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Chapter Text

Bilbo looked back to the place where some hours before he was fighting for his life, he didn't know what was expected of him. Aware of his position as consort of the newly recovered Erebor, he was lost. When he married Thorin weeks before, he had thought about what it meant, but it only seemed real now.

A wedding in the middle of his journey was not what he had expected when he began his adventure, but with death imminent it was easy to do what his heart told him, but now his mind tortured him. He was not a ruler, he was Bilbo, a simple hobbit from the shire. He purposely did not want to think about his boys.

Oh, his boys.

Thorin, his beloved husband, lay half dead in the royal tent, along with his nephews, so badly hurt.

How could a person lose everything in just a few hours? Bilbo knew.

°

Bilbo hears his name being called from the camp, but he doesn't want to face reality, doesn't want to face the company, or the army of dwarves, doesn't want to face anyone.

His thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of Bofur, who grabs his shoulder and helps him back to the camp.

“Come on Bilbo, Thorin woke up, he wants to talk to you”

“Thorin?” Bilbo says in a whisper, his body protesting with the small run he makes to the royal tent, he opens the curtains with force, seeing his Thorin, lying on one of the three improvised beds that were in the tent, his husband looked horrible, with blood and dirt on his face and tightly holding his side, where he had been stabbed a few hours ago.

Bilbo runs to the king's side, tears burning his face.

“My love, Thorin” Bilbo says, clinging to the now fragile body of the dwarf.

“Bilbo, amrâlimê” Thorin says in a whisper. “My boys, where are they?”

“They’re alive, Thorin. You must rest now.”

Thorin closes his eyes slowly and Bilbo lets out the sigh he was holding and cries again. The prospect of becoming a widower a few days after the wedding tormented him, but he had to be strong. Or at least pretend to be.

After a moment, Bilbo goes to the side of his nephew Fili, who had received a strong blow to the head and other minor injuries. He had heard that the healers didn’t know the extent of the blow yet, but Fili hadn’t woken up at any time until now. Kissing Fili on the head, Bilbo goes to his nephew Kili, who had suffered much more serious injuries than his brother, with several wounds all over his body. He had an infected wound on his leg made by an orc blade, and was in very bad shape. Bilbo sheds a few more tears for him, and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

°

Dain's tent was heavily guarded, with royal guards surrounding its entire length, however, Balin entered easily. Already well known by Dain's army, he resented his new position. Although he had taught the entire royal family, he was not a ruler.

Dain was leaning over a huge table in the center of the tent, which was covered with many documents. Seeing Balin entering, Dain straightened up.

"Master Balin, you have finally appeared. I sent for you because you, as the representative of Erebor while the king and his heirs are unable to exercise their power, have matters to discuss with me."

"Representative of Erebor? With all due respect, your majesty, but that title does not concern me. No, the representative of Erebor must surely be the royal consort."

After a long pause, Dain came out of his confusion and uttered "consort?".

"Consort Bilbo, sir." and watched in fascination as the lord of the Iron Mountains stood speechless.

°

Dain had much to say, but the words “the hobbit?” came out of his mouth in indignation, for he had surely heard wrong.

“Indeed, lord,” Balin said, and Dain swore in Khuzdul.

Chapter Text

Bilbo was called to Dain's tent immediately, an inconvenience if you ask him, since his place was next to his husband, in the royal tents.

Two rather burly dwarf guards guarded Dain's tent, and they looked at Bilbo rudely.

With no patience for anything tonight, Bilbo would open his mouth and say unflattering things to these guards, if Balin had not left the tent and granted the hobbit entrance.

Upon entering the tent, Bain was sitting in front of a large table, around the tent several weapons could be seen, however, there was only one hobbit and two dwarves there.

"My Lord Bain, let me present Bilbo Baggins, the royal consort of Erebor and leader of the mountain" said Balin, quite smugly.

Yes, he was Bilbo Baggins, royal consort and leader-

"What? Leader? I can't represent anything now Balin, I must stay with my husband and nephews at this time.” Bilbo exclaimed in surprise, he was just a simple hobbit from the Shire who happened to marry a king, he was not a representative of anything.

“Yes, the Halflings represent nothing, much less Erebor. I'm glad we made that clear, Master Balin,” Dain said irritably, with a small smile of triumph on his face.

“Now that's not what I meant,” the hobbit was interrupted by Balin, who was offended to see his friend insulted.

“Bilbo Baggins is a hero of Erebor and married to King Thorin himself, he has more rights here than any of us,” Balin exclaimed and then looked at Bilbo. “My friend, think about what Thorin would want, he believes in you and so do I.”

And after those words, Bilbo knew, he had a lot of work ahead of him.

Chapter Text

Bilbo was suffocating, the fear of failure and the weight of expectations consumed him as he knew it was his duty to care for the reclaimed Erebor while his beloved could not.
Dain still glared at him, suspicion written plainly across his face, but Bilbo lifted his head. He would not disappoint his husband. He would not abandon Erebor.

“I will do this for my husband and for my new home, until Thorin awakens.”

Balin smiled subtly. It was the first glimpse of the hobbit who had once dared to face a dragon, a maddened king, and now, the politics of a dwarven realm.
Dain, still skeptical, finally said:

“So be it, then. You shall be treated as a regent, halfling. Know that any mistakes will be your responsibility. Act as the consort.”

“I will, Dain. But I ask for one hour free to visit my husband and nephews.”

“A reasonable request. But remember—you are the consort, and you cannot spend your days mourning the sleeping king. And by the Valar, you are of high rank now. Don’t call me ‘sir.’ Call me Dain,” the dwarf said, leaving the tent.

Balin walked Bilbo out of the tent, offering him a knowing look and a comforting squeeze on the shoulder.

°

Back in the healing tent, Bilbo rushed to Thorin’s makeshift bed.
“You’ve gotten me into trouble again, my love,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “You always had a knack for that.”
He leaned down, resting his head beside his husband’s chest, feeling the faint, almost imperceptible rise and fall of his breathing. It was enough. For now.

Beside them, Fili let out a soft groan in his unconscious sleep, Ori slumped beside him, asleep. Bilbo quickly moved to them, brushing a hand through his nephew’s golden hair.
“Come on, my boy. Wake up. We need you now more than ever.”

And finally, he knelt by Kili’s side, gently wiping the sweat from his feverish brow.
“You were always impulsive, my nephew. But I need you to fight now. For Thorin. For Fili. For me.”