Work Text:
Thorin Oakenshield awoke one sweet morning in the Shire, west of Bree. He rolled around in the big bed and covered himself neck to feet in a wool blanket, curling up half-awake next to an empty spot. An empty, cold spot in bed... that wasn't entirely foreseen, not when he had been more-than-happily wedded not four years ago to a hobbit.
Bilbo Baggins, who shared his last name but none of his husband's broody, short-tongued attitude wasn't usually awake this morning, not after the evening before (they had rolled around in the living room, hands on hips, pricks inside of each other, and hadn't turned in under after the moon was nigh). He must have had a mind to write, otherwise, he would have been woken to kisses and lip bites and willing to skip second breakfast for his lover's stronghold. It was time to conduct a search party.
Thorin rolled out of the low bed and grabbed his dressing gown from the floor, wrapping it around his heavy body after he pulled on old trousers. Bilbo had returned quickly to hobbit attire and life after the Lonely Mountain had been deemed dragon-less, but the dwarf was less eager. He enjoyed most aspects of hobbit life; seven meals a day, a belly full of ale, a warm bed, and a ray of sunshine too beautiful to ignore, but their suspenders and silk shirts weren't his strong suit. Instead, most of his clothing had been tailor-made in nearby Ered Luin and came from a wagon sometime in the spring each year. Nothing short than diamond and gold-encrusted shirts and cuffs. It was more innumerable than Bilbo's simple clothes for someone like him, the king of Erebor, desired wealth and beauty in everything he owned.
Bag End looked beautiful bathed in the new sunshine as he padded down the hallway with bare-feet, light pouring in from grand circular windows. A sweet smell wafted out of the kitchenette, and Thorin made his way to find his husband cooking happily, humming a Shire song in his honeyed voice, a hummingbird at best. Golden hair poured out long, uncut now in a dwarfish fashion with braids and beads adorning the front locks.
"Good morn," Greeted Thorin, still husky with sleep. He encircled his little hobbit in his arms and rocked him back and forth, peppering his earlobes with kisses. Bilbo chuckled happily and spun around, depositing a wet kiss on his husband's lips.
"Morning, your majesty," He joked playfully, tugging at the bottom lip and engraving a little bruise for an audience to notice later. "I made biscuits and gravy for breakfast. Did you want some?"
"I would love some." Smiling wide as ever and fluttering with delight, the dwarf took his place at the table and allowed Bilbo to serve him. Even though they were both male and bonded in marriage and love, the hobbit took on the role of a housewife at Bag End while Thorin worked in Hobbiton as a smith, crafting kitchen pots and pans. He missed his mountain and his friends back home, but it would wait for him as he still had double the life that a hobbit of Bilbo's upbringing had. Right now, he would enjoy what he had in front of him; that being a steaming plate of honey biscuits, hot, brown gravy, six links of sausage, and a gorgeous hobbit pouring his mug of black coffee looking as delicious as the food itself.
"Thank you, doll baby," He keened to Bilbo and dug into his food after pulling his long hair out of his face with a piece of twine. "So, why did you wake up so early? Couldn't stand to be in bed with my sweaty arse?"
"That's- no!" The hobbit flushed and showed a toothy scowl, gravy dripping from his lips. "It's my cousin's birthday today, remember? I've been awake since dawn making her a cake!"
"Oh, that's right. Which cousin is it, again?" Thorin was as hobbity as a dwarf of his standing could get, but he would never remember the name of each and every member of the Baggins extended family other than a handful of meaningful ones. There was just too much to that crazy relation for his head to wrap around, let alone get to know.
"Prim! My cousin Prim... she's related to us by marriage."
"Ah, Prim... Primula Brandybuck?"
"Now Baggins, since she married Drogo not last fall," Bilbo explained, rushing to pull his cake out of the oven after licking his breakfast plate clean. In a waft of steam, a chocolate tiered cake was placed on the counter to cool. "I like Drogo, he's a genuine Baggins. I don't care much for Prim, but if it costs me a cake to see my good cousin, it's worth it. Will you come with me to drop it off?"
"I would love to, my dear heart, but I have to be at the workshop very soon. It seems this old dwarf is sleeping in later than usual." Chuckling heartily, Thorin wiped his hands on a handkerchief and passed a hard, arousing kiss to his husband (still clad in his pajamas and an adorable apron), squeezing an arse cheek in each hand before he broke away with a wink. "I'll see you this afternoon. It shouldn't take me but a few hours to finish the crock I have been commissioned."
"Then we will have tea together," Kissed Bilbo, hungrily saying goodbye. "Don't forget your lunch, my king."
"And don't forget I love you, my prince."
Thorin hitched his pony up to the post near the smith's in Bree and unpacked a basket, full of sweet fruits and little cakes that Bilbo had made him. A little note was tagged to the top, reading 'Have a good day, dear heart' and signed with a cursive letter B. The king sighed and his chest warmed; when would he ever get over these delightful little surprises from his husband? Most likely never, if their sex drive proved anything about their relationship. Bilbo was just as springy as a fawn as Thorin remembered him being during the days of the dragon, and he himself was readily still a hardworking, effervescent king, with a little more Shire sass and an overfilled chest full of coins and riches.
Work was busy as the brunette finished up in his little shop, smoothing out the edges of a beautiful, still-warm metal crock. His craft was improving for finer details such as the flowers engraved in this one, as well as the runes etched into the letter openers and kitchen knives he produced. Thorin Oakenshield, husband of Bilbo Baggins, had become quite a hit in the Shire once the hobbits got over the aspect of having a dwarvish king in their village. They were impressed with his work and his attitude and had always been respectful of Bilbo once they found out he was rich and married royal. They even bought them cakes and little trinkets each wedding anniversary, their children demanding to know how Bilbo slew a dragon and convinced a king to move back yonder, to a land of green and peace. Such were the delights of being a dwarf of Hobbiton.
Minty purred delightfully when Thorin took her bridle and offered her an apple, munching happily. The sun was making its way down the horizon as he rode off towards Bagshot Row, the wind in his braids and a content grin on his unshaven face.
He finally opened his eyes to the world once a shrill cry interrupted sweet thoughts of the evening ahead, causing him to jump off the pony and rush to the nearest hobbit hole. There in the sunset was a woman running out in a stained dress, holding a bundle in her arms as flames overtook the inner framework of her home. A fire! As quickly as he could, Thorin made a beeline for the curly-haired housewife and enveloped her in his arms, watching as a crack broke the hill in half, flames swallowing it up.
The smog was hitching his breath but the king was certain fate was on his side. He led the screaming lady to the nearby creek and sat her down, wiping the tears away from her cheeks.
"Are you okay? Was anyone else in the house?" He asked, motioning to the infant in her arms, cooing confused.
Wagging her head, the woman cried, "My h-husband! He's... I didn't see him get out... he's dead, sir..."
Imagine if that was Bilbo, deemed Thorin, his brows furrowing as his heart tightened. The memory would forever be engraved in his mind as he remembered to check the oven and chimney back home for possible fire threat.
"I'm so sorry to hear that, love. Here, let me take you back home with me. We'll get you patched up," Thorin stated, rising to his feet with an arm full of the woman who was soaking his coat. As soon as the words left his throat, the crying infant was shoved into his chest.
"I-I can't! I can't, I'm sorry, sir, I have to go..." The woman headed off into the direction of the forest before the king caught up to her, his hand around her frail wrist in agony as she stumbled and cried out.
"Don't go, it'll all be okay. Here, here's your baby, and he or she is just fine with you-"
"I have to go home to my family. They don't know I was married, had a baby..." She explained, a sigh finally passing the tears that were running down her smoke-stained face. "He's dead now. I won't be able to hide anymore, now that everything is lost. Please, sir, take the baby. Raise it as your own. I don't want nothin' to do with him."
"You don't want nothin' to do with him- well, that's just not right. I can't take your baby, I-"
As Thorin looked up, the woman was already far beyond his reach, descending madly into the dark woods beyond. He was confused at the entire scene, wondering just why having a sweet baby like the one he was holding was such a curse. He and Bilbo had been talking about kids for the past year, wanting to start a family but not knowing when the time was right. Considering neither of them could carry, it would be awfully difficult to do so without prior knowing a hobbit or dwarf that was pregnant with an unwanted child.
Was this fate? Certainly not, as he would have to find sooner or later the mother of the infant. He would have to be returned regardless of the circumstances, as it would be downright unkingly to just take a baby. Unless...
Guilty, Thorin peeked under the blanket. A shimmering, happy baby boy looked up at him with big blue eyes, the eyes of his own without the age affecting their color. He was beautiful; a hobbit infant, not more than a few weeks old at first glance. A tiny burglar. The king checked his feet under the covering. Sure enough, they were already as big as an apple and wide as could be, brown hair poking through the top. If a dwarf king of Erebor and his Prince Consort would, in some world, be blessed to make a child together, it's possible that this little one would be the result.
If only they could pretend...
The king sighed softly and tucked the child into his blouse, making a swaddle out of it so the burglar would be unseen to wandering eyes. Grasping for Minty, Thorin led the pony towards Bagshot Row, careful not to get his hopes up too high. If any hobbit knew he had stolen a baby and pleaded to his husband that it was destiny that blessed them with it, he would certainly be labeled a cradle robber.
"Phew, thank goodness you're home!" Cried Bilbo as Thorin padded into the house, tucking his shoes into the foyer room. The baby cooed from inside his shirt, but luckily, Baggins was too immersed in cutting a delicious-looking cake and pouring tea. "I had the strangest encounter at Prim's! The whole hole and it's lodgings -- gone!"
"G-Gone?" Primula, Bilbo's cousin he had gone to visit... certainly she wasn't the frantic mother who handed Thorin the tiny burglar? "What do you mean by that, dear heart?"
The hobbit tucked into his dessert and sighed, resting his head on his hand. He ushered to the food for his husband to busy himself with, but the dwarf stayed foot-on-floor, the swaddled creature becoming noisier each passing minute.
"Gone as if... as if there was a fire or something! I hadn't even reached the hill before I saw it... everything was gone! Charred, like. I wonder if Prim and Drogo wanted to disappear from here, finally. I sure hope they're okay." Dabbing his mouth with a handkerchief, Bilbo cocked an eyebrow at his husband's strange demeanor. "What? You look as if you're falling ill."
"I know what happened... I have something to show you." Thorin decided Mahal might be upset about it, but he couldn't keep such a precious secret brooding in his heart for decades to come. Even if he gave the baby up for adoption... well, Bilbo had always wanted to be a parent. They could fake it if they never showed their faces again to the entire Hobbiton and Bree beyond.
Bringing the baby out, Bilbo's face grew still as if he had seen a ghost, and then it rapidly disappeared. He cracked his lips to speak and then smiled wide.
"Well well, I knew Prim was pregnant, but I didn't know he would be so precious!" Brightened by the report, the hobbit took the child into his arms and rocked him cheerfully. "Are we babysitting until they come back?"
"Ah- no, dear heart." Finally sitting at the table, the king glanced away and chewed at his lip, deep in contemplation. Bilbo was so happy, looked so gorgeous and alive with a little one in his arms -- should he just pretend that the baby was theirs to watch? It reminded him too much of Dis, how when her husband passed, he wanted to take Fili and Kili himself.
Would he take this one instead, as a blessing? Eternally? The Maker surely wouldn't be too disconcerted...
"I ran into your cousin. Prim was... she ran out of the fire before it took her and the infant. Bilbo, your Drogo is dead. He must have been stuck in the flames. She has left the baby to us, and to use alone. To raise. I'm sorry, I'm sorry that this is how it has to be." Breaking a dead grin, the king kissed his mate's cheek and cooed softly. "I do believe, in the worst way possible, Mahal has made us parents."