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“A dwarf, hey.” The upward inflection at the end seemed to indicate a question, though Thorin couldn’t have said just what. The straw-hatted farmer’s glance had passed between him and Bilbo, then back to him, lingering a bit longer than seemed polite. Then came the comment, followed by a strange nod of understanding, and the farmer turned back to his pitchfork, tossing soiled straw over the stone wall separating his pigsties.
The conversation, if there had been one, was evidently over. Bilbo unexpectedly upped the pace, rapidly putting the styes and cottage behind them, chasing the meandering road that would shortly lead them home.
When the dwarf came alongside his halfling companion again, he noticed a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks. “Care to explain?” Thorin's question didn't seem to be precisely what the hobbit had expected, and Bilbo's jaw worked for a moment, as if he had something stuck in his throat, then he shook his head.
"It's nothing. They're just surprised that I came home with a-" He broke off suddenly, staring up the lane at the hill in the middle distance. There seemed to be a great deal of activity up that way. "Is that... oi! That's my home!" Without more warning than that, Bilbo took off down the road, his pack rattling and banging as he went.
Thorin took after him, wondering if drawing Orcrist would help or hinder whatever situation lay in wait. In a moment, they could just make out the nature of the commotion outside the round green door of the smial. A crowd had gathered, and in their midst, an older hobbit in a stovepipe hat shouted over clamoring voices and banged a gavel. Bilbo’s face went very pale.
A steady stream of household items was proceeding out and away down the various lanes below Bag End - tables and chairs, beds and benches - and that was just the things large enough to be made out at a distance.
Confusion became anger in Thorin, his rage only checked by the fact these were gentle folk and not goblins (or Elves). Pushing through the throng, the two suddenly found themselves face to face with the auctioneer, who abruptly ceased his calls for bids on Bilbo’s armchair.
“What’s all this?” The old hobbit squinted at the two of them, as though trying to read some faint script on their faces that might explain the intrusion.
" This, " said Bilbo, gesturing furiously, "is my home. Why in the name of my granny's saggy underthings are you auctioning my things??" There was a prim gasp from the crowd, and Thorin hid a smirk. Bilbo had picked up some of Nori's favorite phrases, in spite of all his 'watch your language' and 'what would your mother say'.
The old hobbit in the tall hat continued to squint at them. "That can never be Mister Bilbo Baggins?"
"It most certainly can! Thorin, don't just stand there, help me! " Bilbo gestured bombastically at the crowd, as if by some magic his companion could make their audience evaporate. The dwarf did consider again the idea of drawing his sword - it would certainly make the crowd disperse - but there was no need for weapons at a time like this.
Thorin cleared his throat, scanning the group of confused hobbits. Doubtless they were hopeful the matter - whatever it was - would be resolved quickly so the auction could continue. “If your own eyes are dim, or else your memory fails you… perhaps you might ask these other folk? Surely they can’t ALL have forgotten so quickly.”
The auction master seemed either mildly impressed or intimidated by the tall dwarf’s speech and bearing, adopting a more agreeable expression. “And… you must be-?”
“I was Thorin Oakenshield - King Under the Mountain. Now I am only Thorin. I have seen miles and dangers untold with this good hobbit, and can assure you, he is undoubtedly Bilbo Baggins.” The crowd took to murmuring, but their speech was either too quiet or too jumbled to make out. Many were nodding, as though some missing piece of an unknown puzzle had been provided.
“I, uh, well,” the auction master said finally, looking a little flustered, “I suppose congratulations are in order?”
Congratulations? For a moment, Thorin was perplexed. He turned to Bilbo, intending to trade a mystified look with him, but instead found the hobbit blushing a light rosebud pink and staring determinedly at the auctioneer.
“What’s in order,” he said crisply, pointing at the open front door of what had once been his beautiful little home, “is the immediate return of my things. And so help me if every clock and spoon isn’t back in its place I will be having words with you, sir.”
The auctioneer seemed caught off guard by the challenge. His mouth dropped open a little, his eyes darting to Thorin’s as if to ask whether or not Bilbo was serious. Thorin, realizing anew that his burglar was perfectly capable of defending his own, relaxed a little, suppressing a look of pride.
“You heard Mr. Baggins.” His voice was low and gruff, not angry, but stern as stone. The old hobbit fairly nearly flinched, swallowing hard.
“This is… highly irregular,” he tried, scanning the crowd, perhaps hoping for support.
There was some shifting and murmuring in the crowd, hobbits trading looks and trying to decide whether there was anything to be said or not. At length, one of the buyers stepped forward, still clutching Bilbo's gilded ink stand.
"How is it we know you are who you claim you are?" Bilbo spluttered, face reddening with anger.
"What cause would I have to lie? Besides, Robin Haymaker, I know full well that you know me. We used to swap songs over at the Green Dragon on Wednesday evenings." Robin looked embarrassed and tried to fade back into the crowd. This maneuver was less than successful, however, considering both his substantial girth and the crowd's reluctance to accept him.
In the end he sputtered awkwardly, studying his hairy toes. Thankfully, attention was drawn away from him once more when a sour-faced hobbit elbowed her way to the fore. Bedecked in yards of fabric and frills, and wearing an excessively tall stovepipe hat festooned with silk flowers, even Thorin couldn’t have mistaken her for anyone other than Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.
“Well,” she snapped, waving a handful of Bilbo’s good spoons, “pretty thin evidence if you ask me. You expect us to believe Mr. Bilbo Baggins ,” she paused for a moment, scoffing, “disappeared into the blue for nigh a year, only to bring back this…” She gestured meaningfully at Thorin with the spoons, as though the very words were too plain and crass even to speak aloud. “This is plainly a foul dwarvish scheme!”
Bilbo had dissolved into incoherent sputtering at the accusation, and Thorin saw an opportunity to "make himself useful," as the hobbit liked to say. Putting a steadying hand on Bilbo's shoulder, the dwarf shifted to stand close beside his companion.
"I don't know what you think I might gain by this imagined scheme, when I left behind me untold wealth and a kingdom which was mine by birthright. I owe Bilbo my life, and I'll not have you falsely accusing him of duplicity in my hearing, ma'am." Thorin was actually somewhat proud of himself. The point had been well made (in his only slightly biased opinion) and the words had been both eloquent and reasonably polite. Seeking some approval from his friend, he looked at Bilbo with a faint smile, only to mark a look of deep embarrassment on the hobbit's expressive face.
That surprised the dwarf a little, his smile fading as quickly as it had come. Lobelia seemed to pick up on the unspoken exchange, latching into it as though the moment of faltering had but increased her power. The spoons clanked again in her hand as she pointedly ignored Thorin and tutted at Bilbo.
“Thinks he’s all high and mighty, wealthy even. Worse than I thought. Really, to even suggest my good cousin would take up with the likes of this delusional dwarf, let alone…” She trailed off, as though the words she didn’t say were obvious enough.
'Take up with?' That sounded like something rather more serious than simply association. Were they upset that he'd taken a position with the company? Been employed by dwarves? Thorin's anger was roused against this idiotic halfling, who seemed more interested in her own victory or defeat in conversation than in her cousin's well-being.
"I'll thank you to use plain Westron. If you have a problem with me, say so to my face." Something of his feelings must have shown in his tone because Bilbo grabbed his arm and held on tightly, as if to hold him back (though the little fellow hardly weighed enough to slow him down).
"Thorin, no. Please, don't start anything. They just want me to file the right paperwork. It's all nonsense."
As it happened, "the right paperwork" was buried hip-deep in beauracrasy and red tape, requiring not only extensive explanations, but what seemed like hundreds of signatures and at least six witnesses, as well as an unsettling amount of red ink. Thorin was unable to follow most of what was asked for, stated, answered, explained, and demanded, but he stood patiently in what they called the 'town hall' while Bilbo vented his frustration on a stack of paperwork taller than his own sun-browned hands. At the end of it all, there was one last paper to be signed, which Bilbo asked Thorin to pen his name for.
"What is it?" Thorin asked, though he was already picking up the quill to sign as requested. He had such confidence in this little hobbit that it didn't seem possible that he might try to trick anyone into... well, anything. Unless it was paying for his dinner.
"An official statement confirming that you employed me during my absence."
"What else would I have done?" Thorin chuckled, thinking to himself that these hobbits were almost as enchanted with signatures and laws as Gloin and his kin.
A pained expression crossed Bilbo's face, and the dwarf hesitated a moment to hear his answer. "Everyone is going to assume - is already assuming, let's be honest - that I left so that we could get married."
Thorin froze, his pen suspended above the paper. Married? It was almost as though his entire brain had shut down, all at once. There was nothing behind his eyes but blankness and a vague feeling of panic. Married?
"But we didn't," added Bilbo, nervousness edging into his voice. "We didn't get married."
We could have gotten married.
The thought was alone in his head, pinging around inside his skull like a single lonely skittle in an empty barrel. Was this real? He had seen disgust from elves when same-sex pairings had been made known, and the same from men as well. There had been no doubt in his mind that hobbits would be the same.
"Thorin? Are you okay?" Where there had been embarrassment before, Bilbo now sounded anxious, and his small hand touched Thorin's arm.
"You mean... I might have had you to myself all this time, and we just... didn't?" That was absolutely NOT what Thorin had intended to say, and for a second the panic at trying to unsay the words was overwhelming. What if Bilbo didn't feel the same? What if the only reason he'd agreed to Thorin's company was out of a feeling of obligation?
But the fear was dispelled almost at once by a bright red blush on the hobbit's round cheeks. "I didn't know you wanted it. I thought you were only coming with me because you felt... obligated."
It was as though a knot holding all his fear and uncertainty tight in Thorin's chest had suddenly come untied, and what was left in its place was hope. He had always known they had similar thoughts. This was the seal that marked the moment he knew in his bones that even if he hadn't abdicated and come with Bilbo, he would have carried the hobbit with him in his heart until the day he died.
"Never. I only ever wanted to stay with you. Forever."
The poor lawyer, sitting opposite them and staring wide-eyed through spectacles that were too big for her face, blinked several times. "So... does this mean I should get out a marriage contract instead?" she asked hesitantly.
Bilbo was the one who answered, eyes wet with unshed tears. "Yes. I think you should."