Chapter Text
Bilbo blinked himself awake, confused. That was the oddest dream. Hallucination? How did he end up on the couch? Whatever, it was almost time for Frodo to eat, wasn’t it? He must have been more tired than he’d realized, if he’d been negligent enough to doze off before feeding his son.
Frodo’s delighted squeal and breathy chuckle caught his attention and he turned his head over to find the source of the latter sound.
Thorin... Thorin was sitting on his floor. In his living room. He was holding both of Frodo's little hands, and lifting him up when he jumped, much to the fauntlings glee.
"...Wha-?" He choked out, pushing himself up to his elbows, and Thorin's gaze snapped to him. "You're awake! I- uh... sorry for dropping in so suddenly. I didn't mean to startle you so badly. Are you... feeling alright?"
Bilbo didn't respond for a long moment, just stared at him with a dropped jaw. "Bilbo?" The dwarf hedged in a half-wary tone, like he was worried he’d pass out again or something. Which… yes, actually, that was a fair concern, he still felt rather faint.
The hobbit stood, walking over hesitantly. "Are you... real?" He whispered, reaching out to touch, to feel, to… to PROVE. "Is this some sort of trick? A dream?" Thorin gave him a little smile, and rested his calloused hand over the one lightly pressed to his cheek. "Y'know, if you'd actually stuck around for my funeral, you would have found out there wasn't one, since I wasn't dead. Just... out of commission for a while."
A ragged sob tore out of Bilbo's throat, and he threw his arms around Thorin's neck, babbling apologies into his shoulder. The dwarf wrapped one arm around him tightly, the other a moment later as he released the fauntling. "It's ok, it's ok Bilbo, I-I understand. You moved on, I don't begrudge you that. Your- your son is very cute. You said his name was Frodo, right? Did you pick it, or his mother? He's got your nose, and-and your smile, and-"
Bilbo shook his head. "No, no. There's... no mother, not exactly, I- oh- I- I can’t- I have to-" His breath was coming too quickly, and Thorin rubbed his hands along his sides. "Easy, easy. Breathe, yes? I hear it's something important to living." A hiccupping laugh, and he pulled back a little bit, covering his face in his palms. Thorin’s hands didn’t leave him, rather settling carefully onto his hips, feeling a little bit like hot brands with the warmth emanating from him.
A quiet whine sounded, and Bilbo sniffled as he looked down at Frodo, who's lip was wobbling as he clutched to Bilbo's pant leg, having toddled over to his weeping parent. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, my dear." He croaked, reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief to clean up his face, then lifting the fauntling up into his lap. "I'm alright, don't worry. But it's time for elevensies, isn't it? You must be hungry."
He was a little bit shaky as he stood up, still holding Frodo in his arms, and Thorin stood with him, steadying him. He didn't resist the temptation to lean against him for a moment, relishing in his comforting heat, but only for a moment, before pulling himself away and hurrying to the kitchen. Frodo allowed himself to be sat in the high chair with little fuss, and Bilbo set to making a quick meal for two- for THREE. Because Thorin was here, hovering awkwardly next to the fauntling, and watching him prepare their food. He forced his breathing to steady as another sob swelled in his throat, and before long, there was a meal on the table.
Frodo happily began to munch on his soft food, getting perhaps more on his face and tray than in his mouth, but Bilbo was too frazzled to care much. "You should eat too, Th-" He choked again, and coughed into his handkerchief to cover it. "Thorin. I made enough, I'm sure you've had a long journey."
"I... have indeed. Are you also going to eat? Never known you to willingly skip a meal!" He tries for a joking tone, but it falls flat, and Bilbo gives him a tense smile. "Ah, yes, I should... I should also eat."
Thorin sat down, and pointedly left a space between him and Frodo. Bilbo sat without a word, and started to dish out a plate for himself, side eyeing Thorin until he followed suit. They ate in silence for a few moments, before Thorin cleared his throat. "You said... his mother wasn't in the picture?"
"No... no, I said he doesn't have a mother." Bilbo whispered, gaze faraway and cast towards the table. Thorin still looked puzzled.
"I’m… sorry, I don't understand. Did she pass?"
"No. you passed." He took a shaky breath, and stood up, wiping the crumbs and jam from Frodo's face and hands, and lifting him up into his arms. "Come. I'll show you my garden." Thorin follows, not quite sure what that has to do with anything, but willing to do whatever his- the hobbit wants. Not his anymore, right?
They make their way out to a flourishing Oak tree, young, but not young enough, for how old it must be. It wasn't here when last Thorin was, when they first embarked on their quest. Which means it can be no older than four, and yet it looks to be a decade at least. Bilbo let out a shuddering breath. "Do you remember that acorn?"
"Yes. The one you got from Beorn's garden, right?"
"Yes. Well, when I returned after your... apparent death, I planted that acorn in my garden. Like you wanted me to. I buried it with the courting bead you gave me. Y'know, I... I never even got around to cleaning the blood off of it. I just couldn't bear to look at it. I hoped that if I planted them together then... then it would grow with that bead at its core. That way I could still... still have you in some way. An Oak of an Oakenshield."
Thorin didn't say anything, just lifted a hand and set it upon his shoulder gingerly. Bilbo quivered. "Well. It grew. Far quicker than it had any right to, but perhaps that was just what trees from Beorn's garden do. Then one morning, about two years ago, I came to the garden, as I do every morning, and there was a hollow that had not been there the night before." He reached his hand into the hollow of the tree, patting the smooth wood inside gently. "And inside it, there lay a newborn. Covered in dirt instead of a mother's blood, and wailing like anything. And he... he looked like you."
His voice rose high and reedy, and Thorin's eyes widened as he realized, gaze shifting to the fauntling in Bilbo's arms. He was sucking on his fingers, staring up at him with eyes just as blue and wide as his own. "And In his left hand? Was this:" He pulled a chain out from under his shirt, the silver bead strung on it glinting as the sun hit it, blue and green shimmering in the light just as Thorin had intended when he had forged it, "and that's when I knew that Yavanna had blessed me, Thorin. She gave me a son, made of your blood and my love. He has no mother, except maybe the tree, if you want to think of it like that? Just me. And… and you."
He stared for a long moment. Stared as Frodo babbled excitedly, reaching slick fingers up to the bead to play with, then clenched his jaw, eyes damp. "Oh," he croaks, "and there's... there's no one else?"
"Oh, Thorin... how could I ever move on from you? My beloved, did I not make you a promise when I said yes?"
Thorin choked and staggered the two steps closer, enveloping him in a hug, the little one carefully pocketed between them. "I'm sorry," he gasped, "I should have come sooner. I should have been here! I could have left the kingdom in Fili’s care sooner, damn the bureaucracy, and-"
"If you do not begrudge me for leaving so suddenly, then I do not begrudge you not arriving sooner." Bilbo whispered against him. "I never expected- I thought I'd never see you again. This is a blessing, Thorin. You and Frodo both are my blessings." Thorin made another choking noise and squeezed him tighter for a moment, then only pulling away enough to look at Frodo in between them, arms still wrapped loosely around Bilbo’s shoulders. “So,” he murmurs, a little hoarse, “This is my… my son?"
Bilbo nodded, his smile wide and teary and adoring. “Yeah, yes, that’s right. And you-” a giggle bubbled from his chest. “You have arrived just in time for the terrible two's. Congratulations!” His smile fell a little. “If… if that’s something you want, of course.”
“If that’s something I- Bilbo," He leaned down to press his forehead to the hobbit’s, “If that’s something I want? Bilbo, Ghivashel, I do not think there is anything I have ever wanted more than… than to have you, and have a son with you. If you’ll truly have me after leaving you alone this long, that is.”
He sniffed and raised one trembling hand off of Frodo to slide into his hair, the few graying strands sparkling like true silver as they were shifted in the sun. “Only as long as I have left you alone, Thorin. I want Frodo to know you as he knows me. I… I have told him some stories, when I can bear to, though he is not yet old enough to understand, because I wanted him to have you in his life, in some way, even if it pales next to your actual presence. It was the best I could do. I’ve been calling you Adad. I heard that was the Khuzdul word for Father, so I thought… I thought if you could see us, you’d like that?”
“I do!” He urgently reassures, softening again as he pulls his head away to lean down, and offers a careful hand to Frodo. The fauntling coos and grasps onto his finger with his tiny hand, just barely managing to encircle one. Thorin chuckles. “I… I really really do. Hello, Kahjmel, my Little Acorn.”
Bilbo bursts into tears all over again. “I call him that, too!” He cried, and Thorin cradled his cheek in a palm, pressing little kisses around his face. He collects himself a bit after a long moment, taking a deep breath, though his eyes still gleam, and the calloused palm on his cheek does not move away as he looks up at him. “You- You made me a promise, Thorin Oakenshield. You said you’d woo me properly - all the bells and whistles! You said you’d offer me nothing less than your full hearted devotion!”
He smiled and pressed yet another lingering kiss beside his eye. “I did, didn’t I? Well then, Bilbo Baggins, Master Burglar, Lukhdel, would you allow me the great privilege and pleasure of courting you? Properly, this time, for all that we already have a child?”
The hobbit huffed, amused despite himself. “Yes, Your Majesty. I would be pleased and honored to accept your courtship.” Bilbo felt a comforting warmth bubble up into his chest, the moment soft and still between them.
Everything might just turn out good after all.