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Bilbo was very comfortable, living under the mountain. He’d grown to feel that the dwarves were like his family, and he’d very much wanted to see Thorin, Fili and Kili back to fighting health before he left.
Of course he’d planned on leaving right after they had recovered, as in fact had Dain Ironfoot (Thorin’s cousin from the Iron Hills). But they’d both found reasons to stay, each reason more trifling than the last.
The most recent reason that Bilbo had found, was that it had drizzled last Tuesday, and that he’d rather not like to travel back home in a rainstorm thank you very much!
Dain had agreed with him most heartily, but with the added belief that one could easily catch his death in this blasted torrential wind! (The blasted torrential wind in question being naught but a light breeze, upon which the chittering birds sailed lazily.)
Now Fili and Kili were recovered and Thorin was well on his feet, ruling the mountain again. And Bilbo thought that he was a very good leader, in fact in his eyes Thorin seemed quite made for this. His deep, commanding voice sent shivers up Bilbo’s spine. Bilbo supposed that this was what a king must be.
And yet Dain was also a king… a fact that Bilbo oft forgot. A king of the Iron Hills. But Bilbo supposed that Dain must not make for a very impressive king. Proper kings, in Bilbo’s opinion, did not sit and talk casually with random Hobbits over lunch, nor did they run their hands across your shoulders gently as a greeting every time they saw you.
No, Bilbo knew what a proper king looked like and that was Thorin. Thorin, who always kept his distance. Who gave orders instead of chitter-chatter. Thorin, who had given Bilbo one strong embrace only after he had proven himself and earned his respect, and no more.
Bilbo suspected that there was much to feel lonely for, when you loved a proper king.
“Your hair is getting very long now.” Dain observed, over their lunch in the courtyard above the mountain palace, and the only place in which they could enjoy fresh air within this place. “You almost look a proper dwarf.”
Bilbo felt his lengthening locks with a frown. “Proper… is not the word I’d use to describe this rat’s nest upon my head.”
Dain smiled in gentle amusement. “Come now, Bilbo. All you need to do is to tame it, and it will look quite grand indeed.”
Bilbo scoffed at that remark. “Tame it? I wouldn’t know how! Your lot and your dwarven braids are so skilful and elaborate that my stubborn fingers may as well give up, rather than to even try!”
“Actually we dwarves do not generally do our own braids. We oft do each other’s, in fact for the very same reason which you just brought up.”
“But I never saw anyone do anyone else’s braids, and I travelled with thirteen braided dwarves for almost six months!”
Dain just smiled simply. “No, I suppose that you wouldn’t have. Modesty, my dear Hobbit, is such a powerful thing.”
Bilbo crinkled his nose. “Modesty?” He laughed. “Dwarves don’t have any modesty for any occasion. You wouldn’t believe the things that I’ve seen those darned dwarves do!”
Dain laughed. “This is different.” He said.
“Would you consider braiding my hair for me, Dain?” Bilbo asked. “Because I simply don’t think I can stand it anymore, as it is right now.”
Dain hesitated. “I suppose I could braid your hair for you, Master Bilbo. If it is that you so wish.”
He moved and sat behind Bilbo, and started gently pulling together his hair into braids.
“I find you to be a most fascinating creature, my dear Hobbit.” Dain said, around halfway through the braids. He stroked a hand through some of Bilbo’s soft, un-braided curls as he did so.
Bilbo frowned. “Uhh, thanks?” He said, confused. “I find our conversations rather… interesting… as well?”
Bilbo stopped by the throne room to see Thorin, expecting as he’d come to, to be turned away again with ne’er a word. For Thorin was as busy as they come after taking his rightful place as king under the mountain, largely with the monumental task of keeping his word to both the peoples of Rivendell and to the Elves from the Woodland Realm.
But this time, Thorin’s gaze turned cold and he stood up from his throne abruptly.
“Bilbo.” Thorin whispered, the name almost a plea upon his lips.
Bilbo blinked owlishly. “What?”
“Your hair…”
“Oh, this? Dain agreed to braid it for me. Wasn’t that nice of him? What do you think of it?” Bilbo asked shyly, rather unused to being the centre of attention.
Thorin’s lips fell open in surprise. “You… asked him to braid it for you? He did not ask you?”
Bilbo noted the odd, hurt expression in Thorin’s eyes with confusion. “Well, it was getting rather long, you see.”
“But… Why would you not have come to me if it so bothered you?” Thorin asked, and in the background Gloin fumbled and dropped his axe in surprise, whilst Balin looked on knowingly.
“Well it seems a little silly to bother a king with such a trifle as my hair, really, doesn’t it?” Bilbo asked, cocking his head slightly.
“But is Dain not also a king?”
“Oh… yes, I suppose he is. But he’s different… I mean, from you.” Bilbo stuttered.
Thorin’s face fell, he looked quite miserable. And Bilbo was completely clueless as to why.
Balin cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to interject but it has not escaped my notice, Thorin, that Bilbo does not in fact appear to understand what the significance of Dwarven braiding really is. It is possible that this is all just one big misunderstanding.”
Bilbo frowned, and then he raised one eyebrow curiously. “Hold on. Significance? What is the significance of Dwarven braiding, exactly?”
Thorin stood from his throne and took Bilbo gently by the hand. Bilbo flushed red in the cheeks at the unexpected closeness with his king.
“Come with me.” Thorin said, and Bilbo did. Thorin led Bilbo out into an empty corridor, where they stood with Thorin still clasping Bilbo’s hand warmly in his.
“For Dwarves, Master Baggins, braiding one’s hair is a sacred thing.”
“I was under the impression that you dwarves hold nothing sacred.” Bilbo scoffed, and Thorin smiled.
It is a very Dwarven style of intimacy. Lonely, individualistic, yet so filled with the warmth of family… and of love. If you had asked any of the rest of the company to braid your hair, it would have been accepted gladly for they consider you their family. But by allowing Dain, who you have not known so long to do so, well, you may have wandered into something a little scandalous instead.”
“Scandalous?” Bilbo asked, a little taken aback. “Well, what exactly could this Dwarven braiding mean?”
“With one who isn’t family, it signals an even stronger form of intimacy.”
“And that is?” Bilbo asked, feeling faint.
“That he is yours, and you are his.” Thorin said.
Bilbo’s eyes went wide. “You don’t mean…”
“Yes, indeed I do.”
“That’s preposterous!” Bilbo squawked, defensively. “I mean they’re just braids for goodness sakes! They don’t mean anything!”
“They do to me.” Thorin said. “And to any Dwarf, including him.”
Bilbo stared up at him. “You said the rest of the company would consider me family, and yet you asked why I didn’t come to you instead. So then what do you consider me?” He asked.
Thorin paused. He bit his lip.
“I consider you to be my greatest treasure.” Thorin whispered gruffly, his cheeks flushing.
“Oh.” Bilbo said simply, his face turning the colour of a large ripe raspberry. “Oh, my.”
“Oh, dear. Oh, my. Oh… goodness! You blasted dwarves!” Bilbo suddenly cursed, and Thorin’s expression turned into one that was taken-aback and rather alarmed.
“If that was the case then you should have simply said something! How on earth did you expect me to know about any of this? If you’re so busy being a ‘proper’ king, then, well then, be ‘improper’ in front of me! How else am I supposed to realise that you might care for me?”
Thorin sighed with relief. “Well, perhaps that is true, Master Baggins.”
Bilbo raised his eyebrows.
“Oh… uhh… Bilbo.” Thorin corrected himself, and Bilbo relaxed.
“Better.” Bilbo said.
“Perhaps I do need to start being more improper. Just in front of you, of course, Bilbo.” Thorin said.
Bilbo nodded.
“Then would you come to my quarters?” Thorin asked.
Bilbo blinked and gaped like a fish. “Is that not perhaps a little too improper? For the moment, at least?”
Thorin looked amused. “I wish to re-braid your hair.” He clarified.
Bilbo bit his lip in embarrassment and tried to hide his face behind his hands. “Oh, you bastard!” He whispered. “You knew very well how that would sound to one who is not a Dwarf.”
Thorin’s hands swept gently through Bilbo’s hair, gentle fingertips teasing at the scalp, coaxing delicate braids to give up their bonds and fall to pieces once again, and lie gentle at the nape of his neck.
This was quite different than when Dain had done it, Bilbo thought. This time he shivered into Thorin’s touch, and it bore a liquid magma heat in the depths of his body, his heart and his stomach.
“You may need to have a talk with Dain at some point.” Thorin said, once he had undone all of Bilbo’s braids. “And likely soon, for he used his beads.”
Bilbo frowned. “I’m lost again, Thorin. Tell me what that means?”
“It means he’s staking his claim.” Thorin said. “A cheeky move indeed, but nonetheless, he may feel that he has right to at this point. Since you asked him, and all.”
“Oh, dear.” Bilbo whined, leaning back and resting against Thorin’s chest. “I’ve really put myself in a bit of a pickle, I’m afraid. But I’ll most certainly have to turn the poor fellow down.”
Thorin let out a grunt of his approval.
“So I imagine… that this time, you’ll be using your beads?” Bilbo questioned.
“So cheeky, but so true.” Thorin said. “I will indeed.”
Thorin picked out around a half-dozen gold beads, each bearing a different dwarfish symbol. Bilbo nervously observed that these appeared to be made out of actual gold as opposed to being just gold-coloured or gold-plated.
“This one, is a symbol that denotes the line of Durin.” Thorin said, holding it out for Bilbo to see.
“This, a traveller. This, a brave warrior. And this, one who is owed many a life debt.”
“Thorin, I don’t deserve these.” Bilbo whispered, feeling all at once quite inadequate.
“Of course you do.” Thorin said. “You deserve much more than I can give you.”
“These last two are special.” Thorin handed them over to Bilbo to take a look at them.
“This here is a proof of engagement. And this last one, makes claim that you are in fact betrothed to a king. And not just any king, but the King Under the Mountain.” Thorin’s voice was warm and bubbling like a summer stream. “In other words… Mine.” He whispered, and Bilbo could hear the smile pulling at the corners of Thorin’s mouth as he said it.
It seems, Bilbo thinks, that Thorin really may have meant it when he compared his love for Bilbo to his mountain treasure. Although, he decides, it is not perhaps so bad to be coveted, prized and even guarded with a fierce and jealous love.
Thorin threaded his fingers across Bilbo’s scalp, gathering up the hair and parting it for braids. Bilbo sighed at the pleasant feeling.
Thorin deftly wove together one braid, and secured the heavy weight of a bead at the end, the cool metal came to rest at the nape of Bilbo’s neck.
Then his fingers wandered upwards, gathering hair slightly higher up for the second braid then for the first one. And then made one more next to it.
He brushed the hair around Bilbo’s ears and Bilbo leaned into the touch. The Dwarves were right, it was warm and intimate… and even sacred. In a way it most certainly hadn’t been when Dain had done this for him.
Thorin chuckled. “If you keep fawning at my touch I shall never get this finished.” He said, as if he didn’t really mind either way.
As the Dwarves had their dinner in the banquet hall, a rather awkward and flustered Bilbo approached Dain, and in his hands was clasped a little velvet bag.
“Umm, I’m sorry. But I’m afraid I must rescind my… uhh… apparent offer of engagement!” He muttered, pressing the bag into Dain’s hands. It held Dain’s beads. “You see, I wasn’t particularly aware that it was in fact an offer of engagement. I’m just not all that well-versed in Dwarfish customs! I really wasn’t trying to lead you on.”
Dain took the bag back, his ears turning red. “I see.” He said, in a gruff, clipped voice.
“All this time yer were playing with my heart, whilst yer were the property of my cousin!”
Bilbo frowned. “Well, I don’t know about property per say… But yes, my heart belonged to him. Although I wasn’t playing with your heart, I swear! I just thought we were friends!”
“Why would ye think I’d stayed so long in my cousin’s kingdom, if it not be for you?”
“The torrential wind?” Bilbo said, innocently.
Dain turned purple at the cheeks and stood up from his chair. “I think I’ve had it up to here with Hobbits, and my cousin, and the Lonely Mountain! I have had my fill of it, and shall henceforth take my leave!” He stormed off, clutching the velvet bag tightly in his fist.
“I’m really very sorry!” Bilbo called out after him, looking ever so sorry indeed. “I do so hope that we can still be friends!”
The banquet hall closed with a resounding bang.
Bilbo closed his eyes and sighed. He hoped he hadn’t hurt Dain too badly.
“Oh, he’ll get over it laddie.” Balin said, having trundled over to comfort Bilbo. “Jus’ give ‘im some time.”