed, “I think it was approierate, for example, as the new ‘Elder of Healer’ you all must obey when I say, get out, so our King Consort can eat and sleep.”
“I’m not leaving,” Thorin said.
“If you eat and rest as well, I’ll permit it,” Oin bargained.
Frerin swallowed a grin. The hobbits had lost a drastic amount of weight on this journey, however, Thorin had been sneaking his One extra potions and so he too was underweight.
Not that Frerin thought it had been the wrong choice when the hobbits had fought the dragon, but the consequences could be long-lasting if Thorin didn’t start taking care of himself.
It was certainly Oin’s way to feed two birds with one scone.
Fíli seemed ready to protest when Oin’s apprentice stepped through the door laden with a large tray of food and tea, and the breath appeared to leave the lad’s body.
Both dwarflings were putting an inordinate amount of energy into watching each other without looking at the other.
Frerin exchanged a look with Thorin, who was looking at Kíli, who was frowning at the pair.
“Alright, healer's orders,” Frerin said as he stood.
Oin took the tray of food from the dwarrowdam who took the gesture as a dismissal. Something slipped from her pocket that Fíli caught.
Before he could call out to her, she was already gone.
Kíli pushed Fíli out of the room as he glared at his uncles.
Frerin winked at Kíli who huffed before disappearing from view.
Oin was fussing over Bilbo and missed the whole interaction.
“So that’s Sonna,” Bilbo mused.
“You’ve already met her,” Oin said.
“Have I?” Bilbo asked with a frown.
Thorin stroked Bilbo’s hair as he helped him stabilize his hand holding the teacup. “You weren’t aware of much at the time.”
Frerin ushered the others out before Oin had finished, “Both of you need to sleep. No strenuous activities.”
“ Oin ,” Thorin warned.
But Bilbo laughed, leaving Frerin smiling as he left.
Thorin deserved every shard of happiness his hobbit shared with him.
oOo
Bilbo didn’t think he should be this tired when all it seemed he did these days was sleep and eat.
He sighed as Thorin rose to put the now empty tray on the side table.
As much as he enjoyed the view, his thoughts were on the troubles his Heartsong was having rebuilding Erebor.
“I wish there was more I could do to help.”
It was Thorin’s turn to sigh, “Bilbo, if you helped anymore, you might as well become king and I your consort.”
Bilbo frowned at him, “I did not kill the dragon.”
“No you just blinded and drew it out of the mountain so it could be killed. You were only nearly maimed and killed for your efforts when no one else came to any harm.”
Bilbo huffed, “I don’t like being idle.”
“You, Amrâlimê , make a wonderful honourary dwarf.”
“Good, seeing as I’m supposedly the King Consort of Erebor, at least, I will be when I finally get out of this sick bed.”
Thorin grinned, “May I comb your hair, my Consort?”
oOo
Bilbo nodded, wiggling into him as Thorin climbed back into bed behind him.
His love typically kept his hair tied back with a single ribbon. The braids he wore were tucked back; most of the time his hair appeared short with a bit of wave.
In truth, his One’s hair had beautiful curls and the colour of burnt gold. Thorin pulled his fingers through the soft hair before reaching for the comb on the side table.
“I’m going to braid it properly,” he warned.
Bilbo hummed before complaining, “But I can’t even return the favour.”
Thorin leaned forward to whisper in his ear, “Let me take care of you, my dragonslayer.”
Before Bilbo could muster a response, Thorin kissed the shell of his ear.
Bilbo gasped and Thorin grinned as it continued until the hair that had grown much longer throughout their journey slipped through the silver bristles.
His hobbit moaned as Thorin massaged his scalp before finally beginning to section the hair. It was rare that a partner could fully dictate what their One’s braids would be, but Bilbo had no true preference. It was something many dwarrow would envy. Even still, Thorin wove four small braids in the elvish style to expose his left ear.
One for his mother, one for his elvish father, and a looser one for his hobbit father, all he wove into the large dwarven two-part braid that symbolized a Father of Durin. The latter was a braid that Mori, Dís's consort, had worn after Kíli was born.
At his other temple he wove their marriage braid that marked him as King Consort where he reattached the bead he crafted for him. After which, Thorin began at Bilbo's crown and gently wove a waterfall braid that would show off his love’s amazing curls.
He ended with retying the ribbon.
A loose braid like that was likely to fall out of dwarven hair without pins to hold it together. Bilbo’s curls, however, held the design that would have taken hundreds of pins to achieve, symbolizing Adored Consort, typically only worn on coronation day or for some other major event or holiday.
The coronation braid without the trinkets meant something else. For a non-royal, it would mean ‘Loved for Myself’ or ‘Honour Beyond Station’. For a royal to wear it without ornamentation meant something altogether more, it meant ‘Consort Who Loves Their People Beyond Their Station.’
On days out, Thorin planned to craft him a gemstone flower crown of mithril that living blooms could be woven into during the warmer months. He also planned to craft flower pins to match in the winter months. Pieces light enough that Bilbo would feel comfortable wearing them regularly and suited his nature and Yahvanna’a blessings.
“Your hair is long enough that we could put it into a flower bun, so it’s off your neck,” Thorin said, kissing the back of his neck, causing his One to shiver.
Bilbo hissed, “We can’t–”
Thorin hugged him and said in the Green Speech, “ I love you. ”
Bilbo laughed at his terrible pronunciation and melted back into him. His answer was in exotic accented Khuzdul, “ I love you too. ”
oOo
AN: Thoughts, Australian Shepard (Aussie) puppies, or feedback, pretty please?
Chapter 28: Imperfections in the Glass
Chapter Text
AN: Welcome to the drama arch ;D
Chapter 28 - Imperfections in the Glass
“You could have just asked for more time for this instead of skipping out on sleep,” Kíli remarked as Thorin looked over Fíli’s work.
“Just because I’m not heir doesn’t mean I don’t have a responsibility to our Kingdom.”
That caused both Thorin and Frerin to chuckle.
Thorin handed the necklace back to Fíli, “I’m pleased you learned to work with mithril so quickly. Your One cannot say your offering is poor now. As for this not being a duty of the crown, I promise your grandmother would have strongly disagreed.”
Frerin snorted, “She’s still rolling in her grave with how long Thorin took to find his One.”
“She’s rolling because of your marital status, little brother,” Thorin teased.
Frerin flashed Thorin a wide smile, they so seldom jested about their parents, “I was busy being the favourite uncle.”
Thorin laughed.
Fíli exchanged a smile with Kíli, it was such a relief to have their uncles smiling and joking so freely. Erebor was new to them, far from any home they had known before, but their family’s unburdened happiness made it the home they both wanted to call their own.
“Speaking of approval,” Frerin said. “Kíli and I crafted this box for you.”
Kíli held open the box that fit the necklace perfectly. “Ori knitted the scarf.”
Fíli loved his family as he gently laid his creation down onto the soft fabric.
Kíli shut the box, revealing the Durin family crest etched into a plate of gold.
Fíli ran his fingers over it, and he looked up to find Thorin smiling at him, “We want you happy, dearest Fíli, and we want your One to be happy as well.”
What else could he do but go put his heart on the line again?
Succeed or fail, his family would never desert him.
oOo
Sonna couldn’t deny Fíli when he asked to see her that night after her shift. Not when he asked her on the night before her day off.
She had no excuses to hide behind if Master Oin was sharing her schedule.
They met near the treasure room, where reliefs of the great kings of the past looked down on them.
Sonna reached into her pocket and, for the hundredth time, regretted having lost her aster flower. She couldn’t even remember where she had dropped it.
Fíli sat alone on one of the green stone benches, his hands folded over a box on his lap. His expression was carefully closed off as he watched her approach.
It was her fault that he gazed on her with such reservations, but the young dwarrowdam, newly orphaned, was not the Sonna who approached him tonight.
Tonight, she knew her worth, and she knew she would give this prince a chance for all that she had learned of him since turning him down. Fíli’s reputation for kindness and dedication to those he loved made him the exact sort of dwarf she dreamed of on the rare occasions she allowed herself to dream of a better future for herself.
“Good evening, Prince Fíli, Son of Princess Dís” she greeted.
“Good evening,” he echoed. “Lady Sonna, Apprentice of Master Healer Oin.”
She sat primly next to him, straightening her skirts to give her hands something to do.
“How do you like Erebor so far?” Fíli asked.
She shrugged, “It’s growing on me as the repairs advance. The threat from the south makes it difficult to grow comfortable though.”
He nodded, “I’m not eager for the battles ahead either. It is a relief to me that my Dah and Uncle have made peace with the elves.”
“Certainly better than being at war with them,” she agreed.
Fíli bit his lip before squaring his shoulders. “I know it is not proper to offer another courting gift after you made your feelings clear. But I had hoped the cultural misunderstandings… that is… that I meant you no disrespect. The courting among my father’s people is far less formal yet with many more intermediate steps.”
He held out the box, “In the way of my mother’s blood and my birth father’s, I hope you will find this gift worthy of you.”
Sonna steadied her own breathing as she accepted the box. The wood was finely made, and the crest told her as clearly as any declaration that King Thorin had approved of their courting personally.
Swallowing hard, she opened the box.
She forgot how to breathe.
Inside the box on a Durin blue knit scarf sat a large chain of mithral with golden vines and with flowers set with precious gems.
Yet what was most precious were the organic flowers pressed in glass that hung from the chain. The centre piece was her lost Aster.
She couldn’t speak.
This meant too much to her.
“I was always going to return it to you. When I saw that you kept the purple aster, I hoped that hadn’t fully offended you.”
She cleared her throat, finally braving to meet the young prince’s gaze.
“I was never offended.”
He nodded, “I’m just not who you wanted.”
Her heart constricted, knowing in her bones that this dwarf was her One, her other half, despite how ridiculous her being his One seemed.
She shook her head, “When last we met–”
“I was disrespectful and poor,” he completed, reflecting her callous words back at her.
She flinched, “No, Fíli. I mean, that is to say, I had no one. My survival depended on the kindness of your family. My father had just been executed and I didn't know my own worth. I said what I did to push you away, to make you dislike me. Because I wasn’t ready then.”
“You may take your time, Lady Sonna. I can wait for when you feel comfortable. I would wait forever for you. I would just like you to know my feelings, I believe you are my One. And I would be honoured by your friendship if you wish me to never bring this up again.”
She smiled, running a finger over the familiar glass; there was a tiny crack along the edge where she had dropped it.
She was strangely pleased that Fíli had kept it, the feature that made it imperfect for an otherwise perfect creation of mithral, gold, and glass, so its history would not be lost.
“I'm no longer the same person I was in Ered Luin. I am Healer Oin’s apprentice, and I have earned my position. I have my own coin, I'm valued in our society now. No one can take those truths from me.”
Fíli nodded but disagreed, “You were always valued, Sonna, that is not something you should have felt you had to earn. To seek a contented life while harming none is no shame, but I am glad for the security you've found. Your pride in your craft and position, that, is well earned, and I admire you all the more for it.”
She laughed, “You don't sound like any dwarf I've met before.”
“I'm sorry–”
She reached out to take his hand in hers. “I meant that as a compliment. My father was the worst sort of dwarf, the sort who relies on greed, ambition, and a quick temper. I've seen you Fíli, Son of Dís, Son of Bilbo Baggins from the Kindly West, you are none of those things, and I am honoured by your admiration.”
Fíli seemed to be at a loss for words.
“I accept your courting gift,” she said, squeezing his hand. “And I look forward to being introduced to your family as your One, as I believe you are mine.”
Fíli’s smile was more golden than his hair. He raised her hand gently to his lips, kissing her knuckles with a feather light touch, “It is I who is honoured, Lady Sonna.”
She blushed, her heart fluttering with the idea that her heart had found such a gentle-dwarf to embark on her life’s journey with her.
oOo
Bilbo squawked when Thorin scooped him bodily out of his desk chair.
“You should not be working so much,” his Heartsong chided.
Bilbo huffed at him even as he welcomed Thorin’s embrace.
“I hardly get enough done, if you gave me more-“
“The work you do is more than enough.”
“It’s dwarrow who want everything written down,” Bilbo argued and seeing them take a different tunnel whined. “I don’t need to go to the healers today.”
“It’s not that, we found something else I want to show you.”
Bilbo smiled at the childlike excitement on Thorin’s expression, making him look more like his nephews.
They walked by the healer’s halls to a backroom, through a closet.
And through another secret door, was revealed to an outside pavilion.
It was bare save for a few empty planters and a large stone box.
“It’s an icebox,” Thorin said. He pointed to an overhang, “This place has a bit of a dark history. For those with contagious diseases or if there were those who needed to be treated with fresh air.”
“Not a common treatment for dwarrow,” Bilbo remarked.
“No, it’s not, but even we need fresh air. I know that you would like to keep working, Amrâlimê. And winter comes on swift wings, so no building could begin until the winter thaw. I would rather you begin planning your garden than stressing about politics.”
Bilbo laid a hand over his heart, “My garden?”
“This place is protected and connected to the new royal wing, you could spend as much time here as you like, soak up the sun and feast your toes on soil. I know I promised your people homes on our mountainside; however, I would prefer you and our children closer to me.”
Bilbo raised his hands to Thorin’s cheeks, “A garden, for our children?”
Thorin lowered his head to press their foreheads together, “Unless you think this place–”
“It’s perfect, our children will be born in the Halls of Healing, what greater blessing could we give our Kingdom than that?”
Thorin kissed him, and continued to kiss him as the sun set and they lingered in the chill air.
oOo
Sonna didn’t know why she was so nervous to meet a hobbit.
Her father would have laughed himself sick if he knew how frightened she was.
He would have called her pathetic.
But this was Bilbo Baggins, the hobbit who had helped to slay a dragon and the King Consort to King Oakenshield.
Sonna took a deep breath and knocked.
The door was opened a moment later, and she looked down at the small figure with his pointed ears and bare hairy feet.
He smiled at her, “Lady Sonna, a pleasure to meet you. Bilbo Baggins, at your service, come in, come in. ”
She bowed, “Sonna, Apprentice of Healer Oin, it is my pleasure, King Consort–”
Bilbo waved a hand to beckon her in, “None of that now, Bilbo will do just fine.”
She followed him into his suite, which was cleaner than most other rooms in Erebor outside the healing halls, and there was filtered light coming into the room shining down on a tree whose leaves sparkled as if brushed with gold.
“It was a rare find,” Bilbo said to her. “These rooms, that is. They were closed up before Thorin's grandfather was born, the Raven’s Wing, it's called. No enemy could get into these rooms, not with how many meters thick the sky vents are, but the ravens can. Apparently, the old kings were bothered by the easy access.”
“King Thorin doesn't mind?” she asked, taking the tea gladly for want of something to do with her hands.
These rooms were near enough to where she worked that she wondered if this royal family would remain closer to their people by design.
It would make sense, unlike his grandfather, King Thorin had led his people shoulder to shoulder in the trenches of toil.
They sat for tea beneath the tree, a silver tea set painted with blue lacquer flowers waited for them along with a number of sweets.
Bilbo's expression softened fondly as he spoke of the King, “He picked this room for me. This region of Erebor is close enough to the old royal wing to not be a hindrance to governance and large enough that the company and their extended families can grow into them. He also tells me that outside this part of the mountain is where the great hobbit smials will begin to be built, there's a protected plateau that seems well suited to future cultivation.”
She shook her head, “I'm still awed that your people would be so willing to move.”
Bilbo shrugged, “I think strongly adverse to war is a more accurate thing to say than willingly . Mind you, if we had nowhere safe left to go, I would imagine we would fight until we were forced out. Alas, that is no longer a choice we must make thanks to the dwarrow of Ered Luin and Erebor.”
Sonna blinked, “That’s still more grace than I would have expected.”
Bilbo laughed, “Grace is not what you’ll call it if you ever meet my cousin Lobelia, I assure you. I am perhaps more glib than most as I’ve already said my goodbyes to Bag End. I’ve considered my family to be my home for quite some time now.”
Sonna smiled behind a sip of tea, “Glad I am to find my One who has even a fraction of your kindness, King Consort.”
Bilbo laughed, “Ah, a sweet talker, I believe you and I will get along quite well. Now, tell me of your adventures since leaving Ered Luin. Oin has spoken very fondly of you as the sharpest apprentice he's ever had.”
She flushed, “Your son's trade is surely more exciting.”
Bilbo clucked his tongue, “What nonsense, Fíli takes after his mother and uncle, but healing was my mother's trade and my stepson's trade. I myself am considered somewhat a healer, or a chemist, though it's more true to say I'm a specialised gardener in herbs and roots.”
Sonna touched her necklace, “Your son took after you more than you think.”
Bilbo's eyes brightened as he leaned closer to look. “Quite a beautiful piece, and a lovely marriage between our two cultures. H3 picked those along the road, and I'm so glad they weren't lost inside my journal. I've always been fond of pressed flowers, but don't be discouraged when they fade. Pressed flowers are memories that age with us and remind us that the present, the love we hold before us, is more beautiful than the past.”
Sonna felt her heart skip a beat.
The flowers would fade?
She had noticed that the flowers weren’t as bright as the day she got them but surely…
“My dear?” Bilbo asked.
Sonna blinked back tears, “I’m sorry, I just hadn’t realised… I should have, of course, they are still flowers even pressed beneath glass. Dwarrow, we make a thing last. What good is it if it can’t last?”
She winced when she realised she had said the last part aloud.
But Bilbo only huffed, “Ah, but that is like asking what good is a meal after it is eaten, or a life once it is lived. A memory cannot be shared in its wholality, but an experience may be, a story can be shared. Is a book not worth its writing if fire claims it one day? All things age, Lady Sonna, all things meet their end one day, yet the journey remains worth taking.”
She nodded, a bit overwhelmed. She reached up to unclasp the necklace. “Would you tell me what the flowers mean please?”
Bilbo nodded, holding out his hand, his fingers tracing over the glass of the purple aster, “Purple is often a mark of royalty or nobility, as well as a mark of wisdom. This was the first flower he gave you, no?”
She nodded, “Yes, but how did you know?”
“The arrangement can be as meaningful as the bloom. He knew you were a healer's apprentice, did he not?”
“That's how we met.”
Bilbo smiled fondly. “Then this message is very plain. Hobbits, we have our lines of succession, our own pride and classes. In station, as a prince of the line of Durin, had you given him this bloom it would have been very unromantic indeed.
“It's something you might give your landlord who was kind to you during a poor harvest or brought you a meal after a new faunt was born. But for him to give it to you is to renounce his rank. A way of saying you have permission to address him without a title if you accepted his courtship. It was also a sign of his respect and admiration for your craft. He wouldn't have given a purple aster to a gardener because that career is seen as a passion of birth, not always a choice. Whereas being a healer is seen as a huge commitment and responsibility to others. The purple aster is a statement to all that you are deserving of admiration beyond romantic interest.”
Sonna’s heart thundered, “Relinquished his title as prince, for me?”
Bilbo smiled, “He didn't forswear his family and birthplace, no, he merely stated that between you and him there is no inequality, that he would be honoured by your use of his given name. To see him first as a dwarf before his rank or concern for your own.”
Sonna felt almost sick, because even in not knowing her well, his first gift to her would have been a balm to her fears.
“And if I had used his title?”
“To not accept a flower is to spit in a hobbit's face. I’ve never even done that to my cousin. But if you immediately used his title, it would have been a rejection of his suit. The first courting gift among hobbits is always something that can be easily rejected without shaming either party, most believe that admiration can bloom into either friendship or romantic intentions. Typically, the first courting gesture with any declaration is to be done before the other’s family. Until then, affections are passed between young ones until they get to know one another.”
Sonna was definitely going to be sick, “I thought— I thought hobbits were like dwarrow, I thought your Ones were called Heartsongs, destined. How can courting be… a pursuit of romance or friendship?”
Bilbo hummed, “My Heartsong was a dwarf, it may be that we were already destined. By the time I heard him sing, I was already quite befuddled. But my father had heard my mother sing throughout their childhoods and at parties, but it wasn’t until my mother opened her heart to him that their songs changed to fit one another. Everyone we meet changes us to some degree, as every experience shapes us. Not every hobbit meets their Heartsong, and I know some hobbits who were married for twenty years before their songs matched each other’s hearts.”
“They married without knowing they were each other’s Ones?”
“I’ve heard dwarves have been known to do the same, mostly for the desire for children, if I understand correctly. Hobbits are much the same, but a Heartsong is less rigid. If you love your partner, even if you were perhaps meant for another, your love for your spouse would prevent you from becoming the person who would have shared a heart with that other. Again, Ones and Heartsongs are not interchangeable.”
“By dwarf standards, giving me flowers as a courting gift like these means I’m worth only as much as weeds, that my beauty is fleeting. A joke, a denial of fate.”
Bilbo smiled at her, “Yet you knew that was not his intention, even if you didn’t understand the message.”
“I kept the flowers, but I used his titles.”
Bilbo nodded, “But you accepted his second courting gift.” Then he continued to translate Fíli’s gift, “Lavender, strength and healing, a representation of you, your beauty, your strength, and your gift for healing others. Potentilla, courage and endurance, yours. Snowdrops, hope and new beginnings.
“Translated into the Common Speech, it means that you are a soul whose generosity and wisdom far supersede your noble beauty, that he sees and respects your strength and the trials you’ve overcome. That even unrequited, his love for you is eternal, and its purity of feeling enriches his life whether or not you ever accept him.”
Sonna blinked back tears and immediately failed, feeling in her heart that the flowers spoke more eloquently than any other language and that hobbit traditions were the gentlest of all the free races of Middle Earth.
And twice as devastating for the same reason.
Bilbo offered her a clean handkerchief.
“I’m told gems and jewels can deliver similar messages, the elves certainly have the words to speak their meaning; men live too immediately to be overly bogged down by sentiment. But for my own, even more loving than the Green Speech is the language of flowers, an art much more than mere symbolism.”
Sonna could only nod in agreement as she dapped at her tears.
She would never value a material gift more than this one even when it came time to be passed down to her children or grandchildren and the flowers had all greyed and browned, it would forever be the most precious thing she owned.
Not for the mithral or the gold or the finest of precious gems chosen meticulously from the treasury of Erebor, but for the love and compassion of the blooms her One had chosen for her as he crossed Middle Earth.
oOo
Bilbo had relented as Thorin had requested in letting others do the work that the Consort was supposed to do.
He was somewhat comfortable in this, knowing that as Glorifindal was King Thranduil’s current ambassador, that his Adar would give the dwarrow more than fair deals.
What was he doing instead? Planning his garden. He was not an architect, but he had been shown where the light would fall depending on the season and he knew what his plants needed. It was no guarantee that they would grow well so far from the Yavannah’s blessed lands of the Shire, but Bilbo would do his best as one of her children to provide for these future gardens.
Going over his lists of plants and the blueprint he had been given, he was interrupted by a knock on his door.
Looking up, Bilbo called, “Come in.”
The door opened to reveal a dwarf he had never met before, who bowed immediately upon making eye contact, “King Consort, Lord Bilbo Baggins, Son of Glorfindel.”
“Can I help you–” Bilbo asked, pausing for an introduction.
The stranger did not give his name, just his purpose, “Lord Balin sent me with a document, my Lord.” The dwarf gave another bow.
“Well, let’s see it then,” Bilbo said with a sigh, surprised Balin wouldn’t stop by himself.
When the document was opened, breaking Thorin's own seal, Bilbo was a bit mortified it wasn’t Thorin presenting this to him.
Dwarrow and their contracts.
“Is this really necessary?” Bilbo sighed as he flipped through it, slowing as certain terminology stood out to him. “Did the King write this?”
“It was written with you in mind, my Lord. The language needed to be changed because of your background,” the dwarf explained.
Bilbo was about to chastise the tone when his eyes stumbled over a phrase.
“Get out,” he demanded.
“You need to sign with a witness, my Lord,” the dwarf argued.
“I said, get out . That was an order.”
The dwarf scurried out and Bilbo started reading the contract from the beginning, hoping that he had misunderstood.
Of course, he hadn’t.
Unadulterated rage burned in Bilbo’s gut as the legalities tore apart all that Thorin and he had dreamed about their futures.
It was one thing to ask that their hobbit fauntlings be removed from the line of succession; a part of Bilbo would be relieved if they were. After all, dwarven kings were expected to lead their people in war.
But this contract removed not just Bilbo’s blood kin, but Fíli from the line of succession.
How could Thorin do this? How could Balin?
The parts of the contract that stripped Bilbo of any authority were secondary to that, but no less offensive, as it broke all the promises that Thorin had made him.
The hobbits will own no part of the treasury nor property in any dwarven kingdom in his own name.
Bilbo reread the contract until he could recite it.
Then he crumpled the entirely unacceptable ‘marriage contract’ and shoved it into the bottom of his desk before he marched back to their rooms to wait for his ‘dear husband.’
oOo
Thorin was late getting home. He seldom missed supper, but he was being stretched thin as fixing Erebor became less practical and more intricate now that most obvious damage was being dealt with.
He was prepared to apologise to Bilbo but he paused when he found his supper beneath a lone serving tray on their large dining room table.
Normally, if he was late, Bilbo would clean up and make Thorin something small or reheat it himself when Thorin returned.
He was a bit embarrassed by his own disappointment at the meal left out to cool.
When he had grown so spoiled despite his One only being a few weeks out of bedrest?
Thorin sat down to eat his cold meal without complaint and was sure to clean up and scrub the dishes himself afterwards despite the exhaustion pulling on him.
When he entered the bedroom, the air felt cold despite the roaring fireplace.
Bilbo was sitting up, reading a book about dwarven law that Ori had found in the library that was written in Common.
He looked up at Thorin with an unreadable expression, with no word of greeting.
Thorin fought the urge to fidget and apologised, “I’m sorry I was late tonight. I’ll try to remember to send word if I get that late again.”
“I’m sure you’re very busy.”
Thorin winced as he began to strip down to get into bed, “It’s nothing to worry about, just more voices trying to be heard.”
“I’m glad you were spared the annoyance of mine, then.”
Thorin froze, turning to his One, “No, Ghivashel. That’s not at all what I meant. Your rest is more important than–”
“Is that what you want to talk about tonight?” Bilbo asked as he sharply interrupted.
“Um, I suppose not. I’m sorry, love. Is there something you would like to discuss?”
“Like to? No, but is there something you need to discuss with me?”
Thorin’s mind whirled, when he came up blank, he questioned, “No?”
Bilbo’s entire expression closed down, “Fine, then.”
“Bilbo, what’s wrong?” Thorin asked, reaching out to him over the bed.
But Bilbo flinched back from him, “Nothing. Nothing is wrong. I want to go to sleep.”
Thorin retreated, “Of course, I’m–”
He bit his tongue as he watched Bilbo turn off his side-table lamp and set aside his book.
Thorin hurried to get turned in as well. His heart sank when he reached out to Bilbo, and his hobbit turned his back on him, away from his touch.
It was the first night they had shared a bed or a bedroll that Bilbo pulled away.
The first night Thorin felt lonely this close to his Heartsong.
He didn’t know what was wrong but he vowed he would discover the cause and mend this rift between them.
He bore down on the pain in his heart, knowing that he must have done something wrong to deserve it.
oOo
Bilbo felt as if Thorin had plunged a dagger through his heart.
Not only did Thorin not deign to discuss the marriage contract with him before writing up a draft but he thought it was such a standard thing that they had no cause to discuss it before or after his signing of it.
To not even question if he would sign it.
But Bilbo was a Baggins and would not sign a contract that waved his rights, the rights of Thorin's children, nor Fíli’s rights away.
Surely when Dís arrived she would take Bilbo's side in this, even if Thorin and Balin had betrayed him like this.
It was a good thing Bilbo had long ago learned to cry quietly.
Thorin didn't deserve to see the pain he caused, Bilbo would not allow him to change the contract merely because of his tears.
No, Thorin would rewrite the damn contract himself and propose a formal dwarven marriage, romantically, because it was what they both deserved.
His Heartsong had made him promises, Bilbo would ensure the King of Erebor would stay true to them, or he would find himself without a Consort and barren garden.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, Mama Llamas, or requests, pretty please?
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