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The rooms in Laketown were small and dingy but a far greater improvement on the majority of their resting places as of yet. The bed creaks awkwardly and there are strange stains on the mattress which Bilbo and Thorin have added to tonight. Bilbo wriggles out of Thorin’s far too warm embrace, made in Mahal’s forge indeed, and on shaky legs makes his way to the window to open it. The lake shimmers under the moonlight, lazily swaying in the cool night air. Erebor is visible from their room and gods, how beautiful it is.
“Halwûn?”
But how could Erebor ever hope to compare to the most heavenly beauty Middle-earth has ever seen?
“Yes, Cariad?”
Bilbo turns to sleepy eyes, blinking awake, and Thorin propping himself up on an elbow. He studies Bilbo for a moment before swinging his legs over the side of the bed, joining Bilbo at the window. He loops an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders, pulling him to his chest.
“It’s magnificent.”
Bilbo murmurs, resting his head against Thorin’s shoulder.
“It is, isn’t it?”
Thorin replies but his eyes are gazing at Bilbo, not the mountain. Bilbo doesn’t say anything for a moment, knowing where Thorin’s eyes are and instead focuses on the steady beat of his beloved’s heart and desperately tries not to think of how it may not beat again. Even so, unbidden tears spring to his eyes. Thorin knows instantly and instead, wordlessly, takes those soft cheeks between work and war-roughened hands and carefully smoothes the tears away. Nothing needs to be said, the understanding hangs heavily in the air between them. Thorin pulls Bilbo’s face to the crook of his neck and Bilbo clutches Thorin painfully tight as if he is afraid that if he lets go that all he truly loves in this world shall disappear; and perhaps he is right.
For a while they stand like that, a calloused hand stroking through soft curls; tears soaking skin and hair alike. The embrace loosens and while Bilbo is reluctant to let go, Thorin is stepping back.
“Marry me. Please.”
The words a barely more than a whisper, pleading. Bilbo’s head and heart scream at him ‘Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!’ But instead what he says is:
“What?”
Thorin drops to his knees, Bilbo’s hands encased in his larger ones.
“I lay my sword, heart and soul at your feet Bilbo Baggins.”
Thorin’s words are quiet, sincere.
“In case we don’t see the overmorrow’s dawn, I want to marry you. Here and now. I know it is not what you deserve, you deserve the grandest wedding Arda has ever seen but…”
Thorin inhales shakily, a tear escaping down his cheek, eyes full of hope as he begs Bilbo.
“I cannot imagine life without you. If you told me even if only on a whim, to abdicate the throne, to abandon the quest, I would without question. I cannot face the thought of entering Mahal’s Halls without accomplishing what I now see is what I truly want in life. Please…please marry me.”
“Yes.”
Bilbo surprises the both of them, dropping to his own knees before Thorin. Their lips crash together in a mess of teeth, tears and sweet relief.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
Thorin scrambles to his feet, pulling Bilbo up with him, a gleeful almost madness in his eyes. He pulls the bead from his braid at his left temple and takes Bilbo’s hands in his own, cupping the bead together.
“Bilbo Baggins. With this bead, I thee wed. I swear upon Mahal and the stars He has forged to honour, love, protect and treasure you for the rest of our days. I shall shield you from the mightiest of blows. I shall love you come what may. Should I ever break this vow, may the gods themselves strike me down for all to see.”
Bilbo swallows, throat tight and suddenly not trusting his words not to come out as sobs.
“Thorin Oakenshield. I uh…I don’t have a bead.”
Thorin chuckles wetly.
“No matter. We shall forge wedding beads together once we have reclaimed the mountain.”
They both know that is a promise he may not be able to keep.
“Thorin Oakenshield. With this bead that we have not yet made, I thee wed. I swear upon Yavanna and the earth She has nurtured that I will care, cherish, support and adore you for the rest of our days. I shall be your home and your shield. I shall light the way in the darkness for you. I shall comfort you on your lowest days. This I swear to you in Yavanna’s grace. Should I ever break this vow may my body never rot beneath the soil so all may know my shame.”
Thorin brings their foreheads together with a quiet thunk, Bilbo wincing at the apparent rock that Dwarven skulls are made of.
“Sorry, sorry.”
Thorin soothes and presses an apologetic kiss to the quickly reddening skin.
“My husband. Oh…oh my husband.”
Thorin breathes and kisses Bilbo so tenderly and yet so desperately.
“I am yours. And you, mine.”
Bilbo gasps out. They both hold there, hands still cupped around the bead, panting.
“We shall have to file paperwork, to make it official.”
Bilbo says softly. Thorin shakes his head and pulls a section of hair from Bilbo’s temple forward and begins braiding it.
“If you so desire but to me? We are married in the only way that matters. Our witnesses are the sky and the stars. I care not what the company think nor anyone who tries to tell me otherwise. I love you, and Mahal as my witness I swear to do so for as long as we both shall live.”
And so, in that dark, cramped room in Laketown, they were married. Tomorrow they would face down Smaug and reclaim Erebor for the dwarves once again. Soon after Thorin will succumb to gold sickness, losing his mind and himself to that wretched curse. Then will come the battle, five armies in a terrible war. But for now, they shall sleep, undisturbed and at peace; for that is tomorrow and tonight is for them and them alone.