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“Thorin!”
Bilbo had the presence of mind to hand the son of Old Elderberry a coin for his troubles, even if he knew for sure he hadn’t ordered a cask of ale.
“Thorin!” Arms akimbo, Bilbo glared at the dwarf in question as he rounded the corner.
“Yes?”
“Who.” Bilbo pointed at the cask. “And why.”
“Excuse me?” Thorin crossed his arms.
“This cask of ale.” Bilbo pointed at the cask as if it had personally offended him. “I didn’t order it. And since Old Elderberry would rather eat his own toes than give a scrap of old cabbage away for free I strongly doubt that this was a gift made from a generous heart. To be honest, sometimes I am not sure he even has one.”
“Yes, I ordered that one,” Thorin replied. “I was hoping to be the one to answer the door, however. It was meant as a surprise.”
“Well.” Bilbo took a deep breath. “A surprise. And what, pray, would we need a whole cask of ale for? Getting drunk like your nephews in Lake Town did?”
Thorin huffed out a soft chuckle. “Maybe?”
“No. Absolutely not.” Bilbo eyed the cask like an enemy. “The last time I was drunk I proposed to you!”
“But do you regret it?” Thorin asked with a glint in his eye.
“We were already married!” Bilbo thrust his finger into Thorin’s face. “For six years!”
“It was very sweet nonetheless, to feel so desired you would marry me again.”
“Dwarf.” Bilbo stepped forward and grabbed Thorin by the suspenders. “I’d marry you once each month, albeit I can do without the hangover.”
“Then let us at least put that cask somewhere safe,” Thorin said, “so it can settle. No one can drink from that right now anyway.”
Bilbo acquiesced, and the two carefully manhandled the cask into the larder.
But when later that day, Miss Pennybell delivered three loafs of brown and a large cream-covered cake, Bilbo confronted his husband again.
“Well it is soon dinner time, is it not?” Thorin asked, and put the kettle onto the fire to make some tea.
“I have yet to see even you devour three loafs and a cake for one meal.” Bilbo eyeballed his dwarven husband who was carefully measuring tea into the pot.
“Should I take three or four scoops of the Nightvale Green?”
“Do not change the topic on me, you dwarf!”
The doorbell chose that moment to disrupt the discussion that might have turned into an argument. Bilbo pointed at Thorin again with a firm forefinger, to let him know that this wasn’t over, and went to answer the door.
His jaw didn’t land on the floor, but it was a near thing.
“Dwalin. At your service.”
“What by Sauron’s toes are you doing here?”
“I heard there was a party.” Dwalin grinned and put his cloak and hood onto the coat rack.
“You.” Bilbo hurried after him, and marched across the room as the two dwarves embraced. “You!”
“Me?” Thorin asked.
Before Bilbo could reply, the doorbell went off again, so the confrontation had to wait for another moment.
“Good evening,” Balin said brightly. “A lovely night, is it not?”
Bilbo pursed his lips, rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, and stared over his shoulders into the direction of the kitchen and his husband.
“I suppose,” he said tersely, and stomped through the kitchen. “Thorin!”
And there was the doorbell again. Bilbo thrust out his forefinger again, but went to answer the door because a hobbit doesn’t let visitors waiting, even unexpected ones.
“I swear if this is some dwarvish prank you will sleep on the sofa tonight!”
He threw the door open.
“Fili.”
“And Kili.”
They bowed and said in unison: “At your service!”
Then Kili beamed at him. “You must be Mister-”
“Don’t you DARE!” Bilbo ground his teeth. “What is this even!”
“An unexpected party, I suppose,” another voice now said, an old voice, and Gandalf stuck his head into the door frame, a mischievous, almost boyish grin on his face.
Now Bilbo stared at him, and the other dwarves who began pouring in through the door, and his mouth opened and closed but no sound emerged any more.
After taking a deep, deep breath while pinching his nose, Bilbo walked through the kitchen one final time to confront his husband yet again.
“Really?”
Thorin’s answer was a bright, happy smile. “I thought it right to celebrate this night. It is ten years to the day that a gaggle of dwarves, as you so affectionately called it, showed up at your doorstep and changed your life forever.”
“Well.” Bilbo cleared his throat. “Well.” He cleared it again. “An... unexpected... second party?”
“More like an unexpected anniversary,” Balin said with a mild smile.
“Unexpected by some,” Fili added with a huge smile, his hands full of tankards. “Who wants an ale?”