Chapter Text
Bilbo Baggins, for all that his mother was a Took – and the daughter of Old Took, at that! - for all that he had led a somewhat wild youth, had taken after his father in maturity. In the time leading up to his father’s death, he had become a proper Baggins, a credit to his name and family. He was calm, steady, and unfailingly polite. When his mother followed only eight years later, he remained so, continuing his routine without tears.
“Mustn’t grumble,” he had told all who expressed condolences and amazement at his lack of public grieving. “After all, Bag End won’t look after itself.”
In the six years since, he had settled into a quiet lifestyle that called a night before a warm fire with a good book more to be looked forward to than any adventures or affairs.
He was as shocked to find himself chasing a band of Dwarves one morning as any of his neighbors. For a Hobbit so set in his habits to leave home in that kind of rush - he had completely forgotten to lock the doors, and it would be a wonder if any of his spoons were still there when he returned – well, it just wasn’t done. And for Bilbo Baggins, something being deemed not done meant that he never did it. And yet, since that time, he had done so many things that he would never have thought of in the days before.
He had gone without second breakfast – indeed, many days without even a midday dinner. He had slept on the hard ground, ridden a pony, used a scrap of cloth as a handkerchief. And certainly the Dwarves didn’t think anything of continuing to travel in the rain, when any good Hobbit would be indoors and glad of a roof over his head.
He had tried to pickpocket a knife from a Troll's belt. He had then talked to the Trolls about worms in his companions' tubes. And if there was anything that was the opposite of good propriety, that was it. Worms in tubes indeed! The idea that he’d even had to come up with such an outrageous idea!
He'd spent a night with Elves. He had survived sneaking away from Orcs. And through it all, he had mostly managed to keep his cool. Even when he had drawn his sword on that Gollum creature, he had only been exercising good sense. He hadn’t actually used the thing.
He had killed. He had personally saved a life. And he didn’t know when these Dwarves had turned him into a being of such convictions that he could follow through on such a thing.
He had simply thought in that moment that a world without Thorin Oakenshield was not to be had, and that had been his last thought as he had blindly raced to the prince's defense against the sword that was about to defile his body. And now, perhaps, the fact that a good book had held more interest for him than a pretty pair of legs and low cut blouse made more sense.
But then, Thorin's response. For one heart stopping moment he had thought that everything was for nothing. That he was still just a nuisance and his intentions meant nothing. That these feelings he didn’t understand meant nothing. But in the strong arms surrounding him, he had had a revelation.
This was a thing that he desired.
Thorin was strong and passionate, this he knew. The leader of the exiled Dwarves of Erebor held himself to a higher standard than any other and tried to remain aloof and self contained, but every move, every glance he gave to his people, showed the depth of his love and commitment to them. Bilbo had wanted some of that to turn his way from before he could admit to wanting the adventure. The reproof he shared with all the others, but the affection was never his and he craved it.
What he had learned in that embrace was that Thorin was also weak. He had nearly been killed, they had seen that he was mortal and fallible as any of the rest of them. He had been picked up and shaken by a warg, thrown to the ground, nearly beheaded, carried in the claws of a giant eagle. And his arms had shaken from the pain, humiliation, and fear.
And Bilbo found that he craved that too.
He had separated himself from the group a bit as they stopped to camp. It was dark already, because Thorin never let others see his weakness and wouldn't slow their pace for his own discomfort. While others started the fires and cooked their evening meal, Bilbo stared out into the darkness from the edge of their camp, trying to piece together what it all meant.
He wasn’t at all surprised when he was joined. Any Dwarf was loud enough for him to hear over the food preparation behind him, let alone his own thoughts. He looked up, expecting Bofur or possibly Fili to have come to get him to join them.
The Dwarf filling his thoughts sat at his side, and Bilbo could do nothing but goggle at him in unBagginslike astonishment.
Thorin also looked off into the darkness. He was silent for a long moment, and when he spoke it was in low, measured tones. “Gandalf was right to recommend you join us, Mr. Baggins. Were it not for you, my life and quest would be forfeit.”
Bilbo looked away in shame, remembering his own half formed thoughts. “Anyone would have done it,” he mumbled, seeking to deflect further thanks.
“No,” Thorin answered, voice so swift that Bilbo turned back to look at him again. “Anyone would not have. No Dwarf in this company would have.”
“But they all love and respect you!” Bilbo protested. “They would do anything for you!”
“And it is precisely that respect that would have kept them from coming as you did. You, as a Halfling, have no understanding of Dwarf customs. You are the only one of the company who does not. As much as they love me - because they love me - no other would jump to my defense and take the life debt owed.”
“Life debt?” Bilbo repeated the words slowly, not sure he completely understood, but wanting to.
Thorin nodded, eyes darting to the Hobbit’s face briefly. “Life debt,” he repeated. “A gift must always be repaid with a gift of like value. How can one repay another for the gift of life? What value can you put on a life? The only proper repayment is to give the life to the savior.”
“Give the-- I don’t want your life!”
“Whether you do or not, by my own customs and laws, it is now yours. What you want to ask of me I will give you.”
“Something given against your will means nothing!” Bilbo protested, a sense of horror creeping into his voice.
Again, Thorin glanced at him, this time one brow rising wryly. “Within reason should have been understood. Though I’m not sure how much reason and Halflings hold discourse. What would you ask me that you expect I would be unwilling to perform?”
Bilbo flushed, looking away again as his thoughts once again caught up with him. “I-- I am not the naive innocent you think I am,” he murmured. “I might want things that you would hate....”
This turned Thorin’s gaze sharply in his direction, and Bilbo ducked his head, hiding his face against his knees.
“I had thought them making up fancies as they always do,” Thorin said after a moment, voice a strange mix of resignation and laughter. “When my nephews told me of how you looked at me.”
He leaned in closer. Bilbo could feel the other’s heat and presence without looking up, and he reddened to the tips of his ears.
“Why would you think me unwilling?”
Bilbo looked up, eyes wide, and all words died as he met the searing, curious gaze of the exiled Prince of Erebor. They were frozen there for a long moment, something moving between them.
“Even if it’s not what they think it is?” Bilbo finally asked, forcing his eyes away, still ashamed of what he had finally discovered within himself.
“Then what is it that you want?” Thorin persisted, quietly commanding.
Even still, it took Bilbo a long moment to answer. “You,” he said, voice intimate for just the two of them. “Everything that is you. To belong to me....” His voice trailed off and he shook his head. “It can’t. I know that! I do! You-- you have a quest. And a kingdom. And a family. You can’t....” His voice lowered again. “You can’t be mine.”
“I am.”
Bilbo finally looked up again, eyes blazing with anger and frustration. “I will not take you because of a debt you feel you owe me! I didn’t save your life because I wanted you to ignore everything you feel to take care of me!”
Once again, he was drowning in the Dwarf’s eyes.
“I said within reason,” Thorin told him, voice unnaturally mild and patient. “I would not give up my kingdom, and I would not expect you to ask that of me. But now that I see you clearly, I might be willing to give up my self.”
Bilbo's eyes widened. "Thorin, I--"
Thorin quieted him, calloused fingers gentle on his lips. "Within reason, this life belongs to you, my savior. This gives you status among Dwarves the equal of my own. Remember this and act accordingly. Everything I have is yours. Allow me to fulfill your wishes."
This was apparently his final word on the subject, because he rose and walked away. Bilbo raised a hand to touch the place Thorin's fingers had just been touching. His lips tingled from the contact, and he found that he now had much more to consider.