Chapter Text
Thorin had lost his nephew.
And no, he wasn't referring to tweedledee and tweedledum. Despite popular belief, Fíli and Kíli were capable of taking care of themselves. Well, most of the time. Or half of the time. Okay, so maybe it was always a gamble with those two, but Thorin had high hopes for them. Naïve and ridiculous ones, but hopes nonetheless. However, the nephews of Thorin's blood were the least of his concerns right now.
Somehow and someway, the King Under the Mountain had lost Frodo.
He wasn't quite sure how he did it, but Thorin had spent the last two hours charging through his magnificent kingdom, dwarves of all kinds bowing and waving to their majestically wonderful king. What none of them knew, however, was that said wonderful King had misplaced his twelve-year-old nephew. One minute, Frodo was playing with Granite and Beryl in the main hallway of the royal wing and then poof! Frodo was gone.
It was like a filthy wyrm had snatched him up!
Well, okay, Thorin might have wandered off for a couple minutes to speak with a Stiffbeard emissary, but the duties of a Dwarf-King waited for no one. Unfortunately, this also seemed to apply to his youngest nephew. Thorin didn't know if he should be proud or screaming at his Maker's wife. The lad was terribly clever at the worst of times, but to just sneak out from underneath Thorin's nose?
The whole situation was disgraceful and ridiculous and migraine-inducing and...
Bilbo was going to kill him. Or divorce him.
Personally, given the circumstances and his dependence on a certain hobbit to survive, Thorin preferred the first option over the second option. Mostly because the latter choice would lead to a slow and painful death, anyways. He needed to prioritize here.
"Dwalin..."
And no, Thorin was not skulking through the training hall. As Erebor's King, he was far above such lowly behavior. No matter what Bilbo or his sister or Balin or the boys had to say on the matter.
"Dwalin..."
Honestly, why were dwarves so damned nosy?! This was his kingdom and he could stay low and close to the walls if he wanted. Pointing and twittering at the King himself was deplorable behavior. Thorin needed to hire newer, dumber guards.
"Dwalin!"
The giant dwarf finally turned around and walked over to his King. "Why are you hiding under the stands like the thief?"
"We have a situation."
"By Mahâl, if this is about your sister's and Balin's plan to organize yet another bloody—"
"I misplaced Frodo."
For the first time in a long time, Dwalin looked well and truly speechless. "You...whoa..."
"I can't find Frodo. He's run off somewhere."
Dwalin blinked and didn't put up any resistance when Thorin dragged him out into the neighboring corridors. The Dwarf-King paced back and forth in distress, fingers tugging incessantly at his disheveled hair. Thankfully, none of the nosy guards tried to follow them.
"How on Arda did you manage to lose the munchkin?"
"I don't know! He was there one minute and poof! He was gone. And the hounds must've run off with him."
"When is Bilbo due back from Dale?"
Thorin sighed. "Late this evening, if Bombur acquires all of the necessary supplies."
"Well, c'mon then."
"Huh..."
"Don't just stand there, you elf-loving fool." Dwalin grabbed him by the shoulder and started down the hallway. "We've got a munchkin to track down. Did you check the goat stalls or library yet?"
"No."
Dwalin rolled his eyes. "Becoming a parent turns people into fools."
They combed through all of Frodo's most frequent haunts and Thorin became more and more panicked with every empty space. Erebor wasn't the Shire; there were yawning caverns and mines and sudden drops all over the city. And only certain sections of the mountain contained reliable railings, something that Bilbo often complained about. In fact, his husband had mentioned it shortly before leaving for Dale and its farms. Frodo had nearly taken a tumble while playing with Donel and—
"Why doesn't this city have any railings?!" demanded Thorin as they walked through the Gallery of Kings. "It's a death trap for children!"
"Then have them installed after we find the runt. Not that dwarflings have any problem with the lack of them, but Erebor's got a pair of hobbits and a fair number of human youngsters running around it now. Did you check the kitchens?"
"Of course! It's the first place I looked. He's a hobbit, after all."
"And the skin-changers are all on patrol at this time of the week," Dwalin mumbled to himself. "Would've been nice to have one of their noses right now."
"If he ventured into the mines again, I swear that I'll—"
Dwalin grabbed the King before he could launch into another anxious rant. "C'mon, let's check the kitchens again."
"I told you, I've already checked there."
"And who's the best tracker of this addle-brained friendship, eh?" Thorin didn't say a word. "Aye, that'd be me. So, off to the kitchens we go, my directionally challenged King."
"You know I get the jerks when above ground. It's a common ailment and you know it."
"Of course, it is, Your Royal Lostness."
It took them several minutes to reach the kitchens, which were on the opposite side of the middle city. Dwalin paused in the doorway, eyes roving all over the floors and nearby tables. None of the kitchen staff bothered them, although the head cook did quirk an eyebrow in amusement. The King and his burly cousin rarely ventured into Bilbo's and Bombur's domain unless they were pilfering desserts or Master Dokor's prized ale. It was Hania who eventually approached them.
"Master Dwalin, my King," she said with a short bow, "What brings the two of you into the Consort's kingdom?"
"Thorin lost Frodo."
"I didn't lose him," growled the King. "He simply wandered off and we need to find him."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night."
Dwalin started searching around the massive kitchens after that, his usual glower scaring the whiskers off of anyone he encountered, be they a cook or scullery maid. Most of them scampered off before the Royal Captain came within twenty feet of them.
"I haven't seen him myself," said Hania, "But you're more than welcome to look around. Has the Consort returned yet?"
The Dwarf-King scowled. "You'll know when he does return because Dís will be crowned Queen Under the Mountain and my remains will be lost forever to the eastern mines."
"I'm sure he'd understand..."
"Oh, no, he really won't. Not when it comes to Frodo. An Oliphant's kinder than Bilbo in a protective rage."
Sadly, Bombur's wife did not understand just how vicious and uncivilized Thorin's sweet-natured hobbit could be when it came to their nephews. It was okay in Bilbo's eyes for the dwarves and dignitaries and nobles to speak behind his back and question his decisions and insult his hobbit-y ways. But disparage any of their three nephews? Well, no one tended to last long after that.
"Thorin! You might want to come over here."
With a brief bow to his friend's lovely wife, Thorin made short work of the distance between him and Dwalin. The large dwarf was waiting for him near a pile of potato sacks, his eyebrow raised in that subtly amused manner of his. If Thorin hadn't known his cousin so well, he would've mistaken it for derision.
"Aye? Did you find..."
Right there, in a hidden corner on the far side of the kitchen, was a pile of deerhounds and slumbering faunt. Three bowls sat just out of sight, licked clean by the hungry and unmannered tongues of Erebor's furriest and smallest gluttons. For the first time in six hours, Thorin felt his heart return to a steady beat. He'd been genuinely terrified that something had happened to the lad. If Frodo had been harmed by his own inattention, Thorin would have never—
"What are you two doing down here?"
Both dwarves whirled around and came face to chest with Erebor's second hobbit. Curly head tilted in bemusement, Bilbo stealthily peeked around their combined bulk and smiled at the sight that greeted him.
"Ah, an evening meal and a tuckered out nap, I see. Master Loni's stews tend to have that effect. And goodness, you two look exhausted. Long day?"
Dwalin nodded. "Aye, it's that bloody stew. Knocks a dwarf clean out."
"Well, then it'd be best that we all get to our chambers for a nice bath and rest then," said Bilbo with a tired smile. "My feet and ears feel like they could fall off. I think some of Bard's farmers would rival Gaffer Gamgee in their plant-induced enthusiasm."
"Of course, of course."
Thorin bent down and picked up his slumbering nephew. Instinctively, both Beryl and Granite woke up with mighty yawns, ears flopping back when the King leveled a fierce glower at them. Frodo snuffled into his shoulder.
"You're going to be the death of me, mizimith."