Chapter Text
“You’re leaving? So soon?” A pain tugged at Thorin’s heart to hear of Bilbo’s premature departure. He knew the hobbit intended to leave eventually. Of course he did. But he was hoping for a bit more time before they were forced to say their farewells.
“Ah, yes, I’m afraid so,” Bilbo replied, his hand on the stone railing, looking out onto the land in front of them. The sky was a light pink as the sun was setting slowly in the west. A cool breeze and the sight of birds flying North signalled the onset of winter in the coming months. Thorin searched Bilbo’s face for a hint of the same pain that he himself was feeling at the hobbit’s words, but if it was there, Bilbo was careful to hide it. “As much as this last year has been a pleasure to share with you and the company, my home is in the Shire, and I must leave sooner or later.”
Thorin contemplated this for a moment as he leaned his forearms onto the railing next to Bilbo. The breeze picked up shortly and whistled past them. “And could you not be persuaded towards the latter?” Thorin finally questioned.
Bilbo turned to look at him, his face drawn in confusion.
“The winter is settling in fast,” Thorin continued. “It’s true, yes, that the road will be safer on your return journey now that the mountains are no longer riddled with goblins. This will not protect you, however, from the bitter winds of winter.”
“And what do you suggest, then?”
Thorin turned to face the hobbit, taken by a sudden hope. “Stay. For a while. Wait here until the weather is more tolerable, and make your journey in Spring.”
“I’m not sure I can accept that offer,” Bilbo said with a smile. “It’s very kind, but I wouldn’t wish to be a burden here for so long.”
Thorin scoffed at that. Honestly, the audacity of this hobbit. “A burden? Bilbo, you have saved mine and my company’s lives more times than I can count. You will never be a burden in these halls, for as long as any of us have anything to say about it. It would be our honor,” he said, reaching for Bilbo’s nearest hand and holding it gently between both of his own, “if you wished to stay here for a while.”
Bilbo’s breath hitched slightly before he smiled and looked away. He furrowed his brows at the city that lay before them as he considered Thorin’s offer.
“Well,” Bilbo finally said. “I suppose I can’t say no when you put it like that.” He gave Thorin a cheeky glance. “Fine. You’ve convinced me. I’ll stay for a while, but I am leaving as soon as the weather becomes more bearable.”
“Wonderful.” Thorin moved his hand to the hobbit’s shoulder, and the relief he felt at Bilbo’s assent was more than he cared to admit at the moment. “Since you’ll be here for a while, I will set up a room for you in one of our finest chambers.”
“Oh no, thats… that’s really not necessary. Just a small, simple room will be fine, really, I don’t need anything fancy.”
He gave Bilbo one of the finest chambers in Erebor, paying absolutely no mind to the hobbit’s request. The chambers were meant for royalty, in fact. Back when Thorin had lived here as a young dwarf the room had belonged to his brother. It was sort of bittersweet having Bilbo in Frerin’s old quarters. Sometimes off-putting, but in a way, it was nice that the room had life once more, and wasn’t sitting there gathering dust as the rest of the kingdom came back to life.
The room was spacious, as all the royal chambers were, and it was one of the few rooms in all of Erebor that was graced with a window that actually looked outdoors. He suspected the hobbit was very grateful for this particular highlight.
But the main reason Thorin had put Bilbo in these particular quarters was because of their proximity to his own. He had grown… very fond of the hobbit of late. He would now consider Bilbo perhaps one of his dearest friends. He couldn’t explain why, but being around him brought a sense of comfort and ease to the king that he didn’t find in any of his other companions. And so, in the following weeks, he sought Bilbo’s company frequently, treating him as a sort of right-hand man, bringing him along to his meetings, both secret and public, and toting him around Erebor wherever his kingly duties took him.
Bilbo didn’t seem to mind. He enjoyed Thorin’s company just as well as Thorin did his. They would often walk together at the end of the day back to their separate chambers and wish each other a good evening before retiring to their own private rooms. This had become so routine for them that Bilbo was quite surprised one night when Thorin stopped Bilbo from returning to his room, wishing to have a quick chat before they parted ways.
“I’m sure you have heard rumors by now, but I wanted to be the first to tell you officially. Tomorrow will come the announcement of Margu Iklaladrân. It is a dwarven festivity. A celebration of the coming of winter. My people have long wished to hold a celebration after the reclaiming of Erebor, and we have decided that the Margu Iklaladrân will be the perfect opportunity for that. The celebration will be held in about a month’s time. I wanted to inform you and to… personally invite you.” It’s not that Bilbo would ever not be invited, of course, but there was just something more intimate about giving the invitation in person.
Bilbo practically beamed. “I’ll admit, it’s been quite a long time since I’ve engaged in any festivities! And I would hardly count our time in Laketown, since I was sick as a dog the entire time.” Thorin snorted. Bilbo continued. “Well, you can most certainly count on my being there. Will there be music?”
“Music?” Thorin stopped and looked at Bilbo in amusement. “Yes, I’m certain we will have only the best musicians in our courts for Margu Iklaladrân.”
“Oh, that’s terrible news,” Bilbo quipped. “That means I must brush up my dancing skills.”
Thorin raised his eyebrows. “Indeed? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you dance, Master Baggins.”
“And when was the last time you saw me at a party?”
“Fair enough,” Thorin chuckled. They stood there for a few seconds in silence. “Well, that is all I wished to say. I should be getting to my chambers now, so I will bid you goodnight. Take care, Master Baggins.”
“You as well.”
As they parted, Thorin smiled to himself, now positively enamoured at the prospect of Bilbo Baggins dancing.
Preparations for Margu Iklaladrân became the primary occupation of each meeting in the following weeks. Plans were made, invitations sent, everything was coming together perfectly, and before long the evening of the event had arrived.
The Great Hall was lavishly decorated for the celebration with banners and ribbons, splashes of red and blue draped across the ordinarily barren grey walls. Musicians from far and wide had been invited to play at the event, and all were dressed in equally lavish robes. Chefs had come from nearby cities to cook for the large gathering, and the tables were all packed with food, drink, and dwarves.
Thorin arrived after all the guests were seated, after the food was laid out and the first ales had been drunk. This was the custom for these sorts of events. The king’s table was elevated slightly above the rest of the hall, where all the dwarves of Erebor were arranged. When it was time, Thorin came to his seat at the center. Seated here by his request were all thirteen of his companions, Fili and Kili at his left, and Bilbo and Balin at his right. The entire company sat on the same side, leaving the half of the table which faced out onto the hall entirely open. A cacophony of hot and incredibly tempting foods were laid out in front of him, but the dining had not begun just yet. All were waiting for their cue.
Thorin pounded the table, standing next to his decorated chair, and the entire hall fell silent, all eyes turning to him. “Friends,” he called out with enough force to extend to the farthest reaches of the hall. “We are here tonight to celebrate! As you all know, Margu Iklaladrân is a celebration of winter, but this year it is something more than that. It is a celebration of what we have won ,” he gestured with open arms to the room at large, signifying the glory of Erebor, and the people erupted into cheers, pounding the tables, stomping their feet, and hollering with half-tipsy voices. “But tonight is also held in remembrance,” Thorin’s tone dropped into something more somber, “of what we have lost.” The cheers died down and the room was held in a solemn silence. “Our home has been reclaimed, but we will never forget what it cost us. Those who died outside these very gates will live on in our memory forever!” Gentle pounding across the hall reflected both the people’s agreement and their grief.
“But, my friends, we are not gathered here tonight to mourn. No. We are here to celebrate. We are here because those lives were not lost in vain. We are here because we have once more shown that the might of dwarves will never falter!” Cheers erupted all around, and the dwarves began their clamoring again, loud enough to make noise, but not so much as to drown out the king’s words. “We are here that their memories live on,” he continued, “and that we might create new ones! Tonight we live! Tonight we rejoice! Tonight…. We celebrate!”
The room collapsed into clamorous approval, dwarves in every corner pounding the tables and stomping their feet in exultant spirits. This quickly transitioned into everyone hurriedly slapping food onto their plates, as the end of Thorin’s speech marked the beginning of the feast. Thorin took a seat in his chair, eager to join the festivities.
“That was an incredible speech, My Lord,” Bilbo chimed playfully at his right. “I didn’t realize you were so crafty with words.”
Thorin looked at him and chuckled. “I was forced to study public speaking as a child. Basic speech-crafting is a must for future kings.”
Bilbo let out a loud laugh at this. “Speeches never were my forte. I always manage to insult at least half the crowd, despite my best efforts.”
“Why do I have a hard time believing that?”
“What, that I could insult an entire crowd?”
“No. That it would be despite your best efforts.”
Bilbo gave him an icy look which transformed briefly into a smile, revealing that he took no genuine offense from Thorin’s remark.
It was then that Thorin noticed for the first time the hobbit’s outfit. He was not dressed in his usual clothes, but something much more extravagant. In structure it was typical hobbit-dress: a form-fitted jacket along with a vest over a button-up shirt, with capris on the bottom. But the style was clearly of dwarvish make. This did not surprise Thorin, given that there weren’t exactly any hobbit-tailors in this part of the world. What did take him aback was how striking Bilbo looked in this attire. The vest was dark brown and lined with a dark teal blue, and the cuffs of his jacket were woven with a distinctly Dwarven pattern. After looking for a short while he even noticed some small gems sewn around the bottom of the jacket and in the lapel of the vest as well. He looked… sharp. His hair, which had grown out significantly over the course of their journey, was braided back on the sides, complementing his face quite well, and the dark colors of his jacket made his eyes shine out brighter. He’d never seen the hobbit look so dashing.
“I hope you’re not staring out of jealousy because I do intend to keep this jacket.”
Thorin realized in mild horror that he had been staring at Bilbo’s clothes for a bit too long. “I apologize,” Thorin huffed. “I couldn’t help but notice they were of Dwarven make. May I ask who fashioned them?”
“Dori, actually. He mentioned he used to be an expert seamster, so I commissioned this off of him. Not that he needed the money of course, but he seemed thrilled to be given the task.”
“Well, I’ll have to personally commend Dori on his work. It is very becoming on you.”
Bilbo looked quickly at his plate with what Thorin could have sworn was a faint blush, and in the hall a soft melody began to play. It was the kind of uninteresting stand-in song that normally played during the dining part of the evening. Taking this cue, Thorin slapped Bilbo on the shoulder with a chuckle in what he hoped was a comforting gesture, then turned to the food in front of him and took a hefty serving of meat, potatoes, bread, and gravy onto his plate, revelling in the muffled chatter that filled the chamber.
And thus the night began, and laughs were shared, and drinks drunk. The company had not shared such a jovial evening since they had all turned up on the steps of Bag End. It now seemed so long ago. It was hard to believe how much had happened since then. They had all shared so much together: fought together, won together, wept together. And for all this they came out stronger. Closer. Thorin thought then there was no company he would rather be in than this. His kin, who never gave up hope, who pledged their loyalty to him when they had little reason to do so. And Bilbo. Thorin stole a glance at the cheerful hobbit, laughing at some story Gloin was telling about his son. The king’s face softened as he gazed at the hobbit. To none of the company had Thorin grown more fond than Bilbo.
He was a mystery that Thorin could not solve. He came with them on their quest with no promise of reward, without any guarantee of success, or even of life, to aid a people he did not know. And when he finally got his reward, after risking his life time and again for the company, he gave it away like it was nothing. His gold and glory, surrendered on the off chance that there might be peace. He had done what none of the dwarves were strong enough to do. Bilbo didn’t care for wealth. He cared for people. For a people he had no reason to protect or love, but he had done both all the same. He was the bravest person Thorin had ever met. Sometimes the most reckless, sometimes the most clever, and always the most selfless. He would give up the riches of the world if only to keep the peace and protect those he held dear.
And for his part Thorin could only marvel at having managed to be among those few.
Perhaps his many drinks had gone to his head, but he looked at the hobbit now with wonder and admiration, as the dim lighting and constant buzzing of chatter made his head swim lightly. He wondered to himself if he could ever let Bilbo leave this place. It would feel so empty here without him. His heart relied on Bilbo more than he was ready to admit.
Impulsively, he brought his hand to Bilbo’s shoulder and smiled something affectionate, and perhaps a bit inebriated. When Bilbo turned to look at him in some mixture of confusion and amusement, Thorin realized he probably ought to have an excuse for this sudden gesture.
“Bilbo!” he blurted, and closed his eyes briefly, trying to come up with something to say. The music shifted into something more light-hearted and already he could hear the sounds of dwarves shifting out of their seats to begin the post-feast activities. Of course! Thorin opened his eyes and looked into Bilbo’s with new resolution. “I do remember you promising to dance sometime this evening. I hope your intentions have not changed?”
Bilbo chuckled. “Oh, I should hope not. It’s been far too long since I have had the opportunity to dance properly… Though I’m afraid I haven’t recognized a single song that has played all evening. Not at all like the songs we would play back in the Shire. And I don’t know a thing about traditional dwarvish dance, I’m afraid.”
Thorin smiled warmly. “Well, I don’t see how either point ought to hinder you too much this evening. In fact,” Thorin rose up suddenly from his seat and winked at Bilbo. “I’ll be right back.”
He wove his way through a sea of bodies—an easy task, when those who noticed him quickly stepped aside, making an easy path—and walked to where the musicians were playing. He whispered a short request, then made his way back to the table. He noticed the eyes of many nearby dwarves follow him curiously, and he smiled to himself. Being king occasionally had its perks.
As he sat back down, he gave Bilbo a coy look and a new song began to play. Thorin of course did not recognize it, for he had requested a traditional Shire tune (a simple request since the musicians were well acquainted with music from all over Middle Earth), and Bilbo’s face immediately perked up. He clearly knew the song well.
“Oh no,” he smirked with a glint in his eye. “Well, I don’t suppose I can put this off any longer.” Bilbo stood up, looking at Thorin with a transparent facade of exasperation. “Are you not going to join me?”
“Nonsense! I don’t know a thing about traditional hobbit dance,” he responded. “And besides, I’ve been looking forward to watching you dance for weeks.”
Bilbo’s face flushed as he laughed and shook his head.
“Don’t worry, Mister Baggins,” Kili interposed from the side. “We’ll join you. Nobody deserves to dance alone, after all.” He and Fili shot Thorin a glare, and ran along with Bilbo to the large open space in the center of the hall, where many dwarves had already gathered to dance.
Suddenly Bilbo was in his element. Thorin watched as the hobbit was immediately taken by the upbeat music and let his body carry him through the jubilant song. He seemed unbelievably happy, bouncing along to the rhythm of the music in what Thorin could only imagine was a common hobbit-dance. He was shortly joined by others of the company, who attempted to imitate his movements, though somewhat clumsily. Dwarves weren’t quite as limber as hobbits after all. Nevertheless Bilbo helped them along and showed them some of the more common movements and they were all clearly enjoying themselves.
“Come on, then!” a voice called to Thorin from nearby. It was Bofur. “Aren’t you going to join?” He came up to the king, hopefully expectant.
Thorin contemplated. He enjoyed watching, but there was a part of him that longed to learn this strange dance that was so dear to Bilbo. Though he thought he would probably look like a fool if he tried. “I suppose you won’t be taking no for an answer,” Thorin grumbled lightheartedly.
Bofur beamed in his annoyingly optimistic smile. “Absolutely not. Come on.” He offered Thorin a hand, and he took it, standing up resentfully, but willingly. Thorin looked out into the room, eyes following Bilbo wherever he went. He wondered if Bilbo would laugh at his poor attempts to mimic his style of dancing.
“C’mon sir. It’ll be fun!” Bofur grinned. He all but pushed Thorin into the mass of bodies, then subsequently hurled himself into the mess as well, immediately trying to take up the movements of the hobbit.
Suddenly Thorin was surrounded by merry dancing and laughter, and he had no idea what to do with himself.
“Come, loosen up a bit!” he heard from a passing dwarf. It was Bombur. “You look stiff,” he said as he twirled by, hand in hand with a dwarf-maiden.
“You make it look easy,” Thorin chuckled, watching them fly by with ease and vigor. Bombur only laughed in response and disappeared behind more bodies.
“Are you lost?” came another voice. This one he immediately recognized as Bilbo’s. When he turned to meet him, the hobbit was still dancing carelessly.
“Not lost, no, but I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest clue what I’m supposed to do with myself. I’m not familiar with such a… structureless dance form.”
“Well, under the assumption that that was more of an observation than an insult, I’d be happy to show you the ropes,” Bilbo responded, and without any warning grabbed the king’s hands and began swinging him around with a skilled mixture of vitality and control.
Thorin only managed a shocked “oh” as he was swept abruptly into the dance. Bilbo laughed, holding onto the king’s hands and leading him through the motions, and indeed, under the hobbit’s supervision, the dance seemed to come naturally. It was a peculiar sort of dance: it didn’t seem to have any rules, and Thorin believed with increasing surety that some of the movements Bilbo was making up on the fly. But the disorganization of it all only seemed to fuel the energy, and Thorin found himself surprisingly elated as he and Bilbo tossed each other about in synchronized movements. He even made a clumsy attempt at spinning the hobbit around once, as Bilbo had repeatedly done with him, and hoped he didn’t make too much a fool of himself.
After several minutes of this, the music came to a stop and transitioned into a more well-known dwarven song. Immediately cheers came from around the room, and many dwarves who had been sitting through the last song now joined their comrades in the center of the hall. It was a drum-heavy song, and a low chant began to echo throughout the chamber. Dwarven dance songs were more structured than the hobbit’s dance. Each dwarven song came with an accompanying set of movements and a set dance style. Some were rather rigid while others left room for more improvisation.
This particular song conducted a solo dance that all dwarves knew well. Bilbo, on the other hand, was now the one at a loss.
“I’m afraid I don’t know this one as well as everyone else seems to,” he all but yelled at Thorin over the growing chants. “In fact I don’t know it at all. Would you show me? I would love to learn.”
And Thorin was happy to guide him through the dance, thrilled at the opportunity to be with Bilbo and laugh at Bilbo and dance with Bilbo. It wasn’t a complicated dance, and it was one whose motions cycled back around and repeated many times through the course of the song, so he had plenty of time to walk him through the movements. It was simple, but required both balance and a good deal of muscle control. In fact the dance was specifically meant to showcase the strong and durable build of the dwarves, and came with many downward movements that seemed to replicate the falling of an axe, or a hammer.
The footwork was something most dwarves struggled with most, but Bilbo’s large feet helped him maintain perfect balance in this particular facet. He had a harder time, however when it came to the downward movements, as this required a great deal of core strength to keep from falling over, a strength that Bilbo was not graced with. Towards the end of the song, just as he seemed to be getting the hang of the dance, he lost his footing on one of these tricky movements, and would have toppled to the ground if Thorin had not reacted immediately and caught the hobbit just in time.
“Oh, clumsy me, I’m terribly sorry,” Bilbo mumbled, helping himself up and brushing off his clothes.
Thorin snickered. “Frankly I’m surprised you lasted that long without falling.” Bilbo proceeded to huff in indignation, but Thorin cut him off before he could say anything in retaliation. “I do hope you still have enough in you to keep up through this next dance.”
“Next dance? What’s the next dance?”
The music faded and a new song started up. This one was much more subdued, and carried a soft but powerful melody. The notes began slow, steady, and almost mournful as the ancient hymn echoed through the hall. In what was either a very brave, thoughtless, or inebriated act, Thorin stepped forward, grabbed Bilbo’s hands, leaned in close and whispered, “This, Master Baggins, is a couple’s dance.”
“Oh?” Bilbo seemed quite flustered, but whether it was because of the music or their sudden proximity Thorin could not tell. “You don’t want a new dancing partner?” Bilbo seemed somewhat embarrassed. “We have been together for nearly two songs, after all, and I wouldn’t wish to hog your attention all night.”
“The night has only just begun, Master Baggins. And besides… Our hands are already joined. It is vital now that we not separate until the song is over.” Thorin began to lead Bilbo through the dance, slowly giving him guidance.
“Oh?” Bilbo questioned. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Thorin smiled as he held the hobbit’s hand in his. They stood at arms length with their hands intertwined, sometimes stepping forward and sometimes stepping to the side. “The song in this dance tells an ancient story of two dwarf lovers, Nín and Baldor. They had promised to never leave each other’s side, and they kept this promise until one day their daughter ran away. They looked everywhere for her, but couldn’t cover enough ground, so they separated. A great storm came and carried them far away from one another, and they never found each other or their daughter again.” Bilbo looked pensive, but said nothing as Thorin pulled him close, centered to his right, and they turned in a circle holding this position. “This dance is an homage to the story, and it is peculiar from other traditional dances in that the challenge is for the partners never to let go of one another until the song is over. It is a reminder of the loyalty and trust among our kin, and for some, as the ones in the story, it also symbolizes the bond between a dwarf and their One.”
“Their One?” Bilbo questioned as Thorin brought him around to his side so that they were now facing the same direction, hands still intertwined as they moved forwards and backwards. “What is that, like a soulmate?”
“Mahal, do you really not know?” Thorin gawked. “Yes. Almost all dwarves are promised the gift of their One, or… soulmate, as you put it.”
“That seems..” he paused. “I thought that male dwarves vastly outnumbered the female dwarves?”
Thorin raised his eyebrows as he gently but firmly led them again in a circle. “They do.”
“Oh.” Bilbo didn’t say anything else, but Thorin smiled at the hobbit’s moderate confusion.
“I understand it is custom in most places in Middle Earth for only men and women to pair, but it is not so among dwarves. It is true that dwarrow men greatly outnumber the dwarrowdams… which is why it is quite common for a dwarrow man’s One to be another man.”
“I see,” Bilbo replied, and again more quietly, “I see.” They turned now in and out, tying their bodies together and gracefully untangling them in swift and smooth motions. “Yes, you’re right,” Bilbo continued, “it’s quite outside of custom for two hobbits of the same gender to um… mingle with one another, though it’s not unheard of. Certainly rarely spoken of, however, as there are some who would look down on it.”
Thorin gazed at Bilbo skeptically, trying to gauge his opinion. “And you?” he asked finally.
Bilbo met his gaze as they came face to face, now holding their hands in a criss cross and stomping to a rhythm. “Me?” Bilbo seemed a bit flustered. “Me, no I… I don’t believe I could ever find fault in such a thing. I don’t see how something as harmless as love has any business being put under scrutiny.”
Thorin didn’t fully understand why, but he heaved a sigh of relief when Bilbo said this. His people had faced apprehension from many cultures of Middle Earth for their practices, apprehension that most regularly came from westerners. Knowing that he did not have to worry about such scrutiny coming from the eyes of one that he would consider his closest friend comforted him, and he looked at the hobbit with new affection. Of course he had regarded the hobbit in great fondness for a long while now, but this particular feeling was now mingled with something new. Or maybe not new, per se, so much as something hidden coming into the light. They continued to dance for a while and the conversation lulled until Bilbo posed an unexpected question.
“Did you ever find yours? Your One?”
The question took Thorin by surprise and he stared at Bilbo for a moment in some astonishment.
“It’s just that I’ve never heard you talk of anybody…” Bilbo trailed off. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, I was just wondering.”
“No, not rude,” Thorin reassured him. “I don’t mind, the question just… took me by surprise.” The king turned quiet then, and folded his eyebrows in on one another, and pondered his response. He resolved on what he thought to be the most truthful answer. “I’m not sure.”
“Not sure?”
Thorin contemplated explaining himself, but instead, just smiled at the hobbit and led him through a new series of motions, and they stumbled around a bit, trying to maintain their pace and stay synchronized. “Be careful,” he warned, “we are coming up on a tricky move very soon. I will need you to put your faith in me and trust that I will not let you fall.”
Bilbo looked slightly alarmed by this, but nodded his head and reassured the king of his trust. In a swift motion, and one which was duplicated by each partnered couple around them, he led Bilbo with one hand behind him, so that they were back to back, and locked their elbows. He then bent forward, hoisting Bilbo onto his back, (tried not to chuckle as he heard the hobbits' surprised noise). Then in an impressive display of strength, he flipped the hobbit forward so that he landed softly on his feet in front of him.
Bilbo looked very discombobulated after this move. “That was… unexpected, but I must say, very impressive.”
“Well you did your part well I think.”
“But I didn’t do anything.”
“Yes, exactly.”
Bilbo chuckled. “Shall I expect more manhandling or was that the bulk of it?” he teased as they brought their left hands to the other’s right shoulder, remaining at an arm’s length and continuing to move with the rhythm.
Thorin smiled. “The dance will be coming to a close soon, and you will be rid of me before long, I promise.” And they both laughed as Thorin led them through the last stretch of dance.
The music slowed, and now came the simplest, yet most delicate and intimate part of the dance. Thorin reached for Bilbo’s neck, and motioned for Bilbo to do the same as he brought their foreheads together. The movement now ceased altogether and they lingered here like this as the last notes of music sounded. Thorin closed his eyes and cherished this moment. With Bilbo’s forehead against his own he felt… safe. Cherished. He felt a warmth bubbling in him which seemed almost uncontrollable. And that fondness… that feeling of something else… hidden coming to light. He began to understand it now, warily. He didn’t understand how, but he knew it to be true. It felt almost blinding in that moment, as the music died down, and he held onto the hobbit as if he couldn’t let go. He didn’t want to let go. He wanted to stay here, like this, until the crowd faded and the music died and the moon went to sleep. He breathed deeply and relished the moment before it ended with someone’s gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Your highness.” Balin’s voice came from behind him, and Thorin could almost laugh at the absurdity as he drew his head away from Bilbo’s to meet his friend’s eyes. “I don’t wish to intrude,” continued Balin, “but I was hoping to steal you away for at least one dance if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, my friend.” Thorin responded and turned to Bilbo. “It has been a pleasure, Master Baggins. Please, enjoy the evening, take merriment, and dance to your heart’s content.”
“I should say the same to you, your highness,” Bilbo quipped, and whatever the hobbit was feeling he hid with a pleasant smile. “I’ll see you around.”
In fact Thorin didn’t see Bilbo around until the end of the night, when the celebrations had died down and those who had not yet retired all came together for the final gathering of the night. It was customary at the close of Margu Iklaladrân to sing the Ballad of Belegost, and this was a centuries-old custom.
A clustered circle formed in the middle of the room, and a path was made for him that led to the center of it. He came forward and stood so as to close the gap, and noticed that by his side stood Bilbo, and he felt warmed to have the hobbit beside him once again.
A dead silence came over the room. At last Thorin began the low notes of the ballad, deep and guttural, and they traveled far in the dimly lit room. The first verse ended, and the rest of the dwarves joined in at the second. They sang low and long, and with the song came both reverence and peace. It was a sort of solemn ending to the evening.
Thorin glanced at Bilbo, who stood to his left. He was not singing, of course. He did not know the tune. But he seemed to be completely ensnared. Written on his face was a sort of reticent awe. Thorin stared at Bilbo as the room carried the song, and he felt himself moved by an unknown force. A silent passion as he scoured the hobbits eyes, so gentle and mystified, and the king knew beyond a doubt that his heart was no longer his own. When Bilbo turned to look at him, Thorin couldn’t bring himself to look away. He felt as though the world had been taken from him and replaced with only an adoration of the man at his side. He would have him here forever. He would have him at his side to the end of his days. And this feeling, brought on so suddenly, became so intense he thought he might shatter if he contained it for too long.
Suddenly Thorin felt terror. Bilbo would leave in two month’s time. Was this how they were doomed to end? With a congenial farewell? Were they to part ways and never look upon eachother’s face again? Thorin almost felt sick at the idea, and he knew he must try to find a solution, whatever that might look like. He couldn’t let Bilbo leave without first having his say.
“Balin. I wish to speak with you in private.”
“Of course, My Lord.”
Thorin pulled Balin into a room, and began to pace anxiously. How was he supposed to address this? Despite himself, he found that he was incapable of asking the question that had been nagging at him for days, since the winter celebrations.
“My Lord?”
Thorin looked at his friend in distress. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Well ask away then. I assure you if it is within my power to answer, I will.”
Thorin paused for a long time, but finally forced himself to speak. “I was wondering… you have studied far more of our history than I. You have read all the ancient stories and histories. Have you ever… have you ever heard of a dwarf’s One being… of another race?”
Balin raised his eyebrows. “Let me think.” He took a seat at an open bench in the room and scratched at his beard. “There was Fimrur, yes, who despite all odds fell in love with an elf. And Brís, yes, who ran away with a woman from Gondor. And Gamlin, back in the Third Age, whose lover was a halfling, I believe. It’s a very rare occurrence, that’s for sure, but certainly not impossible.” He paused and looked at Thorin with interest, which suddenly ripened into realization. “Why do you ask?” He gazed at Thorin discerningly.
Thorin didn’t know how to respond. The truth had hit him like a train, and here he was, broken by his own inner turmoil. He could barely bring his eyes to meet Balin’s, but when he did he found he didn’t have any words. Instead he felt his thoughts bleeding red through his cheeks.
Balin simply smiled at him and nodded in understanding.
“I’m assuming you haven’t spoken to him about this?”
Thorin sighed. There was no point in denying his affections. Balin had guessed easily and correctly. Thorin couldn’t help but feel some respite in his secret being known. His silence for the past several days had been a chore that chipped slowly away at his spirit.
“Spoken to—?” Thorin found himself unable to say his name. “Mahal no.” He paused and tried not to stare at the floor, constantly forcing his eyes back to Balin’s. “Balin, you must understand I have only just begun to… understand my feelings myself.”
Balin nodded. “Of course, my Lord.” He let out a deep sigh then and continued. “For what it’s worth, I think Bilbo is a fine lad. But I would advise you to be careful. He’s a kind soul, but hard to pin down. And he is homesick.”
Thorin only grunted.
“He’s been with us a long time now, Thorin. You must not begrudge him for missing his home. After all, we would not have ours if not for him.”
Thorin grumbled, but he knew Balin was right. Bilbo was hard to read. He was making the most of his stay here, enjoying the company, giving help where it was needed. But Thorin could tell he was getting restless. The stone walls of Erebor weren’t built with hobbits in mind. He longed for his home, and Thorin didn’t know how to quell that longing.
“How do I make him stay?” Thorin asked, so quiet it was almost a whisper.
“That, my lad, you will have to figure out for yourself.”
It wasn’t a full plan. Might not even have been a good plan. But it was a plan. Or at least it was… something.
Sweat ran down Thorin’s face as he turned over the ring in his hands, etching the last marks around its middle. It dimly reflected the lights of the warm room. The ring was made with the purest silver Erebor had to offer, and around its edges Thorin had embedded small diamonds, so clear they practically shone with their own light. It was thicker on its front than its back, so as to make room for the short engraving written in runes, and a delicate angular pattern of interlacing lines surrounded these.
It was finished now, and Thorin held it proudly in his hands. The hour was late, and he was tired from a long day of arguing with Dain over various political matters, but his final undertaking of the night was complete. He was unsure how Bilbo would receive it. Bilbo didn’t know enough about dwarven customs to understand the significance of gift-giving, Thorin assumed. Yet he hoped the significance of the ring would be written in its fine details and ingrained in the care he had taken to craft it.
He walked back to his room with the ring in his pocket. He didn’t know when or how he intended to give it to Bilbo. He would figure that out tomorrow. His footsteps echoed in the halls as he walked the empty and quiet corridors. It was almost a haunting sensation to be out in the depths of Erebor at such a late hour.
When he turned the corner that led to the hall where his quarters lay, he noticed a light coming from Bilbo’s room, which lay between him and his own. Is he still awake at this hour? He considered knocking on his door, wondering if this might be the opportune time to present Bilbo with his gift. He lingered for a moment. Is there any reason not to? He couldn’t find one, and besides, speaking with Bilbo would cheer him up a bit after his long day.
He gave into his inclination and walked up to Bilbo’s room and set a gentle knock on his door.
Shuffling came from within, and in seconds Bilbo opened the door.
“Thorin!” he exclaimed, pleasantly surprised, “I wasn’t expecting you.” He quickly tied his robe around his waist, and his cheeks reddened as he looked the dwarf up and down, and averted his glance briefly.
It was then that Thorin realized how he must look. He was still covered in grime and sweat, and hadn’t bothered to bathe before visiting Bilbo.
“I must apologize for my appearance, I have just come from the forges.”
Bilbo looked at Thorin amused, but quickly waved his hand in dismissal as he gestured for Thorin to come inside. “May I ask what you were doing in the forges? I don’t recall you spending much time there of late.” He led Thorin to two chairs which sat beside a small hearth.
“You are correct.” Thorin said, taking a seat, and Bilbo sat himself in the chair adjacent to him. “This was a... Special occasion. I was making this.” He pulled out the ring from his pocket and handed it to Bilbo.
“You made this?” he asked, taking the ring and turning it over in his hands.
“Do you like it?”
Bilbo huffed. “It’s beautiful.” He held it then looked up at Thorin earnestly. “Truly, I didn’t know you had such skills.”
Thorin smiled. “I confess, I am not as skilled in working in the finer details, and I was forced to ask for some coaching, but I made it myself, I assure you.” He felt pride, and a small degree of tension, hoping for a sign from Bilbo that he felt some sense of value in the small object.
“It’s incredible,” Bilbo smiled, and ran his fingers over the runes. “What does it say?”
“Bâhu Khazâd. Dwarf-friend.”
Bilbo looked somewhat confused, then dawning realization swept over his face. “This is a gift? For me?”
Thorin almost laughed, but stopped himself instead with a smile. “I apologize for not making myself clear. Yes. It is indeed a gift.”
Bilbo gazed at him with sincere fondness, then suddenly broke into laughter. When Thorin furrowed his brows at him in confusion, Bilbo quickly explained himself. “I’m sorry I just…” he chuckled. “I was looking at this small ring wondering how you were ever going to fit it on your massive fingers…”
Thorin looked at him blankly for a few seconds, then they both broke into laughter. After they gathered themselves, they looked at each other, both smiling as the light from the hearth flickered on Bilbo’s face. They stayed like this, just looking at one another and smiling, for what could have been either seconds or minutes, Thorin couldn’t tell. All he felt was warmth and tenderness, as he always did when he looked at Bilbo.
Bilbo broke the moment with a curt cough. “Well,” he said, looking away, “I should probably be getting to bed.”
“Yes,” Thorin added. “I should be heading out, myself. I’m still quite filthy and could use a bath before I go to sleep. Rest well, Master Baggins.” He got up and walked towards the door, Bilbo following him out, and when he reached it he turned to say something, but found he had quite forgotten what he intended to say.
Bilbo swooped in with his own remark to rescue them from the silence. “Thank you, Thorin. For the ring. And well, for everything.”
“Think nothing of it, Master Baggins.” That was the wrong thing to say. Think everything of it, Master Baggins . That would have been better. Instead Thorin smiled and walked away, and as he did he wondered if he had done the right thing. Bilbo seemed touched by the ring, but it didn’t appear to make a lasting impression. It hadn’t moved him the way Thorin had hoped. Perhaps it wasn’t clear enough, wasn’t intricate enough. He needed something more lavish… something unambiguous. That was it.
Over the course of the next few months, Thorin continued to craft gifts for Bilbo, each becoming more extravagant and detailed than the last. Among these were the following: the first was a beautiful knife, made of iron but inlaid with golden patterns. The hilt of it was gold-plated, decorated with rubies and a fine angular pattern. The second was a belt. Made to fit Bilbo’s small stature, it was nothing short of a kingly gift. It’s silver base contained an intricate dwarvish mold and was bedecked with sapphires and emeralds.
The third gift was one that stole the most of Thorin’s time. It was a necklace. Around the front of the necklace were fourteen oval-shaped glass bulbs, each of a different color, and inside each was a unique image. The fourteen bulbs symbolized the fourteen members of the company, and the images inside each were simple motifs that depicted different scenes from their journey. The first was a hobbit door, and the color of the glass bulb in which it was ingrained was light green. The second depicted the silhouette of three trolls, and was orange. The third was a moon rune, marking their stay in Rivendell, and was light blue. The fourth, a grey mountain, the fifth, a yellow ring. The sixth was a wolf, dark green, the seventh an eagle, aqua blue, the eighth a bear, dark brown, the ninth a spider, royal blue, the tenth a barrel, a rich purple. The eleventh was a fish, bright pink, for their stay in Laketown. The twelfth a key, deep turquoise, the thirteenth a dragon encased in a vibrant red, and the last was a sword, translucent black, representing the battle. Each glass bulb was held in place by a string of chain links which were laced around the necklace in multiple layers that all lay flat against the wearer.
This gift Thorin took the most pride in, for its skilled attention to detail and craftsmanship, as well as the deep meaning imbued in it. When he had given it to Bilbo, Bilbo had accepted it with no small degree of stunned awe and sincere admiration. He had thanked Thorin endlessly and allowed Thorin to adorn him with it. Bilbo didn’t wear it every day (it was too bulky for casual wear), but he took several opportunities to show it off when he could, and Thorin smiled to himself in satisfaction when he saw Bilbo wearing it.
But despite all this, Thorin couldn’t seem to make a dent in Bilbo’s resolve. The hobbit still intended to leave for the Shire on the first day of Spring, despite all Thorin’s efforts. It was clear now Bilbo was entirely ignorant of dwarf customs, or he might have caught on to Thorin’s true intentions with all the gifts. But despite his appreciation of them, Bilbo saw them as nothing more than trinkets given in good faith.
In his desperation, Thorin turned once again to Balin.
“I do not know what path to take. I have given him the finest gifts I could offer. I labored endless nights for them. But he cannot see. For all this he doesn’t understand their meaning or the intentions behind them.”
Thorin paced in his quarters, where he had requested Balin’s presence. “What can I do?”
“Well, for starters, you could try telling the man how you feel.”
Thorin tried not to scoff at Balin. He knew he was right. By all accounts that was indeed what he ought to do. Of course it was. But there was something preventing him from doing this.
“I do not have the words,” murmured Thorin.
Balin sighed. “I have served you for many years, Thorin. It is because of this that I know you are not a man of words but of action.” Balin moved to lean his forearm against the wall beside which the fire was burning in the hearth. “I cannot give you the words you seek. Nor can I tell you what actions to take. But I will tell you what I do know. Bilbo is… well he’s a hobbit. He’s never cared for gold and riches. Out of all of the company members, he certainly cared the least for his reward. He tells me he only plans on taking home one small chest with him. He is not a man that cares deeply for wealth. No. What he loves most is home. His books, his kitchen, his garden. I do not know how much rings and weapons and jewelry will speak to him, no matter their intentions.”
Thorin groaned. Balin was right again, of course. It wasn’t that any of Balin’s words came as news to Thorin, but he had a way of pointing out the obvious flaws in Thorin’s plans. Of course his gifts wouldn’t speak to Bilbo. And they never would, no matter how many weapons he fashioned or how many rings he engraved. Bilbo’s heart didn’t belong to trinkets. It belonged to flowers that lined the steps to his home, to merriment and dancing freely with good company, and to homemade honey cakes whose scent filled the air on autumn mornings.
Thorin closed his eyes. He felt a tug of despair as he realized he couldn’t offer that to Bilbo with all the gold in the world. He slowed and moved to sit in his chair. He looked up at Balin, who only offered him a sympathizing half-smile.
“Is it not enough to give all my love in the only way I know?”
Balin sat next to him, and put one of his hands over Thorin’s, which rested on the arm of his chair. “It’s never an easy territory, lad. All the books in the world couldn’t tell you what is the right thing to do. And sometimes you can do all the right things and still fail. I’m afraid even I don’t have all the answers, old as I am.” Balin patted Thorin’s hand, then folded his own over his stomach. “I have said my piece. I hope in time you will come to an understanding.”
Thorin nodded sedately. He stared deep into the fire in front of him, searching for answers. The flames danced, sometimes in pairs of two, sometimes in pairs of three or four. The orange glow moved him, and he searched it for answers. He searched for whatever it was he must be missing. He felt if only he looked at the flames long enough it would come to him. And as he watched the light flicker in lively animation, a thought dawned on him.
It felt like the plainest thing in the world. It wouldn’t be easy, nor was it a guaranteed solution, but something told him it was what he needed to do. But it would take time. Lots of time. Time he did not have.
He turned to Balin. “I thank you for your counsel tonight. I wouldn’t keep you for much longer. You should get some sleep, as should I.”
Balin smiled and nodded. “Very well. I hope you find what it is you are looking for.” He rose from his seat and walked slowly towards the door. He stopped halfway there. “I meant to ask, did you ever hear back from your sister about when she would be arriving? I get the sense Fili and Kili are getting very anxious to see her.”
“Yes, actually. I got a letter from her this very morning. She expects to be here in about a month and a half. The weather is beginning to clear up. Dís and her company left a little over a week ago. She tells me she is just as anxious to see her sons as they are to see her.”
Balin grinned. “That’s wonderful. I shall love to see her again myself. Send her my love whenever you write back, will you?”
“Of course.” Thorin smiled and walked Balin out of his room. When he had left, Thorin changed and settled into his bed. He was unsure how he would manage to pull off his plan, but plans could wait. He needed sleep and a fresh start.
When he dreamed, he dreamed of the stars falling from the sky only to land in a large field, where they looked like glowing flowers. But the wind swept them all away, leaving only stardust.