Chapter Text
Atoning for his offensive floral arrangement is considerably more difficult than Thorin had thought.
Gandalf was the only being east of Rivendell that had any real knowledge of the hobbits and he was currently refusing to help.
"You got yourself into this mess King Thorin." The wizard had said as he puffed on his pipe, blowing smoke rings at a rather infuriated elven king who was helping to translate an inscription on a small bracelet. "You can get yourself out of it."
Thorin was pretty sure that seeing him struggle was wildly amusing the old busybody and he was considerably more sure that trying to fix this on his own would only make things worse.
Now, Thorin could have gone to Bilbo, Bilbo being the de facto expert on the culture and customs of his own people here in Erebor. Yes, he could have done that but it would have meant a lot of awkward conversations, if he was going to hide the reason for his sudden interest in what constituted a hobbit proposal.
No, Bilbo could smell a rat at fifty yards.
Thorin sighed... this was all rather profoundly unhelpful.
He was saved from this strife by the arrival of his sister, Dis and a large contingent of his people. Dis who had rather thoughtfully brought along with her Bilbo's cousin Lobelia.
Once Lobelia Sackville-Baggins stepped over the threshold of Erebor's main door, the mountain was never the same again.
If Thorin had found Bilbo to be odd, Lobelia was something that could only be labelled as a 'force of nature'. Within five minutes of meeting him and the dwarven members of the company, she'd figured out the problem without any of them speaking a word.
Lobelia had hit Thorin and both of his nephews over the head with her rather sturdy umbrella and taken up a stance known by mother's the world over until she'd gotten the full facts of the case out of them. Much to the astonishment of Balin and Dwalin who had been standing beside the throne at the time.
She'd quickly marched off with her handbag slung over one arm and umbrella over the other with the aura of a general preparing armaments of war. All thirteen dwarves found themselves compelled to follow after her lest she take it upon herself to duel Dain along the way to her intended destination.
They found themselves standing outside of a covered wagon just as Lobelia disappeared inside too scared to follow after her.
"Imagine sending my Bilbo tansies and blue hydrangeas! I've never heard something so awful in all my life!" She shouted at Thorin as she supervised him in the creation of a floral arrangement that although messy has the meaning that the King had initially intended.
She won't stand for anything other than Thorin doing a proper and traditionally hobbit apology.
"I'm not going to tell you what to say but I will help you say it right this time." Lobelia said as she pulled a bundle of buttercups out of Thorin's hand and replaced them with a peachy coloured rose stem. "I'm not going to go around putting words in your mouth that you ain't wanting to say. Flowers have meanings and you have to mean what your saying.
Thorin nodded.
It was embarrassing to empty out his heart to Bilbo's cousin but she was the only one that could help him translate his dwarven thoughts into this sensitive hobbit cultural practice. Mahal knows he'd messed it up the first time. Lobelia had angrily explained to him exactly how badly he'd done it too.
Thorin had rather impulsively felt like throwing himself off of the side of Erebor rather than face what he'd accidentally said to Bilbo through his last gift of flowers.
He wanted to apologise. Yes, apology was the most important thing. Bilbo had been hurt, even if that had been the opposite of Thorin's intention.
So, the King Under the Mountain gathered all of his courage and knocked on his Burglar's door holding the bouquet of flowers he'd been coached into making.
Peachy roses surrounded by a sea of crisp white Nap-At-Noon stars studded with the soft pink clustered balls of Sweet Alison and the trailing tendrils of sky blue Morning Glory.
Bilbo cried again when he opened the door to Thorin.
This time it's happy tears. Tears that Thorin shares as Bilbo pulls the flowers into his arms and reaches up to tenderly kiss the lips of his dwarf.