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It had been a long seven months from Erebor to the Shire, but they had made it unscathed, though certainly in need of a proper bath. The group of seven (Bilbo, Thorin, Dwalin, a white-haired, but still very tough, Dwarf named Ibûn, a young black-haired Dwarf named Athdar, an older Dwarf-woman named Greer, and a Dwarf-woman about Dís’ age named Heasa) had left during the chill of winter so that they would arrive in the beginning of summer, which Bilbo was certainly glad for now.
Not a day went by that Bilbo didn’t fret over the fact that Thorin was not in Erebor to lead his people, and Dwalin seemed to share in the Hobbit’s nerves. Nevertheless, what’s done was done. When Thorin found out that Bilbo intended to travel to the Shire to ‘tie up loose ends’, he had turned broody and refused to talk to anyone for two days. When he finally emerged from his chambers he was adamant that he would go along, saying to Bilbo “I will not let you go alone.”
Bilbo, of course, replied very snarkily with “I won’t be alone, you tom-noddy.” This did not dissuade Thorin, however, and two weeks later they left the Lonely Mountain along with five other Dwarves, six ponies, and the promise of a green land filled with Hobbits who would be more than happy to feed the strange group upon arrival.
Now that they were here, looking down upon the rolling hills of his homeland, Bilbo realized just how homesick he was. The Hobbit hadn’t thought much about the Shire since they arrived in the newly reclaimed Erebor; he hadn’t allowed himself to. But now that he smelled the freshly shorn grass, felt the cool dirt underneath his toes, and heard the gay laughter of tweens weaving mischievously in and out of peoples’ flowerbeds, his heart felt full to bursting. It was good to be home.
Beside him, Bilbo felt Thorin’s large presence. He wore naught but a tunic and some light trousers because of the warmth of the early summer sun. The Hobbit threaded his fingers happily through Thorin’s as he felt the Dwarf’s light touch on his palm. “Are you ready?” Bilbo heard his love murmur, and he nodded.
Without any more hesitation, they made their way down the hill they stood atop and through a small gate that swung shut behind Athdar once they had all passed through. By now people were staring, and Bilbo felt a nervous flutter rise up in his stomach. It had been nearly two years since he left on the quest, and he hadn’t bothered to say goodbye to a single soul then. How would people react with him just turning up all of a sudden, holding a (rather intimidating) Dwarf’s hand with five equally intimidating Dwarfs trailing behind him?
No one said anything to the group as they made their way down the familiar path to Bag End, and Bilbo was almost glad; but only almost. When his beloved round green door was in sight, Bilbo let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Quickly, however, that relieved feeling turned into one of confusion, and then anger.
“That’s your house, is it not?” Thorin questioned, and Bilbo could do nothing but nod lest he wanted to stutter like an angry fool. “Then why are all of those people there?”
Bilbo knew precisely why all of those people were there, and he didn’t intend to stand idly by as his things were carted away. Without warning, he let out a shout of “Hey!” Thorin started beside him and let go of the Hobbit’s hand as he trotted down the rest of the way. Bilbo heard Thorin’s clunky footsteps trailing behind him, but he didn’t slow down. No, he ran straight up to the group of his old neighbors and relatives like a madman, waving his arms and shouting insults at the lot of them.
Stunned silence fell momentarily over the group of Hobbits as they registered who this lunatic was, and it was only once they caught sight of Thorin strutting up beside him that they began to all talk over one another.
“QUIET!” The auctioneer shouted from his spot on a makeshift podium, and slowly the ruckus died out. “Ah, Bilbo Baggins…” He then stuttered, and both Thorin and Bilbo leveled him with a glare. “We ah… we didn’t think you’d be coming back.”
“Well he is back,” Thorin growled in his kingly voice that worked oh so well on unruly citizens of Erebor, though the effect off of the cavernous halls tended to be a bit more majestic, “so I suggest you all put his things back.” No one made to move, so Thorin shouted “NOW!”
Suddenly everyone sprang into action, many complaints of “but I paid for it!” and “how can we be sure it’s really him?” rung out, but little mind was paid to them. The auctioneer took his leave, not daring to stick around and help sort everything out. Other Hobbits made to make off with Bilbo’s belongings, but Dwalin, Heasa, Athdar, Ibûn, and Greer were quick to take care of them.
By the time the sun was setting and the sky above the Shire was bathed in a fiery glow that Bilbo couldn’t help but associate with Smaug, the six Dwarves and one Hobbit had rescued all of his belongings (save the spoons; his confounded cousin Lobelia simply wouldn’t let them go) and placed them where they belonged as best Bilbo could recall. Of course he had offered to let the five Dwarves stay the night in Bag End, but they had insisted upon checking into the Green Dragon, where they were going to stay for the next few months as Bilbo tied up loose ends, such as making sure his belongings got into the proper hands.
Goodbyes were said and they all filed out, taking the ponies with them. Thorin, however, stayed. Bilbo pulled the last of their food rations from the bag they had taken from one of the ponies and heated them up over the stovetop. It felt odd to have been away for so long, and to now suddenly go about his routine like nothing had changed in two years was completely bizarre.
“I’ll go to the market tomorrow.” Bilbo announced as he set the less than appetizing food rations down on the tabletop and gestured for Thorin to join him. They sat opposite one another and the stifling silence of the Hobbit hole was almost unbearable. The ticking of the clock on the mantel could be heard between bites, and Bilbo found himself fidgeting like a tween.
“I should work.” Thorin said finally. Bilbo looked at him in surprise. Certainly Thorin was not a lazy Dwarf by any means, but to find a job for only three months was a bit absurd, especially among the Hobbits, some of whom Bilbo was certain would be less than welcoming to the Dwarf. That was, at least, until they found out he was a king. Then they would all be sure to suffocate him in questions and praises and flirting, all to get a gold coin out of him.
“What would you do?” Bilbo questioned, hoping his tone didn’t sound condescending. Honestly he was tired, and when he was tired he tended to get grumpy, much to his, and everyone else’s, chagrin. “No offense, but you don’t exactly have the same skills as Hobbits.”
“Exactly.” Thorin responded in a tone that suggested Bilbo was missing the whole point. “My skills reside with metal and stone. So why not use those skills and work as a smith? It’s nothing I haven’t done before, and I do not doubt that there are quite a few tools around that could use a repair.”
Bilbo felt the corners of his mouth tug up in a smile as he saw the way Thorin’s face lit up in excitement at the prospect of being able to do physical labor for a while, no matter how short the time. “Alright then.” Bilbo replied. “I think that would be excellent.”
That response seemed to please Thorin, and the Dwarf stood up, taking his white plate with him. “Where should I put this?” He asked as Bilbo padded into the kitchen with his own cleared plate.
“The sink is fine.” Bilbo answered. He would clean the dishes in the morning; for now he was simply too tired. The pair shuffled into the living room and Thorin plopped himself unceremoniously into the little armchair where Bilbo could remember waking up from a faint to thirteen Dwarves and a wizard destroying his home only a couple years ago.
Bilbo stopped in his tracks and watched Thorin curiously. “What are you doing?”
Thorin glanced up at him with a deer in the headlights look that would have made Bilbo laugh had he not been so tired. “Sorry, should I not sleep here?” Thorin questioned confusedly, and Bilbo shook his head exasperatedly.
“No, you oaf; you’re going to sleep with me. That is, if you want to.”
Thorin looked at the Hobbit as if he had just given him the world. He stood and Bilbo led the way to his bedroom, closing the door behind them. It was an old habit that he supposed would always stick, even long after he had left Bag End behind. The thought of leaving this place that he had called home for his entire life made the Hobbit’s heart clench unpleasantly, and he shoved the thought from his mind for the time being.
For now, he turned down his bed which they had made up about an hour ago since his sheets had been confiscated. Bilbo didn’t think he had ever seen a sight more welcome, and he crawled into the familiar embrace of his feather mattress. The Hobbit sighed contentedly and felt the mattress dip hesitantly beside him. Slowly Thorin crawled in beside the Hobbit, and Bilbo noticed that he was careful not to touch him. Bilbo huffed at that and turned to face his oblivious lover, taking his warm hands in his own and curling up with his shins against the Dwarf’s chest.
“Goodnight.” Bilbo murmured, and it took a moment before Thorin replied with an even softer “Goodnight, ghivashel.”
****
Three months passed oh so quickly; honestly Bilbo had no idea where the time had gone. As the date of their departure from the Shire drew nearer and nearer, Bilbo began to grow more and more stressed. He had half a mind to request that they stay another couple months, but he knew that that would be unfair to the Dwarves who had so graciously come all this way with him. So it was with a heavy heart and frantic steps that Bilbo prepared Bag End and himself for his departure.
One particularly warm night, he and Thorin went about their nightly routine. Bilbo would cook dinner and Thorin would clean up while Bilbo took a bath, then Thorin would take a bath once Bilbo was done and afterwards they would meet each other in their bedroom and climb into their already turned-down bed. Bilbo did not know at what point over the last few months it changed from his bed to their bed, though he certainly didn’t mind. Quite the opposite, in fact.
So it was that when Thorin paused in the doorway of their bedroom on this warm night, Bilbo became confused and looked questioningly at the Dwarf he had come to love. “What is it?” The Hobbit asked, but Thorin did not move from the curved doorway.
“Bilbo…” He began, and the Hobbit thought that he appeared rather nervous with his fidgeting hands and rigid posture.
“What’s wrong?” He questioned. He couldn’t for the life of him think of anything that could have happened. Maybe one of the other Dwarves fell ill? But he had seen them all that morning and they had appeared fine…
“Nothing is wrong, amrâlimê.” Thorin told, and Bilbo released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I just… I need to ask you something.” Bilbo raised his eyebrows expectantly and watched with dawning realization as Thorin began to pull something out of his pocket. Could it be? “Bilbo, you are my One. There is no other that I would deem worthy to spend my life with; you are the only one for me. It would give me the greatest pleasure if you would… If you’d…” He paused and took a deep breath here and Bilbo only had a moment to commit this image, this feeling, to memory. “Ghivashel, will you marry me?”
Before Bilbo could register what he was doing, he was striding up to Thorin, taking his head in his hands, and kissing him deeply and passionately. A sense of rightness radiated down through his bones and settled in his heart. In that moment, Bilbo knew that there was no one he’d rather spend the rest of his life with.
When they finally pulled away breathlessly, the look of pure and unadulterated joy on Thorin’s face filled Bilbo with the greatest happiness. “So that’s a yes then?” Thorin murmured with that irresistible smirk, and Bilbo huffed with his hands on the Dwarf’s chest.
“Yes, of course I’ll marry you, you confounded Dwarf.” Ever so gently, Thorin took Bilbo’s hand in his own rough and calloused one and placed a ring around his fourth finger. When the Hobbit held up his hand to admire his intended’s craftsmanship, he gasped. On the golden ring was a tiny engraved acorn, the details of which were extremely intricate. “Thorin, this is stunning.” Bilbo breathed, and he felt Thorin’s smile on him.
“Now you’ll always think of me when you look at it.” The Dwarf told.
“I should think that I would think of you when I saw the ring anyway,” Bilbo teased, “but this is quite a nice touch.”
He felt strong arms wrap around his middle and he burrowed into Thorin’s warm embrace. With his head pressed up against the Dwarf’s chest, Bilbo could hear his intended’s heartbeat; something he once thought he would never hear again. They stayed like that for a while, swaying ever so gently to the harmony of their sighs before finally collapsing onto their bed with entwined fingers and matching smiles.
****
The next morning there was no time for celebration before a knock sounded at the front door. Groggily Bilbo sat up and yawned. Beside him Thorin stirred and muttered “If that’s Dwalin I’m going to kill him.” Bilbo concurred. The Hobbit stood and grabbed his favorite blue robe from the hook on the wall and wrapped it around himself as he made his way to the circular door.
When he opened it Bilbo did not know what he was expecting, but it certainly was not that. Before him on the doormat stood a frowning gentleman he had never met before and a young Hobbit with puffy red eyes whom he recognized as his cousin Primula’s son, Frodo. “Good morning.” Bilbo greeted confusedly. “What can I do for you gentlemen?” The Hobbit felt his intended come up behind him in the doorway and he absentmindedly reached out his hand to grab Thorin’s.
“Master Baggins?” The older Hobbit questioned, and Bilbo nodded. “I apologize for the early hour, but this might be better to discuss inside, if you don’t mind.”
“Yes, of course.” Bilbo told as worried thoughts flew through his mind. Were Prim and Drogo alright? He and Thorin led the pair of Hobbits to the table and Bilbo began to boil a pot of tea, and then joined them on one of the wooden chairs.
“Is everything alright?” The Hobbit questioned once everyone was seated, though he could tell it clearly wasn’t. Frodo, whom Bilbo had only met once before when the boy was only a babe, sat with curious eyes that wandered over the Hobbit hole despite the grief clearly clinging to him.
“I’m ‘fraid not.” The older gentleman told with a careful frown. “It’s Primula and Drogo; they fell in the Brandywine.” He didn’t need to say anything more; every Hobbit knew that anyone who fell in the Brandywine was a goner unless a miracle had happened, which was clearly not the case in this unfortunate scenario. Bilbo had never been very close to his cousin and her family, though the news of their passing was painful nevertheless. The grief was magnified all the more by the knowledge that Frodo was now an orphan.
“I see.” Bilbo murmured, and he felt Thorin’s hand squeeze his own comfortingly. Across the table, Frodo’s lip wobbled, and Bilbo’s heart clenched at the sight. “When was this?”
“Three days ago.” The older Hobbit told. “I know that this is unexpected, but you’re the closest relation left.”
Suddenly Bilbo realized where this conversation was going and he felt himself tense. Beside him Thorin was stoic and collected as ever, which sent an unwelcome feeling of annoyance surging through him. The Hobbit wondered how Thorin was really feeling beneath that kingly façade, and he wondered whether the Dwarf would still hold firm on his request of marriage after learning that he would have a tiny Hobbit to raise. Bilbo tried to repress the feeling of rising panic by taking a deep breath and saying “Right. I suppose there really is nowhere else for him to go?”
“You’re it. If you don’t want ‘im I’ll keep him as my apprentice.” The Hobbit told, and Bilbo winced at his crude choice of words.
“Of course I will have him.” Bilbo snapped. “It would be my pleasure.” Frodo’s posture seemed to lighten a bit at that, and Bilbo knew he had said the right thing.
“Right, I’ll just be on my way then. My field won’t plow itself and I’ve got to get planting ‘fore harvest season is upon us.” With that the salt-and-pepper haired Hobbit stood and moved to make his exit.
“Wait!” Bilbo called out in a flustered tone. “Isn’t there something I need to sign? And is there anything we should know about him? Allergies, age, little quirks… anything?”
The older Hobbit simply shrugged, however, and said “How should I know? Check with the mayor. And as for the boy, you could try asking him yourself, but I doubt you’ll get very far. He hasn’t said one word since the accident. Good luck with ‘im.” With a nod and a click of the door shutting the Hobbit was gone, leaving Bilbo with a little nephew whom he was now the legal guardian of. Given the quick pace at which all of this was happening, that little fact did not have any time to sink in for the Hobbit. So it was with the kindest smile he could muster up and the strength that Thorin’s presence next to him gave that Bilbo made his way back over to Frodo and properly introduced himself.
“Hello there.” He greeted and held his hand out for the boy to shake. “I’m your uncle Bilbo, and this is Thorin. He’ll be your uncle too pretty soon.” At that Thorin gave a small wave and Frodo stared up at the pair with wide eyes, though the look in them was not one of fear, but of curiosity. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. When you’re ready, we’re here to listen, alright?” Hesitantly the young Hobbit nodded, and Bilbo smiled. “Good then. In the meantime, would you like some breakfast? I can have some scones made up in a few minutes.” A more enthusiastic nod was returned at that offer, and with a chuckle Bilbo moved into the kitchen. “Could you entertain him for a moment while I make these?” The Hobbit asked his intended, and Thorin nodded.
“Of course. And Bilbo? We’ll do this together, alright? Do not think that I would dare go back on my request. This is a good thing, I know it.” Bilbo felt the prick of tears in his eyes at that reassurance. How Thorin always knew just what he needed to hear was beyond Bilbo’s understanding, but he wasn’t about to complain. With a quick kiss and a mirrored smile the Hobbit made to make a batch of scones for his intended and his nephew. There were certainly worse things he could be doing.
****
“Uncle Bilbo!” The Hobbit heard his nephew call as the patter of feet on the wooden floors of his Hobbit hole resounded until they stopped in the kitchen where he had been working all morning. “Uncle Bilbo, look!” In Frodo’s outstretched hand was a glob of dirt and in it, a wriggling earthworm.
“Ah,” Bilbo grimaced, “that’s nice, Frodo, but could you not bring that into my kitchen where I’m preparing food? That people will eat?” His request was unnecessary, however, as the boy was already running out of the room, presumably to go back outside and find some other living creature he could get his hands on. That presumption was affirmed when Bilbo heard the click of the door shutting behind his nephew.
Six months had passed since the boy had arrived on the doorstep of Bag End. The time had flown by in some ways, and in others it had seemed to drag on for a small eternity. When it had finally sunk in that he and Thorin were the new guardians of this boy, they had made a plan of attack. Of course they couldn’t take Frodo with them on a five month trip to Erebor only a month after he arrived, so they had told the company of five other Dwarves about the change in plans and just like that they were staying put for another half a year.
Over the past few months, the patchwork family had created new everyday routines and had begun to truly love and trust one another. In most ways, it already felt like Bilbo and Thorin were married, yet the fact that they weren’t yet nagged at the Hobbit’s heart, and, had he asked, he would have found that it nagged at Thorin’s too.
But because he did not ask, it took the Hobbit by surprise when his love suggested a Shire wedding. Bilbo could not say that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind, but he assumed that Thorin would want an Erebor wedding seeing as he was king under the mountain and Bilbo was to become consort under the mountain. When he had voiced that concern, Thorin had simply shrugged and said “Why not both?” And that was how Bilbo came to be spending all weekend in his kitchen preparing the food for his own wedding.
Thorin and the others were currently outside setting up decorations, chairs, tables, and the like, with some ‘help’ from Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Rosie, and Merry. The ceremony was to be held that evening, just as the sun was setting, and there were only a few hours left before people started arriving and the celebration began.
About an hour and a half before people were to start arriving, Thorin made his way inside and cleaned himself up. Bilbo met him in their bedroom and they helped each other dress. While it was not the tradition for either Hobbits or Dwarves, neither particularly cared. It was not as if their situation was typical anyway.
Bilbo wore his father’s old wedding outfit, as per Hobbit custom. Thorin simply wore the nicest article of clothing he had brought along. Despite the simplicity of it all, Bilbo thought that Thorin looked the most beautiful he had ever seen him, if only for the way his face was lit up with emotion.
“Are you nervous?” Thorin questioned in a low voice as Bilbo fixed his intended’s collar.
“Excited.” Bilbo answered, and it was true. He thought that perhaps he shouldbe feeling some sort of nervous flutter, but instead he simply felt a resounding sense of rightness. Not all that much would change once their vows were said; they would still be living in Beg End together, raising Frodo as best they could. They would still go about their daily routines and fall into bed at night with light touches and sweetly whispered nothings. To Bilbo, their marriage was less the closing of one book and the opening of another but more of a stepping stone in their relationship and their lives. This fact did not make the Hobbit any less thrilled, however, and he could not keep himself from grasping his intended’s collar and standing up on tiptoes to capture the Dwarf’s warm lips in a soft kiss that held the promise of his love.
The pair pulled apart and Bilbo buried his face in Thorin’s embroidered tunic. They stood like that with their bodies wrapped around one another until Dwalin came in and announced that it was time for the ceremony to start.
With reassuring smiles, the unlikely couple linked hands and followed Dwalin out the door of Bag End and down a grassy aisle between rows and rows of chairs in which sat four Dwarves and somewhere around one hundred Hobbits, both young and old. In the front row sat Frodo, Sam, Rosie, Merry, and Pippin, each with dirty fingers and delighted expressions. Bilbo saw Thorin wave at them out of the corner of his eye and he beamed, feeling, not for the first time, so incredibly grateful that his love was so wonderful with children. That fact had certainly made the transition of Frodo’s moving in easier for both Bilbo and the boy.
At the end of the aisle, under a wrought iron arch, stood the mayor of the Shire. When Thorin and Bilbo reached him, they turned to face each other and Frodo came running up to them with a flower crown for each. It was a Hobbit custom that each person would make a crown of flowers for their intended and it would be placed atop the other’s head once the vows were said. Bilbo had spent two days on his, and many more days besides trying to come up with the perfect combination of flowers. Each flower meant something different, and he had chosen forget-me-nots, lilacs, bachelor buttons, delphinium, and gladioli.
The crown Thorin had made, in all honesty, looked like a tween had made it, though of course Bilbo didn’t mind one bit. In it, Bilbo could see daisies, daffodils, larkspur, lilacs, and pansies. As the mayor had them recite their vows, Bilbo felt an intense and immeasurable joy wash over him. For most of his life, the Hobbit had assumed that he would never find anyone to spend the rest of his life with, and yet here he stood, about to marry the love of his life; his One, even.
Thorin’s eyes shown with unshed tears; he always was overly soppy. When the mayor finally directed them to place their crowns atop each other’s head and to “kiss the groom”, they did just that. Bilbo thought that Thorin looked absolutely breathtaking in his crown of flowers, and their kiss was one that the Hobbit would never forget. It was light and sweet, and held the promise of forever in its wake. Bilbo vowed silently that no matter what, that promise would hold true.
****
Three months later, and the Baggins family (Thorin took Bilbo’s name) was on their way to Erebor along with five other Dwarves. Bilbo and Thorin worried about Frodo, wondering how the boy would react to seeing Erebor in all its immense glory. He was a brave and curious little Hobbit, though, and so the pair hoped that he would take a liking to everyone as soon as possible. When they had arrived in Erebor after a five month journey, getting there just before winter truly set in, their welcome was huge.
The second they were through the towering stone doors, Fíli and Kíli were running in a very un-royal fashion up to their uncle and Mister Boggins, as they still so fondly called him. Hugs and exclamations of “I’ve missed you so much” and “I’m so proud of you” were traded. Dís came up shortly thereafter and squeezed her brother and his One very tightly, effectively expressing her happiness without the use of any words.
No one seemed to notice one small Hobbit in their midst amongst all of the greetings, until finally Frodo let out a shout of “Hey!” and everyone turned to look at him with bewildered expressions.
“Uh… Thorin? Why is there a little Hobbit with you?” Kíli questioned, and a proud grin lighted on the older Dwarf’s face.
“Everyone, this is Frodo, my son.” Out of the corner of his eye, Bilbo saw Dwalin facepalm, and he was contemplating doing the same.
There was a stunned moment of silence before Dís broke it with a “What?”
“Thorin, he’s not your son.” Bilbo told, and his husband frowned. “He’s your nephew. And anyway, they haven’t heard the news yet, so you kind of just ruined that.”
“What news?” Fíli questioned, and Dwalin sighed.
“They’re married.”
Another moment of silence followed before all three Durins erupted into exclamations of “WHAT?” “Why didn’t you wait to do it so we could be there?” and “I still don’t understand why there’s a little Hobbit here.” The last statement came from Kíli, of course, and Bilbo tried his best to explain the situation to them.
When he finished, Frodo had seemed to have enough of this adult talk and walked right up to Fíli and tugged on his robe. “Are you a king like uncle Thorin?” The boy questioned, and everyone turned to watch the exchange.
“I’m acting king,” Fíli told, “which means that I was being king while Thorin was away. Did you know that he’s our uncle too?” Frodo’s eyes widened at that and he shook his head.
Kíli laughed, then added “Do you know what that makes us?” Frodo shook his head again. “That means that the three of us are cousins. And this is your aunt Dís.”
The Hobbit turned to look at the Dwarf-woman and a smile lighted on his little face. “I’ve always wanted an aunt.” He told, and Dís awww’d and bent to pick him up.
“Well I’m excited to have you as my nephew, too.” Dís told as she booped the boy playfully on the nose. “And as for you two,” she pointed to Thorin and Bilbo, “we’re going to have another marriage ceremony here seeing as you need to be crowned consort, and this little guy needs to be crowned prince.” No one dared to mention that Frodo wouldn’t actually be considered a prince; it did not matter. He would be a prince to them, anyway. Dís offered no room for the pair to argue on this matter, and so a month later another marriage ceremony was held.
****
Bilbo felt very out of place in the Dwarvish regalia, but he dared not complain. Everyone who laid eyes on him told him how lucky Thorin was to have such an adorable consort, though Bilbo wasn’t sure whether ‘adorable’ should be taken as a compliment.
As Dís put the finishing touches on Bilbo’s hair, she asked “Are you nervous?” Bilbo could remember about nine months before when Thorin had asked him the exact same question, and he had said no. Now, however, he was sufficiently nervous. This ceremony was more political than anything, and Bilbo simply hoped he wouldn’t mess something up.
“Yes.” He told honestly, and Dís gave him a reassuring smile.
“You’ll be fine. Everyone already loves you and Frodo, and this will only make them love you more.” Bilbo nodded, and only a moment later they were interrupted by Balin who announced “It’s time.”
“Go on, now.” Dís smiled and gave her brother-in-law a little push. Bilbo followed Balin down a couple of corridors and out into the great hall where rows upon rows upon rows of Dwarves sat facing a dais upon which stood Frodo, Fíli, Kíli, Dís, and Thorin.
“Hold your head high, laddie. You’ll do great.” Balin told with a smile, and sent Bilbo on his way down the immense aisle that was so very different than the one he had walked down hand-in-hand with Thorin in the Shire. His heart leaped as he felt hundreds of pairs of eyes on him, and he felt his palms sweating. In an attempt to block out the stares, Bilbo caught the eyes of his husband who stood waiting at the other end of the room, an awed smile on his bearded face. The sight comforted the Hobbit, and he held the Dwarf’s gaze until he reached the dais, at which point he took Thorin’s hand in his own, and turned to face the sprawling crowd.
Thorin crowned both he and Frodo, the latter offering some amusement for the Dwarves, and everyone cheered for their new royal family. Though their two weddings could not have been more different, Bilbo was grateful for them both. And besides, the only thing that really mattered was that Thorin was now entirely his, and his alone.