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All around him the hall was silent; impressive given that there was an entire dwarven kingdom, a large contingent of men, a small delegation of elves, and a brave handful of hobbits all packed into the same space. Not that Bilbo was paying any attention to them. No, his sole focus was on the large hands that held his own, the warm sapphire gaze, and deep voice of Thorin Oakenshield, King of Erebor and soon to be his husband.
While the dwarf king always looked handsome, today he was simply stunning. He had dressed in full regalia as fit for a ruler, with rich velvets and silks dyed royal blue, and his crown shone against his raven hair. However, in keeping with more hobbity traditions, he wore no jewelry save for the simple gold band Bilbo had placed on his finger scant moments ago and his belt was more simple than he usually wore.
He himself was dressed in a more hobbity style: a crisp white shirt beneath a nice, honey-colored waistcoat that had gold buttons set with they symbol for the line of Durin, and deep brown slacks. The dwarven fabrics were heavier than he was used to, and his trousers were cut longer to seem more dwarvish. He also wore a fur-lined cape to match Thorin’s, as well as a light circlet to show his new station as Consort to the King.
Thorin let go of the hobbit’s hands, lifting them to his curls – which he had grown out just for this purpose. He sectioned off a portion of his hair and twisted several strands together into a dwarven marriage braid, sliding on a silver bead from his pocket as he neared the bottom before tying it off. Bilbo felt a light shiver pass down his spine as the dwarf’s fingers brushed his skin before he retook his hands.
This was the part that had him worried, the traditional dwarven vows spoken only in Khuzdul. He swallowed past the sudden dryness in his mouth as something uncomfortable settled in his chest. Thorin’s fingers curled tightly around his palms in a comforting squeeze, and an encouraging smile could be seen beneath his neatly groomed beard. It chased away the butterflies, and Bilbo smiled up at him as the foreign words spilled from his lips.
By the time he was finished reciting, Thorin’s smile had broadened into a breathtaking grin that made him look decades younger. Bilbo reached up, plaiting the dwarf’s hair to match his own. He pulled the silver bead from his pocket, smiling at the memory of Thorin aiding him in making it. He tied off the braid and stepped back, grabbing the dwarf’s hands and grinning up at him.
To his left, Gandalf raised his voice to proclaim them officially wed in accordance with both cultures. The roaring cheer of the assembled mass of people was deafening and rattled the hobbit’s bones. He was certain that his cheeks would never recover from how widely he was grinning, but he really couldn’t care less.
Thorin dropped one of his hands in favor of caressing Bilbo’s face as he leaned down, covering the hobbit’s lips with his own. Gentle as ever, their lips moved together languidly as they savored each other. None of their previous kisses could compare to this, the heady knowledge that this dwarf was his forever and he could kiss him whenever he wanted now. They broke apart all too soon, but with a promise of more to come if the dark glint in Thorin’s eyes was anything to go by.
Hand-in-hand, the newlyweds turned to the crowd as another booming round of applause sounded. Bilbo knew that things would never be perfect between himself and Thorin, Eru knows they haven’t been perfect up to this point, but they would work through it. Nothing could make him happier than being with his dwarf, his king, and Bilbo grinned again as they stepped down into the excitement as they moved off towards the feasting hall for the reception.