The Burden Of Choice - Fantasyinallforms - The Hobbit (2024)

Chapter 1: Run for it

Chapter Text

It was an agreement he was hard-pressed to make, but what other choice did he have? How long could he sit on rusted laurels while his people grew hungrier every day? How long could he continue to acquiesce to the elves as they pushed the price of their goods higher and higher? Thror ran his hand down his face, feeling the weight of his age, sagging his shoulders. It had been several long, hard years marred by the loss of too many. Erebor was one of the greatest kingdoms in Middle Earth, but after the last few year's events, it struggled to hold its reputation of greatness.

A great red dragon, Smaug, laid siege to the mountain and terrorised the land. He all but destroyed the neighbouring people of Dale, leaving the city a melted relic and relegating what remained of its people to the small, harsh town of Esgaroth upon the lake. The might of the dwarves defeated the dragon in the end, but the cost was far too high. He had lost his son, one of his grandsons, and his son-in-law. Three of his kin were slain in the effort to bring down the beast, and yet, to him, it felt like folly. For even as they were delivered from the siege, they realised the devastation that had been wrought. The dragon had charred and blighted the land. Nothing could be persuaded to grow, and with their closest trading ally gone, they were forced to rely on the woodland realm for all trade. King Thranduil did nothing to aid them when they were best by dragon fire but seemed all too keen on taking their coin now that they were desperate.

Erebor needed allies. As king, it was his and his family’s job to secure them. The easiest and most successful way to do that was through a marriage alliance. His eldest grandson was not wed. A strong, healthy warrior who would one day take the throne. An offer of his hand was sure to secure any alliance that he proposed. Though, that meant little until he had better allies with which to arrange anything. He would rather pluck out his good eye than wed his grandson to an elf.

The solution to his dilemma came from an unlikely race. Halflings or rather hobbits that lived east of their small settlement in the Blue Mountains. Thror had been weary of the simple but prosperous people at first. The distance between their kingdoms offered its own challenge, but that changed when their leader, whom they called the Thane, offered him not just aid but the ability to become self-sufficient again. He swore that the skill of hobbits could repair the damage done to the land and slowly bring it back to its former glory.

Thror had sent an emissary at once to see the Shire and check the claims of this Thane. The letters he received were beyond promising. Every report confirmed that hobbits had a way with nature that could only be kin to that of Yavanna herself. If anyone could live up to the promises of renewing the land, it was these people.

He had expected Thane Fortinbras to ask for a high price in return but found his terms exceptionally agreeable. It seemed the Hobbits had pressing issues of their own. More and more orcs were seen in those lands coming from the hills of Rhudaur, and the rangers in the region were overwhelmed. It was only a matter of time before one of them made it to the Shire proper, and should that happen, they had little way of defending themselves. All they wanted was protection. A small dwarvish settlement that abided by the laws of the Shire to act as protectors. In turn, they would send a small settlement to the mountain to oversee the land's restoration and stay to tend it.

To ensure that no one could renege on the agreement, Thane Fortinbras insisted he wed one of his own family members to his grandson. Thror agreed under the terms that the hobbit in question would be male and that while he would serve as consort, the line of succession would immediately fall to his great-grandson Fili.

The deal had been struck. Yet the hardest part was still to come. He prayed to Mahal for the strength he needed to get his grandson to see reason.

“Come at me again!” Thorin repositioned the sword in his hand and faced Dwalin head-on.

“I think yer getting rusty with all that paperwork you seem to be stuck behind, your highness.” Dwalin teased as he lunged at Thorin’s right side, only to redirect left in an attempt to catch him off guard. Thorin parried and followed through until the edge of the dull blade was at Dwalin's throat.

“If you’re going to call me rusty, you’ll have to back that up with some actual evidence.” Thorin shot back. They broke apart with a laugh before clasping arms and meeting each other in a headbutt.

“How much longer do you have today before your grandfather pulls you away again?” Dwalin asked.

“I don't know. He said he was attending other business. He’s preparing for the delegation arriving tomorrow.”

“Right. Aren't they the ones who are supposed to make the land livable again? I don't know how they're going to manage that, but they’re welcome to take a stab at it. It’s not as if anything else has worked.” Dwalin sounded sceptical, and Thorin could understand why. The entire idea was the knife's edge of desperate.

“He has to try something. The elves are bleeding us dry. You might have been standing outside the door, but I’m sure you could still hear Thranduil's bold excuses from there.”

“Be that as it may, nothing comes for free. I can't imagine the pile of money these folks are going to make off with.” The comment struck something in him. Perhaps this fact was the reason for his grandfather's odd mood. King Thror had all but demanded he be present at every meeting the king was required to attend. The constant meetings and paperwork had left him too busy and exhausted to even practise his metalwork. His hands itched to hold his smithing hammer again.

He wrapped things up with Dwalin and headed to his rooms. His grandfather had not called for him. If he was lucky and skipped dinner, he could utilise the free time to get several hours in at the forge.

He knew something was off the moment he rounded the corner to his rooms. His grandfather's guards were standing at attention right outside his door. Thorin stiffened but continued walking as if nothing was amiss. He nodded to the guards as he opened his door and unsurprisingly found the king stoically sitting on his armchair.

“Your majesty.” Thorin bowed to show his deference. Normally, he wouldn’t address his grandfather as such if they were alone, but this interaction felt uncomfortably formal.

“No need for all that boy. Come and sit. We have much to discuss.” If he hadn't known his grandfather so well, he would have considered this nonchalant, but the line of his shoulders was pulled back, and his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Has something happened?” Thorin asked, unable to hide the anxiety in his words.

“Just sit and listen. Do your best not to interrupt as much as you might want to. There are details about tomorrow's delegation that you need to be made aware of.” That caught Thorin very off guard.

“The delegation of people from the other side of the Misty Mountains?” Thorin had anticipated a much more serious topic for such an impromptu visit, but he sat and let his grandfather continue.

“The very same. I have not informed you of all the reasons or circ*mstances for their coming here. Their Thane, Fortinbras Took, requested a mutual alliance. They have food in abundance and claim that they can restore the land to its former glory. I sent a travelling party to confirm these claims, and they indeed have a miraculous way with the green and growing things of this world. They are Yavanna’s children, just as we are Mahal’s. In return for their aid, which would require a permanent settlement near the mountain, they have requested we set up a settlement in the Shire to help them ward off the growing bands of orcs travelling through their land.”

Thorin reeled from the information. This all sounded good and fair. Why would he need to be informed in such a way? Thror had mentioned a settlement. Did his grandfather plan to send him to set it up? Was he concerned about his reaction? Thorin sat straighter in his seat, his eyebrows pulled tight as he made sense of it all. His grandfather continued to hesitate despite clearly having more to say. He seemed to steel himself for his next words as he continued.

“They have asked for more than a contract as a guarantee that all parties will see this alliance through. I see the wisdom in this. For the good of the kingdom, you have been promised to one of the Thane’s own. We have agreed to hold the ceremony in a week's time, right after the signing of the treaty.”

Thorin stood deadly still and silent as the grave. Little by little, the weight of the information settled on him, and as it did, an explosive rage kindled in the pit of his stomach grew until it burned through his insides, tossing aside all other emotions. His trademark Durin temper threatened to get the better of him.

“No.” He spat coldly. His grandfather remained seated with at least the courtesy of looking ashamed of his words. “No,” Thorin said again, this time with surety and command. His grandfather stood and brought himself to his full height.

“Yes. You are the crown prince; therefore, it is your duty to your people. We can’t go on like this. Erebor bleeds gold to the elves, who would gladly see us crumble to dust. Yet without them, we could not sustain ourselves. This is our only hope for the future. You carry the burden of doing what needs to be done.” Thror argued.

“What needs to be done! Did you bother to look at any other options before you sold my future off to the highest bidder?” Thorin sounded bitter. He was bitter. How dare he? How dare he! Did his grandfather truly not understand what he was doing? What if he found his One? What if this phantom person merely tolerated him. All hope for a life filled with love felt plucked out of his hands and replaced by the dullness of duty. An entire future he once looked forward to, came crashing down around him.

“I will leave you here to think about my words. You may meet your future consort tomorrow if you wish. For what it’s worth, it’s not what I would have preferred, but dark times make villains of us all, my boy.” Thror closed the door and took his future with him.

Thorin raged in his room and paced the floor until he was sure he had worn a hole in the ground. He would not do this. He would not be a political pawn for his unimaginative grandfather, who refused to see a solution beyond this extreme. He needed to rage and hit something with all of his strength without holding back. He picked up the bracers on his desk and wrenched open his door to head to his forge. He was not delighted to see that his grandfather's guards were still posted on either side of the door, facing straight ahead, unmoving as they were trained to be. He ignored them as he left his room, only to hear them turn on a pin and march behind him.

“I don’t need you. Go back to the King.” Thorin barked.

“We can not, Your Highness. The king has ordered us to shadow you.” One of the guards said. He undoubtedly left out the part where his grandfather told them to keep an eye on him and ensure he didn't do anything irrational. He continued walking, his blood on fire now. There was a sense of relief when he entered his forge. The guards tried to follow in after him but were met with the wood of the door as Thorin slammed it in their faces. The coals of his forge were low but not dead. It took more than a week's absence to extinguish flames birthed in forges made by dwarves. He fed the coals and watched them grow in colour while he thought about what to make. A blade, maybe, or hooks for Dis to hang her tapestries on.

For a split second, he thought of a courting gift. Something small. Something that said welcome. He immediately dashed the idea, mad at himself for thinking of it. Dis had told him he was a romantic. He denied it every time. There was especially nothing romantic about this. He didn't even know if his intended was in on it or duped as he had been. Had they known their fate for months, or were they somewhere on the road to coming to terms with the same future that had been unlovingly crafted for them?

Thorin settled on a dagger. He pulled the steel rod from the fire, red hot and glowing, and laid it on his anvil. He struck it again and again and again. The sound of metal singing in his forge brought his temperature down and allowed him to think again. He hadn't bothered to put on a blacksmith's apron. The sparks of flame that danced into the air with every blow kissed his skin in a way that reminded him he was alive. That he was himself.

It was over a day before he left the room. He deliberately missed the delegation and ignored all knocks on his door besides the ones that brought food. He didn’t emerge until he had a new blade in his hand. It was small and light, an offhand weapon, something meant to be hidden under clothing.

He wasn't surprised to see a new set of guards posted at the door, though they were surprised to see him. He ignored their salutes and made for his rooms, knowing they would still be annoyingly hot on his tail. His room proved to be no safe haven as he was greeted by Dwalin standing in front of his fireplace, a stoic look on his face.

“I’m getting tired of people using my rooms as they please,” Thorin complained. “Are you here to drag me to meet the delegation after missing their arrival?”

“Not drag, ya. His Majesty didn't seem to care one way or another if you showed up. He only said to ask and escort you if ya said yes.” Dwalin’s tone was conversational, but he was watching him, not as a guard but as a friend who knew him too well.

“Did you see them?” Thorin asked

“The person you’re hitched to? I don't know. There were a lot of those little folk, and any one of them could be him.”

“Him?” Thorin raised his brow in question. “How do you know it’s a him?”

“Because the King keeps referring to him as a he. Thought that might lessen the blow. Short, cute, and male was always your preference.” Dwalin said with a shrug.

“My preference is not to be sold to the highest bidder like a prize-winning ram!” Thorin bellowed. His anger was back, but with it, he realised how exhausted and cut he was by the last few days' events. “How am I supposed to come to terms with this Dwalin?”

“I can't tell you because I couldn't be you. Presented with the same choices. I would run.”

Thorin looked up suddenly, surprised at what he was hearing.

“Run? That’s a coward's way out, and I wouldn't expect it from you.”

“It's the opposite of cowardice. It’s abandoning everything for the chance to live a life on your own terms.”

Dwalin was right, but it still took quite a while for Thorin to believe it. Dwalin left, and a day passed. Then another, then another. He had very few visitors aside from Dwalin. His grandfather had made no other attempt to speak to him, and Dis not visiting meant she was likely warned against it or kept busy. His only acknowledgement was a package placed at his door containing all the normal regalia for a proper dwarven wedding, including a set of courting and marriage beads that were once his mother's.

Thorin sat on his bed the night before his world was to come crashing down, clutching the beads in his hand. His mind raced through a thousand things, but Dwalin’s words about leaving were the most present. Soon, the whisper of an idea grew until it was too loud to ignore. He stood upright and opened his door. Without looking at the guard there, he demanded they get Dwalin, and of course, they obliged him. He had the huffy-looking bald dwarf at his door less than ten minutes later.

“This couldn't wait until the morning?”

“No.” Thorin dragged Dwalin into the room and dropped his voice to a whisper, “I’m leaving. Tonight. Right now. Will you help me?” This was a risk, and Thorin knew it. He was testing his friend's loyalty in the worst way, but he would need to feel guilty about it later. Dwalin didn't look surprised. He took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eyes.

“Pack a bag and make it a light one.”

Chapter 2: Unexpected company

Chapter Text

Thorin grabbed his bedroll and travel pack, stuffing it with a change of clothes, a camp set, rope, waterskin, some gold, and a blanket. He grabbed his pipe and tobacco as well, allowing himself one luxury for the road. The pack still had hardtack and jerky in it from when he went hunting not too long ago. He wrapped some dinner rolls in a napkin to take along as well. He would have to forage and hunt as he went. He looked around the room and spotted the knife he had just made and his mother's beads. Hastily, he shoved the knife into his coat and the beads in his pack before tying it shut.

“Are you done?” Dwalin barked.

“Almost,” Thorin replied. He couldn't leave without writing a note. Dis would be heartbroken enough as is, and he owed it to her and the boys. He wanted to leave one for his grandfather as well. Despite Dwalin’s hurry, they had time. The night would stretch for a while yet.

Dear Dis,

I don’t know what will be said about me by the time you get this letter, but yes, I left. Grandfather decided his only option was to seize my fate and do with it as he pleased. This is my reclaiming it. I don't know how long I will be away. It could be forever. If I find a way to get you another letter without telling you my whereabouts, I will. Say goodbye to the boys for me, and if you aren't too upset with me, remind them that their uncle loves them fiercely.

I hope that my leaving isn't permanent. I only wish to be gone as long as our Grandfather refuses to see sense. This is a choice I cannot live with being ripped from me.

I’m sorry, Dis.

Your big brother

Thorin

~~~

Grandfather,

You will call me a coward. You will say I have betrayed my people and cursed my honour. I have come to terms with that. You made it clear that my future and my happiness meant nothing in the grand scheme of the needs of the kingdom. I’m not upset about that. You are the king, and you did what you felt needed to be done.

So did I.

Thorin II Oakenshield.

“I’m done.” Thorin sealed the envelopes with wax and placed one on his bed. He handed the other to Dwalin, “Make sure this gets put in Dis’ hands. If my grandfather gets to it first, he’ll ensure she never sees it. Now, what are we going to do about the guards?” Thorin kept his voice low as he strapped his sword to his back and shouldered the pack.

“Take this. It’s a key. When I leave here, you’re going to lock the door from the inside. I’m going to tell the guards that they are urgently needed elsewhere and pretend to lock the door with a broken lock. The guards will check, and they’ll be satisfied when it doesn't open. Take the entire lock, rope, and key with you when you leave,” Dwalin explained.

“That’s a lot of forethought put into a last-minute plan, but won't the guards know something is up when you lead them to nothing?” Thorin asked

“I knew you wouldn't stand for it, so I made a plan with an… acquaintance from the pocket tunnels. They won’t have reason to suspect. We grew up together. Face it, Thorin, you’d be miserable if you were forced to live like this. Hell, you might be miserable out there too, but at least it would have been your choice.”

Dwalin aimed a light punch at his arm. There was a heaviness that lingered with it. Thorin responded by grasping his friend's forearm. Dwalin clasped his in kind. They exchanged no words and didn't need to. Both knew full well the weight of the actions performed that night. Dwalin was more than blood kin. He was a brother in arms and the best dwarf he had the pleasure to know. For what might be the last time, they knocked heads and carried out their plan.

Thorin felt odd sneaking through the halls of his own home. He moved quietly, aware that while he was dressed in travelling clothes, it didn't make him necessarily quiet. Every shifting pebble or scrape of boots sounded like it would give him away. His goal was to head for the secret door built into the mountain during the siege of Smaug in case the royal family needed to make a quick escape.

Progress was careful and slow. Slow enough that barely, just barely on the edge of a century and a half of honed hearing, he heard the scrape of feet. At first, he thought nothing of it. A rodent had perhaps made its way into the mountain, but it persisted. It moved when he moved and stopped just short of when he did. He was being followed. By something careful and incredibly quiet. A master in the art of staying in the shadows and masking their movement. Thorin reached into his coat and clasped his hand around the dagger hidden there. He moved as if nothing was amiss, finally making it to the tunnel that marked the path to the exit. Knowing the stalker would have no choice but to follow, he waited, and when he caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, he acted on it, grabbing them and pinning them to the wall with the knife pressed to their skin.

He had expected a dwarf, but what he held in his hands was definitely not that. He was shorter with honey copper curls and pointed leaf-shaped ears. A pair of large focus stealing hazel eyes filled with panic met his in the darkness. He lowered the knife, knowing there was no need to use it to restrain the smaller man.

“Why are you following me halfling?” Thorin hissed as quickly as he could. Some of the fear left the man's face before he answered.

“Hobbit, and because you look like you know a way out, and that’s exactly what I need.” The little thing hissed back with more fire than he was expecting.

“Why would you need to leave? Didn’t your people just get here?” Thorin whispered.

“My reasons are mine to keep. If you don't ask me why I’m leaving, then I won't ask why you are.” The hobbit reached up and snapped the strap of his travelling pack defiantly. If they lingered here for too much longer they would get caught.

“Fine. Be quiet and follow close.” Thorin led them up the tunnel and out through the invisible stone door. It opened to a ledge. Fresh air filled his lungs, and tossed his hair. He closed the door slowly and quietly behind him, watching it disappear into the rock around it. No going back now.

Thorin turned around to get a good look at his unexpected tag-along. He looked a mix of relieved and sad as he stared out over the still-dark horizon.

“We need to get off the mountain before dawn. Where are your things?” Thorin examined him, but aside from the small sack he was carrying, the hobbit had nothing.

“These are my things. I wasn't lucky enough to have a travel pack readily available.” The hobbit held up his little sack and started walking towards the narrow stairs on the side of the cliff.

“How do you expect to survive with nothing but a change of clothes?” Thorin snorted.

“I have some gold, and until I can buy what I need, I’m a very good forager. I’ll make do.” The hobbit walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down the zig-zagging staircase with trepidation. Thorin ran his hand through his hair and groaned to himself.

“I’m Thorin. Go down the stairs backward, so you won't be looking down the whole time.” The hobbit looked up and nodded.

“Thank you. I-I’m Bilbo Baggins. At your service.” Bilbo did an awkward dwarven bow that was clearly meant to show some respect. It was appreciated, if unnecessary.

“You said not to ask why you’re leaving. Fine. Where are you going?” Thorin asked, still suspicious.

“I don't know yet. Away. Somewhere, not here. That’s as far as my plan got.” Bilbo started down the steep stairway. Thorin watched him make it halfway down before he followed.

“Do you have a weapon on you?” Thorin asked frustratingly. The hobbit gave another huff.

“You know you ask a lot of questions for someone also sneaking out of the mountain in the middle of the night. What does it matter to you if I do or don’t?” Bilbo reached the bottom and stepped off to the side, brushing off his clothing. He looked around at the blackened ground, picking up a few shorter sticks, and frowned. “You know what would be useful instead of asking me silly questions? Helping me find a decent-sized walking stick with that improved night vision of yours,” Bilbo stated, still looking at the ground. Thorin raised an eyebrow at the audacity of this little man but found himself surveying the ground nonetheless.

“What do you need a walking stick for? I thought you were buying your supplies.” Thorin walked toward a downed tree, only half charred and promising.

“My father used to caution against spending money unnecessarily. If I can find one, that’s more coin for the road, and I have no idea where I might need that coin. As far as why I need it, I can't see in the dark, and the moon is barely a sliver. I'd rather not walk into a pool of water or off a steep cliff by accident.” Bilbo replied.

Thorin reached the tree and searched the sticks nearby. He found one far longer than the little hobbit would need. He walked it over to him and planted it right next to his frame, startling him.

“What are you-?” Thorin shushed him and used his hand to measure a respectable height before snapping it and thrusting it into the hobbit's arms.

“I wasn’t planning on letting you walk off a cliff,” Thorin replied stiffly. Bilbo tested the stick and mumbled a thank you.

“I didn’t expect you to stick with me, frankly. You have better eyesight, longer legs, and, I’m assuming, better stamina. You could make it to Laketown before the sun rises if you were determined enough.”

Bilbo still sounded like he expected Thorin to walk off at any moment. By all accounts, that is exactly what he should do. This hobbit didn't seem to want his company much anyway, but he couldn't. If nothing else, by sheer virtue of knowing that despite the attitude and brave face, he didn't seem well equipped or accustomed to this kind of travel, nor did he have any way to defend himself. Thorin cursed under his breath in Khuzdul and eyed the creature, looking for a reason to turn away and continue with his original plan. It was equally frustrating that he was having an unusually hard time coming up with even physical attributes of the person in front of him that were displeasing. His attitude aside.

“Come on. We need to reach the river before they know I’m gone. When they do, they’ll send rams. We need to be across the water by then, at least.” They both picked up their pace, but Thorin kept several steps behind the hobbit to avoid overtaking him. There was little talk, but they both carried their nerves in their shoulders. Bilbo broke the silence first.

“So you’re pretty important to have people send rams after you, I guess,” Bilbo indirectly asked. Thorin considered what to say. The hobbit had not been forthcoming about himself, and he saw no reason why he should be.

“Important enough. We’ll reach the river in an hour. How did your people get across?” Thorin asked, changing the subject. Bilbo didn't press the shift.

“A ferry had been set up. On a narrower part just past where the water split. Do you know it?” Bilbo replied. Thorin shook his head. It was another hour's walk, and the horizon was showing the barest hints of red.

“We need to pick up the pace. Can you sprint?” Thorin asked. The hobbit gave him an apprehensive look but nodded. “We’ll go at your pace, " he said. Thorin remembered rather belatedly that Bilbo had no water or food. He reached into his bag and handed over a piece of jerky, which the hobbit took gratefully. When he was done eating, Thorin handed over the waterskin.

They rested momentarily, and Thorin surveyed the landscape out of caution and habit, but his eyes betrayed him. They kept falling back on the hobbit, taking in his appearance and mannerisms. Even as he disciplined himself and willed his vision away, it returned, lingering on the way his lips formed around the water skins edge and how his hair seemed to fall in front of his face regardless of how many times he brushed it away. He was grateful when their rest was over. When everything was put away, Thorin locked eyes with the hobbit, and with a nod, they took off.

They were still going too slowly for his liking. He was sure he would see rams over the ridge at any moment. Several times, Thorin considered picking Bilbo up and tossing him over his shoulder, but he decided against it. The sun was firmly over the horizon when they reached the water. Bilbo looked ragged. He was panting, clutching his chest, and struggling for air.

“We’re almost there. It's just up the river.” They started running again until the ferry was in sight. Bilbo threw himself onto it, collapsing onto all fours, his chest heaving. Thorin stepped aboard and dropped his things onto the floor before taking the rope with both hands and pulling with all his strength to get them away from the shore.

Once on the water, pulling was easier. He didn’t dare slow down until the ferry was docked on the other side. Once it was, he drew his sword and cut the rope, tossing it into the river to cover their escape. He turned to check on his companion and found him with his back to the centre mast, hazel eyes wide, and practically drinking him in. Thorin sheathed his sword and averted his gaze, becoming self-conscious.

“We have to move again, but we can walk now.” He advised, disembarking the ferry.

With the immediate threat of being dragged back gone, they both seemed to be in better spirits. The trek to Laketown seemed shorter than the one to the river. Even still, they had no intention of staying long. This town was a harsh one and not built for the likes of hobbits or dwarves. Thorin noted how warily Bilbo looked at the water and kept to the side of the channels whenever possible. Bilbo bought the things he needed without complaint despite it being present on his face. The sleepy town seldom got new guests, and the prices reflected that. With no bedroll to be bought, Bilbo settled for a simple pack with a wool blanket, a waterskin, and a few smelly fish rations.

It was then that he heard it. A great horn rang out from far away. Thorin held his breath, wondering how many blasts would sound. Two. A signal to close all the gates. No one was to be let in or out of the mountain. In a way, this was good. It meant they still thought he might be inside. How long that would last, he didn’t know.

“What was that?” Bilbo whispered.

“They know I’m gone,” Thorin replied. He looked to his side to see some of the colour drain from the hobbit's face. He stuffed the small sack of clothing he had bought into his new pack and threw it over his shoulder.

“Where to now? We should have gold enough to hire a barge to take us down the lake. We can cut across the Greenwood by leave of the elves.” Bilbo suggested. Thorin scoffed

“I will not be welcome there, nor would I want to be. Besides, it's the obvious path. We should double back. Sleep in the woods tonight and have someone take us across the river in the morning. We can disembark at the northernmost point. From there, we can take the pass by the Grey Mountains.” Thorin marched forward like the matter was settled, only to feel the warmth and surprising strength of a small hand on his forearm.

“Excuse me, are you saying we just ran like a warg was chasing us to get across the river only to go back across it! Didn’t you say that they would send rams or such like, after you!” Bilbo sounded uncertain and frustrated.

“Our trail would have gone cold by this time next morning, and they won't waste their time checking the same place twice. They’ll send scouts in the direction they think we’ve gone, not the one they already checked.” Of this, Thorin was certain. He trained with the guards and scouts. Some he even educated himself. He knew all of their tricks but still had some of his own. Bilbo had nothing to say, but some of the fight had left him. He expected this was not as much from anything Thorin did or said but from the fatigue they were both feeling. “This can wait until morning. Let's go somewhere we can make camp.”

They walked until just past midday. There was no urgency or conversation. When they came into sight of the river, they stopped and backtracked, choosing to set up in a small cropping of trees below a rocky hill. Neither made an attempt to set a fire. Thorin set his bedroll on the ground facing the Lonely Mountain. He had never felt so far away despite being so close. He wondered what his grandfather would choose to do first. Would he send people after him or dash the effort and skip to calling him a traitorous coward? Futile doubt clawed at his mind. With time to stop and think, his brain started breaking down his reason for leaving and trying to insert justifications for why he should have stayed. Before his mind could panic him into ill-advised action, he was distracted by a quiet tune. He looked to his right and found Bilbo curled into the roots of a tree, holding a worn scrap of fabric. Bilbo didn’t notice that he had an audience. He continued to hum, adding lyrics to his quiet tune. Thorin strained his ears to listen.

Roads go ever ever on,

Over rock and under tree,

By caves where never sun has shone,

By streams that never find the sea;

Over snow by winter sown,

And through the merry flowers of June,

Over grass and over stone,

And under mountains in the moon.

It was set to no tune he was familiar with, and the words would have sounded hopeful had they not been sung with lament. Bilbo stopped and started his song many times between sniffles that could have been the wind or tears. Thorin was not the only one examining his choices that night. In an effort to further take his mind off the journey ahead, he pulled the pipe out of his bag, packed it, and inhaled deeply. He felt some weight ease off his shoulders, only becoming aware that the humming stopped when Bilbo took a seat beside him, still wrapped in a human-sized blanket.

“I don't suppose you’d be willing to share?” Bilbo asked tentatively. Thorin looked down at him and placed the pipe in the hobbit's hands. The silence was no longer awkward as they shared the pipe. Bilbo looked more relaxed as he sent rings of smoke into the dark. Eventually, it was clear he was struggling to stay awake.

“Get some rest. We’ll need to move again just before dawn.” Thorin said as he tapped the ashes out of the spent pipe.

Bilbo studied him wearily, and Thorin recognized the look. If he slept, he was at Thorin’s mercy, not only in the sense of his immediate safety but also because Thorin could easily leave him behind. Thorin ran his hand through his hair.

“I wasn't planning on leaving you behind or hurting you in your sleep. It’s easier to travel in a pair anyway.” Thorin tried to give a reassuring glance. It didn't seem to work. Bilbo still looked sceptical, but his fatigue was winning. “We’ll both have to sleep eventually. We don't have a choice but to trust each other.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when he heard tiny rumbles coming from the body now asleep beside him. He hadn't even chosen a good angle to fall asleep at. Thorin fixed the blanket so it properly covered him and propped the travel pack near his head. Despite the mess this had all become, a small piece of him was relieved he wouldn't be alone, even if it was with such peculiar company.

Chapter 3: Companions Of Circ*mstance

Chapter Text

The morning was quiet. It would have been perfect under other circ*mstances. The early August wind was still warm, and the grass was still green, but they had little time to enjoy it. Thorin woke Bilbo, who sat bolt upright with a start and looked around as if trying to remember where he was. His eyes settled on Thorin, and he groaned.

“I didn’t even realise I fell asleep.” He mumbled. Bilbo tried to stuff the blanket into his bag, only to get frustrated when it wouldn’t fit.

“Have you ever travelled on foot like this before?” Thorin asked, plucking the bag out of Bilbo’s hands. The hobbit didn’t bother protesting.

“I got to the mountain, didn't I? I’ve also taken a few walking holidays.” Bilbo accepted his pack back, with the blanket rolled and strapped to the bottom.

“So no.” Thorin snorted.

“No, I guess I haven't when you compare my experiences with yours, but I never expected to have to leave my home in the first place, so I’m making do.” Bilbo started walking toward the river, stopping at the top of the little hill to look back as if to say, ‘Are you coming or not?’

“So why did you leave home then?” Thorin asked. He was prepared not to get an answer, but after a little time, Bilbo replied.

“I wanted a little adventure. My mother always said it was good to have at least one under your belt. I pop here, meet with kings and princes, and pop back home with some dwarves in tow and a little more worldly. That was the plan.” Thorin was surprised at just how bitter Bilbo sounded.

“And what did you get instead?” Thorin replied

“An adventure and a harsh reminder that I’m more Baggins than Took in only the ways that never truly mattered,” Bilbo scoffed at no one in particular. Thorin registered that the hobbit's surname was Baggins and had no idea what a Took was. Now didn’t seem like the time to ask, so he dropped the subject.

The river came into sight, and thankfully, there was no sign of anyone on the other bank. The more he looked, the more he realised they were lucky twice over. Some creature had dammed the river upstream, making the narrowest part of the river crossable on foot. This was merely a jut off from the river proper, and the stream was gentle. Crossing it would take less than a minute, and the water would barely be waist-high. They could be in the clear by nightfall! Bilbo walked up and looked across the river.

“How do you suppose we pass?” Bilbo asked. Thorin waited for Bilbo to either catch up or announce his joke, but the hobbit's eyes remained expectant.

“On foot, Master Baggins,” Thorin replied. Bilbo’s eyes grew wide as he looked from the river back to him.

“O-on foot! There must be another way to cross. A downed tree or… or….” Bilbo had clearly not come up with anything and was now floundering. Thorin ignored him and waded out into the centre of the stream.

“The water is neither fast nor steep. We can walk through fine. The other side presses close to the mountains, and we won't be looked for there. Come on, hobbit. We need to continue in order to make good time," he commanded. Instead of stepping forward, Bilbo took a step back, shaking his head.

“I-I can’t! Thorin, I can’t! I can't swim, and I don't like water, and that might come up to your hip, but it comes up to my chest!” Bilbo shook his head and took another step back.

“We don’t have time for this! Stay or go. It’s up to you, but the longer we’re out in the open like this, the more likely we will get caught. The nearest cover is the Grey Mountains, and the only way to get there is over this waterway.”

Thorin waited another few minutes, and when it was clear that Bilbo wasn't moving, he started to walk. He had too much at stake to get caught because of some mousey creature he just met. Still, the decision rolled in his stomach with every step away he took. He paused after making it up the slope on the other side and looked back. The hobbit had his big feet in the water, his fists clenched at his side nearly white with strain. He made it only a few steps before retreating to the shore and put his head in his hands. It reminded him of when he first visited the mountain overhang with Dwalin. The big, sturdy dwarf with patches of tattoos and a foul mouth took one look over the edge and nearly hurled. He would cut you off mid-sentence if you even mentioned going up to it after that. Dwalin later confessed that the height messed with his head and overcame his senses. Middle of a battlefield with the actual risk of death, he was without fear, but something like an overhang crippled him.

Thorin cursed under his breath and stalked back toward the stream. Without stopping, he grabbed the walking stick and plucked the hobbit off the ground, tossing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Bilbo shouted in surprise and wiggled in his grip, which was doing nothing to help the careful hand placement he had strategically picked so as to not accidentally feel him up. Not that he was objecting to having an admittedly cute and ample bum right in his face.

Thorin dropped Bilbo unceremoniously onto the grass when they got to the bank.

“You could have given me a warning!” Bilbo chastised from the ground as he collected himself.

“It wouldn't have changed the outcome. You’re welcome, by the way. Now let's go.”

Despite their urgency, progress was slow. This final stretch to the base of the Grey Mountains was out in the open. Thorin's head was on a swivel, hyper-aware that his grandfather could have sent scouts to survey the area. They moved only when they were sure and made for downed trees and clusters of rock. He was grateful that the hobbit seemed adept at this. Thorin never heard the sound of his feet despite him wearing no shoes. He thought the lack of boots would at least trouble him when they stepped onto rockier territory, but Bilbo showed no sign of discomfort.

It took them two days to cross the moors, two days of no sleep and only short breaks. When they finally made it to the pass and were in the clear, they collapsed in a shallow cave and passed out.

Thorin woke with a start. He vaguely remembered stopping and closing his eyes. He surveyed the place they had made camp, if you could call this a camp, and shook his head. He must have been truly out of it to risk such an open place. He sent a silent thank you prayer to Mahal for the luck that seemed to be with him. Thorin sat up and pulled his hand down his face with a groan. He could feel his age in his shoulders and neck as they popped and readjusted. He wasn't quite middle-aged for a Dwarf but still old enough that sleeping sitting up on uneven rocks was not ideal. He might as well get used to it going forward.

Standing up and shaking off the last remnants of sleep, he looked for the hobbit. He found him curled in on himself against the stone, clutching his walking stick. He looked like a small sleeping mouse, though he wouldn't say it out loud and expect anything less than a tongue-lashing. Thorin looked back the way they came. Juts of stone covered their path, and these areas were wild enough for animals to roam freely. They might be looking at a warm dinner tonight now that a fire was safe to start. He didn't intend to march them forward to far today. They needed rest and real food, or this journey would end before it began.

Bilbo woke soon after he did with similar aches and pains. It made Thorin wonder how old Bilbo was in the timeline of his people. He certainly didn’t look old, and his hair was streaked with none of the greys he had started sprouting, but he didn't have the features or eyes of a young person. There were creases around his eyes and laugh lines that framed his mouth. It begged another question of how long hobbits lived. Dwarves could live to be over three hundred. Durin’s folk were especially long-lived, but races like men lived only seventy or eighty years. Had his grandfather intended to marry him off to a young thing barely past their majority or someone older he knew he would outlive? Neither sounded preferable.

They walked for about an hour, stopping briefly when Thorin spotted a brace of coneys darting across the path. With one swift action, he caught them dinner for the night. Bilbo looked impressed when he brought them back, and he tried not to feel too proud about that.

Soon, they spotted a proper cave and decided this was where they would make camp. They were setting up their things when Thorin heard a loud growl from unnervingly close. Bilbo froze, and Thorin looked around for danger, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword. His eyes met the hobbits, expecting panic or concern, but Bilbo didn’t look scared. Instead, he had one hand around his stomach with his eyes cast firmly at the ground.

“It wasn't so loud you needed to prepare for danger,” Bilbo mumbled. Thorin co*cked a brow.

“Was that… your stomach?” Thorin asked.

“Yes, it was my stomach. I’ve had only a handful of smelly rations over the last three days. You try going from seven meals to that and see how your stomach likes it.” Bilbo chided. Thorin took his hand off his sword hilt and blinked stupidly.

“Seven meals?” Thorin asked, thinking that it must have been a joke. This made Bilbo look even more sheepish.

“Yes, seven. First and second breakfast, elevensies, luncheon, afternoon tea, dinner, and supper.” Bilbo recounted them wistfully. “Don’t worry. I have no illusions about getting all those meals on the road. Like I said before, I'll make do. Though a sight I'll make when we reach Rivendell, I'm sure.” Bilbo laughed in good humour.

“Why would we go to Rivendell?” Thorin replied sourly. Bilbo gave him a perplexed look.

“Why wouldn't we? I wasn’t sure where I was going at first but I've had time to think. I'm assuming you want to get over the Misty Mountains. Unless you plan on going around the gap of Rohan far, far to the west. It's the only safe way past.” Bilbo explained.

“You can pass without entering into the elven land,” Thorin replied stiffly. To him, his reasoning was sound. Elves were not friends, and even if they were, Elrond was a great leader who had a passing relationship with the king of Erebor. There was every chance that his grandfather could send missives asking after him and no guarantee that Elrond would keep his whereabouts hidden.

“Yes,” Bilbo replied, extending the syllable for emphasis. “But why would you want to?”

“I don't treat with elves.” Thorin snapped

“Oh, for Yavanna's sake. Is there an actual reason, or is this just stubborn dwarven pride?”

“What would you know of dwarves or our pride?” Thorin snapped

“Nothing before a week ago, but I seem to be getting a fair amount of practice in.” Bilbo quipped. The hobbit was meeting him tit for tat. He didn't know if it was pissing him off or… something else.

“Perhaps you're getting so much practice because this dwarf doesn't like having his every decision questioned,” Thorin shouted.

“Well, if you're only going to give me clipped answers, you'll have to live with copious questions!” Bilbo stood up and patted his trousers. His ears had gone red and somehow looked more pinned back than they had been. He stomped out of the cave and made it just past their encampment before Thorin caught his arm.

“Where are you going? Don't be quick-tempered enough to run off on your own.” Thorin warned. Bilbo pulled his arm from Thorin's grasp.

“I want a hot meal tonight, and two skinny rabbits and some loose rations does not a meal make. I’m going to find us some other food and cool off before I punch you in your stupidly sharp nose! Just don't get used to having someone help you find food. It seems we'll be parting ways after we cross the Misty's.” Bilbo stomped away, muttering about insufferable dwarves as he moved out of sight. Thorin blinked in the direction Bilbo walked and felt the tip of his nose. It wasn't that sharp.

He took two steps after the hobbit but stopped. He could admit he let his temper get the better of him. He was hungry and irritable, and despite the reasonable assumption of safety, he was still weary. He should apologise when Bilbo came back. Would Bilbo let him apologise? They would be on the road for weeks, and he didn't like the idea of travelling for so long with tense company. Something deep in the back of his brain also didn’t want the hobbit to be cross with him.

Thorin swore to himself and tried to keep his hands busy by building a fire, then by skinning and cleaning the rabbits. He even had time to grab water and fill the small pot he had stashed in his bag. By the time he was done, the sun was getting lower on the horizon, and Thorin was growing worried. Right as he was about to pick up his blade and march after the little creature, Bilbo silently popped back into camp. Thorin sighed in relief but still had to do a double take. Bilbo wasn't wearing his waistcoat anymore. He had taken it off to use as a makeshift basket, which was heaping with things he couldn't name. He looked less cross, which Thorin thought was a good sign.

“You took your time,” Thorin said, immediately feeling his insides cringe. He was supposed to be apologising. “I was about to come after you,” he continued, trying to wrangle his tone. Bilbo rolled his eyes at him.

“I’m not used to the plants in this area, so it took me a little while to find what I was looking for.” Bilbo crouched down near the fire and laid out the contents of his excursion. “I tried to get us enough to last several days.”

He stood back up and looked up at Thorin. Their height difference was much more exaggerated when they stood close. The hobbit had to be over a foot shorter than him. Bilbo seemed to be contemplating something. It made his face scrunch as his nose wiggle. It was adorable and hard to look away from, especially as the fire illuminated the golden brown hues crafted into those gem-like eyes. Bilbo broke eye contact to look at his toes.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I know…I know you didn’t exactly expect to have someone tagging along, and well, I didn’t either. The best we can do for now is try to get along and part ways amicably when we cross into the West.” Bilbo confessed.

Thorin didn’t say anything at first. His feelings on the matter had become surprisingly conflicted. He caught Bilbo's eye again and dipped his head, which seemed to be enough of an acknowledgement for the hobbit who set to work on dinner.

“Can I help?” Thorin offered blandly. He didn’t even know what Bilbo was doing. He just didn’t want to stand there awkwardly. To his relief, Bilbo laughed.

“Do you even know half of what I found is?” He asked. Thorin shook his head.

“Well, you can at least help me get the pot situated properly, and I’ll tell you what I found.” Thorin set the pot over the fire and watched Bilbo attempt to get the coals to better surround the pot by trying to push them with a stick. He didn’t look like he was very adept at doing it this way.

“Let me,” Thorin said as he batted the little sick away. He used his bare hands to scoop the hot coals around the sides of the pot.

“What are you doing! Stop!” Bilbo shrieked as he grabbed Thorin by the wrist and tried to yank his hands from the fire. Thorin let himself be pulled as he looked down at Bilbo, concerned. The hobbit had both of his hands turned palm up. It was almost comical how much smaller Bilbo’s were. They were soft, too, unworn by years of battle and blacksmithing. “Yo-you’re not burned?” Bilbo asked a little breathless.

“Dwarves are not so easily affected by heat as other races. Some flames could burn us, but it would have to be from a greater source than a campfire.” Thorin picked up one of the red hot coals to make his point and held it in his palm. Bilbo stared at it like he didn’t think it should exist before reaching out like he would poke it. Thorin caught and lowered Bilbo’s hand. “You, on the other hand, it would burn.” The coal went cold, and Thorin tossed it back into the fire. When he looked back at Bilbo, the hobbit had turned a light shade of pink.

Bilbo tended to the rabbit expertly using a knife he borrowed from Thorin to shave the meat into thin slices. Slowly, he started adding some of the other ingredients he had found. Bilbo would hold them up before dropping them into the pot to let Thorin know what they were. Garlic grass, small white puffy mushrooms, little purple and yellow flowers, and a few odd-shaped purple potatoes.

“What are those?” Thorin asked, pointing at a mound of white and orange mushrooms that Bilbo had left untouched.

“Chicken of the woods,” Bilbo replied, not even needing to look over his shoulder.

“Do they not go in the stew?” Thorin picked one up and sniffed it. Bilbo turned around and laughed. It was a charming laugh, and it made the soft, round features of his face set into place like laughing was its natural state.

“No, they don’t go into the stew, and please don't eat them raw, or you’ll tear up your stomach. Those are for the days we can't find any other meat. When you cook them, they make decent rations, and they taste like chicken. Even better, they’re filing. I found a whole log of it and took what I could.” Bilbo looked pleased with himself, but Thorin was sceptical. He didn't believe for a second that this mushroom could taste like chicken. It sounded like elf magic.

“Give it a chance before you make that face at it if you please.” Bilbo sighed. “We’re also almost ready to eat. I just need to finish with these bones.” Bilbo had moved on from the mushrooms and was struggling with trying to snap a rabbit femur.

“Let me,” Thorin said as he snapped the femur down the middle. He handed it back and saw Bilbo give it a sorry glance. “You were trying to snap it, right?” Thorin asked

“Erm… well, yes. Just not down the middle. It’s easier to get the marrow out if you snap it on either end.” Bilbo made to set the snapped bone down before Thorin took them from him again. He snapped the ends off of the femurs with no effort and handed them back again.

“Better?” Thorin asked. Bilbo nodded and hurriedly turned around. Within a few minutes, the food was done. Bilbo had made a stew that filled the pot to the very brim. Carefully, Thorin removed it from the coals and set it on a rock between them.

“Alright, do we have any bowls or spoons?” Bilbo searched his bag for something and came up short. Thorin had a single spoon and fork but nothing else. When he thought this was a solo journey he had intended to just eat out of the pot like he did this on hunting trips. Dwalin had said to pack light.

“Just a spoon. We can share it.”

“Share it!” Bilbo yelped. “Like eating out of the same pot! W-with the same spoon?” Bilbo’s voice went about an octave higher than normal and Thorin felt like he should be offended, but he shook his head. “Right, that’s normal for you, or for dwarves at least. A very normal thing for two people to do.” Bilbo stammered.

Despite his odd behavior, Thorin offered Bilbo the spoon first. He took a sip to gauge the temperature, and when it had cooled off enough, he took a big bite. Bilbo’s eyes closed, and his ears dipped as he let out a happy and frankly sinful sound of contentment. Thorin crossed his legs and coughed, trying to ignore the way his body reacted to the sound. When it was his turn to take a bite he thought he had fallen off a cliff and into the arms of the Valar. He took another big bite and another before the giggle to his right reminded him that he was supposed to be sharing. He put the pot down and handed it back over.

“Do you cook like that all the time?” Thorin marvelled. If Bilbo had made this with a little foraging and two rabbits, what could he do with real ingredients or with the entire royal kitchen of Erebor at his disposal!

“I usually don’t have to scrounge up my ingredients, but I love to cook. All hobbits do.” Bilbo eyed the spoon, and his eyes flickered up to Thorin before shying away. They passed the pot back and forth until all the stew was gone. Both sat back, more content than they had been in days.

After some time Thorin broke a long, contented silence.

“We’re heading into a pass that comes closest to the mountains. It's best to cross it swiftly, and because of how it juts against the mountain, the terrain is hard and rocky. Will you be ok without shoes?” Thorin asked as he watched the hobbit's furry feet stretch out in front of him. Bilbo looked at his feet and made a scrunched face.

“I don't know how you stand trapping your feet in leather cages for days and days. Hobbit feet are built of sturdier stuff than dainty dwarven ones.” Bilbo sniffed. Thorin didn't know if anyone had ever referred to his feet or any dwarven feet as dainty. Bilbo continued, “Are you sure we won't be followed here?”

“No,” Thorin replied. “It would take them longer to follow in force, and if a few made it through, they would be unwise to try me.” Thorin’s eyes grew dark, and he looked out past the cave. He was almost certain that his grandfather wouldn't send anyone this way. A force of dwarves would alert the elves, and a few scouts wouldn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know.

“I suppose you’re a warrior then. I’m surprised I didn't meet you when we first arrived. We were paraded all over the place. I must have met hundreds of guards and every noble there.” Bilbo chuckled dryly.

“I was… unable to attend. Do you think your family knows you’re gone by now?” Thorin asked. He was edging dangerously close to the topic they had both agreed to avoid, but curiosity was winning. Bilbo’s ears drooped, and he tucked his legs back under him.

“My family died a long time ago. Whether or not those I came with know I’m gone. I can't imagine they don't know at this point.”

“It sounds like you still got to meet kings, at least. That’s a story to take home with you.” Thorin smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

Bilbo smiled back, but quietly and distinctly, he heard Bilbo mutter,

“I’m not sure where home is anymore.”

Chapter 4: Tried and Trusted

Chapter Text

Something about the night with the rabbits made them more comfortable travelling together. When they looked over their shoulder and down the path they came, it wasn’t out of suspicion for the other person. It made the time go by swifter and the conversation less tense. That said, the story of why either of them was taking this miserable journey was still a mystery that neither wished to be the first to share.

They were entering what Thorin considered to be the most difficult terrain of their journey other than perhaps the Misty Mountains themselves. This area was untamed and unwalked, aside from the occasional Woodland elf. The rocks were jagged, and the ground hard. Foraging and hunting would also be sparse, as even the animals knew better than to travel too close to Mount Gundabad. There were rumours that ancient and dark powers experimented with the evils of the world in those mountains. It had once been a heritage sight for the dwarves. It was where the first dwarven father, Durin the Deathless, his direct ancestor, emerged from the stone. It was stolen from the dwarves due to it being a place of power, and they have never been able to take it back since, despite several attempts.

Thorin contemplated warning Bilbo about the potential threat they would be passing. He decided to remain vague. They were two people, and by all accounts, they were no threat to whatever lurked in the mountains. Bilbo was already anxious on the road, and Thorin didn’t want to cause him unnecessary stress.

Whether Bilbo surprised or puzzled him, he was unsure. What he lacked in basic survival skills, he made up for in sheer determination. Thorin would catch him mumbling under his breath or struggling to keep up, but if Thorin drew any attention to it, Bilbo would huff and push himself to the point of collapse. Eventually, he just learned to stop a few hours before he would normally need to. Not that he necessarily minded the few times he was forced to catch the hobbit before he tripped over a rock as a result of dragging his feet.

By dwarven standards, Bilbo weighed practically nothing and was rather soft to the touch. Dwarves were not so soft. They were built to be hard as stone, even the more portly among them, and size rarely diminished strength. Elves, the few times he had had to touch one or dance with one, which was seldom, thankfully, were also not soft. They were hard like the barks of a tree. The difference between lanky figures and ridiculous long legs made them flexible in ways that dwarves could not be. Hobbits were made of something completely different. He could feel his fingers press into soft skin and feel the way they settled there. The boredom of their long trek made his mind wander. He found himself wishing he could see the indents his hands made when the skin pillowed around his fingers and learn what noises such a grip would elicit. He swallowed down the stray thought. Bilbo seemed to have been through enough. He would likely find it incredibly off-putting to know the person he is all but forced to travel with was having such thoughts.

They had stopped for the night and been forced to camp in a less-than-ideal area. There was no getting around it. The area they're in was the last stretch before they were across the Forest River. It was a wind tunnel that was uncomfortable even on a warm spring night, and this was not a spring night. Lighting a campfire was useless. The gusts of wind came in sharp enough gales that it put out a fire or took the materials necessary to build one with it. Their saving grace was jutting rocks that peaked above their heads and broke the wind. Bilbo had his back to one said rock. His blanket was tucked around him, and he was using the small knife Thorin had lent him to carve things into his walking stick. His ears were relaxed, and his tongue was just poking out of the side of his mouth.

His personal reaction to getting to know Bilbo was as confusing. A week ago, he was sure the hobbit would turn tail and go back home after coming to terms with what the road was really like, especially after his comments about seven meals a day. He was glad he didn't. There was something attractive about the way Bilbo saw the world. He chalked his sudden affection and stray thoughts up to copious amounts of forced proximity. If you spend enough time with anyone, the little things about them are bound to surface, right? Thorin tore his eyes away from Bilbo’s face and found a safer topic to engage with.

“How did your people make it all the way to Erebor?” Thorin asked. Bilbo looked up at him questioningly. “I don’t mean offence, but your people don’t seem like adventurers or travellers.”

Bilbo laughed and set down the knife.

“We used to be a much more nomadic people. You're right though, we aren't anymore. Most respectable hobbits will never see the outside of the four farthings, and they prefer it that way. The Thane was forced to take drastic measures due to the orcs. Even with the threat, most still refused to travel. I would say that over eighty percent of those who came are from the Took family or offshoots of it.” Bilbo explained

“So is the Thane your king then?” Thorin asked. Bilbo lit up, and his entire face cracked with laughter.

“Oh, I’m very sure he wishes that sometimes, but no. Hobbits have no king. The Thane is just the one who makes the final decision in times of trouble. It stems back from our wandering days when people sometimes had to be left behind for the greater good, or we had to pick up and move quickly. It's easier to have one person calling those shots than taking the time to come to a consensus.” Some of the humour seemed to leave Bilbo as he continued. “But maybe it’s not far off. The Thane has…a good amount of say in times of strife. He can make big decisions that…well…the greater good isn’t good for everyone.”

Try as he might, Thorin couldn't read the look that settled over the hobbit's face. It wasn’t sadness or anger but something closer to resentment.

“That still doesn't explain how you travelled so far, being a people that doesn't travel.” Thorin countered, hoping that would turn the conversation somewhere more pleasant. Bilbo smiled, and this time, he could read it as a thank you.

“We had a guide. A wizard named Gandalf. He’s always been a friend of hobbits. He was especially fond of my mother in her early years.” Bilbo explained

“Gandalf?” Thorin could have sworn he heard that name before. He racked his memory for the name and remembered one of Balin's old lessons. “I do know that name. My people call him Tharkûn.” Thorin replied.

Bilbo silently repeated the word and tried to say it out loud. The attempt brought back some of those wilder thoughts that Thorin was very carefully trying not to think about. A clever tongue tripping over words it wasn’t even supposed to know. Could he make it trip over the sound of his name? His thoughts were interrupted by Bilbo’s reply.

“The elves call him Mithrandir. I wonder how many other names he has?” Bilbo whispered mostly to himself. “He’s an odd man who speaks in riddles more than the elves do, but he’s not unpleasant company. I’ll miss his fireworks.” Bilbo sighed sadly. Thorin started speaking before he even contemplated his words.

“I can make you fireworks.” he blurted. Bilbo perked up.

“You can make fireworks?” Bilbo asked, intrigued.

Thorin crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you think it was wizards who invented them?”

Bilbo batted his eyes and looked down at his hands.

“Yes?” he replied sheepishly. “They always look so magical I assumed they were wizard tricks. Can dwarves do the colours and shapes, too?” It was clear that Bilbo was trying not to make his question sound offensive. Dwarves are incredibly proud of their craft and especially proud of the inventions they brought into the world, which meant what he said next wasn’t preening. It was patriotism.

“With the proper materials, dwarves can make any colour and any shape you could think of.”

“Even flowers?” Bilbo's smile was as evident in his words as on his face.

“Do you like flowers?” Thorin asked. Bilbo nodded.

“Then I can make any flower in your garden.” Thorin folded his arms over his chest and smirked with satisfaction as Bilbo’s cheeks flushed. Thorin wished he could have met Bilbo under different circ*mstances. Perhaps in the shire after his grandfather had stationed him there. Bilbo would be in his element, surrounded by beautiful things. He seemed like a creature of comfort and habit that deserved to be surrounded by soft things. Instead, he was stuck with him, a hard person on a harder journey. A journey it became more and more evident that they hadn't properly prepared for.

Thorin had never actually travelled this pass. Very few dwarves had. There were better ways to get to the other side of the Greenwood. He had heard about the conditions one could expect, but no one had warned him about the ferocity of the wind. The further along they journeyed, the sharper it became. There were fewer rocks to create any buffer, and any exposed skin was a target for attack. Occasionally, the wind would pick up and assault them in inestimable gusts. More than once, it threatened to knock the hobbit off his feet. The worst was after dark when they were forced to stop for the night. The lack of movement made the wind bite harder, and there was no escaping it. With no fire and no shelter, they had no other choice but to bundle the best they could. Bilbo’s blanket had served him well up until now, but he had no bedroll to sleep in. The blanket was big enough to wrap around himself comfortably, but the wind made that impossible tonight.

Thorin felt nothing but guilt for his comfort as he sat in his large, warm bedroll. He could hear the small sounds of Bilbo’s uncomfortable distress. He wasn’t even sure Bilbo was aware he was making the noises. He would shuffle and curl in on himself, and the moment it sounded like he might be falling asleep, a gust of wind ruffled the blanket or took it off of him entirely. This happened repeatedly, no matter how tightly the hobbit tucked the blanket around or under himself. When it happened a fourth time and was accompanied by a truly distressed whimper, Thorin finally had enough. He unclipped himself from the bedroll and dragged it over to the hobbit, plopping it noisily next to him. The hobbit startled and sat up abruptly.

“I’m sorry. I’m trying not to be loud. I just can’t seem to sleep.” Bilbo fussed.

“It’s too cold and windy for either of us to try and get comfortable alone, and you don’t have the proper equipment for this weather. Get in.” Thorin settled into the bedroll again and held the flap out as an invitation. Bilbo still looked confused.

“Wait, both of us?!” Bilbo squeaked.

“We only have one bedroll, so yes.” Thorin tried to cut his snark and breathed through his nose. This was practical. It made sense to share a bedroll. “It's much warmer here than out there.”

That seemed to do the trick. Bilbo crawled into the space. He was small enough that it didn’t feel cramped, but that didn’t mean it was spacious. Bilbo's back was comfortably pressed to his front. The hobbit felt smaller this close to him. The copper curls tucked under his chin. Thorin’s mouth went dry as he suddenly cursed this idea. He had not thought this through. The more Bilbo squirmed, the more he realised just how much trouble he had put himself in. To save them both the embarrassment, he waited for Bilbo to get settled and turned over so their backs were pressed together. It wasn’t quite as warm, but the bedroll still cut the wind, and his body heat was enough to keep them comfortable. Enough, at least, that he could hear the hobbit's small snores almost immediately after settling in.

Seemingly moments after he closed his eyes, they blinked open slowly, trying to adjust to the morning light. His body felt heavy, and as he tried to reposition himself, it became apparent as to why. At some point in their easy slumber, Thorin had turned around, and so had Bilbo. The hobbit was firmly nestled to his chest, his forehead resting against his jaw and his hand gripping the front of his tunic. Thorin similarly had made himself comfortable. One arm was under the hobbit's head, and the other was wrapped around his waist with his palm on his back.

Thorin froze. What was he supposed to do? This was clearly unintentional. They had both been chilled to the bone for days. Any reprieve from that would have been preferred. There was no denying, however, that this was nice and comfortable. Bilbo felt right in his arms and almost seemed to click into place. He held on a little tighter, knowing that Bilbo would wake up any minute. He would be embarrassed and pull away with apologies and not know that, secretly, Thorin was finding immense comfort in this. He turned his head just slightly so that his nose was pushed into Bilbo’s curls. It was not as if they had many opportunities to take baths over the last few days. The closest they got was a small freezing cold waterfall inside a cave. It was just enough to wipe themselves down but little else. Even still, this was not unpleasant. Bilbo smelled like freshly dug soil and the yellowing parchment of old books. That by all rights should not be enticing, and yet it was comforting beyond reason.

He felt Bilbo start to stir and loosened his grip, trying to regulate his breathing to something in the normal range. He almost wished he had actually been asleep. Bilbo yawned into his neck, then went rigid. Their proximity made it impossible not to hear the hobbit whisper several oh no’s to himself before sitting up. He tried not to feel somehow empty without the weight on his chest.

“Oh, what have I gone and gotten myself tangled up in,” Bilbo whispered. The speech was muffled, so he must have had his head in his hands. Thorin felt a surge of guilt. He was almost certain that Bilbo didn’t appreciate walking up to a near stranger's arms around him. He waited until Bilbo left the bedroll to move. When his eyes blinked open, he brought his hand to where Bilbo’s head had been. Perhaps it was Thorin who was the one in trouble. He didn’t know how to name this feeling yet, only that it existed and was getting stronger.

When Thorin stepped out of the bedroll, he didn't see Bilbo at first. He scanned the area in front of him with a frown, and when he turned, Bilbo seemed to materialise. He let out a sharp curse in surprise.

“How do you do that?” Thorin grumbled. Bilbo pulled his eyes together.

“Do what?”

“How are you so quiet all the time? Unless I’m specifically looking for it, I can’t hear you walking.” Thorin answered. Bilbo looked down at his feet in contemplation.

“I don’t know. Hobbits are always quiet. Perhaps it has something to do with our feet?” He wiggled his toes and looked back up with a pleased smile. Thorin’s face was not as bright. He was searching Bilbo for traces of awkwardness or signs of discomfort. Bilbo looked road worn but content. After an extended silence, the hobbit spoke again.

“We don't have much left, but we still have some of the chicken of the woods that I cooked up. How much longer until we cross the Forest River?”

“We should be on the other side of it before nightfall,” Thorin replied, accepting the mushroom ration. He had one shortly after Bilbo cooked it. They were tougher and a bit chewier than actual chicken, but they were not unpleasant as far as plants go. It was preferable to the fish rations, anyway.

Right before they left, Thorin got the bedroll put away. He couldn't help but notice Bilbo eyeing him every so often.

“D-did you sleep well last night?” Bilbo asked out of the blue as they walked. Thorin’s walking became more mechanical as he tried to think of the right thing to say. Yes, he had slept well—better than he had since leaving Erebor. But was that the question Bilbo was trying to ask, or was he expecting Thorin to explain his conduct last night?

“I was able to sleep through the night,” Thorin replied vaguely. The weight seemed to run off of Bilbo’s shoulders, and he smiled.

“I did, too. If we made it across the river tonight, we might even be able to have another full meal. I could sorely use one.” Bilbo gushed. He paused and looked up at Thorin regretfully. “Is… are we going to have to cross the forest river on foot?” He asked. Thorin shook his head.

“We shouldn’t. The elves supposedly keep a bridge there, though I don’t know what condition we’ll find it in.” Thorin replied.

Bilbo nodded and seemed relatively pleased with the response. The day passed quickly with banter and conversation to move the time along. They took a few breaks as both of them were eager to no longer have the wind at their back. Neither brought up their sleeping arrangement again, and Thorin tried to take that as a sign that he, at the very least didn’t make Bilbo uncomfortable.

Finally, the river was in sight. Wordlessly, they quickened their steps, both keeping an eye out for the bridge in question. Thorin spotted it first, but he saw the glaring issue as they approached. A rock or some sort of debris had taken out the support structures under the bridge. It was still standing but any dwarf with half a stone sense could tell it would not hold any dense weight. Weren't the elves supposed to maintain this bridge? How had they not realised that it was in such disrepair? Or had they neglected it on principle, knowing it was seldom used? The answer he realised was that they likely still used it but never noticed it couldn't bear weight. He had seen elves walk atop snow drifts with nary a shoe print left behind. The bridge wasn't structurally sound, but their weight might not tip it. Even Bilbo might be light enough to cross. He, however, was definitely not. He should have expected his bad luck to catch up with them.

“Thorin, what’s wrong?” Bilbo asked. He looked down at the hobbit, who was clearly studying his face. Thorin was unsure how to answer. He needed Bilbo to cross first but that was more then likely a one-time trip. He couldn't tell the hobbit that. If Bilbo was too scared to cross, then his plan wouldn't work. He couldn't get across and carry Bilbo and unfortunately the water was too deep to walk them across like he had at the other water crossing.

“I need to know if you trust me enough to do as I ask and not question me about it until after,” Thorin said, locking eyes with Bilbo. The hobbit looked out at the bridge and back to him with apprehensive eyes.

“I don’t have a choice but to trust you,” Bilbo replied. Thorin clenched his jaw so as not to show how much that hurt to hear. It wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t enthusiastic either. “But I do.” Bilbo's hazel eyes looked up at him, and there was no trace of doubt in them. “I trust you, Thorin. What do I need to do?”

Thorin smiled at him fondly. If Mahal was kind or if he were a luckier dwarf he would wish for a future that allowed him to get lost in those dazzling eyes.

“Give me your pack and your stick. Then, I want you to turn and walk across that bridge in a straight line. Do not stop. Do not look back. Just walk until you reach the other side. It’s imperative that you do exactly that.” Thorin directed.

Bilbo shrugged off his pack and handed over the stick. With a forlorn glance at Thorin, he started walking. He hesitated right before stepping onto the bridge but otherwise did as he was directed. Thorin had a white-knuckle grip on Bilbo’s things as his stone sense was screaming at him with every step Bilbo took. He could feel every creak and groan as the granite shifted ever so slightly. A little past halfway to the other side, a few stones popped and dropped into the water. Bilbo hesitated again and looked back.

“KEEP MOVING!” Thorin roared. He didn’t care that he probably sounded angry. He was terrified, and it felt as though his stomach might fall out of his anxiety-wracked body. Bilbo started walking again, and when he stepped foot on the other bank, Thorin had to use the to small walking stick to keep himself propped up in relief. He let out a hysterical laugh and pushed the hair out of his face. It was his turn.

He secured the bags and walking stick to his back and walked to the edge of the bridge. The stone was the most corroded in the middle, where the support beams had been washed away. He could try and jump, but the other side might still be brittle enough for him to fall through. He was going to have to sprint across as fast as he could and hope he could outrun the fallout. With a determined look ahead, he took off. He felt the stone buckle under him almost immediately. Every step he took was another weakened point. Staring dead ahead, he saw Bilbo looking at the bridge with a similar fear he had a moment ago. He focused on the hobbit's face and ran.

Somehow, he made it across in one piece, landing with an ungraceful roll on the other side. He was greeted by Bilbo’s fluttering hands and panicked words. As he looked back, a twist in his gut told him what would happen next. The structure of the bridge was weakened enough that it groaned and crumbled piece by piece into the water below. Mist and smoke from grinding rock rolled over the area, but that was not what concerned Thorin. The entire ordeal was unmistakably loud. Quickly, he slung the other bag off his shoulders and put it back on Bilbo before pushing the stick back into his hands.

They didn’t make it more than fifteen minutes before he heard it. The unmistakable howl of wargs.

Chapter 5: Enemies We Know And Friends That We Don’t

Chapter Text

The moment he heard the howls, he knew it would be foolish to try to outrun them, yet what other choice did he have? He was armed, but he was only one dwarf, and wargs travelled in packs. Then, there was Bilbo. Aside from a walking stick, he had no weapons, and he had no weapons training.

“Thorin.” Bilbo’s voice was shaking, and his breathing was jagged. “There is no way we can outrun them.”

“We have no other choice but to try.” Thorin barked, keeping pace just behind him.

“No, we can’t outrun them, but they might be content with one of us.” Bilbo slowed to a stop, and Thorin whipped around in a frenzy. “I can’t run as fast or as long as you, and let's not beat around the bush I’m not a fighter. It was silly to think I could make it to Rivendell on my own. This is probably just what I deserve for choosing to be selfish.”

The sweet, self-deprecating smile was shattering. The howls could be heard closer now, and the faint sound of them hitting the earth in stride could just be felt. They had five or six minutes at best.

“Thorin, go! You don't have time to argue with me. You barely know me! You have no allegiance to me!” Bilbo’s voice was rushed and panicked. Thorin took a step forward and grabbed his arm by the bicep.

“Why would you throw away your life? You do not know me any better than I know you! I’m not leaving, and to insinuate I would, you mark me as a dishonourable coward.” Thorin glowered. Bilbo looked into his eyes, and Thorin watched them grow desperate and then harden.

“I ran away from helping your people! I ruined a treaty that was likely years in the making. I snuck out of the mountain because I was going to be forced to marry some slimy dwarven noble, and I couldn't bring myself to go through with it, even if it meant my people didn’t get the aid they needed. I’m not calling you a dishonourable coward, Thorin. I’m calling myself one.” The howling was close now. They would break over the ridge any minute. Bilbo pulled his arm from Thorin and reached inside his pocket. With a shaking hand, he grabbed Thorin’s wrist and deposited something in his palm. “If you go to Rivendell or see any of the elf folk, tell them to give a message to Lord Elrond. Tell him… tell him he was right about things never working out quite the way we think they will.”

Thorin staggered back in shock as the weight of the revelation washed over him. Bilbo was running from a marriage? Not any marriage, Bilbo was running from the same marriage he was running from. His grandfather had intended to marry him off to… The wargs breaking over the top of the ridge halted his thoughts. He dropped his pack to the side and stepped in front of Bilbo, shielding him with his body.

“Thorin, please,” Bilbo pleaded. Thorin pulled the dagger he had made two weeks and one lifetime ago from the inside of his coat and thrust it into Bilbo’s hands. When he held it, it looked almost like a short sword.

“You are neither dishonourable nor a coward, and I’m not leaving you to die. If this is where our journey ends. So be it. Stay close to me and stab, if something comes close to you.”

Bilbo and Thorin were back to back as the wargs approached, barking and gnashing their teeth. There were five, and they allowed him no time to consider his fate. With a battle cry, he sidestepped one and landed a blow to its head before turning and slashing his blade along another. In the seconds that he was forced to step away from Bilbo, two wargs flanked the hobbit, practically licking their chops at the thought of the meal they might soon enjoy. Bilbo was backed up to the edge of the river, the backdrop of a gloomy forest behind him with nowhere to go. He held his little sword in both hands, a terrified but determined look on his face.

Thorin hurried to throw himself into the fray, raking his sword across one of the wargs and positioning himself in front of Bilbo, breaking their line of sight to the hobbit. He had no time to think, only to act. He plunged his sword into one of their skulls just as another tried to lunge for his side. To his surprise, no pain followed; instead, he heard Bilbo cry out in defiance as he jammed his weapon as hard as he could through the beast's eye. Their victory lasted seconds. One of the first wargs that he thought he had dispatched had survived long enough to try for one last attack. It grabbed Bilbo by the torso hard and threw him to the side with a snarl. His body skidded until it hit a dead warg and went still.

Thorin saw red. With the power of raw dwarven strength, he swung his sword and took the warg's head off. The cut was clean enough that the beast had enough time to blink twice before flopping over dead. He was at Bilbo’s side before the warg’s head hit the ground, gathering the hobbit into his arms and smoothing the hair from his face.

“Bilbo?” He said shakily as he looked over where the beast had grabbed the smaller man. What he found wasn't pleasant. Bilbo had a sizable puncture from the canine of the beast, and it was lazily leaking blood.

He ripped the bottom of his tunic and stuffed it over the wound, pressing until the bleeding stopped. Despite the pain that it must have caused, Bilbo’s eyes still didn’t open. Thorin knelt there, helpless. There was nothing he could do. Bilbo needed proper medical aid, and they were leagues from anyone who could help. Thorin held Bilbo close, whispering apologies into his silken hair with his eyes closed tight. He would have sat there for days holding Bilbo until he passed from this world into the halls of his ancestors, but fate had other ideas. He felt the ground shake as something rapidly approached. Anger flooding his body, Thorin gently placed Bilbo on the ground and picked his sword back up. He might have failed his new companion, but he would be damned if he let something defile his body.

He readied himself for more wargs, but what approached was no warg. It was a beast of great size that looked like a giant mangy bear. It barreled at full speed, not seeming to care that someone was in its way. Right before reaching them, the monstrosity slowed to a stop and regarded him with intelligent eyes. He would not have believed the tale of what happened next for all the ale in a tavern had he not witnessed it himself. The bear's form shifted and changed until a great man, taller than any he had ever met, stood before him, bearing the same eyes as the bear had.

“I am not here for you, dwarf.” The bear man’s low voice punctuated the name of his race with a sneer. Thorin sneered back but didn’t move. “I felt the presence of tainted beasts in my lands and felt someone bound to the will of Yavanna fall. I did not expect to find one of your kind travelling with a child of the kindly west.” He took steps toward Bilbo, and Thorin stepped in his path. “He needs aid, or he will die.” The man ignored Thorin and bent over Bilbo. He assessed his condition and brought a white flower out of the pouch on his waist, crushing it in his fingers until it turned into a paste.

“What are you giving him,” Thorin interjected before it could touch Bilbo’s mouth. The bear man ignored him and lifted Bilbo's head to press the paste to his lips. Immediately, Bilbo's eyes fluttered open, going from uncomprehending to stressed and pained. He coughed and groaned, pushing away the bear man's hand. Thorin watched from the side, gripped with worry as Bilbo’s eyes flit around, becoming increasingly upset.

“Thorin?” Bilbo whispered. Thorin took stock of where he was standing, belatedly realising that the larger man was heavily obscuring him.

“The dwarf is here, little one, " the man replied warmly. Thorin took this as a queue to step into Bilbo’s line of sight, and the hobbit visibly relaxed.

“So we won?” Bilbo asked, a pained smile spreading across his face. Thorin didn’t trust his voice and nodded, failing to return the smile. Bilbo closed his eyes again and went limp, causing Thorin to rush to his side and cradle him once again. He looked up at the bear murderously.

“It wasn’t supposed to last long. I just needed to check his head. His wounds are grave, and he needs proper binding. He will succumb to his injuries if left for too long.” The man stood and plucked Bilbo from his arms like he was a porcelain doll. Thorin’s reaction was not wise nor rational, but he pulled his blade again and levelled it at the man in warning. “I would normally not allow a dwarf to enter my home, but I will make an exception for one who is so willing to throw his life away for one of Yavanna’s children. After I change, take the hobbit and climb onto my back.” The man instructed, gently placing Bilbo’s prone form back into Thorin’s arms.

“What are you, and what do I call you?” Thorin asked before the man could change.

“My name is Beorn, and I am a skinchanger.” He replied before changing into his bearlike form and lowering himself so it was easier for Thorin to climb on.

He was exceptionally careful with how he positioned Bilbo, worried that the shifting would disturb his wounds before they were in a place to help him. They rode along the river at incredible speed, and he was glad he had Bilbo with his face toward his chest because the wind was stabbing at his face. Soon, they reached a clear field encircled by well-tended hedges. Within the hedge ring was a large hall that looked to be comfortable lodgings and an expanse of gardens. When they reached the entrance, Beorn wasted little time. The moment Thorin was off of him, he changed and took Bilbo from his arms to rush him inside. Thorin was left standing just outside the great doors, feeling for the second time in the last hour like he was of no use.

Beorn did as he said he would and tended to Bilbo diligently. With his wounds properly wrapped and smelling of poultices, there was little else to do but wait. He stayed near Bilbo’s bedside, not straying very far, for he was apprehensive to leave Bilbo alone in a strange place and could feel Beorn’s discontent with his presence.

With so much time with his own thoughts, he returned to the revelation Bilbo dropped just before the wargs attacked. Bilbo was running from an arranged marriage. He had specifically used the word forced, so Bilbo clearly had no prior knowledge of the union, just as Thorin hadn't. He had so many questions he wanted to ask, but in order to ask any of them, he would need to come clean about his own circ*mstances as well. What would Bilbo think of him then? Had he been told anything about him? He really hoped not, given that Bilbo had described the dwarf he was supposed to marry as a slimy dwarven noble. Why was Bilbo specifically chosen? Was he particularly important to the hobbits or did he come from a noble family himself? Whatever the case may be, Bilbo went to considerable lengths to get away, and knowing that all along, he was travelling with the very person he was fleeing from could destroy any trust Bilbo had in him. He didn’t want that. He was growing fond of the hobbit and would see him at the very least safely to Rivendell.

Thorin heard Beorn enter the room and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest.

“The little one needs to eat something. I brought broth. Can I trust a dwarf to take care of something so gentle?” Beorn chided. The hair on Thorin's neck bristled.

“He would not appreciate being called gentle.” Thorin scoffed. “I can care for him just fine. What did dwarves do to you to make you this bitter?” Thorin took the bowl with a little more force than necessary, causing some of it to spill and roll down the sides. Beorn looked at him unimpressed and turned toward Bilbo.

“Dwarves take and take from the earth without ever giving back to it. You revel in your hordes of gold and jewels until it turns your hearts to greed. You will strike down anything in pursuit of your craft. A never-ending cycle of want that has doomed your people in the past, and yet you never learn. Why should I trust you with a child of Yavanna? A peaceful people who return twice what they take. Talented, loyal, and elusive creatures by nature. I have met a total of two in all my life, and the third I find half dead in the company of a dwarf. How am I to trust you are not using him for a means to an end as well.” Beorn’s words were an explanation and an accusation. The implication made his skin itch in violent anger.

“Who are you to speak with such authority over my ability to care for my hobbit!” Thorin seethed, too angry to even register his slip of the tongue. “You have no right to question his trust in me! You have no idea the length I might go to protect him!” Thorin stood his ground, fists clenched at the accusations thrown at his feet. Beorn towered over him, but his mannerisms were calm.

“The fact that he seems to prefer your company is why you are allowed here. Should he wake and that change, then I will drag you from these halls.” Beorn left with Thorin staring daggers at his back.

Thorin found himself missing the hobbit a little more every day. He had enjoyed the easy banter and engaging conversation. He knew, even if he was slow to admit it to himself, that there were other things he missed as well. Like the colour of his eyes and having to catch him as he stumbled. The memories of sharing a bedroll still sat on the edge of his mind, and the feeling of Bilbo resting on his chest had never fully disappeared. He could feel the phantom pressure like a reminder that there was something that was supposed to be there but was missing.

Three days into their stay, Thorin left Bilbo’s bedside just long enough to eat and wash himself. A distinctive laugh cut across the room when he stepped out of the washroom. Thorin's feet moved before his mind told them to, and sure as daylight, Bilbo was sitting up on his makeshift bed and smiling at Beorn, who was sitting on the floor facing him.

His mother had once told him that it was the simplest moments that bring someone clarity. She was a sculptor and a master of her craft who could make stone seem like flesh. He had never understood how. She made it sound like the statue had always been there when she spoke of her work. As if her uncovering it was an inevitability that she couldn't change, she saw the world like that. Simple truths shrouded and disguised, waiting to be uncovered in a moment of clarity. Bilbo’s smile was his clarity. As he stood there and watched this simple moment play out, he realised that he never wanted to be the reason that smile faltered. He wanted to be its reason to exist. He wanted that light and warmth directed at him, and if that made him the greedy dwarf that Beorn thought he was, then so be it because he could collect Bilbo’s rays as surely as he could any gold mined from the earth.

“Thorin?” Bilbo’s voice came through as nervous and careful. Thorin pulled himself from the doorway to walk to his bedside. He passed Beorn on his way out and traded glares that were reminiscent of the warning he had been given several days prior.

“Only you would choose to wake the moment I step away.” Thorin smiled, shaking his head. Bilbo beamed at him.

“I have always been told I have good timing.” Bilbo laughed. “I…wasn’t sure I would still find you here when I woke, but Beorn said you sat here the whole time.” Bilbo tripped over the words and cast his eyes at his fidgeting hands. Thorin looked back at the doorway, surprised. He didn't expect the man to spare any words in his favour.

“This is the fourth time you’ve assumed I would abandon you. Should I consider it a normal occurrence?” Thorin bantered.

“The first time you had just met me, so it was understandable. The second time, I really thought you would. I tried to cross the river, I really did, but I just couldn't. The third time, we were on the verge of a battle where there was no promise we could live through it. It made more sense for me to stay and you to go.” Bilbo tried to sit up further as he spoke but winced and lost his balance, causing him to fall at an odd angle onto the pillows. Thorin sat at the edge of the bed and helped Bilbo into his original position.

“I didn't leave you either of those times, so why did you think this time would be different?” Thorin pulled the covers back to reveal Bilbo's chest. He had done this several times since they came here, checking that the bandages had not moved and there was no blood seeping through them. They were still clean, and he sighed in relief before looking back up at Bilbo. The hobbit's face had gone a pretty pink, and he was looking to the side at some nameless thing. Thorin replaced the blanket respectfully. As much as his eyes and hands begged to wander over the dips and valleys of Bilbo's soft, unmarked skin, he did not have permission to take advantage of that image in the name of playing caretaker.

“I wasn't lying about why I fled.” Bilbo confessed, “When my uncle, the Thane, invited me to come along for the trip, I was overjoyed. I thought it was because I knew Gandalf and had travelled the path to Rivendell before. If not that, maybe even because I also speak Sindarin and was told we would cross many elves. It felt like a fresh start, a way to prove my worth. I maintained that all the way up until the first night in Erebor. My uncle pulled me aside and revealed the true nature of my being chosen. He stressed the importance of forming strong alliances like we did with the men of Arthedain in the early days before the founding of the Shire. He arranged for me to marry a dwarven prince. I was floored.” Bilbo’s laugh came out of him hysterically as he continued. “He said it just like that. Can you believe it? Like it was a normal thing to say. Like he was informing me, I was out of sugar. I thought it was a joke at first, but he was serious. I refused, and he dared to look at me with pity. It became clear it wasn’t a choice when he left and the door locked behind him.”

The laughter turned into fast, hitched breath as the story went on. Bilbo was turned to the side, but Thorin could see tears rolling down his cheeks. “I had no way of knowing what this dwarf would be like. I hadn't even seen his face. He could have been old, or cruel, or rough. He certainly wouldn't love me, so at best, I would be neglected or kept or….used. There was no promise I would ever be allowed to see my home again. Even with all of this, my uncle seemed to think it was an acceptable risk or at least that I was a fair trade. It felt like I had been put on a leash and handed to some faceless person.” Bilbo's arms came up around himself as his last words were lost to tears. Thorin stood to grab a clean, dry cloth from the pile near the wash basin in the room.

“That shouldn't have happened to you,” Thorin said, anger clear in his voice. “I don’t believe the prince would have harmed you. To harm your yusth or force yourself upon them is illegal and highly punishable. Still, you had every right to flee.” Thorin tilted Bilbo’s head back to face him and wiped the cloth along his eyes and cheeks, chasing a tear across his lips. He couldn't look away as they parted, and a warm breath made a shiver run down the entire length of his body. He wanted to kiss away the pain he felt somehow partially responsible for, but it was the exact reason he couldn't. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Bilbo’s at the last moment. An intimate gesture even if it wasn’t the one he craved.

“I guess I was lucky that I found you sneaking out, too. I had no idea where I was going. I ended up losing all the buttons on my waistcoat just trying to get out of my room door.” Bilbo hiccuped through watery words, but his laugh was genuine.

Bilbo didn't ask why Thorin left, and he was grateful. The conversation became lighter, and soon Beorn returned with a tray stacked with food. Thorin put a small plate on his lap and let Bilbo eat his fill. He was glad he didn't take more when Bilbo cleared the generous portions of food by himself without aid and without slowing down. Half of Thorin was thoroughly impressed, and the other was concerned. He thought the seven meals Bilbo had spoken of were a product of living in such an abundant land. He found it almost gluttonous, but as the sixth plate was finished, it became clear that Bilbo had been starving himself up to this point in the name of saving rations. Thorin hurried to get two more plates before Bilbo was done, and it was only after the second that the hobbit sat back with a contented sigh. There was only a little more conversation before the hobbit's eyes drooped. Eventually, they closed, and he quickly fell asleep.

Thorin straightened the blankets and leaned over him to blow out the candle sitting on the wooden stump that made a temporary nightstand. He looked at Bilbo resting before he turned to leave and wondered if maybe he was just now learning the lessons his mother had been trying to teach him. He was starting to understand the calm inevitability of loving something.

Chapter 6: A Spark Into A Flame

Chapter Text

“Thorin food!” Bilbo called. Thorin put down the axe that Beorn had lent him. He was surprised the big man even had an axe his size. The handle was still a little long, but he had big enough hands to wield it for chopping firewood. He gathered some of what he had chopped that evening and brought it inside to Bilbo. The hobbit was standing on a chair over the wood stove, carefully turning over sausages.

“You should still be resting,” Thorin said with a smile. He set the wood down in the basket and fed a few logs to the stove.

“I’ve had about enough of resting, thank you, and I’m in no danger of pulling the stitching. Though the big one might scar, I think.” Bilbo didn’t seem pleased at the prospect, and Thorin had no platonic way to say that the idea of him having a scar that marked his success in saving his life made his mouth go dry with want.

“I would rather you not test that,” Thorin replied, reaching up to take the plates Bilbo was handing him. He put them on the lower table that Beorn had set up for them that was little more than a barrel. When he turned back around, Bilbo was sitting on the edge of the large chair, his feet dangling as he prepared to drop. Thorin placed a hand on his knee to stop him. The drop was nearly three feet, and on top of aggravating his injuries, it would hurt. Instead, he reached out his hand for Bilbo to take. When he did he set it on his shoulder and plucked Bilbo off the chair by the hips, setting him on his feet a moment later. Bilbo clearly hadn't been expecting this as his hand slipped from his shoulder to his chest gripping the fabric of his shirt. Thorin could feel the warmth of his hand straight through his tunic and wished more than anything it would linger there.

“You worry far too much.” Bilbo teased, his face flushed to his ears as he regained his footing safely. He did worry, but it was because he felt responsible for Bilbo. He wanted to be responsible for him. He had never met a person more deserving of being catered to, and the rest was the pure dwarven instinct to protect and honour the things they held dear.

“I don’t worry too much. We’ve lingered here too long, and we need to move soon.” Thorin replied.

“You should not hurry the little bunny’s recovery.” Thorin tried not to roll his eyes as Beorn entered the room. He was grateful he let them stay, but he hadn't warmed up to him in the two weeks they had been here, and he got the sense that the feeling was mutual. The pet names and undivided attention he seemed to give Bilbo didn’t help.

“I am not hurrying his recovery,” Thorin said through gritted teeth. “The longer we wait, the colder the mountain pass becomes.”

“And where will you go once you reach Eriador dwarf?” Beorn asked. Abruptly, Bilbo stood up.

“Now, Beorn, it’s very rude to call someone by their race like that! I-I’m sure Thorin has his plans. You never grabbed anything to eat. I made extra sausage. You should try some.” Bilbo’s words were fast and nervous as he tried to slide the bread basket across the table without putting pressure on his side.

“Rivendell.” Thorin replied, “I will see Bilbo there safely, at the very least.” He could feel Bilbo's eyes on him and hoped that when he turned, they wouldn't be filled with disappointment.

“I thought you had other plans?” Bilbo asked softly. “You don’t need to force yourself to go if you don’t want to. When we pass into elf lands, I’m sure they’ll happily escort me the rest of the way.” Thorin hated every part of the idea surrounding him, just handing Bilbo's safety off to a few faceless elves.

“I’m not forcing myself to do anything. I had no plans before, and I have no love for elves, but-” Thorin stopped short of saying the words his mind put in front of him. Finishing that sentence the way he wanted would be to say he was growing to love Bilbo more than he hated elves. He would risk his grandfather finding out about him if it meant staying near Bilbo. “You were right before. It makes the most sense to stop there. If Lord Elrond will have me.” The look Bilbo gave him was so fond that it felt like a reward. They smiled at each other for a while, lost in the joy of each other's faces, until Beorn spoke again.

“If you intend to take Little Bunny over the mountains, you’ll need better supplies than the ones I found you with.”

“Are you saying you'll help supply us?” Thorin asked sceptically.

“Yes.” Was Beorn's simple answer. Both men turned at the sound of Bilbo slapping the table hard. He was standing on his chair with a glint in his eye.

“Well, if we are going to be on the road soon, then we need better rations than the ones we travelled here with. I don't know about you, but I would like to never eat fish jerky again for the rest of my days.”

Bilbo spent the rest of the day in the kitchen while Thorin readied the rest of their supplies, starting with giving their packs and clothing a well-needed wash. He emptied the things from his pack one by one until his fingers brushed a small leather bag hastily thrown to the bottom. In all the events of the last few weeks, he had forgotten he brought them with him. Opening the small bag, he tipped the beads into his hand. They were gorgeous. He saw them on his mother in his youth, but after her death, his father kept them for his eyes only. He had forgotten what they looked like, but seeing them again was a flood of precious memories. It seemed impossible to him that he could have forgotten their shine even after so long. They were made of carefully etched but unpainted mithril, set with a dark blue sapphire. It was an entirely traditional set. Two beads, one meant for courting and the other for proposal, and an ear cuff for after a marriage bond had been formed. Thorin looked back towards the kitchen and to the only person he could ever think to give them to. They would look radiant on him. Like stars were caught in his curls' rich browns and subtle reds, and every dwarf would know that Bilbo stole his heart.

Thorin always knew he wasn’t craft-bound. There was a well within him that couldn't be filled by his love of smithing alone despite his attempts. Yet any youthful tumble had never resulted in anything more. Pleasure and connection were not of the same material, and he had always lacked the latter. Now that the connection was within his grasp, it seemed to be running through his fingers. The way they met, the way their circ*mstances brought them together, and even what the future might hold seemed cruelly twisted. He wanted to believe it was fate, but it could just as well be punishment for some unknown slight.

For some reason, all of this made him miss his sister. Dis would know what to do or what to say. She would box his ears like she did to her sons and call him a fool first, but afterward, she would give the counsel he desperately needed to hear. She had been in love. She knew what it felt like. She could tell him if this was all moving too fast. It felt too fast! ….. It didn’t feel fast enough.

Thorin put the beads in his pocket and emptied the rest of his things. He scrubbed every inch of the pack he could, and watching the dirt and muck leave it was nearly therapeutic. He hung it and the rest of his clothes to dry before going inside to do the same for Bilbo’s. The bag was nearly empty and only had a few changes of clothes in it, a small purse, and the soft cloth he had seen Bilbo with that first night they camped. It was a simple thing, red with a white border and crooked unmasterful B.B. embroidered in black on the corner. He took it with him into the kitchen to speak to Bilbo, holding it with care.

Bilbo was standing on a chair over the table, humming a lyricless tune. His hands were coated in flour as he rolled a comically large ball of dough into a square using a wine bottle as a rolling pin to smooth it out. He looked happy in his element, and it made Thorin happy to witness it.

“Did Beorn not have a rolling pin?” Thorin snarked cheerily. Bilbo was startled and looked over his shoulder, rolling his eyes at him playfully.

“He does, but I’m afraid I won't be using it unless my arm grows longer and I gain muscle. It was made for someone with a bit more of a wingspan than me. Luckily, this bottle does just fine.” Bilbo chirped. “While you’re here, could you bring me the bowl of chopped peppers I left near the stove? I’m making enough of a mess as is.” Thorin found the bowl and brought it to Bilbo, who was cutting the dough into squares.

“I thought you were making hard tack?” Thorin asked, sneaking his hand into the bowl of peppers. Bilbo swatted his hand away and moved the bowl to the other side of the table.

“I did! It’s in the oven. But I thought we might want something a little less dry for as long as they’ll last, and there is so much to work with here! You should see the garden, Thorin. It’s huge! Peppers the size of my forearm, and potatoes the size of my head! I still think my tomatoes could beat his, though. Mine are shinier.” Bilbo looked pleased with himself as he put more flour on his hands. He kneaded the peppers into the squares of dough and expertly moulded them into a ball. Thorin had always enjoyed watching masters work their craft. Watching Bilbo was no exception. He would blow a talented chef like Bombur out of the water. He watched for a little while before remembering his reason for finding Bilbo.

“I was washing our things and came across this in your pack. I didn’t know if I should wash it or not.” Thorin held out the handkerchief, and Bilbo's eyes grew panicked. Bilbo reached out reflexively for it, hesitating at the last minute, given the state of his hands.

“Please don’t wash that!” Bilbo pleaded. He hadn't expected such a reaction. Thorin held the cloth more gingery, treating it with much more reverence. Carefully, he folded it along the marked crease lines and tucked it into Bilbo’s trouser pocket. Bilbo breathed easier the moment it was returned to him. An expression that morphed into sheepishness quickly. “Sorry about that. It’s just- that was my mother's. I brought it with me as a way to bring her along on my first real adventure, and now, after everything, it’s the last thing of hers I might be able to keep.”

“You speak about your parents often. What became of them?” Thorin’s curiosity ran amuck with his words, and he backtracked quickly, “Unless you don’t wish to say. I don’t mean to pry.”

“You’re not prying. I suppose I do mention them often. My mother especially. My father made this for her after their wedding. He wanted her to have something with her new initials, B.B., Belladonna Baggins. He was clearly never very good with a needle,” Bilbo chuckled. “He was more of a builder. He offered to have it re-made, but Mom refused. She said it was more proof than she’d ever need to show that he loved her. My father he…he died years ago in a flood coming back from business on the outskirts of the south farthing just past the Sarn Ford. He got swept up in the river. It was an awful way to go. We might never have found him if the Brandywine hadn't carried his body to the shire. My mother died a few years later. She never recovered from losing him.”

“Is that why you say you have no family?” Thorin asked. It also occurred to him that his father's drowning was likely the reason he disliked water so much, but he decided not to broach the topic.

“Yes. If Fortinbras had tried to sell me off when my mother was alive, she would have dragged him off by his ankles and thrown him in the barrow downs.” Bilbo huffed.

“Our mothers would have gotten along, I think.” Thorin smiled. ”My mother was a vocal and opinionated woman, a trait my little sister inherited.”

“You have siblings?” Bilbo interrupted. He looked apologetic about the outburst, but Thorin just laughed.

“I have…I had two. A younger brother and sister. My brother died in the last attack on the dragon, as did my father. My mother had already passed many years ago due to complications in childbirth.” He didn’t expect the horrible gasp that came from Bilbo. He looked up sharply, expecting to see he had injured himself somehow, but he didn’t look hurt. He looked stricken. “Bilbo?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just that passing from childbirth in the shire is almost unheard of. On the rare occasions it does happen it’s grieved by the entire community. The family is given leave from all duties for two seasons and is not expected to pay for any of their basic needs for that time. It’s only happened once in my lifetime. I’m so sorry that happened to your family, Thorin.” Bilbo looked like he was going to reach out to him, but his hands were still coated in flour, so he stopped himself.

“Do hobbits have many children then?” Thorin wanted Bilbo to keep speaking about himself, his life, and his culture. It made him look so happy.

“Oh yes. The average family size is four or five faunts. My father was a child of five, and my mother was one of nine.”

“Nine children?” Thorin marvelled. Bilbo shook his head, and Thorin knit his eyebrows as he realised that Bilbo had never mentioned siblings of any kind.

“Yes, nine.” Bilbo confirmed, “But I’m afraid I was a special case. My mother didn’t get pregnant again after me, but I never learned if it was her choice or Yavanna’s will.” Bilbo leaned in closer to him. “But if you asked some of my nosier relatives, they say my mother was cursed for being so adventurous, even for a Took. A ridiculous notion, of course. I think she just wanted to travel more. I always wanted siblings, and while I may not have gotten them, I have many cousins, so I wasn’t a lonely child.” A timer went off just as Thorin went to ask a question, and Bilbo hopped out of his chair and tried to find the kitchen towel to clean his hands. Thorin rested a hand on his forearm and pulled him to the side so he could open the oven and place the hot sheet on the table to cool.

“How is it you make hard tack look appetising?” Thorin asked, looking at the perfectly square perforated biscuits.

“I’d like to hear you say that when we're freezing in our bedrolls with nothing but bland bread to eat, but thank you.” Bilbo put the pepper bread in the oven, set the timer, and turned around. The movement made his hair fall in front of his face. He attempted in vain to blow it out of his face before giving up and cleaning his hands so he could tuck it quickly behind his ear. It refused to stay there it was put, falling right back into his line of sight. Thorin acted without thinking.

“Here.” He swept the lock back and tucked it more securely behind Bilbo’s pointed ear, absently letting his thumb brush over the pointed tip. Bilbo’s body shuddered, and he bit back a noise that sounded like a strangled whine.

“T-thank you for that. I…I suppose it’s getting a little too long now. I should probably ask Beorn if he has shears of some kind to cut it.” Bilbo’s voice was unsteady and breathless. Thorin still hadn't stepped away. His hands hovered over what they ached to touch.

“It would be a crime to cut your hair,” Thorin muttered, causing Bilbo to turn pink. If you want it out of your face, let me braid it. It would only take a moment.” This would have been bold if he were standing in a dwarven kitchen—almost indecent.

“Yes.” Bilbo breathed dreamily. “I mean- I hadn't considered that option. I suppose it's better than trying to take a knife to my hair. I have always greatly admired your braids.” Bilbo smiled. Thorin tested his luck with a small step forward. His better judgement was rapidly losing to the force that was Bilbo's hold on him. “You seem to take very good care of them. Especially these ones.” Bilbo reached forward to run his fingers along the plait at his temple. Reflexively he caught Bilbo's wrist but didn't move it away. He should stop this. There was too much at stake, too much he hadn't said, and this felt like a point of no return. He should be strong enough to not want this.

Bilbo's shock quickly turned into embarrassment as he turned his head to the side and tried to pull his hand away. He was chewing on his bottom lip to hide his growing emotion of the perceived rejection, and Thorin broke. If he left this how it was, he might never get a chance again. He would live with his mistakes if it meant Bilbo knew he was wanted. He used Bilbo's hand to pull him forward, careful not to aggravate any injuries, and only released him once they had collided in favour of cradling the side of his head. Bilbo squeaked but quickly recovered. Small, nimble hands buried themselves in Thorin’s hair, causing a groan to escape him. Bilbo was so soft. Everywhere he touched was better than he imagined it to be, yet his grip was iron, and he proved quickly that his talented mouth could be put to more use than just quips. Thorin could get drunk on the taste of his lips and the slide of his tongue.

“Mahal’s graces, I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.” Thorin breathed as he smoothed back Bilbo’s hair just to kiss him again.

“How long is a long time exactly?” Bilbo teased, grinning like a fool.

“Since you told me I had a stupidly sharp nose.” Thorin laughed. Bilbo scrunched up his face, and his eyes went wide.

“Oh, I did say that, didn't I? Well, you were being an unreasonable bother, but I’ve grown quite fond of that nose.” Bilbo stood on his tiptoes to give him a peck. “Now I think you were about to braid my hair, and then I have a small list of several other things we can do before the day ends,” Bilbo purred. Thorin took that as an invitation and picked Bilbo up, hushing him with another kiss as he walked them to the other room and deposited him onto a pillow. The furniture was far too tall for either of them to bother with.

“Sit with your back to me. This shouldn't take long.” Thorin instructed.

Bilbo did as he was bid and nestled into his lap. Carefully, Thorin ran his fingers through the now mussed hair and started separating it. Bilbo’s hair was soft as feather-down, and the pattern of his curls got tighter at the end until it wrapped around his fingers. He would never tire of seeing it or of touching it. And the colour…Mahal. Were they still in Erebor, Bilbo’s courtship would be coveted if only for the colour of such pretty locks. The braid for Bilbo went along the side of his head and behind his ear, close to the scalp. While Bilbo might have longer hair than he was used to, it would still be considered short for a dwarf. To any dwarf that saw it, it would proclaim three things. Bilbo was taken, respected, and entirely protected.

“Should we have gotten a piece of leather to tie it off with?” Bilbo asked as he neared the end of the plait. Thorin shook his head at the idea. Putting leather in this kind of plait would be disrespectful. He reached into his pocket to pull out his mother's beads with a smile.

“Hold out your hand,” Thorin asked. When Bilbo did so, he placed the courting bead into his palm, smirking when Bilbo gasped.

“Thorin, this is beautiful!”

“It was my mother’s.” Thorin took it back and clasped it on the finished braid. Bilbo turned around, his hand immediately rising to feel the new weight.

“Y-your giving it to me? Thorin, this is your mother's heirloom! I can’t-” Thorin silenced him with a kiss.

“I think my mother would prefer these go to someone I care for rather than to collect dust in my pocket.” He ran his finger along the plait, purposefully clipping the tip of Bilbo’s ear. Bilbo’s breath hitched, and he leaned forward into the touch. Thorin slowly pulled the hobbit further into his lap, letting his finger trace the shell of his ear while he swallowed breathy whimpers. Neither of them heard the door open until Beorn cleared his throat. They broke apart, and Bilbo scrambled off his lap like he had just been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Thorin shot the bear man a deeply annoyed look. Beorn looked between the two of them before his eyes rested on Thorin disapprovingly.

“You should both leave as soon as you can,” Beorn said seriously. He continued before Thorin could start to lose his temper. “There are dwarves on rams heading in this direction through the Greenwood. They’ll be here before tomorrow ends.”

Chapter 7: You Hold My Heart

Chapter Text

Thorin’s blood froze.

“Through the Greenwood, not around it?” Thorin clarified.

“They passed through the elf road and made camp just beyond the treeline. If you stay, I can protect you, but you would be trapped here should they locate you.” Beorn explained. Thorin turned to Bilbo, who was still sitting on the floor looking beautifully taken apart, except now fear lived where desire stood.

“Kakhf,” Thorin cursed under his breath. He knew his grandfather wouldn't be pleased, but to go as far as to make an agreement with Thranduil to pass through his lands was beyond what he had expected. “The dwarves won't camp long. They’ll leave before dawn. We need to leave now. If we cross the river, the riders will have a harder chance of finding us. Rams don't handle crossing water well. By the time they make it across the signs of us should have faded” Right after he said it, he turned to Bilbo. The hobbit's expression was on par with what he expected.

“Please tell me there is a bridge this time. A good sure bridge with no damages or threats of falling in.” Bilbo asked hopefully. Beorn answered before he could

“There is no need to worry on that front Little Bunny. I can see you both across the river to the Carrok, but you will have to take the High Pass through the mountain by yourselves.” The next few hours were a whirlwind. They waited just long enough for their things to dry and the rolls to finish baking before packing their belongings. Thorin kept a very close eye on Bilbo. He was mostly healed, but not as much as he would have preferred. The wound he took had missed his vital organs by some miracle of the Valar, but it had still been deep, and deep wounds take time to heal. Time they didn’t have. When all their things were packed, Thorin re-wrapped his hobbit’s wounds, calling on every lesson in battle medicine he had ever taken from Oin. If he ever saw the old dwarf again, he would apologise on bended knee for not taking it as seriously as he should have. Surprisingly, Bilbo didn’t protest the overly cautious treatment. He seemed lost in his own thoughts and tasks.

“Bilbo?” Thorin asked, affectionately sliding his hands down the hobbit’s arms. Bilbo was startled but looked up warmly. “With Beorn’s help, we will be able to outrun them,” Thorin reassured. Bilbo squeezed his arm with an apprehensive smile and slid from the chair.

“I think that’s everything. If we’re lucky, we’ll be in Rivendell in a tenday.” Bilbo grabbed his walking stick and squared his shoulders with all the confidence that he had shown on their journey thus far.

“I think we’re both due that luck by now,” Thorin replied, stepping close and pressing a kiss to Bilbo’s nervous smile.

Bilbo sat in his arms much the way he did on the ride to Beorn's halls, only this time, he clung to his front while Thorin buried his head in his curls. He had no concept of how fast the bear was moving. It was faster than any beast and seemed to be spurred by the Valar. They travelled in two days, which would have taken many, and true to his word, Beorn delivered them safely over the river to the Carrok.

“I leave you here. The pass is a few days forward and a steep climb. Cross it quickly and do not linger. Treacherous things dwell in those mountains.” Beorn crouched to give Bilbo a warm hug, and they exchanged words of parting and eventual return. Beorn turned to Thorin soon after and, with a motion of his head, beckoned him away. They stood apart while Bilbo rested, not seeming to think anything of the unusual aside.

“Is this where you threaten to bury me under the mine, bear?” Thorin asked, not without an air of bemusem*nt.

“I overheard much of the conversation of the dwarves as I watched them.” Beorn didn't seem to want to waste time on pleasantries in this conversation. “They were not looking for Little Bunny; they were looking for a fugitive dwarf prince.” Thorin opened his mouth to interject but was silenced. “This is not a warning. I have seen your love for him, and I don’t believe you mean him harm, but harm you may bring him anyway. I do not know why you flee your own people nor why they hunt you, and I suspect neither does Little Bunny. He is no fool, Durin Son. How long do you think you can keep the reason you run from him before he starts questioning?”

Thorin looked over to where Bilbo sat with his back to a rock, eating one of the pepper rolls that he had made. There was truth in what the shifter said, and yet… and yet… he was scared. Whatever this was between them had just started, and he wanted to keep this candle lit for as long as he was able. Just a few more days. A few more days of hazel eyes that looked upon him kindly and without suspicion. A few more days of warm, gentle touches and freely given kisses. A few more days of being exactly what everyone believed of him, a greedy dwarf.

“I’ll tell him after we reach Rivendell,” Thorin said. That seemed to be an adequate answer for the man, who nodded and walked away. With one last goodbye, he changed and ran back in the direction of his home. After so many weeks, it was back to just Thorin and Bilbo again.

Wasting none of the daylight hours, they made their way quickly to the high pass. Thorin remembered passing through it many times in his youth to visit one of their sister settlements in the Blue Mountains. Travelling across the Misty Mountains brought him an odd peace. The stone sang an old song to him like a washed-out memory he was supposed to remember. The Valar made the pass they were on in service of the elves, but they had forgotten it. It was found again by dwarven kind who connected it to the great East Road that travelled from the River Running all the way to Ered Luin without breaking. Somewhere far below his feet and south were the remnants of the greatest feats that dwarves had ever achieved.

“I-I-If t-this is how c-cold it is before winter s-sets, then I f-fear it must be entirely impassible in the w-winter.” Bilbo’s teeth chattered loudly. They were nearing the end of their journey over the pass, and the bite of the wind and snow was taking its toll. Even Thorin, who could withstand the cold well, was numb in the face.

“We should be on the other side of it soon. We’ll start to descend before we stop for the night.” He replied reassuringly.

“H-how can you be s-so sure?” Bilbo asked. “The path ahead seemed no different than the one behind us, and I don't feel like we’re descending.” Thorin smiled at this and pulled Bilbo closer to him so he could share his body heat.

“Because I can feel it in my feet or maybe in my head. My stone sense is stronger here. This was the first mountain my forefathers called home.”

Bilbo looked at him with wonder, and a big smile split across his face.

“Are there different dwarves that come from different mountains?” Bilbo asked curiously.

“There are seven dwarven clans. I hail from the Longbeards.” He closed his eyes with a hum as he felt Bilbo’s fingers run through his beard, and a warmth spread through his chest.

“You seem to be doing a poor job of living up to that clan name.” Bilbo laughed affectionately.

“This is all very secret dwarven knowledge I’m revealing to you. If you are going to make fun of my beard, then I’ll stop.” Thorin snarked in faux protest. Bilbo’s responding laugh was bright and vibrant. It warmed him to his very core. Their walk was slower now, with Bilbo pressed to his side and his coat around them both, but he didn’t mind.

“Why do you keep it so short? I know you can grow it longer because I’ve seen you trim it. You protested loudly when I mentioned cutting my hair. I thought that might be the way for all dwarves. Most of the dwarves I saw in Erebor had very long beards with lots of adornments. The king especially.” Bilbo asked. Thorin cringed. His grandfather was known for being over the top in his adornments. He had many custom pieces commissioned to fit over his beard and was also known to string gems and precious stones into his braids.

“I trim it as a sign of mourning for my father and brother. I will keep it short for three years and one day post the night they had joined Mahal, before growing it again.” It was a custom that his grandfather should have also observed but refused because he thought it would make the seat of the king look weak. Dis and himself had both cut each other's beards the night after the funeral. It was a solemn memory and, in many other ways, a precious one.

Bilbo breathed out a quiet “oh” before nuzzling into his side. As Thorin had predicted, they started the descent that evening, meaning they had another two days at most in the mountain, and with every step, it would grow warmer. They reached the bottom just after the second week of September. Bilbo, he knew, was grateful to finally have grass under his toes, but Thorin was saddened to no longer be on rocky ground. He hadn't realised how much he missed it.

They made camp on the edge of a small forest and decided against a fire. They had nothing to cook anyway and hadn’t caught anything that evening. Thorin sharpened his blades as a way to do something with his hands. They were growing restless as of late, and he wondered when he would get to hold a smithing hammer again. Bilbo sat with his back to a tree, attempting to blow smoke rings. He was having mixed luck. There was a wind blowing from the mountains that rustled the trees and caused multi-coloured leaves to dance around their feet. The wind took the smoke rings with it, but it didn't seem to deter the hobbit any. He had made it into a game of seeing how far he could get them to go before a gust took them.

The night was an uneasy one. Thorin lay with Bilbo curled into his chest while he ran his fingers through his hair. Sleep evaded him. He sat on the knife's edge of too much change. He turned and closed his arms around his hobbit, letting the smell of his hair and the warmth of his breath give him comfort. He should be more surprised that he fell so fast, but while dwarves are often considered stubborn, they are not indecisive. They only love once, and Thorin’s soul seemed to have made its choice quickly, like it had been waiting for Bilbo to hurry up and get to him.

In the morning, they decided the best course of action was to find the river that Bilbo recalled marked the end of the elven land when they had travelled east. Now, travelling west with the sun high in the sky, it seemed as if it should have been simple to just head straight until they got to the river.

“This is not west.” Bilbo sighed.

“How is it not?” Thorin grumbled, tired of this conversation reoccurring. “The mountains are behind us.”

“Because the last time I trusted you to pick a direction, we went in a circle. Just admit that when we’re not on a mountain, you have no sense of direction.” Bilbo huffed, throwing his hands in the air as a sign of defeat.

“It’s not my fault that every tree in this accursed place looks the same!” Thorin protested angrily. They had been walking for hours, and the lack of progress was grating their nerves.

“They are not the same! You’ve pointed out four different granite deposits in the last three hours, yet you can’t tell a few trees from each other?” Bilbo waited for an answer to a question Thorin was pretty sure was rhetorical before stamping his walking stick on the ground and leaning on it teasingly. “And here, Gandalf used to speak so highly of the many talents of the dwarves.” Thorin quirked his brow and closed in on his mouthy hobbit menacingly until he had him crowded against a large tree. He placed his hand on either side of Bilbo’s head and leaned in.

“If you need proof of dwarven talent, you only need to ask ghivashel,” Thorin rumbled, using his proximity to make himself seem large and imposing. Bilbo looked far from intimidated. A little pink tongue poked out of his mouth to wet his lips, and a shiver ran the length of his spine. Thorin smiled and grabbed Bilbo by the front of his shirt, crashing their lips together and revelling in the excited moan that it caused.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think that the difference in our sizes excited you.” Thorin teased, moving his hands so he could drag them down his waist and start to untuck his shirt.

They got no further than that.

Thorin heard the rustling of a tree and jumped back just as an arrow flew past the space between them. Thorin pulled his sword from its scabbard at his back and shoved Bilbo behind him rougher than he would have preferred to. He didn’t even see his foes before they attacked. Two dark-haired figures lept from trees behind him, overwhelming him and pinning him to the ground. They crushed his wrist, forcing him to let go of his sword with a pained curse. Thorin used his momentum to twist his body around and grab the offending ankle, pulling the lighter body to the ground as hard as he could. It allowed him only enough time to get to his knees before he felt the razor's edge of cold steel kiss his throat.

“DARO!” Bilbo’s voice demanded. A clear and desperate call that halted all other movements. All eyes turned to the hobbit, who had fallen to the ground but was using his walking stick to prop himself up. His other arm was outstretched as if he could will the elf not to move his arm. The panic was as evident in his eyes as it was in his words, despite his inability to understand them. “Daro sina aucië!"

“Amman? Sina issë Naugrim nahtaldë.” The dark-haired elf over him sneered when he finished speaking and looked down at him like filth. The only word Thorin caught from his words was Naugrim, the disrespectful name meaning stunted peoples given to dwarves by the elves upon their first meeting. The knife still hadn't come off his neck as the other elf walked to Bilbo and helped him to his feet, brushing dirt from his clothes and checking him over. Thorin felt a growl grow low in his chest as he pulled forward toward Bilbo. He felt the knife nick his skin and stopped. His hobbit seemed to be handling things his way, and he would not hinder him or lose his neck due to his impatience.

Bilbo waved the elf away and used his walking stick to help support his aggravated side. With his entire person now visible, the elf who helped Bilbo took several steps back, nearly tripping over a branch in shock. Bilbo’s hand rested on the hilt of the dagger Thorin insisted he keep with him after the wargs.

“Garoldë endanya na cirmacin. Aucolsa,” Bilbo growled.The knife was removed from his neck quickly, and Bilbo surged forward into him, his hands flying to his face.

“I’m fine, lansel.” Thorin soothed as Bilbo’s hands continued to flit around his throat. When he was satisfied, Bilbo looked up at the elves.

“Elladan, Elrohir, explain yourselves,” Bilbo demanded as they stood. It was the fiercest look he had ever seen the hobbit give. The elves looked stunned beyond belief and shared incredulous looks.

“We saw you from afar arguing, then saw the Naug- dwarf press you against the tree and… well, to us, it looked like…” Elrohir paled

“You thought I was taking advantage of him?” Thorin raged and took several steps forward, only to be stopped by Bilbo’s hand on his chest.

“It’s over now. Let's not spoil the day anymore. Thorin, these are the twins Elladan and Elrohir. They are Lord Elrond's sons. Young and impulsive elves I’ve known since my youth. Boys, this is Thorin, son of-” Bilbo stopped short, and Thorin cringed as he realised it was because he didn't know how to end his sentence. “Thorin from Erebor.” Both the elves bowed

“We didn't expect to see you so soon.” said one of the elves (He thought it was Elrohir but couldn't tell the difference) as they walked.

“Yes, well, things happen. Is Lord Elrond in his house, or has he travelled elsewhere since I last saw him?” Bilbo replied, tactfully switching topics.

“He’s in. In fact, he said that we might find someone on our patrol. I just never thought it would be you. He’ll be as pleased as we are, and how fortunate you’ll be in Rivendell for your birthday!” Elladan (he hoped) exclaimed. Thorin stopped to look at Bilbo, who was doing a poor job of hiding his face.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. When was I supposed to tell you exactly?” Bilbo quipped. Thorin laughed but stopped abruptly as he caught sight of Bilbo's shirt. What he thought was dirt had grown darker. The twins' eyes followed his gaze.

“Bilbo, mellon, you’re injured?” Elladan (probably) shouted as he ducked down to check the wound. Thorin batted the elf's hand away, pushing him back so he could check it himself, but was forced to back away from Bilbo as the other twin stepped boldly into his space.

“You will not stop us from showing our friend care. We have known him all his life. Who are you to waylay us? For all we know, you caused that injury,” Elrohir accused.

“Do you think he would travel with me if I did?” Thorin rebutted.

“That depends. Was travelling with you a choice he made or simply a necessity?” Elrohir sneered.

“Both of you stop!” Bilbo snapped, “Boys, I am with Thorin of my own free will.” Thorin crossed his arms smugly, but Bilbo continued, “And Thorin, they would never harm me. Stop antagonising them.”

Bilbo's words lost some of their power as he swayed dangerously on the spot. Elladan caught him before his knees could buckle and gently set Bilbo on the ground. Thorin and the other twin knelt to his level immediately, with Thorin cupping his hobbits face.

“When did this happen? Did I push you too hard? I just didn’t want you to get hurt again.” Thorin cursed his own strength. He had panicked and been careless. The puncture hadn't fully opened back up, but it had pulled just enough to bleed more than he liked.

“It wasn’t you. I just fell on my walking stick. It must have been harder than I thought. I didn’t even notice. Beorn gave us some spare bandages that should be enough to take care of it for now.” Bilbo replied calmly. Thorin missed the looks the twins gave each other as they watched the display.

“You proclaim that this dwarf is your heart, you speak of Beorn the shapeshifter and that wound looks like it came from a fell beast. You have much to tell us since we last saw you, Bilbo. Imladris is not far. Let one of us carry you the rest of the way.” Elladan pressed. Thorin ignored the comment about being Bilbo’s heart and closed his hand on his waist.

“Let me,” Thorin stated, shrugging the pack from his shoulders and tossing it to the elf. Bilbo looked up amusedly and wrapped his arms snugly around his neck. Bilbo spent the rest of the walk telling the boys of the story thus far. He was a natural storyteller. Thorin had lived through the story's events and still found himself clinging to every word, wondering what would happen next. Even with all of Bilbo’s miraculous storytelling, he couldn't completely cover up the gap made by Thorin’s lack of forthcoming. The burning question of why a dwarf would flee his mountain in the dead of night. Beorn's warning tugged at him but he pushed it away.

Thorin had never seen the last homely house. Begrudgingly and to no one, he would admit it was beautiful in an elvish polished way. When Elrond greeted them, he didn’t seem surprised by either of their presences.

“Welcome back, Master Baggins. I see you bring with you company that does not usually grace these halls. I am already aware you might need medical aid. Lord Thorin, could you please bring Bilbo to a room so I can tend to his wound?” Elrond asked politely, gesturing his arm to an open passage to the right. Bilbo's head was resting on his shoulder, and he heard him breathe the word lord curiously into his ear.

“You know my name, but I have never seen your face,” Thorin said, a twinge of fear blotting out any attempt at rudeness.

“You bear a likeness to your grandfather, and I remember him mentioning his other grandson had fairer hair.” Elrond had a surprisingly disarming smile. He motioned Thorin to a room with a soft-looking bed. “With my aid, the healing process should take far less time. You will be well before your birthday lest you miss any festivities that my sons are likely already planning.”

Thorin placed Bilbo gently onto the bed and let him rearrange himself.

“Elrond, must you put me in a bed with pristine white sheets? I would prefer not to leave blood stains on elvish linen.” Bilbo grouched. Thorin suspected he was saying it as an objection to all the light treatment and not because it was a legitimate concern.

“It’s easier to tell if you’ve opened a wound on white sheets than on dark ones. And those are regular linens. We save the elvish ones for the less injury-prone guests,” Elrond bantered. Thorin was taken aback by the elf’s attempt at humour. He had treated with the elf king Thranduil many times as expected of a crown prince, and that was not an elf who often cracked a joke. Bilbo laughed and patted his hands on the bed.

“Well, at least tell the boys not to worry about this birthday business. I’m turning fifty-one, that’s hardly a benchmark for a lavish party or feast.” Bilbo huffed

“I will attempt to dissuade them, but as we do not celebrate the day of our birth, they take immense joy in celebrating others.” Elrond turned and addressed Thorin, “May I speak to you while Bilbo settles himself?” Elrond didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and walked out of the room. Thorin turned back to Bilbo, kissing him soundly and fixing his curls. He felt along the braid, breathing a sigh of relief that it was still intact after all the day's events.

“I will be right back, ghivashel.” Thorin turned and followed Elrond outside, squaring his shoulders and waiting for the elven lord to tell him he was unwelcome. Elrond saw him and nodded. They walked silently until they came to a veranda with a table already set for two. Elrond sat and poured himself a cup of tea, encouraging him to do the same.

“How long have you known I would be travelling with Bilbo?” Thorin asked, sitting awkwardly and sternly, squaring his shoulders more on instinct than in defence.

“Officially? Approximately two weeks.” Elrond didn’t bother expanding what he meant by, officially, but he continued. “Your grandfather sent a letter detailing that you were a fugitive and that if you stumbled into my halls, I was to return you to the mountain in good health along with any that might accompany you.”

“Have you pulled me aside to ask why then?” Thorin could feel his temper flaring, but it wasn’t Elrond with whom he was upset. “I don’t know why he is pursuing me! Not this adamantly! There is no reason for it. He decided my future was his to play with, and I refused. I didn’t expect him to go to any lengths to recover me!” Thorin snapped. Elrond looked unphased.

“I may be able to shed light on that.” Elrond sat his cup down and regarded him. “There is rumour that you fled and took Bilbo with you against his will and now hold him as your hostage or future bargaining chip. The Thane of the hobbits has demanded Erebor exhaust its resources to look for you.”

“Do you intend to deliver us back to him then?” Thorin seethed, clenching his fits at his side

“No.” Elrond replied, “I suspected the nature of the deal the Thane struck with Thror when I spoke with him as they passed my lands to Erebor. I counselled against it and was clearly disregarded. I plan to play no other part in it. Arranged marriages for elves are forbidden and looked upon with pure disdain. It’s not in the nature of Eldar souls to survive them.

“Bilbo said you told him things don’t always work out the way we think they will. Why tell him that and not what his uncle had in store for him. You could have saved him all of this pain!” Thorin was tired of elves and had only been in this dwelling for a few hours. Curse elves and wizards alike for their inability to speak plainly.

“Some things are set in motion that can not be disrupted. It was not my place to stop it from happening. The fates of Middle Earth are more complex than any elf, dwarf, man, or hobbit could hope to understand.” Thorin was about to retort, but Elrond spoke again. “Would you have rather never met Bilbo?” Elrond asked. Thorin paused, struck by the question.

“What are you implying? That your silence was virtuous? If fate is as you say, then our path may have crossed anyway, or is that not the nature of fate?” Thorin retorted.

“I am one-sixteenth what a wizard like Gandalf is, and even I could see that the future held more potential in my silence,” Elrond answered.

“You didn’t help before. You have taken a passive stance now. Why pull me aside to tell me any of this? What difference does it make now?” Thorin was exasperated at this point. His head was reeling from the waves of information.

“Because choice is the single most powerful influence in this world, Thorin Oakenshield, and while fate is the force that pulls things together, our choices can be enough to repel even that which is fated to us.” There were paragraphs of unsaid things that lingered in the space between them. Questions that would get no answers and accusations that would be left standing where they were. “I believe your hobbit asks after you should you like to return to him.”

Thorin did just that, leaving his seat and walking back down the stairs that led to the other hall. He still didn’t understand Elrond’s words. Were they a threat? A warning? Did that even matter? Would his grandfather have gone to such lengths to get him back if the hobbits had not demanded it? And worst of all, should he tell Bilbo? Could he without giving away his own identity. Elrond had said he would not interfere, but did that extend to the possibility of guards showing up to haul him or Bilbo away? This was why he didn't treat with elves or ask for their council! They always posed more questions than they gave answers to.

Thorin got halfway to Bilbo’s room before turning around to go back to Elrond. When he reached the top of the steps, the Elven lord was now standing admiring the courtyard below where a young dark-haired elven woman read with her back to a stone column covered in vines.

“Yes, you and Bilbo are safe here for as long as you remain. Nothing may enter that encroaches on your free will. I promise it.” Elrond replied unprompted and unmoving. So Thorin asked another question.

“Can you see the future?”

Elrond smiled, and his eyes softened, but didn’t turn to look at him.

“I can see inevitabilities without knowing the road one might be forced to take to reach them. They are snippets of chance, pieces of futures that might never come to pass.”

“Do you ever wish to change the futures you see?” Thorin asked genuinely. Elrond’s eyes turned mournful as he continued to look at the dam reading. He looked at her as if he were watching a memory.

“Yes, master dwarf. Very often, I wish that.”

Thorin let the elven lord be and returned to his hobbit. Bilbo sat on the bed with two new piles of books and both twins sitting eagerly on either side of him. They were gesturing wildly with big grins that he begrudgingly thought reminded him of Fili and Kili. Though he would eat hardtack for a year before he said the words out loud.

“There you are, Thorin! Save me from these rascals! They’ve taken advantage of my sickbed and are making me plan my own birthday party!” Bilbo laughed loudly and carefree, some of the age leaving his face.

“We wanted your opinion!” One of the twins protested (he had given up trying to remember which was which).

There were many things he would have to tell Bilbo, and sooner than he wanted, he would know the outcome of his choices. But his news could wait one more hour, one more day, one more moment, or at least until he had given Bilbo a good birthday and memories of this journey not shadowed in pain or hardship. He deserved that, at least.

Chapter 8: The First Step

Chapter Text

A week passed, and Bilbo’s wound had healed significantly, beyond just closing but starting to recede. Elrond explained that it was due to his own magics and the nature of the elven home itself. It had Bilbo in high spirits, who, for the first time in weeks, felt like he had the full range of movement he was supposed to.

Thorin woke that morning to his arms and legs tangled with Bilbo’s. His face was pressed into the hobbit's neck, and Bilbo’s head rested on top of his.

“Good Morning.” Bilbo yawned, adjusting and nuzzling him.

“How did you know I woke up?” Thorin asked, eyes still closed. He had barely registered consciousness when Bilbo greeted him.

“Because you stopped snoring.” Bilbo teased. Thorin opened his eyes and blinked a few times to clear the sleeplessness away.

“I don’t snore.” Thorin protested, pulling his head back and feigning a glare.

“Oh yes, you do. Loudly. Like a bear.”

“Bears don’t snore, they growl.” Thorin pulled Bilbo down to his eye level by the hips and pressed their faces close, doing his best to imitate a ferocious bear. Bilbo giggled and Thorin broke to laugh with him.

“You do make a fearsome bear.” Bilbo cooed, smushing Thorin’s face in his hands and kissing him soundly.

He melted into him, turning his body so Bilbo was under him and his hands. He ended up with his body between Bilbo’s legs, kissing him silly and enjoying the sounds the hobbit made when his hands wandered up his thighs or pulled just a little too tightly on his hair. They hadn't yet given in to their passions. Their explorations had been surface-level at best, but Thorin grew increasingly hungry for it. It was almost alarming how badly he wanted to strip his love bare and have him. To take him apart and let him lay claim to his soul. He wanted to know Bilbo in every intimate way a person could be known. He wanted to pull noises out of Bilbo the hobbit wasn’t even aware he was capable of making.

The only thing stopping him was the thought of his deception. If they coupled and Bilbo found out who he was after, he might feel used, violated, or betrayed, and that was something Thorin could not live with. He didn’t want his first experience with Bilbo to be marred, but the feisty hobbit wasn’t making it easy. Not when he had his legs wrapped as far as they could go around his middle and was moaning into his mouth.

Thorin broke their kiss and nuzzled the side of Bilbo’s neck, steadying his breathing. He willingly ignored the small, sad frown on the hobbit's face when he rolled back onto his side. Thorin still had his hand half in Bilbo’s hair, his thumb resting on his cheekbone and occasionally tracing the area.

“You haven’t told me what we’re doing for your birthday today?” Thorin asked, “I know the twins planned a party, but what other things do hobbits do?”

“We give gifts!” Bilbo exclaimed happily

“You give gifts?” Of course, the hobbits of all the free peoples would be the odd ones out when it came to this.

“How else would we show appreciation to everyone who has been with us all year? Oh, that reminds me! I got something for you!” Bilbo dived for the other side of the bed, dangling his torso off the edge so that he could reach under it for something. His toes curled into the sheets as he tried to keep himself from falling, and Thorin resisted the temptation not to give his plump little ass a firm squeeze. “Close your eyes!” Bilbo called in a muffled voice. Thorin did so and held out his hands. A heavier weight than he was expecting landed in them, and he opened his eyes to see why. He held a strong leather strap carefully engraved in geometric patterns or at least at first glance. Upon further inspection, some of the lines that made up the shapes had twisting vines that curved throughout them. It wasn’t the work of a master, but it was done with care.

“Bilbo, this is -”

“It’s for your sword!” Bilbo burst out.” The strap, I mean! I noticed that the one you had was damaged from the wargs, and it looked to be in some state of disrepair before that. I thought this one might be more comfortable. I might have gotten carried away with the design, but—” Thorin hushed Bilbo’s nervous babbling with his mouth before embracing him in a tight hug.

“It’s beautiful,” Thorin reassured him. “Did you make it yourself?

“Not the strap but the design, yes. Elrond has some books written in runes I can’t read, but they had patterns in them, and I tried to replicate something like them, but I also wanted to give you a slice of myself, hence the vines.” Bilbo explained. All Thorin could do was smile and nuzzle his love. “I have one more thing, too, but I don’t know if you’ll like it or if you’ll find it offensive. Just promise me you won't accept it unless you really want it, alright?”

Bilbo seemed to want an actual confirmation, so Thorin nodded in agreement. Bilbo placed his hand on top of his, and Thorin felt something small deposited into his palm. It was a bead. It looked to be made of strong wood carved with vines similar to those on the strap. Thorin looked up at Bilbo’s hopeful face with a storm of affection and guilt. Did he fully know what he offered with this? Did he know that giving him a bead back was tantamount to declaring that they were soon to be betrothed? Did Thorin care? He watched Bilbo fidget before taking his hands, pressing the bead back into his palm, and closing his fingers around it. When Bilbo looked up at him, he made his choice. He pulled him forward so they were nearly chest to chest, and he could look into those gemlike eyes that reminded him of rivets of pure gold flowing through a mountainside.

“Will you braid it into my hair” Thorin whispered, his breath hot against Bilbo's ear. His body was buzzing from this closeness. He wanted to melt into it and give himself over to the force that was Bilbo. If he was a weaker-willed person he might have.

“So it’s acceptable?” Bilbo asked shakily.

“Nothing you could make for me with your hands could be anything less than perfect.” Didn’t he see that? Didn’t he understand what spell he had him under? In less than three months, Bilbo had changed the trajectory of his life. He had made him a fool in love. Dwalin wouldn’t let him hear the end of it for the rest of his days. He tried not to let his expression drop at the thought of his friend. He missed him.

Bilbo took up a position behind him and started sectioning out his hair. His hobbit had already explained that he wasn’t well versed in braids, but Thorin assured him the simple three-band plat he was familiar with was just fine. He hummed contentedly as Bilbo’s fingers twisted through his hair until, finally, he felt the weight of the bead. He brought his hand up to touch it the same way Bilbo had done for his, and the smile that split his face was one of pure joy.

“I’m glad you like it. These hands haven't weaved much more than flower crowns, I’m afraid.” Bilbo chuckled

“Is that another hobbit tradition, then? Or is it really just giving gifts and eating food.” Thorin teased. Bilbo looked thoughtful for a moment, then smiled up at him with a sly and mischievous grin.

“It's also a hobbit courting tradition. Do you want to learn how to make them?” Bilbo asked. Thorin regarded him curiously, narrowing his eyes.

“If you’re willing to teach.” Right after he said it, Bilbo leaped off the bed and stood by the doorframe, rocking on his heels impatiently. Thorin followed his curious hobbit out of the room and down the hall. They went past the kitchens and the library until they came to the courtyard. Thorin hadn't spent much time here. It was mostly gardens with benches and nooks outlining it. It was unusually in bloom for late September. There were spaces of colour everywhere he turned his head and Bilbo looked delighted as he turned his head to search for something or someone. When he saw a tall elf bent over a push with a set of pruning shears, he frowned. It was fascinating watching Bilbo’s mind work, although right now, he had no idea what he was thinking about.

“Thorin, you do trust me, right?” Bilbo asked seriously. Thorin squinted his eyes at him, “Of course I do,” Bilbo nodded, looking both thoughtful and apologetic.

“Good. Keep him talking, and thank you very much for this.” Before he could question the oddity of that statement, Bilbo shoved a hastily and poorly picked flower into his hands and dragged him into the elf's view before seemingly vanishing. Upon seeing the flower in Thorin's hands, the elf stormed over in a rage and promptly threw a fit.

He endured at least thirty minutes of ranting from the elf on why no flowers should be picked from the garden without express permission. Complete with a history lesson about how the gardens are a remnant of Elrond's wife before she sailed west. He also got a ten-minute lesson on the proper technique when it came to picking flowers and how to select the best and most long-lasting stems. The elf droned on, occasionally slipping into Sindarin, leaving Thorin to stand there fuming. Oh, he was going to have some words with that crafty hobbit when he got out of this. Halfway through the elf’s second monologue, Thorin just walked off, not caring at all about the elf's protest.

He stalked back to their room and stopped short in the doorframe, eyes wide. Bilbo had not been idle while he was captured by the elf. A pile of bright flowers was placed into the centre of the bed, with Bilbo sitting crisscrossed in front of it with a third of a crown already threaded.

“You, Bilbo Baggins, are a crafty little burglar,” Thorin smirked, not quite able to keep the same energy he had while walking here.

“Yes, well, he caught me yesterday when you were off, doing whatever it is you’ve been occupying your time with. I only wanted to sniff at some of the nasturtiums and maybe keep one for my hair, but I had hardly leaned down to sniff before Astar rounded on me. I never thought I might say this, but that lad is too protective of those flowers, and that’s coming from a child of Yavanna. Also, he was wrong on proper stem picking technique.” Bilbo shook his head in exasperation. Thorin just laughed and joined him on the bed. He would have asked what the proper technique was just to see Bilbo’s face light up, but he had his fill of it for now.

Bilbo placed a few flowers in his lap when he sat and held up what he was working on.

“Flower crowns are a little like braiding but more like weaving. You want them to be sturdy enough that they won’t fall apart with a little light play but not so hard you strangle the stems.”

They sat in compatible silence apart from Bilbo’s instruction. Both of them were concentrating on their tasks. Thorin failed several times to get the flowers to hold their shape. After several failed attempts and dozens of snapped and discarded flowers, Thorin finally had a functioning flower crown. He placed it on the bed next to Bilbo’s and tried not to cringe at how juvenile his attempt looked in comparison.

“Nimble hobbit hands are better suited to this craft than rough dwarven ones.” Thorin sighed.

“Oh, I don't know about that. The only advantage I have is decades of practice.” Bilbo set aside his crown and picked up Thorin’s, nestling it securely on his head with a smile. “It even fits me!”

“You don’t have to wear that.” He knew that Bilbo probably thought the work was shoddy, and he hated the idea of him walking around with something so ill-made. Thorin reached for the crown, intent on swapping it with the beautiful one Bilbo had made, but before his hand could grab anything, Bilbo laced his fingers through his, stopping his progress.

“I want to wear it because you made it.” Bilbo used his hand as an anchor to lean forward seductively. “because you made it for me. Rough dwarven hands and all, and I’ll have you know I’m growing very fond of how rough those hands can be.”

Bilbo leaned into his chest, forcing Thorin to steady his hip with his free hand or let him fall. Bilbo’s eyes were dark and wanting as he settled himself slowly in Thorin’s lap. A firestorm of emotion claimed him. He could have him right now. He could make all his own dreams come true. Bilbo was practically throwing himself at him, pleading with his body as much as his words, to be taken. If Bilbo liked rough, dwarven hands, he would love the raw strength that followed and the dig of his fingertips into soft skin that was finally starting to regain its full plumpness. Bilbo’s hands were under his tunic, twisting themselves into his thick chest hair. In response, Thorin's hand tightened, gripping hard enough for Bilbo to squeak, and it was all Thorin could do not to grind them together. He couldn't reject this. He didn't want to reject this.

“Bilbo! Everything is just about ready—oh Valar, you could have at least closed the door!” The twins stopped dead at the doorway, their faces filled with amusem*nt and revulsion. Bilbo deflated, dropping his head to Thorin’s chest before looking up and giving them a ruthless glare.

“Elladan, you’re well over two thousand years old. I don’t want to hear a peep from you.” Bilbo let go of his hand and rolled off his lap, slipping onto the floor and straightening his flower crown. He shot Thorin an apologetic look, and Thorin returned it, relief and desire, still churning his gut and clawing at his conscience.

“I could be four thousand years old, and I still don't want to walk into that,” Elladan mumbled, winning him another death stare.

“Well, congratulations. You ruined the moment. What did you want to show me?” Bilbo sighed.

“Party preparations for tonight are done, and we wanted you to see,” Elrohir replied.

“Well, lead the way, I suppose.” Bilbo might have sounded cross, but he had love for the twins, and Thorin knew he wasn’t able to hold his ire for long.

“You go, ghiva. I have something I need to take care of before I join you.” With a long, drawn-out kiss, he watched Bilbo walk away, his amateur flower crown still proudly on his head. He loved him. Mahal, he loved him so much. He just hoped that was enough.

Thorin went in the opposite direction of Bilbo to one of Rivendell's outlying towers, but he didn’t go up the tower. He went down. Despite the Hobbits and their odd customs, he was determined to give Bilbo a proper gift with the skills he had perfected over his life. It was Elrond who told him that Rivendell had many forges he could use, and so he did.

At first, he worked on a few small projects like rings and simple objects just to test the conditions of the forge. Begrudgingly, he admitted it was adequate. Far better than the ones found in the Greenwood or the sad ones they had in towns of men. Today, he was resolved to make Bilbo’s actual gift. A set of bronze buttons to replace the ones he had lost to the wargs. He remembered Bilbo’s old ones and sought to make a close but better replica, complete with the acorn motif in the centre. In a flight of fancy, he daydreamed about giving them to Bilbo with the second bead in his pocket. By dwarven standards, he had the right to ask now that Bilbo had returned one to him. He put the thought out of his mind to focus on his task. He knew Bilbo’s buttons had been about the size of the hobbit's thumb and took that to be his measurement.

The hammer in his hand helped quell some of the rampant desire that he almost let get the better of him. He let himself get lost in his work, but the more he did, the more he thought of his home. His Erebor. He thought of his nephews, who were still not yet forty, bright-eyed and probably already looking forward to Durin’s day. He hoped that whatever excuse Dis had come up with for his absence had been well received. Dis was another matter entirely. He knew she would be ok without him. She was the strongest person he knew. It didn’t make it hurt less. It wasn’t just the people he left behind. It was Erebor itself. The stone that had been singing to him since his birth. The crystal caverns that opened up into long tunnels that made raw silver twinkle like twilight in the darkness. The loud, cold rush of the kidzul-zâram, whose waterfalls fell over mills that stoked the fires of the great forge and marked the start of the River Running. If he had not found Bilbo, he might not have called his leaving worth it for all that he missed his home now.

When the buttons were done, he buffed and shined each one until they were to his liking. In a selfish move, he had changed the motif from being the simple image of an acorn to instead being an acorn still anchored to an oaken branch. He still had some time before the party was officially supposed to start. He quickly made a simple wooden box, and before he could second guess himself, he carved a B.B. into the top and went to join the festivities.

The sun was nearly set when Thorin made his way to them. The twins spared little detail when they put this together. The circular courtyard was lit with candles and lanterns. Banners had been strung from the fencing, and the tree in the centre of the courtyard had multi-coloured ribbons dangling from its branches. There was food, wine, and music in abundance, but even with all the clamour, his eyes fell upon Bilbo, who was standing on a table, his arms open wide, telling a grand story to a captive audience. Bilbo spotted him and waved him over to the table, shoeing other elves so that he could stand in front of him. Bilbo stood above him, drenched in sunlight of his own making, radiant against a darkening sky. Thorin reached up to him with a smile, and Bilbo took his hand and kissed his knuckles.

“I was wondering where you had gone. The feast has almost started. The twins really did far too much, but I can't be too mad at them. This has been very nice after…well, after everything.” Bilbo sat at the front of the table and didn't even attempt to slide off, instead throwing his arms around Thorin's neck and letting him place him securely on his feet. “Do dwarves dance?” Bilbo asked. Thorin looked behind him to the dancefloor, where elves were twirling around.

“Not like that, we don’t,” He replied, half mumbling.

“I could teach you a hobbit dance? It would be fun!” Bilbo led him toward the instruments and a little out of the way before putting his hands on his forearms and leading him through a few simple steps. He got the sense that these were meant to be much quicker than the pace that was set and should perhaps include some jumping. He was proven right because after he had gotten the steps down. Bilbo added just that, using Thorin as an anchor to leap and twirl in fits of laughter.

“I haven't done this in so long!” Bilbo burst, coming to a halt in his arms. “What about dwarves? What are your dances like?” Bilbo asked, catching his breath. Thorin took Bilbo’s hand and led him through the steps of the dwarven courting dance. If Balin could see him right now, he would give him a fat ear for doing something like this in a room of elves, but this might be his only chance to experience this with someone. This dance was tradition, and it was often used as a polite way to ask the question that would begin an official courting relationship.

Bilbo was a very fast learner, and after only one walkthrough, he had it. Nervously, Thorin let go of his hand and bowed low before stepping forward.

The dance was a catch-and-release. He shouldn't feel nervous. He was already courting Bilbo but his heart hammered in his chest all the same. They moved through the steps in tandem. Thorin began the first pinnacle move by reaching out to capture Bilbo just to have the hobbit slip from his arms as intended to dance alone. Two more times, he tried to capture his love. His steps became bolder and more insistent, but every time he had him, Bilbo slipped from his arms. Then Thorin’s part in the dance slowed. His movement grew calm, his attempts more gentle, and understanding until he finally captured the hobbit again. This time, Bilbo didn't flee. They stayed engaged, faces coming within a hair’s breadth of each other before Thorin twirled and released him, hoping and knowing that this time Bilbo would return to his arms. This was the point when most rejections happened. If the other person decided that they didn't want to court, they would simply not return. Bilbo did, adding on an unchoreographed caress that stole the air from Thorin’s lungs. The final steps of the dance were performed together until finally, it ended with a bow from Bilbo, the final show of acceptance.

They were both breathing heavily, unaware that there had been several Elves who watched the display. Most went back to other activities when they finished except Elrond, who watched the pair from his seat, a sad smile on his lips as he looked off into the night sky.

Dinner was called soon after, and Thorin was grateful for it. Between the forge and the party, he had neglected to eat anything. The plates were soon piled high with mutton, chicken, and a variety of other savoury and sweet dishes, many of which he had never seen nor tried. Bilbo took a little of everything, eating it with vigour and occasionally feeding the ones he deemed particularly good to Thorin. Every time Thorin accepted a bite, Bilbo smiled lovingly at him. It was the perfect night, a precious piece of time he wanted to capture and bottle.

But like all precious moments, they eventually end.

On the horizon, flying at an unsustainable speed, a black speck grew bigger as it approached. Thorin stood from the table, ready to intercept the creature until it drew close enough for him to recognize.

“ROAC!” Thorin shouted. He watched as his raven flew closer, noticing that his left wing was splayed at an odd angel. As soon as the bird heard him shout his name, he squawked and lost his balance in the air, landing with a sliding crash on the table in front of him. He gathered the raven into his arms, soothing his feathers and cooing in gentle tones. The rest of the room was silent, watching the out-of-caricature display. Thorin only felt like he could breathe again when the bird gave a responding trill and righted himself, perching on top of his forearm. He was still favouring his left wing, and he looked disgruntled but otherwise unharmed. A silver canister was attached to his leg, and he stuck it out expectantly. Thorin ignored it in favour of checking the bird's hurt wing. He found a gash hidden under his blood feathers dripping red against silvery black. A small hand touched his shoulder tentatively, and he looked up at Bilbo's confused and concerned face.

“This is Roac. He has been my bird since birth. His egg hatched the same day I was born. He was given to me on my twentieth birthday, and we’ve been great friends ever since. Roac, what happened to you? Who sent you?”

“Sister! Mad! Me mad!” Roac clacked his beak and tried to take a snip at his finger. “Followed! Distance! Lost over lake! Went home! Sad!” Roac went after his braids this time, and Thorin reeled back.

“I’m sorry, friend. I didn’t mean to leave you, and I promise I would have sent for you.” Thorin tried to nuzzle the spot under the raven's chin, but Roac turned his head.

“You! With him! Small! Halfling!” Roac flapped his wings in Thorin’s face and settled in Bilbo's lap.

“I’m not a halfling; I’m a hobbit,” Bilbo corrected while tentatively patting the bird.

“Hobbit! Hobbit!” Roac screeched as if committing it to memory.

“Roac, why is your wing hurt?” Thorin asked more clearly.

“Flew too long! Tired! Land on sharp! Stone not shiny!” The raven stuck his leg out again. “Sister! Princess! Urgent!” Thorin took the silver tube and reached across the table to grab some mutton, shredding it with his hands and piling into a little mound on his plate. He wiped his hands on a damp cloth and threaded his hand through Bilbo's hair, planting a kiss on the top of his head.

“I’ll be right back, amral.” Thorin didn’t open the letter until he was back inside. The scroll bore no identifying marks and was written hastily. Even still, the script was undeniably Dis’. It read

Dear stone brain under the mountain,

Let’s ignore for a second how irritated I am with you. And I am irritated. Dwalin told me everything your letter didn’t. How could you leave without seeing me? I was sick with worry after I was told you shut yourself away. If you had told me what Grandfather had planned, I might have been able to do something! I wanted the chance to try!

I digress. This letter is a warning, not a reason to yell at you. I’ll do that in person.

Grandfather and the hobbits have come to a tentative alliance that entirely depends on getting the person you were betrothed to back. There is rumor that you took him and hold him against his will. I didn’t believe it for a second until Roac said you were travelling with a small person. I don’t know how you two ended up travelling together, but this is more of a warning for him than for you. He is hunted. The leader of the hobbits made it very clear that he perceives the dwarves to be at fault for losing his tribute, and Grandfather is desperate for their help and cooperation. When they capture the hobbit, they intend to marry him off to any available member who can claim the line of Durin. The measures he speaks of taking are drastic and escalating. I fear for the sanity of our grandfather. Stress and loss have eaten at him, and he doesn't see sense. With you gone, there is no one left to temper him. I sent Roac to find you at all costs, knowing he was the only one that could. I understand why you left, and it may be selfish of me, but I am asking you to come back, preferably with the hobbit, before this grows too far out of hand.

I love you, and I’m sorry

May Mahal preserve and guide you.

Your little sister, Dis.

Thorin finished the letter and crumpled it in his hand. So, allying with the elves of the Greenwood had only been the first step. The worst part was, for all he knew of his grandfather's habits, madness could make him do anything. He had no way of knowing what his next move might be. The things said in regard to Bilbo were the most concerning. If they caught him, they would drag him back to the mountain, kicking and screaming. Would his family really hand him off like a leashed prize to the highest bidder? Bilbo had said very little about other hobbits, his extended family, or why they seemed so hell-bent on him. For all Bilbo enjoyed chatting about his life in the shire, the fact that he left those details out told him much of what he needed to know. That knowledge burned like a cold fury through him, leaving him raw.

Thorin looked up at the sound of a knock, to see Bilbo poke his head into the room nervously.

“Thorin, is everything alright?”

There was no running from it now, the choice had, once again, been made for him. He would need to tell Bilbo everything.

Chapter 9: The Only Choice Was You

Chapter Text

“Thorin, you're really starting to worry me. Is it something bad? Do…do you need to leave?” Bilbo’s voice cracked, and all Thorin could do was grab him and pull him close, hand fisted into his hair like a lifeline. He released Bilbo and knew that all of this had already started off wrong, but that was his fault. He had waited too long.

“Bilbo, please sit.” Bilbo sat across from him on a footstool. “This letter is from my sister Dis. It details the reasons why I left Erebor, but it’s written more as a warning to you than it is for me.” Thorin placed the scroll into Bilbo’s palm, rolling his fingers around it and bringing his knuckles to his mouth for a kiss before sitting down. He watched Bilbo unravel the scroll and read. Slowly, as all the colour drained from his face, he rose from his seat. Bilbo rolled the paper back up and stared uncomprehendingly at him. The radiance of his features was gone, replaced with cold, dead, tear-filled eyes. Thorin sunk his fingers into the upholstery and averted his gaze.

“Look at me, Thorin,” Bilbo commanded. Thorin shut his eyes tighter in shame. “Look at me.” Bilbo commanded again, and this time, Thorin complied. The hobbit's tears slipped down his full cheeks and onto the wood floors. “Do you intend to drag me back?” Bilbo’s voice shook, but his face didn’t waver.

“What! How could you think I would do that to you after everything? This letter changes none of that!” Thorin stood and took a step toward Bilbo, who stepped away from him with a flinch. “Bilbo?”

“Is it true? Are you the crown prince of Erebor and the person I was supposed to marry?” Bilbo asked, his face finally starting to crack and show the emotion his words held.

“I- yes. I’m Thorin Oakenshield, and the king is my grandfather.”

“Did you know the entire time that-”

“No! I didn’t know until Beorn’s when you told me. I was as blind to all of this as you. That's why I ran! I didn’t want my life dictated by others. I didn’t want my future ripped out from underneath me.” Thorin pleaded, desperately hoping that Bilbo would understand. It had the opposite effect. The tears ran faster down his cheeks, and his face crumpled.

“After everything, Thorin?” Bilbo took another step back, crumpling the cleanly rolled letter in his fist. “After I told you how much my uncle's deception cut me, you still choose to lie?”

“I never lied to you.” Thorin rebutted

“No, you just looked me in the eyes every day and concealed the truth. I poured my heart out to you, I trusted you entirely, and I thought you had a good reason for not telling me why you left. Did I do something to make you not trust me? Is it because of who I was supposed to be or…what I am?” Bilbo stilled and looked down at his hands with a twinge of horror and shame on his face. “Is that it? Are you ashamed that you fell for the person you were going to be forced to marry? Were we only ever something because of proximity? Or maybe you left someone behind? Is that why we never? Or why you never wanted to go all the way…to…to have me?”

Thorin stood there stunned that these were the conclusions Bilbo was coming to. Thorin knew what a spiralling train of thought sounded like, and it made his chest seize.

“Please, Bilbo, this isn’t at all like that!” Thorin moved toward him again, only for Bilbo to take another step back.

“Don’t.” Bilbo said in a monotone voice, any hint of emotion gone from his expression. The beautiful colours that swirled in his eyes had gone hollow, like his soul had vanished from them. He watched Bilbo walk away from him, unable to do anything, and when Bilbo finally left his line of sight, he collapsed under the weight of his own failure.

Thorin destroyed the room around him in a blind rage.

He barely remembered doing it, only that the destruction felt good. If any elves bore witness to his rage, they said nothing. When he was done, he sat a long while in a room that contained only broken things. Shame followed rage, and for the first time since his grandfather told him that he was going to be forced to be wed, he was as scared as he was angry. All the other horrors of the road had been uncomfortable and challenging, but he was a son of Durin. He would overcome them. That was built into the very fabric of his creation, into the very condition of being dwarven.

Thorin didn’t bother looking up when he heard footsteps. He knew they were not Bilbo’s. His…no…the hobbit's steps were far more silent and undetectable.

“Go away, elf!”

“Often, the choices we make grow to become our greatest burdens, always laced with regrets for the paths we never took. It is a plight that mortals and eldar alike share.”

“I don't need your riddles.” Thorin spat. Elrond ignored him.

“Perhaps not. But I mean only to tell you that often the most important choices are the ones we never made for ourselves.” Elrond paused after his statement, taking in the state of the room. "You and Bilbo have much in common. This is the same room that a young hobbit once tried to destroy after the death of his mother, though he was less thorough.” That shook Thorin from his self-loathing.

“He was here when she died?” Thorin asked

“They both were. Bilbo brought his mother here and begged me to cure her, but it is an ailment outside the realm of any healer. With no one left in his life, I feared Bilbo might follow her. Hobbits don’t do well on their own.”

“But Bilbo has other family. Lots of cousins, aunts, uncles! He told me his parents had fourteen siblings between them,” Thorin protested.

“Belladonna and Bungo were not well loved by other members of the Shire or their families. Belladonna was overly rebellious, even for a Took. Disappearing with wizards and coming back months later, a changed person, as often happens when someone sees faraway lands. Bungo was not well-loved because he chose to throw away a perfect reputation to chase her. Therefore, Bilbo was not well-loved due to being the product of such an ill-advised union. He had friends and grew up surrounded by people, most of whom hoped to nurture his parents' perceived faults out of him. They failed. Bilbo is the perfect combination of his father's cool-headed but passionate demeanour and his mother's adventurous wanderlust. He survived the death of his parents by sheer force of will alone. I’m unsure how long that can take him.”

“Do you think he would be pleased with you revealing this to me? He has already been hurt once today.” Thorin looked back at the direction Bilbo had fled.

“Bilbo has never had someone to fight for him above all others. Perhaps someone will choose to change that.” Elrond walked away, continuing down the path past the door as if he had never stopped to talk, and Thorin was left to ponder the unforgiving reality of the choices he made up until this point.

Leaving his home, not abandoning Bilbo, not revealing the truth of who he was when he should have, and all the other seemingly insignificant ones in between. Out of everything that had happened, there was only one choice laid at his feet that he never made. He never deliberately chose to love Bilbo. It was simply something that happened. The hobbit crept into his heart like a burglar in the night, stealing pieces of his heart and soul until they belonged to him. He could have them. If he was only to make one good choice for the rest of his life, he knew it would be the choice to love Bilbo. There couldn’t be anything passive between them anymore. He needed to find his hobbit.

No sooner had he thought it, Roac flew into the room and perched on the overturned bent leg of a chair.

“Mess!” He screeched, and Thorin almost laughed at the absurdity at which the one word summed things up. Thorin sent the bird away, instructing him to check in with the postmaster about his wing and be kind to the Rivendell doves. Then he mustered his courage and went after Bilbo.

He cautioned in the direction Bilbo went, unsure of how he might be received. He was ready for him to lash out, yell, or even dismiss him. He was unprepared to see Bilbo standing at the foot of their bed with a packed bag. He was clutching his pitiful attempt at a flower crown to his chest and turned when he heard the door. Thorin was able to assess the state of him. His eyes were red and bloodshot, with tear tracks still evident on his cheeks. He looked so small. He was small, of course, but Bilbo seldom looked it. He carried an energy with him that seemed to have evaporated.

“Are you so upset with me that you would fly to your own doom?” Thorin croaked. A horrible feeling spread through his body, a snake-like tremor making every thought static. Bilbo’s face hardened.

“What other choice lies before me? How long can I keep running before this all catches up to me? Hobbits are not made to live apart from others like this. At least if I go back to Erebor, there is a chance I could make peace with some kind of life.” Bilbo sounded like he had said this to himself a few times before uttering it aloud.

“And you’ve decided that this course of action is preferable to me? Did the information I withheld truly destroy things so badly?” Thorin could barely hear his own words over the uncomfortable rush of his heart. Bilbo finally looked up at him, a frightfully pained expression playing out across his face.

“What was there to destroy? You said it yourself, being with me isn’t a life you wanted or would have chosen. You ran so that your life wouldn't be dictated by someone making choices for you. I don’t want to steal your future from you. I recognise the difference between a convenience and a choice.” Bilbo reached up to the still intact braid in his hair and pulled the bead from it. “If I do this, then you’re free to pursue any life you wish with anyone you wish. I don’t regret any of this. I think I might be able to live with the memories of it for the rest of my days. I’ll be happy knowing that one of us got the life we wished for.” Bilbo smiled up at him. A sweet and tragic thing that didn’t fit his face and never met his eyes. It was haunting. Bilbo held the bead out in a shaking hand, and Thorin took it with a heavy heart. That seemed to be the last straw for Bilbo as his ears drooped low, and he visibly choked back tears. His fingers lingered on Thorin’s like he was trying to commit the feel of it to memory, and when they finally left him, he felt it like the sting of tragic loss. Thorin stepped forward, cradling Bilbo's head in his hands and forcing his face to look up at him as they stood nearly toe to toe.

“Do you really not know what I feel for you?” Thorin breathed, staring into Bilbo’s tearily, confused eyes. “That you could stand here and claim to give me my freedom from you tells me that you don’t. Bilbo, how do I make you understand that you are the only choice I have ever made that matters. I don’t want anyone else. Even if you reject me here and now, there will never be anyone other than you. Every choice I made from the moment I decided to run was a step closer to you without me even realising it. Please, Bilbo, tell me what I need to do or say to make you realise that I need you. That I would rather beat my hands bloody on stone than let you return alone to a mountain of people who have proven they don’t love you. That the very idea of you under someone else's hands fills me with uncontrollable rage.”

Thorin felt his breath quicken at the thought. Any dwarf that was chosen would likely be careless and greedy with their pleasure. Little regard would be given for the honour-bound hobbit's comfort. Thorin was nearly consumed by the nauseous thought of Bilbo, with his head pushed into a pillow and tears in his eyes as he willed the act to be over. His hand slipped from Bilbo’s face to grip the bedpost with enough force to sprinter the elegant wood. Bilbo reached up, and he thought for a moment he was going to force him away, but instead, he closed his hands around Thorin's wrist in concern. Thorin could only look at him with heated longing while his chest burned on the precipice of wanting to act on his passions.

“But we never… I could feel you holding back.” Bilbo reasoned, “Stopping yourself every time we nearly crossed that threshold. It’s not the first time that’s happened to me. I…I know what those signs usually mean. I tried to think of what I could have done to cause you to not at least want to take pleasure in me, even if it wasn’t love.” Bilbo spoke so earnestly, searching his expression for signs of doubt or deception.

“I vowed to myself that I wouldn't take you until you knew who I was and could decide for yourself if you would still have me. If I claimed you in all the ways I dreamed and you found out only to feel violated or tricked, I couldn't live with myself. I would feel as if I used you to sate my own pleasure. Pulling myself away from you was a test of all my willpower and restraint. I have never needed another as much as I need you. You make me lose myself and nearly abandon my morals and honour with every kiss or caress. The sound of your quicked breath alone is enough to drive me mad with want.” Thorin ached to lean down and kiss Bilbo but restrained himself. Instead, he took the bead still in his hand and clasped it back onto the end of the braid. “Even now, I want you so badly. Do not ask me to abandon you to a dark fate. Don’t ask me to watch you be handed over like an animal on a leash to some faceless dwarf when my dreams have only been filled with thoughts of what happiness could look like with you by my side.”

By Mahal, Bilbo was so close. He was so close and no longer crying. His mouth was slightly parted as he sucked in small breaths that frayed the edges of his already crumbling mind. He was a dwarf of action who had spoken too many words. He wanted the chance to prove he was all he said he was. He needed Bilbo in a carnal and wild way that would destroy every ounce of doubt that might linger in that beautiful mind of his.

Thorin felt the hobbit's hands leave his arms and settle on his chest. The only words that fell from Bilbo’s lips were his name, followed by a shaky plea, and the rest of his willpower fell apart. Thorin turned and slammed the door in his haste, putting a chair under the handle for good measure. He would not be disturbed, and he had no intention of being quiet. If all went well, he was going to make Bilbo forget how to scream anything but his name.

He turned to find that Bilbo had sat on the edge of the bed. He looked down at the sheets nervously, feeling the fabric run through his fingers. Mahal, what a sight to see Bilbo so small against the large frame of the four-poster bed, the sheer fabric hanging from the posts making him look like something out of a storybook. Thorin kicked off his boots and crashed into his love, hands laced into his honeyed curls. Bilbo responded to him by tightening his hands into the front of his tunic and holding him there as if he might disappear if he let go.

“I want all of you tonight. Everything you’re willing to give me.” Thorin said, heat coiling in his stomach, wondering how wild he could let himself be. He didn’t want to hurt Bilbo, but he was growing desperate for him.

“Thorin, you can have me, all of me, however you want. Just promise me something.” Bilbo panted between kisses, his lips already growing puffy.

“Anything ghivashel,” Thorin promised.

“Promise me that afterwards, you’ll still be mine. That once you’ve had me, you’ll keep me,” Bilbo pleaded. A growl ripped through his chest as Thorin readjusted both of them. Bilbo was now on his back, Thorin's hands laced into each of his own, pinning him to bed.

“There is not a force that could willingly drag me from you, Bilbo.” Thorin was too ravenous to waste any time. He pulled the vest off of Bilbo and unclipped his suspenders until he was only in the creamy white shirt that lay underneath. He dragged a heavy hand down the hobbit's chest, letting the simple rings still on his hands catch on his perked nipples. Bilbo gasped and squirmed as Thorin made them the centre of attention, twisting them through his clothing. He could feel Bilbo growing hard under him, the outline of his clothed co*ck now firmly pressed against his own. He was trying to buck and relieve some of the growing pressure but Thorin wouldn't let him, causing Bilbo to whine.

“Clothing. Off. Now.” Thorin demanded. They broke apart to divest their remaining layers and accessories. Thorin intended to resume the position he had Bilbo in before, but his hobbit seemed to have other ideas. As he came back to the bed, Bilbo quickly straddled him, one hand twisting through his chest hair and the other tangled into his beard. His mouth hovered just over his like an invitation for Thorin to do more. It was one that he was happy to take as he tilted Bilbo’s head back to taste every part of him. When he had plundered his mouth, he let sloppy kisses trail down the length of his neck, leaving a trail of darkening bruises. Bilbo panted and moaned, using the proximity to rut against his stomach until he was positively shivering with need.

“Please touch me, Thorin. I need your hands on me, in me, anywhere, please. Whatever you have to do to make me yours, I’ll do it.” Bilbo sobbed, “Take your pleasure from me if it means you’ll keep me.”

The last line made Thorin stop, and Bilbo whimpered. He looked down at his mess of a hobbit. It was the second time he made such a declaration, and it brought some of the things Elrond had revealed to him into sharper focus. Hobbits needed companionship of some kind, but Bilbo was not well-loved by his own people. Despite this, Bilbo didn’t seem inexperienced with the nature of sex or physical intimacy.

Thorin shook slightly as his grip on Bilbo tightened. How many times had his hobbit gone to seek out companionship and found it only to be used for a night and left? How many times did that happen before he didn’t expect to find anyone still in his bed come morning? Thorin let his anger and lust consume him. He no longer cared about being careful so long as his hobbit didn’t end up hurt. He sat up and flipped Bilbo, so he was on his back again, legs hiked up around his thighs. He pulled a drawer beside the bed open with enough force to pull it off its track and leave it dangling uselessly. He didn't care. He retrieved the oil stashed inside it and slicked his fingers, pressing one to Bilbo's hole and watching his eyes flutter.

“I will not be taking anything from you. As far as pleasure, I’m going to f*ck you until you see the gardens of your Vala, and then I’m going to do it every night that you allow me into your bed until my maker claims me.”

Thorin slid his finger into Bilbo slowly and watched his mouth fall open wordlessly and his breathing hitch. He worked him open carefully, adding fingers as Bilbo adjusted. When he could fit three of his fingers comfortably inside the hobbit, he retracted them and replaced them with the tip of his co*ck. He knew he was going to be bigger than Bilbo, but he underestimated how much thicker he would be. He was well endowed for a member of his own species, let alone a hobbit, and it gave him pause. Bilbo’s eyes fluttered open, and a frown played at his lips. All Bilbo must have noticed was his hesitancy because he shut his eyes tight and looked away. The stone in his throat bobbed as he swallowed shallow breaths.

“Don’t force yourself to-”

“I just don't want to hurt you!” Thorin interrupted Bilbo, knowing exactly where his words were going and wanting to wash away all doubt.

He let his co*ck drag over Bilbo's stomach to get him to understand why he was worried, but it only served to make Bilbo's eyes grow darker, the doubt replaced by hunger and lust. Bilbo sat up and turned around, dropping his hips low and presenting his well-stretched entrance. It ripped a groan out of Thorin, who was nearly paralysed by the sight of what had to be the most f*ckable looking ass he had ever seen in his life. He teased at Bilbo's entrance testing to see how much he could take before he met resistance. Hobbits, it seemed, were more than met the eye. Bilbo took over half of him surprisingly well, his little hobbit moaning lousy with every inch he gave him. But Thorin had no intention of taking Bilbo without seeing his face. He encouraged Bilbo to sit in his lap instead, letting the hobbit settle himself on his hard seat. Bilbo gasped and moaned as he took the rest of his length until, finally, his ass was flush against his hips. Bilbo took him so well. His body adjusted to his size and welcomed him.

“You’re so big, bigger than I thought. I feel so full. I feel like I’m about to burst!” Bilbo cried. Thorin let them adjust, soothingly running his hand down Bilbo's chest and over his stomach. He half expected to see a bulge, though he suspected the soft layers of the hobbit's body obscured it if it was, in fact, there.

Bilbo was so tight. The drag of his co*ck inside of him was nothing short of ecstasy. His fingers pressed bruises into the unmarked skin, holding Bilbo in place. Just as he imagined, there was enough of Bilbo to grab ahold of and watch the skin pool around his fingers deliciously. The skin around his thighs did the same dimpling in a way that made his co*ck twitch while inside the comfortable creature. It caused Bilbo to start to move. Thorin anchored his arm around the hobbit's waist and pushed up into him.

He was right when he guessed Bilbo would be vocal. Every time his hips snapped up into him, he screamed in pleasure, holding onto Thorin for dear life. He watched himself disappear into his tight heat again and again, riding the very edge of pleasure and willing it not to end. Bilbo was beautiful, radiant, the personification of the valar. How could he be anything else? Nothing had ever felt so right. He f*cked Bilbo in a way that felt like worship. If Bilbo's pleasure was his tithe, then he wished to remain the most loyal acolyte. He willed the knowledge and depth of everything he felt into every thrust, every coo, and every place his lips touched.

Thorin slowed his pace so he could kiss Bilbo, focusing on moving deeper into him. The intimacy of their bodies moving together like this slowly and purposefully stoked the last of the fire in him. He wanted to see Bilbo finish first. Thorin grabbed Bilbo's co*ck stroking him lovingly in time with his thrusts. He looked up at Bilbo's face, not wanting to miss even a second of his pleasure as he watched the moment build. Bilbo's moans turned into babbles until the only words he seemed able to say were his name and thank you. Warmth spread over his hand as Bilbo’s body stuttered and jerked. His co*ck, still firmly planted in him, twitched, begging for its own release. He pulled Bilbo’s hips flush against him and finished as deep as he could go with a roar of pleasure that nearly blinded him.

They sat together Bilbo's body draped over him until it became uncomfortable. He shifted and laid Bilbo back onto the pillows before pulling out. A rush of his seed spilled from Bilbo’s body, which made him feel surprisingly proud. The hobbit whimpered softly, and Thorin's attention was snapped away from his well-claimed entrance. He pushed the slightly damp hair back from his worn-out hobbit face, placing a firm kiss on his forehead before resting his head there.

“Are you alright?” Thorin breathed. Bilbo nodded, still too horse to speak. “I’ll be right back with some water and a towel,” he explained. Bilbo made a sound of protest but was hushed with a soft kiss.

He was as quick as he could be, filling a small glass cup with water from a spring that ran through a channel in the bathroom. He took a second to clean himself off while he was in here, wiping down the parts that matter and resolving to take a proper bath the next day.

Bilbo hadn't moved from where Thorin put him, not that he expected him to. Gently, he wiped his hobbit down while Bilbo sipped on the cool water. Bilbo drank his fill, his eyes periodically closing with the weariness he must feel. Thorin settled into bed, drawing Bilbo into his arms and stroking his hair.

“I love you,” Thorin whispered, but Bilbo's breathing had already evened out, and small sounds of sleep left him. Thorin smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and following his hobbit into a deep, restful sleep.

Chapter 10: The Long Road Home

Chapter Text

Thorin stirred late into the morning to the feel of fingers combing through his hair and a familiar tune being hummed. He tested his limbs and found at least one of them trapped under a hobbit. He smiled and curled his arms around Bilbo without opening his eyes. The hobbit squeaked in surprise before giggling and letting himself be manhandled. Thorin found his neck easily enough and pressed smiling kisses to it lazily.

“Good morning to you, too,” Bilbo laughed, his throat still sounding a little hoarse. Thorin opened his eyes to smile back at Bilbo and was surprised to see that his eyes were a little watery despite his blinding smile.

“Are you in pain?” Thorin worriedly asked.

“Am I- no, no, I’m fine! More than fine! A little sore, maybe. You are well…generously proportioned, but I’m not in pain.” Bilbo chirped. Thorin cradled the side of Bilbo’s head and used his thumb to wipe away some moisture.

“Then what’s this?”

“I think I’m just happy. You're…still here, Thorin. I woke up, and you were still here, as you promised you would be.”

What could Thorin even say to that which he had not already said. Instead, he rolled Bilbo over so he could lie on his chest, content to just live in a moment that marked the beginning of forever. He would have very happily lay there all day, but a knock sounded at the door. Thorin groaned and was about to shout go away when the knock sounded again, this time followed by a woman's voice saying food. That had Bilbo sitting straight up like a bunny in tall grass, and Thorin knew his moment of lounging in bed was over.

Hastily, he pulled on pants and his long tunic before removing the chair he had used to block the door. He opened it to reveal the same dark-haired elven woman that had been reading when he first spoke to Elrond.

“Good morning. I don’t mean to disturb you. My father asked for a large amount of food to be brought up.” Thorin looked behind her to see two other elves, both carrying very large silver trays stacked with a variety of foods. Thorin stepped aside to let them through. They set the trays down on top of the long dresser and then left without a preamble.

“I know that today, of all days, you’ll want to spend time with each other. If you need hot water, I can have that brought up upon request, and another meal will be brought this evening if we don’t see you.” The lady was positively beaming her wide smile, showing off all her teeth. “Congratulations, master Dwarf.” The lady smiled and looked at Bilbo, “ni veren atartyë, mellon. (I am happy for you, my friend) ” When she left, Thorin turned to see if Bilbo looked as confused as he did. He did not. Bilbo had turned a darker shade of pink and looked guilty.

Bilbo fell back onto the pillows, his palms in his eyes, and let out a disgruntled groan.

“I’m assuming you know why I was just congratulated?” Thorin asked amusedly. He grabbed one of the trays that were brought in and put it on the bed before climbing back between the still-warm sheets.

“I’m assuming you’re not familiar with the general cultural courting customs of elves.” Bilbo sighed, coxed from his embarrassment at the smell of food. Thorin gave him a look that very clearly conveyed he did not. “Right, well. I…I need you to know this is an Elvish custom, just elven. Though they do take it rather seriously. They… well, they…might be under the impression that we got married last night.”

Bilbo said the last few words in a rush. Thorin blinked stupidly a few times, his reaction bouncing between exuberance and panic. He landed somewhere in the middle, letting out a small chuckle that built into a full-bellied laugh that was very unlike his character. Bilbo looked concerned, his cute face pulled tight as if he were about to be scolded. It only made Thorin laugh harder, and he pulled Bilbo forward into a sloppy kiss.

“After everything,” Thorin wheezed. "After all this running and nearly dying, we ended up married anyway.” He let the laughter take over again, as it was starting to give him the same catharsis that a good cry might give others. Bilbo started to laugh, too, until both of them had fallen over on the bed, gripping their ribs from the pain of it. They failed to recover a few times before finally getting ahold of themselves and resuming the meal Bilbo had dubbed second breakfast.

“So when do we leave?” Bilbo asked after picking clean a qual he had just eaten. Thorin looked up sharply. ”We can’t stay here forever, and your sister practically begged you to come back,” Bilbo continued.

“I will not ask you to go back to Erebor and the people that await you there,” Thorin replied firmly.

“You say that like your people were not also ready to hand you off on a silver platter.” Bilbo caressed the side of his face lovingly. “I’m sorry they did that to you. That wasn’t right or kind.” Thorin brought his hand to Bilbo’s, cursing again every moment that he kept the truth of what he was from him.

“No, it wasn’t, and my grandfather was short-sided in his desperation, but he knew going in that I would have the upper hand in any relationship set for me. He did not have to concern himself with the possibility of me being harmed or taken advantage of—not to the extent that someone would have had to worry about that for you.” Thorin’s eyes hardened. “The fact that it seems it wasn’t even a consideration angers me.”

“That doesn't change the facts now. I am safe, and even if they forced me back into a marriage, that marriage would be with you and well… I know that this may sound too soon or too much, and I will admit that I would rather have liked to court you more and taken our time with it, but…I don’t see my life without you.” Bilbo turned a pretty pink, the blush spreading to the tips of his ears. “If we keep running, you risk the possibility of never seeing your family again, and I might never see Bag End again. I don’t want you to live like that, Thorin. I might not have understood the depth of it, but I know you love your people, and I think it would hurt you to live apart from them.”

“And what about you? If you live in the mountains, you won't get to see those rolling green hills and old forests you speak and sing so fondly about.” Thorin pressed

“I can still visit, and unlike you, I don’t think I’ll be missed.” Bilbo smiled sadly. Thorin bristled again.

“Are your people so crooked as to really outcast one of their own over hatred for the ones that bore them?” Thorin growled. Bilbo blinked back at him, confused, and Thorin realised that Elrond had revealed that information to him, not Bilbo. “Elrond explained some things to me. Things I didn't understand. He meant well.” Thorin explained. Bilbo just sighed.

“He would probably explain it better than I. I have love for where I came from, but the Shire hasn’t felt like home for a long time. Not since my mother died. I’m not ready to say goodbye to it forever, but I can’t say that choosing to join my uncle on this journey didn’t have anything to do with getting away from the judgemental stares. I even thought that maybe this might change my reputation. They would think me mad at first, but if I brought the instrument of the Shire's salvation, they would be forced to look at me a little more favourably. Look at me now, I suppose.” Bilbo chuckled. Thorin gently grabbed Bilbo’s chin, stopping him from looking away.

“You stand to become the consort of one of the greatest kingdoms in Middle Earth. Look at you now, indeed.” A moment of reflection was all they needed before both of them knew what was to come. They were going back to Erebor to face what they had left behind, and for better or worse, they would do it together with no secrets left between them.

Even with the decision made, it took them several days to prepare themselves for the journey. They would not be travelling with the same urgency that they did before, but they would rely on a certain level of stealth and swiftness. Thorin was certain the king had sent out spies and scouts to try and track them down, and it was their plan to avoid them at all costs. When they walked into the mountain again, they wanted it to be on their terms, not in shackles.

They explained their plan to Elrond, who agreed with their endeavour and promised to lend them any aid he could. Elladan and Elrohir did their best to try and convince Bilbo to let them come along, at least until the borders of the Greenwood, but it was ill-advised both by Bilbo and Elrond, which seemed to be the only combination of people who could get them to back down.

Four days after they had come to the decision to go back to Erebor, their bags were packed and put on two stout ponies that would take them over the mountain pass. Elrond assured them they were fit for the journey.

“We have all the rations we need,” Bilbo muttered, checking off a mental list.

“Rations!” Roac mimicked from where he sat in the saddle.

“Plenty of blankets for the pass.” Bilbo continued

“Blankets!” Roac called after him

Bilbo looked up at the bird and shook his head with a smile.

“Roac, can you please check to see if the bedroll is packed and check that Thorin packed away his pipe.” The bird rustled around, squawking and periodically moving things. He gave a sharp call for each item that he found but stopped before he found the pipe to bury his head deep into the back.

“Shiny! Gold! Not gold! Still shiny!” When Roac brought his head out, he had a little circular brass button in his hand that looked very much like the ones that Bilbo lost on the road. Thorin turned the corner and recognised immediately what Roac had found. He walked up behind his hobbit, having come in at the tail end of this encounter, and plucked the button from his hands.

“Damn it, Roac.” He chastised, reaching into his back and drawing out the half-open box he had meant to give to Bilbo on his birthday. The raven flapped over to his shoulder and co*cked his head. “I meant to give you these on your birthday.” He handed the entire box to Bilbo, who took it with renewed interest.

“You made me buttons?” Bilbo said with a smile. He opened the box and looked at it curiously. From it, he pulled a smaller bag, and Thorin realised that he had left the remainder of his mother's beads in with them. Bilbo saw his look of surprise and removed the bag to give it back to him, but he stopped him.

“Keep them. It’s a set, and they should stick with the person they truly belong to,” Thorin said. Bilbo tucked everything back into the box and held it close.

“I'll keep it safe.” Thorin knew he would, and it was comforting to know he had them. They would all be his someday, after all. Bilbo poked through a few more things in their packs before stopping and staring calculatingly at Roac. “Thorin, can I ask a favour of your raven?”

“Ask!” Roac screeched.

“He is my companion, but he is not a pet. He chooses whom he listens to.” Thorin explained.

“Right.” Bilbo nodded, correcting his address. “Roac, I would like you to carry a message to Beorn across the mountain and stay with him until we come close to his lands.”

“Take message! Come back!” Roac protested

“I know you want to, but your wing is still hurt, and I don't want you to hurt it more by flying in the cold.” Bilbo reasoned. He shot Thorin a look, and he reiterated Bilbo's concerns.

After some mild protest in the form of the bird cycling through a collection of disjointed sounds and calls as Thorin had seen him do in the past, he relented, and Bilbo showered him with treats as a reward. The fond way his bird was rubbing his head under Bilbo's chin told him that Roac had taken to Bilbo, likely against his own will.

He could relate.

The following morning they left Rivendell saying goodbye to the many elves that had come to bid them a fair journey. They set a swift pace back along the path they came. The twins flanked them, following them all the way to the start of the high pass and making Bilbo promise he wouldn't wait too long to visit.

Despite the ponies, the mountain pass took just as much time to cross this time as it had before, but it was a distinctly different experience knowing what they were marching to instead of running from. Neither of them was naive about what might be in store for them upon their return, but there was something settling about knowing this journey had an end.

When they reached the end of the bottom of the mountain, they made for the Carrok as the sight of their next resting place, but before they could make it far, they were joined by predictable company. The great bear bounded toward them, flanked by the swift wings of a fully healed Ereborian Raven. Bilbo spurred his pony forward, calling out his greeting, and received a roar in return. They camped under the Carrok that night, safe in Beorn's knowledge that no Dwarves had been spotted. The scouts had moved on towards Rohan and Dunland. With that new knowledge in mind, they decided it was best not to linger in the area but instead move on towards the Greenwood. Unlike last time, they decided it was better to brave the forest. Neither of them wanted to try venturing the way they originally came again. Beorn insisted on travelling with them right up to the entrance to the elven path that marked the start of their trek through the wood.

“I’m glad that you came clean to, little bunny,” Beorn said as they reached the glade near the wood. Bilbo had ridden ahead and was having fun watching Roac dive and weave in the air.

“Do you think more kindly on dwarves now?” Thorin asks half in jest.

“I think more kindly on one,” Beorin replied. “But make no mistake. If I get word of his mistreatment, I will retrieve him from you by force if necessary.”

Thorin had no doubt the bear was telling the truth, but he felt more comfortable pressing him now than he did before.

“Why do you care so much about him? You acted like he was yours to protect before you ever met him.” There was a time that would have been a jealous question, but now it was just a curious one.

“We are blessed by the same mother. The mother of all the growing and living things that inhabit this land. Hobbits are Yavanna’s children, and while my lineage spawns from men, the gifts I have been given were a boon from her. Her children are my kin, and to leave one in distress or danger would bastardise the very nature of her kindness to me.” Beorn explained. The bear's wariness of him made more sense now, and Thorin felt lighter knowing that Bilbo had such a fierce ally on his side.

Like in Rivendell, they said their goodbyes at the edge of the forest with promises that they would return eventually for a visit. Thorin sent Roac over the wood and back to Erebor to his sister, and Bilbo released their ponies, who flitted about for a little while before making their way back toward the mountain. Slowly, they crept through the wood. The tops of the tallest trees obscured the sun except for shafts of light that broke through the canopy. They travelled silently and deliberately for three days along the marked path before Thorin started to feel eyes on him. His fingers itched to wrap around the hilt of his sword, but he stopped himself. He didn't want to give the pointy-eared bastards a reason to strike.

“We’re being watched,” Thorin warned, pulling Bilbo closer to him.

“If it’s elves, then we can reason with them,” Bilbo replied.

“These are not like the elves from Rivendell. Their king is a pompous ass who leaches from others what he thinks he can get away with.” He still bristled at the fact that half the reason Erebor was in the economic hardship that led to all these events was Thranduil's climbing tariffs. Without a second of warning, elves descended around them. He pulled his sword from his sheath and tucked Bilbo closer to him, knowing full well that the hobbit likely had a hand on his own dagger.

“So it is true the dwarven prince ran away and stole a hobbit. We half thought it was a trick of some sort when we got the news from your king.” The woman who spoke was elegant with long red hair. Her armaments spoke of a higher station, and when she spoke, she did so with authority. “Loosen the grip on your weapon, dwarf, or you will not make it out of these woods.” The moment the words left her lips, a dozen archers he could see drew back their bows and levelled them at him.

“My lady, there has been a grave misunderstanding! I have not been stolen,” Bilbo protested. “Please lower your weapons at once, and we can talk!” The elven women held up a hand, and the elves lowered their bows. Thorin felt a hand touch his arm, a silent plea for him to do the same.

“You do not act as one taken against your will; however, my orders were to deliver you to King Thranduil should you pass through our lands.” She explained.

“What reason would he have to detain us!” Thorin felt the anger bubble in his chest. “Does he hope to ransom us back to our own people so he can truly say he has bled the mountain dry.” he spat.

“Watch your tongue when you speak of my king. You couldn’t comprehend the lengths that he has gone to to ensure your people don’t starve within your own mountain.” It was said with such ferocity that it gave Thorin pause. He kept any rebuttal he had silent.

The elves led them through the trees, swiftly seeming to take deliberate paths through the otherwise pathless forest. Thorin was flanked on either side by elves who didn’t let him stray an inch. Bilbo, however, was permitted to walk freely. He spoke mostly with the woman in charge, whose name they learned was Tauriel, but as the walk went on, his attention seemed to be pulled deeper into the forest. Several times, he looked like he was straying away, only to be shepherded back by the elves. His face looked pinched, and the gears of his mind seemed to be twisting over something Thorin wasn’t privy to.

Eventually, they came to a bridge that led to the depths of the elven halls. A deep-set dwelling that mimicked the halls of Menegroth delved by the dwarves of Belegost in the first age. They were stripped of their weapons and marched through the doors and many halls of living stone before coming to a great chamber dripping with plant life. A carved wooden chair sat atop a long stone archway, and the elven king sat upon it, his head wreathed in a crown of sticks and berries. His body language was casual, but his face conveyed curiosity.

“When my scouts reported several months ago that the prince of Erebor was travelling with a hobbit near the borders of my land, I feared your grandfather had, at last, concocted some devious scheme. Imagine my surprise when I received a letter from him requesting permission for a party of scouts to cross my land in pursuit of the very duo that had been reported on.” Thranduil stood from his chair and descended the stairs to approach them. “I received yet another letter that day from the mountain from an even more curious writer. The Thane of the Shire requests the aid of the elves in apprehending a supposedly stolen hobbit. A great many things were offered to me in exchange for your return, little Perian.” Thorn stepped in front of Bilbo, baring his teeth in a snarl and obscuring his hobbit from the elf king's eyes. Thranduil looked exhausted by the display. “I will return you back to your mountain. I suspect that was your destination as you passed through my lands, but I first have questions for you. Questions that have gone too long unanswered by my neighbours.”

“Find your answers somewhere else. I have no intention of spilling the mountain's secrets so you can turn around and exploit them,” Thorin spat. Thranduil clasped his hands behind his back.

"Then perhaps the hobbit will offer insight that you refuse to give. I've been told that they are a sensible people. Sanca tu, aníron peded an Perian ereg."

At Thranduil's command, two guards stepped up beside Bilbo, each putting a hand on his shoulder and in sync crossing their pikes in front of him, halting his movement. At the same time, two guards grabbed Thorin and forced him to his knees with a well-coordinated kick. Before he could fight back, Bilbo shouted a fierce statement in Sindarin at the elf king, who turned around as if he himself had been grabbed. He looked from Bilbo to Thorin and back to Bilbo, his eyes searching his figure until he found the bead in his hair.

“Edhel vestalë”, Thranduil breathed unbelievingly.

“Yes. And by the law of your people, we can not be separated unless by our own will.” Bilbo shot back in panic.

“Neither of you are Eldar, it doesn't apply.”

“It does apply!” Bilbo chastised, and it was the fiercest Thorin had ever heard him. “I was named Elvellon by Elrond himself. That marks me as elf kin, and therefore, my spouse would be under my own protection.”

The statement seemed to paralyse the elven king, his face shocked in a way that Thorin never thought he would see. He spoke a command, and the guards stepped back. Bilbo ran into his arms at once, feather-light touches smoothing back the hair on Thorin’s face in worry. Thorin stood and took both his hands, and kissed them with a smile before turning his gaze back to Thranduil. His eyebrows were in his hairline.

“Now, I do think we have much to discuss. Over dinner. Like civilised people.” Bilbo said in a curt but polite voice.

“Yes, I think we do, Elvellon,” Thranduil replied.

He had one of the elves take them to a comfortable room to clean up, and the moment the door closed, Thorin's arm was around Bilbo, his hand snaking into his curls.

“Thorin?” Bilbo asked, returning the embrace. Thorin pulled back and silenced the question with a kiss, craving nothing in the moment but that clever mouth on his.

“You might be as brilliant as you are mad.” He breathed between kisses. Bilbo’s hands plunged into his hair, causing him to groan and grip tighter.

“I just didn’t want us separated. We agreed to go back to Erebor together on our own terms. Also, you looked like you were about to fight, which wouldn’t have gotten us out of there in any better shape.” Bilbo’s tone was attempting to tease him, but Thorin wasn’t quite letting him catch his breath for it to sound like anything other than bursts of words. Seeing Bilbo put Thranduil in his place might have been the most attractive thing the hobbit had ever done, and that bar was already very high.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the pointy-eared bastard so shocked.” Thorin praised stripping Bilbo of his vest and shirt.

“You realise that I have pointed ears, too, right?” Bilbo replied unimpressed.

“Yours are different,” Thorin snorted.

“How?” Bilbo shot back after recovering from being roughly pushed against the wall.

“Because they’re on you.” Thorin turned his attention to the ears in question, licking a stripe along the shell and feeling Bilbo’s body shudder. Thorin felt Bilbo’s hand wander to the buckle of his trousers and smiled cheekily.

“I thought we were supposed to have dinner with the king soon.”

“We are. So we had better make this quick.” Bilbo ground out, growing frustrated with the complicated nature of his buckle. Thorin reached down and undid it with one hand, which earned him a huff and a smile. With clothing out of the way, Bilbo grabbed ahold of him, leaning forward to swallow the moan that escaped him. Bilbo's hand was not quite able to close around his girth, though it didn't make him any less effective. A few tugs and Thorin felt his hobbit start to sink to his knees. When he looked down, Bilbo was looking back up at him, big, brilliantly beautiful hazel eyes filled with so much love and lust. Thorin had to brace both hands on the door to stop his knees from buckling when Bilbo swallowed what he could of him. His hobbit was proving quite sufficiently that his tongue could indeed be used for more than just wit and diplomacy.

Thorin gripped Bilbo's hair. Not controlling his movements but as a way to ground himself. He wasn't going to last very long under Bilbo's ministrations. Especially not with the fact that every minute Thorin seemed to last, Bilbo upped his game, moaning around his co*ck and sending vibrations cascading through his body. He tried to grunt a warning and pull away, but Bilbo didn’t seem to want to let him.

With a strangled growl, Thorin came in shuddering bursts in Bilbo's open mouth. It was enough that he wasn’t able to swallow it all, and it coated his lips and dripped down his chin. He gave a seductive, toothy smile and licked his lips. Thorin was intent on returning the gesture but found there was no need to do so as he saw the spend on Bilbo's belly.

“You finished just by sucking me off?” Thorin asked, the shock and head fog he still had making him crass.

“Between the sounds of those gravelly moans and the grip on my hair, it wasn’t very difficult. Though we should probably get cleaned up now,” Bilbo replied, still splayed on the floor, panting slightly. Thorin laughed and picked Bilbo up, shaking his head and pressing a kiss to the side of his curly, ruffled hair.

Water was already prepared for them in the washroom, and it was a short matter to get ready, though they only had what clothes they had been wearing on the road, and Bilbo complained that it wasn't proper a tire to dine with a king. Thorin admitted he was also looking forward to changing clothes in the future. The elves of Rivendell had mended and washed their original clothes and offered them other things to wear, but they were all in the elven style, and Thorin didn’t take them with him. They both understood that this dinner was a formality. They were still prisoners here, just with nicer amenities. At any time, Thranduil could rescind his hospitality.

“You two look pleased with yourselves.” Thranduil rattled as they took their seats. He just saw the elf again, and he was already bristling. Bilbo rested his hand on Thorin's thigh and squeezed.

“Yes, well, a bath and a moment to collect ourselves can have that effect,” Bilbo replied. “A meal, I think, will do the rest. Thank you for hosting us. It’s appreciated.”

Thorin tried not to roll his eyes. It wasn't just Thranduil at the table. Beside him sat a similarly blond-haired elf whom Thorin had met before, Legolas. Across from them sat Tauriel, the woman who had brought them here. It was an intimate setting designed for them to get comfortable, but Thorin knew it for what it was despite the attempt to dress it up. It was an interrogation. The food was placed in front of them, and the pieces were set. It was the elven prince who spoke first.

“I remember you from when your people travelled through the wood via escort. You were in high spirits.”

“That you remembered me at all is an honour. There were quite a few of us on the trip, all trying to stay in good spirits. The end of a journey is often the hardest. The way we took it was much more direct than the one we had come through to get here. You must know the forest exceptionally well to set a path in a wood. There are quite a few who have gotten lost in the old forest near my home only to pop out a few days later terribly hungry and looking like they were dragged through a cornfield.” Bilbo gushed, and Legolas took to it well, laughing with him.

“Well, you greeted many of us in our own tongue. We’re not used to that from strangers, let alone hobbits,” Legolas stated.

“Have you met any hobbits before?” Bilbo asked.

“No, I can't say that I have. I’ve heard they are a peaceful people who value comfort and good-tilled earth.”

“That we do,” Bilbo nodded. “We are Yavanna’s children, after all, and cultivating good land is what we do best.” Bilbo looked up at the elven king as he said it, and Thranduil made his face impossible to read.

“And what brings a peace-loving hobbits halfway across Arda?” Thranduil asked

“Protection,” Bilbo replied simply. “Orcs come closer and closer to the Shire, and they are a growing danger. We need protection, and I’m assuming it escaped no one. The charred landscape outside of Erebor needs revitalising. Both races have something the other needs.”

“Are you saying the hobbits can undo the desolation?” Thranduil asked. Thorin watched as Bilbo leaned forward toward the elf king, as if he were conveying something serious.

“Yes, I think they can,” Bilbo said earnestly. Thranduil sat back in his seat, his brow furrowed.

“What did you hope to gain from journeying so far from home? As skilled as I’m sure you are, you don’t strike me as a farmer.” Thranduil played his first piece, but Bilbo had already set the board. Thorin watched the interaction and realised that even Balin would be hard-pressed to keep his wits on a field like this. Bilbo was in his element, and every word that the two exchanged was strategic.

“No, no. I have a hand for gardening but there are those better suited than I for that task. I wanted a chance to see past the borders of my home. Hobbits are not so long-lived as elves, unfortunately, and so I took the opportunity when I saw it. Alas, as I’m sure you’ve already gleaned from the letters sent to you by our family, not all adventures go as we wish.” Bilbo was careful with his words, blowing past the obvious question Thranduil proposed and, in doing so, dashing any attempt that the elf could use to ask the question he truly wanted the answer to. With Bilbo bringing it up of his own accord, the control of the board tipped to him. Both of them were gaining the measure of each other sizing each other up.

“The letters said much and yet very little. They would have had me believe you were a captive, but you present as a fugitive,” Thranduil pressed.

“A captive I am clearly not, but a fugitive I may be. I think we can both understand that in times of desperation, dramatic measures are often taken.” The statement made the elf king shift, and his eyes darkened. “Our families' desperation drove them to choices neither of us could abide.”

“More dramatic than bringing hobbits east to resurrect blighted land? I suppose it would have to be so in order to make the prince of Erebor abandon the people he claims to love so easily.” Thorin tensed, his grip tightening around his silverware. Bilbo’s grip on his thigh tightened in warning, and he forced himself to relax. Thranduil didn't miss the display, his eyes sharpening with intent. Thorin caught Bilbo’s eyes, worried that he had put them at a disadvantage, but Bilbo smiled reassuringly. Thorin knew this must have been the intent of the way he set his pieces. Each statement herded them into this space on Bilbo’s terms. He was not a player on this board. Not yet. He was one of the pieces strategically placed and moved by Bilbo, who had fashioned and proved himself to be a master. This landscape was Bilbo's element, his craft. Mahal, help their enemy if Bilbo ever turned his talents to battle tactics and warcraft.

“They planned on solidifying the alliance with a marriage between our people. They failed to inform us beforehand.” Bilbo revealed. Thranduil’s smirk vanished from his face, and Thorin was reminded of something Elrond had said to him. Arranged marriages were forbidden among elves. Was this the angle that Bilbo was setting up to force Thranduil to let them on their way?

“That is desperate. But why you?” Thranduil replied. The elf king leaned forward, and Thorin knew this was the moment he would finally play the piece he had been positioning. “I can understand Thror offering Thorin, he is his only surviving and unwed kin. By comparison, you seem rather plain and unimportant. A lackluster offering to appease an uninsightful and desperate king.” Bilbo’s fingers dug into his thigh as he stabbed the dinner knife into the table at the various insults. Tauriel, who had been sitting quietly, stood with her hand at the hilt of the blade at her hip. Thranduil ignored them all and continued, “The question is, who are you, Bilbo Baggins, that your people would press the dwarven king so desperately for your return?”

“I’m no one of true importance,” Bilbo replied sternly.

“I doubt you are no one. The reward for your capture is quite high. Tell me why your freedom is worth more than the white gems of Lasgalen.” The knife in Thorin's hand clattered to the table, and his heart threatened to stop. Those gems were highly contested. The dwarves of Erebor Old had found them while assisting the elves in delving into the very halls they sat in. Thranduil demanded them then, saying they were from his land, but the king at the time, Thrain the First, refused him, stating that they were mined by dwarven hands. The elf king had coveted them ever since and used any opportunity to bring them up.

“Tell me why you pretend to disdain the dwarven people when you would go so far as to cut down a part of your forest to feed them.” The air went still in the room as Bilbo achieved his checkmate. Thranduil became so stiff that Thorin thought he might have turned into a statue. When he finally did speak again, it was in elvish and with a softer voice.

“Ma len?” Thranduil breathed in Sindarin.

“Like you said, I really am no one of importance,” Bilbo replied in Westron.

“But how did he know?” Legolas stood by his side, almost forgotten until this moment. He looked as shocked as his father. Bilbo smiled at him.

“I grew up around farmland. I know the signs of turned earth and the tracks that wheelbarrows and feet leave. The food you served confirmed it. Hearty vegetables and starchier fair. Things that turn over well and fast.”

Thorin was still struck by the information, as paralysed as Thranduil had been. Once he had digested it, a slow anger crept through him.

“Clearing trees doesn't mean he doesn't despise us.” Thorin spat, “Not wanting the blood of an entire nation on your hands doesn't make you charitable. You have ensured the mountain paid for every tree felled as you raised tariffs higher and higher. How much longer until you simply attempted to buy your gems back!” Thorin's words were accompanied by Bilbo breathing his name in warning, but even his beloved couldn't understand this type of anger. He had watched his people struggle to rebuild after a terrible loss, and even after the dust had settled, they could not put their hands on the task of memoriam.

The act of invention is used for utility and crafting better qualities of life, but it's also art. It's culture and deeply honoured work. After the tariffs climbed higher and higher, crafting for the sake of anything other than survival was set aside, and every precious thing delved was compiled simply for its monetary worth. Jewelcrafters with no jewels, goldsmiths with no gold. Dwarves do not mine beautiful things; they create them from ingredients given to them by the earth. They were not greedy, simply protective over things that others could only see as currency.

“I’m keeping the sum of two kingdoms alive! Three, if you count the barrels I send to Laketown. I have lost favour with my own people to do so. Call it restitution or reparations, but just because I refuse to let a nation fall doesn't mean I plan to do so to the detriment of my own people.” Thranduil rebutted, standing closer to Thorin, his slender figure arched over him.

“Then why do it at all?” Bilbo interjected, trying to reframe this escalating argument into something more diplomatic.

“Because I am not the monster the dwarves seem to think I am. I have seen the ruins of time and the great things lost to senseless destruction. There is knowledge that benefits all of Arda that would be lost if Erebor fell.” Thranduil pulled back from towering over him and picked up the goblet abandoned on the table. “I do not like dwarves, but beyond that, I don’t trust Thror. Tariffs are a way to keep the kingdom honest, to keep you from demanding more than I am willing to give. My aim was to keep your people alive, not happy. Do you think I have sacrificed less than you? To elves, trees are not senseless things that we feel nothing for. Each one lost lays heavy on my soul. I have never seen the shores of Eldamar, and when I arrive, I fear I have already made an enemy of Kementári. Do you fully understand the burden of this choice? I know you don’t, but I will credit you with better sense than your grandfather for one reason alone.” Thranduil turned to Bilbo with kind eyes. “Perhaps the salvation for my choices can be found in one of the green lady's children.”

Bilbo stepped up at this, and Thorin stepped back, feeling chastised by the words and lost in reflection. Had that not been what Elrond had said to him? The burden of choices made. He was beginning to fear the burdens that would come from his choices up to this point.

“Does that mean that we are free to go from this palace? Bilbo pushed. Thranduil regarded him.

“You mean to return to the mountain anyway. Why not deliver you there myself and claim my prize.”

“We do mean to return to the mountain, but we intend to do it on our own terms.” Bilbo breathed a steadying breath. “I am going to be consort one day. I will assume that you don't know much about my kind. Unlike elves and men, hobbits give gifts instead of receiving them on occasions such as birthdays or weddings. I think the gems you seek would be a fitting gift.” Bilbo said. Thorin’s eyes widened both at the proclamation of becoming consort one day and for his boldness in offering something that wasn't yet his to give. Thranduil caught the mistake.

“That is not yours to give. Would the future king under the mountain allow that?” Thranduil replied, testing the validity of the offer. Bilbo looked at him cautiously, realising he might have overplayed his board. Bilbo had been the queen on the board and, until this point, the strongest player, but now only the kings were left standing.

“If Bilbo’s claims are as he says, and I do not doubt his word, then I would happily gift it to you as, I’m sure your wedding gift would be just as generous,” Thorin replied, channelling every diplomatic lesson Balin had hammered into him. Thranduil smirked.

“You are asking me to trust you at your word and believe that the future you envision will actually become a reality.”

“I am,” Bilbo confirmed. “But I’m a more useful ally than an enemy. What is a few more years in the life of an elf? I have always known elves to be kind and wise. I’m asking you to see the wisdom in this,” Bilbo urged. Thranduil put down his cup.

“Then I will hold you to your offer, Elvellon.” Thranduil didn’t linger; he and his son took their leave, and Tauriel went with them. After they left, Bilbo practically fell into his arms. Thorin smiled down at him in awe at his ability and falling hopelessly more in love.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped.” Bilbo sighed, letting most of his weight rest on Thorin.

“You did, but you were also right. You did brilliantly.” He tipped Bilbo's head back to kiss him, content just to hold this moment.

They made their way back to their rooms and slept the rest of the night in peace. When they awoke food was set for them along with fresh packs to aid them in the remainder of their journey. Despite the new friendly nature of the woodland elves, neither wanted to linger for long. They stayed one more night before Tauriel escorted them out of the forest. Thorin felt his lungs expand as soon as they were out of the treeline. He hadn't realised just how claustrophobic the wood had made him. The air was cool as the bulk of autumn set in, and in the near distance, The Lonely Mountain rose as a comforting and foreboding sight.

“I suppose we’re almost back to where we started,” Bilbo whispered. He looked at the mountain with none of the affection Thorin had for it, and it broke his heart.

“Back to the beginning of the journey but not back to where we started.” He pulled Bilbo's hand to his mouth, kissing his knuckles and placing it over his heart. Unlike the first time, whatever happened next, they would do it together.

Chapter 11: Separated But Never Apart

Chapter Text

There was no point in finding a covert way to approach the mountain. Trepidation grew with every step they took until the gates of the great city were in sight. As they drew nearer, it became evident that many things had changed in their absence, specifically regarding the terrain they had once fled across.

“They’ve started turning over the dirt,” Bilbo said as they passed another plot of land that looked to have been dug up and put back. "It’s to prepare the soil so roots can grow deeper. I wouldn't be surprised if they’re doing test patches to see if things can grow in it.”

The patches became increasingly common the closer they got to the gate until the land looked like one large overturned area.

“Hobbits work fast,” Thorin mumbled, his hand still firmly in Bilbo’s, trying not to grip too hard.

“Many hands make light work, and dwarves have the means to make tools that make it even easier. Though this means that even without us, they’ve been working together in some capacity.” Bilbo pointed out.

“That surprises me, considering the marriage proposal was of the hobbit's design. I thought they would withhold aid until it was done.” Thorin puzzled. Bilbo stopped dead.

“Why did you say it like that?” Bilbo challenged. Thorin looked at his beloved, confused.

“Because that’s what my grandfather told me,” Thorin replied.

“No, his exact words, Thorin. What exactly did your grandfather tell you?” Bilbo demanded urgently, his voice becoming anxious. Thorin turned to him in worry, his hand moving to his face to ground him.

“He said that the Hobbits asked for more than a contract as a guarantee that all parties would see this alliance through. I took that to mean the Hobbits had suggested it. My grandfather is no better; he agreed to it all the same.”

“My Uncle told me that the dwarves had demanded it, but… Thorin, do you trust your grandfather? Not his judgement but his words. Do you trust that he would be truthful to you?” Bilbo asked, his voice coming is short gasps.

“My grandfather is many things, but he has never been a liar. Bilbo, what is this about?” Thorin had an iron grip on Bilbo’s shoulders now, his worry turning into concern.

“We made a mistake, Thorin. We need to go back. We need to approach this differently. We nee—” Bilbo was interrupted by the gates of Erebor opening. What now approached them were a dozen dwarven ram riders. It was far too late to turn back now.

They were upon them, quickly boxing them in without a word. Thorin grabbed Bilbo pulling him close and keeping his hands in sight and off his sword.

“Hail his Highness Prince Thorin.” The bannerman called. Thorin responded automatically with his own acknowledgment.

“Stay close, and don't reach for your weapon.” Thorin breathed, “If they follow procedure, then they will herd us toward the gate without leaving their rams. I am still the crown prince. They have no authority to arrest or detain me.”

They were shepherded silently to the gates and led just inside. On either side of the hall, located just inside the gate, stood royal guards at attention. He recognised some of them. They were dwarves he had known all his life. Bilbo was shaking like a leaf beside him, his hand gripping Thorin's like iron. The riders didn't follow them in. They stood in a line blocking them from leaving until the gate closed behind them, barring any exit.

Thorin stared straight ahead, knowing what he would see. On the archway that overlooked the great doors stood his grandfather, whose emotion was carefully masked. Beside him were two hobbits, one older with silvering hair and a gentle demeanour. The other was a younger hobbit with brown hair and sickly green eyes. He looked like a toad pulled from its bog. Next to his grandfather was Dwalin whose eyes looked like saucers, shocked despite his stoicism. No one said anything at first, and the hall was quiet except for the distant sound of life. Thorin readied himself to say something, but the younger hobbit spoke first.

“We spoke of this, your majesty. We don't know his intentions nor the true reason for his return,” he said simply. His grandfather didn’t seem to register that the words were spoken but eventually nodded.

“Separate them,” Thror ordered.

“No!” Thorin roared. “Sigin'adad, please give us a chance to explain!”

“Thorin, you have caused enough trouble for this mountain. Let the hobbit return to his own people. We will speak after.” The King turned and walked away with the older hobbit and let the guards carry out his decree.

They were separated from each other immediately as the guards ripped them from each other's grasp. They dragged Bilbo back by the arm, and the hobbit winced in pain. Most of these men had never touched a hobbit in their lives and in their struggle to keep ahold of the slippery creature, they were hurting him. Thorin elbowed the dwarf, holding him in the face, and reached for Bilbo, who was trying to do the same. Their fingers never met, as his knees were kicked out from under him, and he hit the ground hard, his hair spilling in front of him. He looked up with a snarl, baring his teeth like a wild animal, and tried again. This time, he was punched in the chest just hard enough to knock the wind out of him with a warning to stay down. He heard Bilbo scream his name and looked up to see him beat his fists against the dwarf holding him. When he realised he couldn't fight his way out, he bit the restraining hand, causing the guard to drop him. Before the hobbit could get his legs under him, another stepped in to grab him, catching him around the neck to avoid getting bit. Bilbo spluttered, tears streaming down his face.

“Let go of him!” Thorin’s shout was cut short when Dwalin appeared in front of him.

“Get a hold of yourself, Thorin.” His friend growled.

“They’ll hurt him!” He looked at his friend who he had not seen in months, and willed him to understand what he could not say.

Dwalin looked behind him, where Bilbo was haphazardly dropped onto the floor, lying half on his side and rubbing at his neck. He was small and slippery, but he was no match for inherent strength. Even still, it took several to subdue him without using lethal force. He was surrounded by guards with terror and uncertainty in his eyes, and Thorin was breaking at the sight of it, unable to offer any comfort or assurances.

“Please, kharm,” Thorin begged. Dwalin put a hand on his shoulder before he stood.

“Go with them peacefully, Thorin,” Dwalin replied. He turned on a dime and stalked toward where Bilbo now sat, back against the wall and staring up at his assailants. Dwalin demanded the others step aside. He loomed in front of Bilbo, but the hobbit's eyes were not on him. Rich hazel eyes met Thorin’s in a question of trust. He nodded softly and watched as his friend scooped up his hobbit and bore him away into the depths of Erebor.

Thorin was led silently through the halls of his home. He briefly thought he might be taken to the prison, but the guards made a sharp left into an adjoining corridor that brought him to the royal hall and, inevitably, the door of his rooms. They were just as he had left them. Clothing that he had not taken was strewn about, his desk was a mess of paper and dried ink, and his bed was as unmade as it ever was. The air in the room was musty and stale from disuse. There was no comfort to be had in it. Yet comfort he tried to find or at least create. He would not wallow in his self-pity. Not when he had someone who was counting on him.

The only thing waylaying his rising panic at being separated from Bilbo was the knowledge that Dwalin was with him. He would see the bead in Bilbo’s hair and know what he meant to him. He would do all he could to keep him safe. In the meantime, Thorin needed to think. He tucked the end of his own braid into a larger plat. He didn't hide it out of shame, but because he didn’t know the reaction it would elicit should it be seen. He set to tidying the things around him and clearing the dust from his room. He suspected he would have company before the day was through.

Day passed into evening, which passed into night. The time grated on him, his anxieties worsening the longer he was isolated. He feared for what Bilbo was enduring. Where had they taken him? The guest rooms of the king were on the same wing as his apartment, but he hadn’t heard anyone be led past. Was his love sitting on the floor of a cold cell, or had they taken him to a different part of the mountain to keep them far apart? Bilbo had no power or authority in Erebor. For all his hobbit's cleverness, it would fall to him to see them out of this mess, and that thought terrified him. When he ran away, he thought he only held the weight of his fate and future in his hands, now to find himself back where he had started holding twice as much.

Several hours after any reasonable person would have had dinner, he heard movement outside his door. It was anyone's guess who would be the first to greet him. Thorin squared his shoulders in anticipation. It was his grandfather. Of all the people, it was the king whom he didn't expect to see until the following day at the earliest. He was wearing simple clothes with no adornments anywhere on his person. He looked like he was readying himself for bed, if anything. Thorin was thoroughly disalarmed and let his tense demeanour drop.

“Ah, I did hope you would still be up. Good, good.” Thror greeted, walking over to the seat by the fire and making himself comfortable. Thorin just stood there at a loss for what to say. Tentatively, he joined his grandfather, and the similarity to the last time he had spoken to him in this manner burned in his mind. He thought of dozens of things to say to try and justify his actions and make his grandfather see reason.

“It’s not often that a king realises that his actions were ill-thought-out. Your little escape act gave me time to think, and you were right when we spoke. I hadn't asked all the questions I needed to, nor had I properly examined the deal I was making. I have always counselled never to make decisions in an act of desperation, and yet I failed to heed my own advice at your expense.” Thror sounded earnest and forthright. This was very far from the conversation Thorin had been expecting.

“At the gate, I thought that.” Thorin struggled to deal with the whiplash. “So you understand why I ran? You see now that the arranged marriage was unnecessary?”

“Yes, yes. The bit at the gate was, in part, a show for our new allies. They are not pleased, but I think they can be mellowed now that their hobbit has been returned. After you left, the Thane and I discussed much. In these talks, I discovered my mistake. It was my knowledge that he wanted his kin to be wed to my heir, but in reality, he was content with a marriage to anyone who could claim the line of Durin.” Thorin froze, his blood turning cold as he realised the direction this was going in. “Had I been more thorough in asking those questions to begin with, we could have avoided all of this mess. You have been released from this obligation, Thorin, and as an apology to the hobbits, I have given them the names of those eligible to choose as a new suiter for their kin.”

“No!” Thorin shouted, gripping the chair. It was all his worst nightmares come to life—the same images of Bilbo forced into an unhappy marriage with someone who couldn't love him. All that fiery personality whittled into subservience or compliance. Elrond's warning after his fight with Bilbo screamed in his ears until he could only hear the sound of the remembered words and the rush of his own blood.

“With no one left in his life, I feared Bilbo might follow her. Hobbits don’t do well on their own.”

“He survived the death of his parents by sheer force of will alone.”

This would kill Bilbo. If it went through, it would well and truly kill him. He would fade just as his mother did. Thorin would not let that happen.

“There’s been a mistake. You can’t let the hobbits marry off Bilbo,” Thorin demanded. His grandfather looked at him as if his head had turned into a wheel of cheese.

“Four months ago, you begged me not to make you wed. You got what you wanted. Did that travel make you dumb in the head, boy?”

“I got to know Bilbo! I…” Thorin untucked the braid. “I fell in love! You can’t let them do this to him. I take back what I said! Marry him off to me!”

“I can’t, lad. The hobbits don’t want anything to do with you. Were you not the crown prince, you would be in a cell right now. I can’t jeopardise the tentative alliance we have. They’ve already been invaluable to restoration. Clover Thorin. They were able to grow something as simple as clover. After all this time, I thought we might never see that grow on our slopes again. This is just your guilt-talking. I think it’s best you put all of this behind you, spend some time in Ered Luin, and take your sister with you. Let all this pass.” Thror must have registered his stricken face because he gave Thorin a sympathetic smile. “Come on, lad, it’s a wooden bead. How in love could you really be.”

Those words shook Thorin to his very core as he watched his grandfather leave. The words themselves may not have been uncharacteristic, but the carelessness behind them was. Every piece of information he gleaned burned at the heart of him. Why did his supposed family want to do this to him? They had already been working together. What was the point of it all?

Thorin pushed his hair back from his face and sat with his head in his hands, willing himself to find a clever way around this. The glaring issue in all of this was that his grandfather was right about the reason the hobbits were here in the first place. They did need help, and if Erebor was going to survive, then they needed the hobbits. Still, something didn't seem right about it. Thorin thought to when they first stepped foot back in Erebor. Bilbo’s reaction to revealing that the hobbits asked for the marriage and the look of that younger hobbit with the sickly green eyes. Bilbo has not mentioned him before, but he seemed important in some way. An advisor or successor, perhaps?

He could do nothing about his suspicions from in his room. His grandfather also failed to allude to how much free reign he had in Erebor while the hobbits were about. Curiously, Thorin stood and walked toward his front door. He reached for the handle and found it disappointingly locked. Not as free as he was led to believe then. On impulse, he tried it again, turning it harder. The door burst open, and something or someone shoved Thorin to the side. He heard the door latch again, and when he looked up from where he landed, he saw the winded and scowling face of his one and only little sister.

*********

Bilbo felt like a sack of potatoes as he was carried over a stranger's shoulder through the halls of a place that only brought him fear and uncertainty. He wished he could see it as Thorin did. When he spoke about his home, it was with so much reverence and love. He was surprised that someone who loved their home so much would choose to leave it. Thinking on it, leaving had never been permanent for Thorin, not really. He left to wade out a storm. Bilbo had intended to leave forever. What brought him back was the possibility of a better forever, and he still clung to that. What he hadn't anticipated was the toad-eyed lout Lotho. The young spawn of his least favourite cousins, Lobelia and Otho Sacksville-Baggins. The boy managed to inherit every one of their bad traits. If he was giving the Thane council then things were very uncertain indeed. That family had especially little love for him, and the one thing that Lotho did inherent that his parents lacked was a cunning mind. He had a feeling he would know what Lotho had been up to in his absence sooner rather than later.

“I can walk on my own two legs, I’ll have you know.” Bilbo gruffed, staring back at the bald and tattooed dwarf holding him.

“If I set ya down, are ye gonna run off?” the dwarf replied. Thorin fought tooth and nail to get to him when they were being separated. He didn’t think he had ever heard anything as heartbreaking as the roar of Thorin's protest. His dwarf had also trusted this person. He had seen them exchange words, the trust that Thorin held in his eyes, and the relief when this guard had taken charge of his capture.

“You're Dwalin, aren't you?” Bilbo replied. Thorin's best friend, his brother-in-arms.

“He talked about me, did he?” He might not have been able to see his face, but if he could guess, a small smile was probably cracking that harsh demeanour.

“He did. Many times. He said you were the reason he was able to leave, and in part, that let me escape, too. Thank you.” Bilbo felt oddly giddy for being in such a helpless situation—like meeting a caricature from a book. They spent so many evenings swapping stories from their youth, and Dwalin was always chief among Thorin's. Dwalin stopped and groaned.

“Laddie, how did you escape your room? It was locked tight, and there was no window.”

“Let me walk on my own, and I'll tell you.” Bilbo grinned maliciously. Dwalin eyed him.

“If ya run off, you will get captured again, and I can't promise they'll be gentle about dragging you back. You have enough bruises already.” Dwalin set him on his feet with an iron grip on the back of his vest. “Damn. I was hoping you wouldn't end up with any around your neck. Thorin won't be pleased seeing those.” Dwalin tutted.

Bilbo rubbed at his neck. He wasn't surprised there were bruises there. He probably had them around his arms, too. Every time he slipped out of one of the dwarves' grasps, they grabbed him again harder, but seeing Thorin take a beating like that was far worse. He would have that burned into his eyelids for far too long.

“I used a handkerchief jammed into the doorframe,” Bilbo revealed. “When they brought me my food, I memorised where the latch clicked into the doorframe the day I knew I was going to make a break for it. I slipped my handkerchief over it and made it look like I was trying to bolt. The guards were quick to throw me back in and close the door without checking if it was ever really locked.” Bilbo pulled at his suspenders proudly. Dwalin looked both upset and impressed.

“I know a dwarf in this mountain who would kill to learn that tactic. I plan on never introducing you.” They continued walking, and Bilbo stayed true to his work of never running. But with every step, his gut churned with uncertainty. He felt like this was a walk to his own doom. The path they took wound, and the area became less pleasant. The smooth ground made of black marble and well-lit halls dimmed, and the ground became bare stone.

“I’m not going back to the room I was in, am I, Dwalin?” Bilbo asked, already knowing the answer. Dwalin put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

”No, You’re not.” Dwalin replied.

“Will you have to leave after you've completed your task?” Bilbo asked, trying to mask his emotions and failing.

“My king doesn't need me tonight. My time is my own after delivering you to your family.” Dwalin replied. Bilbo reached up to the hand on his shoulder and squeezed it in a silent thank you. A cell is where Bilbo was led to. Not as dark or unfurnished as he feared. The cell itself was set apart from the others. It was longer, with three of its walls embedded into the stone, one of which held the door. The final wall was lined with thick, strong bars that looked out over a small open area.

“W-what is this usually used for?” Bilbo asked. Dwalin's hand on his shoulder tensed.

“It's where we put dangerous criminals so they can stand trial, though they've prettied it up quite a bit,” Dwalin confessed. So, it was a gilded cage meant to keep him like a songbird.

Bilbo had no intention of running when Dwalin put him down, but he wanted to now. He wanted to run as far and fast as he could because death seemed as sure a thing in that cage as it did running. He turned around to look up at Dwalin.

“Just take me to where Thorin is, please.” Bilbo didn't beg, but his tone was pleading. Dwalin hung his head and gently pushed him forward until his feet crossed the cell's threshold. He felt sorry for the warrior. He looked pained as he locked the door.

“I swore to obey my king in all things. I already broke that oath for Thorin once, I can't do it again. One day, Thorin will be my king, and I will serve him instead. I’ll be in the guardroom down the hall. I promised Thorin I would keep you safe and I will, as much as I’m able. I recommend you hide that bead. Thorin made a grand gesture when he gave you that, and it could cause trouble for both of you if the wrong person saw it.” Dwalin’s face was gruff but earnest. Slowly and with a heavy heart, Bilbo unclipped it from his hair and put it in his pocket with the rest of the set. “He gave you all of them!” Dwalin gasped, looking directly into Bilbo’s eyes.

“To keep safe, yes, but he only presented me with one.”

“To give you all of these is a declaration alone. It’s, well, it’s hard to explain if you don't understand our culture, but it seems if things find a way to work out, I’ll need to start setting up personal guards for the consort under the mountain and not just the future king. Romantic bastard,” Dwalin said, shaking his head with amusem*nt. Bilbo clutched the bag close to him.

“Dwalin, can you do me one last favour, please?” Bilbo asked. Dwalin folded his arms and waited for him to ask. “If you can, give him this.” Bilbo handed over his mothers handkerchief. If there was even a small possibility that he would never see Thorin again, he wanted him to have a part of him. Dwalin took it with a short nod before turning to leave. Bilbo was left alone to sit in his cage like a trapped bird.

Only a few hours passed before he gained his first of many visitors that afternoon. He was ready and unsurprised to see it was Lotho himself standing at the front of his cell, his face pulled back into a taunting smile.

“It really is a shame that it had to end up like this cousin.” The little worm tutted in fake sympathy.

“No, Lotho, the shame is that you would go to so many lengths to see me out of the Shire. Even your mother kept her distaste for me to just words. I have only ever asked to be left alone!” Bilbo fumed. Thorin’s temper seemed to be rubbing off on him.

“This treaty is necessary, Bilbo. We all sat on the council when the Thane and Mayor met and deemed it so.” Lotho interjected. Bilbo let out a hysterical laugh.

“Who is “we” Lotho? Your presence in that room was because you were the Thane’s assistant, not because you had any authority. I might not be well-loved, but I am still the head of the Baggins family. I agreed that we needed to look beyond our borders for aid. I did NOT agree to be married off without my consent. Does the Thane not realise how ridiculous this is?” Bilbo shouted. The silhouette of a large dwarf appeared in the entryway, and he felt a little better knowing Dwalin was near.

“I think the important thing to remember is that the Thane is responsible for doing whatever he needs to in order to protect the Shire. You’re a threat, Bilbo just like your mother was. There are many who think you’re the reason we need to find aid in the first place. You’re too much of a risk to keep in the Shire. We tried to make this easy on you. We tried to marry you off to a future king so you could live in luxury, but, of course, leave it to Bilbo Baggins to put the future of two kingdoms in danger instead of just his own. You wonder why you’re not well-loved. One sacrifice was all that was asked of you, and you still couldn't put aside your selfishness to see it through. You fit in better with these dwarves than we thought you would. You’re just as impulsively selfish.” Lotho spat the words, but Bilbo barely paid attention. His eye was on the shadow of Dwalin, that tensed at Lotho’s ill-chosen words. Sacksville-Baggins never were very good at hiding their prejudices. “Now that you’re back, things can go on as planned.” This caused Bilbo to smirk.

“So, you plan to marry me off to the prince? I suppose that can’t be helped now if all this is as set in stone as you say.” Bilbo tried to hide his triumph from his words.

“To the prince? I’m afraid not.” Lotho replied. Bilbo’s face dropped as the snake before him stole his look of victory. “When the dwarven king realised that after we recovered you, we would be happy with a marriage to any of his line, not just his grandson, he rescinded him as an option. I’m sure the Thane mentioning that he no longer trusted the prince aided that decision. We have others that are interested in sealing this alliance now. Several of which would like to meet you, dear cousin.” Lotho looked so pleased with himself that it made Bilbo sick. There were no polite Baggins manners left in him strong enough to deal with the force of how raw his emotions felt or how terrified he had just become for his future. He wanted to see Thorin. He had never wanted the safety of his dwarf's arms more than right now in this second. He watched Lotho walk away, and when his steps could no longer be heard, Bilbo collapsed onto the cold floor in frustration.

The part that upset him the most was that no part of this outcome was due to his actions. No part of ANY of this was his choice! The only choice he had made was to love Thorin, and even that glimmer in his life was literally ripped from his arms. It was unfair and cruel! He wished he could give up. That he could give into the cold reality of it, but he couldn't, or maybe he didn’t want to not when the fading light at the end of the tunnel was Thorin. But his situation wasn’t getting any better, and this was not a game board he could manipulate like he had done in the elf king's halls. He was a pawn on this board, not an important figure, and rarely did anyone go out of their way to save a pawn.

As Lotho had forewarned, he got his first visitor a little over an hour later. He was not a tall dwarf and maybe a little older than he suspected Thorin to be. He was surprisingly polite, greeting Bilbo by the title of master and going so far as to bring him a small gift. They spoke for a while, a mostly one-sided conversation on the dwarf's part, before he finally left.

Other dwarves came to peer at him through the bars of his cage, muttering in the dwarven language that, up until now, he had only really heard spoken in terms of endearment. He preferred when Thorin spoke it. That rich, deep voice ladened with so much promise. If Bilbo closed his eyes, he could almost imagine Thorin’s hand soothingly gliding through his hair. He could almost imagine he wasn’t here.

Bilbo sat on the cot in the room and drew his knees up to his chin. He felt exposed. Like a fair token on display at the Mathom House in Michael Delving.

Not every visitor was quiet or secretive in their observation. One was downright full of himself. His latest visitor was currently waxing poetic about his title. His hair was a maze of beads in different sizes and styles, which seemed ostentatious at best. In Bilbo’s eyes, he was just making a fool of himself. According to this dwarf, whose name Bilbo didn't even care to catch, he should count himself lucky that he was being concerned as a potential spouse. There were dwarves who would beg for their children to have the same opportunity.

Bilbo wished he could stuff cotton in his ear, but instead, he sat and looked straight ahead at the door, saying nothing. The arrogant oaf eventually gave up his speeches and switched to taunts. Taunts were easy. Bilbo had heard some form of them most of his life. This man wasn’t nearly as skilled a wordsmith as Lobelia on a bad day. The dwarf huffed out, and Bilbo sat back, satisfied in his ability to drive off the supercilious lord without saying a word.

The coming and going of people calmed down, and it wasn't until later in the afternoon, around the time any sensible person would be having dinner, that his last visitor showed up. This time was distinctly different. This dwarf was escorted into the chamber by Lotho, who had a sh*t-eating grin on his face. Bilbo has a fundamental belief that most people were good, that even when they did harm, it wasn’t malicious. That didn’t apply to Lotho. That boy was barely past his majority and rotten to the core.

Until this point, none of the people visiting him had come into his cell. Their mere presence was annoying, but there was some comfort to be had in the divide between them. Even that was about to be ripped from him. He heard the jangle of keys as a very ranger-like dwarf stepped through the threshold. He was wearing a dark green cloak that he pulled off and set aside. His hair was brown with hints of red, and his beard came to the middle of his chest. His eyes, however, were what worried Bilbo the most. They were cold and steel grey. No mirth or softness seemed to live in them, and they raked over him appraisingly, making him violently uncomfortable.

“I’ll be back after I take care of other business. You two get to know each other.” Lotho said, his back already turned, and he was walking away. Bilbo stood from the bed and backed up, but he could go no further.

“You're Bilbo, correct?” The man asked, knowing the answer full well.

“Yes,” Bilbo replied

“Good. I'm Ralgin, son of Deragin. I think it's best that we use this time to set some ground rules and expectations for being married. It's best to get those out of the way so that you know what's expected of you,” Ralgin stated. This was it. This was what Bilbo had been afraid of in the first place.

“I'm not interested in your rules.” Bilbo spat.

“Your family chose me as your suitor, and my king demands that I see it through for the sake of the treaty. So be it. Unlike our cowardly prince, I will not abandon my duty.” Raglin sneered. Bilbo left his place at the wall, fear abandoned.

“Don’t speak like you know anything of Thorin Oakenshield. You should show more respect. That will be your king one day.” Bilbo warned.

“Yes half the mountain has heard of the respect that you two shared for each other on the road. Long, hard nights in cold mountains. What, did you fancy yourself the next consort, or did you just develop a liking for dwarven co*ck?” Raglin laughed in Bilbo’s face, knowing that his words struck a nerve. He reached out and grabbed Bilbo by the chin, dragging him closer until their faces were inches apart. “I expect you to play a very simple role. You do not get to disobey. You do not get to object. You will make me my food, warm my bed, and look happy doing it. Do that, and your life will be easy. You won’t go hungry, and you’ll always have a roof over your head and a nice dwarven co*ck to suck on. You can even close your eyes and pretend it’s the prince’s. I have no intention of being cruel to you, but after tomorrow, this will be the reality of both our worlds.”

Bilbo shoved Raglin back. It didn't do much to move the dwarf, who grabbed his wrist instead. A sharp rap on the bars of his cage made both of them jump. Dwalin stood with his arms crossed and fury in his eyes. Raglin took several steps back from him, and Bilbo felt like he could breathe again.

“What do you mean tomorrow?” Bilbo gasped, holding back the tears that threatened to flood his eyes. He would not cry now.

“You didn't think your family would let you get another chance to run off? No, the wedding is in the morning, overseen by the king and your Thane under the statue of Mahal. Afterwards, I’ll take you home to the Iron Hills, and you can get yourself settled.” Raglin left without a second glance behind him, and finally, Bilbo buckled under his own weight. Dwalin caught him before he hit the ground and hugged him to his chest comfortingly. Bilbo sobbed loudly, unable to contain all the rage, fear, and pain he had endured over the course of the day.

“It’s going to be alright, lad. Thorin won’t give up, yah. You’ve got more allies in this mountain than you think you do.”

Chapter 12: Of Forever

Chapter Text

“Dis!” Thorin shouted, jumping to his feet.

“Don’t you Dis me. Damn it! I can’t even be properly mad at you. I missed you, nadad.” Dis pulled him into a hug, and once he had gotten over his shock, Thorin hugged him back. “Does this mean you got my letter?”

“Yes, I did. You made it sound as if our grandfather was going mad, but he seems mostly in his right mind,” Thorin replied. He didn't want to think she would have said those things to draw him back, but he had to ask.

“He has! Thorin, you haven't been here to see him. After you left, Erebor was turned on its head, looking for you. They practically went from room to room. Then we found out the hobbit was missing, as well accusations started to be thrown. The other hobbits insisted that there was no way Bilbo could have escaped on his own. That younger hobbit who works closely with the Thane suggested that he wouldn't leave on his own and must have been forced to leave. They demanded the king do everything he could to recover them at all costs and so he did. In the meantime, the hobbits worked on small patches of the land around the slopes. In a few weeks, they produced shoots. Barely anything, but it fundamentally changed Grandfather. He promised the hobbits anything in return for their aid.” Dis insisted.

“That makes him desperate, not unstable or escalating as you so put it,” Thorin replied.

“You haven’t heard the way he talks! There are days when everything is right, and he is as he has always been. But his moods shift violently. I have found him pacing into the night plates of untouched food abandoned, I have had long conversations with him where he has only called me by your name. I have heard him muttering about plans should you not return, including everything from giving away the last of our resources to overpowering the hobbits and making them work by force. It was only a few days ago that he demanded to see father. He was shouting across the halls for his son. His mind is slipping. He is not a young dwarf. The last few years would have been too much, let alone the last four months!”

“Are you saying I caused this?” Thorin demanded in frustration.

“Listen to what I’m saying! No, you didn’t cause this; it was already happening. But should the king be rendered unable to rule, you need to be here so you can take up his mantle. You are a crown prince, Thorin. Running off without second thought or a plan was foolish and selfish.” Dis rubbed at her temples as if this conversation was a pain in and of itself.

“I don’t regret my decision to leave.” There was not as much heat behind his words, and saw a smile twitch at Dis’ lips.

“Because of that hobbit, Bilbo?” She asked.

“Yes, and I’m sorry for leaving, but not sorry enough that I wouldn't do it again, knowing what I know now. I didn’t want to wake up every morning next to someone who tolerated me or feared me, and I didn't realise how badly I wanted a future like the ones our parents shared until the option was ripped out from under me.” Thorin leaned forward until his forehead rested on Dis’s and breathed a small sigh of contentment.

“Our parents were stupidly in love, Thorin. Is that what I can expect from you?” Dis laughed

“Probably…though you’re going to need to help me come up with a marriage gift as grand as an entire marble quarry.”

“Let's focus on you actually getting married first. Bilbo was taken to the-” Dis was interrupted by talking at the door. They both looked over just as Dwalin stepped inside.

“Why are you here? Where is Bilbo, is he safe?” Thorin demanded, his body flooding with panic.

“Your hobbit is fine, for now anyway. It’s not been a long night for him, but he’s not going to have any more visitors. I’ve made sure of that.”

“What do you mean anymore? Where did they take him, and who has visited him?” The questions poured from his mouth without him even thinking about them. He just wanted to know. He needed every bit of information that Dwalin could give him to fill the void growing in his chest.

“Sit down, and I’ll tell you!” Dwalin grouched. “And here he told me to give you this.” He placed the red handkerchief with the lopsided B.B. into his palm, and Thorin brought it to his lips.

“Start with where they took him.” Thorin thundered low and dangerous.

“The trial cells, the big one. They prettied it up a little, but not by much. They gave him a cot instead of the floor to sleep on,” Dwalin reported. Thorin continued onto his next question.

“Who visited him and why.”

“His cousin, that toad-looking fellow that follows the Thane around like a pup and…” Dwalin stopped and signed. "You ain't gonna like this Thorin, but they’re marrying him off again. They had two dozen suitors in there today, looking at him like a bird in a cage.” Dis’s hand was on his arm immediately, and his eyes went dark. Dwalin continued. "I wish it got better. They made a choice on one Ralgin, son of Deragin.”

“The ram tamer from the Iron Hills? He’s barely more than a distant cousin—more distant than you are, Dwalin.” Dis said, “I suppose they really don’t care about lineage after all.”

“They don’t,” Thorin ground out. “They just want him married off to the first Dwarf willing to accept.” Thorin looked at Dwalin to continue.

“I have something on that, actually. It was something that the hobbit said, not yours; the other one, Bilbo, called him Lotho. Dis, you’ve been sitting in meetings recently. The marriage treaty was the hobbit's idea, was it not?” Dwalin asked.

“That’s how Grandfather presented it, though I never met with the hobbits myself. I do know he assumed they asked for it because of the dwarven reputation for greed.” Dis replied

“What if both the Thane and the King think the other is demanding the marriage contract?” Dwalin puzzled.

“How would that work? They had been corresponding for months before they even met. Everything was in writing.” Thorin’s patience was hanging on by a thread. He ran his thumb over the embroidery on the handkerchief and tried to will himself to settle.

“Unless it wasn’t the Thane writing it.” Dwalin produced a few letters from his jacket pocket and placed them on the table. “My friend, the one who’s been…helping me out. His brother Ori is a scribe who keeps copies of all the letters sent out. One of those is a letter sent to Thane from the king before they arrived, and the other is the letter penned to Thranduil for his aid, which was knowingly written by the Thane.” One look told Thorin all he needed to know. The writing was noticeably different. They were not written by the same person.

“How did you figure this out? No offence, Dwalin, but you’re not smart enough to figure this out on your own.” Thorin winced as Dis slapped the back of his head, hard like she did with her sons when they said something stupid. Dwalin rolled his eyes.

“I investigate things every day. It’s part of the job of a guard, you royal ass. I did have help, though.”

“From that friend of yours, you keep mentioning,” Dis said, a blinding and cheeky smile on her face. Dwalin didn’t answer but he did turn slightly red.

“This is it then. We can bring this to the Thane and expose this Lotho for what he really is.” Thorin grabbed the letters and stood.

“Not so fast. It’s a good plan, but there are still obstacles,” Dwalin warned. Thorin stopped and waited for him to say more. “They’re marrying him in the morning, and there are guards posted outside your door who have been ordered not to let you leave until the ceremony is done.”

Thorin abruptly walked away, ignoring their questions. He retreated to his bedroom, and when he returned, he was holding his sword.

“You have until the sun rises to get them to leave because the minute it does, I’m retrieving my hobbit.”

His warning was heard clearly, and neither his friend nor his sister bothered trying to talk him down from it. Dis left first to gather details. He didn’t suspect he would see her again until all of this was over for good or ill. Dwalin lingered, looking as if he wanted to say more. Thorin knew what he was thinking.

“I don't regret it at all,” Thorin spoke aloud.

“If I hadn't mentioned running, you would be married to your hobbit already,” Dwalin replied.

“He wouldn't be my hobbit. He would have been terrified and distrustful of me for years, maybe forever. Or worse, he would have tried to make it on his own and died in the wilderness. Choosing to leave was the best thing I could have done, and if this is the consequence of that choice, then so be it. I bear the burden of my actions with pride.” Thorin vowed, clasping Dwalin's shoulder. His friend put his hand over his with a grin.

“That hobbit of yours really is something you know. Fierce and loyal to a fault. One word was said against you, and he went from terrified and welded to the wall to right in Raglin's face. I’d like to see someone try and tell him he wouldn't make a good consort.” Dwalin chuckled. Thorin did, too, thinking of all the times Bilbo had proven that he had a tactician's mind and a sharp wit, but his brain stuttered over Dwalin’s words.

“Why was Bilbo against the wall? You said they peered at him through the bars,” Thorin asked. Dwalin gave him a grave look.

“They did, most of them. Eventually, everyone was cleared out, and Raglin was escorted into the cell by Lotho after he announced that he was chosen. He was not happy about being conscripted to wed a hobbit. The king and Thane, or maybe Lotho himself, must have worked it out and approved it quickly with the way he was talking. He had some choice words for you and for Bilbo. Your little spitfire put him in his place well enough.”

“Did he touch him?” Thorin’s voice was low and filled with warning.

“Nothing overt,” Dwalin answered.

“Did he in any way touch my Bilbo?” Thorin whispered, his voice dropping to its lowest gravel.

“Yes. He grabbed his chin and had them hovering inches apart. He might have tried to do more, but I don’t think so. I put a stop to it all the same.” Dwalin reported. Thorin was going to make the miserable wretch regret that.

“Dwalin, before you leave,” his friend stopped his hand on the door. “This dwarf you keep mentioning. This friend of yours. When this is all over, if it ends well, I want to meet him. I might have need of a spymaster as king.” Dwalin’s face split into a grin before he stepped out of the room.

Dawn crept over the horizon, though no one in the mountain was there to witness it. He stood at his door with the proof he needed tucked away and his sword in his hand. He brought Bilbo’s handkerchief to his lips, pressing a kiss to it before safely tucking it into his tunic and over his heart. Time was up. Hopefully, Dis and Dwalin were able to clear his way.

He tried the door, and it popped right open. The corridor beyond was dim and abandoned. Cautiously, Thorin walked down the hall, his first time doing so freely in over four months. The ceremony would be held in front of the throne, but most would view it from the observing areas that ran around and parallel to it. Thorin took a detour into one of the armoury rooms to retrieve a warn guard cloak. He hadn't bothered wearing his as most of them bore the heraldry of being a prince or the crest of Durin. His hunch was correct as he found himself swept up into a small crowd of people hurrying to the balconies of the throne room. He split from the crowd early, taking instead a staff entrance that emptied onto a walkway that connected to the longer bridge that led to the throne. It was out of the way, and no one would look to find him hiding in plain sight.

Thorin stopped dead on the walkway as he looked toward the throne. Bilbo was standing as if at his own funeral, a picture of misery. He had been dressed in dwarven wedding garb that had clearly been tailored in a rush, and his hair had been braided out of his face. Occasionally, he would look out among the small crowd, searching, and Thorin knew he was looking for him.

“I’m here, amrâlimê,” Thorin muttered under his breath. Eventually, Raglin joined Bilbo on the dias, looking equally unhappy and cold. As he reached the throne, however, he forced a smile to his face and greeted Bilbo with a hug that was not returned. From where he was standing he could see him exchange words with Bilbo. The hobbit hissed something back, and Raglin grabbed his upper arm, causing Bilbo to wince. When they broke apart, Bilbo had also forced a smile onto his face. It looked painful and Thorin broke a little seeing it while maintaining a white knuckle grip on the guardrail before him. For sanity's sake, he tried to replace the image of Bilbo in his mind with a happier one. What he might look like if it was Thorin standing in front of him. He would have made sure Bilbo had something proper to wear. A combination of styles between dwarven and hobbit. Or perhaps just dwarven but with a large flower crown on his head.

He let those thoughts keep him from doing something irrational until the King was announced and soon after the Thane. Trailing behind the leaders were Dwalin, and Lotho. They all assembled at the dias, and Thror addressed the room, his booming voice clearly heard in the mostly silent chamber. There were not many people in attendance as expected for an event that was not announced and held in the wee hours of the morning. The individual words that were said were lost to Thorin. He was concentrating so carefully on not blowing his shot and revealing himself too soon. He didn't want to hear his grandfather command his heart's desire to agree to marry someone else, and he had decided early on that he wouldn't. His queue was Raglin grabbing Bilbo's hands to wrap them in ceremonial ribbon.

Thorin sprinted down the bridge to the throne, throwing off his cloak and casting it aside to reveal himself as he drew nearer.

“THIS MUST STOP!” Thorin shouted as he reached the steps up to the throne proper.

“Thorin!” Bilbo yelled, moving immediately toward him but being pulled short by Dwalin, who leaned down to whisper something in his ear. Bilbo stopped struggling but continued to marvel at him, tears in his eyes. Thorin smiled at him reassuringly before looking back at his grandfather.

“What is the meaning of this! Someone have him removed! Anything he needs to say can be said after!” Lotho demanded. Thror turned his head to look at him.

“You do not give orders in my kingdom,” the king snapped, which silenced him immediately. The Thane stepped forward, his countenance calm but concerned.

“You are the dwarf who took my nephew. I will give you this, you are consistent in your ability to disrupt. Is there an explanation for such a display?” The Thane asked. Thorin took another step up to the throne.

“There is no reason to force Bilbo to do this. The wedding itself it’s entirely unnecessary. I have proof in my hands that neither of you truly asked for this!” Thorin held out the papers and watched the Thane step forward to take them. His gaze slowly slid to Lotho next whose eyes were saucers. Thorin smiled knowingly. He looked over the papers carefully before passing them off to the King.

“It would seem there is indeed more for us to discuss before we can continue,” The Thane said. He turned and gave Lotho a death glare so powerful that age seemed to come off of him, and for a moment, Thorin could see the same fire Bilbo often had reflected in his eyes.

“Yes, it seems we do.” In the same booming voice that had greeted those watching, the king dismissed them. A mummer rose up as people left and he knew that this would be a story he heard retold several different ways for years to come.

“I think it would be best if you stayed here while we spoke.” The Thane walked away a few paces and stopped. “Not you, Lotho. Your presence is mandatory.” Lotho spluttered foolishly before pattering off like a kicked pup.

Everyone left standing by the throne was silent. Thorin still hadn't registered that his haphazard plan seemed to work; he could only stand there, adrenaline coursing through him. Then, his mind snapped back into focus. He charged up the stairs, pulling Bilbo into his arms and breathing ragged breaths into his hair. Thorin felt like he was finally able to catch his breath for the first time in days. He could tell Bilbo felt the same. All the composure that his hobbit had used to keep himself together crumpled in the safety of their embrace, and Bilbo's legs wobbled before going out from under him entirely. Thorin scooped him up and, for lack of anywhere else to put him, sat him on the throne. He could feel Raglin bristling behind him and ignored it.

Bilbo looked exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot and he had defined bags under his eyes. His neck had bruises that resembled the mark of a hand, and there was another bruise on his jawline. Thorin swept the curls back from his face affectionately and undid the simple braids holding back his hair. They smiled at each other for a while neither needing to say anything until Bilbo reached for him and leaned in for a kiss. There was still too much uncertainty for them to revel in the future freely, but right now, he felt at peace. The more relaxed Bilbo became, the more his eyes drooped.

“I knew you'd find me again and try to save the day.” Bilbo sighed sleepily.

“We seem to have a real knack for running into each other” Thorin chuckled dryly and pressed another kiss to his temple. A small shiver ran through Bilbo, and Thorin stood to look for his cloak. He found it on the edge of the bridge and retrieved it, encouraging Bilbo to get comfortable on the throne before covering him with the blanket and letting him rest. Thorin didn’t know how long the talks between their family people would take, and there was no reason Bilbo shouldn't get at least a little rest.

“Your Highness, this is no way to treat the throne of our forebears.” Raglin hissed. “It's the seat of kings, not a bed for your co*ck warm-” he didn’t finish before Thorin had a knife pressed under his chin.

“You forget yourself. That is the next consort under this mountain, and I am your next king. That is also my throne, and I will determine who may grace it, not Raglin, son of a father so distantly connected to the line of Durin that no map of family lineage even bears your name.” Thorin lowered his knife and grabbed two of Raglin's fingers, yanking them back until he heard a snap. The ram tamer howled in pain, clutching them to his chest. “That is a reminder that if you touch what's mine again, I'll do more than just break them.”

Thorin walked away and heard the patter of feet scrambling to get away. His presence was no longer required anyway. Bilbo seemed to still be asleep, but a slight twitch of his lips told Thorin that he had witnessed the exchange and was not displeased.

Twenty minutes passed, and Erebor seemed to hold its breath. Even a mountain, it seemed, can’t hold that breath forever. The slamming of a door alerted Thorin that something was wrong. Dwalin, sprinting at full speed, faced down the corridor leading to the council chambers, panic on his face. Thorin ran to meet him halfway.

“The king is having one of his episodes. Happened right in the middle of things. I can't calm him down,” Dwalin cautioned before turning around to run back the way he came. The clamour woke Bilbo as well. He looked a little more himself as he pinched at the bridge of his nose and shook himself awake. They exchanged glances, then scrambled to leave.

“What’s happened? Bilbo said his legs working overtime to keep up with the pace. Thorin slowed to meet him.

“My grandfather's mind has been slipping for the last few years, I mean. We all thought it was stress or desperation to find a way to bring the mountain back to its former glory, but it’s beyond that now. According to Dis, he’s gotten into fits.” Thorin hurried to explain.

“It sounds like he has elder’s disease,” Bilbo said quickly. Thorin shot him a curious look. “I never took into account that it might not happen as often for the longer-lived races, but it's not uncommon in the Shire. Older hobbits are prone to it. They act out, forget to do important things for themselves, and even forget the people closest to them. It’s like a regression, but it’s not all at once. It happens slowly. It’s not pleasant to watch.”

“Is there a cure?” They stopped in front of the door to the chamber and could hear raised voices inside. “A cure, Bilbo, is there a cure?” Thorin didn’t mean to raise his voice, but everything Bilbo had said fit his grandfather to a tea.

“N-no. The only thing we can do is make them comfortable.” Bilbo replied.

“What do you mean, make them comfortable?” Thorin breathed. The shouting inside was getting louder. He needed to go inside, but he also needed to hear what Bilbo said.

“When someone gets it… it tends to get worse and eventually.” Bilbo put his hand over Thorin’s. “It’s called an elder's disease, Thorin. They don't... well, they don’t usually live long once the condition worsens past a certain point.” Bilbo looked horribly apologetic, and Thorin tempered himself. Raising his voice would do him no good, and Bilbo didn’t deserve that. He took Bilbo's hand and kissed it before pushing open the door.

“MY SON! GET ME MY SON!” Thror was in Dwalin’s face while two other guards hovered, unsure of what to do. This was still their king. The Thane and Lotho stood apart, watching the events unfold. Bilbo broke apart from him to go to them.

“Grandfather, why do you need Thrain?” Thorin asked cautiously. His grandfather whipped around at the sound of his voice.

“My son! There you are. I found a way to get out of the siege. People who can bring in food. They’re here now, I want you to greet them. Give them anything they want as long as they offer aid.” Thror was serious, and Thorin did everything he could to hide the emotion on his face. His eyes met Bilbo’s from across the room, and saw his own sorrow reflected back at him.

“Grandfather, I will meet them, but you have to sit first.” He managed to get the king to sit and knelt before him. “I’m not Thrain. I’m your Sigin-nadan. There is no dragon; it was defeated. The hobbits are here for another reason. They’re here to help the mountain grow again. You brought them here, remember?” He wasn't getting through, and he knew it. He pushed again, and this time, he chose a stronger memory. “Your son died Sigin-addad. He fought and died along with Frerin and Vili.” That seemed to get a reaction. Sorrow filled the king's eyes, and a hand came up to his face, patting it gently.

“Yes, I...I do remember that. He’s buried next to your mother. I had forgotten. I seem to be forgetting a lot of things nowadays.” Thror murmured.

“I’ll greet the guests more. I don't think you slept very much last night.” Thorin motioned for the king's guard to help their king and pulled Dwalin aside with his own instruction to find Dis so she could watch their grandfather for the night. He watched the king leave with a heavy heart and turned to his next, no less daunting task.

“Thorin, are you alright?” Bilbo asked, taking his hand. Thorin nodded and addressed the Thane.

“I will take over negotiations for the deal you are trying to set. I know you might have opinions of me after everything that has happened, but I will answer your questions if that satisfies you.”

“Yes, it has been a whirlwind of a day, and I think most of us got little sleep. But first, let me say this. Bilbo, I owe you an apology. I can’t deny that many of the choices that led us here are of my doing.” The Thane stated genuinely.

“An apology doesn't change the fact that you had very little reservations about trading me to a mountain of strangers without any care for my future wellbeing. And you!” Bilbo rounded on Lotho. “What do you have to do with this? What sinister part did you play in hopes that I would disappear forever?”Bilbo was holding his temper in check by nothing more than the practice of doing it all his life.

“We found letters,” Thorin cut in. “A letter that we knew your uncle sent and letters from before you came to the mountain. They were different, and Dwalin realised after he overheard your conversation last night that someone was spinning a web.” Thorin explained. Bilbo wiped his head around to stare daggers at his uncle.

“Even if you thought the dwarves demanded a marriage, you still decided it would be me. Why? I know why Lotho would try and get rid of me. He has a lot to gain if I’m gone, but why, uncle, would you do that to me!” Bilbo shouted. The Thane looked ashamed.

“Because you’re too much like her, Bilbo. Belladonna is the reason we need protection in the first place.” The Thane replied. “There are many who fear that even if we go about fixing this mess, you will just create another.” The Thane hung his head, but Lotho couldn't wipe the disgusting grin off his face.

“Why do you mean it was her fault?” Bilbo rasped, the sternness in his voice replaced with uncertainty.

“She left the Shire, often coming and going unpredictably. Those that pass through our lands usually do so stealthily or use the main travelling roads that are well guarded. Other entrances to the Shire that are neither watched nor guarded are not well known to outsiders. Bella wasn't always as careful as she thought she was. On one of her trips, she was followed. We’ve had issues with orcs slipping into the Shire ever since.” The Thane said it with compassion. He seemed to regret that he even had to say it at all.

“Speculation!” Bilbo shouted! “You don’t know for sure it was her!”

“But we do!” Lotho smeared. “Who else tramped in and out of the Shire on a whim, taking her husband and baby with her as she pleased. If that wasn’t enough, the Dunidine confirmed it. They captured one of the orcs to see where it got its information. It said they followed a black-haired hobbit lass in and out of the Shire. By then, the damage was done. Who knows how many now know how to get into the Shire.” Lotho took two steps forward and got directly in Bilbo’s face. “Belladonna was warned that this might happen, but she ignored the risk!”

Thorin stepped in between the two hobbits before more could be said or done. Bilbo stepped back, and there were too many emotions playing out across his face for Thorin to take in.

“I hope you know there is no part of this treaty as it moves forward that involves an arranged marriage of any kind. The agreement can stand on its own; you help us, and we help you. Everything else I will agree to.” Thorin said, addressing the Thain.

“Yes, I figured that might be the case. I see no need for it any longer, nor would I necessarily have agreed to it had I known it wasn’t demanded,” The Thane replied.

“Then let me ask this of you. I want it in writing that Lotho will receive just punishment for his trickery by the law of your people.” Thorin demanded. The Thane looked down his nose at Lotho, who was simmering with rage.

“Agreed.” That was enough for Thorin, who turned his attention back to Bilbo.

“Are you alright, amrâlimê?” Thorin asked.

“I will be,” Bilbo replied warily. Thorin took the handkerchief Bilbo had gifted him from his pocket and handed it back.

“Her faults and her choices don’t erase all that she was any more than the elder sickness erases the great things my grandfather has done for this kingdom. It’s not our responsibility to bear the burdens of our families even when we are left to correct their mistakes.” The moment the words let him he knew that this was the outcome that Elrond had foreseen. This revelation was what he had shepherded him towards the moment he pulled him aside that first night in Rivendell.

They left the room, and Thorin promised to meet again late the following day with a royal advisor and scribe present to get everything in writing. It was unanimously determined that while in Erebor, Lotho would spend his remaining night in the same cell he remanded Bilbo to.

“Where are we off to, then?” Bilbo asked. Thorin regarded him with a smile. His heart was still heavy from the day's events, but he felt more hopeful than he had in a long time. In a spontaneous decision, he scooped Bilbo up and into his arms, bridal-style.

“We’re going to get some food from the kitchens, and then we’re going to sleep until tomorrow,” Thorin stated.

“That sounds very nice.” Bilbo sighed.

They did just that. Thorin took no small amount of pleasure in getting to see Bilbo interact with Erebor as it was intended. They retired that night in each other's arms, snuggled into warm sheets, and drifted. They slept the day and night, walking the following morning to the light reflecting off the sun mirrors. Thorin wanted to burn this image onto the back of his eyelids. Bilbo was pressed against him, wearing nothing more than one of his old tunics, their legs slotted together. Thorin ran his fingers through Bilbo’s hair, his other hand keeping them as close as possible. Soon, Bilbo stirred, shifting his weight and stretching into him.

“Good morning,” Thorin whispered into an adorably pointed ear.

“It should be considered criminal for your voice to sound like that so early in the morning.” Bilbo yawned, smiling up at him and running his nimble fingers through his beard.

“I choose house arrest.” Thorin bantered, rolling them over so that he could hold Bilbo to the bed and pepper him with kisses. Bilbo’s giggles were a gift, and soon they were properly awake.

“So what’s in store for today?” Bilbo asked tentatively.

“Anything we want, but I think we need to talk about what happens next, after all of this,” Thorin replied. Bilbo nodded and looked lost in thought.

“Can we wait just a few more days to decide that? It’s been a lot. Almost too much, and I need just a few days of something that looks like normalcy before I can decide anything. Is that alright?” Bilbo asked. Thorin leaned down and kissed Bilbo with every ounce of passion he could muster so early in the morning.

“Of course it’s alright. I need time to think too.” A shadow of something flickered across Bilbo's face at his words, and Thorin just smiled. “There is one thing I don’t need any deliberation on, however. Whatever we do next, it’s together. I love you, Bilbo, I go where you go.”

Vibrancy returned to Bilbo’s eyes as they wasted the morning away together. It was past mid-morning when a knock sounded at his front door. Thorin pulled himself from the bed and slipped on a robe to answer it.

“So Dwalin was right; you haven't left your room. It's been over twenty-four hours, Thorin. You can't rot away in here.” Dis chastised, though she did so with a big smile. “You have been hoarding a hobbit in this room, and I demand to meet him.” Dis started looking around like she was playing a game of hide-and-seek, which only caused Thorin to roll his eyes.

“Sit Dis. We’ll be out when he’s ready.” Thorin retreated back to the bedroom, where Bilbo still sat under the sheets. The comforter pooled around him as if he’d gathered it around himself for modesty's sake. “Would you like to meet my sister?” Thorin asked. Bilbo was out of bed and in proper clothes in less than five minutes. He knew he created a monster the moment they greeted each other. It was the definition of fast friends. The rest of the evening was a mix of stories about their time on the road, stories about Erebor, or embarrassing and criminalising stories about his childhood. Thorin felt like a very happy third wheel, watching the people he loved the most get along so well. He could see the picture of his future spread out across the years of his life, every one of them spent in Bilbo’s company.

That day passed, and the treaty was signed. Thror regained his wits long enough to see it done. Groups were starting to be set up to determine who would be settling into the Shire in the first wave. The group chosen would leave in two weeks' time. Days went by, and they still had not spoken of their plans. Thorin didn't want to push, but he knew the topic couldn't be put off much longer.

A week before the Shire-bound group left, Thorin woke to find Bilbo standing in front of the fireplace. His mother's handkerchief was in his hands and he was running his fingers along it as he often did when he was facing a decision. Thorin watched the gears in that clever head turn, but Bilbo did the one thing he never could have predicted. He looked down at the cloth and then tossed it into the fire. Thorin moved in an instant, reaching his hand into the flames to try and retrieve it from incineration, but it was too late. What he pulled out was already beyond saving.

“It’s ok, Thorin, it was deliberate,” Bilbo said, taking his hands and dusting off the soot. “I thought you were asleep. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry; just tell me why. You loved that handkerchief; it was your mother's, why would you destroy it like that?” Some part of him instinctively reached up to the side of Bilbo's head, his thumb running over the two beads in Bilbo’s hair that were heirlooms of his own mother.

“Because I know what I need, and it’s not to be tethered to the past. That’s all I’ve had, Thorin, a collection of dusty memories to try and keep my spirit alive. Everyone who knew me only saw the faults they found in my parents. Now, I have more than that; I have a future, and I want to fill it with new memories and new experiences. I brought it with me to mark my adventure and an adventure I had. Now, I can move on. I can create a life and reputation based on my deeds and mine alone,” Bilbo explained determinedly.

They spent the rest of the night making plans for that very future. It was decided that they would return to The Shire for a few years to personally oversee the founding of the dwarven settlement. It gave Bilbo a chance to settle his affairs before moving permanently to Erebor. In the meantime, steps were to be taken to ensure the crown was prepared for Thror to step down upon Thorin’s return. The king himself, when he was in his right mind, agreed that it would be nice to enjoy his old age and that his time as king was growing to a close. To further limit his stress, Dis would take over overseeing the restoration of the desolation and take over negotiations with the elven kingdom, though Bilbo promised his aid in whatever way he could from the Shire. His sister didn’t try and talk them out of leaving. She seemed to sense that this was something that needed to be done.

“You have everything you need? It’s a long trip.” Dis worried, checking the packs on their ponies for the seventh time that day. “Fili, Kili, get out from under the pony's legs. You're going to get kicked! Mahal, help me with those boys, Thorin.” The very boys in question ran back to her, giggling around her legs and trying not to look guilty.

“Knowing how you were when we were younger, I think they might get worse before they get better.” Thorin laughed. We’re all set, Dis, and we already sent Roac ahead to let Thranduil and Beorn know we’re travelling again.” Dis still fussed a little more, but eventually, and after several bone-crushing hugs and heartfelt goodbyes, Thorin and Bilbo set off again from the mountain under very different circ*mstances.

Three Years Later

“Thorin, hurry. I want to leave before mid-morning so we don’t have to ride through the dark to get to Bree!” Bilbo shouted from atop the cart he had just finished packing.

“We would be gone already if you didn’t keep remembering things you wanted to take with you.” Thorin laughed, closing the door to Bag End for the fourth time that morning.

“I know, I know. I just want to be sure. There is no telling when we’ll be back.” Bilbo huffed.

“If it’s not something we can get in the mountain, then we can have a merchant pick it up when they pass by.” Thorin reasoned, “I don't think Drogo or Prim are going to hold any of your things hostage.” Bilbo waved him off and took his seat at the front of the carriage.

“Well, let's get on, then we have a long way to go.”

“I have something I want to give you before we set off. It can’t wait,” Thorin replied. Despite being unable to see his face, he saw a mithril-cuffed hobbit ear perk up. “Close your eyes,” Thorin instructed with a laugh as he came around to face him. When he was sure Bilbo had done so, he placed a carefully folded square of cloth into his open palm. “Alright, open.” Bilbo opened his eyes and gasped.

“Thorin, this is…oh Thorin,” Bilbo gushed.

“I wanted you to have something to replace your old one,” Thorin explained. His overjoyed hobbit promptly assaulted him with a flutter of kisses.

"It's perfect, absolutely perfect,” Bilbo repeated as he looked again at the blue handkerchief with silver bordering and a very poorly stitched B.B. in the corner. Below his initials was a more elegantly stitched phrase, ‘consort under the mountain.’

“Hamfast’s wife, Bell, did the bottom. I wanted it to be legible,” Thorin added sheepishly. Bilbo beamed at him, placing his new gift over his heart.

“A new start with a new title and a new forever,” Bilbo whispered more to himself than to Thorin.

A new forever, indeed .