Chapter Text
Dwalin was scouring the hallways of the Sarkhuh, doing his usual overseeing of the forge where his numerous employees were clad in black tunics, pressing steel into guns and weapons of the sort. The clientele had been demanding more handguns than actual war weapons recently; they had turned from making his brother's specialty machete design and into machine guns, which were more of his suiting if he was being honest. There was something notable about holding a murder weapon in his bare hands, his son and wife in mind during target practice.
Although he wasn't suited to carry the massive guns that were currently being produced in his own building, he still enjoyed spending his free time watching and inspecting. It gave him a sense of power, knowing all of this was for him. His employees treated him and Balin like kings of a modern monarchy, trusting that they had absolutely everything they needed before getting any actual work done.
Which reminded him of his own duty as the boss man; he needed to check in on his brother-in-arms and fellow consigliere, the inside mind of the Fundin Corporation, Thorin Durin. He had been almost glad that his friend finally admitted to needing a holiday, as his constant tremors of lost sleep and hunger were starting to affect his alertness. Twice in the past month, Thorin had been the cause of a minor slip-up in his driving duties, picking up the wrong party of newly-escaped criminals and delivering not one, but two illegal weapons to the door of a Chinese restaurant. It wasn't something that would be impossible to cover up, as Dwalin just had the criminals use the sewers and the cooks of the joint hung in a nearby closet, but it was still creating unnecessary disturbances.
The Fundin brothers had grown up under the watchful eye of the Uzbad, their father's lord in their native language, and assistant to all-things coming in and out of the business. They had no mother but numerous cousins, aunts, and uncles, as to which they were never actually related to, but were named in the name of the family as a business transaction or a set of romantic circumstances. Nonetheless, living above the operations of their father's company was nothing short of fairytales. They lived like princes and were regarded as being the most precious matters relating to the company; Balin and Dwalin were rewarded titles such as "little majesty" or "his lordship", and still received the occasional old-timer who recognized the now-grown boys and all-but bowed gracefully to them in greeting.
Dwalin finished up his walk and retreated back up the elevator into the offices above. The company was situated on the first three floors of a century-old office building, Northern London, and was inconspicuous as long as the occasional inspector was aware. The basement was where the real trouble went on; the rest of the Fundin Company was like any other. It had office cubicles and ringing phones, a nice maid who delivered coffees and documents off of the printer. There were a sitting room and two corner offices, which was where Dwalin was heading when he noticed his brother, his plump figure bickering along on the telephone, face beet-red and angry as he discussed business.
Balin was the calmer of the two, being older and wiser. He usually had matters of his own pertaining to the company's image and concealed nature and could spend hours in his office shooting emails and drinking down tea, which he took with two sugars and a drop of milk. This is why Dwalin was taken aback when his brother seemed so out-of-place, yelling like that across the line, the assistants getting confused as he slurred out native curses and flopped his hands about.
"Is everything alright?" The younger brother wondered, poking his head into Balin's office where he finally ended up collapsed in a chair. Off of the phone now, the stout, white-haired man sighed a few more colorful words and nodded his head.
"It isn't easy having our consigliere on a holiday," He admits with a chuckle. "He has been gone not two days, and the security team has found that Thorin has been... busy."
"Is he not laying on a lake somewhere, getting a sunburn?"
"That's just the problem. He didn't go to Erebor or back home to Ered Luin, for that matter. He's in "The Shire"." Rolling his eyes, Balin pulled out his tablet and ushered a picture to his brother. Green meadows and ponies dotted the scenery, incredibly beautiful but unlike what Thorin usually chose for a day off.
"Looks boring," Dwalin shrugged, sitting down on the opposite end of the desk and shooting Dis a text that he would be late coming home tonight. Vinnie was being a particularly difficult two-year-old now that the summer was coming, and he had been driving his mother off and over the walls, wanting to go outside in the rain. "What's he doing there?"
"The fact that I forgot that he's... homosexual, makes this incredibly more humorous. This is Bilbo Baggins." Another picture was pulled up, black and white, of a curly-haired countryman walking through the town's market, Thorin next to him with a dopey grin over his chiseled face. "Security says that he seems harmless, but that he's been prying Thorin open like a new book. Thorin is staying at his inn; it seems as if they've already coupled and are quite taken with each other."
"So... what? They're having a fling?" Dwalin furrows an eyebrow, motioning for the PR to forward him the security photos taken today. He would have to do some digging to find out more about this... Mister Baggins. "We can't have that. Thorin knows better."
"I know he does. Which is why I'm sending you to go get him." Balin shot a dirty grin, knowing the humor had all but left his brother's face, now replaced with a furious scowl.
"Go get him? He only just left two days ago." Standing from the desk, Dwalin motioned to the window, peering outside at the London skyline below. "Do we have any other options?"
"We could... get rid of this man..." Balin sighed, and shut his computer lid, leaning back in the chair with his hands folded over his chest. "We can't afford to have Thorin leak anything about what's going on here, but I don't think this Bilbo poses any immediate harm to the safety of the company."
"That sounds... satisfactory? I'm not sure." Dwalin pondered, stroking back on his mustache. Thorin hadn't actually done much wrong; he had been known to be overly cautious when it came to relationships, the forever-bachelor of the Durin's. Dis was always poking fun at her oldest brother about his marriage-status, wondering when she'd be getting a new brother-in-law and a pack of adopted babies to follow in their father's footsteps at the company. Dwalin was almost relieved that Thorin had met someone, but the situation was too risky. He would let his consigliere have the next one, he assured himself. Yes. Bilbo would have to go, and eventually, Thorin would forget all about it. It was for the good of his career, nevertheless. "Let me shoot him a phone call. I'm sure he's already aware of all of the security we have posted around him. No need to remove his friend from the picture until we can get him up to speed."
"Would you like me to tell Dis?"
"For god sakes, no." The brother chuckled, imagining the look on his wife's face when she found out that they were... disposing of Thorin's first crush in a long time. She would no doubt swing a frying pan over Balin's head and tell both of the siblings that they were absolutely bonkers, beyond nuts, doing something like that to her brother dearest. "Best keep it to ourselves until we can do it properly."
"What of the boy?" Balin motioned to a smaller version of the innkeeper, who had been spotted in the realm of Durin's smiles a few times already. "From what I know, he is Baggins' nephew. I don't know how much he knows, but even the little ones pose a threat, you know."
"I do know," Dwalin sighed, taking a coffee from the assistant and tapping at it with his large fingers. "Leave that to me. I'll send someone to bring Thorin up to speed. In regards to the man and the boy, well, do what you can. I figure we won't go unscathed when Thorin finds out that the two of them are... no longer allowed to speak freely."
Thorin had known since he examined the blocked call on his phone that morning that they had been found out. He had been aware that he wasn't alone in Bree, with the black cars parked in strange parking lots and following a mile behind Bilbo's old truck. Of course, he wasn't going to be left to his own desires if he went on holiday, but he expected nothing less. Dwalin's team had been keeping their distance, and it seemed Bilbo hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary happening in his little town. He was wary about the phone call, nonetheless, but Thorin promised to tell him all about it... sometime.
The call wasn't the least bit unexpected, but unsettling when he remembered the sweet man waiting for him not a hundred yards away.
Dwalin, the gentlemen that he wasn't, had shouted no more than ten curses about Bilbo Baggins and the importance of keeping his life private; they had already found out about him, so it seemed, but Thorin wasn't one-hundred-percent they'd just leave it with that. Bilbo going unscratched, of course, was a silly thing to imagine in the beginning. He couldn't turn back now. He had accepted that it wasn't going to be easy...
"We are taking the necessary precautions to ensure that Mister Baggins and his nephew will not be seeing you again."
"I figured as such," Thorin chuckled uneasily as he paraded through the park, his shoes caked in that fresh Bree mud that he'd come to appreciate. "I intend to come home a bachelor once again. I'm just... enjoying myself here, you know? He's a very nice guy, Dwalin."
"I'm sure he is, my friend. But you know better." The boss warned, his voice dropping low.
Thorin broke out in a sigh; this was ending much too soon. "I do, don't I? I admit it was silly that I even intended to kiss Bilbo when I did, but... well, what can I say? He has quite the knack for making me break even the toughest rules of yours."
"What of your headaches?" Dwalin switched the subject, securing that his employee was back in full health before he dragged him back to the city. "Are you feeling any better?"
"I'm fine, mate," He smiled softly, thinking about the man waiting for him back at the little inn. "Been sleeping in. He feeds me well; it'll be a shame to come back and deal with Bombur's cooking. How's my sister?"
"Good, good. The little one is great... he misses his Irak'Adad, though," The man pouted, attempting to sound desperate. Thorin knew better than to fall for it, but his nephew's bright smile always made him feel better about his job. Just a little.
"I bet he does. Tell him I'll be home soon." Reassuring himself that the present was going to be a memory of the past, and that happiness was temporary, was already bringing on a new headache. Rubbing his temples, Thorin tucked his phone into his shirt pocket. "Oh, and Dwalin?"
"Pardon?"
"Do me a favor. When you, umm... remove Bilbo, can you... not hurt him? I mean, I understand the protocol, he's going to have to be, umm..."
"I'll have Balin take care of him, okay? Nothing to worry. I know he makes you happy," Dwalin admitted, sucking a breath in on the other line. "He will perhaps be more gentle than I would be. Enjoy the rest of your vacation; I'll be in touch."
"Thanks, boss," The brunette lamented, noticing Bilbo's shadow from the upstairs window when he approached the inn. Brown curls were his weakness already, and he couldn't get enough of the notion that the man was making the bed for another... escapade. "Take care."
"You too. Enjoy him for a bit... it'll make things easier on my end."
"Will do, Dwalin. Hey, could you forward something to Dis for me?"
The boss swallowed. "I don't play in-between. You may be my brother-in-law, but just because your dearest sister shares my last name doesn't make us friends, Thorin Durin."
Thorin cackled to himself at that; he knew the minute that he brought up Dis, Dwalin would turn into a puddle of emotion. His sister was the tough one of the two of them. If Thorin was the King, and Frerin the Peacemaker, that left Dis to clean up after the two of them and their not-so glorious messes. "I understand that. Let her know I called. I miss her, with you and Vinnie keeping her up in her forbidden castle."
"Thorin, your sister is safe. That's all that I want for her. She..."
"Married into the wrong business, I know. But she loves you, Dwalin. You're doing great.""
"I needed to hear that. Thanks, Thorin. You're a good mate. Hey, what did you want me to tell her again?"
"Just that I'm going to enjoy my vacation, and that I wish to speak to her."
"Got it. I'll send her a text now. Have a good one; I'll tell Balin not to do anything about Bilbo... yet."
"Thanks, mate."
Easy as that, Thorin grinned, slipping through the back door of the inn, no doubt trailing mud and twigs onto the old wood floors, polished to-a-t. Not that it was going to be easy to keep his boss' men from ruining his life, but, well, it couldn't hurt to have his sister buy them some time. Speaking of time, he owed some to the innkeeper who had been waiting so patiently for his return.