Chapter Text
It was shaping up to be a beautiful day for a ride through the slowly greening hills. The wind was brisk as it clung to the last traces of winter, but the sun shone strongly, heating the mithril armor Bilbo wore proudly under his heavy overcoat. The hair bead dangling by his chin announcing him as the future Consort Under the Mountain, yet that wasn’t the reason for him to once again be back in the saddle of a pony he detested. That was due to a title he bore no metal for, but wore proudly all the same.
It was time for a meeting of the Alliance of the Former Desolation as the dwarves of Erebor, men of Dale, and elves of Mirkwood were referred to after that dreadful battle with the orcs. Bilbo would be attending for the first time, not as Thorin’s betrothed, but as the Ushmar Uzbâdu (Guardian of Kings). It was certainly something he’s gotten used to, and he would normally bear the responsibility of his title with grace and prestige. However, barely to Dale, and he’s already had more of this trip than he can stand. For this year, the meeting was to be held in Mirkwood. And it was fair to say, his husband-to-be had no shortage of words for his displeasure at this perceived slight.
“The first year we changed locations from Dale, and it’s in Mirkwood. I don’t trust it.” Thorin growled to Dwalin who was quick to agree.
Bilbo thought Balin would have enough common sense to reign in Thorin’s paranoia regarding the elves. Instead…
“We’ll get more information when Bard’s entourage joins us. In the meantime, keep a cool head. It would be political suicide for Thranduil to hold us prisoners, again. ”
Bilbo heaved a heavy sigh. On the one hand, it wasn’t like he could rightly blame his dwarves after all they had been through in their lives, especially dealing with Thranduil. In fact, Thorin’s stories of their people with burns littering their body, pleading for medicine and food only to be turned away still gave him chills. However, he was also a firm believer that people were capable of change. After all, look at him: homely and respectable Baggins of Bag End turned into a champion of a dwarven king’s honor. Thranduil was not going to risk an alliance he signed by betraying them now. Yet, no matter how many times he tried to argue this point, Thorin just. Wouldn’t. Listen. Therefore, when they met up with the congregation from Dale, Bilbo slid in line effortlessly next to Bard, in spite of his fiancé’s harsh glare.
“Your Majesty.” Bilbo greeted with a bow of his head.
“Please, Master Baggins. To you, I will always be Bard.” The man smiled amicably.
“Then you must call me Bilbo.” The hobbit insisted.
Bard nodded in agreement, and they moved onto polite topics. The reconstruction of Dale, last fall’s bountiful harvest, his children’s growth and happiness. Sigrid was shaping into a fine princess, always having had a bit of a motherly nature as she continued to push resources towards a home and education for orphaned children. Bain was getting a taste at ruling under Bard’s council in his father’s place, but would much prefer to be back in the hunting parties and learning to use a bow almost as well as his father. Tilda seemed to be turning into quite the handful.
“It’s not that I mind her slipping away. This has been an adjustment for all of us, and I know sometimes the pressure of suddenly becoming… royalty has affected not just me. It’s just…well, I’m finding out there’s a young lad down by the docks that she has come to fancy.”
Bilbo threw his head back in laughter. “Goodness! And now I can’t help thinking about where the time has gone. I’ve blinked and she’s grown into a tween.”
“You’re telling me.” Bard grumbled, good-naturedly. “Sigrid was easy. She has little interest in men and um, carnal desires, in general.”
“Yes?” Bilbo quirked an eyebrow at this.
He couldn’t help but think of a certain nephew who would be downhearted to learn this fact. Although, Fili’s interest in Sigrid was always more of an appreciative longing than what he would think was actual love.
“But Tilda will be the death of me.”
Bilbo pat the other man’s arm, but couldn’t fight the grin on his face. He couldn’t even imagine what the man was going through, and thankfully all he would ever get to experience is nephews. Where Fili talked of nothing but fine dams that he never pursued, and Kili was oddly cagey about romance.
“But enough about my woes! Tell me Ushmar Uzbâdu about life in the mountain!”
Bilbo’s grin turned shy.
“So you’ve heard about that then?”
“Heard about it! There are songs and tales right now about your daring deeds. I dare say you have given us a modern day romance to be remembered for centuries to come.”
Bilbo could tell the man was teasing, but having his and Thorin’s story talked about as a romance put two twin spots of pleased color on his cheeks.
“And if I had any doubt as to how the king felt in return, I have the holes he is currently trying to glare into my back.”
Any warm feeling Bilbo felt was doused by Bard’s forced jest. Bilbo turned around slightly in his saddle to see there was indeed a dark glower on Thorin’s face. However, he was having a hard time deciding if it was aimed at him or Bard.
“It’s not you. It’s me.” Bilbo sighed.
“Oh dear, not happily ever after then?”
Bilbo flinched minutely, forgetting for a moment that it probably wasn’t a good idea to air his dirty laundry in front of another ruler, a neighbor even. Certainly not Baggins’ behavior.
“Relax.” Bard eased. “I was married once. Relationships are hard work, no matter the nature. I certainly would never take advantage of a friend who needs to vent.”
Relief coursed through Bilbo’s being even if he still wasn’t sure about confiding in Bard. Not because he didn’t trust him, just because he didn’t want to betray Thorin in such a way. However, as the silence stretched comfortably between them, Bilbo felt inclined to say something. If just to get it off his chest.
“I didn’t want to come.” He admitted. “I didn’t really see why I should. We have the wedding in a few months to plan after all, and I’ve gotten comfortable making decisions in the mountain. But…I’m the Ushmar Uzbâdu. Thorin kept trying to explain to me how we have to appear as One before others outside the mountain…rather patronizingly. And so I accused him of wanting someone who ‘spoke elf’ to hold his temper in check. Well, you can probably piece together how well the conversation devolved from there.”
Bard chuckled lightly. “Yes, having been on the other side of said temper, I know all too well.”
Bilbo gave him a weak smile. He loved Thorin, truly he did. The dwarf just had a poor habit of becoming obstinate at the worst of times. Most often, when elves were involved. Although, Bilbo could make his peace with that if he would quit acting like Bilbo was incapable of understanding just because Thorin didn’t want to hear the words he offered.
“In any case, I imagine he feels you misunderstand him.”
Bilbo looked at Bard in surprise. The man merely smiled warmly at him.
“Granted I don’t pretend to know the inner workings of the Mountain King’s mind. But I do know…you give him courage. In fact, I would say you inspire it in most beings you come across.”
Bilbo spluttered out a denial, his face growing far too warm to be comfortable on the fair day.
“And furthermore, you’re not going to misstep. Thranduil only has the highest esteem for you, or he wouldn’t have named you Elf-Friend.”
Bilbo hated how transparent he truly was, but at the same time was pleased by how well Bard knew him.
“Thank you.” Bilbo uttered softly.
“Of course. Between you and the dwarves, it keeps me out of the eye of the Elf King. He still scares me.”
Bilbo shook his head with a chuckle, but let the man ride on ahead so he could fall back to his king’s side. By Thorin’s tense jaw, he could tell he was really going to have to make it up to the dwarf.
“Did you enjoy your conversation with the Bowman?” Thorin all but growled, his eyes remaining stubbornly ahead.
“You know, actually I did.” Bilbo answered, choosing to ignore his tone. “He didn’t have a long list of barbed insults prepared for our host.”
Thorin snapped his eyes over to Bilbo as the muscle in his jaw jumped.
“Bilbo-”
“You know, I never said you were wrong.” Bilbo interrupted, his eyes focused down on the mane of his pony. “Not once. All I said was we had to proceed with ‘neighborly intentions’. And I got called…what was the very affectionate term you used last night? A naive idealist who can’t see past my far too green lawn?”
Silence reigned between them. Bilbo didn’t want to make Thorin feel guilty, but he also was rather hurt by his assessment. That Bilbo was just some…country bumpkin from the Shire with no experience for the affairs of kings. Not to say Bilbo didn’t have his bumbling moments. His new title illustrating that point well. He just had thought maybe he had earned himself a little more respect for his opinion from the days of being referred to as a grocer in his own home.
“I wasn’t trying to insult you.” Thorin finally mumbled.
“I know.” Bilbo answered flatly.
Bilbo clearly wasn’t convincing enough, because the next thing he knew, his reins were being pulled at to steer Bilbo’s pony closer to Thorin’s own.
“What are you…?”
Bilbo didn’t even finish his sentence before his oaf of a fiancé had him swung out of his saddle and into his lap. Bilbo was spluttering, his face blazing as his arms wrapped around Thorin’s neck just to keep him from sliding to the ground headfirst.
“THORIN OAKENSHIELD!”
He was silenced with a kiss that made his toes twitch in delight. When he pulled away, he couldn’t help scowling slightly at the proud smirk Thorin bore.
“I am sorry.” Thorin offered, low and sincere. “I didn’t mean to undermine your authority, ushmarê (my guardian).”
Thorin’s knuckles lightly grazed his face, running up to the side of his head where he played with Bilbo’s engagement bead. A shiver tore through him that he could tell Thorin noticed if the darkening of his gaze was anything to go off.
“It’s not my authority that concerns me. Thorin, do you not trust my decision making abilities?”
“Of course I do.”
Bilbo would almost have believed him too, if it wasn’t for the lingering pause before he answered.
“You…what possible reason could I have given you to doubt me? In fact, haven’t you repeatedly I might add, told me you would never again doubt me?”
“My lieges…” Balin attempted to interrupt.
“It’s not that I doubt your abilities, azyungel (love of all loves). But…you have to admit, sometimes your predicaments are…rather self-inflicted.”
Bilbo’s jaw dropped as he was left floundering for words. Self-inflicted? Bilbo wasn’t the one who pissed off Thranduil. He certainly wasn’t the one to suggest their mad quest in the first place. The absolute nerve of him!
“We’re in public.” Balin reminded.
There was a lit to his voice as if trying to soothe the fraying tempers before him. It was unfortunate that it didn’t work.
“Put me back on my pony.” Bilbo grit through his teeth.
“Amrâlimê (my love)...”
“I mean it, Thorin! Get me down right now!” Bilbo snapped as he began to wiggle himself out of his lap.
Thorin pulled on his reins to stop his own pony from crushing Bilbo right as he managed to slide his way to the ground. The sound of disgruntled neighs and silence of hooves let him know the entourage around him stopped as well. He didn’t care. He would walk back to Erebor if he had to.
“Bilbo, I didn’t mean it as a criticism.” Thorin pressed, grabbing hold of Bilbo’s arm.
“And how else could you possibly mean it?” He asked, spinning around with fire in his eyes.
Thorin’s grip tightened at the same time his blue eyes seemed to bore down upon him. Imploring him to see reason that Bilbo was convinced didn’t exist.
“Bilbo, I love you. You are my world. You are brilliant and loyal and far more brave than anyone I’ve ever met, but ushmarê…surely you are not blind? After all, who accepted an honor duel on my behalf without even knowing the consequences of said action?”
Bilbo’s cheeks flamed brightly at this.
“Who pissed off the council and nearly had me fight in said duel again? Last week, I might add!”
“Who wrote to the Elf King about flowers of all things?!”
Ah. So they had finally reached the heart of the matter. Thorin was still mad about Bilbo’s request for their wedding. He had agreed to every dwarven custom that had been brought to him, and he only wanted one small exception: he wanted red camellias. It was a Shire tradition to create a ring of blooms to hang above the two getting married. Red camellias were not only a very romantic flower, but there was a specific shade that he had only ever seen once before. And it was while he had been sneaking through Thranduil’s private gardens, invisible to all and looking for escape routes. So he had crafted a very respectable letter…and no sooner had Bilbo gotten his rejection letter that Thranduil made arrangements to host the Alliance this year. Hence, Thorin’s suspicions.
Before he could utter a peep in his defense, a voice cleared their throat from behind him.
“My King, Ushmar Uzbâdu,” Balin’s honey tone barely masked his poorly concealed irritation. “Of course I know the challenges that come with riding for too long. However, if you’re all finished with your break perhaps we can continue our journey. After all, we wouldn’t want the King of Dale to worry over what should be a private conversation. ”
Bilbo gave the advisor a weak glare before huffing a sigh and reaching for his saddle once more. Balin gave a brief nod, and Bilbo turned to look resolutely ahead, no matter how many times Thorin tried to catch his eye.
“We’ll resume this conversation later.” Thorin growled as he nudged his pony to the front.
Bilbo acted as though he didn’t hear him. He slipped almost to the back of the group where Kili seemed to be entertaining their small group of guards with stories from the quest.
“There you are, Uncle! We were wondering what was going on. You have to tell Bermik about the trolls! You always tell it best.”
Bilbo’s lip twitched with something resembling a smile, grateful for Kili’s distraction, even if he didn’t show it.
“So Kili here was in charge of looking after the ponies with his brother. I had just brought them their evening meal when they told me of a slight problem they had. You see we had sixteen ponies, and suddenly we were down to fourteen…”
***
Bilbo thought, as they entered the forest, that there was little improvement done to Mirkwood. The overly ripe smell of sickness was finally gone from the forest, but there was still a staleness that remained. Almost like the disease had been eradicated, but the sickbed had yet to be stripped and cleaned. It was obvious to Bilbo, though, that Thranduil made sure to hide this from the untrained eyes of his traveling companions.
They were met at the edge of the forest by his Captain of the Guard and her small escort. Although Bilbo was more than certain there were more elves hidden in the branches surrounding them. Kili beamed upon seeing her, and Bilbo recalled vaguely Oin mentioning how she was responsible for saving Kili’s life in Laketown. Tauriel, he believed her name was. It was while his nephew was distracted that Bilbo was able to see past the path they were being steered down.
There were no webs and black rivers that Bilbo could see, but more alarming than that, there was no new growth. They were about to enter into the growing season, yet most of the forest still looked as if it were preparing for autumn. Perhaps that was the reason for Thranduil’s request to host? He guessed at Bilbo’s growing abilities and wished to ask for advice? A grimace tore across his face as Tauriel looked back at him for the third time. No, that was giving the Elf King far too much credit.
As they crossed the bridge, Bilbo looked down at the river below, remembering their last escape from Thranduil’s clutches. Looking up again, he met Dwalin’s eye and could tell the warrior was thinking similarly. He hoped that wasn’t an ill omen as their mounts were taken from them and they walked into the heart of the Woodland Realm.
For all that he was irritated with Thorin, he still found himself drifting towards his side. Their fingers grazed just long enough for Thorin to link them together and give a small squeeze. The unasked question for support. Without once looking at him, Bilbo squeezed back and dropped his hand. Thorin had it, even if Bilbo wasn’t happy with him. At least it seemed enough to appease him for now.
“You know, this is a different experience when we are not bound and hungry.” Kili remarked.
Thorin glared while Bilbo rubbed at his forehead. Balin was the one to go ahead and elbow the younger prince who didn’t quite seem to understand his misstep if his pout was anything to go off.
“You were the one who said he could come.” Bilbo reminded.
“Only because he begged me. I thought he was wanting to take on more responsibility.” Thorin returned.
Bilbo snorted and shook his head as they entered the throne room of King Thranduil. Whatever magic that seemed to alter the perception of the room now blanketed the fake trees in little buds of blooming purple, blue, and white. Fruits of all different shapes and colors draped the branches and the walls, and the sound of water that ran beneath the kingdom even sounded more vibrant somehow. Thranduil, himself, was wearing a long tunic of deep emerald green with a golden cloak and a crown of apple blossoms. It was a sight that somehow managed to steal the breath from BIlbo’s lungs and simultaneously cause a shudder of great apprehension.
“Welcome, King Bard, to the Greenwoods.” Thranduil greeted the group of men first.
The dwarves tensed at the very apparent slight making the hairs stick up on the back of Bilbo’s neck.
“Welcome, King Thorin of Erebor.” Thranduil turned his sights onto them next. “I do hope your travels were safe and uneventful.”
“Yes, it is nice to be able to travel freely through the Woodland Realm and not be beseeched by foul things.”
Balin’s groan was practically audible, but luckily for them Thranduil just smirked at Thorin’s jab. He was clearly in an unusually good mood, which Bilbo definitely did not know how to interpret.
“We have worked hard to free the woods of spiders and enchantments, thanks of course to the White Council for clearing Dol Guldur of its unwelcome inhabitant.”
“Yes,” Bilbo spoke up at that point, if only to save them another blunder from their king. “I noticed that the trees felt…better than when we were here last.”
Those pale eyes bore into the hobbit with such intensity, Bilbo felt frozen. Slowly a smirk crawled across Thranduil’s smooth face.
“Bilbo Baggins, Ushmar Uzbâdu, betrothed to the King, and…Elf-Friend. I’m glad you could join us as well. I actually have been thinking about your request lately. Perhaps we can meet after the feast tonight and discuss it… privately. ”
Thranduil might as well have declared war with the way his dwarves reacted. Thorin practically pulled Bilbo behind him while Dwalin and the other guards fingered their weapons with evidential longing. It was the shift of Thranduil’s guards in the shadows that stayed their hands for now.
“Don’t be so dramatic. I only want to talk.” Thranduil rolled his eyes, as if their reaction was completely unnecessary.
“I suppose I’m confused.” Bilbo answered slowly. “Your reply made it very apparent that you were not willing to part with the blooms. Why the change of heart?”
Thranduil’s eyes flashed with some emotion Bilbo couldn’t quite catch.
“I suppose I was a little reactive, and for that I apologize. You see those particular flowers grow on a private terrace that is only accessible to myself. It is considered a crime of the highest degree to be there without my permission, so I suppose you can only imagine my surprise to have you writing to me about them. However, I’ve not brought you here to talk about your spying or freeing of my prisoners from under my guards’ noses. After all, you are the Ushmar Uzbâdu of Erebor. I only thought we might work out a deal where you could make up this slight against me.”
No one said a word. Even Bard was stunned by the rather blunt words. It was very clear to Bilbo that Thranduil was very offended by his request. Otherwise, he would never remind Bilbo of his sneaking around during the quest. For the first time, Bilbo was actually worried his dwarves had the right of it. What exactly was Thranduil planning to do? Lock him away?
“Think on it.” He remarked. “You will find I’ll be quite insistent on this point. In the meantime, Indaer will escort you to your rooms.”
With a billow of his cloak, Thranduil stalked out of the throne room without another word, leaving a red haired elf to step forward with a sweep of his arm. Bilbo’s mind was still reeling though, especially with all his dwarves staring down at him.
“I could be home right now helping Dis with the catering.” He grumbled.
However, Bilbo was going to go to this meeting. He was going to figure out what it was that Thranduil wanted, and he was going to resolve it…quietly if he could. Because Bilbo most certainly was not about to start his marriage off with Thorin being right about khurb-takhrabmî zars-tamanâl (horse riding tree dwellers). And more importantly than that, Bilbo being the cause of his own misfortune. He glanced over at Thorin, his brows furrowed together in deep thought. Bilbo reached over to snag his hand, taking strength in the warm palm against his own.
“I will fix this.” He promised quietly.
Thorin’s words were soft in return, even if his eyes were still troubled. Bilbo sighed, now even more annoyed by his considerate response.
“You always do, ushmarê.”