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The King Under the Mountain lay propped up on a cot in a ragged tent, looking like nothing so much as a laundry pile of bloodied bandages. Balin had just left after a long and muffled discussion with the wounded dwarf, taking Thorin's instructions for various matters. Once Balin was gone, Oin had left the tent after giving gruff instructions for Bilbo to "keep him calm"! As if that were something he were capable of, the hobbit snorted. Bilbo suspected that the previous months would have been a quite different experience for everyone if keeping Thorin calm were part of his repertoire; indeed, he usually seemed to have the opposite effect. Even worse, despite ostensibly making their peace in the days since Thorin first awoke, the easy companionship they had developed towards the end of the trip was nowhere to be found. Bilbo had long since given up any hope of... more... from Thorin, certainly since the very public scene on the battlements. If his heart didn't choose to believe it, his head would have to keep repeating it until it got drilled into his emotional heart as well as his mind. Even so, for his part he wished they could just move on past the unpleasantness. Too much time and misery lay between them for apologies to totally clear, but if they were ever going to move past it brooding was not the way forward. They had to act normal to give normal a chance, as Bilbo's grandmother would have said.
Speaking of Thorin... Bilbo looked up at the sensation of eyes on him, but when he glanced up, Thorin was already looking away. The hobbit cleared his throat. "Are... are you comfortable?" A sigh from beneath the curtain of grimy dark hair was the only response. Bilbo smiled in spite of himself; sometimes the king really did remind him of Kili. That thought provoked a twinge in turn. None of the line of Durin had escaped the final battle in very good shape; the princes lay fighting for their lives in the next tent over. Shaking himself, Bilbo tried to refocus on the dwarf before him. "I suppose I should call you Your Majesty now." There, he thought, as an apparently offended blue eye made an appearance, glaring at him. That's a promising start. He nattered on, exactly as he might in an awkward social situation in the Shire. "Or so I am told the menfolk call their kings. Elves use 'Great King' for all, it seems. I've been told that in Gondor..."
"Dwarves say 'my King'," came the deep grumble. "But I am not your king, Master Baggins, as you have made quite clear. I would suggest that you just call me Thorin." Any offense Bilbo might have taken at such a statement was set aside by the expression of discomfited awkwardness with which it was made. If the hobbit didn't know better, he would say that the king was embarrassed - not a word he ever thought to associate in any way with a dwarf who was the living embodiment of self-assuredness (often to the point of ridiculousness, Bilbo would readily admit, but even so).
"I... well. Very well. Um. Thorin." A pleased-sounding huff from the figure on the bed. "And of course this means you must call me Bilbo again. We have been through far too much for you to 'Master Baggins' me, not even after..." he trailed off, glancing away from the carved profile in front of him, the clenched jaw, the anguished blue eyes looking away as though the dirty walls of the tent held a deep fascination. "Well, that is to say," he finally continued, "after everything we've been through together." Awkward, yes, but wasn't that the most things a hobbit ever swept under one rug of euphemism? Bilbo thought even his aunt Mirabella would be proud of that particular effort. He felt Thorin's glance land on him and pierce him like a spear before he could hurry onward. He laughed, sounding a bit shrill to his own ears. "But no need to get into all that again, good heavens. I know... tell me a story."
"A..." Thorin's snort of laughter provoked an immediate pained grimace; Bilbo's hand reached out without him meaning to, but he placed it back in his lap at the king's glare. "A story? Dwarf-friend you may be, Master Baggins, but..." Bilbo could feel his face souring but before he could even speak, Thorin grinned and then said in a much softer tone, "Bilbo..." and oh, the sound of his name in that dark velvet voice again was like music to the hobbit's ears. "We dwarves hoard our stories as we hoard our gold. Nothing is given for free under the mountain," Thorin said. The smile on his face said he was only half-serious, but the look in his eyes said there was seriousness present, even so. How strange, the hobbit thought. Valuable... stories? "Tell me... what will you trade me for the stories of the dwarves?"
"Trade?" Bilbo said blankly. "I... good heavens, stories in the Shire are gifts freely given, just a way to pass the time. What would..." swallowing in a throat suddenly dry, Bilbo said "what would you ask in trade?" The look he got this time was, well... he knew very good and well that the king of Durin's folk had certainly never had inappropriate thoughts about any hobbit, let alone him, but if he'd gotten that sort of look in the Shire...! "I... I could trade you tales from the Shire in return for yours, I suppose. If... if that would be a fair exchange." Thorin blinked and smiled uncertainly, almost as though he had expected a different answer but quickly his smile gained warmth and strength.
"That would be a fair trade indeed. Tell me of your Shire, then, and hear of the dwarves." And if Bilbo felt a bit warmer at the sight of Thorin properly smiling for the first time in forever, well, that was entirely his business, thank you very much.
The setting was hardly conducive to relaxing and tale-telling. The tent itself was certainly colder than comfort would wish; a chill wind whipped under the lashed cloth walls at an odd angle from time to time, blowing occasional icy gusts upon unsuspecting bare toes. It was dark, lit only by a lamp turned low to conserve oil and flickering in the odd ripples of air, and the smell of ointments and poultices would have called this out as a sickroom to anyone. Even so, the hobbit thought, tales have been a part of keeping the sick amused since there have been sick to amuse. There is no need, he reminded himself firmly, to feel awkward about it. Bilbo settled himself more comfortably on his stool and prepared to tell the story he thought would most suit his audience (to wit, the story of Bullroarer Took's victory over the goblins at the battle of Greenfields). Taking a deep breath, he had barely begun the story when Thorin interrupted his first sentence with an incredulous scoff. "Long ago, when potatoes grew on trees and apples in the ground, there was..."
"What?" Shocked blue eyes met hazel ones across the bedspread.
"What do you mean, what?" Bilbo responded a bit sharply. "That's how all stories start!" Or perhaps not to dwarves, he was forced to think once confronted with Thorin's obvious confusion. "All Shire stories, at least," he allowed, deflating slightly.
"I..." Thorin stopped, brows drawn down and looking almost angry, but then gave another of those sudden smiles that quite took the breath from the hobbit's lungs somehow. "Our stories all begin with 'when the world was young and the Moon unstained,'" he said in a low voice. "You merely took me by surprise. My apologies, Mas... Bilbo. Please continue." Memories of the song that began this whole adventure rose up and almost choked the hobbit... hadn't that been the line he sang when...? No, it was almost, but... he realized he was woolgathering when Thorin caught his eye, looking faintly alarmed by now.
"Sorry, sorry," Bilbo muttered. This was certainly turning out to be quite a bit more awkward than telling stories to the fauntlings at family parties! "At any rate... as I was saying..." Unsurprisingly, Thorin adored the story. Slightly more surprisingly, Bilbo was forced to notice all over again how deeply dwarves in general (and, it seemed, Thorin in particular) became invested in the story they were hearing. When Bilbo described the council of goblins meeting in Mount Gram, Thorin grumbled about the ill name of the mountain itself; when he told of the attacks against the Eastfarthing that led into the war, Thorin tensed and bit his lip. As the story of the battle unfolded, Bilbo half-suspected that an even slightly healthier Thorin would have leapt to his feet and seized a sword. Small movements of his bandaged arms showed the hobbit exactly how invested the king was, and when the climax of the story arrived and the goblin chieftain Golfimbul's head was struck off, Thorin chuckled and rocked back and forth as though he himself had delivered the blow. It was beyond charming, and Bilbo felt a lurch deep within when seeing a sparkle in Thorin's eyes that had been absent for quite a long time. When he had finished, Bilbo smiled at the dwarf, who was still looking at him attentively. "And that," the hobbit concluded, "is the story of my twice-great-grand-uncle, the greatest (and indeed, only) warrior the Shire has ever produced." Thorin seemed to be waiting for something else, and finally leaned forward, peering at Bilbo where he sat.
"And what is the lesson of this story?" He grimaced as his bandages pulled at him, and leaned back, wincing. Huffing in discomfort, he continued without noticing Bilbo's puzzlement. "I would assume 'never underestimate a hobbit when need is upon him' but..." blue eyes peered at Bilbo where he sat, and drat it, Thorin had that look again! "But I knew that already." Bilbo could only assume the tent was warming up, but that left it no clearer what Thorin meant. "Come, Bilbo, tell me the codas as your people have them. I would know, in case I need the knowledge in the future."
"C-codas?" Bilbo stammered. "I don't..." Get ahold of yourself, Baggins, he thought crossly at himself. You're acting like a fool! Drawing himself up primly, he said more clearly "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. That is the story as it is told, but..." Thorin seemed surprised, brows drawn down again.
"Among dwarves, our stories are kept for a reason. Each story has a lesson or moral attached called a coda, to direct the attention and reveal the true meaning. Do hobbits not follow this practice?" At Bilbo's headshake, the king sighed. "How odd. Another cultural difference, I suppose. Well, I thank you for the story." He yawned widely, clearly startling even himself, and showing Bilbo a mouth full of white teeth in the process. "I beg your pardon," he murmured as Bilbo realized that he was hardly helping Thorin convalesce by keeping him up to all hours, and said so in no uncertain terms. They made plans to continue with Thorin's story the next night, and so the tradition of story night began. Many things began with that first night's story.
When Bilbo arrived the next night, passing a distracted Balin in the door, Thorin greeted him more warmly than he had come to expect. Once they had exchanged news about the day and Bilbo had shared a small but intimate late dinner with him, Thorin told the hobbit a curious (by Shire standards) story of a dwarf named Pirn, who received a very elaborate dress as a courting gift from a suitor. During a series of increasingly hair-raising adventures featuring other dwarves, a plethora of environmental hazards and a wayward orc, the dress got damaged. While to Bilbo the sensible reaction was 'well of course it did', this seemed to cause a terrible conundrum. The suitor feared that this meant that Pirn rejected his suit, since disposing of or destroying the courtship gift was a rejection. Pirn told him quite forthrightly not to be stupid, and after a long description of each event that damaged the dress she declared that neither of them were to blame for misfortune and married him anyway. Bilbo (carried away with giggling at this point) demanded that Thorin repeat the statement over and over, convinced that "don't be stupid" wasn't really what the story said, but he was quite insistent. Dwarves! Bilbo thought with a grin. The king then gave a very formal breakdown of the story at the end, presumably the 'codas' he had mentioned before; these codas contained such statements as 'a dwarf cannot be held responsible for events beyond their control' and 'the value of an item cannot be held hostage against events', sentiments which Bilbo found it odd to specify since (to him at least) these were just common sense. The hobbit found it all a bit confusing. Still, the story had been amusing enough, and watching Thorin's engagement as he told the story was also its own sort of private joy for the hobbit.
After this, one story passed to the next, and then the next. They alternated stories night after night, sometimes telling a story each in one night for short tales, or sometimes taking more than one night to tell a long story in its entirety. Bilbo told Thorin the tales of his childhood - the Thousand-Blossomed Rose, Farmer Bosco and the Magic Beans, the Thain and the Pig Farmer, Little Marigold and the Trees That Walked. Thorin in turn related dwarven stories that were both exotic and oddly familiar to Bilbo. Gorm Burnthand and the All-Seeing Eye, Frain the Mad and the Giants of Stone, the Statues of Berit's Mother... The oddest part to the hobbit was that despite the strange names of the characters, the situations these strange dwarves found themselves in were hardly foreign. All peoples had the same conundrums in life he supposed. The uncertainties of a farm and a mine were not so different in the end - neither the farmer nor the miner knew what the next day would bring. After a week in the camp, Thorin and his nephews were moved back into the mountain to avoid a coming snowstorm; despite this interruption, both Bilbo and Thorin continued to find time for stories as the days passed.
=
After a week in the mountain Thorin was much improved. The princes were also awake (to the joy of everyone); Oin promised they would be making a full recovery, though they were still flat on their backs in the medical wing. Ostensibly due to his rapid improvement, Thorin had been released to stay in the bed in his own rooms to free up a cot in the sickrooms; Bilbo suspected the constant coming and going of Balin and other officials was annoying Oin as well, but this was never stated outright. Of course, Bilbo sighed internally, this meant that now all of the king's many wounds were itching like fire as they healed. Trying to keep him from scratching through his fresh bandages was a full time job. Still... the ratty tent they had been in before was far surpassed by this room, even half-ruined as it was. Looking around, the hobbit admired for surely the dozenth time the stonework on the walls along with the elaborate hearth, mantel carved with strong geometric designs and crowned with the anvil, crown and stars of the house of Durin. The room still smelled stale from the years of neglect and dragon filth; the furniture was scratched and battered, salvaged from who knows where, and the fabrics were worn and reeked of dust and the faint scorched scent of smoke from dragon-fire. Even so, the room had been cleaned with its greenish stone floors and walls polished to a gleaming finish, and what rugs could be scrounged placed on the floors. It looked like someone important lived there, even in its current cobbled-together state.
Setting Thorin's silver winecup near him with the amount of wine inside permitted by Oin, Bilbo settled himself into the comfortable chair that had appeared on the second day in these rooms. The black iron bead that Thorin had gifted him in a small ceremony with the Company still felt odd against the side of his head, but the transformation in how he was treated by the Iron Hills dwarves that he met was immediate - he was greeted as Khuzdbaha, dwarf friend, everywhere he went, and the the stodgier and more conservative old dwarves had ceased automatically glowering and sneering when he came into view - quite an improvement, really.
Bilbo and Thorin were beginning later than usual, thanks to the king's constantly encroaching duties. The wounded dwarf leaned back into his pillows, digging at his bandages with a surreptitious gesture, then adjusted them with a tug and blithely ignored Bilbo's resulting glare. The dwarf's face was warmer than the fire in the hearth when he smiled, and Bilbo almost missed the introduction of the king's latest story. Thorin seemed almost bashful when he said in a low voice "This is the story of the Jewel Without Price." His soft rumble made Bilbo's insides tingle; watch yourself, Baggins, he remonstrated with himself. You know better. He just hoped Thorin hadn't noticed. The dwarf in question was staring into his wine cup when the hobbit looked up, though, and the long pause made Bilbo wonder what was on the dwarf's mind. After a moment Thorin shook himself and continued smoothly. "When the world was young and the Moon unstained, there was a dwarf named Vur son of Kur. Now Vur was poor for a dwarf, and though he was the sole owner of the mine in which he worked he had little else, and his clothes were ragged, his tools were poor, and food was scarce. In spite of these problems, one day he discovered a jewel that was more beautiful than any other. This jewel was clear but held all colors in its depths and it shone in the dark like a lamp, and Vur's heart was moved by its beauty. He feared for it being taken from him by force. Still, he owned his mine, so none might take it from him under the law. Even so, word spread and soon it was the talk of the kingdom. All who saw it were stunned. Truly, they said, this is a jewel without price.
"Now Vur was poor for a dwarf, for although he found this one magnificent jewel in his mine, the mine itself was not a rich one. So his heart was sad to lose such a beautiful thing, but he took his jewel to the assessors to sell it for coin." Bilbo's puzzlement must have shown on his face because Thorin smiled. "Assessors are those who value the gems we find. They spot any imperfections, recommend the way that stones can be cut, and set a price. Most smaller gems they buy and cut for resale to others." Bilbo nodded; that made sense. He hadn't ever thought about how dwarves turned the stones they dug into money, but fair enough. Thorin continued, "But the assessors refused him, saying that this gem was beyond them. Indeed, they said, it was a jewel without price, praising its clarity, its color and its shining radiance. But Vur left disgruntled despite all their praise, for he still had no money for food, and words make poor nourishment for a hungry belly." Bilbo winced and shifted uncomfortably but Thorin seemed not to notice, caught as he was in the story.
"He returned to his mine but no matter how hard he dug and labored there he found nothing else. The few gems he did find were small and poor, barely worthy of the name, and the assessors hardly glanced at them - after all, they said, he had found a jewel of such surpassing beauty just weeks before. Perhaps they thought that he was holding out his best stones, or perhaps they were simply jealous. Either way they gave him next to nothing for his few poor stones, and still he had no money for food." Bilbo was embarrassed to realize he had made a keening sound without meaning to, but Thorin stopped. "Are you well?"
"I..." Bilbo looked down. "Only... um... truly terrifying stories in the Shire involve a lack of food. We do not tell them often, or lightly, the tales of... of starvation," He almost whispered the word. "It is considered a bit of a taboo subject, honestly. For a hobbit, to hear about any forced to go without food is..." he cringed. "Difficult."
"Ah," Thorin said softly. Bilbo could feel the dwarf's eyes trailing across his badly diminished belly and very self-consciously wrapped his clothes around himself. He dared not even start thinking about how scarce food was here in Erebor in the winter, and he wasn't starving, thank you very much. There was no danger at all, he reminded himself sternly. There was plenty of food; after all, he had helped perform the inventory. Bombur was feeding them all quite well! Thorin's voice cut into his increasingly disturbed reflections. "My apologies, Bilbo, but this is the story as it is told." Bless Thorin, the hobbit thought. He always distracts me at the right moments. At the hobbit's relieved nod, Thorin gave a half-smile and continued. "In his desperation, he went to the king. Bowing before the king in his throne of gold, he showed the king his great jewel, and offered to sell it in exchange for wealth and riches. The king felt desire awaken in his heart at the sight, but he knew that there was nothing in his kingdom which could be worth such a jewel. To offer even a poor miner too little for such a magnificent find would upset the whole kingdom, and all the people would claim the king to be a cheat and a scoundrel. He knew well that a mountain of mithril would barely suffice to pay for such a stone, and his kingdom was no Khazad-Dûm. So the king was forced to tell Vur he could not afford such a gem, for it was surely a jewel without price. And so Vur was forced to leave with his jewel, with the praise of a king in his ears but no money for food." He looked up with a look of concern. "Your pardon, but such is the story."
"Of course," Bilbo said, frowning slightly and shaking off his first reaction. A thought struck him. "Is this... Thorin, is this the story behind the Arkenstone?" Sudden panic gripped him that he was mentioning a possibly awkward subject but Thorin just smiled fondly, and the king's chuckle was loud in the quiet room.
"No, Bilbo." Thorin sighed and looked away. "The Arkenstone... you are not the first to make that connection, to be sure, but this story long predates our settling in this mountain, let alone the finding of the stone. The Arkenstone itself only dates back to the early years of my grandfather's reign, not so long as such things are reckoned."
Bilbo nodded, then smiled in spite of himself. "Is the coda of this story that riches do not matter without food?" Bilbo asked, mouth twisting wryly. "That seems a particularly undwarfish sort of sentiment, if you'll pardon my saying so, especially considering the reaction of everyone when I made that exact same point on the journey." Thorin's deep chuckle filled the room again.
"No, Bilbo, that isn't one of the codas of the story. Wait until the story is finished, greedy creature!" the king mock-snapped, still laughing. A momentary discomfort crossed his face, but Bilbo couldn't imagine that his wounds were twinging without him moving. "I must beg your indulgence, though... it might be best to wait until tomorrow to finish this one. It is late, and Balin will no doubt have me awake at dawn for the trade agreements with Dain." Thorin gave a half-smile that left Bilbo utterly wordless, and the hobbit made his goodnights and fled before he embarrassed himself. He cursed at himself the entire way back to his rooms. This persistent infatuation was going to end very poorly indeed if he didn't get it under control. He knew in his gut that he should have fled the mountain with Gandalf right after the battle, for the sake of his own heart, but... Sighing, he prepared himself for bed, and had a night full of half-remembered but very inappropriate dreams.
=
The next morning Bilbo went after breakfast to meet with Ori; the young scribe had wanted to get started on sorting some of the chaotic disorder that had befallen the records in the Mazarbul of the King, near the Great Treasury. The dragon hadn't burned the records - probably because he hadn't known (or cared) that they were there; even so, everything was under almost two hundred years of general filth and the records themselves were in total disarray. Piles of scrolls and loose parchments were stacked willy-nilly around the edges of the room, swept up carefully and set aside by the first sweep of dwarves looking for critical structural damage. He was shocked to see Balin there as well; it seemed he had left Thorin to Dain's tender mercies and come here, though Bilbo wasn't sure why he wouldn't be in critical negotiations. Balin was accompanied by Ori and an Iron Hills dwarf named Kor, daughter of Moir, one of the scribes Dain had brought with the army. Kor's beard was almost to her waist and astonishingly thick, almost the equal of Balin's; two tiny black eyes peeped from behind this enormous facial shrub. Bilbo knew her because she was one of those who had become much more accepting of Bilbo with the addition of his bead. He greeted her kindly, as he would such an acquaintance in the Shire, and she smiled at him uncertainly from where she stood over a pile of loose sheets covered in close-written runes. They were clearly in the middle of a conversation as Bilbo walked in.
"... so then, Vekun barely tugs on the bracket for the torch and the whole wall gave way. Duti wasn't sure that the houses above the intersection were safe, but after he looked around a bit... oh, good morning, Bilbo!" Ori grinned at him and waved from across the room. Balin clapped an arm around him in greeting, but turned back to Ori to finish his thought. "But the worst part was, when the wall fell, it crushed his lamp. You remember the one?" Balin's eyebrows raised, and Ori shook his head, though Bilbo couldn't see what the fuss was about.
"His lamp? Not the good one?" Kor shouted uncharacteristically, obviously shocked. At Balin's sad nod, she hung her head. "But... oh, no. That lamp was all he had from Mut's hands, and him still away in the Hills! Ach, Vekun me lad..." She shook her head sadly. "Mut'll take it poor, for sure. He worked many a long hour on that thing. Fine piece of work, too, it was." Seeing Bilbo's confusion, she sighed "It was a courting gift. Let's hope Mut doesn't take this as an omen on their courting."
"Oh," the hobbit said blankly. He was still in the dark about the actual process of dwarven courting, though based on Thorin's stories they certainly seemed to make enough of a production of it. "Well, but... isn't there that story about Pirn's dress, where she..." Kor whipped around, face suddenly livid with fury. In less than a second she had produced a blade from somewhere as if by magic.
"Who are you to speak of Pirn's dress to a dwarf! Who are you to even know..." she broke off awkwardly while suddenly hunching forward in an odd posture. Bilbo, who had staggered back in shock from this sudden attack, realized that Balin had the other scribe in what must have been an excruciating hold at her shoulder, fingers digging into the bundle of nerves there. For his part, Ori looked ready to brain her with the black iron reading stand he was holding nonchalantly in one hand like a war hammer. Balin's hand visibly flexed and Kor's blade dropped ringing to the polished stone floor from her hand.
"Now, lass, let's not get overly excited," Balin said smoothly, sounding as calm as if he were sitting at dinner, though his eyes shouted caution at Bilbo from over her shoulder. "You see, you seem to have forgotten a few wee things that bear reminding of, namely that bead in the hobbit's hair, that Bilbo is one of the Fourteen, the title that he was given, and the fact that he is the king's..." Balin's eyes cut to Bilbo, examining him closely for some reason. "... friend." Before the hobbit could wonder about that, the elderly dwarf continued speaking. "To a Khuzdbaha, we come with open hands, you know this better than most, scribe that you are! Telchar and Heogrim Bear-fist, Narvi and the Elf Smith, so many stories say so." The hobbit belatedly began to realize that it seemed Thorin hadn't told him quite how much esteem these stories held in dwarven culture.
"I'm... I'm so sorry, I didn't mean... I mean I certainly... I just..." Bilbo stammered quickly. He might have felt at more of a loss, but he wasn't quite sure when that would have been. What did I do? he wondered bleakly. Kor scowled in his direction.
"He has no right to know these secrets! These are things of the dwarves!" Kor spat venomously. "Khuzdbaha or not, he is still no dwarf! Outsiders must not know our stories, it is and has always been forbidden." Balin released her and she angrily snatched up her long knife from the floor, jamming it into a hidden sheath that Bilbo would never have known was there. Ori was still watching her with hawk-like eyes, but she seemed to have surrendered the idea of immediate violence. Balin opened his mouth, presumably to respond, but she had already flung herself furiously out the door, slamming it behind her for good measure - not an inconsiderable feat, considering the weight of the counterweighted stone slab.
"Well," Balin said, dusting his hands and sighing. "That was a bit of unexpected excitement."
"She's lucky Nori wasn't here," Ori muttered, slamming the massive iron lectern back into its spot with a crash of metal. "He'd have had a knife in her before she even saw him, and I certainly wouldn't have stopped him. Should have laid her out myself. The nerve of her, threatening our hobbit in such a way!" A rush of warmth went through Bilbo at these words, bloodthirsty and un-Shirelike as they were. While he worried every day about exactly the sort of catastrophic cultural misunderstanding that had just happened... it was very nice indeed to receive such a pointed reminder that he had friends.
"Now Bilbo..." Balin gave the hobbit a smile that was very obviously pasted on. Bilbo braced himself, unsure of what was to come but all Balin said was "Perhaps you could explain how you know about the story of Pirn's dress?"
"Well, I... that is to say, Thorin and I have been, I suppose, exchanging stories. You know, a story from the Shire for one from the dwarves." Balin and Ori's stunned faces made it clear that in fact, they did not know any such thing. "I do beg your pardon, I had no idea that it was such a sensitive matter or I never would have suggested it! I just..." he trailed off awkwardly as Balin's face went through a startling series of expressions, starting with shock, moving through horror and astonishment and ending with befuddlement. Ori looked to be only eyes and beard where he stood, goggling at Bilbo as though the hobbit had just turned into Smaug and announced he was moving the whole mountain into the Withered Heath tomorrow. Not for the first time, Bilbo felt as though he was adrift. "I take it that's... unusual somehow?"
"Yesss," Balin dragged the word out, looking lost. "So, just for the sake of clarity - Thorin has been telling you the stories of the dwarves? Thorin Oakenshield? King Thorin?" Ori sat down abruptly, covering his mouth with one half-gloved hand and giggling for some reason, but Bilbo was so confused he could just nod dumbly. Balin covered his eyes with both hands, shaking his head to the sound of Ori's muffled giggles. Bilbo could barely make out his muttering "The king who never studies has been giving away the secret stories of the Khuzd..." Balin came back to himself with a visible start and pretended he hadn't been speaking at all. "So laddie, pray tell... what stories has the king told you? Pirn's Dress, and...?"
"Um," Bilbo stammered. "Well, let's see, the story about Gorm Burnt-Hand and the eye that saw everything, there was one about the stone giants and mad king Frain... oh, and a story about the statues of Berit's mother, the one where the statues would come to life but only speak one word, and..."
"Yes, yes, I'm familiar," Balin said, a touch impatiently. "That's a fair amount. How many others?"
"I... there may have been, um, a few. He's in the middle of telling me the story of the Jewel Without Price. Should I tell him to stop? Balin, what..." The old dwarf's face had opened amazingly, suddenly all smiles. Ori squeaked and flushed bright red. "That's... good?"
"Let's just say it's hardly surprising, lad. No, no, no need for him to stop! Not at all! As I told Kor, you're recognized as a friend to the dwarves now, and that makes all the difference. Just... hmm. I'd refrain from mentioning that you know about these stories around other dwarves, if I were you. To uh, avoid confusion." If what Kor had displayed had been 'confusion', Bilbo would hate to see 'upset'! He nodded emphatically, and the rest of the morning was spent in much more companionable discourse - though he kept catching Ori staring at him when he thought the hobbit wasn't watching.
=
That night, Bilbo wanted to raise the question of appropriateness with Thorin, he really did, but Dain was still present when he arrived at the royal chambers with the evening meal. Of course, nothing would do but that the boisterous Lord of the Iron Hills be invited to join them, and so the food Bilbo had chosen for two was split for three. As if that wasn't vexing enough, Dain kept making what Bilbo thought were completely inappropriate comments to Thorin about settling down and such. As if, the hobbit thought furiously, Thorin's business wasn't his own! The thought of Thorin getting married was one of those things that should have been perfectly normal; after all, he was now the King of a very large and once-prosperous kingdom, a kingdom on the mend, and... well... it's what kings did, wasn't it? Married and had children and all that? Still. Somehow... well. At any rate, Bilbo thought bitterly, Dain truly took the prize. Hobbits of the Shire could occasionally be importunate, or rude, or even end up with their feet in their mouths through social inattention like poor Hamfast Gamgee, bless him, but Bilbo had to admit that even the most socially unaware hobbit on their worst day could barely compare with the average dwarf for inappropriate comments. And a dwarf like Dain, well... Thorin's cousin should consider himself lucky not to receive cold tea and the smallest piece of bread on the plate, Lord of the Iron Hills or not!
By the time Dain made his last "joke" even Thorin looked tense around the jaw when he bade the troublesome noble goodnight. Bilbo wasn't sure if there was time to continue the story or not, but Thorin settled himself carefully on the couch and gave Bilbo a look that had the hobbit sitting down beside him before he even knew what he was doing. The king smiled and said "Where were we? Oh yes... poor Vur had just left the king's palace." Bilbo nodded and Thorin sat stiffly in a formal posture as he usually did for storytelling. "Now Vur was trapped and had no way to eat. Even to sell his mine was impossible, for the rule since the first times of Durin is that the smallest possible value of a mine is the worth of the five most valuable things that have been taken from it, be they lodes of gold or gems, and the value of the single gem he bore was more than the king himself could pay. He cursed his fate, sitting in his house, with the jewel set on the table before him. But Mahal was not done with him yet." My goodness, Bilbo thought, this poor dwarf!
"He was ready to despair when there was a knock at his door. Vur had a shield-mate named Pyk who knew of his troubles, and he had sent his daughter Pykka as a messenger, since she was the one being trained to inherit the businesses of her father. She was to offer him work in exchange for food, but when Vur saw her at his door, her hair and beard shining like brown onyx, her eyes like emeralds of the first water, his heart knew her as his One." At this Thorin gave a shy smile that almost knocked Bilbo down. Really, the hobbit thought, there's no call to be looking at me like that! I could feel that expression from Laketown, and since he doesn't mean it, I really wish he wouldn't give me that look. Sighing internally, he asked a question to distract his own thoughts.
"His One? What does that mean?" Bilbo got his wish; Thorin's expression changed to one of shock.
"His... what? Do... do hobbits not have Ones, then?" Thorin asked softly. He looked stricken for some reason; Bilbo hoped he hadn't asked a particularly awkward question.
"Not by that name, at least," Bilbo responded, wondering if this was yet another occasion of cultural mishap. "Perhaps if I knew what it meant...?" he prompted.
"I... yes. Of course," Thorin responded stiffly. "Dwarves are born with a sense of their... call it their future, but it isn't really. How to explain... each dwarf is born knowing whether they are made to love another, or love their work and take no mate. Some dwarves, like Balin who you know, are craft-wed, and such are born knowing that they will love no other. Other dwarves are born knowing that there is another who may be loved by them, but... ach, I am not explaining this well." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Of the dwarves who are not craft-wed, some find their mates but the mate will not have them for one reason or another. Even so, we are taught that when Mahal made the world, many of the souls of dwarves were split in two, and when we find the other half of our souls - that is our One. And when they meet... it is customary that they just know upon seeing the other." Thorin shifted on the couch, staring determinedly at his hands.
"Oh... I see. That's... different," Bilbo said weakly. What a strange concept! Imagine thinking that there was only one person in the world worth marrying! At the reappearance of the idea of marriage with Thorin, Bilbo cut his train of thoughts off abruptly. Given, he thought to himself firmly, that you have never found even a single person you wanted to court, Master Bilbo Baggins (present company excepted, his treacherous mind whispered) and also given that you are not a dwarf, that's quite enough of that. He smiled determinedly at Thorin. "So, to answer your question, no, hobbits don't have Ones in the way that you describe. Although we may, ahem, walk out with several people when we are in our tweens, to find someone who is compatible, when we do marry we marry for life. As we say in the Shire, we grow together." He gave a somewhat strained expression that might pass for another smile to someone who didn't know him. "Occasionally there is one who for whatever reason never seems to find someone who... who fits, but that is not common." Piercing blue eyes leapt up, pinning Bilbo in place.
"Forgive me if the question is inappropriate," Thorin rumbled, a flush appearing along each cheekbone, "but I saw nobody else in your home. Did we take you away from..." he trailed off awkwardly and Bilbo gave a pained chuckle.
"No, no, I'm afraid I'm one of those odd ones, ha ha, never quite settled down." Bilbo felt terribly awkward... as well he should, he thought furiously. You didn't just come right out and ask such things! Besides, he had to admit he didn't appreciate how amused Thorin looked at that statement; as though Bilbo wasn't perfectly capable of settling down with... well, with whomever he bloody well pleased! But here was this dwarf smiling at him, eyes shining, like Bilbo had just told a joke instead of confessing to something that made him a bit of a failure by Shire standards. The hobbit huffed in irritation, but decided it was best to let it go. "So at any rate, enough about me. Vur saw this dwarf and knew she was his One?" Thorin jerked, as though he had forgotten what he was doing, but drew himself back up quickly into what was apparently the 'proper' storytelling posture.
"Yes of course, my apologies," the king murmured, then his voice rose. "He spoke to her kindly, though his words he remembered not, swept up by the storm in his heart. He thanked her and bade her come again in the morning, and she departed to bear his words back to her father. And when she had left, he despaired, thinking 'I have nothing to give her to show my regards'. Indeed, he wept like a child at the knowledge that it was her hands that brought him food, and her that knew his shame."
"Shame?" Bilbo asked when Thorin paused. "Surely, there is no shame in being poor!" Thorin grimaced.
"For dwarves there is... well, there is a sense that we have been judged and found wanting, if we do not have enough to provide for ourselves and our families." The king's face was drawn and grim, and Bilbo remembered belatedly that Thorin had worked as a smith just to feed his sister and nephews, and all the stories (direct and implied) of the dwarves' sufferings when wandering after the destruction of Erebor. "Mahal is the giver of riches from the earth; when we do not have enough, it is as though our Maker has forsaken us." At Bilbo's expression, Thorin shrugged. "It is the way of the dwarves."
"In the Shire, we share and share alike," Bilbo said quietly but with an under-tone of steel. "If any need food and clothing, or shelter, or care, then all around them provide. We would not dream to do otherwise."
"Oh, we provide," Thorin said quickly. "It is known by all that misfortune may come to any. None among my people know that so well as I myself, who has gone from pampered princeling to pauper and back again to king. But the shame of it... the shame is each heart's to bear, and the knowing cannot erase the feeling." Bilbo felt a momentary pang for Thorin; the look on his face when he said even the word 'shame' was too revealing. Before the hobbit could speak again, Thorin continued. "That night he slept not, but thought him all the night through of how he could show her his regard, what gift he might provide to make his suit." Before Bilbo could ask the dwarf looked over and said "All who would court give a gift of great value to their One, to show their regard," then kept speaking as though no aside had occurred. "In the morning, he knew what he would do. When she came to his door at the second bell of morning, he met her at the door and he said 'Though I have not much to offer, Pykka daughter of Pyk, I know we were made together in the forge of our Father. I give you the only thing I have, this jewel worth a mountain and more, but it is still not your equal for you are worth more to me than any jewel of the earth.' And when he placed it in her hands, the jewel shone like the sun, the moon, and the stars all at once, and it vanished, and her skin and eyes and very bones glowed with the power of the stone passing into her. He almost wept, for fear that now the only thing he had to give her was gone, but she picked him up and dried his eyes and said 'I will have you and no other, Vur son of Kur'. His bead was placed in her hair that very day. And so they married, and her hands were blessed, and through her his as well, and they lived in riches and joy until the end of their days." Bilbo was confused, but also moved, for this story seemed to him to be equal parts strange and beautiful. He stared for long moments into the fire, barely noticing how Thorin was watching his face.
"The stone vanished?" the hobbit finally asked, and Thorin smiled and nodded once. Seeing the expression, Bilbo's heart ached in his chest. He knew that he had no chance with Thorin, but these looks on his face were like knives at times; just one of those lovely smiles was enough to flay his heart open. He could barely hear the words the king was saying, caught up in his own wish for something that could never be.
"And this is the first coda. Though many believe this story is repeated as it happened, the stone was also a symbol, Bilbo. It was his heart, which can only be found deep within, and which can only find its place when given to another. No dwarf may buy the heart of another; even the king has nothing of sufficient value to buy such a thing. It may only be given, and only once, for once given, it is gone. And the heart of a dwarf is always given with the same words, 'I know we were made together in the forge of our Father'. Such are the ways of dwarves." Thorin stood up suddenly, wincing at how the bandages pulled, and stepped over in front of Bilbo where he sat. The hobbit tried to get up, but the bulk of the dwarf essentially kept him in his seat. Thorin held out a strange oddly-shaped object made of some silvery metal; when the hobbit took it automatically, the lightness of it caused him to recognize it as mithril, like the corselet of rings he had been given before. What on earth is this, he thought before Thorin spoke again. "I offer you this mountain of mithril, in token of the kingdom I lay before you, for it is all that I hold worth such a noble soul. And I say to you, Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins of the Shire... I know we were made together in the forge of our Father." And with that, the king took Bilbo's trembling hands and kissed them.
"I... I..." the hobbit stammered, both confused and overwhelmed. Surely Thorin didn't mean... "I... I don't know what to say, Thorin. If this is a joke, then..." The king drew back swiftly though he kept one of Bilbo's hands in his own, and the sapphire blue eyes grew miserable and distant. Bilbo wanted to scream; he didn't want to hurt Thorin, but surely... no dwarf could want a hobbit in such a way, and this was a very poor jest if it was such. Despair filled him; maybe he had been too obvious. He hoped Thorin didn't know about his silly feelings! Looking at Thorin's sudden and obvious discomfort, though, Bilbo was forced to think that maybe this wasn't a joke after all. "I mean it," the hobbit mumbled. "I really don't know what to say."
"If the suit is accepted," Thorin said stiffly, voice cracking a bit, "Then one would say, as Pykka did, 'I will have you and no other'. But perhaps I have put you in an uncomfortable situation. I apologize if..." Oh Mother of Leaves, he had meant it, the hobbit thought in shock. A rush went through him leaving him panting, dizziness spinning his head around as though he might faint. His vision darkened at the edges as though he were indeed fainting, but he would agree to this before he did. The hobbit was vaguely aware of the metal object he held falling to the floor, but he had more pressing concerns.
"I will have you and no other, Thorin son of Thrain," Bilbo said breathlessly, words pouring over each other in a rush. Before he sensed the movement there were lips on his, lips surrounded by a soft, short beard and oh... the moment stretched and the hobbit felt that he knew how it had been for Pykka when the jewel dissolved. He felt that his eyes and skin and bones were glowing inside him, like a fire had been lit that might consume him and he plunged directly into it, laughing. With a shock he realized he was actually laughing out loud, clutching his dwarf who was looking at him fondly (though also seeming a bit confused, it must be said). "Thorin, I never dreamed... I mean I hoped, but..."
"Bilbo," Thorin whispered, pressing another kiss to his forehead, and oh, just the sound of that deep voice saying his name was magnificent. "I have known you as my One for far too long but when you said that your kind do not have Ones..." A sigh that was felt more than heard ruffled Bilbo's hair and the hobbit thought no, this won't do at all. He pulled back to stare into Thorin's eyes.
"Thorin Oakenshield, you are the only person I have ever met to make me want to share my life. If that is what a One is, then you are mine, and no doubt about it." Bilbo said forcefully, just to see the light dawn on that face again. "I have wanted you for... well... let's just say quite some time, I'm afraid. But I thought that was impossible, and so..." Thorin laughed at this, an open and carefree laugh Bilbo had almost never heard before. The king bent down and picked up something, and it took a moment before Bilbo recognized the item he had been handed when Thorin had made his proposal. Flushing, he took it back from the large hand in front of him. It was an image of the Lonely Mountain cast in mithril; low on one side, he could even see the statues of the dwarven warriors and the grand gates.
"I see how hobbits are," came the dwarf's teasing tones, "I offer you a mountain of mithril and you cast it aside. Is there nothing in my mountain that you value?" A rueful expression told Bilbo that perhaps dropping the precious sculpture wasn't the most respectful treatment of it. As if he wasn't in the middle of being distracted very effectively indeed!
"Oh yes," Bilbo responded, and Thorin's eyes darkened at the hungry look on the hobbit's face. "There is a thing in this mountain that I value with all my heart... but it is not made of metal or gems." And if Bilbo didn't happen to leave Thorin's chambers that night or any night thereafter, that was nobody's business but theirs, thank you very much.